Look at you. You’re nothing.
Her head swam barren she felt dizzy defective her voice shook useless. ‘She abandoned me. She never even tried.’
‘How would you know? You’ve never even given her a chance to show you she could change. One day she’ll surprise you, but you’ll be so deep inside your own self-righteousness that you still won’t let her in.’
‘She’ll never change,’ Ali said. ‘She’s weak.’
His fingers tightened on her shoulders. ‘No, you’re weak. You’re the one who abandoned her, and now you’re abandoning me.’
What’s wrong with you?
She clamped her hands just a bad dream over her ears again what’s wrong with you but the voice kept shouting inside her head barrendefectiveuseless.
Tom’s voice filtered through her panic. ‘I’ve tried to help you, Ali, but you keep pushing me away.’
There was something big coming. Ali could feel it through the fear that was now streaming through her like a waterfall. And Tom had just sent her only escape into oblivion swirling down the sink.
‘I can’t do it anymore,’ he said. ‘I can’t be here all the time.’
The desperation rose. ‘I don’t want you here all the time. You’re smothering me, Tom. Run back to your corporate overlord. Fuck over some of the little people and tell yourself you’re doing important work.’
‘Why won’t you talk about her?’ he roared.
‘Why won’t you stop?’ she shouted back. ‘Why won’t you understand that talking about her doesn’t change anything? She’s not coming back. I’ve got nothing left.’
‘You’ve got me.’ His voice was low, defeated, as if he already knew the truth: that he could never be enough. His grip on her shoulders relaxed and she pulled away.
barrendefectiveuseless
baddream
what’s wrong with you
Ali’s body screamed for something to block out the words, and she made a frantic move to the cupboard where they always kept the spirits. Nothing. She checked the pantry. There was a bottle of cooking sherry up near the back, and before Tom could stop her she’d twisted off the lid and sent the last two inches of the viscous, sweet liquid down her throat. It swirled in her stomach as if deciding whether it was going to come back up.
‘Ali, please,’ Tom said from behind her. He wasn’t shouting anymore, but a tremor ran beneath his voice. ‘I want the woman I fell in love with. The woman I married.’
Ali turned to face him, the empty bottle still in her hand. She shook her head. ‘That woman is gone.’
He stepped closer to her. ‘You’ve got a drinking problem, Ali. And I don’t know if I can deal with that.’
Ali’s voice shook. ‘What are you saying?’
Tears slid down Tom’s cheeks. He looked like the words were going to break him, but he said them anyway. ‘I’m saying that if you won’t stop… if you won’t try to stop… I can’t be with you anymore.’
So there it was. It had been festering beneath the surface for months, and now he was finally giving up on her. On them. ‘You’re leaving me?’
‘If you’re not willing to try, then yes. I’m leaving you.’
The ultimatum landed between them like a boulder. Tom looked surprised that he’d said it at all. Ali knew if she agreed to his terms she’d be lying, and she didn’t want to lie to him anymore. She was backed into a corner and all she knew how to do was to push back. This time, when she spoke, her voice was steady.
‘You’d better pack your bags, then.’
He stared at her for a long moment. Disbelieving. Then he turned and walked slowly away. After a few minutes, he reappeared, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, a backpack slung over one shoulder. He didn’t look at her as he passed. The quiet click of the front door closing was the only indication that he’d gone.
Before
Tom ran a finger down Ali’s face and across her shoulder. He couldn’t believe how beautiful she looked, lying here in his bed for the first time. She watched him languidly, without a hint of self-consciousness, as his gaze roved over her body.
‘Tell me what scares you,’ she said.
He kissed her shoulder. ‘Spiders.’
She pushed him gently. ‘Something real. Something big.’
He thought for a moment. He had the urge to be honest with her, despite the short time they’d known one another. ‘I’m afraid that one day everyone will work out that I have no idea what I’m doing. I’ll never become a partner. I’ll never practise law again.’
She studied him for a moment. ‘It’s called impostor syndrome. You’d be surprised how many people feel the same way.’ Her hand caressed his face. ‘All you need is someone who believes in you.’
Tom stared back at her. They’d only met a couple of weeks ago, but no one had ever looked at him with such intimate tenderness before. He hadn’t imagined the connection that night they’d met in the pub. That invisible thread that had formed between them, binding them together.
‘What about you?’ he said. ‘What frightens you?’
She didn’t stop to think about it. ‘My mother is an alcoholic. I worry that I’ll become like her.’
Tom tried not to show his surprise. It was the first time she’d mentioned any family, and he hadn’t expected such a confession. ‘There’s a big difference between having a few drinks at the pub and being a full-blown alcoholic,’ he said.
She looked over his shoulder, pensive. ‘But I drink a lot. I drink to celebrate. I drink when I’ve had a hard day at work. I drink when I’m sad, or angry, or happy. I can see how it happens. How it goes from a social lubricant to an emotional crutch. And I’m scared it’s going to happen to me.’
Tom leant forward and kissed her lightly on the lips. ‘All you need,’ he breathed, his forehead against hers, ‘is someone who believes in you.’
She put her hand on the back of his neck and pulled him down beside her, mouth seeking his. Tom kissed her back, lost in her. He was so far gone, and he never wanted to go back.
Tom
It was surreal to walk out of the house, to get in the car and drive away. Was he really doing this? Was he really walking out on his wife five months after their baby died?
It was only when he stopped to wait for a train behind the lowered barrier at the level crossing at Croydon that he realised where he was going. As a young bloke, Tom had always turned to Jason when things went bad. But then Ali and Anthea had come along and they hadn’t needed each other so much.
The train passed, the bells stopped ding dinging and the redand-white barrier rose to let Tom through. He turned into Jason and Anthea’s quiet little side street and pulled up outside their double-fronted villa, but when he reached the front door he paused. Anthea was going through chemo, for Christ’s sake. He couldn’t lob up on their doorstep like a long-lost itinerant cousin in need of a couch to sleep on. He was just turning back when the door opened.
‘Tom! I thought that was your car. Where are you going?’
Tom swung around to see Anthea standing in the doorway. He had to stop himself recoiling at her appearance. Her figure seemed to have diminished, as if she might keep shrinking and shrinking until she disappeared altogether. Even her head looked smaller under the bright green scarf she wore. Her cheeks were hollow, her skin sallow.
‘I was just… I came to talk to…’ Tom faltered, then stopped.
‘Why don’t you come in.’ Anthea gestured over her shoulder. Her familiar warm smile was almost foreign in her drawn face.
Tom gave her an apologetic smile and stepped over the threshold into the house that Jason and Anthea had spent three years renovating. The Turkish hall runner led him to the living area where the twins sat side by side on the floor, their eyes glued to the television. Jason stood at the stove, stir-frying something in a wok. It was the perfect picture of domesticity. Tears sprang to Tom’s eyes.
‘Look who I found,’ Anthea said brightly.
Jason looked up, surpris
ed. He grinned momentarily, then his expression changed to worry as he took in Tom’s face. ‘What’s up?’ He put his wooden spoon down and switched off the gas flame.
Tom blinked and the tears spilled out onto his cheeks. ‘I left Ali.’
Jason looked stunned.
‘Come and sit down.’ Anthea’s gentle hands guided him to the dining table. Tom could feel the little girls’ eyes on him; the unabashed curiosity of children. He lowered himself into one of the chairs and buried his face in his hands. Through his fingers, he saw a beer slide across the table to rest in front of him. It made him think of Ali swilling from the bottle of cooking sherry, and his stomach turned.
‘This wasn’t the choice she was supposed to make,’ he said.
‘What happened?’ Jason asked.
Tom struggled to find the right words. ‘Cliff threatened my job if I didn’t start putting in more hours, so I confronted Ali about her drinking again. But by the time I got home she was already drunk. I got angry, and we had a fight. I think I’ve fucked everything up.’
Too late he realised he’d sworn in front of Lily and Caroline, but neither Anthea nor Jason mentioned it.
‘Why don’t you go back?’ Anthea suggested. ‘Say sorry. Save the talk for tomorrow, when she’s sober.’
‘I can’t go back now. I told her it was me or the booze. She chose the booze.’ He half laughed, half sobbed. ‘She was supposed to choose me!’
‘Oh, Tom.’ Anthea’s arm slipped over Tom’s shoulders. ‘There’s still time to fix this. I’m sure once she realises what she’s lost, she’ll come back to you.’
Tom nodded and sat up straight. He clasped the bottle of beer in his hand and took a large gulp, forcing himself to swallow. The condensation pooled in his palm and dripped down his wrist. He shivered.
‘Do you want to stay for dinner?’ Jason asked. ‘I’ve made plenty.’
Tom cursed himself. When they’d been at uni, Jason had subsisted on two-minute noodles and takeaway and, if they went out, steak. The fact that he had made a stir-fry—with actual vegetables—probably meant that Anthea was too weak even to cook. He shouldn’t have come.
He shook his head. ‘No. Thank you, but no. I’ll go to my parents’ place. I’ll leave you guys to your dinner.’
He stood up, leaving his undrunk beer on the table. Anthea was about to follow suit, but she looked so drained that Tom put a hand on her shoulder.
‘Please, don’t get up.’
She gave him a grateful smile. ‘Let us know if we can help in any way.’
Jason accompanied him to his car. ‘You OK, dude?’
‘Not really.’ Tom put his hands on the roof of the car. The sun shone full on his face and it would’ve been like staring into a mirror if his reflection hadn’t looked so stunted from the curve of the window. ‘What am I going to do?’
Jason joined him. Their eyes met in their reflections. ‘Talk to her again when she’s ready, I guess. Sorry I couldn’t offer you the spare room for a day or two. But Anthea…’
‘You don’t have to explain. Sorry again for dropping in on you like this. I panicked.’
‘No need to apologise. Normally, I wouldn’t even think twice. But she’s just so tired.’
‘Has she been in hospital again?’ Tom asked.
‘Not since she had the medication, but then the side effects caused different issues.’ Jason sighed. ‘She’s on weekly chemo treatments now, and it’s a different drug, which hasn’t knocked her around quite as much. One more month and it’ll all be over. Hopefully. I don’t know what I’ll do if—’
‘Don’t even say it,’ Tom said. ‘She’ll get through this.’
‘Yeah.’ Jason sounded suddenly exhausted. ‘We’re a fine pair, aren’t we?’
Tom gave a rough laugh. ‘If someone had told us back at uni that this was where we’d be in twenty-three years, I might’ve opted out.’
Jason chuckled. ‘I wouldn’t. It’s all worth it. Anyway, I’d better get back inside before the girls start jumping on their mum.’ He clapped Tom on the shoulder. ‘Take care of yourself. Give me a call soon.’
‘I will.’ Tom watched Jason as he walked between the twin rows of standard roses across the front yard and up to the door. For the first time, he noticed that his friend had lost weight too.
Ali
He wasn’t supposed to actually leave.
That was all Ali could think as she walked unsteadily along Fullarton Road towards the drive-through at the Arkaba Hotel. When she’d told Tom to pack his bags, she hadn’t expected him to actually do it. She’d expected him to fight. But she could hardly blame him for not wanting to be with her when she could hardly bear to be with herself.
The neon sign of the drive-through blinked ahead of her, and Ali realised that night had fallen in a shroud around her.
The artificial lights and refrigerated air-conditioning of the bottle shop embraced her. She headed straight for the spirits shelf and selected a bottle of Stolichnaya. Then, on second thoughts, she grabbed another. On her way to the counter, she opened the fridge and chose a single pre-mixed drink. When she arranged her purchases on the counter, almost knocking over one of the vodka bottles, the attendant gave her an easy grin. He was good looking: broad shoulders, tousled hair, blue eyes, bulging biceps beneath his short-sleeved black shirt. Probably in his late twenties; perhaps even a little older.
‘Having a party?’ He winked.
you’re all about partying and playing politics
what’s wrong with you?
you’ve just lost a baby
WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU?
Ali’s breath caught in her throat. She wanted to grab her purchases and run. ‘You bet,’ she said instead.
He eased the bottles into a paper bag as she handed over her credit card.
As soon as she hit the footpath outside, she twisted the cap off the pre-mix and took a long gulp. It was like a mouthful of sugar syrup. The panic began to dissipate and she took another long draught. She blinked at the headlights of the oncoming traffic and then ran across Fullarton Road. A horn blasted in her ears as she leapt onto the kerb. Ali didn’t want to think about how she looked as she continued up the road: a forty-year-old woman, carrying a paper bag full of hard liquor, swigging from a bottle. But the thought pressed in anyway.
Hazel. You look just like Hazel.
She drained the bottle, grimacing, and dropped it into the paper bag before pulling out one of the vodka bottles, unscrewing the cap and tipping her head back to drink. The heat of the liquor was a relief after the saccharine sweetness of the other drink. She took another swig.
By the time she reached home, fumbling her key into the lock, a third of the bottle was gone and a comfortable, thick cloud surrounded her, blocking out the voice in her head that told her she was nothing, cushioning her from the yawning emptiness of the house.
Tom
The sun seemed to be coming in at a different angle from usual when Tom woke up. He stretched his legs out, starfish style, and one foot fell off the edge of the bed. He looked up and opened his eyes.
His childhood room was almost unchanged. The Midnight Oil and AC/DC posters had gone from the walls, but the narrow single bed felt the same as it had when he’d moved out of home at nineteen. The bookshelves still held the faded, dog-eared choose-your-own-adventure books, and his boxy red ghetto blaster still sat in pride of place on the top shelf, his first purchase with the pocket money he’d saved for a year when he was ten. Another shelf displayed his much-loved Masters of the Universe and Star Wars figurines.
It was like a shrine to his childhood. Part of Tom wanted to inhale it, sink back into sleep, pretend that he hadn’t escaped to this place out of desperation. He had felt like a failure last night, returning here at his age, admitting to his parents that he hadn’t been able to make it work with Ali. The clattering of dishes from the kitchen banished the last of his sleepiness, and he rolled out of bed and pulled on his jeans. He paused in the bathro
om to take a piss and splash water on his face, then continued on to the kitchen. His mother looked up from the sink full of soapy water.
‘Hello, darling!’ Her voice had the metallic ring of false cheer. His father sat at the round table, reading the paper, cup of instant coffee at his elbow. ‘Would you like some breakfast?’
‘I can make it, Mum,’ Tom said.
She waved her hand, dismissing him, and Tom didn’t have the energy to argue. He joined his father at the table.
‘Did you sleep OK?’ His father glanced up from the paper for a millisecond.
‘I did.’ Tom looked up at the clock on the wall above the bench and was surprised to see that it was eight o’clock; he’d been sure he wouldn’t be able to sleep at all. But his parents had been so kind last night, feeding him up to the gills, making him tea, letting him talk as much or as little as he chose, and he had gone to bed feeling warm and nurtured for the first time in months.
After ten minutes, his mother handed him a plate overflowing with bacon, eggs and toast, then returned to the dishes in the sink. The morning felt artificially bright. No one was saying what they were really thinking. Including him.
Tom finished his breakfast and took the plate to the sink. His mother washed it in silence. He could sense there was a lecture on the horizon.
‘I’m going for a run,’ he said.
‘Thomas, darling,’ she began. Here it was. ‘Your father and I were wondering what your plan is.’
Tom sighed. ‘I haven’t really thought about it yet, Mum. It’s been less than twenty-four hours.’
‘I know, darling, but I don’t think you should drag this out. You know we love Ali, but I don’t think it’s good for you to prolong the inevitable here.’
Tom frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
His mother pursed her lips, probably thinking of how best to phrase her judgement. ‘You know these things run in families, don’t you?’
‘What things?’
‘Well, there’s the mother, of course. The poor girl was probably doomed to this all along.’
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