by Emily Madden
‘Long story short—a year later, Rosie asked if I wanted to take over the café. It was only then I realised I had somehow gone from using the café as a springboard for my next step to it being my next step. She’d trained me up, even without me knowing. Rosie saved me. In a lot of ways.’
She understood how Josh felt. Rosie had that effect on people, but it still didn’t lessen the hurt that Rosie had kept the café, and Josh’s involvement, from her. ‘She never told me.’
‘I never asked her not to,’ Josh said and Brie believed him. And when she remained quiet he began, ‘Maybe she thought that …’ but then trailed off. He didn’t have to finish the sentence; Brie could easily guess his unspoken words.
‘Anyway,’ he sighed and dragged his hand through his hair, ‘I’ve told you all that I know.’
Brie nodded, noting that their conversation was coming to a close. ‘Thanks, I’ll see myself out.’ She was almost out the door when Josh called out to her.
‘Brie?’
‘Yes?’
He paused, as if he was trying to figure out exactly what to say. ‘When you’re ready to chat about the café again or if you want someone to … check out what’s upstairs, you can call me.’
It was as close to a peace offering as she would ever get from Josh and she suspected it came from a place of pity. ‘Thanks for the offer.’ She walked down the dim stairwell into the piercing sunlight. Fossicking through her bag, she dialled Joe’s number as she walked towards her car, spotting a yellow parking fine flapping in the breeze.
Great. Just what she needed.
‘Brie, I’m glad you called.’
Dragging the pesky notice from underneath the windscreen wiper and shoving it into her bag, she bypassed pleasantries and launched straight into the hard-hitting question.
‘Joe, did you know about the flat above the café? Rosie was apparently planning on moving there.’ She gave a short laugh, hoping that Joe would tell her that was preposterous.
‘I knew about the flat.’
‘Do you have a key?’
‘I do, but right now, we have a bigger problem.’ Joe breathed heavily into the phone. He sounded as if he was going to be sick or pass out.
‘What is it?’ Brie asked as she unlocked the car and slid in. She couldn’t possibly imagine anything bigger than what she already was dealing with.
‘There’s someone contesting the will.’
Twelve
Rosie
September 1959
The first few weeks were good. Even though financially the burden of Tom not working weighed heavily, as a father Tom was doting, and as a husband he was trying to be attentive.
But slowly, as spring neared, things started to turn and Tom began to gradually revert. Little things at first—complaining that her cooking was too foreign, that he didn’t need to try the recipe Rubina Di Norro gave her.
‘That’s wog food, and I’m no wog.’
Or the time Jimmy spilled milk all over the kitchen floor at the same moment that Tom had walked in, a thunderous look on his face, as though he was about to explode. Rosie was so scared he would spank Jimmy, she jumped in and defended him. ‘That was my fault, I left the milk too close to the edge.’
His gaze slid from a cowering Jimmy to Rosie, his eyes narrowing to slits. ‘You’re right,’ he nodded slowly, his gaze full of rage, ‘it was your fault.’ And then in a snap he turned to Jimmy, his voice light and jovial. ‘Come on, son, let’s go out and toss the football around.’
Rosie breathed a sigh of relief. When she heard Jimmy’s laughter waft through the house, she should’ve felt happy. She was relieved that Tom and Jimmy were forming a bond, even if she and Tom did not have the fairytale marriage she had hoped for. As long as her little boy was happy, that was what mattered. But she knew that once Jimmy was asleep, she would be punished in the way that Tom always saw fit. Rosie knew the more she resisted, the harsher the punishment.
She reminded herself that as the head of the house, it was his right to demand she perform her wifely duties, and if that included having him in her mouth while he pulled her hair within an inch of ripping it off her scalp and shoving himself so far down the back of her throat she gagged, then so be it. Anger and aggression were normal male behaviour.
After all, sex was not supposed to be enjoyable. It was a task, a duty. Wasn’t that the norm? Even the Bible said so.
The wife has no authority over her own body but yields it to her husband … (I Corinthians 7:4)
Rosie had found solace in her faith. As long as she could find reasoning from scripture, then whatever happened was bearable.
Floss had not been impressed with Rosie forgiving Tom. ‘You don’t get to just say sorry and it’s all better.’
‘But he’s better with Jimmy,’ she defended.
Floss pursed her lips. ‘Darl, that’s all well and good, but is he better with you?’
‘He’s better.’ And in many ways, it was the truth. ‘I do not want perfection as long as he is a good father and a good provider, that’s all that should matter.’
Floss didn’t push the matter any further, but by the look on her face, Rosie knew there was much going on in her mind that she did not voice.
Rosie had to believe there was a reason for everything, that in some way, she was suffering for a greater good.
Whom the Lord loveth, he chasteneth (Hebrews 12:6).
But by the time the boughs of the plane trees were budding with the fragrance of spring and hinting with the promise of summer, the abuse (a word she would come to use in hindsight) was progressive. It seemed that every time Tom snapped, it was worse than the time before. Still, she would remind herself, he didn’t hit her, and more importantly, he hadn’t laid a finger on Jimmy. There was no space in her mind to believe this would happen. Jimmy was his own flesh and blood. Tom would never do anything to hurt him.
But three separate incidents on three separate days would challenge Rosie’s faith.
* * *
It was early when the banging on the front door roused Rosie from deep slumber. Although it was spring, the nights and mornings held a chill that was biting. Wrapping her robe tight around her middle, she shuffled to see who it was.
‘Mary, what’s wrong?’
Her neighbour was clearly distressed, crying uncontrollably, and so loudly that a moment later Tom was behind her.
‘What’s going on?’ he asked, his voice groggy from sleep.
‘It’s Dulcie,’ Mary managed between sobs. ‘I woke up and … found her on the kitch-kitchen floor. I don’t think … I don’t think she’s breathing.’
Rosie gasped, her hand flying to her mouth, while Tom swore. ‘Have you called an ambulance?’
Mary nodded her head furiously as she wrung her hands. ‘I can’t lose her!’ she wailed.
‘There, there.’ Rosie enveloped her in a tight hug and patted her back. ‘It’ll be alright.’ But even as the words left her lips, and even without seeing Dulcie, she knew it wouldn’t be good.
In the distance, a red flashing light filled the predawn streetscape, its siren muted. ‘The ambulance is here,’ Rosie said quietly. Mary wiped her tears with the sleeve of her robe and hastily sped home.
As she approached the ambulance officers, Mary looked frightened and Rosie’s heart clenched.
‘Come on,’ Tom said curtly, turning to head back to bed. ‘Close the door.’
Rosie was speechless. ‘I can’t leave her alone. She needs someone.’
‘Why does it have to be you? Let the tranny do it.’
Rosie knew Floss and Roberta were away and wouldn’t be back for another day. ‘Floss isn’t home. There’s no one else.’
Tom was clearly annoyed. ‘You have a child here.’
‘I know that, Tom, but you’re here and you’re not going anywhere.’
Even in the dimness she felt the ferocity of his glare. She knew she would pay for it later, but right now she didn’t care. ‘Tom, Mary needs someone
. She can’t be left to deal with this alone. She and Dulcie have been there for us.’
‘Fine.’ He expelled an angry breath, before walking off without another word.
Pushing Tom out of her mind, she rushed out to see Dulcie being loaded into the ambulance.
‘They found a pulse,’ Mary said hopefully. ‘It’s faint but it’s there! They’re taking her to St Vinnie’s.’
Rosie clung onto the small sliver of good news, but she knew that it meant nothing right now. ‘Do you want me to come with you?’
‘Oh, Rosie.’ Mary grabbed both her hands and squeezed them with fervour. ‘That would be wonderful if you could.’
‘Of course. Give me a few minutes to get dressed.’
Hastily, she pulled on the clothes she’d worn the day before and ran a comb through her hair. This was not the time to think of styling or fashion. Grabbing her coat, she was buttoning it up when she saw a car in front idling. Mary dashed out of her front door a moment later. ‘Come on, Rosie. Jack will take us to the hospital.’
‘Jack?’ Rosie instantly felt foolish. Of course Mary would call him. Should she be bothering to still go? Mary would’ve said otherwise.
She followed Mary to the car, hesitantly sliding into the back seat.
‘Thank you, Jack,’ Mary said as they pulled away from the curb. ‘I’m sorry to have woken you so early.’
‘Don’t sweat it. You know I would do anything for you and Dulcie.’
‘I know.’ Mary’s voice was shaky. ‘Oh God! I’m just so scared of losing her.’
‘Hey, you can’t think like that.’ Jack’s voice was soothing as he reached out to rub Mary’s thigh and she dropped her head on Jack’s shoulder in response. It was such a tender exchange of emotion that Rosie felt her face flame.
‘You’ve gotta be positive, right, Rosie?’
Rosie jumped slightly at Jack’s acknowledgment of her presence. Since Jimmy’s birthday, she had been actively avoiding him. The couple of times they had run into each other had been on Darlinghurst Road, and both times she’d been with Tom, so there hadn’t been anything more than a polite hello.
‘Yes, you need to keep positive.’ She caught Jack looking at her in the rear-view mirror and she felt her stomach flutter. She looked away first, but felt his gaze linger.
The drive to St Vincent’s was short. Jack stopped the car outside of the emergency department and Mary all but leapt out, and Rosie quickly followed suit.
‘You call me if you need anything, you hear?’
‘I will, Jack. Thank you for driving us in.’ Mary turned towards the entrance and sped inside, leaving Rosie a little confused.
‘Rosie,’ Jack called out to her.
‘Yes?’ she said, half expecting him to say he’ll park the car and join them inside.
‘Take care of her. She’s not as strong as she looks.’
Wasn’t Jack coming in? Did he have somewhere better to be at this time of the morning? What could possibly be more important than being there for his girlfriend in her greatest time of need? Irritation bloomed.
‘Of course,’ she said, her voice clipped as she quickened her pace to reach Mary. She found her talking to a doctor, his expression grave.
‘Thank you, Mr Webb, I understand.’ Mary nodded and the doctor touched her arm lightly before leaving.
‘What did he say?’ Rosie asked as they took a seat in the waiting area.
‘They think she’s had a stroke, but they will know more after they operate to see if they can locate the source of the bleeding.’
Rosie’s heart was in her mouth and her stomach in knots. ‘Is that all?’
‘That’s all they know. I guess we wait now.’ Mary dropped her head into her hands.
‘How about I get us some coffee?’ Rosie suggested and Mary gave a small nod. When she returned, Mary was sitting up, looking pale.
‘Here.’ Rosie gently placed the coffee in Mary’s hands. ‘Hopefully it will help us with the wait.’ Rosie nodded towards the caffeine.
Mary took a sip but almost immediately moved her hand to cover her mouth.
‘Mary, are you alright?’
‘I think I’m going to be sick,’ she muffled through her hands.
Scanning the room for anything resembling a pan or bucket, Rosie spotted a small bin and grabbed it just in the nick of time. Rosie rubbed Mary’s back as the girl heaved into the basket. When she finally lifted her head, her cheeks had slightly more colour to them.
‘Here.’ Rosie handed Mary a hankie from her purse.
‘Thank you.’ She smiled weakly. ‘I should’ve known it wouldn’t agree with me. I’ve been having trouble keeping anything down of a morning for a week or so now.’
‘For a week or so?’ Rosie asked before the penny dropped. ‘Oh, Mary, are you …?’
Mary nodded, tears spilling down her cheeks.
‘The father …’ For some reason, Rosie couldn’t bring herself to say Jack’s name. ‘Does he know?’
‘No. I haven’t told him yet.’
‘Why not? Surely he would support you. You’re carrying his child.’
Mary shrugged before closing her eyes and slumping into her chair. ‘That’s not a given, not with this man, and I don’t think this is the first time it’s happened to him. Besides, this is the Cross. Girls get themselves into trouble all the time and they deal with it.’
Rosie felt her back stiffen. ‘Mary, you wouldn’t be considering …’
Mary wiped her tears with the hankie and blew her nose. ‘I don’t know what to do, Rosie. And now with Dulcie … Oh if I lose her! I’m such a mess it’s doing my head in.’
‘Don’t think about it!’ Rosie wrapped her arm around Mary’s shoulder and gave it a rub. ‘Let’s focus our prayers on Dulcie, shall we?’
Outside, morning had broken. Rays of sunshine spilled through the slits of the blinds illuminating tiny specks of dust that danced in the air. As she felt Mary doze off, Rosie thought about what she had said regarding the baby’s father.
‘That’s not a given, not with this man, and I don’t think this is the first time it’s happened to him.’
Was Jack capable of such callousness? And if Mary wasn’t the first girl that he’d got pregnant, you would think he would be more careful!
‘Miss Hawkins?’ Mary jumped as the surgeon she had been talking to earlier approached them. One look at his face and Rosie knew the news wasn’t good.
‘Is my grandmother out of surgery? How is she?’
The surgeon shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Miss Hawkins, we lost her.’
‘You lost her? Oh God!’ Mary clutched at her stomach, but this time Rosie wasn’t quick enough and Mary vomited all over his shoes. ‘Oh, Mr Webb, I’m so …’ Mary didn’t finish her apology as her legs gave way, but thankfully, the doctor grabbed her before she hit the ground.
‘Nurse!’ he yelled. ‘We need a bed here. A woman has fainted from shock.’
‘She’s … pregnant.’
‘How far along?’ he asked as a bed arrived and they stretched Mary onto it.
‘I’m not sure. She said she’d been feeling unwell for a week or so.’
‘Early stages, then,’ he murmured as he checked pupils, pulse and then blood pressure.
Mary started to come around, moving her head woozily and flickering her eyes. ‘Take her to room 304 and administer a saline drip,’ he instructed the nurse.
‘Will she be alright?’ Rosie asked with concern.
‘Her blood pressure is low; we’ll monitor her for a while, but she’s going to need people around her. The baby’s father, where is he?’
‘I’m … not sure, he dropped us off before …’
‘He should be here with her,’ the surgeon noted as he checked his watch and strode away.
‘Yes,’ Rosie said wryly. ‘I couldn’t agree more.’
* * *
By the time Rosie made it home, it was early afternoon. Mary had been given the all clear to be released,
and at her request, Rosie accompanied her to view Dulcie’s body. To her surprise, Mary was quite composed. If anything, she looked too shell-shocked to cry.
When one of the hospital staff started asking questions about which funeral parlour to send the body to, Mary blinked back like a deer in headlights.
‘Is it alright if she calls back later today or even tomorrow?’ Rosie asked. ‘I’m not quite sure she’s thought that far ahead.’
‘Of course.’ The woman smiled sympathetically. ‘Here’s my card. The number is down the bottom.’
Rosie asked if they should call Jack to pick them up, but Mary shook her head. ‘Let’s walk. It’s not far and I could use some fresh air. Besides, Jack’s already helped so much. I wouldn’t want to burden him any more than needed.’
Rosie wanted to yell that Jack hadn’t done anywhere near enough, that he needed to be a man and own up to his responsibilities, but she knew that now wasn’t the time to be lecturing Mary. So she looped her arm through Mary’s as they walked into the afternoon spring sun. They walked in silence, the only sounds those of the passing cars and people going about their lives.
When they arrived home, Floss was at the front, waiting on Mary’s doorstep. ‘Oh, darl!’ She pulled Mary into an embrace. ‘I’m so sorry.’
They took Mary inside and put her straight to bed. ‘What are you doing back? I didn’t think you were coming home until tomorrow.’
‘Jack called me and we hopped on a train straightaway.’
‘Did he now?’ Rosie snorted and Floss sent her a look that read, What do you mean? But before she could be questioned, the sound of Jimmy crying next door jolted her.
‘Go,’ Floss shooed her away. ‘I can handle it from here.’
Running as fast as she could, she burst through the door to witness Tom delivering a backhand to Jimmy’s face, the hit so hard that he flew backwards, his tiny body falling like a rag doll as his head hit the wall with a sickening sound.
‘Jimmy!’ she bellowed, rushing to her son’s side. She picked him up, the red welt from Tom’s strike appearing promptly on his left cheek.
