by Emily Madden
‘Yeah, sure,’ she said, suddenly feeling like she was in the middle of The Bourne Identity or some godforsaken spy movie. She ended the call and less than a minute later, Joe’s text came through. Brie frowned. She knew the street, but had no idea what it would have to do with her grandmother.
What on earth was the connection between Rosie and Kings Cross?
Three
Rosie
Sydney, January 1959
‘Oh, Mamma, Mamma, look!’
Rosie pulled her son closer to her, wrapping her arms around him. She could feel Jimmy’s excitement, his tiny heartbeat thumping frantically in his chest, mirroring her own. Wind, smelling of salty brine, slapped her face, whipping her hair wildly and tickling Jimmy’s cheeks. His delightful childish giggling was like music to her soul.
‘That’s land, Jimmy.’
After the better part of five weeks, a journey that seemed to span the whole world, they were almost there. They had left London on a clear but cold morning, the SS Southern Cross setting sail through the Suez Canal for Port Said in Egypt, through the narrow canal to Port Aden and into the Red Sea, then Colombo in Ceylon. From there, the ship travelled across the Indian Ocean to the Western Australian port of Fremantle before setting course for its final destination.
Their destination. Their destiny. Their new home.
Rosie had seen parts of the world she never knew existed. Each port had been a heady mix of sights, sounds and scents. Buying from peddlers in small boats or at exotic bazaars was an entertaining novelty for most migrants travelling to Australia. When they docked in Colombo, Rosie was overwhelmed by an all-pervading, enveloping aroma, which she discovered once on shore to be the smell of curries from the diverse array of food stalls beyond the terminal. It was here, at yet another exotic port, where she tasted fresh coconut for the first time.
In Port Said, they toured the Pyramids and went on camel rides. Rosie was in awe of the wonderful triangular structures. A true marvel of man, she had no real desire in seeing them for herself, but Mr and Mrs Harrison, an older couple who were heading to Fremantle to live with their son and family, had convinced Rosie that taking Jimmy to see the Egyptian Pyramids would be a memory he would cherish for the rest of his life. Rosie’s first thought was that at two and a half, Jimmy would be too young to retain the memory, no matter how grand or exotic the locale. Her second thought was she was almost certain she didn’t have enough money, but it seemed Mrs Harrison read this concern and insisted on paying for them. Perhaps it was written all over her face. Her mother often told her she wore her emotions as plain as day.
Rosie had tried to talk Mrs Harrison out of her more-than-generous offer, but she was chided.
‘Nonsense, my dear.’ Mrs Harrison waved her bejewelled hand about. ‘Mr Harrison and I have more money than we know what to do with. We’ve not been able to spend it on our grandchildren. At least allow me the pleasure of giving your Jimmy this gift.’
Rosie had taken the older woman’s hand and held it tight. Her skin was soft and smooth despite its aged appearance. ‘I cannot thank you enough, Mrs Harrison.’
‘You are most welcome, my dear Rosaleen. Treasure the experience with your beautiful boy. Soon you’ll be in your new country reunited with your beloved, and no doubt swept off your feet with more babies to look after.’
Rosie had laughed, her heart squeezing as she thought of growing their family. As an only child, there was no way that she wanted that for Jimmy. In her last letter to Tom, she had been bold and stated she couldn’t wait to have another child. It had been three years almost to the day Tom had left to build them a new life in Australia.
Rosie always had known of Tom’s plans to move, and at first it hadn’t fazed her that their romance would be temporary; Rosie had grand plans of her own. But not long before Tom’s departure, Rosie had discovered she was with child.
Even though her mother was far more progressive than most in Tinahely, and indeed, the whole of Ireland, marriage was the only choice. Still, for a brief moment, Rosie did wonder if she would end up like some of the girls that had got themselves ‘in trouble’. A couple of years ago Mrs O’Brien’s niece, Nellie, was sent to a nunnery and her baby taken away because the father, a twat by the name of Mick Connelly, refused to marry her.
They’d decided that Tom would travel on his own and earn enough money to bring her and Jimmy over. Rosie had been disappointed, but both her mother and Tom had thought it for the best.
It was the only time her mother and Tom had ever agreed on something. To say her mother was not a fan of Tom’s would be an understatement. Mrs O’Brien hadn’t seemed overly impressed either, commenting on more than one occasion that Rosie was better off without a distraction. Maybe what happened to poor Nellie had made her bitter.
A husband and a child hadn’t been what Rosie had envisioned so soon, but plans changed, and truth be told, she had been smitten with Tom since that first night at O’Malley’s. The very next day, he had called on her and asked her on a dinner date. Her mother had been less than enthusiastic.
‘You don’t need to jump into the arms of the first man that pays you attention. You have time, child.’
Her mother’s words had rankled. ‘I’m nineteen, Mother, hardly a child. Why, half the girls I was at school with are married with babies.’
‘Is that what you want from life? To be married with babies? I thought your heart was set on making dresses.’
‘I could still do that—with or without babies and a husband,’ Rosie had defended. Why were her mother and Mrs O’Brien so against love? Her first instinct had been to call on Sinead and vent her frustration, but their friendship had cooled some since the night they’d met Tom. Rosie had tried to reach out, but it seemed every time she did, Sinead was too busy for her. Eventually, Rosie had stopped trying, and their friendship that spanned more than a decade had disintegrated. It bothered Rosie. It had hurt her that she didn’t have her closest friend to share her news that she was to be a mother. Rosie had lost count of the number of times she and Sinead had talked about having babies when they were young.
‘Our children will be friends, just like us. It’ll be grand.’
But neither of them could predict the future. Not long before Jimmy was born, she had run into Sinead. It had been a painful experience. They were walking towards one another on the very same street they’d walked down the night they headed to O’Malley’s. Rosie saw Sinead first, and when her former friend met her gaze, Rosie smiled, heart full of hope. However, her hope was soon dashed. Sinead’s gaze flickered down to Rosie’s burgeoning belly before pointedly looking away and crossing the road, creating further distance between them. Rosie was crushed. She called out, but Sinead either didn’t hear, or worse, chose to ignore her. Rosie couldn’t run after her; walking was a feat in her advanced stage of pregnancy and there was no way she would catch her. Eventually, she lost sight of her, and for the longest time, she stood there on the pavement, sobbing.
She didn’t see Sinead again, which made things easier, and once Jimmy was born, she didn’t have time to socialise; she was essentially a single parent. Her ma was a great help, doting on Jimmy, whom Rosie had named after her mother’s brother who died of smallpox when he was only five. Parting from her ma had been hard, and Jimmy cried a bucket. Rosie kept telling him they were going to live with Pa. Tom had left before Jimmy was born, yet Rosie had made sure her son was reminded of his father daily, and in turn, she wrote to Tom weekly. His letters were frequent at first, but lately they had been more sporadic. Rosie tried not to dwell on it, telling herself that Tom was busy—working hard to provide for them. Anyway, it scarcely mattered now. Soon enough they would all be together, a family at last.
‘Pa here?’ Jimmy’s voice broke her thoughts. His eyes, the very same blue as his father’s, stared back at her. The moment he’d been born, any niggling doubt or resentment she had towards an unplanned pregnancy had faded to nothing. Her ma had said that she would not know
love until she held her child in her arms, and she was right. Rosie was sure when Tom saw Jimmy, he too would feel the same. His recent letters had not been so full of hope and love as they had been in the beginning, and they were nowhere near as long, but that was because he was busy working. There wouldn’t be any other reason, would there?
Quashing any negative thoughts, she focused on the happiness that bloomed in her heart. After almost three years, after many nights alone, they were about to be reunited. They were about to be a family again. ‘Yes, Jimmy. Pa is here.’
Squeezing him tight against her chest, she stared out towards the heads, towards the tiny speck of brown land that was slowly growing clearer. Her tummy flip-flopped with nervous exhilaration. Soon she would see her beloved Tom and all would be right. She would prove her mother wrong. She would give her Jimmy everything she didn’t have. A family, a place to belong. Tom wasn’t her father, a despicable excuse for a man who had abandoned them.
Her throat was thick with emotion. She swallowed once, blinked twice, her eyes suddenly clouded by unshed tears of joy and relief. ‘That’s Sydney, my beautiful boy,’ she whispered, her cold lips finding his warm cheek. ‘We’re home.’
As the boat neared the harbour, Rosie could see scores of people all lined up waiting for loved ones. The hum and cheering from the crowd grew louder and Rosie could feel her heart hammering in her chest.
‘Pa, Pa!’ Jimmy called excitedly as Rosie blinked away tears.
Rosie held Jimmy close as they disembarked, pushed along in the human tide.
The port was a flurry of activity. Rosie clutched her suitcase in one hand while balancing Jimmy on her hip as she weaved through the crowd and witnessed many emotional reunions that only heightened her anticipation. Craning her neck, she scanned the masses, searching for Tom. She spotted him, finally. Standing a far distance away, talking to another man. He was laughing at something.
‘Tom, Tom!’ Her voice strained to rise above the noise. ‘Tom!’ Hurriedly, she pushed through the sea of people, towards her husband, the speed hindered by the weight she was carrying, her throat raw from screaming his name, so she conserved her energy until she was close enough.
‘Tom!’ Tears of joy welled as her heart raced from a combination of delight and exertion. She could feel sweat beading on the back of her neck. There she stood, holding their son, standing in front of Tom, waiting eagerly for him to notice them, but it was the man he was in conversation with who noticed them first.
‘G’day, Missus.’ He gave her a polite nod before turning his attention to Jimmy. ‘G’day, little fella.’ He smiled a toothy grin, his accent strange and foreign and unlike anything Rosie had heard. It wasn’t long before she realised that the man was Australian, and she, by definition, was the foreigner here.
‘Rosie.’ Tom’s joviality that had been on display only moments earlier had cooled some.
‘Tom,’ she breathed. ‘I can’t believe we’re finally here.’ She stepped forward and stood up on tiptoe to place a kiss on her husband’s cheek. As she did, she swore she felt Tom stiffen. A frizzle of alarm flowed through her, but she tried to convince herself it was a figment of her imagination.
He was just a little awkward after not seeing her for so long, that was understandable. And they were in a public place; perhaps her open display of affection was not acceptable. Of course, the man next to Tom hadn’t seemed to react, but that was beside the point.
‘Pa?’ Jimmy’s voice returned her to the here and now. Rosie hitched him a little higher on her hip.
‘Yes, Jimmy, this is your pa. Say hello.’ She infused enthusiasm in her voice, but as she turned her gaze to Tom, she perceived a lack of interest. It was as if he was seeing a stranger’s child, not meeting his son for the very first time.
‘Pa!’ Jimmy squirmed, his arms outstretched expectantly towards Tom. The hesitation on Tom’s part wasn’t hard to miss and the alarm returned. Awkwardly, Tom took Jimmy, holding him as if he was a sack of potatoes. Rosie wanted to intervene but stopped. She had to remember that while she had been a mother for two years, Tom, even though technically he had been a father, had no experience with children. Expecting an instant rapport was perhaps unrealistic, something more akin to a fairytale. Once they were settled, things would fall back into place. No longer had they seas and miles separating them. Wasn’t that what was important?
‘So, this is ya sheila and little nipper?’ Rosie looked blankly at the man next to Tom.
‘Yes.’ Tom cleared his throat. ‘This is my wife and … my son.’
‘Pleased to meet ya, Missus, I’m Stew.’
Rosie took Stew’s proffered hand. It was rough and calloused, his grip firm. ‘Hello, I’m Rosie, and this is Jimmy.’ She gestured to her son, who was beginning to fidget in Tom’s arms.
‘Hello, little fella!’ Stew said enthusiastically. Jimmy all of a sudden extended his arms out towards Stew, who took him without hesitation. Rosie was unsure if she was more surprised at the easiness between Jimmy and Stew or the lack thereof between Tom and their son.
‘He seems to have taken a shine to you.’ Rosie gave an agitated laugh as Tom looked on, his brows furrowed.
Stew was pulling faces and Jimmy was giggling hysterically. ‘Have a few nieces ’n nephews of me own. The nippers tend to like me.’ Although his accent was still strange and he used unfamiliar words, Rosie could somehow understand the sentiment.
‘Where ’bouts in Ireland are ya from?’ Stew asked, turning his attention to her.
‘Tinahely. It’s a small village in Wicklow County.’ Rosie’s gaze flicked beyond the harbour to the vast expanse of ocean and felt a sudden pang of homesickness.
‘And you got stuck with this Pom?’ His words weren’t meant with any malice, but by the look on Tom’s face, it was clear he didn’t appreciate the implication that perhaps he wasn’t good enough, that she’d settled by marrying him.
‘I don’t mind one single bit.’ She smiled brightly, while Tom continued to scowl.
‘Take the boy,’ he said gruffly. ‘We’d better get going.’
‘It was nice to meet you, Stew,’ Rosie said as she retrieved Jimmy.
‘You too, see ya, little fella.’ He gave Jimmy’s small, pudgy hand a squeeze before turning to Tom. ‘Guess I’ll catch ya at the pub Friday arvo?’
‘I’ll be there.’
‘Reckon Reg and Bob will be comin’, should be bonza.’
‘Indeed. See ya then.’
Although there was a marked difference between the men’s accents, Tom’s inflection and intonation seemed different. Of course, it didn’t seem too inconceivable that there would be changes in the way he sounded—he’d been living in a foreign country for three years now.
Not foreign, Rosie reminded herself. This is your home now, too. It seemed strange, it sounded strange, and as they made their way towards the tram stop, Rosie cast her eyes around her, soaking in the flurry of activity, people going about their day-to-day business, ferries navigating the harbour leaving frothy brine trails that criss-crossed this way and that, and above them all, the imposing arched bridge—a monument of steel that seemed to guard the harbour and all its people like a sentinel. It wasn’t beautiful. Truth be told, her very first thought about the metal formation was that it was drab and ugly. But like many things to do with Sydney, time would alter her perception of the iconic arched structure Sydneysiders affectionately referred to as the ‘Coat hanger’.
Rosie climbed aboard the crowded 12A tram at Circular Quay with Jimmy clinging to her as she watched the landscape of Sydney unfold before her. They snaked down Phillip Street, then onto Elizabeth Street, where they changed to the number 10 tram that would take them to Kings Cross.
Tom didn’t say much, and strangely Rosie didn’t mind. She soaked in every inch of this new city, in this strange land, and wondered how long it would take for her not to feel displaced. For so long she had dreamed of this moment, of being here, being with Tom, she thought as the tram rat
tled up an impossibly steep hill and a booming metropolis unfolded around her. They alighted and soon they were turning onto Victoria Street, where from the letters she’d been sending Tom, she knew the house was.
They passed terrace houses, some beautifully painted and well kept with their cast-iron lace railings, while others had them ripped off, marring their beauty.
It was a long and wide street, and as they walked, Rosie noticed the London plane trees arching across the street, their branches outstretched as if trying to entwine. Lush emerald leaves only enhanced their beauty. They passed a florist, a butcher, a café with a strange name and even stranger smells.
‘We’re almost there,’ Tom said, briefly looking over his shoulder and frowning at how Jimmy was struggling to keep up with the pace.
A filament of panic coursed through her veins, converging and settling in her stomach. Nothing about her move was as planned. This place and everything about it, her husband … nothing was as she’d imagined.
Jimmy whimpered and Tom stopped suddenly. Rosie expected another scowl, but the lines of his face had softened some. He sighed long and heavy and stooped down to scoop their little boy in his arms. Jimmy automatically dropped his head on Tom’s shoulder and closed his eyes.
‘The journey must’ve been long and tiring.’ Tom met her gaze and Rosie expelled a shaky breath she didn’t realise she was holding.
‘For the both of you,’ he added, and there was a tenderness in his tone and eyes which was reminiscent of the Tom she’d married, the Tom she loved.
‘Yes, it was, but we’re here now. We’re together.’
‘Yes, we are.’ His eyes didn’t leave her. They roamed her face, her body, sending waves of awareness through her, and suddenly the memory of that night at O’Malley’s flashed before her. Tom catching her before she fell, and then she was well and truly falling in love with him.
‘Come, let’s go home,’ he murmured as Jimmy stirred in his arms, his hand outstretched to envelop hers—their first touch in years and it made her heart come to a halt before launching into a gallop and thundering so hard and fast in her chest that she thought she might die.
