The Spill

by Imbi Neeme

  In her mind, she was running after him wearing her underwear in the snow, making that grand gesture.

  There was a long pause on the other end of the phone, followed by the sound of Darren clearing his throat, like he was about to make his own big announcement.

  ‘How do you know it’s mine?’ he finally said.

  Her heart sank. ‘You know it’s yours.’

  Darren knew perfectly well that he was only the third person she’d ever slept with.

  ‘I need to think about this,’ he said.

  ‘Thinking about it does nothing. It won’t make me less pregnant. I want to be with you. I want us to do this together.’

  ‘I need to think about this,’ he repeated. ‘I’ll ring you back.’

  And with that, he hung up, leaving Nicole to listen to the dial tone for so long that it turned into beeps.

  Darren never rang her back. After a few days of tears, Nicole told herself she didn’t care. She had done the right thing by letting him know. The rest was up to him.

  Instead, she focused on being happy about the pregnancy. She stopped thinking of her babysitting disasters with Rosemary and instead remembered happier times, like taking Rosemary to the park and how people had smiled at the two of them, thinking that Rosemary was hers. In those moments, she’d felt like she belonged to something and to somebody. And so she began to feel excited about the baby that was growing inside her and the sense of belonging that baby would bring. Maybe having this child was her grand gesture for herself.

  More and more, she found herself looking at baby clothes and baby things in children’s shops, turning their delicate wonder around in her large hands. But she never bought any of them, out of some vague sense of superstition. Her only transgression was the impulse purchase of a ceramic cookie jar in the shape of Cookie Monster’s head. The minute she saw it, she imagined her future self, doling out cookies and comfort to a small child, who looked up at her as if she were the whole world.

  While the woman behind the counter wrapped the cookie jar up in newspaper, she found herself saying, ‘It’s for my child.’

  ‘That’s nice,’ the woman said. She obviously sold a lot of things for people’s children.

  The bleeding started early on Christmas Eve. She was at the supermarket, trying to choose cranberry sauce for lunch the next day, when she felt a wetness between her legs. She surreptitiously touched the crotch of her shorts and found a pink metallic-smelling stickiness that sent her heart plummeting. On the way to the hospital, the taxi driver ranted about asylum seekers and property prices while she sat quietly in the back seat, her thighs pressed together. She’d forgotten to recharge her phone overnight and she wondered if she should call someone, probably Darren, before it died completely. He was the only person who knew she was pregnant.

  On the footpath outside emergency, she dialled his number.

  ‘Darren, I think I’m miscarrying,’ she told his voicemail. ‘I’m at Charlie Gairdner and my phone’s almost out of battery. Come if you can. Please.’

  By the end of the message, she couldn’t hide her tears or her panic.

  Inside the hospital, there were questions to answer and forms to fill. ‘Are you here with anyone?’ the admissions clerk asked.

  ‘No,’ she replied, clutching her phone, now completely dead, tightly in her hand.

  She was entirely on her own.

  As she was prepped for surgery a few hours later, there was still no sign of Darren. Hospital staff came and went with forms for her to sign and talk of curettes and incompetent cervixes. She couldn’t focus on what they were saying. All she could think about was her happiness seeping out of her, along with all that blood.

  ‘Is there someone we can call?’ one nurse asked. ‘You’ll need someone to collect you after the procedure and stay with you at home for the first twelve hours.’

  Nicole started to give Darren’s number, but then paused. She thought of him jutting out his chin when he saw her or, worse yet, not coming at all.

  ‘No, you should ring my mum,’ she said. ‘But there’s no point ringing her at home. Try the Ambassador’s Tavern in Bassendean.’

  As the anaesthetic started to take effect, she embraced its nothingness.

  Afterwards, it took a while to work out where she was and why she was there. She felt as fragile as one of those eggshells she used to paint with Tina at Easter, the ones with all the insides blown out of them. She tried to stay as still as she possibly could so that she didn’t collapse in on herself and become dust.

  Tina arrived just before six, stinking of the pub, but with a change of clothes and a small bunch of red roses.

  ‘My baby,’ she said when she saw Nicole.

  My baby, Nicole thought, and she burst into tears.

  ‘It’s going to be all right,’ Tina said, rushing in to hug her, and Nicole accepted the embrace and the platitude. ‘They said I’m allowed to take you home after the doctor checks you. Shall we get Sam to pick us up?’

  Nicole shook her head. She didn’t want to see her sister just yet. Like Darren, Samantha might say something that would make Nicole feel like the miscarriage was all her fault.

  It was only as she and Tina were in the taxi home, watching the Christmas lights and decorations in shop windows go by, that Nicole remembered her abandoned shopping list.

  ‘What time do the shops shut?’ she asked the taxi driver.

  ‘There’s a supermarket on Guildford Road that might still be open,’ the driver said. ‘Otherwise, I could take you over to Karrinyup. I think the shops are open until midnight there.’

  Nicole thought of all the people who would be at Karrinyup, all the babies crying in their prams, and she knew she couldn’t do it.

  ‘Let’s try Guildford Road,’ she said.

  They pulled up outside the supermarket just as it was about to close.

  ‘I’ll go in for you,’ Tina suggested.

  ‘I said I would host,’ Nicole replied firmly, as she pulled herself gingerly out of the cab. She wanted to get at least one thing right.

  ‘Do you have any hams?’ she shouted at the first staff member she saw when she stepped through the automatic doors. She felt like she was in one of those movies where the world was ending.

  The guy shrugged. ‘Maybe in the freezer section.’

  There was one left. Black and Gold brand. She snatched it up and, then, as an afterthought, grabbed a packet of potato gems and a bag of frozen peas.

  ‘You got something special planned for Chrissie?’ the checkout chick said, with a sideways glance at the hospital tag still around her wrist.

  ‘Very special,’ Nicole replied, dumping the frozen goods on the conveyor belt. It wasn’t the Christmas feast she had planned, but it would have to do.

  Back in the taxi, Tina was waiting patiently.

  ‘Did you get what you need?’ she asked.

  ‘Not really,’ Nicole replied, now exhausted. She thought of Tina fussing over her back in her small flat, asking her questions or, worse yet, not asking her questions and trying to pretend nothing had happened, and she realised she needed to be alone.

  ‘Mum, I think we should drop you back home,’ she said.

  ‘But the nurses said—’

  ‘I don’t care what the nurses said. I just need to sleep.’

  ‘Okay,’ Tina said. ‘But I’ll come over first thing in the morning.’

  ‘Okay,’ Nicole echoed. She gave the driver Tina’s address and then leant her head against the car window and let the world fall away behind her.

  Back at home, Nicole put the ham in the sink to defrost. Samantha was going to flip if she found out it was Black and Gold brand, but she would just have to deal with it. At least, Nicole thought, Rosemary would be thrilled with the potato gems.

  She caught sight of her reflection in the kitchen window and stopped. Her own little Rosemary was gone. Those walks to the park would never happen. And she felt foolish to have thought they ever would.

&nb
sp; She picked up her mobile phone, now charging, and stared at its message-less screen. Darren was probably out somewhere celebrating the fact he didn’t have to have a baby with her. She placed her phone face down and turned her attention to the wine sitting on the kitchen counter. It was the nice bottle she’d been given at work that she’d saved for Tina and Trent to drink at Christmas lunch, while she did the right thing with Samantha and abstained. But now she wanted to do the wrong thing and drink the entire bottle to rid herself of her foolish dreams.

  With the Christmas lights from the house across the road flashing gently, she poured some wine into the largest glass she could find. All the while Cookie Monster’s head watched her from the top shelf, admonishing her for her greed.

  Samantha

  At my third therapy session, I asked if I could lie on the couch. This seemed to please Linda, my therapist.

  ‘Of course,’ she replied, with the kind of small smile that promised something and yet gave nothing away.

  I liked Linda a lot. She had a severe silver bob, just like Donna-Louise, but her face was softer. She exuded a kind of warmth and openness that I’d always wished Donna-Louise had.

  ‘Do you like it when people ask if they can lie on the couch?’ I asked her, as I slipped off my shoes.

  ‘Are you asking to lie on the couch because you think it will please me?’

  I shrugged and stretched out along the couch. It felt good.

  ‘How are you feeling today?’ Linda asked.

  ‘Okay. I wanted to drink last night but I didn’t. Partly because my cover has been blown. When nobody knew I drank, I could fly under the radar, but now Rosemary is watching me like a hawk. No matter what I’m doing, she’s watching. I’m not sure she’ll ever trust me again. I know Trent will never trust me again.’

  ‘Will you ever trust yourself again?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Have you seen Trent?’

  After a week or so of Trent sleeping in the spare room, he’d finally packed up his things and gone to his parents’ house the previous week. Although I hadn’t admitted it to anyone, our townhouse no longer felt like home. Without him, it was just a place to eat and sleep.

  ‘We’ve spoken on the phone a few times and exchanged messages. He says maybe we’ll catch up for dinner next week.’

  I’d hated it when Trent had used the term ‘catch up’ because it made me feel like a work colleague, not his wife.

  ‘What was the other reason for not drinking?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You said before that everyone knowing was only partly the reason.’

  ‘Oh. Um, I guess, because my drinking problem isn’t a secret anymore, I can’t pretend to myself it’s not a problem. If you know what I mean.’

  ‘Hm,’ was all Linda said as she wrote something on her notepad. ‘Have you told your father about your drinking yet?’

  ‘No. I haven’t spoken to him at all.’ Dad had rung me a few times since the accident, but hadn’t left a message.

  Linda wrote more things on her notepad.

  ‘You’ve been able to tell your husband and your daughter and your sister, but not your father. Why do you think that is?’ she asked me.

  I shrugged again. ‘I guess I’m still angry at him for cheating on Donna-Louise with Tina. Tina! Of all people!’

  ‘And you’re not angry at your mother?’

  ‘Yes, but not just about that.’ There was a well of unlabelled emotion in my chest reserved for Tina.

  Linda looked back through her notes. ‘You told me last week that you always thought your father left your mother because of her alcoholism. Do you think there’s a part of you that thinks he might reject you if he knows about yours?’

  I started to disagree but stopped myself. This was a new way of looking at my determination not to be like Tina that I hadn’t considered before. I closed my mouth and focused on the ceiling rose instead.

  ‘You know, Nicole used to say that she could see faces in the ceiling rose in the bedroom we shared, that they were our friends looking down on us, protecting us,’ I told Linda. ‘I don’t know why she said that. It’s just plaster.’

  I knew I was trying to change the subject. It was a tactic that usually worked, but not in this room. Linda didn’t say anything. She just let the silence grow.

  ‘You think I should talk to Dad, don’t you?’ I finally said. Something in me felt like a surly teenager being asked to fold laundry.

  ‘And why do you think I would think that?’

  ‘You always answer my questions with another question, don’t you?’

  ‘Not always.’ Linda smiled that smile of hers again. She knew she was right. It was time for me to talk to my father.

  As I walked up the path to the Mount Lawley house, I could see Dad waiting for me. He was sitting on the love seat that used to be in the backyard, but now took pride of place on the front porch, all freshly re-painted and adorned with bright orange cushions.

  ‘You got here fast,’ he said, standing up to greet me. ‘The tea hasn’t brewed properly yet.’

  ‘The bus came quickly,’ I lied. When I’d phoned him to say I was coming over, I pretended I was about to catch the bus. In truth, I had been sitting just around the corner, debating with myself about whether or not I was ready to face him.

  We waited for the tea and made small talk about the weather and the garden, about Dad’s work and Rosemary’s studies. All the words flowed over and away from me like clear mountain water over a dark riverbed.

  ‘Shall I be Mother?’ Dad finally said, picking up the teapot.

  I nodded, but the turn of phrase threw me. I suddenly imagined Tina sitting in front of me, pouring out pure gin instead of tea and I wanted a drink more than anything. But before the thought consumed me, I challenged it, in the way that Linda had been teaching me. Really, Samantha? You need a drink in order to be able to tell your father about your drinking? I asked myself, and the thought lost its power. At least, for the moment.

  I looked around. ‘Where’s Celine?’ Another of Linda’s strategies: distraction.

  ‘She’s doing a make-up party for a group of eleven-year-olds,’ Craig replied. ‘She pretended that she’s only doing it as favour for a client, but I think she was really looking forward to it. You know how much she likes kids.’ Dad gave a small smile.

  ‘How is she doing?’ I realised that I hadn’t seen or spoken to Celine since she was in hospital, almost three months ago. It was a relief to talk about someone else’s problems for a moment.

  ‘Better. We’ve decided to give IVF one more try a bit later in the year, and then, if that doesn’t work, we’ll look into adopting, maybe from China or Korea. Our church has offered to help.’

  ‘Let me know if I can help, too,’ I said, and I actually meant it. Something in me had shifted towards Celine. All this time, I’d treated her like she was one of Dad’s accessories, but I’d finally come to understand that she was family and I needed to take more time to get to know her.

  Dad nodded and we sipped our tea. I imagined Linda’s voice telling me to get on with it. My stomach still in knots, I took a deep breath and began.

  ‘Dad, I need to tell you something that’s quite difficult for me to talk about.’

  ‘I’m listening,’ he said, folding his hands on his lap. In that gesture, I caught a glimpse of what he must have been like as an open-faced and open-hearted boy, and I took the plunge.

  ‘I had to catch the bus here because I’ve lost my licence.’

  Dad looked confused. ‘Where did you lose it?’

  ‘I didn’t misplace it, Dad. It was taken away from me because I was drunk when I had that accident. And now I’ll have to go to court.’

  ‘Drunk?’ Now Dad looked even more confused. ‘But I’ve never seen you have a single drink in your life. Not since that high school party.’

  ‘Nobody has. But I’ve been drinking all the same.’

  And I told him my stor
y – starting right back at that high school party and then on to Rosemary’s birth and the Wiggles years through to the days following Tina’s funeral, right up to the moment I started sobering up after the accident. Dad listened carefully, his hands still folded.

  ‘And now I’ve lost my licence and maybe even my husband. Trent’s put up with so much from me over the years. I think this might be the final straw,’ I told my father. ‘Basically, I’ve stuffed up in all the ways a person can stuff up.’

  Dad reached over and took my hand. I felt so grateful for the human contact I almost cried.

  ‘You can’t have stuffed up more than I have,’ he told me. ‘I’ve failed you, Samantha. All these years, I thought you were doing okay. You were organised and capable and, to be honest, fearsome. And yet, you were carrying this burden around the entire time.’ He squeezed my hand. ‘My poor girl. Why did you hide it from all of us?’

  ‘That’s something I’ve been talking over with this therapist I’ve been seeing, and I think the main reason is that I didn’t want anyone to think I was like Tina.’ I took a deep breath and then continued. ‘More specifically, I didn’t want you to think I was like Tina. I think I was afraid you’d stop loving me too.’

  ‘What?’ Dad blinked, genuinely surprised. ‘You really think I stopped loving your mother because she was a drunk?’

  ‘That’s why you left her, right?’ I asked.

  ‘I might have pretended it was the reason, but it wasn’t. Not at all. In fact, the truth is I never stopped loving her.’

  ‘Then why did you leave her?’

  ‘I left her because I thought she was going to leave me and I was too proud to let that happen,’ he admitted. ‘I should have stayed and tried to work things out. She was the love of my life, Sammy. Even after I married DL, I still missed her like mad. I never stopped loving her. Not for a moment.’

  ‘And is that why you slept with her when you were married to DL?’ I said it not as an accusation – I knew I was in no position to be casting stones – but as a genuine question. I wanted to know.