The Mothers

by Genevieve Gannon

  Sam began to cry. Grace leaned down as she turned the pram away. ‘Sh, be a good boy,’ she whispered. She turned right and crossed the square of sparse grass, determined to get Sam away from the curious gazes of Doctor Li and Doctor Osmond as quickly as possible.

  Twenty-one

  ‘Don’t you think it was strange the way Grace Arden didn’t want to show off her baby?’ Ashley Li rubbed lotion into her hands while Roger sat propped up in bed reading from his iPad. ‘Roger?’

  ‘Her baby was sleeping.’ He didn’t look up.

  ‘Since when has that ever stopped a proud mother?’

  There had been something disconcerting about the evasive way her former patient had behaved at the market but Ashley couldn’t put her finger on it. It was more than new-parent fatigue. Reading people had never been her forte, but in this case, she knew something was wrong.

  ‘She said he had been sick.’

  ‘It was so odd.’ Ashley returned the tube of cream to its spot on Roger’s dressing table, then picked up her hairbrush. She owned two of almost everything now. One set of possessions lived at Roger’s townhouse and the other stayed at her apartment gathering dust.

  ‘Don’t let it worry you,’ he said. ‘She was probably just worn out.’ Ashley nodded, wanting to accept the wisdom of her older partner, as she so often did, but in truth she was a little hurt. She and the Ardens had worked so hard for that pregnancy. When the blood test had positively confirmed the three home tests Grace had taken, they had hugged. Over the following months, as Grace had moved on to a different doctor, she had sent regular updates: a snap of the 3D ultrasound, photos of the growing bump and a joyous shot of a nursery, decorated and ready with a note saying, We owe everything to you. Then just as the baby was due, the communication ceased.

  Ashley had not been offended or concerned. She expected that once the tyranny of the first few months receded, a photo of a six-month-old Arden baby would pop up in her phone, with a beaming face covered in mashed banana.

  But when they ran into each other at the market, Grace had seemed off kilter, withdrawn.

  ‘I hope they’re coping okay,’ Ashley said. She wanted babies for all of her patients, but Dan and Grace were one pair she had really been rooting for.

  ‘She’s a new mother with a baby who has colic. She could probably hardly remember her own name,’ Roger said. ‘Now, come to bed.’

  ‘It was just so odd,’ Ashley said again, biting her thumbnail. There had been something secretive about Grace. Furtive, almost guilty. It was the type of thing you’d expect to see in a case of domestic violence—the red eyes, the hidden baby. But Dan would never do that to Grace. Ashley didn’t know much about people, but she knew that for sure.

  ‘Perhaps she has post-natal depression,’ Ashley said. ‘She’d poured all her effort into the pregnancy, and now it has left her feeling depleted.’

  ‘That’s not part of our job.’

  ‘She’s my patient.’

  ‘The maternal and child healthcare service will be taking good care of her.’ Ashley climbed into bed next to Roger. ‘I’m sure she’s fine,’ he said, kissing her forehead. ‘She seemed like any other new mother to me. You’ve got to learn not to get so attached.’

  Roger flicked off his bedside light and rolled over. Ashley lay on her back looking at the ceiling and replaying the scene at the market over and over. Maybe there was no baby and Grace had just been pushing an empty pram. Maybe something had gone badly wrong late in the pregnancy and it had driven Grace over the edge. They were all wild theories, none of which fit what she knew about the vulnerable but ultimately very cheerful woman.

  Ashley was still awake at midnight when, out of nowhere, a forgotten detail dropped into her mind: the exclusion in the genetic-test result. A possible abnormality. Ashley sat up.

  ‘That must be it,’ she said into the silence. She felt momentary relief at having solved the puzzle before her heart ached at the realisation. The poor baby, she thought. The poor Ardens. They had been so keen to have a baby no matter what, but it seemed something had happened that had sucked the life right out of Grace.

  She crept out of bed and into the lounge room where her iPad was charging on the coffee table. She picked it up and Googled Grace Arden.

  She had never looked up a patient on social media before. She hadn’t the slightest inclination to go trawling through their personal lives. But now she was concerned. Did Grace and Dan have a strong network of friends? Were their families supporting them? Had Grace recently signed up to some sort of support group for parents of children with special needs, or worse, a terminal prognosis?

  Ashley toggled quickly through Google search results. None gave her answers. She refined the search. Grace Arden Sydney. She found a LinkedIn page and a few references to Grace’s work at Corella College. Her fingers flew across the keypad as she typed different search terms. Grace Arden, Dan Arden. A new set of options appeared, including a link to Dan’s Facebook page.

  ‘That’s it,’ Ashley said, as she delved into his page.

  There were a few photos. One of Grace and Dan painting a nursery. Another of Grace, with a round belly and a pink face. Scrolling down, Ashley found a post thanking a cousin who sent a gift from England. Paddington Bear had arrived safely, Dan reported. An ultrasound image announcing the impending arrival of baby Arden had a smattering of messages attached to it. There was a birth notice: a black-and-white photo of two tiny feet clad in booties. The caption read, Welcome Samuel Benjamin Arden, born 5 May 2016. There was a flood of congratulations. Then nothing. It was less than Ashley expected, but it confirmed the IVF transfer had resulted in a baby.

  She clicked on the photo of the booties, copied it and zoomed in. The tiny feet encased in wool revealed nothing. Ashley leaned back, contemplating the evidence. The absence of photos was strange, and seemed to confirm what she had concluded: the baby suffered from some sort of genetic abnormality. Ashley put a hand to her chest. She felt wretched. The diagnosis must be crushing for Grace and Dan to be so secretive about it. Images flashed into her mind of babies with congenital disorders, and she wished that Grace had opened up to her. She might have, at the very least, been able to provide a referral to a trusted specialist.

  She went to the kitchen for a glass of water to try to still her churning stomach. Was she to blame? Had she helped bring to life a child who would know only pain and suffering in its short existence? No, she told herself. It had been Grace and Dan’s choice; and besides, they had not been certain of the abnormality. She shut off her iPad and went back to bed. She told herself she bore no more responsibility than a doctor who helped deliver unwell babies in the nineteenth century, when a devastating condition could not be predicted. So why did she feel so uneasy?

  Roger had left for the clinic when Ashley woke the next morning. The bedroom smelled faintly of his aftershave. Ashley had a rostered day off but Roger and Doctor Carmichael were seeing patients. As soon as the clock struck eight she picked up the phone and dialled reception.

  ‘Hello, Doris, it’s Ashley. I was wondering if you could check something for me.’

  ‘Can I put you on hold a minute, Doctor Li? I’ve got two other calls coming through.’

  ‘Yes, that’s fine.’

  As she listened to the Mozart hold music, she idly plugged Grace, Dan and Sam’s names into Google’s news search engine. A birth notice had been placed in the Sydney Morning Herald.

  Grace and Dan Arden are thrilled to announce … There was no more detail than a name.

  ‘Yes, Doctor Li, what can I do for you?’

  ‘About ten months ago I had my last appointment with Mr and Mrs Arden. The mother’s name is Grace. I was wondering if we had a record of a live birth.’

  ‘Let me see. Arden, Arden. It doesn’t appear so.’

  ‘Hm.’

  ‘Oh, no, hang on a minute. I was looking at the wrong entry. We do have a live birth for Arden. Fifth of May. It was a little boy. 3.1 kilos. They named
him Samuel.’

  ‘Any notes about problems? Complications?’

  ‘No, just the date, weight and name. That’s all the information I have.’

  ‘Does it say which hospital he was born in?’

  ‘I only have the details I gave you, Doctor Li.’

  ‘Thank you, Doris. I’ll see you on Monday.’

  Haunted by Grace’s drawn face, Ashley went back onto Facebook. This time she searched Grace’s page. Her privacy settings were locked down, presumably so students couldn’t snoop through her personal life. But there was one photo Ashley could see: Grace cradling a bundle. The image was black and white. Ashley could just make out a baby. He had Dan’s dark hair. Grace was smiling. There was something unusual about the smile, though. Was it restraint, or just fatigue? Ashley had seen hundreds of photos of mothers and newborns and none of them looked like this. Or was she just imagining it? Like a Rorschach test, where what you see reflects your own view of their world.

  Ashley leaned closer to the monitor and focused on the baby’s face. It was an out-of-focus smudge. There was nothing visibly wrong with him.

  ‘What is going on?’ she said.

  Twenty-two

  It was a grey, idle Saturday morning when Priya found herself flicking through her phone and opening her NetBank app. The money from the sale of the house was mostly untouched and all those zeroes made her nervous, sitting in an account she could access every day through an ATM, as if the pile of bills could just blow away.

  Thoughts of the house prompted thoughts of Nick and she found herself wondering if Megan was with him, her acrylic nails digging into his arm as she fantasised out loud about what they could spend the money on. In a flash of jealousy, Priya threw her phone aside. She’d had a restless night, plagued by worry. As she’d tossed and turned, panic overcame her—she’d missed her chance. Her isolation exacerbated her fears. No longer did she end her workday cooking with Nick and tossing scraps to Jacker, while they talked idly about the family they assumed they’d have. Dinnertime sounds in her shabby flat were limited to the clack-clack of her knife on the chopping board, when she bothered to cook. She’d gotten out of the habit, instead buying pre-made salads from Coles. She’d peel away the glassine lid and eat them standing up in the kitchen. She could eat filet mignon every night if she wanted, she thought glumly, looking again at her bank balance. There was no need to save. All the money in the world couldn’t buy what she needed. But she had been formulating a plan.

  She picked up the phone again and called her cousin.

  ‘Darsh, are you free for a catch-up? There’s something I want to ask you.’

  ‘Sounds ominous.’

  ‘I hope not. Can you come now?’

  She suggested Gelatissimo in the heart of Coogee beach, thinking an ice-creamery in June was the perfect setting for a delicate revelation and private conversation. She chose a table up the back and ordered two chocolate sundaes.

  Darsh walked through the door a minute later. He’d shaved his head, and a pale blue scarf hung around his neck. ‘What’s going on?’ he asked, accepting his ice-cream suspiciously.

  Priya leaned forward. ‘I’ve been thinking. I need your help. You have a lot of gay friends, right?’

  ‘You know I do.’

  ‘And some of them are couples with kids?’

  ‘A few.’ He raised a perfect brow, intrigued.

  ‘I was hoping you could tell me what they did to have children? You know, the processes they went through.’

  ‘Oh,’ Darsh blew out a puff of breath. ‘Now there’s a can of complicated worms. Let me think. Kai and Lewis opted for surrogacy. They went through a clinic in Thailand.’

  ‘Isn’t that illegal?’

  ‘Very. And it’s not even an option anymore; Thailand has closed its doors to foreigners. India too. But there are other countries where it’s available to Australians. Canada. Ukraine. The US.’ He counted them off on his fingers. ‘I assume this isn’t a hypothetical question.’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about doing another round of IVF, but I’m reluctant. I don’t think it will work for me.’

  Darsh tilted his head sympathetically. ‘I’m sure that’s not true.’ ‘Going through it alone is hell. If I’m going to be a single parent, maybe it’s better if my body doesn’t have to go through the pregnancy. One less thing to try to recover from while I’m raising a newborn alone.’

  ‘I’d be happy to put you in touch with any of my friends you wanted to speak to.’

  ‘I know it’s not going to be easy,’ she said. ‘But I really want this. I think about it constantly. It’s keeping me up at night.’

  Gelatissimo was a bad choice. The place was filled with children. Priya watched them hopping up and down in front of the ice-cream freezer trying to pick just one flavour. A father hoisted a little girl with pigtails onto his hip so she could see the full range of options.

  ‘Pink!’ the girl declared.

  ‘That’s blood orange, sweetie. Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer chocolate? Or caramel?’

  ‘Pink!’ she said again.

  Priya’s smile faltered. She wanted a child, but really, she wanted a family. Darsh placed his hand on her knee. ‘I say this from a place of absolute love, but do you really want to be a single mother? How will you work?’

  Priya idly stirred her melting ice-cream. ‘My office is actually really great when it comes to flexibility for parents. I’ve got that lump sum from the house.’

  ‘I just wish you didn’t have to do it alone.’

  ‘I don’t have any alternative.’

  Darsh looked Priya in the eye. ‘I like Nick. I always did.’

  ‘Darsh!’

  ‘If you’d never seen those messages, where would your life be now?’

  ‘Don’t, please.’ She held up her hand.

  ‘Really, though. If you and Nick were together and you never knew those messages existed, what would be so bad about that?’

  ‘I’d be living with someone who was lying to my face and sneaking around behind my back.’

  ‘You don’t know what he would have done.’

  ‘I saw enough at the Exeter to know he can’t be trusted.’

  ‘But he didn’t actually cheat.’

  ‘He was with that woman. That—that Megan. I found her cheap, dirty underwear in my house. Do you know what that felt like?’

  ‘That was after you separated. Priya, you can’t hold that against him. He was fucking miserable, so he banged some woman who was there while his heart was broken.’

  Priya snorted but the thought of Nick’s broken heart softened her a little.

  ‘Forgive me, dear cousin,’ Darsh continued, pointing his spoon at Priya. ‘But you dumped him and sold the house he’d spent years building.’

  ‘I didn’t do it for fun!’ Priya reared up, indignant. ‘And we built that house together. I lost it too. Now he’s shacked up with his internet floozy and I’m out here in Coogee in a musty old flat with a stupid haircut!’ She tugged the short strands of hair, on the verge of tears.

  ‘He’s not with her.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He’s not with her. He slept with her once. The fact that you happened to see her underwear in the bathroom is the world’s worst coincidence.’

  ‘You’ve been talking to Nick?’ Priya’s shock made the question come out like an accusation.

  Darsh shrugged and dug into his sundae. ‘He called me. He was desperate. Like I said, I always liked him. You know that when the family excommunicated me he always used to take me out for beers. We talk a lot, actually.’

  ‘I can’t believe this. Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘I didn’t want to upset you. Besides, we mostly just talk about sports. He was my cousin too. That doesn’t just go away.’

  Priya lapsed into silence.

  ‘You know I cheated on Lukas,’ Darsh said. Lukas, Darsh’s elvin, Danish first love was one of the things that cleaved Darsh and his family apart. />
  ‘What?’ Priya was stunned.

  ‘Very occasionally and very discreetly. It didn’t come close to meaning I didn’t love him.’

  ‘That’s different.’

  ‘Oh, gay relationships are different?’

  ‘Don’t do that. And yes, if you want to know, I think in this case it was. When you and Lukas got together you were both sleeping with other people all over town. Your relationship had a completely different dynamic.’

  ‘But then we decided to commit. I’m not proud of what I did. I’m only telling you so you can know what it’s like being inside the head of a person who did the cheating. And I can tell you now, if Lukas had taken me back, there’s no way I’d risk that again.’

  ‘You and Nick aren’t the same person.’

  ‘You’re right. Nick and I aren’t the same. Nick never crossed that line while there was a chance he could still be with you.’

  Priya was silent.

  ‘Get down off your pedestal, Priya Laghari. Nobody’s perfect.’

  ‘What are you saying, Darsh—you think I should go back to him and play happy families?’

  ‘I’m merely pointing out that while you’re trying to come up with a way to build a family without a man, there’s a very sorry, very good one still desperate to do it with you.’ He shrugged. ‘What you’re considering is complicated and hard and will completely change your life. I just think talking to the person who wanted to do it with you is something worth exploring.’

  True to his word, Darsh arranged for Priya to meet his friends Jordan and Leroy, who had had their son via surrogate in Thailand. After exchanging a few emails—To ensure you’re not a member of the AFP, Jordan joked—they invited Priya to brunch at their fashionable home in Maroubra where they served up quiche and horror stories from their five years of trying to conceive.

  ‘We had two surrogates whose transfers failed before we got our son,’ Leroy said. ‘We spent five months in India holed up in a Marriott with dodgy electricity and still came away empty-handed.’

  ‘We know a couple whose surrogate changed her mind at seven months. Nothing you can do in that case. It’s their prerogative.’