The Art of Keeping Quiet (Part 2)

It’s not until someone declines a drink, or you spend an evening – or even an hour – in the pub with a teetotaller, that you realise just how big a part alcohol plays in society. It’s society’s thread; everyone, it seems, gets on the sauce.

So although my pregnant partner Tash was never one to drink much, when she started forgoing a beer or a glass of wine at the usual times, people noticed.

Don’t think for one minute you can fool anyone by secretly drinking for two.

For the Easter long weekend in 2009 we made the five-hour drive to Ouyen, in Victoria’s arid Mallee region, to visit my grandparents. My mother and sister, Kate, also made the trip. Soon after arrival, following the obligatory gasbagging-over-tea-and-vanilla slice, we moved outside to Nan and Pop’s beer garden.

It was a typical autumn evening in Ouyen: warm, with a gentle breeze and the low hum of insects all around. Perfect drinking weather. Kate poured herself a white wine and asked Tash if she wanted one. My girlfriend snuck a sideways glance at me before accepting.

“I’ll just drink yours when no one’s looking,” I whispered.

…when she started forgoing a beer or a glass of wine at the usual times, people noticed.

I took my opportunities. The first sip I knew I could get away with: “Give us a taste, Tash.” I sniffed the New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc, made a point of checking its region of origin (despite never having visited New Zealand), rolled it around my glass, briefly pondered its colour and balance. Then I tipped it back like a wino.

There, half a glass taken care of.

With the chatter around the table continuing unabated, I snuck another sip. Then two uncles and two aunties dropped in and there were bigger distractions. Soon enough I’d quaffed Tash’s glass.

Kate, noticing the empty, asked Tash if she wanted another.

“No thanks, I’m OK,” Tash said. “I’m on a bit of an alcohol detox.”

A few weeks after Easter, when my 18-year-old brother, Josh, and his girlfriend came down to visit, Mum asked him to put his best Sherlock Holmes hat on and monitor Tash’s drinking – or lack thereof. But when we headed to a top-notch Indian joint for dinner, Josh, a fresh-faced country boy in the big smoke, became so enchanted by the food that he forgot his instructions.

Mum grilled him upon his return home. “Was Tash drinking?”

“I think so.” Bored shrug.

Disappointed, Mum had to make do with the exciting news that my sister Jaime was expecting. She’d get a nice surprise soon.

But she’d just have to wait.

(When we told Mum the news, at 12 weeks, she recalled this evening; that Tash had looked paler than normal. She also noticed the quick glance Tash gave me when asked by Kate if she wanted a drink. Apparently Mum and Kate conspired to watch Tash out of the corner of their eyes thereafter – and didn’t once see her wine glass touch her lips. Later, when we sat down to dinner and Tash casually asked Nan what sort of cheese she’d used in her quiche, Mum and Kate high-fived each other with their eyes. I should have known my mother would be more intuitive than I gave her credit for. After all, I could never hide anything from her while living under the same roof – not as a child, teenager or young adult.)