The Spill
Page 28
‘Oh!’ Samantha exclaimed. ‘I remember we got those dresses for Christmas. Aunty Meg gave them to us.’
‘Now turn it over.’
Samantha flipped it over. The transparent frame allowed her to see what was written on the back of the photograph in Mum’s writing:
These are the two things that we did best in this world.
‘“We”? She must mean her and Dad,’ Samantha wondered. ‘Do you think she was planning to give this photo to him?’
‘Maybe. Although, I also wondered if it was just a reminder for her. Anyway, we’ll never know. But now it’s a reminder for you. And for me.’
Samantha smiled, and I liked seeing her smile.
Before the spill
1982
The week in Esperance staying with friends had been a happy one, but then Tina surprised everyone by packing up the car a day early.
‘We’ll surprise Daddy,’ Tina told the girls. ‘We’ll drive as far as we can tonight and we’ll stay at a motel. And in the morning, we’ll ring and pretend we’re only just leaving Esperance, but then we’ll get to Perth and we’ll surprise him.’
Neither of the girls understood why Tina had come up with this elaborate plan but they both liked surprises and assumed their dad liked them too.
They arrived at the Wave Rock Motel in Hyden just before 10 pm and had a good night’s sleep. Breakfast arrived in the morning on three trays, each with its own stainless-steel cover that made the toast sweat.
After they’d eaten, the girls played on the swing set in the motel’s garden while Tina went to reception to pay the bill and to call Craig from the public phone.
As she fed the twenty cent coins into the slot, she could hear the girls laughing outside and she felt as much hope as she’d dared to feel in months, maybe years. The promise she had made to Craig had been a hard one, but she’d stuck to it so far: she hadn’t had a single drink in over three weeks. She just hoped he’d kept his promise too.
After maybe ten rings, the phone was picked up. Tina could hear music faintly, but still distinct, in the background. Rod Stewart, ‘Tonight’s the Night’. She could also hear a man shouting.
‘Hello?’ a familiar woman’s voice said.
Tina, surprised, felt her voice rise in pitch. ‘Meg?’
There was a scuffling noise that swallowed Rod Stewart completely. Tina realised Meg had covered the mouthpiece, but she could still hear Meg’s voice and then the man’s voice again, distant as thunder. She strained to hear what they were saying, but she couldn’t make the words out.
‘Hello?’ Tina said again, when the phone was uncovered and she could hear Rod Stewart in the background again.
‘Sorry, Teens. I have a friend over and he, um, wanted to know where the bathroom was,’ Meg replied. There was something giddy about her voice that made Tina think she might be high.
‘Why are you and your friend at my house?’ Tina wanted to know.
‘What? But I’m at my house.’ Meg laughed. ‘You must have rung my number by mistake. Again.’
Tina laughed, too. It was a mistake she made often enough because Meg’s number was the one she rang the most.
‘Who’s the man friend?’ she asked.
‘Oh, no one,’ Meg replied, coyly.
‘Right. Well, I don’t have many coins and I’ve still got to ring Craig, so I’ll have to interrogate you later.’ Tina hung up and rang home, this time paying attention to each number as she dialled it. This time, the phone rang three times before Craig answered.
‘Hello?’ he said. ‘Craig speaking.’
‘Craig?’
‘Teensy!’ Craig’s voice was bright. He sounded pleased to hear from her. ‘Are you coming back today?’
Tina bit her bottom lip. ‘No,’ she found herself saying. ‘I’m just ringing to say that the kids and I are going to stay in Esperance a couple more days.’
She was surprised by how easily the lie came to her.
‘It will do you good,’ Craig said. ‘Give me a call when you plan to head home.’
Tina stared at the brown swirls on the motel reception wallpaper and felt herself falling into them.
‘Are you still there, Teensy?’ Craig asked.
‘Yes,’ Tina said. ‘I better go. The girls want to go to the beach.’
‘Okay. I love you.’
Tina gently replaced the phone in its cradle.
Neither Craig nor Meg had realised that they’d left Rod Stewart playing in the background.
Tina went straight out to the boot of the car, where she’d shoved the bottle-shaped package her father had given her for her birthday. ‘You can still drink on special occasions, right?’ he’d said when she’d tried to refuse it, and she’d felt like dropping it then and there on the parquet floor just to make a point to everyone that she didn’t need it. Not on special occasions. Not ever.
But now she really did need it. Her mind felt like a snow globe, shaken up with a thousand thoughts. How long had this been going on? How could Meg be so foolish? How could Craig be so selfish?
She ripped off the wrapping to find a bottle of Teacher’s whisky, the kind her parents used to have when she was younger that she would swig from when nobody was looking. She glanced across to where the girls were playing. She could have a quick swig now and get away with it. Nobody would know. It was the only thing she could think of that would loosen the grip that the phone call had on her heart.
She turned away from the girls and brought the bottle quickly to her lips.
Just a sip, she told herself.
Nicole was pushing Samantha on the swing.
‘Harder!’ Samantha shouted. ‘Higher!’
She leant back in the swing, stretched her legs out in front of her and aimed for the sky.
‘Mummy!’ she shouted, as she pulled her legs back in and anticipated the weight of Nicole’s hands on her back. ‘Look at me fly!’
Back at the car, Tina turned around just in time to see Nicole give Samantha an almighty shove out of the swing and onto the grass. Before she knew it, Tina was running towards them.
‘Why did you do that?’ Samantha was wailing at her sister from her crumpled position.
‘What?’ Nicole was confused. ‘But you told me to push you hard!’
‘Not that hard!’ Samantha’s face was a tight ball held together with snot and outrage.
‘I was only doing what you told me to do.’
‘Nicole, you need to be more careful!’ Tina ran over to where the girls were. ‘You need to look after your little sister.’
But as Tina bent down to comfort her crying daughter, she realised she was still holding the open whisky bottle. She immediately put it down on the grass behind her.
‘Are you hurt?’
‘No,’ Samantha replied, before glaring back at Nicole. ‘But I could have been. Very, very hurt.’
Nicole rolled her eyes.
‘Well, that’s lucky. Let’s get you into the car, my little love,’ Tina said. ‘I tell you what, you can sit in the front.’
‘But Mum!’ Nicole protested.
‘But nothing. It’s Sam’s turn.’
And with that, Tina scooped Samantha up and carried her over to the car.
Nicole stayed behind. She was staring at the bottle.
‘Come on, Nic,’ Tina shouted at her.
And Nicole ran to the car, leaving the bottle behind.
As Tina pushed the key into the ignition, she thought of the long drive ahead, back to Craig and his lies and his empty promises.
‘Who wants to go to Kalgoorlie to see Nanna and Poppa?’
‘What about surprising Daddy?’ Samantha asked.
‘He’s busy with work,’ Tina replied.
‘But it’s a Saturday.’
Tina ignored this. She turned the key but the engine just made a clicking sound.
‘What about school on Monday?’ Nicole asked.
Tina ignored this, too. She turned the key again and this time,
the car briefly shuddered but then fell silent.
‘How long is it to Kalgoorlie?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe five hours?’
One more turn of the key.
‘What about Young Talent Time? We’ll miss it,’ Nicole moaned. It was her favourite show.
But Tina wasn’t listening. The engine had finally roared to life and in any case, she was too busy wondering what the hell Craig was up to with her sister. She wanted to be furious at Meg, but all she felt was pity. Craig would finish with Meg soon enough, like he had with all the other women. Tina and Meg, however, were sisters. And in that moment, Tina realised that Meg didn’t need to know that she knew. What had she just told Nicole? You need to look after your little sister.
She would look after her little sister.
In the back seat, Nicole stretched out along the mountain of pillows and doonas. She hadn’t realised that Samantha had had it so sweet back there all this time.
‘You can keep the front seat, Sam,’ she said, but nobody heard her over the sound of Tina revving the engine.
Tina started to put the car into reverse but then remembered the bottle of whisky, still there on the grass.
‘Wait one moment,’ she said.
Leaving the engine running, she got out of the car and ran over to get the bottle. She took it around to the back of the motel, out of sight of the road and the reception and the girls waiting for her in the car, and she emptied its entire contents onto the ground.
The smell of the whisky as it hit the earth was the smell of failure.
‘What were you doing?’ Nicole asked her, as she climbed back into the car.
‘Trying to keep a promise to myself.’
Putting the car in gear and pressing her foot hard on the accelerator, Tina pulled out onto the road and they were off.
Acknowledgements
Thank you to:
The team at Penguin Random House Australia, particularly my publisher, Meredith Curnow, for her passion and care; my editor, Genevieve Buzo, for her keen eye and gentle hand (and for continuing the creative collaboration of our fathers, Alex and Aarne); Claire de Medici, for her forensic proofreading; and Alex Ross, for the beautiful cover.
My agent, Jane Novak, for patiently answering all my questions (so many questions!) and for championing my work.
The judges of the 2019 Penguin Literary Prize, for choosing my manuscript above 490 others (I’m still pinching myself!). Also Leading Edge Books, for supporting the prize and for all the great work they do.
My beta readers, Silvia Ercole, Rachelle Walsh, Kali Napier, Victoria Carless, Clive Wansbrough and Julie Hudspeth, for their invaluable feedback (especially Kali Napier, who read the first and fifth drafts and always managed to see something worthwhile in The Spill, even at those times when I could not).
My writing group, Deborah Crabtree, Troy Hunter, Karen McKnight and Clive Wansbrough, for reading random chapters and weathering lengthy explanations of the book’s structure and encouraging me nonetheless. May this be the first of many publications for The Prologues.
Emilie Collyer, Jenny Green and Jane Rawson, for the writerly brunches and loving support. Also for being ace human beings.
Antoni Jach and Alison Goodman, for their timely insights into structure.
Anjanette Fennell and Ailsa Piper, for their support and guidance along the long road to getting published.
The Eleanor Dark Foundation and the Henry Handel Richardson Society, for giving me two weeks of writing in Varuna at a critical point in this book’s development. And Tracy Farr, Lisa Siberry, Helen Meany, Stef Johnstone and Heather Collins, for their fine company and jigsaw-related enthusiasm during my residency.
Jacie Anderson, Chelsea Cruse, Phil Jeng Kane, Mel May and Chrissy Wilson, for helping me remember 1980s Perth.
Glynis Traill-Nash, for her knowledge of 1990s fashion.
Jo-Anne Zappia, for her help when I was writing about Tina’s final days.
My mother, Helen, for patiently waiting until this was a real book.
The elders past, present and emerging of the Wurundjeri people of the Kulin nation, upon whose land I wrote this book. And of the Noongar people, upon whose land the book is set.
And very special thanks to:
My late grandfather, the artist and writer Gunnar Neeme, for teaching me about dedication and perseverance.
The five beautiful young people in my life, Hal, Luke, Evie, Orla and Leo, for being patient and good-humoured while I wrote and wrote and wrote.
And my husband, Derek, for being the best reason for everything I do.
About the author
Imbi Neeme is a recovering blogger, impending novelist and compulsive short story writer. Her manuscript The Spill was awarded the 2019 Penguin Literary Prize.
She was also the recipient of the 2019 Henry Handel Richardson Fellowship at Varuna for excellence in short story writing. Her short fiction has won prizes in the 2019 Newcastle Short Story Awards, the 2018 Boroondara Literary Awards, and has been shortlisted for the 2018 Peter Carey Short Story Award.
Her first manuscript, The Hidden Drawer, made the judges’ commended list in the 2015 Victorian Premier’s Award for an Unpublished Manuscript and was selected for the 2015 Hachette/Queensland Writers Centre Manuscript Development Program.
She blogged for many years at Not Drowning, Mothering, which won the 2010 Bloggies award for best Australian/New Zealand Weblog.
She lives in Melbourne with her partner, kids and largely indifferent pets.
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First published by Viking Australia in 2020
Copyright © Imbi Neeme 2020
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All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, published, performed in public or communicated to the public in any form or by any means without prior written permission from Penguin Random House Australia Pty Ltd or its authorised licensees.
Cover image by Klaus Vedfelt/Getty Images
Cover design by Alex Ross © Penguin Random House Australia Pty Ltd
ISBN 9781760893781
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