The Mothers' Group (28 page)

She turned to Digby and, without a word, lifted him off the bench. She carried him into his room and sat him on the bed. Adrenaline was coursing through her; she'd broken a sweat and she was breathing heavily.

‘Digby,' she said, ‘I'm calling Daddy right now. He needs to know what's happened. We never, ever throw knives. And we don't use rude words like that. Please lie down in your bed for a nap. When you wake up, Daddy will be here to talk to you.'

She backed towards the door.

‘
Noooooo
.
Nooooo
. I want a peanut butter sandwich!' Light blue veins bulged at his temples.

‘There's no lunch today,' she said firmly. ‘Lie down and have a rest, please.'

She closed the door, ignoring his cries. She walked back to the kitchen and prepared Rory's sandwich, her hands trembling as she cut off the crusts. She placed four neat squares on Rory's tray table.

‘There you are, honey,' she said calmly. ‘Mummy's just going to call Daddy now.'

She lifted the handset.

When Willem answered, she fell to pieces.

‘I don't care how important your work is,' she screamed into the telephone. ‘You need to come home
right now
.'

It was only after she'd slammed down the handset that she paused for a moment.

She could have sworn she'd heard children in the background.

By the day of the babies' first birthday party in May, things had settled down between them.

After the knife-throwing incident, Miranda had been more assertive with Willem than ever before.

‘Can't you see what Digby needs?' she'd demanded, her voice shrill. ‘More of his father, less of his stepmother. Either you step up, Willem, or I step out.'

It was tantamount to an ultimatum. Willem had been subdued and irritable at first, resentful almost. But after several weeks, when she'd refused to succumb to his sexual advances, he started making a concerted effort to spend more time at home. Now, two months on, she was impressed by just how much he'd managed to pare back his work.

In return, she'd allowed him to touch her, almost as a sign of goodwill. But there was an urgency to it, a roughness, that left her uneasy. Two bodies bumping in the dark. At least this morning he'd gone to the trouble of bringing her breakfast afterwards, on a tray, for Mother's Day. Digby and Rory had perched on the end of the bed, lunging at the croissants.

‘Stop it, boys, they're for Mummy,' Willem had objected, before finally relinquishing the tray to them.

It would take some adjustment for Willem, she knew, to prioritise family life in a way he'd never had to previously. But she could see that he was trying, and it reassured her.

2.50 pm

She checked her watch.

‘Almost time to go to Rory's birthday party now, Dig,' she called out the back door.

Willem was kicking the soccer ball between the lemon trees with Digby.

Keeping an eye on both of them, she opened the freezer and removed the vodka. Some of it sloshed onto the bench top as she refilled the Evian bottle. She stuffed it into her handbag, alongside a small tin of mints she always carried with her. The smell of vodka was relatively easy to smother. Teamed with the mints, she smelled as though she'd just gargled with mouthwash.

‘Come on,' she called. ‘We don't want to be late. You can carry the fairy bread, Digby.'

Digby kicked the ball into the garden and galloped inside. ‘Yay! Fairy bread!'

Willem followed, rather reluctantly.

‘It's only from three to five,' she reminded him. ‘It could be fun. You can meet some of the other dads.'

He nodded unenthusiastically. He'd never taken any interest in the mothers' group. She suspected he saw it as some sort of social club for bored housewives.

She picked up Rory. ‘You look special in your birthday clothes, handsome. Doesn't he?'

Neither Willem nor Digby answered.

*

They arrived at Manly Dam almost twenty minutes late. It was one of the most popular spots for picnicking on the peninsula. Before Rory was born, Miranda had enjoyed weekly walks in the bushland surrounding the dam. It was like a rural island in a sea of suburbia, a haven for those who loved swimming, fishing and mountain biking.

Pippa was the first to greet them at the picnic area they'd reserved, not far from the children's playground.

‘Well, happy Mother's Day,' she called, waving an enormous bunch of pink helium balloons at them. ‘And happy birthday, Rory.' She smiled at Willem. ‘You must be Willem. I'm Pippa. It's nice to meet you after all this time! I'm glad you're here, we need someone tall.' She looked at Digby. ‘How are you going, Dig?'

As usual, Digby said nothing. Then suddenly he poked his tongue out at Pippa.

‘Blurgh!' he spat.

‘Come on, Dig, be polite, please,' Miranda urged.

Digby darted away, with Willem in pursuit. Miranda shrugged apologetically at Pippa. Despite Willem's increased presence at home, Digby's behaviour had a long way to go. At their recent book club session on
We
Need to Talk About Kevin
, it had taken all of Miranda's power not to divulge her predicament.
I have a Kevin
, she'd wanted to say.
He's calculating, he's
divisive, possibly a sociopath. I live with him, but he's not related to me. And
the cult of motherhood says I'm supposed to love him.

Willem dragged Digby back in front of Miranda.

‘Apologise to your mother, please,' he commanded. Digby pulled a face and scuffed at the dirt. Willem had a lot to learn about effective discipline.

Pippa squatted down in front of Digby. ‘I've got a very important job for you and your dad,' she said. ‘Do you think you could hang these balloons up?' She nodded at the wooden pergola covering several tables alongside the barbecue.

‘Okay,' said Digby, taking the balloons from Pippa. ‘Come on, Dad.' He raced towards the pergola.

Willem smiled at Pippa. ‘You've done that before.'

Always charming in public, Miranda thought.

Pippa turned to Miranda. ‘Robert's just cooking the sausages.' She gestured towards the barbecue. ‘And Suzie's gone to get some extra chairs from her car. I might get Willem to help her with them, if that's okay, once he's finished the balloons?'

Miranda nodded. ‘You and Suzie have done a great job of organising this, Pippa. And my God, you look fantastic.' She stared at the bright blue leggings under Pippa's navy shift dress, teamed with ballet-style slip-ons. Since her operation, Pippa had gained weight and lost her trademark paleness.

Pippa beamed. ‘Thanks, I've got a long way to go, but I'm feeling so much better.'

At least that's one of us, Miranda thought.

She felt for her Evian bottle. There was quite a crowd gathered, most of whom she didn't know. Older children chased each other around, laughing and throwing streamers. Grandparents sat smiling in fold-out chairs, picking over paper plates of crustless sandwiches. A face-painter had spread out her kit on a picnic table and was busy transforming Wayan into a bumblebee. Made crouched at his side, dressed in brightly coloured Balinese garb, while Gordon moved about taking photographs.

Ginie and Daniel loitered near the drinks esky, chatting with a group of people whom Miranda assumed must be Ginie's parents and extended family. The children ducked and weaved among the group, chasing each other and yelling, ‘Tip!' Picnic rugs were laid out like patchwork squares across the grass, and a number of the babies were toddling across them, pursued by adoring relatives. Aunts, uncles, cousins and godparents, all gathered to celebrate the first birthday of first children.

Miranda felt envious; she'd had hardly anyone to invite. Her father had declined, as she knew he would, and her brother simply hadn't responded. Her sister-in-law was holidaying in the Seychelles. Willem's parents had made it clear how inconvenient Sunday afternoon was for them, as though she had deliberately scheduled the party to clash with their regular golfing commitment. She still wasn't sure whether they planned to attend. If her own mother had been alive, Miranda couldn't have kept her away.

She swallowed several mouthfuls from her Evian bottle and replaced the lid tightly.

Rory grunted and pulled at his five-point harness.

‘There you are,' she said, releasing him from the stroller. ‘Look at these.' She removed several colourful plastic balls she'd packed and rolled them across the grass. Rory immediately pursued a green ball with plastic spikes protruding from it. Astrid toddled after a spotted red ball, before stopping and pointing at a flock of ducks paddling at the dam's edge in the distance.

‘Da-da-da!' Astrid stared with wonder at the birds.

Cara followed at her heels. ‘That's right, Astrid, they're ducks. Clever girl.' She smiled at Miranda. ‘Hi there,' she said. ‘Great afternoon for our first Mother's Day, isn't it?'

‘Beautiful,' said Miranda. ‘Where's Richard?'

‘Gone to pick up his parents. He dropped mine here first.' She nodded towards a man sitting in a wheelchair near a sandy bank at the water's edge, a tartan scarf wrapped around his neck. A woman was standing next to him, tucking a blanket under his legs. ‘I think you've met them before, haven't you?'

Miranda nodded. ‘When we went to the zoo that time. How's your dad?'

‘His dementia's worse. He's almost immobile now.'

Miranda squinted at the old man in the wheelchair. Even at a distance, she could see the telltale slackness of his jaw, the unnatural absence of movement. Cara's mother fussed about, adjusting his cap and smoothing the lapels of his jacket.

‘It's so sad,' sighed Cara. ‘Uh-oh, there goes Little Miss Trouble again.' She moved off after Astrid, who was tottering towards the barbecue area.

Miranda was glad Rory wasn't walking yet. She knew it was going to be a lot of hard work.

She gazed out across the picnic area. It was a glorious autumn afternoon. A light breeze carried the earthy, native scents of banksias, gum, grevillea. Ducks moved in languid circles across the shining surface of the dam. The distant sound of children laughing in the playground was muffled by their lazy, low-pitched calls. She tilted her face to the sun and closed her eyes. Briefly, she was carried back to the spontaneous optimism she'd felt as a teenager at the beginning of the summer holidays. All those seemingly endless possibilities, the empty weeks stretching out forever.

When Miranda opened her eyes, she saw Suzie in the car park, carrying Freya on one hip and several chairs in the other. She clearly needed some help.

She glanced over at the pergola, where Willem was balanced on a milk crate, fixing the last of the balloons. Digby was standing next to him, holding a ball of string.

‘Willem,' she called. ‘Can you go over there and help?' She nodded towards Suzie, who'd set down the chairs in the car park. Miranda picked up Rory and moved closer to Willem.

‘She doesn't have anyone else to help her,' she explained, lowering her voice. ‘She's a single mother. I'll watch Digby.'

‘Right,' said Willem. ‘Hold these.' He passed her a packet of thumbtacks he'd been using to pin the balloons, and began walking in the direction of Suzie.

Miranda exchanged pleasantries with Robert while trying to keep Digby away from the barbecue.

‘They're almost done, mate,' said Robert, smiling at Digby.

‘But I want a sausage
now
.'

‘I'll give you the first one when they're ready,' said Robert. ‘I promise.'

‘Come on, Dig, let's play ball with Rory,' she offered, attempting to distract him. She pulled Digby by the hand towards the picnic rugs. She could feel her lower back objecting to the strain.

As she set Rory down on one of the rugs and rolled a soccer ball at Digby, Cara appeared at her side. She seemed a little breathless, as though she'd been running.

‘Miranda, can you watch Astrid for a moment?' she asked. She placed Astrid on the rug and passed her a yellow ball. ‘A friend of mine's just popped by to say hello, but he can't stay for very long.' Miranda glanced in the direction that Cara was looking. A tall, dark figure was standing near the children's playground.

‘Sure.'

‘Thanks a million.' Cara headed over to the man, her walk quickly becoming a jog.

Miranda scanned the other side of the picnic area for Willem. She'd sent him off to the car park to help Suzie ages ago. What could possibly be taking him so long?

She pulled the Evian bottle from her handbag and took another mouthful.

Astrid and Rory began scrambling across the picnic rug together, in pursuit of the yellow ball. Digby was scaling an enormous rock nearby, puffing as he pulled himself up to its flat top. ‘I'm the king of the castle and you're the dirty rascal, nyah nyah nyah!'

She pretended to be interested, smiling and waving at him.

Then she saw them. Suzie and Willem, standing off to one side, beyond the car park, near the public toilets. They appeared to be talking intently. Willem's back was to her, but she could sense from his body language that something was wrong. Even at this distance, it was clear that Suzie was upset. What was going on? Had Willem said something inappropriate? He could often be blunt, and Suzie was oversensitive at the best of times.

‘Sausage sandwich?' asked Robert, sliding a platter under her nose.

‘No thanks.' Her stomach somersaulted.

‘What, after I've worked so hard to cook them?'

‘Oh, okay.'

He passed her a serviette and waved a set of tongs over the platter.

‘Which one?'

‘Any will do.'

She looked back towards Suzie and Willem. There was something intimate in their stance, in the way their eyes were trained on each other. Suzie was gesticulating and Willem turned away from her, glancing over his shoulder in Miranda's direction. It was a furtive, fearful gesture.