The Spill

by Imbi Neeme

  Only Kerstin showed any appreciation. ‘Thanks for getting a tank loaf,’ she said to Sam while they did the dishes together. ‘You remembered that’s my favourite.’

  Samantha saw this as an opening. ‘So are you ready for our bike ride?’ she asked Kerstin. ‘We could go swimming at the Basin instead, if you want?’

  ‘Maybe later,’ Kerstin said.

  But later, the others started drinking beers with some of the guys in the next chalet and Kerstin joined them, so Samantha went for a swim by herself and then cycled to Parakeet Bay. By the time she got back, everyone had gone out, Kerstin included. They hadn’t even left a note.

  Samantha picked up her book. She told herself that she’d prefer to read about a group of friends in distant Ireland rather than spend time with actual friends, but even she knew that the veneer on the lie was starting to wear thin.

  As Samantha queued for the bakery the next morning, she noticed a tall, slightly gangly guy looking over at her. After she’d bought her bread and croissants, she found him waiting for her outside.

  ‘Hi,’ the guy said. ‘I saw you here yesterday morning.’

  ‘So?’ Samantha felt wary, despite the guy’s open face and likeable grin.

  ‘I guess all your friends are like mine and are too hungover to go buy their own bread?’

  Samantha nodded. ‘Yeah. By the time they’ve got up, it’s after lunch and the bakery’s run out.’

  ‘Do you, um, mind if I walk with you for a bit?’

  Samantha shrugged. They walked together in silence past the tourist information centre and down along the bay.

  ‘I’m Trent, by the way,’ the guy said after a while. He held out his hand and Samantha shook it.

  ‘I’m Samantha.’

  ‘So where are you staying, Samantha?’

  ‘In one of the chalets at the far end of Thomson’s Bay,’ she replied, pointing in the distance.

  ‘You got a chalet? Mint! We left it too late to book and could only get a couple of spots at Tent City.’

  ‘How’s Tent City working out for you?’

  ‘It’s gross,’ Trent said. ‘Full of topless guys drinking Emu Bitter for breakfast. I don’t really get it.’

  ‘Me neither,’ Samantha admitted. ‘I don’t really drink.’

  ‘Snap!’ Trent smiled. ‘At first, I thought I was the only one under forty on the whole island who wasn’t drinking, but when I saw you going to the bakery so early two mornings in a row, I grew hopeful. So what do you do when everyone’s at the pub?’

  ‘I read. What do you do?’

  ‘The first couple of nights I went with them and drank lemonade, but it just seemed to annoy people. And then the last two nights, I’ve stayed in the tent and read by torchlight until the battery’s run out. Tonight’s my last night. I’ve completely run out of batteries and will probably have to just sit in the dark, until one of the Jackos comes back and steps on my head.’

  ‘You share a tent with more than one Jacko?’

  ‘One has Jackson as a surname and the other has Jack as a first name. We call them Jacko One and Jacko Two, and sometimes just “One” and “Two”. It gets a bit confusing.’

  ‘I can imagine,’ Samantha said. ‘We have a Kerstin, a Chrissy and a Christine in our chalet and that gets pretty confusing too.’

  They’d arrived at the chalet, which was still as silent as the drunken sailor’s grave. Samantha wished she’d taken a longer route home so she could talk with Trent more. She hadn’t realised quite how lonely she’d been feeling until they’d started chatting.

  ‘This is me,’ she said, shyly.

  ‘Um, thanks for the conversation,’ Trent replied, drawing out each word. His apparent reluctance to stop talking made Samantha feel bold.

  ‘Well, if you don’t want to sit in the dark or get despised at the pub tonight, you could always come here. We have electricity and stuff.’

  Trent smiled. ‘Electricity and stuff would be great.’

  ‘Great,’ replied Samantha, happy at last to be at Rottnest.

  She stepped into the chalet. Wet clothing and towels were spread over the tiled living space from the night before. Remnants from a drunken midnight swim, perhaps.

  She pottered in the kitchen as quietly as she could manage (Christine had shouted at her the day before for running the water too loudly) and then, after carefully brushing the sand off the couch, she sat down to eat a slice of bread with butter and honey while she read her book.

  Kerstin was first to emerge, an hour later.

  ‘Hey there,’ she said, cutting herself a slice of bread and spreading it thickly with jam. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t stay with you last night. Christine was being pretty insistent. And we ended up having quite a night, as you probably can tell from the mess.’

  As Kerstin launched into a long story involving swimming out fully clothed to someone’s boat to join a party, Samantha wondered if she should tell her about Trent.

  ‘I got so shit-faced they had to drag me back to shore on an inflatable banana lounge shaped like a dragon,’ Kerstin was saying. ‘Although I’m not sure it’s technically a banana lounge if it’s not shaped like an actual banana.’ She paused and looked awkwardly at her feet. ‘I can stay home tonight with you if want me to.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ Samantha said. ‘You should go with the others. I’m in the middle of a really good book.’

  ‘Well, if you’re sure,’ Kerstin said. She didn’t even bother to hide her relief, and that made Samantha resolve not to mention Trent. The chasm between the two friends was now as much of her making as it was Kerstin’s and that made her feel like she had some control.

  That night, after everybody went off to the pub, Trent showed up with a bottle of Coke and some candles.

  ‘So you don’t think I’m just here for your electricity,’ he said. ‘I’m also here for your table and your well-defined toilet. In Tent City, pretty much anywhere that isn’t distinctly a person or a tent is a potential toilet. It’s disgusting.’

  They drank Coke, chatted and played Scrabble by candlelight. As Trent reached over to set out a word, Samantha noticed a small scar along his jawline, accentuated by the shadows cast by the candles.

  ‘Where did you get that scar?’ she asked.

  ‘A car accident when I was seven. We were on holiday in Melbourne and a drunk driver ran into the side of our car. Luckily, I had just swapped sides because I wanted to look out the window at Luna Park. But I still ended up with a bit of glass in my face.’

  Samantha felt a little thrill at this moment of commonality.

  ‘I was in a car accident, too,’ she said. ‘When I was nine. Except in my case, my mum was the drunk driver.’

  ‘Wow. Was anyone hurt?’

  ‘Not really. My older sister had to have a few stitches, just near her eye. She was in the back where there was no seatbelt. My dad always said I was lucky because we’d swapped places so that I was sitting in the front where the seatbelt was.’

  ‘It makes you think, doesn’t it?’ Trent said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘That every decision we make could be leading us towards or away from our death.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Samantha stared at the board in front her and at her neat row of tiles along the rack. ‘Or towards complete and utter defeat.’

  She leant over and turned TIN into TINE by adding an E, and then laid the rest of her tiles on the board to form the word EXCITED.

  Trent slow-clapped her. ‘Impressive.’

  After the game was finished, they packed up the board and went for a walk. There were parties happening all over the island, but amidst the chaos, there were still a few families trying to holiday.

  ‘I reckon they’re from overseas and they now think this is the Australian way of life,’ Trent observed of one couple sitting out on their porch, anxiously clutching small children to their chests while drunken teenagers careened all over the pathway.

  They stopped to watch one drunk girl attemp
ting to carry a bicycle down a set of stone steps. Trent ran over and tried to help her.

  ‘Don’t touch me or my fucking bike, you fucking letch,’ she said, before falling down the remaining steps. Trent waited to see that she was okay and then shrugged and returned to Samantha’s side.

  ‘Some people,’ he muttered.

  ‘Look,’ Samantha said, a few minutes later, pointing at the lit-up window of a cabin. ‘There’s some kids our age playing Scrabble.’

  ‘With their parents,’ Trent laughed.

  Behind them, a guy was vomiting in the bushes. ‘Carrot! So much carrot!’ he was shouting. Trent and Samantha exchanged looks and stifled their laughter.

  ‘Are you okay, mate?’ Trent said, venturing a little closer.

  ‘Yeah, I’m good,’ the guy said cheerily. ‘I didn’t even eat any carrot today. Weird, hey?’

  ‘Yep, it’s weird all right,’ Trent said. As the guy started vomiting again, Trent took Samantha by the hand and pulled her away, still laughing.

  In the semi-darkness, with all the stuff going on around them, all Samantha could feel was the warmth of Trent’s hand. She hoped he’d never let go.

  Eventually, though, they arrived at the chalet and Trent released his hold.

  ‘Do you want to play another game of Scrabble?’ she asked him.

  ‘I do, but I’d better not. We’re booked on the early ferry back,’ he said. ‘I have a feeling that I’m the only one who’s going to make it. But then, I’m the only one who can’t afford to buy another ticket.’ He pushed some sand around with his shoe. ‘Do you think I could get your number? It might be fun to hang out when we’re back in Perth.’

  ‘Sure,’ Samantha said. She ran inside to write her phone number on a piece of paper. The bedroom was a mess and it took more than a few seconds for her to locate a pen. She ripped a corner off a brown paper bag and, as she wrote the numbers down, she thought, These are the most important numbers I’ll ever write.

  Outside, Trent was waiting patiently, his hands stuffed in his pockets. ‘Thanks,’ he said, reaching out for the slip of paper. He paused for a moment and then leant down and kissed her gently on the cheek. ‘It was really nice to not drink with you, Samantha.’

  ‘It was really nice to not drink with you, Trent.’

  Samantha watched him walk away and then slowly went back into the chalet.

  When she went to bed that night, she held the cheek that he’d kissed and smiled. Her smile didn’t disappear all night, not even after Kerstin – or was it Christine? – threw a wet towel on her head when they got back from the pub. She thought of Trent over in Tent City, having his head stepped on by a Jacko or two, and she knew she wasn’t alone.

  Nicole

  When Trent asked me to come over, I almost said no. I was still angry with Samantha for storming off. But then I remembered Meg’s parting words as I had dropped her off at the airport.

  ‘Promise me you two will look after each other,’ she’d said. ‘Promise me you won’t let things slide so badly that they can’t be fixed or, like me, leave it too late.’

  And so I got in my car and drove to Trent and Samantha’s townhouse.

  Trent met me at the front door, his face pale. ‘Thank you for coming over. I’ve been so worried.’

  ‘Where’s her car?’ I had automatically looked for it as I’d driven up the street.

  ‘She came home in a taxi last night. I have no idea where the car is and she won’t tell me. Do you know where she went?’

  ‘No clue.’ I shrugged. ‘She wasn’t with us that long before she left. I went looking, but couldn’t find her.’

  I didn’t tell Trent – or Aunt Meg, for that matter – that I hadn’t actually looked that hard for Samantha. I’d been too angry. But nor did Trent ask why she’d left in the first place.

  ‘Where is she now?’

  ‘In the spare room. I’ve tried to get her to come out a few times, but the door is locked and she says she’s not ready. I’ve got this big thing at work that starts at nine and leaving Rose to deal with it is a bit like pouring gasoline on the fire . . .’

  ‘Does she sleep in the spare room often?’

  ‘What is this, the Spanish Inquisition?’ Trent joked and I hoped Samantha couldn’t hear him. I knew she hated it when Trent quoted Monty Python. ‘To be honest, she sleeps in there once or twice a week, usually because she has a headache or I’m snoring too loudly. But lately it’s been almost every night.’

  I felt sad thinking of the two of them sleeping separately. I’d been with Jethro for ten years now and waking up next to him was still one of my greatest pleasures.

  ‘What do you think is going on with her?’ I asked. None of this was sitting well with me.

  ‘People grieve in different ways, I guess,’ Trent said, with a small shrug. It was like a line he had read in a funeral home’s brochure. I wondered if he knew more but was choosing not to tell me.

  ‘Well, it’s okay. You can go now. I’ll look after her.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Trent hugged me awkwardly. It was an uncharacteristic move, but a strangely welcome one.

  After he’d gone, I walked up the narrow staircase and carefully knocked on the door of the spare room.

  No answer. I knocked again.

  ‘Sammy? It’s me. Nic.’

  ‘Has Trent gone?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’ll be out in a minute.’

  Once I could hear sounds that confirmed Sam was actually getting up, I went back down to the front room. Outside the townhouse, I could see Trent carefully reversing his car out from their tiny garage onto the street. Even from this distance, I could see the worry on his face. He was a good man. A good man who loved my sister, even when my sister was at her hardest to love. I just wished I understood what was going on between them.

  Finally Samantha appeared, her face scrubbed free of make-up and any discernible expression. She gave me a quick hug, briefly enclosing me in a cloud of perfume and mouthwash.

  ‘Do you want a coffee?’ she asked.

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Rose?’ Samantha shouted out. ‘Do you want a coffee?’

  She was met with silence. ‘I guess she’s still asleep. Or not here. She’s like a cat these days. Comes and goes as she pleases.’

  While the coffee machine whirred, I wandered over to the small dining area and picked up a photo taken at Rosemary’s high school graduation from the sideboard. Trent and Rosemary were both beaming but Samantha looked like she had swallowed a lemon.

  ‘Proud mama,’ I joked, holding up the photo to Samantha.

  ‘Yeah, well, I didn’t have much to be proud of at that time,’ she replied.

  Ouch, I thought, putting the photo down. I now remembered the whole drama of Rosemary getting drunk on the last day of school and Samantha going ballistic, as if Rose had been the first Year Twelve student to ever get drunk on muck-up day.

  I picked up the next photo, a soft-focus portrait of Trent and Samantha at their wedding. It was a photo that I’d seen a billion times, but never looked at properly. Now I could see that Trent was smiling down at Samantha but Samantha was only looking towards Trent, but not directly at him. And the more I looked at her, the more I realised how forced her smile was.

  ‘You don’t take sugar, do you?’ Samantha asked.

  I shook my head, not taking my eyes off the photo in my hand. ‘You look so beautiful.’ And sad, I wanted to add. You look so sad.

  Samantha handed me a coffee and sat down heavily in one of the armchairs. ‘I’m guessing you haven’t come here to do an audit of my photos.’

  ‘No, actually, I’m here because your husband was worried about you,’ I said, settling down opposite her.

  ‘He has no need to worry,’ Samantha said breezily. ‘I just needed some space. People grieve in different ways.’

  She’d obviously read the same brochure as Trent.

  ‘Meg was worried about you too,’ I said. I seemed to be listing everyone
who was worried about her except myself.

  ‘She should be worried, telling such lies. I mean, think about it: all those years and Tina, pissed as pissed can be, never let slip that Dad cheated on her? Not once? It’s hard to believe.’ She took a sip of her black coffee. ‘She didn’t exactly hide her dislike of him. I don’t believe for a moment that she wouldn’t have used it as ammunition, especially when she was in one of her mean moods.’

  ‘Actually, I asked Meg about that, after you . . . left us.’ I wanted to say after you spat the dummy. ‘She said she didn’t know why Mum never talked about it. It was something she always wondered about, but was also quite glad about, considering her part in it.’

  ‘I still don’t buy it.’ Samantha gave a little pout.

  ‘Well, I was thinking about it and maybe she did kind of tell us,’ I said slowly. ‘But maybe we weren’t listening properly or we just didn’t know what to listen out for. I remember her saying a couple of times that there was a promise she and Dad made each other, that she’d kept her part of it and he didn’t keep his. Do you remember anything like that, Sam?’

  ‘No, I don’t.’ Samantha’s face was a closed door.

  By this stage, all my concern for Samantha had been shelved and I was left wondering why she was being so mulish about the whole Aunt Meg thing. I tried a different tack.

  ‘I looked up Bruce Rock on Google Maps last night. Look here,’ I said, showing Samantha the screen on my phone. ‘See where the dropped pin is? That’s Bruce Rock. That’s where we ended up at that pub, waiting for Dad to drive from Perth to pick us up. Even with Mum’s driving, there’s no way Bruce Rock is on the way to Perth if you’re coming from Hyden. That’s where we always stayed on the way back from Esperance, remember?’

  Samantha shook her head. She’d only been ten the last time we’d holidayed in Esperance so her memories of the brown-bricked motel we used to stop at near Hyden were probably not as vivid as mine.

  ‘The more I think about it, the more I kind of remember something about a change of plan, but I can’t remember what the change was from or to. It’s all a bit hazy.’