Gucci Mamas (7 page)

‘Daddy!!! What’d you get me, what’d you get me?’

Cliff stood back proudly from the doorway to reveal a toy silver convertible Mercedes Benz parked beside Tiffany’s in the driveway.

‘See, it’s just like Mummy’s, and it’s electric so you can really drive it.’

‘Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, I love it, you are the best daddy in the whole world.’

Cliff, puffed up with self-importance over his winning present, never doubted for a moment that he was, indeed,
the world’s best father. He caught Tiffany’s eye and gave her a leery wink.

Tiffany shook her head and stalked back into the party.

An hour later the food had been pawed at, spilt and thrown around the room – a small amount had even been eaten, but it didn’t really count because most had come back up again in the garden and on the front steps, in vibrant pools of artificial colour.

It was almost time to go. Mim hunted around the back garden for Chloe’s fairy wand and Jack’s whip. Passing the scullery she spied Fairy Fanny bent over to pack up her fairy handbag and fairy parka. She was about to stop and commiserate with the poor girl over what had been a horror afternoon when she heard a deep voice from behind the scullery door.

‘Well, hello there, Fairy Fanny, tell me … what’s at the bottom of your garden!’ Cliff’s massive paw grabbed at the girl’s dainty rear.

Embarrassed and shocked, Mim quickly moved away and moments later saw Cliff stumble past nursing a red cheek.

‘You go, girl,’ Mim thought with satisfaction. But poor Tiff, no wonder she’s so highly strung. She must have a rotten life behind the scenes.

After bee-sting kisses and promises of ‘must-do-lunch’ all round, they finally headed home. The kids were overwired and overtired. Their costumes were bedraggled and torn – except for Charley, who had grabbed a cowboy outfit, complete with noisy guns, from the Mason-Jacksons’ rack five minutes before they left. In his miniature Stetson and kerchief he re-enacted shoot-out scenes from his favourite westerns.

Mim fantasised about adopting him out.

It was a challenge to calm the children down. Even the ylang-ylang/lavender combo in the oil burner was fighting
a losing battle. They finally succumbed to sleep after several guided meditations and some whale music.

At 9 p.m. the house was finally quiet. Mim was exhausted; too tired even to sink into the hot, essential-oil bath she’d been promising herself all day. Instead she slipped into her favourite man-style silk pyjamas, crawled between the Egyptian cotton sheets and let out a groan of relief. ‘Please let them all sleep through the night,’ she muttered as she leaned over to turn out the lamp.

Damn, forgot to phone James, she thought as she drifted off to sleep.

‘I deserve a bloody medal,’ Mim thought with satisfaction as she glanced around her immaculate home. There were still five minutes to spare before the Mothers’ Group girls arrived and everything was in order.

They’d all met in the exclusive birthing suite at the private Toorak Hospital eight years ago. Of course, there were a couple of duds that the girls had soon ditched, but this core group of five had remained close friends ever since.

Mim had immediately recognised a soul-mate in Ellie. She’d seen through her languid, lazy, rich-girl-about-town act and identified her as a woman of substance. She also enjoyed Tiffany’s bright company, Monique’s dry wit and Liz’s sensible, conservative manner, which kept them all grounded when they started to get a bit silly.

Of course they were still very competitive; vying for smartest, best-dressed kid or most elaborate party – but they were also a genuine support team. On the journey from acquaintances to best friends the ladies had helped each other in times of need. In fact, they were really a refreshing and well-dressed take on the tribal society. Because they all had children of similar ages they had an innate sense of each other’s needs. Each woman knew that they could call on
each other over anybody else in times of crisis. More than once, Mim had whipped around two litres of milk for Tiffany during a migraine episode; Liz had taken Mim’s children to the park during a last-minute work emergency; and Ellie, well Ellie was pretty useless really, but great at tolerating a long phone whinge while offering the appropriate platitudes.

Mim had groaned out of bed at 6 a.m. to bring the house up to Open-for-Inspection standards. Yesterday her cleaner had washed the windows and floors till they sparkled and put huge triangular vases of lilies and grasses on the altar table and flanking the fireplace. She’d polished Mim’s precious mirrors to enhance the positive chi, and had the bathrooms glistening with hygienic cleanliness. The gardener had come in to rake out the fire and re-set it for today, and ensured the stainless-steel water features were algae free. Then Mim had carefully arranged her favourite Sheridan ecru Egyptian-cotton hand towels beside the glass basin in the upstairs bathroom and the sable Country Road towels beside the Porcher Vallo basin in the powder room. She’d spent an hour in Plane Tree Farm choosing organic soaps, and then another hour at Aura selecting new aromatherapy oils for each bathroom.

She’d managed to get the children to school early, giving her time to pop into the chic little French patisserie to buy morning tea. Of course, none of the girls would so much as inhale the dangerous, calorie-laden aroma of the dainty pastries she had bought – such behaviour could lead to a nasty outbreak of bingeing – but it was important to offer them all the same.

With everything done, Mim took time to enjoy some cleansing breaths and spend a few seconds in her happy place. As she opened her eyes she caught sight of her new
Saeco Espresso machine. Such a satisfying purchase at the time, she reflected, moving to fill the stainless-steel jugs with skim and soy milks.

The espresso machine more than justified its $1400 expense, Mim felt. It ground the beans to just the right consistency, made an excellent
crema
and frothed the milk itself. The result was a café-quality latte or espresso. It used to make her feel so happy when she looked at the machine, so full of smug consumer satisfaction. It was the latest model, everyone else had one, but not the top-of-the-line one like theirs. But now she just stared at it blankly. Where had the thrill gone? The high of ownership? Hmm, she pondered, maybe she’d better go out and buy the internet fridge she’d had her eye on. Something that high-tech would be bound to give her that elusive buzz.

She smoothed down her stone, straight-leg pants with satisfaction. She knew she was looking good today. She had felt a tad crampy this morning so she’d carefully factored in comfort along with style and triumphed beautifully with the pants, a black Eugenie cashmere turtleneck and her favourite comfy black Gucci loafers. She felt chic, yet cosy.

She didn’t have to open the front door to know that it was Liz who had rung the bell.

‘Hello, Mim, you look fabulous as always. Am I the first one?’ she said, handing Mim a bakery box. The smell of freshly baked banana bread filled the hall.

‘As always! Come on in.’

Liz strode into the house with the usual long-legged elegance to her step. Her whippet physique was clad in chic workout gear as she’d just come from a spin class. Her glowing cheeks further enhanced her youthful complexion. Her blonde long hair was in a pony-tail for once, a break from her usual French knot.

‘House looks great, Mim,’ commented Liz, casting an
appraising glance around the hall and into the formal living room.

Mim followed her gaze with a critical designer’s eye. Yes, she thought, it did look great. But it would be better as soon as they could put the media room cabinetry in the front living room. Perhaps that was what was missing – that would definitely cheer her up.

The two friends made their way into the open-plan kitchen. Mim shifted the Alessi fruit bowl and Philippe Starck ‘Salif’ citrus juicer to make way for Liz’s offering on the mink limestone breakfast bench.

Liz perched on the edge of the white leather stool as Mim busied herself with the Saeco.

‘Latte?’

‘Loooove one. Haven’t had the caffeine fix yet this morning. So, how’s work?’

‘The usual frantic pace. I swear, as a working mother, I do more in three days than I ever did in five – and a lunch break, what’s that? Working from home is so tricky, but I just have to keep my hand in, keep the CV up-to-date,’ – and make a bit of extra cash, she added silently. ‘Work keeps me sane, you know, it makes me feel like I have some worth in the real world.’

Liz nodded, fully aware of the difficult reality of being a working mum.

Mim realised she was going on too much about work. ‘And how are the boys?’

‘Fantastic! Roman entered his first inter-school chess tournament the other day and won four out of the seven matches.’

‘What a smart cookie,’ Mim said dutifully. ‘And how’s Hubert? Still practising that violin?’

‘He is – we’re absolutely amazed with his dedication. Ever since he fell in love with the Violin Classics CD he got
from Santa he has genuinely been intent on mastering the instrument. His violin teacher can’t believe the ability he is displaying for such a young age. We’re so chuffed!’

‘Good on him! Looks like we’ve got a child prodigy on our hands then?’

‘Oh, I doubt that, he’ll probably just toss it away and go back to the Dungeons & Dragons again next week. And how about you, Mim? Are you well?’

‘Well, I don’t know, I’m just a bit frazzled. I suspect I’m overdoing it a tad.’

Liz put her hand on Mim’s arm and said, ‘Well, if you need any help with the kids at all you will let me know, won’t you?’

‘Thanks, Liz, you’re a real friend.’

The doorbell rang again and then Monique let herself in. Her blonde Suzi Quatro hipster haircut suited her cutting edge dress sense. So on top of the fashion trends she was usually two years ahead of the other girls. Today she was wearing unbelievably gorgeous boots.

‘Monique, they are unbelievably gorgeous boots,’ Mim squealed.

‘You’re such the fashion-guru, I swear it’s in your blood,’ Liz said with a smile.

‘Well, after ten years as a fashion buyer it should be,’ Monique laughed, dropping her Prada sac on the breakfast bench and twirling around to show off her new footwear. ‘The trouble is that these days I have to use my own money. It was so much more fun when I was spending someone else’s,’ she lamented. ‘But I’m getting such a buzz out of setting up the shop. High Street is such a to-die-for location and can you believe it’s only two weeks until we open – ohmigod, I’ll never be ready on time!’ She paused for a moment, lost in thought, then said, ‘Anyway, how are you, Liz?’ while skimming her lips over Liz’s cheek.

‘Fine, lovey, how are you?’ Liz returned the butterfly graze.

‘So busy, I can’t believe this shop thing is actually going to happen. Thanks, sweetie,’ she took the skinny latte from Mim and fixed her grey-green eyes on Liz.

‘What sort of things will you stock?’ Liz asked, as she made herself comfortable on Mim’s chocolate-brown leather couches.

‘Lots of gorgeous loveliness. Retro pieces, vintage things, all with a contemporary edge, but definitely with a design flair,’ Monique answered, stretching out her leg to admire her new boots again.

Mim placed a plate of biscotti on the coffee table and sat down. ‘That’s so fab. How are you fitting it all in with the children?’

Monique was seriously in line for a supermother award, or maybe some extended care at a mental facility. She’d been a stay-at-home mum since her first child, Mitchell, was born and Sienna had followed two years later, but now with her retail project she had returned to full-time work and the guilt was making her overcompensate at home.

‘It’s working so far,’ Monique said, crossing her fingers. ‘I’ve set up a parenting timetable and it seems to be functioning quite successfully. I do reading twice a week at school, I have thirty minutes of structured together time with each child before their bedtime, a shared bedtime story ritual, and we like to fit in blocks of unstructured time if we can, just to allow for spontaneity.’ Even as she was saying it Monique was looking for flaws in her plan, wishing she could do better and hoping her kids wouldn’t end up in therapy in twenty years’ time – like their mum.

‘And while they’re at school I sort out the shop. It’s just a matter of juggling, I guess.’

‘Oh I know that one,’ Mim cried. ‘All my balls seem to be in the air all the time!’

They laughed. Liz eyed off the biscotti, extended then withdrew her hand. ‘Oh I can’t, they look so naughty – but fabulous,’ she said skimming her hand over her greyhound-thin highs. ‘Oh, Mim, I just remembered,’ she said, looking up from the biscotti with a start, ‘I heard some playground gossip from the Car Park Mafia today.’

‘What?’ Mim said, looking over.

Monique stopped admiring her new boots, this sounded tasty.

‘LJ is furious with you, apparently,’ Liz said.

‘Me? Oh, shit, that’s all I need. Why?’

‘She is mad that you had the idea for the very best stall at the fete. She’s fuming. Hortense says she’s trying to do an aggressive takeover and take it on for herself,’ Liz explained. ‘I spoke to Hortense at drop-off.’

‘But that’s stupid! It’s only a few of us girls with espresso machines, for heaven’s sake. She can have it if it means that much to her!’ Mim said in disgust.

‘Oh, don’t do that, Mim,’ Monique protested. ‘We’re all going in on your stall with you. I don’t want to spend the day with LJ – I’ll get toxic shock syndrome!’

‘Why can’t she just think up a different stall?’ Mim asked. ‘She’s totally over-reacting.’

‘Of course she is. Don’t worry about it, it’ll all blow over by Saturday,’ Monique placated her friend.

‘Yes, of course, you’re right. I can’t help feeling nervous though – she’s just so … scary!’

Everyone murmured in agreement.

‘Are Ellie and Tiff coming today?’ Monique asked.

‘Yah! As if they’d miss it, they’d be too worried we’d talk about them,’ Mim laughed. ‘But I am so worried about poor Tiffany. Did you hear about Cliff’s performance at Sophie’s birthday party?’

The other two had missed the party – Monique had
been in Hong Kong on a buying trip and Liz had been on one of her mysterious outings.

‘I heard about the OTT present, a mini-Mercedes. Good God, what will they give her for her eighteenth, at this rate she’ll have everything!’ Monique sniffed.

‘Well, that’s not all.’ Mim told them about the Fairy Fanny incident.

‘Oh no, that’s shocking. Did you tell her?’ asked Liz.

Mim frowned. ‘No, I didn’t, and I’m in a bit of a quandary about what to do.’

‘He is such a sleazebag, so creepy. I can’t stand the way he grabs my butt when he says hello,’ Monique shuddered. ‘Surely she must know her husband is a complete lech!’

‘Well you’d think she would,’ Liz reminded the girls. ‘Tiffany was his affair, remember, He ditched his first wife for her, so she really has first-hand evidence that he is a complete dirtbag.’

‘I don’t think she recognised it for what it was at the time – love is blind and all that,’ said Mim. ‘Maybe it’s only just dawning on her now. You should have seen the filthy glare she threw him when he arrived at Sophie’s party. I assumed it was because he hadn’t helped at all with the preparation, but now I’m thinking it must be something more. Maybe she thinks he’s having an affair.’

‘I wouldn’t put it past him,’ said Monique. ‘Did you see him looking down Ellie’s top at school sports day?’

Mim nodded. ‘Yes!! What a pig!’

‘He’ll be in a world of pain if Fairy Fanny decides to slap a sexual harassment suit on him,’ said Monique.

‘I doubt she’d do that,’ the sensible Liz said. ‘She’s cash only, so no union and also, it would create publicity and her little lucrative business is not something she’d want the ATO to find out about.’

‘So the bastard can just hit on any poor innocent girl and get away with it?’ Mim said in disgust.

‘I know,’ agreed Monique. ‘Although I reckon Fairy Fanny can look after herself, but poor
Tiff
. What do you think she’ll do if it’s true? I’d leave Malcolm in a heartbeat if he so much as looked at another woman. But it’s my theory that if you look after the boys at home, they won’t stray.’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, you’re not still putting out once a week, are you?’ asked Mim. ‘You’re a sexpot!’

Monique smiled demurely and turned to Liz. ‘What about you, Liz, what would you do?’

‘Well,’ said Liz, ‘I’d have to be sure, you know, the evidence would need to be fairly strong, but I guess my first course of action would be to take Sebastian to marriage counselling and see if we could work it out.’

‘What about you, Mim?’ The girls turned to get Mim’s opinion. ‘What would you do?’

‘I don’t know – it’s a tricky hypothetical, isn’t it. I guess it depends on what kind of sex James is having.’