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after all, she really should have known better by now. Answering for a child was a definite no-no in this joint. She held her tongue and quickly felt redundant, so went to hang up Chloe’s bag on her hook while Chloe finally answered Maureen’s question.
    Maureen flashed Mim another meaningful look and she knew she was in trouble again, but wasn’t sure why this time.
    ‘Mum,’ said Maureen, ‘how about we give Chloe an independence opportunity and encourage her to carry her own bag and hang it up on the hook herself?’
    ‘Of course, yes, silly of me. Here, sweetie.’ Mim handed the offending item to her five-year old, who busied herself at the hook.
    Mim indicated to Maureen behind Chloe’s back that she was going to sneak out so that Chloe didn’t get teary at separation, as she had done lately.
    ‘I think it’s best for Chloe’s development if you say goodbye to her and let her know that you have confidence in her resilience,’ Maureen gently chided her.
    Oh Christ, that’s three strikes this morning, Mim thought. Maureen must wonder how I actually managed to mother for all these years without her.
    ‘Yes, yes, of course,’ Mim repeated, and bent down to cuddle Chloe goodbye. Naturally, Maureen’s advice was right on the money, and after a quick squeeze the little girl skipped off to home corner.
    Mim stood there, suddenly not wanting to rush away, gazing after her free-spirited daughter, both grateful and slightly sad that the separation-anxiety period had obviously passed.
    ‘It’s probably best if you leave us to it now,’ Maureen said, with one hand indicating the door. ‘I have other little ones about to arrive and we need to keep our foyer clear.’
    ‘Yes, of course, sorry.’ Mim left the room, determined not to make as many early-learning faux pas tomorrow.
    Back in the car she laid her head on the steering wheel for a few minutes while her mind cleared. What a morning! Thank God for Ellie and the promise of caffeine. She fired up the Mercedes and headed to Lorenzo’s for a well-earned slice of ‘me’ time.

Mim tried to massage away her headache as she stepped into the café, almost colliding with her dear friend Liz, who looked unusually casual in jeans and T-shirt.
    ‘Mim, darling, how are you?’
    Mim immediately dropped her hand from her forehead and smiled brightly at Liz, who was one of her Mothers’ Group mums.
    ‘I’m just fiiiine,’ she said, stretching the word out for extra emphasis. ‘How are you? Time for a latte?’
    ‘Can’t, pet, got something on. Are you sure you’re okay? You look a tad strained.’ Liz insisted.
    ‘Oh? No, I’m just great, couldn’t be better.’ Mim widened her smile and wondered if she could forcibly make her eyes sparkle.
    ‘Okay, gorgeous, must head off. Call me! Ciao!’
    Mim glanced back at Liz briskly striding towards her Volvo.
    On the surface Liz appeared to be someone who – financially – had it all; a wealthy lifestyle, Portsea house andan international party schedule. Her domestic duties were outsourced to an army of staff who kept her mansion and gardens immaculate, a nanny kept her children clean and well-fed, and a personal assistant managed her busy diary of travel and social engagements.
    It was easy to assume that little depth lay beneath Liz’s rich socialite demeanour. Yet it was rare for her friends or neighbours to bump into her in the shopping precincts of Toorak, Malvern or South Yarra, and the way in which Liz chose to spend her days would have raised many a well-shaped eyebrow if it got out.
    Most mornings, after her mandatory five-kilometre power walk through the leafy streets of Toorak, Liz swapped her designer clothes and diamonds for flat shoes, jeans and a simple white T-shirt.
    Liz volunteered regularly at a homeless mission in Grey Street that catered largely for drug-addicted young people. She chopped veggies, served up soup and support, and listened when the kids wanted to talk. She’d been helping