The Mothers' Group (39 page)

‘Sorry to wake you,' said Richard. He looked embarrassed. ‘I . . . May I call in on the way back?'

Cara was puzzled.
What on earth for?

Her mother was nodding and smiling.

‘I'm going to the markets later,' Cara replied. ‘But, um . . . sure.'

Richard looked relieved.

‘Alrighty then, darling,' her mother chirped. ‘Bye bye.'

Warily, she watched them depart.

Richard knocked on the door an hour later. She opened it with less force this time.

‘Sorry about earlier,' she said. ‘I'm not a morning person.'

Richard produced a bunch of daisies from behind his back and pushed them into her hands.

‘I'm the one who should be apologising. I shouldn't have said anything to your mother. But you looked awful when you left. I wondered if you got home in one piece.'

‘It wasn't my best night.' She buried her nose in the flowers. They were curiously free of scent. ‘Thanks for these. You really shouldn't have.'

She looked at him, all awkward on the doorstep. ‘Would you like a cup of tea? I'm about to make one.'

‘That'd be nice.'

She ushered him into the lounge room and gestured towards the sofa. ‘Make yourself comfortable.'

She moved around the kitchen, arranging a teapot, cups, saucers and a plate of biscuits on a tray.

‘It was nice of you to drive my mother to the concert,' she said, passing him a mug. ‘Milk and sugar?'

He nodded. ‘It's no trouble, my mum needs the break too. We had a close call with Dad last week.' He paused. ‘He almost burned the house down while Mum was out shopping. He started frying eggs, then just walked away from the stove.'

‘Oh no,' said Cara.

Richard shook his head. ‘So a neighbour's with Dad today. But there'll come a time when a babysitter isn't enough.'

Cara stared at the tea leaves floating in the pot. ‘It's an awful disease.'

She wondered whether her own father could be trusted at home alone, before dismissing the thought. He wasn't that far gone, she told herself.

They talked a bit about their work. Richard managed his own accountancy practice, having spent ten years working in a large corporate firm. His specialty was taxation law. She nodded politely as he described his typical working day; but anything financial bored her.

Perhaps sensing her lack of interest, Richard abruptly changed the subject.

‘I'm taking my dad to Taronga Zoo next weekend,' he announced. ‘He was a vet before he retired. Mostly cats and dogs, a suburban practice. He hasn't been to the zoo in years. I thought it might give Mum a break.'

Cara nodded, touched by his compassion.

‘I wondered if you'd like to come along,' he ventured. ‘And maybe bring your dad? Peter, isn't it?'

‘Oh . . . ' Cara wasn't expecting an invitation. ‘Um, let me check my diary.'

She rummaged around in her handbag and retrieved a black leather-bound book. She pretended to scan a list of events. The coming weekend was depressingly empty.

As she stared at her calendar, she weighed up his offer. It was a nice idea, but she hardly knew Richard. The prospect of taking her father anywhere without the reassuring presence of her mother was daunting. She'd never done it before. What if things went wrong, and her dad became distressed? How would she cope?

She glanced up at Richard, waiting patiently on the sofa.

‘Well, next Sunday looks okay at this stage,' she said. ‘From about three o'clock?' It was a safe suggestion; their outing would be limited to no more than three hours.

‘Great,' said Richard, beaming. ‘I can pick you up from your parents' house, if you'd like?'

‘Okay.'

He continued to smile at her and she wondered, briefly, if she'd made a terrible mistake.

‘I don't mean to be rude,' she said, ‘but I actually have to go and get a few things from the markets.'

It was Sunday, after all. Her day for going to the fish markets and then reading the newspaper in the park nearby. She glanced at her watch.

Richard stood up. ‘Of course. Thank you for the tea.'

She collected the cups.

‘Thanks for the daisies.' She nodded towards the door. ‘I'll see you out.'

He walked to the door and fumbled with the latch until Cara reached around him to release the lock.

‘Goodbye, Cara.' He stepped out on to the doormat and turned, as if on the verge of saying something.

‘Goodbye,' she said, closing the door.

She walked back to the lounge room. Just thinking about her father had drained her. She glanced at the wicker basket perched on the table, her shopping list folded neatly on top. The markets could wait until next weekend.

She curled up on the sofa and closed her eyes.

Two years later, she was married to Richard.

He'd wooed her with his good nature, his patience, his persistence. Their first visit to the zoo had turned into a fortnightly event. They'd spent every second Sunday afternoon shepherding their fathers through wildlife exhibits, admiring anacondas and iguanas, before taking afternoon tea at the zoo's café. Over the course of a year, Cara had come to see that Richard was reliable, loyal and generous to a fault.

Then they'd progressed from zoo visits to the movies, cafés and weekends away. Richard was the quintessential gentleman, always opening doors and umbrellas for her, refusing to split bills, walking on the street side of the footpath. Sometimes he seemed like a man from a bygone era who had been parachuted into the modern world. While their sexual chemistry was mediocre, their friendship was warm and utterly relaxed. He made her laugh, he made her think, he made her breakfast. And, slowly, Ravi had receded in her consciousness, emerging only now and then in dreams as a shadowy figure with olive skin and a shining smile.

When Richard asked her to marry him, she wasn't surprised. He was the right person in so many ways, and she was thirty-three years old. She was either going to have a baby by thirty-five, or miss the boat altogether. Here was a man who was financially independent, with a mortgage on a house in Freshwater, close to her parents. As her mother had pointed out, she was unlikely to do any better. But more importantly for Cara, Richard had shown that he was prepared to prioritise her above everything else in his life. He was solicitous in his attentions, devout almost. Life with him would be more than comfortable. And it was futile, she reasoned, to yearn for things she couldn't have.

The ceremony was a low-key affair in a registry office, with only their families present. She'd shunned a larger event, avoiding anything that showcased their fathers' slow deterioration. As it was, her father had burst into tears halfway through the proceedings and had to be escorted outside.

Within three months of the ceremony, she was pregnant with Astrid.

In the first intense weeks of Astrid's life, Cara had never felt happier. She was intoxicated by this delicate, innocent creature, and she spent whole days staring at her, bathing her, lying bare-chested on the couch with her. Obsessing about her feeding, sleeping, burping and bowel movements. Richard was thoroughly supportive, just as he'd promised. In the early weeks, he'd taken himself up to the baby health centre and gathered up dozens of pamphlets on infant care. He'd even confirmed her place in a mothers' group, anxious to ensure she had a good support network before he returned to full-time work.

By the time Astrid was three months old, Cara couldn't remember how she'd filled her days before motherhood. She knew she'd been busy, but never
this
busy. Astrid simply ate time. Cara would start her day with a list of twelve things to do, and arrive at the end having achieved two or three. Wonderfully, she didn't really care. What's more, Richard was quite flexible with his work. He left for the office most mornings after nine o'clock, returning home well before six. Just in time for ‘arsenic hour', as they called it, when Astrid was inevitably tetchy.

But Richard went further than that. He insisted that Cara sleep in every Saturday morning, entertaining the baby for as long as possible before, eventually, waking Cara to breastfeed Astrid in bed. On Sundays, they headed to the Manly markets, buying pastries and takeaway chai lattes; Richard knew how much she missed the weekend markets of the inner west. And sometimes, when Cara was feeding Astrid in the middle of the night, Richard would appear and stand in the doorway, just watching. Then he would tiptoe across the room and, in a gesture of solidarity, massage her neck.

Richard was so supportive in those early months, it sometimes moved her to tears.

‘Um, honey, that's not really . . .' She watched as Richard attempted to change Astrid's nappy. The change table was littered with wipes and a soiled nappy was balanced precariously on one edge.

Richard stopped. A muscle twitched under his right eye. ‘Why are you watching me?' he asked. ‘What am I doing wrong?'

‘I'm sorry,' she said, her tone conciliatory. ‘But you're supposed to wipe from front to back.' She showed him the correct action. ‘If you don't, she might get a urinary tract infection.'

‘Oh.' Richard looked deflated. Then, after a moment, he said, ‘I was only trying to help.'

Cara nodded. ‘Yes, honey. You couldn't have known that.'

‘But how did
you
know?' he asked. ‘I mean, the direction for wiping?'

‘Oh, I just knew. Women's business.' She smiled. ‘And someone reminded me about it last week at mothers' group.'

‘And who needs a husband when you've got a mothers' group, right?'

Cara laughed. ‘Yes, they're pretty amazing.'

She began dressing Astrid for their regular Friday morning outing. She loved attending the mothers' group, it was a fixture in her week. Despite having many other friends with children, none of them were exactly the same age as Astrid. And she was looking forward to this week's mothers' group in particular, as it was the inaugural session of their book club. When she'd first raised the idea, everyone had been enthusiastic. Cara had nominated
A Suitable Boy
by Vikram Seth, a book that had been sitting on her shelf for years. Ravi had given it to her as a birthday present at university, but its length had always daunted her. She needed the discipline of a book club to
make
her read it. For the first session, however, Suzie's suggestion prevailed.
Eat, Pray, Love
had been an easy read for Cara; she'd finished it in less than a week.

She lifted Astrid off the change table and turned to Richard. ‘Would you mind dropping us at Beachcombers on your way to work?'

Richard shook his head. ‘Sorry, I have a meeting in town. But I can take you to Lawrence Street if you'd like.' From there it was a short walk to Beachcombers, downhill all the way, but it was unlike Richard not to help. Work must be getting on top of him, she thought.

‘Okay, thanks.'

‘You're creatures of habit in that mothers' group, aren't you?' he said. ‘You never meet anywhere except Beachcombers.'

‘Well, it's just so convenient. Miranda has Digby, you know.' She shook her head. ‘Just watching him exhausts me. I don't know how she does it. He's completely hyperactive, but Miranda just seems to take it all in her stride. If
we
think a baby is hard work, just wait until Astrid's a toddler. But they say girls are different to boys.'

‘Do they?'

She studied his face. ‘Richard, is something wrong?'

‘No.'

‘You just seem a little . . .' She searched for the right word.

‘Hen-pecked?'

She blinked. ‘Pardon?' He'd never used that expression before.

‘I just never seem to get it right with Astrid, Cara. I can't live up to your standards.'

She gaped at him. ‘I don't . . . I'm not . . . You
know
how much I appreciate your help.'

He looked at her, his arms folded across his chest.

‘Richard.' She put a hand on his arm, balancing Astrid on her hip. ‘You're a
great
dad.'

‘Maybe I should just stick to making the money, Cara. Sometimes I think you'd prefer it if I didn't help with Astrid at all.'

She reddened. ‘Of course not.'

In reality, sometimes she
did
feel that Richard's efforts at ‘helping' were more of a hindrance. He meant well, but when he didn't get it right,
she
was the one who was left to deal with the consequences—a screaming baby, out of routine.

‘You're a fantastic help,' she said brightly, fearing he saw through her. ‘Let's go.'

They travelled in silence all the way to Lawrence Street. Cara looked out the window at the procession of life on the street. Dog walkers and joggers, school children on bicycles, people on mobile phones. There was something in their purposefulness that she envied. She could remember a time when each new day stretched before her, too, ripe with untapped possibility. A new story to be investigated, an unscheduled telephone call, an impulsive dinner with friends.

Nowadays, family life was more than good. She was thirty-four and she wanted for nothing, Richard made sure of that. Except, perhaps, spontaneity.

‘Here we are.' Richard pulled over in the shoulder just beyond the intersection.

‘Thanks.' Cara planted a kiss on his cheek. Then she reached around and unbuckled Astrid from her car seat, while Richard lifted the pram from the boot. He wrestled with it with the clumsiness of an infrequent user, then stood aside while she manoeuvred it into place. She secured Astrid in the harness, then pulled the shade cloth over the pram. It was time for Astrid's morning sleep.

‘Have a good day,' he said.

‘You too, honey.'

She waved as he drove off.

It should have been enough, family life. Even when Astrid had morphed from defenceless baby into active agent and they'd started disagreeing about parenting techniques. Even when the global financial crisis began affecting Richard's business and he'd become short-tempered. Even when both their fathers had deteriorated, spiralling towards institutionalisation. They still could have made it, she reasoned—had it not been for Ravi.