More Than Us

by Dawn Barker

  Thirteen

  Paul

  It wasn’t anything like Hobbinton. As Damian drove the car up the dirt road towards the centre, I made a promise to myself: when I got better, I would take the kids there, to the South Island of New Zealand. We could have done that a hundred times with all the money I’d burned in the casino. I squeezed my hands into fists and felt my nails digging into my palms. I couldn’t let myself think about what I’d lost; I couldn’t bear it any more. The kids would love it in New Zealand. We could do the cheesy tourist things, dress up in hairy feet and take pictures with swords; we could walk, camp, eat good food, and be far away from the real world that had eaten into me. Cameron would be able to relax without the pressures of school and rules and routines. It had gotten to him too, to all of us. I’d get better, then we could get away, as a family.

  But now, I was at Treetops Retreat. There were no Hobbits, but it was almost like another world. The bush around us was thick and muffling. Tall gum trees towered above dense Woolly Bushes, and velvety scarlet Kangaroo Paws lined the dirt driveway. I heard insects chirping – crickets maybe, or cicadas. Or did they only make sounds at night? Why had I never paid attention to all the amazing things around me rather than chasing something that could never be real? Birds screeched above as they swooped around the trees chasing clouds of insects.

  I’d read the brochure. I knew this wasn’t a typical rehabilitation centre. Unbeknownst to Emily I had tried before to get help. I blurted it out to my GP once when I had gone to get a prescription for more painkillers for my knee, when he had frowned at me and told me that I really had to get off them, that I was becoming dependant. I had laughed, sadly, and told him that the painkillers were nothing because I was gambling, and I couldn’t stop, and he sent me to the local Gamblers Anonymous group, which was held in, of all places, the back room of a Retired Serviceman’s League Club. In the UK, at least the betting shops weren’t in the pubs; in Sydney, they have special little rooms at the back of the bars of clubs and hotels where you can watch the races and put your bets on or play the slot machines with a beer in your hand. I’m all for being strong willed, but making gamblers sit in the same building as alcohol and a betting window, well… it must have been some genius that came up with that idea. At the time, at that meeting, the others there weren’t like me. They had gambled so much that they’d lost everything – their marriages, their jobs, their houses. I couldn’t identify with them. Back then, I still had some control and my gambling had never affected Emily or the kids.

  I bit the inside of my cheek. I couldn’t deny that, now, I was exactly like one of them.

  * * *

  After that god-awful morning when I had found my way to Damian, he had taken me for lunch to meet his friend, Michael, who ran Treetops. I must have looked terrible. I’d had another shower and Damian had loaned me a shirt and a razor to shave, but the alcohol was still seeping from my pores and I had the beginnings of a black eye. I tried to smile at Michael as Damian introduced us but all I could think of was what Emily must be thinking about me after I had called her when she was at the kids’ sport. I couldn’t keep my foot from tapping or my stomach from churning as terror darted around my head. I immediately ordered a glass of red. Neither Damian nor Michael ordered a drink, and I knew I shouldn’t, but I didn’t know how else I could bear to even open my mouth to say hello.

  I saw the look in Michael’s eyes as I grabbed for the wine glass with a shaking hand when the waiter delivered it, and immediately, I understood that he had been where I was. It made sense: he ran a centre for addicts. I knew how hard it would have been for him to resist the pull to pick up his own oversized shiny glass and pour in just a little of the ruby red wine. I knew that he’d be able to smell it like a wolf sniffs out its prey, I knew that his mouth would have filled with saliva and he’d be running his tongue around his mouth, his lips practically able to taste it, and his brain would be thinking, go on, just one sip. Because that was the urge I battled with every second: not to drink, but to bet. Michael had been where I had been and had not only survived, but thrived. I saw the Brietling watch on his wrist as he reached for his sparkling mineral water, and the purple silk lining of his Paul Smith jacket, hanging from the back of his chair. And so, I listened to him.

  Over lunch, which I didn’t eat a morsel of, Michael kept repeating that something had made me call Damian, something in me knew how to get help. He was right.

  ‘We can help you,’ Michael had said. ‘We know how to help you.’

  Damian nodded, leaning forwards and looking me in the eye. ‘You just need to believe us. We know how to help you. There is a different way to live.’

  ‘I’ve got no money,’ I had croaked, shaking my head.

  ‘I told you earlier. Don’t worry about that. I’ll arrange everything. We all donate a percentage of our wages to Phoenix, so we have funds to help you, and then you will do the same when you’re better.’

  ‘I have to help Emily, the kids…’

  Michael chimed in. ‘You’re no help to them like this. Look at you. You have no choice. Phoenix is your only way back from this.’

  My head was spinning and I couldn’t concentrate but they looked at me so intensely that I wanted to clutch onto them because who else did I have to hold onto to stop me from sinking? I signed the paperwork that Michael put on the table.

  Damian gave me $200 to see me through the next couple of days while they arranged for me to be admitted to Treetops Retreat.

  After that meeting, and three glasses of that glorious cab sav, I walked straight to the pub and I put that $200 in the slot machines without any hesitation. I lost it all in less time than it took to drink one rum and coke. And then, as I stared at the dregs of the drink in the scratched glass, the frosting of someone’s lipstick still staining the rim, and felt the furry coating of red wine on my teeth and the beginnings of a headache and a thirst, I felt like shit. Like the worst human being in the world. The worst husband, the worst father. Useless, worthless – a liability. Not simply ineffective, but a monster terrorising my family, trying to take away everything that my children held dear in their lives. Happiness, stability, security. I gripped my hands on each side of the machine and I lowered my head and used every part of me to stop me smashing it into the glass. I walked home, then admitted everything to Emily while she looked at me in silent horror, her face pale and her hands shaking, and two days later, I packed my bags and put any remaining trust and faith in Damian and Michael.

  * * *

  The car stopped outside the building. Damian switched off the engine. I didn’t undo my seatbelt. My hands were flat on my knees as I took some deep breaths. I had to remember why I was here. This was my last chance.

  I unbuckled my seat belt and got out. Damian walked around the car to stand beside me and clapped me on the back. ‘I’m proud of you,’ he said. ‘You’ve made the right decision. You’re one of us now.’

  I nodded, then extended the handle of my small suitcase, wheeling it behind me as I walked towards the front door. Damian pressed a button on the intercom, then said his name when a voice crackled through it. Moments later I heard a door inside being unbolted, then footsteps approaching before the front door opened and Michael was there. He greeted me warmly. I briefly shook his hand, unable to look him in the eye, and then walked through the door that he held open for me. My suitcase wheels jarred on the small step; I hoisted it over the bump into the vestibule. I turned around. Damian waited on the threshold.

  ‘Good luck, Paul,’ he said.

  ‘You’re not coming in?’ My pulse sped up at the thought of that door closing.

  He shook his head. ‘This is something you need to do on your own but when you’re ready, I’ll be here for you. We’ll all be here for you.’

  He held out his hand, and I shook it, swallowing down the lump in my throat. Michael closed the door behind me.

  ‘Welcome, Paul. We’re so pleased you’ve made the decision to come here and change
your life,’ Michael said, smiling. ‘Follow me.’

  I attempted to smile, then followed him from the small vestibule through an inner door that he unlocked with one of the keys on the lanyard around his neck. It was just for security, I reminded myself. It was to protect me as much as anyone. Damian had assured me that they were very careful here, that they specialised in helping people who had a profile and needed discretion.

  ‘Just leave your bag there,’ he said, pointing towards a pale timber desk with silver steel legs, an Eames chair behind it. A small MacBook was open on the otherwise empty desk. I wheeled my bag over and left it near the desk, then put my hands in my jeans pockets and looked around. The floors were pale polished timber, like the desk, and in the middle of the room was a white rug with a teal coloured diamond pattern. Around the edges were three pale blue Featherstone chairs, just like the replica one Emily bought for our bedroom at home. There was a small white round side table with a few leaflets on it between two of the chairs, and a sixties-looking sideboard against the wall with books on top of it. An artichoke light shade above us threw dappled light onto the rug. Two paintings, if you could call them that, of coloured stripes hung on the wall. Emily would like this room. I blinked hard.

  He motioned for me to sit down, then Michael sat down too. I placed my hands on my knees, then clasped them and laid them in my lap.

  ‘Oh,’ Michael said, standing again. ‘Can I get you a drink? Water? Herbal tea?’

  ‘A coffee would be great. I didn’t sleep much last night.’

  ‘We don’t have coffee here I’m afraid.’

  ‘Oh. Water’s fine, then.’

  As he left, panic began to rise in me at the thought of no coffee, and as my breath quickened and became shallow I wanted to grab Michael when he came back in and rip the keys from around his neck and open the door and go back to my family. But I also knew enough about myself to know that this was how I always dealt with things, by running away when it got too hard. My fingers started to knead the knuckles on the opposite hand that they were gripping. Stop, I told myself, give it a chance. I had chosen to come here. I could always leave later.

  Michael returned a few moments later with two glasses of water. I sipped mine, then put it on the white table next to me. Michael opened a blue binder and began to ask me some questions. I thought back to the children, who’d be at school now, and Emily, at work. We were all such separate people now. Could we ever come back together, or was too late? Tears sprung to my eyes; I blinked them away and kept on talking, and then when Michael handed me a pen, I signed on the dotted line.

  ‘Are you ready?’ he said.

  I nodded, then rubbed at my eyes, and when I opened them, he was still staring at me, waiting for me to speak.

  ‘I’m ready.’

  Fourteen

  Emily

  I ran my finger down the menu as the waitress stood above us with her pen ready, glancing around the room. ‘Umm… the wonton soup, please.’

  ‘Same,’ said Ceecee. ‘And a glass of the Riesling. And some spring rolls too, to start.’

  ‘Make that two Rieslings,’ I said. Bugger it. Paul had only been gone for a fortnight and I was already worn out from working extra shifts, trying to manage the kids and the house, and attempting not to worry about him. When Ceecee had texted and asked if I would like to go to lunch today, the last Friday of term before the chaos of the school holidays, I had pushed away the voice that told me that we couldn’t afford it and agreed before I could stop myself. Paul had wasted tens of thousands of dollars, and even now, relaxing in his plush centre, he was costing us thousands and thousands more. I was allowed to spend $50 on lunch.

  I used to catch up with Ceecee, and other friends, all the time. Her son, Will, was in Cameron’s year, and her daughter, Ruby, was in Tilly’s class. We used to have a coffee together after drop-off, or a late lunch before pick-up, then wait in a line of other mothers’ cars to get out of the shopping centre’s underground car park at 3pm after a glass of wine or two. But after I’d gone back to work, it seemed frivolous. It was frivolous, but it was worth it. I needed to see someone from my life before this nightmare.

  ‘Paul still away?’ Ceecee said, as she poured us both some water from the bottle in the centre of the table, then gathered her curly black hair over one shoulder.

  ‘Yeah. He is.’

  ‘Jeez, how long has that been?’

  ‘I don’t know, a couple of weeks now.’ Two weeks and two days. ‘It’s fine.’

  ‘I don’t know how you do it. When is he back?’

  The waitress appeared with the glasses of wine, placed them on the table and walked off without saying anything.

  ‘I don’t know, he said that it was for six weeks when he went, but I don’t know.’ I sipped my wine. Despite myself, I knew my eyes were filling with tears. I shook my head and blinked hard, staring out of the window. ‘God, sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, don’t apologise. It must be bloody hard. You must be exhausted. How are the kids?’

  Ceecee knew about the problems we’d had with Cameron; we’d met through our boys being the same year of school. She was a part-time GP and, over the years, I had confided in her and asked for recommendations for the various professionals he’d seen.

  I sighed, and looked at her, my voice breaking despite myself when I spoke. ‘They’re okay. Well, not really. They miss him, you know. And I know that when Paul’s not here, well, I need them to step up and Cameron takes up so much energy and before I know it I find myself yelling at them again. He’s getting worse. He’s hardly said a word to me in the past couple of weeks, and when he does, he seems so angry. I want to tell him that it’s not me he should be angry at. I’m trying my best…’

  Ceecee leaned back in her chair and tilted her head to the side. ‘Of course you are, Em. He knows that. Will said he’s been quiet at school.’

  ‘Did he? What else did he say?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know, you know what the kids are like. I never know what to believe, and I didn’t even think it was worth mentioning, but he said Cam’s been getting a hard time from some of the boys, you know the usual suspects.’

  ‘What kind of a hard time?’

  ‘I don’t know, really, Will just said that he looked upset and has been in the library. Nothing physical, I’m sure.’

  I looked up and smiled briefly as the waitress plonked down a plate of spring rolls and a little saucer of chilli sauce. I picked one up and pulled off a piece of the pastry, then dropped the roll on my plate. ‘I have to tell you something. I haven’t told anyone, but I just have to or I’m going to go mad.’

  She frowned. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Paul’s not at work.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Please don’t tell anyone, if anyone found out…’

  Ceecee leaned forward. ‘Of course I won’t, you know that. Where is he? Has he…’ Her eyes widened. ‘Has he…’

  ‘Left me? No.’ I smiled a little, sadly. ‘No, I don’t think so anyway. He’s gone to a treatment and rehabilitation centre.’ I held my fingers up in fake speech marks as I emphasised the words.

  ‘What?’ Her hand reached for her wine glass; I saw it pause just before she picked it up.

  ‘Not booze. Gambling.’

  ‘Gambling? You’re joking?’

  ‘Nope. Gambling. He lost everything we have.’

  ‘Everything?’

  ‘Every penny.’

  ‘I had no idea that he even…’ Her eyes were wide.

  ‘Me neither.’ I let out a bitter laugh. ‘Clearly.’

  ‘Bloody hell. Are you okay? I mean, the house, the kids…’

  ‘Yeah. We’re okay, just. His work has been great, thank God, they’re still paying him sick pay, and his boss recommended this centre so they’re doing some sort of payment plan from his wages, and at least he’s locked up there so he can’t gamble. And I’m working. We can manage. It’s just so bloody hard because before we ha
d a buffer, you know, in case something was to happen, and now it’s all gone. I feel like we’re living week to week and I hate that. We’ve worked too bloody hard for that. I think we’ll have to put the house on the market, I can’t see how we can get out of this otherwise. I’d rather do that than take the kids out of school, Cameron would be…’ I rubbed at my face, unable to continue. I reached for my drink.

  ‘Oh, Em, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say.’ Ceecee’s face was pale.

  I shook my head. ‘No, there’s nothing to say. I’m sorry for burdening you with all this, it’s just that I haven’t told… It makes me so bloody angry, you know. Everyone thinks he’s amazing, this famous sportsman, now a restaurateur, the golden boy of his family. His mum’s been calling to talk to him, and she’s getting snippy with me because he hasn’t called back. Sometimes I just want to tell her, tell all the dads at school, that he isn’t who he says he is, tell them that I’m the one who should be patted on the back and fawned over.’

  ‘You absolutely should be patted on the back. You’re amazing.’

  I shook my head. ‘No. Just doing what I have to. Oh, I know I should be more supportive of him, but it just seems so… unfair. God, sorry for whingeing.’

  ‘Wow, Emily. You have every right to whinge, shout, scream, cry. I’d be furious.’

  ‘Oh, believe me, I’ve done all of that. I am furious, but what can I do? The kids don’t know and so I have to just keep it all in and pretend that everything is normal when I’m terrified that it’s all going to come crashing down, or that when he gets out in a month that nothing will have changed. I don’t how I can trust him at all after this.’

  ‘How’s he going in there? Is it helping? Is he getting better, I mean?’

  I gulped my drink and leaned back as our soup arrived. ‘Who knows? He’s not allowed his phone, the internet – for obvious reasons – and I’m not allowed to contact him. I suppose he’s fine.’