The Mothers' Group (42 page)

‘Where are you going?' Richard's tone was curt.

‘Bali.'

Richard began pacing the room, muttering under his breath. Then suddenly he was in front of her, seizing her by the shoulders and shaking her with a force that made the air rush out of her lungs.

‘Richard!' she shrieked.

His hands fell to his sides. Then, with a howl of rage, he slammed both fists into the wall.

‘What in God's name are you doing?' he yelled. ‘What are you doing to
me
?'

Slowly, she edged over to the bed, crouched down and slid the pencil case from beneath the mattress. Then she opened the top drawer of her bedside table and found Made's letter.

‘It was either this—' she pushed the letter towards him, ‘or this.' She opened the pencil case and tipped the seventy sleeping tablets onto the bed.

Richard stared at the fat white pills scattered across their bedspread.

‘I'm sorry, Richard,' she whispered. ‘I don't expect you to understand. I don't expect you to be here when I get back. But I have to go away now, or I'll die.'

The taxi she'd ordered was idling outside. She felt for her passport in her handbag.

‘I'll wait,' he said.

‘You don't have to.'

He followed her downstairs.

She paused at the front door. ‘I'm so sorry, Richard.'

He held it open for her.

She stepped around a delivery of flowers and turned to lift her suitcase over the doorstep. The aroma of tropical lilies assaulted her; the arrangement had been sitting in the sun all day. She hated those lilies, flowers of death. Good for nothing but covering the rank odour of rot. Ravi would stop sending them eventually.

She hauled her suitcase over the doorstep, knocking the arrangement sideways.

‘Let me help,' said Richard.

He pulled the suitcase down the garden path. Weeds had sprouted in the cracks between the pavers, unattended since Astrid's death.

The cab driver met them at the gate and hoisted her suitcase into the boot. Then he opened the rear passenger door, ushering her into the dark anonymity of the back seat.

‘Cara.'

Richard stood on the pavement, his eyes searching for hers behind the tinted glass.

She rolled down the window.

‘We did our best.' His face was lined with pain.

‘You certainly did yours, Richard.'

As the taxi pulled away from the kerb, Richard stood with one hand raised in a half-wave, the other dangling at his side. Like a wounded soldier saluting, faithful to the end.

She blinked back tears, watching the houses and streets of Freshwater disappear beneath the day's dying light. Such familiar territory, a life she'd thought she'd have forever, rendered utterly foreign now. The contours and comforts of suburban life altered irrevocably by a single, arbitrary afternoon. Lives cut loose by chaos, relationships fractured forever. Herself, what she understood as
me
, replaced by a person she didn't care to know.

She checked in at the airport, nodding woodenly at the steward who wished her a
bon voyage
. She was hurtling forward on an uncharted course, to an unknown destination. Towards a beginning or an end? She didn't know. Roll the dice and see what life delivers.

As she approached the opaque doors leading to immigration and the departure lounge, she felt as if her knees might buckle beneath her. Someone with white hair was waving at her. Gordon. And there was Made, carrying Wayan off in the direction of the parents' room.

‘You came.' He smiled. ‘I'm glad. We both are. You've been through too much, you poor thing.' Gordon reached out and touched her on the shoulder. She didn't recoil.

‘I lost my first wife and little girl twenty years ago,' he said softly. ‘And it still hurts, every day.'

She nodded, unable to speak.

‘Looks like we've got a farewell party,' he said, pointing behind her.

She turned. A group of people was approaching. There was Suzie and Monika, with Freya toddling between them, one small hand in each of theirs. Pippa and Miranda walked side by side, their arms linked as if propping each other up. Ginie followed next with Daniel, who was carrying Rose on his shoulders. Rose giggled with delight as he tilted her wildly from side to side. Cara's eyes smarted at the sound.

‘Goodness,' said Gordon. ‘We weren't expecting
all
of you.'

‘We couldn't let you leave without saying goodbye,' said Suzie.

She turned to Cara. ‘It's good to see you.' Suzie stepped forward and embraced her, pulling her tightly to her chest. Then Pippa joined them, sliding her arms around both of their shoulders. Cara closed her eyes and leaned her head against theirs.

‘Come on, ladies.' Suzie beckoned to Miranda and Ginie.

Miranda laughed and nudged Ginie forward.

‘Oh, God,' said Ginie. ‘Only
you
could suggest a group hug, Suzie.'

They all laughed. Then they stood with their arms around one another, saying nothing at all. The commotion of the airport swirled about them but, for a moment, there was nothing beyond themselves. Their bodies leaned into one another, their breath warm against each others' faces.

Gordon stood at a respectful distance, talking quietly to Daniel and Rose, while Monika jiggled Freya on her hip.

‘It's good to see all of you,' whispered Cara. ‘Thank you for coming.'

And she meant it. She felt as if her heart might implode. These women had walked alongside her in motherhood, bearing witness to the life and death of her one and only Astrid. She might never see them again, but their presence in her life would endure.

An arm wound itself around her waist from behind. ‘My friend,' said Made.

Cara turned and hugged her. ‘Hello, Made.'

Behind her, Wayan clung to Made's knees and began to whimper. It was almost six o'clock, close to bedtime. Cara crouched down and touched a hand under his chin.

‘Hello, young man,' she said, her voice unsteady.

‘Huroo,' he replied.

Cara's mouth dropped open. ‘He's
speaking
.'

‘Yes, he try now,' said Made. ‘But his lip make hard for him.'

Tears began to slide down Cara's cheeks, dripping onto the cold white tiles. Every new development in other people's children would always be a source of both grief and joy.

‘We'd better get moving, Made,' said Gordon. ‘They'll call our flight soon.'

Cara stood up. Small groups of people, just like them, were gathered outside the doors leading to immigration. Couples and families and friends, hugging and smiling and weeping. Countless last goodbyes as the doors slid open, revealing a sign with red letters advising
Passengers only
beyond this point
.

‘I have something for you,' said Ginie suddenly, pushing a small white box into Cara's hands. ‘For everyone.' She pulled several more from her bag, passing one to each of them.

‘Go on, open it.'

Cara eased the lid up and stared at the glittering object inside. A delicate gold pendant, fashioned in the shape of a bird, set with tiny purple amethysts.

‘Oh,' she said, taken aback. ‘It's beautiful.'

‘It's a phoenix,' said Ginie. ‘To remind us all that beautiful things can be reborn from ashes. It's hard to imagine that you can go through something terrible and come out the other side stronger. But it's got to be possible.' She looked around the group. ‘We've all got things we're trying to leave behind, I guess. And things will be born again, too, whether we're ready for them or not. It's out of our control.' She touched her hand to her belly and, instantly, Cara knew.

‘You're pregnant?' Suzie gasped.

Ginie nodded in Daniel's direction. ‘I'm learning the art of compromise.'

Things had changed radically for Ginie, Cara thought. For everyone. The thought of a new life growing in Ginie's womb filled her with piercing sadness, and quiet hope. Will I ever have another child? she wondered, her heart aching. Not to replace Astrid. Never to fill the space she had vacated. But to love and to tend for its own sake, to walk alongside amid the capriciousness of life and, finally, to set it free.

Made turned the pendant over in her hand. ‘This bird, it like bird in Bali called
garuda
. He is bird of strength. We see him in Bali soon. And tonight we fly Garuda airline to Denpasar.' Made glowed, as she always did when talking about her homeland.

‘Well, how appropriate,' said Ginie. She leaned forward and kissed Cara on the cheek. ‘Be kind to yourself,' she whispered.

‘Thank you,' said Cara. New tears welled up in her eyes. She looked at them all, unsure what to do, what else to say, in this moment.

‘Time to go, ladies.' Gordon picked up Wayan and placed a hand on Made's back. ‘Ready, Cara?'

Cara nodded, then turned to look at the group one last time. ‘Goodbye.'

Made clasped her hand as they moved through the sliding doors.

In the departure lounge, Cara looked out the vast window at the patchwork of runways beyond. Planes landing and taking off with routine monotony; thousands of bodies in motion, bound for foreign lands. This is life, she thought. Millions of arrivals and departures without end.

Beyond the airport, the neon lights of Sydney flickered like the luminous fairyland of storybooks. Cara stared at the sky stretched above them, a deep orange cathedral holding up the edges of the world. A splendour so eternal, yet so transient.

A white vapour trail scarred the otherwise perfect sunset.

Not perfect, but whole.

Acknowledgements

This book has been influenced by a bunch of marvellous people in my life, without whom I would be lonely and ignorant.

My husband, Stuart, has been an unflagging supporter of this novel from the get-go. I am grateful to him for his patience, enthusiasm and daily acts of kindness. He is the most generous person I know.

Virginia Lloyd, my friend and literary agent, has continued to believe in me and my writing, and has provided crucial guidance every step of the way.

I am indebted to the following people—specialists in their vocations— for their technical expertise and beyond-the-call-of-duty support: Dr Connie Diakos, Dr Lisa Brown, Senior Sergeant Danny Russell, Katie Firster and ‘Professor Ibu Dokter' Jan Lingard.

Special thanks are also due to Jodie Thomson and Amanda Collins, whose input as both writers and mothers enabled me to craft an infinitely better work.

Thank you to the readers of early drafts—Melissa Attia, Debra Reed, Rachael McLennan and Suzanne Kent—for their feedback and friendship.

The fabulous members of my own mothers' group—Sarah Bramwell, Sarah Barrett, Gaile Pearce, Kim Healey, Michelle Taylor, Natasha Brain and Amanda Thomas—not only gave me helpful suggestions for the novel, but have been personally responsible for preserving my sanity since 2007. I couldn't have done it without you, girls.

I would like to acknowledge and thank the following people, all of whom have provided moral, practical or technical support somewhere along the journey to publication: Lesley Collins, Beverley and Richard Higgins, John Attia, Tim Haydon, Cate Campbell, Margie Bale, Genevieve Freeman, Don Norris, Louise Williams, Ian Thomas, Ellen Fanning, Peter Dredge, Peter Kerr, Simon Longstaff, Jane Porter, Timoer Nugroho, Veronica Abolins, John Fairfax, Mark Nelson, Duncan Trevor-Wilson and Alice Chen, Nathan and Kate Fabian, the late John van Geldermalsen, staff at Tresillian Family Care Centre Willoughby, and Anne Blackstone and all the staff at the Harbord Early Childhood Health Centre.

The team at Allen & Unwin, led by the brilliant Jane Palfreyman, have been nothing short of outstanding. I would like to thank Jo Lyons, Ali Lavau, Kate Butler, Siobhán Cantrill, Catherine Milne, Lisa White, Wenona Byrne, Andy Palmer and Karen Williams, as well as the wider Allen & Unwin team, for your professionalism and enthusiasm.

Finally, to little Oliver, Skye and Luke—all my love, always . . . but with special thanks to Skye, my sleepless beauty, for keeping me up and writing.