The Mothers' Group

by Fiona Higgins

  She’d had enough of this discussion.

  ‘I’ll go over and give Nicole a break.’ She nodded towards the pool.

  ‘No, I’ll go,’ said Daniel, sitting up and stretching. ‘You’ve had a busy week.’

  He picked up the pile of papers next to him. ‘Maybe you could have a read of this? I’ve almost finished. Dominic reckons it’s ready for submission. He’s talking an advance of ten, maybe fifteen thousand. Publication in May or June of next year, if we’re lucky.’

  Ginie sighed. ‘Can’t Dominic do any better?’

  Her only meeting with Dominic had left her wary of literary agents. Too much talk and not enough action, as far as she was concerned.

  Daniel looked wounded. ‘Dominic works hard. He knows a lot of people in publishing. He’s the best chance I’ve got. No one makes any money out of writing, you know. Unless you’re J.K. Rowling.’ He stuffed the manuscript under the banana lounge.

  ‘Look, I’ll just finish this chapter.’ She waved a copy of Eat, Pray, Love in his direction. ‘I’m doing the hard yards here. For the mothers’ group book club, remember? Then I’ll start on your novel, I promise.’

  Daniel shrugged.

  She reached over and touched his face, a conciliatory gesture. ‘It’s good to get away with you.’

  He stood up and tightened the drawstring of his board shorts. ‘I’ll go keep the nanny happy.’

  He ran towards the pool.

  ‘Rosie,’ he yelled, spraying Nicole with water as he jumped in.

  She laughed and splashed water back in his direction.

  Nicole could lose some weight, Ginie thought.

  Daniel held out his arms and Nicole passed Rose to him, fussing over her rash vest and hat. She clearly wasn’t going to let Rose out of her sight, even in Daniel’s presence. Ginie found this extremely reassuring.

  We’ll definitely do this again, Ginie decided. A few more trips like this and we’ll be back on track.

  She closed her eyes, resting her book on her lap. She felt as if she might sleep for days.

  Ginie grimaced at the sign on the door, penned in Pat’s girlish handwriting: Fathers and Partners—Welcome!

  ‘This could be gauche,’ she whispered as they pushed the glass door open.

  ‘It’s okay,’ Daniel whispered back. ‘I chose to be here, remember?’

  For a moment, she saw what the others would see as Daniel walked into the room.

  Tall and muscular, handsome in a dishevelled kind of way. He grinned at her, that mischievous smirk of his, and her stomach fluttered. He could still do that to her, even now.

  Suddenly she felt so much better about the upcoming session, which she’d been dreading. She was sick of Pat and her solicitous advice, however well-intentioned it might be. She smiled to herself to admit it, but she much preferred the group’s informal meetings at Beachcombers on Friday mornings.

  ‘Hello!’ called Pat, all teeth and clipboard as usual. ‘Ginie and . . . ?’

  ‘Daniel,’ he replied, grinning as if she was a long-lost friend.

  Pat cocked her head. ‘I’ve seen you before, haven’t I?’

  Daniel winked. ‘I hope not. I’ve only fathered one child, as far as I know.’

  Pat exploded into laughter, clutching her ribs for support. Daniel’s charm was irresistible, it seemed, to almost everyone.

  ‘Hello,’ Cara called from the change table. She was grappling with Astrid, holding her two ankles in one hand, changing a dirty nappy. A redheaded man hovered at her side, holding wipes and a tube of rash cream. ‘This is Richard, my husband.’ Cara nodded in his direction.

  ‘Pleased to meet you,’ said Richard. He made a ‘no hands’ gesture with the wipes and rash cream.

  ‘I know how you feel, mate,’ Daniel said with a laugh. ‘This is Ginie, I’m Daniel and . . .’ He picked up Rose from the pram. ‘This is our little Rose, between two thorns.’ Rose giggled as Daniel lifted her above his head. Ginie loved that little sound: a gurgling, airy guffaw that only Rose could make.

  ‘Help yourselves to refreshments,’ called Pat, gesturing towards a rickety table stacked with styrofoam cups and instant coffee. ‘Ah, who do we have here?’ She turned towards the door.

  Ginie nudged Daniel. ‘This is the couple I told you about,’ she whispered.

  ‘I’m Gordon,’ said the white-haired man, holding the door open for Made, who pushed Wayan’s stroller through the gap. ‘Made’s inferior half.’

  Before he’d closed the door, Suzie arrived, all windswept and smiling, carrying Freya in a sling. ‘Hi,’ she said.

  ‘Come in, come in,’ Pat said, scanning her clipboard. ‘Good to see you. Is anyone joining you today?’

  Suzie looked embarrassed as she shook her head.

  ‘Me neither,’ said Miranda, stepping through the doorway too. ‘Willem’s interstate again.’ With Rory balanced on her hip, Miranda attempted to shepherd three-year-old Digby over the threshold. Digby pouted his objection and pushed an elbow into her leg.

  ‘Come on, Dig,’ urged Miranda. She propelled him through the door and towards a crate of toys in the far corner of the room.

  Pippa arrived next with her husband, who was carrying Heidi in a BabyBjörn.

  ‘Hello, Pippa,’ said Pat, crossing her name off. ‘And you are . . .?’

  ‘Robert.’ He was athletic, with the look of someone who spent a lot of time in the outdoors. The polar opposite of Pippa, Ginie thought. She couldn’t imagine how they came to be together.

  ‘Right, come and join the circle.’ Pat pointed to a ring of chairs. ‘We’ve got limited time today and a lot of territory to cover while we’ve got these gentlemen here.’ She smiled as they took their seats. ‘But first, let’s do introductions.’

  Not again. Ginie glanced heavenward.

  ‘These ladies already know each other quite well,’ added Pat. ‘They’ve been meeting outside our formal sessions, haven’t you?’

  Several of the others nodded.

  ‘So, gentlemen, I’d like you to tell us your name, a little bit about yourself, and one thing that you like about fatherhood. And then perhaps one thing that you’re finding challenging about being a dad.’ Pat smiled at Daniel. ‘How about we start here?’

  Ginie glanced at Daniel, edgy on his behalf.

  ‘Thanks, Pat,’ he said, exuding his usual confidence. Daniel was good at ad-libbing.

  ‘Hi, everyone. I’m Daniel, Ginie’s toy boy.’

  Several of the women giggled. Ginie stared at her hands. She didn’t know these people well; why was Daniel being so casual?

  ‘I’m a writer,’ he said.

  After a fashion, Ginie thought.

  He bounced Rose on his knee. ‘I’m really enjoying being a hands-on dad. My work’s pretty flexible, and Rose is doing lots now. Smiling and laughing and all that. Aren’t you, sweetie?’ He nuzzled Rose, who responded with a squeal. ‘As for what I’m not enjoying . . . Well, Ginie and I are both pretty strong-minded . . .’ Ginie’s eyes widened. ‘And because we’re first-timers, I guess it can be a bit hard to know who’s right, you know?’

  Ginie couldn’t allow him to continue. ‘That’s why having a nanny’s been great for us, hasn’t it?’ she interrupted. ‘It’s like having a parenting expert on tap.’

  She turned to Daniel with a forced smile. Back off now, she said with her eyes.

  ‘Yeah, Nicole’s been great,’ he agreed. ‘But sometimes it’s like having three chiefs and no Indians.’

  Ginie tried to look nonchalant.

  ‘Ah yes,’ said Pat with a chuckle. ‘The balance of power between a couple can shift after children. That’s a very good point, Daniel, and one we’ll return to later.’

  Pat nodded at Richard, signalling it was his turn to speak.

  Ginie consciously focused on the man’s pale lips moving, his ginger hair thinning at the crown, the square tortoiseshell glasses. But her irritation remained. Three chiefs and no Indians?

  ‘I’m an accounta
nt,’ said Richard.

  No prizes for guessing that one, Ginie thought.

  He was obviously nervous and stumbled over his words. Cara leaned back in her chair and casually rested a hand on his.

  It seemed to make all the difference. He relaxed and smiled at Pat. ‘I’m enjoying watching Astrid grow,’ he started. ‘She’s already much bigger and that makes bath time a bit easier.’ He paused. ‘What I don’t like is . . . not really knowing what I’m doing a lot of the time. If she’d come with a manual, that would’ve been great.’

  Pat laughed. ‘Ah, but babies are do-it-yourself and that’s what makes them fun! There are some good resources available, including this baby health centre. We’re here to support you.’

  Pat’s eyes roved across the group and stopped at Made’s husband. ‘Next?’

  ‘I’m Gordon.’ He held Wayan in his arms and jiggled him from side to side. ‘I’m an engineer by trade, so I understand why Richard wants a how-to manual for babies. But our Wayan’s got his own little agenda.’ He ruffled Wayan’s hair affectionately. ‘I think the best thing about being a father is discovering that my wife is a natural-born mother.’ He smiled at Made. ‘It’s one of the most satisfying experiences of my life.

  ‘As for what’s challenging, well, keeping this little fellow off the floor for the past three months has been pretty tough at times.’ He looked around the room. ‘Made might have told you that the Balinese believe newborns are pure, closer to the gods. So you can’t let their feet touch the ground, or they’re vulnerable to black magic. But once they’ve had a special ceremony at three months, it’s all sorted.’ He laughed. ‘We’ll be heading back to Bali in the next month or so. But Wayan’s getting heavier by the day and I’m an old man. I’m not sure my back can take it anymore . . .’

  Made giggled and slapped him on the knee as if he’d just told a fabulous joke.

  Pat looked from one to the other. ‘Is that similar to a christening ceremony?’

  Gordon shook his head. ‘Not really. For Balinese parents, it’s when you find out who your baby really is. A spirit medium tells you who’s been incarnated in the baby. There’s nothing like it in Australia. Fascinating stuff.’

  It sounded completely foreign to Ginie. And to Pat, too, it seemed.

  ‘Right, one more,’ said Pat, moving on. ‘Robert?’

  ‘Yep,’ said the rugged-looking man at Pippa’s side. His faded blue work shirt was tucked into navy King Gee trousers, and his Blundstone boots were caked in dried mud. ‘Um, I’ve got to go back to work soon, sorry.’ He looked around at the group. ‘I’m a builder.’

  A man who actually works hard, thought Ginie.

  ‘What do I like about being a dad? Um . . .’ He rubbed his hands together, thinking. ‘Um . . .’ The silence began to drag. ‘Well, I guess it’s nice seeing her asleep.’ A pinkness had spread across his cheeks. ‘And what I don’t like is . . . when she doesn’t sleep very well.’ He glanced nervously at his wife. ‘I mean, it’s really hard when she’s waking up six or seven times a night.’

  Pippa’s gaze was fixed on the white wall opposite.

  Pat nodded sagely. ‘Yes, sleeping problems are by far the biggest cause of stress for parents in the first year of their baby’s life. That’s why it’s so important to get babies into a good sleep routine from the outset.’

  She stood up. ‘Right, thank you very much for sharing, gentlemen. It’s great to have you here. Today’s topics are: effective co-parenting, communication skills and finding time for “us”. Some of you have already touched on these issues. So, let’s get started.’

  Ginie’s eyes began to glaze over. Her hand strayed to her iPhone.

  ‘Yeah, I enjoyed it,’ said Daniel, pushing Rose’s pram as they made their way back to the car park. ‘I mean, especially the informal chat afterwards. No one’s got a clue about parenting, really. We’re all just having a swing at it. And shit happens, literally, to everyone.’

  ‘How very philosophical of you.’

  ‘Robert’s a nice guy, Richard’s a bit quiet,’ he continued. ‘I’m not sure why you’re so hung up about Made and Gordon. He seems pretty laidback. He’s a surfer too, you know.’

  Ah, thought Ginie. The surfing fraternity prevails.

  ‘But don’t you think she’s a bit young for him?’

  ‘Well, you married a younger guy.’ He winked at her. ‘No one’s calling you a cradle-snatcher.’

  Her irritation erupted to the surface. ‘Yes, what the hell were you thinking, referring to yourself as my “toy boy” back there?’

  Daniel stopped walking and turned to face her.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ He seemed genuinely puzzled.

  ‘I just didn’t appreciate it, in front of people I hardly know. And as for “three chiefs and no Indians”, you made me sound like a control freak.’

  He looked at her for a moment then grinned. ‘Well, you are. Don’t tell me you’re going to deny that?’

  She relented a little. ‘Well, maybe I am, sometimes. But not when it comes to Rose.’

  ‘Oh, right.’ His smile was teasing now. ‘Well, all I can say is, I could do with a fathers’ group to give me some support. Maybe I’ll contact those guys back there and suggest a men’s shed for the downtrodden and demoralised.’

  ‘Oh come on,’ she scoffed. ‘What could you possibly need support for? You’ve got me and Nicole. Don’t tell me she’s not working for you?’

  He couldn’t refute it, she knew.

  ‘Right you are, Counsel.’

  Ginie stared at the gridlock, snaking across the Spit Bridge and up into Mosman. She sipped at her takeaway coffee. Some mornings were better than others, when she left Rose with Nicole. There were times she practically ran down the driveway, eager for the sanctuary of her car. But other days, and today was one of them, she felt a peculiar tightness creep across her chest as she slipped into her charcoal grey two-piece. She’d watched them in the rear-view mirror, a lump in her throat, as she drove away. Nicole standing in the driveway, flapping Rose’s hand madly before turning back towards the house to start on the breakfast clean-up.

  She glanced at her watch. Right about now Nicole would be putting Rose down for her morning sleep and Daniel would be taking a shower before retreating to his home office. Sometimes he’d take Rose for a walk at midday while Nicole had lunch, sending a digital snap of Rose to Ginie’s iPhone. Receiving such images in the middle of a meeting would instantly affect her: she’d flush red with pride or love or, sometimes, a wave of jealousy. She envied Daniel all the time he spent with Rose—unencumbered fun time, with Nicole at the ready to do the drudgery of changing nappies, bottle-feeding, or baths. All the things that Ginie automatically did on the weekends, by virtue of her role as mother.

  Ginie sighed and stared out the car window. She hated thinking like this. All these petty resentments, percolating non-stop. I’ve turned into a bloody whingeing mother, she thought. Just like my mother, always bitching about something. Quit it, Ginie, she said to herself. You chose this path.

  As if on cue, her iPhone chimed.

  Where are you? Arnold wrote. You have an eight o’clock. Kentridge and Co.

  ‘Oh, fuck.’

  She’d arranged it the Friday before, she remembered, on her day off. But somehow she’d failed to put it in her calendar. Thank God she had an ally in Arnold. She hurriedly texted him back.

  Cover me? Buy you lunch.

  She shook her head, castigating herself. Her job wasn’t working for her anymore, in so many ways. She’d been back at Coombes Taylor Watson for more than two months and, on the surface, she’d slipped seamlessly back into corporate life. Nothing had changed in the office, yet she was different somehow. Things she hadn’t noticed before were becoming regular irritants in her day: the partners’ expectations of acceptable working hours (arrival by eight, dinner at your desk); the extended networking lunches with boozy clients; the hours wasted on water-cooler trivia or nonessential meetings. All of it wa
s precious time she could have been spending with Rose. She loved her work—the intellectual stimulation, the expertise she’d accrued, the relationships she’d developed in the office. But for all of that, she loved Rose more.

  She remembered the exclusive Catholic girls’ school at which she’d been educated. The headmistress, Sister Ursula—a formidable woman of indeterminate age—had drilled her charges with the mantra ‘girls can do anything’. As a teenager, Ginie had admired her energy and conviction in assembly, as she exhorted her students to study law, medicine, engineering. The world had been hard for women once, Sister Ursula had said, but not now. These days, girls, biology isn’t destiny. You’re limited only by your imaginations. You can do it all.

  Only now, with Ginie back in the office and her four-month-old daughter at home, Sister Ursula’s words rang hollow. The worlds of work and family weren’t that easily reconcilable. Contrary to the propaganda, Ginie thought, women can’t have it all.

  Her iPhone beeped. Arnold again.

  Quick sticks, sweetie, you’re officially pushing it.

  She threw her iPhone onto the passenger seat.

  Something had to give.

  Made

  It was the last Friday of the month, a warm spring day in October. Although it was only ten o’clock, the sun already had a sting in it. They’d parked the babies’ prams beneath the broad white umbrellas of Beachcombers, and pulled together two tables for their first book club session. The idea had been suggested by Cara a few weeks earlier.

  ‘My brain’s turning to mush,’ she’d said, laughing. ‘I used to be a journalist, and now I can’t even read two pages at night without falling asleep. I need a book club to keep me motivated.’

  They’d all submitted suggestions for books, then drawn titles out of a hat. Suzie’s suggestion, Eat, Pray, Love, had been selected for the first session.