She’d been sober.
Tom
Tom stood in a corner of the room, nursing a beer. He shouldn’t have come. He didn’t want to speak to any of these people.
Cliff had invited him to this New Year’s Eve party when they’d crossed paths in the office over the Christmas break. He’d initially declined, not in the mood to celebrate the arrival of a cruel new year on the back of the last, but as the day grew closer and no other engagements cropped up, he began to consider it. Jason and Anthea still weren’t up for socialising, and eventually the radio silence began to eat at him. When his parents invited him over to their place to watch the fireworks on the TV, Tom immediately called Cliff and told him he’d come to the party.
It could be good for his career, after all. Important people were here. The managing partner of the Sydney branch of the firm, for one. Many people in the firm salivated after the possibility of being in the same room as the man. And Tom’s career was all he had left now.
This made him think of Ali, and his heart squeezed in his chest. She’d lost her career; one of the defining elements of her life.
He spotted Cliff indicating to him from across the room, and he shook off his thoughts and made his way through the knots of people towards him. It was only when Cliff shook his hand that Tom realised who he was standing with.
Ethan Grange, head of Grange Jefferson in Sydney, was a formidable man. Tall, with dark salt-and-pepper hair and a full beard, he was never seen without an expensive, fuck-off Italian suit paired with a bow tie and matching silk handkerchief in his front pocket. Even with all the brief stints of work Tom had done in Sydney, he’d never actually met him before.
‘Tom Caruso, this is Ethan Grange,’ Cliff said, one hand on Tom’s shoulder.
Tom shook the big man’s hand. ‘Nice to see you here in Adelaide, Mr Grange.’
Grange guffawed. ‘None of this mister business. Call me Ethan. My mother lives here. She’s in the advanced stages of cancer, so the family and I are here to say our last goodbyes.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,’ Tom said. ‘My grandmother has Alzheimer’s. It’s difficult to see them like that, isn’t it?’
Grange nodded his agreement. ‘Of course. But she has no regrets. My mother has lived long and well. We could all hope to reach the end of our lives with such an attitude.’
Tom felt oddly chastised.
‘So, Tom,’ Grange went on. ‘Do you like living in Adelaide?’
Tom nodded. ‘It’s the only place I’ve ever lived. I do love Sydney though.’
‘Well, how would you like to move there?’
Tom almost inhaled his beer. ‘I’m sorry?’
Grange smiled as Cliff clapped Tom on the back with a hearty chuckle. ‘We’ve had a partnership become available in the Sydney branch. We’re looking for someone with ambition, who already knows the business and doesn’t mind a sideways step. I can assure you that it will lead to bigger and better things. Cliff here speaks highly of you.’
Tom looked from Grange to Cliff and back again. They were both watching him expectantly.
‘I’m flattered that you would consider me for the position,’ he said. ‘I’ll need some time to think about it. I have to discuss it with my… family.’
Grange raised one eyebrow. ‘Of course. But I can offer you a higher wage, with bonuses. I understand from Cliff that you’re recently divorced. This could be a chance for you to start fresh.’
‘I’m separated. Not divorced.’ Tom had to prevent himself from glaring at Cliff.
‘Fine, Tom.’ Grange spread his hands out in an expansive gesture. ‘You don’t have to give me an answer tonight. But I’d like you to consider my offer seriously. We want somebody to start early in the new year, so if you can’t accept, I’ll need to consider other options. Here’s my card. Give me a call when you’ve made a decision.’
Tom slipped the business card in the back pocket of his trousers. ‘Thank you, sir. I’ll let you know soon.’
Grange laughed again. ‘Sir now, is it? Ha! I’ll talk to you soon, Tom. Sir!’ He saluted, then wandered off to join another group of people. Cliff followed, leaving Tom standing alone, stunned. Suddenly, everything had changed again.
This was a priceless career opportunity that would not have been possible if he and Ali had been together. She would never have left the job she loved to move to Sydney. And he wouldn’t have to worry about where he was going to live. The firm would probably find him a swanky bachelor’s apartment with a harbour view. It would be a clean break. A fresh start, as Grange had said.
But on the other hand, things didn’t feel finished with Ali. It didn’t seem right to leave when they hadn’t resolved anything. And maybe they never would, but Tom thought they owed it to each other to try.
One of the white-coated waiters went past with a tray of drinks, and Tom grabbed another beer. He’d reached a fork in the road, and his decision would change everything.
Ali
Every morning, Ali woke up determined that she wasn’t going to drink that day. She even began hiding the half-full bottles around the house, not daring to ask herself why she didn’t just tip them down the sink instead. But inevitably, as her headache built and the tremors in her hands graduated to her arms, her shoulders and then her whole body, the voice would start whispering, whispering in her head again, louder and louder until it reached an angry shout. Each flash of memory made her see a little more, hear a little more.
Today, she managed to reach two o’clock in the afternoon before she broke. She’d had six coffees, but all they’d done was make her so jittery and shaky that she couldn’t sit still. She needed something to help her relax. Just a mouthful or two to stop the clanging in her head.
She always hid the bottle at the end of the night, when she was drunk and full of regret, so it usually took her a while to work out where she might have put it. Now she dragged the stepladder from the laundry into the walk-in robe and climbed it, hand searching the top shelf. Fingernails clinked against glass. She scrabbled at the bottle, but it edged further away from her rather than closer. A small voice at the back of her head suggested that this could be fate intervening. But she didn’t believe in fate.
Just as she was considering whether to find something else to put on top of the stepladder to reach the bottle, her fingers came into contact with soft plastic. Puzzled, she grabbed a handful of it and pulled it towards her. It was a black garbage bag. She’d never put anything up there—other than the vodka—so what could it be?
But her efforts had moved the bottle closer, and the need in her body banished the garbage bag from her mind. She inched the bottle towards her until she could grasp it in one hand. There was barely anything left in it, and she’d almost drained it by the time her feet were back on the floor. It was the last bottle, and now she’d have to get more.
She snatched up her keys and purse from the bench on the way to the front of the house. As she wrenched the door open, she found herself face to face with her husband, his hand raised, ready to knock.
‘Tom!’ She’d thought of him almost constantly, and now he was here, all she wanted was for him to leave. She had to get to the bottle shop before the shaking started up again, before the voice in her head drowned out everything else.
‘Hi. These were all over the front lawn.’ He held out a bundle of newspapers to her. She’d stopped bringing them in the day she got fired.
‘Thanks.’ She dumped them in a pile beside the door.
‘You haven’t been reading the news, then?’
‘I didn’t want to follow my own downfall.’ useless ‘Then I just got out of the habit.’
‘You should read them. You might be surprised.’
‘I doubt it.’
What’s wrong with you?
Tom shuffled his keys from hand to hand awkwardly. ‘Can I talk to you?’
You’re nothing.
‘Sure, come in.’ Her voice was unnaturally brassy as she stepped back
to let him in and closed the door behind them. They stood and looked at each other.
‘Were you going out?’ Tom eyed the keys and purse she still held in her trembling hands. His expression was a mixture of hope and dread. He would know where she’d been headed, of course, but he was probably wishing with all his heart that she was meeting a friend for coffee.
‘Uh, yeah.’ She forced a smile. ‘But it can wait. Do you want a drink… of tea? Or coffee?’
He nodded. ‘Thanks.’
As she led him back towards the living room, Ali caught her reflection in the mirror at the end of the hallway. Her hair was tousled and greasy, her eyes bloodshot and rimmed with red. God, if she could only have a drink so she could listen to Tom without the voice in her brain drowning him out.
Tom filled the kettle at the sink without waiting for her to do it. Too late, Ali noticed the empty vodka bottle she’d left at the end of the bench. Tom’s gaze stumbled over it at the same time and he turned away, but not before she saw his mouth turn down at the corners no one could ever want you.
‘I’m cutting down,’ she jumped in before he could say anything. ‘I’m really trying.’
He threw a sad smile over his shoulder. ‘I’m not telling you what to do anymore.’
He plugged in the kettle and switched it on. Ali watched as he took down two mugs from the overhead cupboard and added a teabag to each. He avoided her gaze. Finally, when the teabags had been steeping for several minutes, he turned around to face her.
‘Let’s sit down.’
He added milk to their cups and carried them to the couch. Ali sat down beside him, not too close but not too far away either, and took a cup from him. She sipped from it straight away in an attempt to stop her hands from shaking, and the hot tea scalded her tongue.
‘I went to a New Year’s Eve party last night,’ Tom began cautiously. ‘Ethan Grange was there.’
Ali struggled to place the name. ‘The managing partner?’
He nodded. ‘He offered me a job. It’s not quite a promotion, but it’s more money and an unbeatable career opportunity.’
Ali was surprised by the flame of jealousy that lit within her. What’s wrong with you? She pasted on a smile. ‘That’s great! Congratulations.’
Tom’s eyes searched her face. ‘The job is in Sydney.’
Her heart plummeted. ‘So you’re leaving, then.’ It was a statement rather than a question, because who in their right mind would pass up such an opportunity?
‘I haven’t accepted the job,’ he said. ‘Not yet. I wanted to talk to you first.’
Ali directed her gaze into her lap. ‘You can’t turn it down.’
In her peripheral vision, she saw him lean closer to her. ‘If you want me to stay, I will.’
No one could ever want you. You’re nothing.
‘No.’ She looked up at him. ‘I can’t be responsible for that. The decision is yours to make.’
Tom held her gaze. ‘Or you could come with me.’
Ali’s hands shook harder and she set the cup of tea down on the coffee table before it spilled over into her lap. She really needed that drink. The need to be numb was screaming inside her head now, unrelenting. She couldn’t find the words to respond to him.
WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU?
‘I thought it could be a way for you to make a fresh start,’ Tom went on. ‘Find a new job… get back on track.’
YOU’RE NOTHING!
Ali felt like she couldn’t get enough air in. A rushing sound filled her ears. She was going to disintegrate.
‘I love you, Ali.’ Tom’s voice filtered in as if from far away. ‘I want to give us another chance to make it work, and this could be the perfect opportunity. For both of us.’
NO ONE COULD EVER WANT YOU!
Panic clutched at Ali’s throat. BARREN! DEFECTIVE! USELESS! Tom’s anxious face swam before her. NO ONE COULD EVER WANT YOU!
‘Shut up!’ she screamed, clamping her hands over her ears.
Raw devastation cracked Tom’s face, but she couldn’t wait any longer, she had to go right now.
‘I’m sorry!’ she gasped. ‘I can’t… I have to… I’m sorry.’
She leapt up from the couch and fled the house into the warm afternoon. Halfway up the street, she slowed to a walk and looked back. Tom was standing in the middle of the footpath, arms hanging by his sides, watching her.
Tom
As soon as Tom got back to his hotel room, he found the business card he’d stuck in the pocket of his trousers at the party last night. He dialled the number.
‘Ethan Grange.’
Tom was struck mute. He’d half hoped he wouldn’t pick up.
‘Hello?’
‘Mr Grange—Ethan—it’s Tom. Tom Caruso.’
‘Tom. I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon.’
‘Sorry, it’s a public holiday. I should’ve waited until—’
‘What can I do for you, Tom?’
‘I’d like to accept your job offer,’ Tom said. ‘If it’s still on the table.’
After a moment, Grange let out a deep chuckle. ‘It wasn’t a twenty-four-hour deal, Tom. Take more time. Talk it over with your family.’
Tom’s heart ached. ‘I’ve had all the discussions I need to have. I’ve made my decision.’
‘Well, then. I look forward to welcoming you to the Sydney office. I’ll have my assistant call you next week to sort out the details. Congratulations, Tom.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
Grange hung up without saying goodbye. Tom stared at the phone in his hand. It was done.
Ali
Tom was leaving, and Ali was sinking. But it was soft. Comforting. Oblivion was an embrace. She stopped hiding bottles. Instead, she made sure there was one in every room for convenience.
It was said that drowning could be a peaceful experience. Ali had never believed it, but now she knew it was true. It wasn’t the desperate gasp for air. It wasn’t water hurtling into lungs. It was the act of letting go. Surrendering.
That’s all she had to do. Let go.
A loud banging on the front door jolted her upright on the couch. Her stomach turned over from the sudden movement, and she almost threw up. The bottle on the coffee table still held a quarter of its contents, but she couldn’t reach it from where she sat, and she was too sick to move.
The knocking grew louder and Ali clutched her throbbing head in her hands. She didn’t know what the time was or how long she’d been unconscious. She didn’t know how many days had passed since she’d run out on Tom. He could already be in Sydney for all she knew.
Louder. Bang. Crash. Each blow shook her skull, as if whoever it was would crash straight through into her brain.
‘Leave me alone!’ she screamed, hands over her ears. Her belly swooped in response.
But the knocking continued, steady, relentless. Finally, when Ali thought her head would explode if she didn’t make it stop, she hauled herself off the couch and staggered up the hallway. When she opened the door, she thought she must be dreaming.
A two-decade-old apparition stood on the doorstep, a white casserole dish clutched in both hands. Her hair was pulled back in a low ponytail. Her clothes were clean. Her eyes were clear. It was as if they’d traded places.
‘What are you doing here?’ Ali mumbled.
‘Can I come in?’
Ali stepped back, unable to muster the strength to send her away.
Hazel’s gaze flicked over the disaster zone of the living room without judgement as she set down the casserole dish on the bench. She walked straight to the coffee table and plucked up the vodka bottle.
‘No, don’t!’ Ali made a grab for it, but her mother dodged out of reach and tipped the remainder down the sink. ‘There are more,’ Ali said defiantly.
‘I know,’ Hazel said. ‘I’ve been doing this for twenty-four years, remember.’
She went to the windows beside the dining table and pulled back the curtains. Sun speared through the
glass and straight into Ali’s brain. She shielded her eyes like a vampire. Hazel returned to the kitchen and began to tidy up. There were no dishes, but the benchtop was nevertheless a mess. She collected the empty vodka bottles and took them out to the recycle bin. She wiped away the streaks of dried vomit from where Ali had missed the sink when she’d thrown up yesterday. She squirted disinfectant over every surface and scrubbed everything clean. Ali could only stand and watch her, mute with astonishment. The sight of her mother, sleeves rolled up, the loose skin on her arms jiggling with the effort, took Ali back to her early teenage years. Back when Hazel had still been Mum, and Ali had still had a father.
‘How long?’ she asked dully.
Hazel looked up from her work. ‘How long what?’
‘How long have you been sober?’
It wasn’t like Hazel hadn’t tried before. She’d given up countless times over the years, but never lasted longer than a week before she succumbed once more. But there was something about her now—something about the determined set of her mouth—that seemed different this time.
Hazel gave her a soft smile. ‘Since the day Tom told me you’d lost Elizabeth.’
Ali flinched. It had been so long since anyone had said her daughter’s name out loud.
Hazel’s eyes traversed Ali’s scrawny body. ‘When’s the last time you ate?’
Ali swayed on her feet. ‘I can’t remember.’ The less she ate, the less she seemed to need. She’d been living on a diet of dry crackers and her skin now hung from an angular frame. She was disgusting. The mirror told her so when she dared to look.
Hazel bent to turn on the oven, and slid the casserole dish straight onto the bottom shelf without waiting for it to preheat.
‘Why?’ Ali asked. ‘Why, after all this time?’
Hazel searched for the right words. ‘I know how hard it was… after your dad died. I wanted to change before… before you turned into me.’
‘Too late.’ Ali’s words were bitter.
‘Oh, love. It took me twenty-four years. If I can do it, I know you can. When I think about what you went through when your dad died… and you still got yourself through school and uni, got a job. We’re different. You’re stronger than I’ll ever be.’
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