The Spill

by Imbi Neeme

  I pulled my phone out of my pocket and rang Samantha. Again. The phone went straight to voicemail. Again.

  ‘Did it even ring this time?’ Jethro asked. He’d watched me call Samantha and get no response so many times it had become a kind of spectator sport for him.

  I shook my head.

  ‘She’ll speak to you when she’s ready,’ Jethro assured me. But he didn’t understand Samantha the way I did. ‘Hey, did your dad get back to you about whether he wanted the wedding album?’

  ‘Not yet,’ I replied.

  The truth was I hadn’t called Dad at all. Ever since Samantha had told me about him cheating on Donna-Louise with Mum, I’d been avoiding him. I told myself that he was probably too caught up with planning the next round of IVF with Celine to notice.

  ‘Your family,’ Jethro said, shaking his head.

  ‘My family,’ I echoed, although it didn’t feel like I had much family left.

  As I carried out the last item from the flat – a jar lid I’d found jammed behind the toilet cistern – I paused at the door and looked back into the empty space. I’d helped Mum move in here, just after I’d moved out into Inverness Crescent with Kim and Tom and she’d given up the lease on our old flat in Morley. I remembered opening and closing the cupboard doors, all loose on their hinges, and kicking at some unsightly staining on the carpet, while Mum had flitted about, full of plans for decorating. The chaise longue here, a standard lamp over there, the restored 1950s sideboard against the wall.

  ‘I’ve never had my own space,’ she’d told me. ‘I moved straight from home into the house with Craig and then you girls came along.’

  Now, stripped of all its chaise longues, lamps and sideboards, the place looked even emptier and bleaker than it did before she moved in.

  Now the place wore the absence of Tina.

  I closed the door.

  When we were almost home, Jethro announced he was going to run me a bath and cook me dinner.

  ‘And then maybe we can finally sit down and look at those architectural plans together,’ he said. ‘The real estate agent rang about a house that’s come up on Jutland Parade, right on the water, so it’s officially crunch time. We need to decide if we’re going to move or we’re going to reno—’ He was interrupted by my ringing phone.

  ‘Hold that important thought,’ I said. ‘It’s Trent. He might be calling about Sam. Hello?’

  ‘Um, Nicole?’ Trent’s voice sounded strange. ‘I’m ringing from the Royal Perth. Sammy’s had a car accident.’

  ‘What?’ I said, my throat suddenly tight. ‘Is she okay?’

  ‘Yes, yes, she’s fine,’ he quickly reassured me and I felt my throat unclench. ‘A couple of scratches. Nothing broken, except the car. They’re just keeping her in overnight for observation.’

  ‘Thank God,’ I said. ‘I’ll go see her in the morning. We’ve been cleaning out Mum’s flat all day and we’re just getting home now.’

  ‘Um, could you come now? When they pulled her from the car, they thought she was unconscious but she was . . . look, can you just come in? Please?’

  The strangeness in Trent’s voice set off an alarm bell somewhere inside me. ‘Okay, okay. I’ll come,’ I told him.

  ‘Is everything all right?’ Jethro asked, the minute I hung up.

  ‘Sam’s had a car accident. She’s fine, but she’s at the Royal Perth and Trent wants me to go.’

  ‘We just came from near there,’ Jethro said, a little sulkily.

  I sighed. ‘I know. But he was being pretty insistent. I think . . . I think they’re having problems, although neither of them will admit it to me.’

  ‘It can’t be easy being married to your sister,’ Jethro said.

  ‘It’s hard enough being her sister and I don’t have to live with her,’ I agreed. ‘Look, I tell you what: let’s drop you back home and then I’ll go to the hospital. I won’t be there long, and I’ll be back in time for dinner. We can look at the things together then.’ I reached over and squeezed his arm. ‘I promise.’

  Jethro kept his eyes ahead, but his jaw was tight. ‘I’m trying to be patient, Nic,’ he said, his voice low. ‘But we really need to sit down and make a decision. This is for us. This is for you.’

  This was as close to having an argument as we had ever got.

  ‘We put everything on hold while your mother was sick,’ he continued. ‘And then there was the funeral preparations and the wake to plan and then Celine was in hospital and then we had to sort out Tina’s flat. And now this. It’s like you can never put yourself first. Ever. There’s always someone else at the top of your list.’

  I thought of all the times that I’d bent to Samantha’s will, that I’d dropped everything for Tina or Dad, that I hadn’t spoken up for myself. I had no idea what I wanted or needed because I had been too busy helping everyone around me get what they wanted and needed.

  ‘You’re right,’ I said. He was right.

  ‘Why is that, Nic?’ Jethro asked. ‘Your dad and your sister have no problem putting themselves first. Even Tina was pretty good at it. Why can’t you?’

  One memory in particular came into sharp relief.

  ‘It’s so silly,’ I said, surprised by the sudden swell of tears in my eyes. ‘It’s because of Young Talent Time.’

  ‘What?’

  We had arrived home by now. Jethro pulled the car into the drive and turned off the engine.

  ‘You remember that accident I told you about, when I was eleven?’ I asked him.

  ‘Yes, I remember.’ His voice was quiet now.

  ‘Well, just before the accident, I hassled Mum about getting to Kalgoorlie in time for Young Talent Time. It was my favourite show and I didn’t want to miss it.’

  He frowned. ‘I don’t get it. How is this related to the accident?’

  ‘Well,’ I started and then swallowed hard so the emotion in my throat didn’t choke me. ‘As I said, I hassled Mum and I’m pretty certain she was speeding to get us there on time.’

  The tears started to spill from my eyes. I knew I really was being silly, but my shame in that moment was so great, I couldn’t even look at him.

  ‘Wait a minute,’ he said. ‘Do you think that’s why Tina crashed the car? Because she was trying to get to Kalgoorlie in time for a TV show?’

  I nodded, my tears still falling.

  Jethro breathed out. ‘Well, even if that was true, even if Tina really was speeding because of Young Talent Time, it’s still not your fault. It was her choice. She was the driver. She was the adult.’

  He reached for my arm. I had never said any of this to anyone else and now that I had, now that I had pulled those words and thoughts out of the darkness and into the light, I could see how senseless it was to have blamed myself all this time. I found myself sobbing, releasing a great surge of emotion as Jethro gathered me into his arms.

  ‘I do want to have a house that feels like ours, not some leftover from your previous marriage,’ I told him. ‘I really do. But it’s like desire just sits in my throat, it’s something I can’t swallow or even spit out. The only time I can remember really trying to do something just for me was when I got pregnant when I was with Darren. And we know how that turned out.’

  Jethro hugged me even tighter. ‘You were alone then, but you’re not alone now,’ he told me. ‘I’m here.’

  I nodded and kept my head down, buried in the softness of his shirt.

  I found Trent at the nurse’s station. He was pacing back and forth, like a character in a movie. He looked angry.

  He stopped pacing when he saw me. ‘You’re here,’ he said. ‘Good. I’ve got to pick up Rosemary but I didn’t want to leave Sam alone in the hospital.’

  ‘So why are you out here?’ I said, looking around for Samantha. ‘Is she ready to go home?’

  ‘No, she’s still in her room. I just can’t bear to be in there with her.’

  ‘What?’ I was really confused now.

  He looked at her, his face har
d. ‘Your sister crashed the car because she was drunk.’ He spat out the word like it was something foul-tasting he’d put in his mouth by accident.

  ‘Drunk?’ I blinked.

  ‘Yes, drunk. Off her face. She registered a reading almost twice the legal limit.’

  I blinked again. ‘But Samantha doesn’t drink.’

  Trent gave another angry laugh. ‘I know, right? She certainly gives the rest of us a hard time about drinking, even when it’s just a fucking light beer at a fucking picnic, and then she goes and does something as reckless as this. Thank God Rosemary wasn’t in the car.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Rose’s car broke down again and she texted Sam to pick her up. Sam was on her way. The police reckon she was speeding and took a corner too fast, or something, because she lost control and slammed the car into a traffic light pole. The pole won.’

  ‘And they’re sure that Sam was really that drunk?’

  ‘Yep.’ Trent gave a sharp nod. ‘I told them she didn’t drink and they said they were surprised she’d been able to function at all with that much alcohol in her system. They said . . .’ His voice faltered.

  ‘What did they say?’

  ‘They said they had assumed she was a regular drinker.’

  In that moment, everything in that brightly lit corridor slid away. Memories, half-forgotten, half-repressed, began to rise to the surface of my mind, like something finally coming to the boil. I remembered Samantha lying on the floor at that high school party, looking the happiest and most relaxed I had ever seen her. I remembered the tequila bottle with the little red hat from that New Year’s Eve. And the booze-soaked flowers in our bin and the taste of vodka in her drink at The Queens. I remembered other, tiny things, all enveloped in the overwhelming scent of peppermint that Samantha always had on her breath.

  My own breath now caught in my throat with the full realisation that with all my worrying about Samantha and Trent’s marriage, I had missed the real problem: my teetotal sister was an alcoholic.

  ‘Jesus,’ I said.

  Trent just nodded, as if he knew exactly what I was thinking.

  ‘Go get Rosemary,’ I told him. ‘I’ll stay with Sam. I’ll talk to her.’

  Even though Samantha’s room was on a different floor and in a different ward, it looked like the room Mum had been in when she’d first fallen sick. It wasn’t helping that Samantha was lying on her back, eyes closed and chest rising and falling, just like Mum’s. I began to panic that I was losing Samantha as well, by being inattentive, by letting things slip past me. By never opening my arms in time to catch anything.

  I took a deep breath and reminded myself that Samantha wasn’t Mum. It wasn’t too late. Samantha could be saved.

  After a few minutes of watching her, I began to suspect Samantha was faking sleep. There was something about the tension in her body and the exaggerated way she was breathing.

  ‘You’re awake,’ I said.

  Her eyes opened. ‘How could you tell?’

  ‘I remember how you used to fake being asleep on the couch when you were little so Mum would carry you to bed,’ I said.

  ‘Trent came in before and I managed to fool him.’

  You’ve been fooling us all for years, I wanted to say. But instead, I just said, ‘Tell me.’

  Samantha sat up slowly. ‘Tell you what?’

  ‘Tell me everything.’

  ‘Everything?’ Samantha said and then gave a small, rueful laugh, like I’d asked her the impossible.

  I stood my ground. ‘Okay. Then start by telling me what happened today.’

  ‘There’s nothing to tell,’ Samantha said, looking at me, daring me to push her further.

  This was the point where I’d normally back down, make my excuses and leave, and she knew it. But not this time. I wasn’t going to let this go. I wasn’t going to lose her.

  ‘That’s bullshit and you know it,’ I said.

  Samantha held my gaze and, while we continued to stare at each other for what felt like years, I stuck my right thumbnail into the palm of my other hand. I needed some pain to focus on to stop me from walking away.

  Eventually, to my surprise, Samantha caved. ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘I’ll tell you.’

  I released my thumbnail from my palm. ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Thank you.’

  Samantha took a deep breath. ‘I was angry today about a lot of things,’ she said. ‘Little things. Silly things. But there were a lot of them. There was stuff at work—misfiled paperwork, computer problems, someone had taken my cup. And then I got home and Rosemary stormed out after a ridiculous fight about two-minute noodles stuck to the microwave door and then Trent rang me from the pub – he’d forgotten to tell me he had drinks after work – and the TV remote was missing and, well, I started drinking earlier than I . . .’ She stopped herself. ‘I drank a lot. I drank so much that I don’t remember getting Rosemary’s text about her car. I don’t remember texting her back or even leaving the house. I don’t remember getting into the car or turning the key in the ignition or backing the car out of the driveway or driving down the road. Even the moment I hit that pole feels like it was something I watched in a movie a long time ago.’

  I wanted so much to reach across and hug her but I was worried it might stop her from talking. I needed to know everything.

  ‘So,’ I said, trying to keep my voice as calm as possible. ‘I’m guessing this isn’t the first time.’

  ‘It’s the first time that I’ve driven when drunk, but no, it’s not the first time I’ve been drunk.’ She lifted her head and looked me square in the eye again, but this time without the defiance. ‘I’ve been drinking for years, Nicole. At night, when nobody is watching. And during the day, when nobody is noticing. I drink and drink and drink and drink.’

  ‘Does Trent know?’

  Samantha shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. Nobody knows. Half the time, I pretend not to know as well.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell anyone? Why didn’t you let us help you?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Samantha said. She tensed her jaw for a moment and then relaxed. ‘Actually, I do know. It was because I didn’t want to admit I was like Tina.’

  I thought of Mum, full of laughter and joy, dancing barefoot in the lounge room, a drink in one hand. Whatever Samantha was doing was nothing like Mum.

  ‘I have all these rules that I stick to, that separate me from Tina. I even have a points system,’ she said, and then gave that same rueful laugh again. ‘Points! Like I’m on some kind of Weight Watchers program.’

  Trust Samantha to be an organised alcoholic, I thought.

  ‘And then when Tina died, I said fuck the points and fuck the rules. And I’ve gone and broken all of them. Including drink-driving, the one rule I swore I would never break. And now . . . what if Rose had been in the car? What if . . .’

  Samantha put her hands over her face and started to cry. I felt like doing the same, but I held myself together. ‘We’ll get you the help you need,’ I said. ‘The best counselling.’

  Samantha removed her hands and the fear on her face reminded me of her as a little girl, crying on her bed while our parents shouted in the hallway. I couldn’t remember hugging her or comforting her back then. All I probably did was pick up another book and run away inside my head to another world.

  ‘I should have been a better sister,’ I told her. ‘I knew there was something going on with you but I let myself believe it was a different problem altogether.’

  ‘I’m not the easiest person to help,’ Samantha admitted.

  ‘And I haven’t been the most helpful person,’ I replied.

  She looked at me again for the briefest of moments and then she shut her eyes.

  ‘Trent has gone home,’ I said quietly.

  ‘I know. I’m not sure he’ll be able to forgive me a second time.’

  ‘A second time?’

  Samantha didn’t answer. We sat in silence and I thought of Mum’s flat as it was now, cold and
empty. I knew right then I couldn’t leave my sister. I knew that I would have to ring Jethro and explain everything and I knew that he would be disappointed, maybe even angry again, but I hoped that he would come to understand. I knew, too, that he would be in bed and asleep by the time I got home, and that I’d crawl in next to him in the darkness and feel his warm body against mine. And I knew that tomorrow, he and I would wake together and we would finally make a decision about whether to move or renovate, and that we would be happy together wherever we lived for a very long time. I knew all this with a certainty that I had never felt before.

  ‘Would you like me to sit with you for a while?’ I asked Samantha.

  ‘Yes,’ Samantha said. ‘I don’t want to be alone.’

  She still didn’t open her eyes, but she held out her hand.

  I took it and held it until she really was asleep.

  Piece #19: 2001

  The minute Rosemary started sleeping through the night, Trent started talking about having another baby and Samantha secretly went back on the pill.

  At first she told herself that she was just creating a short-term (but necessary) buffer between Trent’s enthusiasm for a second child and the reality of one. But by the end of the year, she had neither stopped taking the pill nor told Trent that she was taking it. She filed the guilt away in that dark space where all the other guilt lived.

  ‘Look at the little angel’s face,’ Trent said, gazing at Rosemary asleep on the couch in front of Hi-5. He was conveniently overlooking the fact that she had just screamed herself to the point of exhaustion because she wasn’t allowed to open the presents under the tree that weren’t hers.

  ‘She shouldn’t be sleeping now. She’s going to throw the whole schedule out,’ Samantha observed as she carefully packed the contentious presents into two bags: one for the brunch at Trent’s parents’ house and one for lunch at Nicole’s.

  ‘Uh, she woke us up at four-thirty to see if Santa came. I think we can all agree there is no schedule today,’ he replied. ‘We should just let the little angel sleep while we get ready.’

  He started helping her pack the bags. ‘Seriously, Sammy, she’s such a great kid,’ he said. ‘We’re doing so well even though we’ve got no idea what we’re doing. Imagine what perfection we’ll be able to achieve the second time around!’