Heart of the Cross

by Emily Madden

  ‘Mamma,’ he whimpered, burying himself into her chest. She rubbed the back of his head and felt a bump the size of an egg beginning to form. Her blood was boiling.

  ‘What have you done!’ she screamed at Tom, her voice murderous.

  Tom simply stared at her, hands on hips, his eyes narrowed into tiny slits. ‘The boy is spoilt. You’ve mollycoddled him.’

  ‘Whatever he did, he’s a child. You can’t hit him like that.’

  He took her words as insolent and they enraged him. ‘I can’t hit him?’ He thumped his fist with almighty fury on the kitchen table. The force propelled a glass to fall off and it shattered into a thousand tiny shards. Jimmy cowered, clinging to her.

  ‘A father is not permitted to discipline his son? I shall punish him if I see fit.’

  Slowly she stood, making sure her grip on Jimmy was tight enough. ‘You can punish me all you like, I will tolerate it, but you leave our son alone.’

  She walked away, her legs shaking with equal parts fear and anger. She tended to the wound on Jimmy’s face then iced his head. She put him to bed and smoothed her hair as she headed back to the kitchen to clean up the glass. Her mind still reeled. How could he hit Jimmy? He called it discipline, but Rosie knew it was not. She knew what Floss would call it, she would say it was—

  Cold, calloused hands grabbed her, shoving her against the wall. The shock of it winded her. She twisted and turned and tried to push him away, but it was no use. He was bigger, stronger, and she couldn’t match his brute strength.

  He didn’t say a word. Not a single word as he pinned her with his body, his face raw and rage flaring in his eyes as he tore at her skirt with one hand, the other covering her mouth. She knew what he was about to do next. Rosie inhaled sharply and the fetid smell that lingered in his palm made her nauseous. His movements were savage. With each thrust, the back of her head hit the wall and it seemed to please him. He quickened his pace, his sickening grunts followed by her skull colliding with the wall the only sounds filling the room.

  Rosie squeezed her eyes shut and prayed for it to be all over soon. She prayed that Jimmy wouldn’t walk out and witness this. Tom had taken liberties with her body in the past, but it always had been in their bedroom. He’d at least had the decency to wait till they were alone. But now, it seemed that he was moving the goalposts.

  What next? Would he kill her? By the murderous look in his eyes she wouldn’t put it past him. The fear came not from death itself, but of what it would mean for Jimmy. She could feel her chest burning, her throat closing up. She gasped for breath, struggling so desperately to fill her lungs, to fight.

  She thought of praying. But what would she pray for? If she prayed to God to spare her life, would she then promise to be a better wife? Not enrage her husband so he pinned her against a wall?

  Would he say sorry, and for the sake of their son, would she forgive him and then strive to help him find God? Maybe if they both had Him in their lives, their marriage would be stronger. But Rosie knew, without doubt, that Tom was beyond help; even divine intervention could not save their marriage. So instead she promised that if she survived, there was only one thing she wanted from Tom. It was the last thought she had before her head collided so violently that it made her ears ring, and a moment later she blacked out.

  She wanted a divorce.

  Thirteen

  Rosie

  Tom didn’t end up killing her. Nor did she ask him for a divorce. Not yet anyway. She had blacked out and when she came to, the house was dark. In a panic, she ran to Jimmy’s room to find him playing with his truck on the floor.

  ‘I’m all better, Mamma.’ He smiled as she pulled him into a thankful hug.

  ‘I’m so glad, my precious boy.’ She kissed the top of his head and winced from the pain around her neck. It hurt to breathe. ‘Where is your pa?’ There seemed to be no sign of Tom.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Jimmy said, his voice quivering. ‘I didn’t mean to make him mad and yell, Mamma.’

  ‘Of course not, baby boy.’ She stroked his hair. ‘Pa shouldn’t have gotten so cross.’ And then not because she believed it, but because she thought Jimmy needed to hear it, she added, ‘And he’s sorry for hurting you, Jimmy.’ Her heart winced as she said the words. She hated lying to her son. Hated that she had to defend Tom.

  Tom didn’t come home that night, to her relief. She was ashamed to admit that the thought had crossed her mind that he was lying somewhere in a gutter dying and she could not care less. When he did come home, he offered no explanation for his absence, nor did Rosie ask.

  The base of her neck bore the evidence of his brutality, bruises black and purple, and she didn’t bother to hide them; she wanted the reminder thrown in his face every time he saw her.

  On Thursday, the morning of Dulcie’s funeral, Rosie dressed and readied Jimmy. She had arranged to leave him with the Di Norros. She had lied to Rubina, telling her that Tom needed to work. She hadn’t a clue if that was the truth. The last couple of mornings, he’d gone before she’d awoken and returned after she’d gone to bed.

  They still hadn’t spoken a word.

  ‘Why can’t I come to say goodbye to Dulcie, Mamma?’ Jimmy asked as they walked towards the Di Norros’ deli.

  ‘Because some goodbyes are sad, Jimmy. Dulcie wouldn’t want you to be sad.’ She had tried to explain Dulcie’s passing in a way that wouldn’t upset or scare her son, but what was death if it wasn’t upsetting or scary?

  ‘Like when we said goodbye to Gran?’

  ‘Yes. Remember how sad Gran was when we left? Well, Dulcie is leaving us for heaven.’

  Jimmy seemed to accept this as reason enough, and by the time she was walking back to meet Floss, Jimmy was already happily playing with Rubina’s son, Paulo.

  Seeing Floss in top-to-toe black was strange. Even her makeup was muted. Rosie was just grateful that after a few unseasonably warm spring days the weather had cooled considerably and she was able to wear a dress that covered her still-dark bruises.

  She was somewhat surprised that there was no sign of Jack as they filed into St John’s Anglican Church on Darlinghurst Road. Floss and Rosie flanked Mary, who looked like a lost little girl in her funeral attire. Even though Dulcie hadn’t been particularly religious, Mary insisted that she needed to wear black to her grandmother’s funeral. A few times during the service Mary splayed her hand over her stomach, reminding Rosie that she was carrying Jack’s child. Each time, Rosie craned her neck, looking for any sign of him. She spotted him on the third occasion, sitting in the second-last pew. Why wasn’t he by Mary’s side? She scowled at him, and it seemed that even from the distance he could clearly read her face.

  ‘The wake is at Jack’s diner,’ Mary informed them at the conclusion of the burial service.

  ‘We’ll meet you there, darl,’ Floss told her as a couple of the girls who had worked for Dulcie arrived to offer their condolences. There was no sign of Jack again and Rosie assumed he’d gone back to the diner. Roberta had borrowed her brother’s car to drive them around that day, but needed to return it by the evening, so she dropped them on Darlinghurst Road, en route.

  ‘I should check in with the Di Norros, see if Jimmy is ready to go home. If he is, I won’t come to the wake.’

  ‘Okay, darl, but are you sure you’re not avoiding Jack? I mean, it’s one thing to want to be committed to your marriage, but Jack wants to be your friend. He worries about you, darl. I’ve lost count of the number of times he’s asked me about you.’

  ‘I think Jack has bigger things to worry about than our friendship. Perhaps he should think about owning up to his responsibilities.’

  ‘Darl, what are you talking about?’ Floss looked flabbergasted and it occurred to Rosie that perhaps she didn’t know about Mary’s pregnancy.

  ‘Never mind.’

  ‘Are you talking about Mary?’

  ‘Yes, she told you?’

  ‘Yes, darl. Jack is getting his doctor friend to help out.’


  ‘Help out how?’ Rosie asked suspiciously.

  ‘You know, to get rid of it.’

  ‘That son of a …’ She couldn’t believe it. Is this how Jack Reid dealt with his mistakes, by making them go away?

  ‘Oh, don’t get all Catholic on me. Mary doesn’t want the child and Jack is doing her a favour.’

  She looked at Floss in shock. ‘Is that how you see it?’ She couldn’t believe how blasé Floss was about it.

  ‘Rosie, if you were pregnant and the father of the child wasn’t willing to support you, what would you do? Actually, don’t answer that, I know what you would do.’

  Rosie was about to give Floss a piece of her mind when Rubina walked outside the deli. ‘Rosie, the boys play so nice today. We have Jimmy stay to sleep?’

  Before she could tell Rubina she had arrived to take him home, Jimmy came running towards her. ‘I want to stay, Mamma, please let me stay.’

  ‘Jimmy …’ she began as Floss sighed audibly next to her.

  ‘Let the boy stay; what harm could it do?’

  Boxed into a corner, she relented, but promised to pick him up first thing and told Rubina to make sure to call at the Hawkins’s place if they needed to reach her. She figured that if she didn’t have Jimmy, she would stay and make sure Mary was not alone the night she’d buried her grandmother.

  Floss ignored her on the walk to the diner. She couldn’t ever recall Floss being the tiniest bit cross with her. She thought of walking straight home, but knew that Mary would want her there, so for that reason, she went.

  Jack had closed the diner early to host the wake, and everyone was saying just how amazing it was of him to have done so. Rosie had to bite her tongue, grit her teeth, smile and nod her head. She only saw Jack speak to Mary once, but on more than one occasion Jack caught her glowering at him, and perhaps what was even more infuriating was that each time he smiled back at her, until it seemed he’d had enough.

  ‘So, what is it?’ Jack cornered her. ‘I have obviously done something to upset you. You’ve deliberately stayed away from the diner since Jimmy’s birthday, and the couple of times I’ve seen you, you’ve been throwing me filthy looks.’

  ‘How could you, Jack?’

  He cocked a brow. ‘You’re going to need to be a little more specific, doll.’

  ‘You give the impression of being all nice and normal by throwing this wake, and driving Mary to the hospital and calling Floss to come back early, but then you do something like arrange for Mary to …’ she lowered her voice, ‘you know.’

  ‘I see, you have an issue with Mary deciding she doesn’t want her baby.’

  ‘I have more of an issue with you not owning your side of the responsibility and choosing the easy way out. Is that what you did when your last girlfriend fell pregnant? You had her get rid of it?’

  A look of complete bafflement crossed his face. ‘Hold up, let me get this straight—you think that I’m the father of Mary’s baby?’

  ‘Of course, who else could it be?’

  ‘Who else?’ Jack gave a short laugh. ‘How about the guy who’s managing the club she’s working at? The guy with criminal links. The guy who is renowned for this kind of stuff.’

  ‘But … I saw you that night … you were leaving Mrs Hawkins’s place and you kissed Mary …’

  ‘What night?’

  ‘The night of Jimmy’s birthday. I was going over to deliver cake.’

  ‘Ah, yes,’ he nodded, the memory dawning on him, ‘I know a couple of guys in the vice. From time to time they threaten to make some noise for Dulcie, but I always manage to get it sorted. I went over that night to deliver the good news.’

  ‘But you and Mary …’

  ‘We’re not an item. Not even close. I only love one woman.’

  ‘Oh.’ Rosie felt a right fool. ‘And all this time I thought you were a—’

  ‘Cad?’

  ‘I was going to say scoundrel.’ She smiled apologetically and Jack laughed. The room was suddenly too warm and she tugged at her collar. She realised a little too late that she was exposing her bruises, and before she could hide them again, Jack’s gaze dipped to her neck.

  ‘Rosie, is that what I think it is?’

  ‘Before you ask any more questions, I need to tell you that I have decided to ask Tom for a divorce.’

  ‘Damn right you should be asking him. He’s been hurting you.’

  ‘It was the first time he laid a finger on me. But that’s not why. He hurt Jimmy.’

  ‘What? Where’s Jimmy? Is he okay?’ Jack’s voice was murderous.

  ‘Jimmy is fine. He’s with the Di Norros.’

  ‘When did this happen?’

  ‘Monday. After Mary and I returned from the hospital.’

  ‘You’re doing the right thing, Rosie.’ Jack reached out and took her hand. The touch of his skin made her tremble. ‘If you need my help with anything, anything at all—you let me know.’

  ‘I … I’m not sure where I will go.’

  ‘We’ll figure it out, Rosie. I have friends that I can call on to help. You and Jimmy will not be homeless. I promise you that.’

  ‘Thank you, you’re a true friend.’

  Jack gave her a rueful smile. ‘You deserve to be happy, Rosie. You deserve to be with a man who will worship you, not hurt you.’

  Someone called his name from the other side of the room and he excused himself. But as he walked away, it hit her. From the first time they met, she’d had feelings for Jack. But she was sure that like Mary, he thought of her as a friend and she would be well to focus on how she was going to leave Tom. Where she was going to go. The uncertainty was daunting, but there was no way she was going to stay and risk him hurting Jimmy, or worse.

  When the crowd thinned and it was only Mary, Floss, Roberta and Jack left, Rosie pulled Floss aside to apologise and to explain what had happened on Monday.

  Floss’s eyes nearly fell out of her sockets. ‘Darl, why didn’t you tell me sooner?’

  ‘We were helping Mary plan the funeral. I didn’t want to burden you. And besides, I’ve already decided to leave him.’

  ‘I meant what I said the last time, darl. I’ll help you—whatever you need, I’m here.’

  ‘That’s what Jack said too.’ Rosie nodded.

  ‘You told Jack?’ Floss seemed overly excited at this revelation. ‘What did he say?’

  ‘That he would help out in any way he could. Frankly, I’m surprised he’s still talking to me after I accused him of being the father of Mary’s baby.’

  ‘You what?!’ Floss asked incredulously.

  ‘Yes, but we straightened it out. It’s not Mary he’s sweet on, but someone else,’ Rosie said wistfully. Whoever she was, she’d better be good enough for him.

  ‘Oh, you silly girl!’ Floss was suddenly looking crossly at her. ‘Are you that blind?’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Rosie looked at Floss as if she was losing her mind.

  ‘It’s you. Jack is in love with you.’

  Fourteen

  Rosie

  Floss and Rosie took Mary home after the wake. After spending the day surrounded by people, she looked bushed, and yet the last thing that Rosie wanted to do was leave her alone, even though she was only next door.

  ‘Mary, if you’d like, I’ll stay the night,’ Rosie said gently, wrapping a shawl around her shivering shoulders.

  ‘Me too.’ Floss placed a steaming mug of tea in Mary’s hands.

  ‘I cannot thank you both enough.’ Mary tried to smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. ‘With Dulcie gone, I feel blessed that I have you both so close to me.’ She took a sip of her tea and grimaced. ‘Floss, what’s in this?’

  ‘Whiskey,’ Floss said without missing a beat. ‘I thought it might help you sleep some tonight.’

  Rosie tried her tea, half hoping Floss had spiked hers, too, and it seemed Floss read her mind.

  ‘Sorry, darl. I only had enough for Mary. But if you want some, I c
an call Jack—he always has a good stash of grog.’ Floss winked and Rosie felt her face flame.

  Earlier, when Floss told her Jack was in love with her, her heart had bloomed for a moment before crashing down to earth. It didn’t matter if Jack loved her and she him; she couldn’t think of anything other than ending her marriage and creating a safe home for her son. The more she thought of it, the only option was to take Jimmy back to Ireland. She couldn’t see Tom giving her any peace as long as she stayed, even if he agreed to a divorce. It would mean leaving all her friends, people who had become like family to her—Mary, Floss, and most of all, Jack. But she saw no other way.

  ‘Jack’s so wonderful,’ Mary murmured sleepily. The whiskey was obviously doing the trick. ‘And so are you, Rosie; it’s no wonder he adores you.’

  Rosie slid her gaze from Mary to Floss, who shot her an I-told-you-so look.

  ‘Not like Tom.’

  ‘What?’ Rosie asked.

  ‘You need to leave him, Rosie. He’s no good for you. Leave before you end up like my mother.’

  ‘What are you saying, Mary?’ Rosie decided that emotion was getting the better of Mary and now she was questioning Floss’s decision to lace the girl’s tea with alcohol.

  Mary grimaced and clutched at her stomach. ‘I need to go to the bathroom.’ She slowly pulled herself up and wobbled unsteadily.

  ‘Are you going to be sick? Do you need help?’ Rosie shot up, ready to catch her if she fell.

  ‘No, I’ll be right.’ She wiped her tears with the back of her hand and shuffled to the outhouse.

  ‘Darl, you know how Mary came to live with Dulcie, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, Dulcie told me it was because Mary’s dad died in the war and her mother fell ill when Mary was five.’

  Floss shook her head. ‘That’s what she told Mary, but Mary remembered more than Dulcie would’ve liked to admit.’

  ‘How did she die, then?’

  ‘Her mother was killed, by her father.’

  Rosie gasped, her tea spilling over her mug and scorching her hand.

  ‘Her father is in Long Bay. Funnily enough, it wasn’t killing his wife that got him locked up. He got into a fight with some bloke in a pub and pummelled him to death. Did it the same night he killed his wife. Bashed her, left her for dead, then headed out and did the same thing all over again.’