by Emily Madden
Bobby lasted until the end of the song before he reached out and pulled her on top of him.
‘God, you’re so beautiful,’ he murmured, his thumb stroking her cheek.
She lowered her lips towards his, the words slipping out before she had a chance to stop them. ‘I love you, Bobby.’
* * *
Light pinpricked through the blinds. Bobby slept soundly next to her, his naked body curled snugly against hers. Normally, the sound of him sleeping, the feel of his skin against hers, was enough to make her want to stay like this forever, their entwined bodies fitting perfectly, but Mike’s words from the night before lingered.
It unnerved her that he had been right about some things. The night they first met, Bobby told Maggie his whole life had been planned, what he was to study at university, which law firm he was to work at before making a play for politics. It was the same path his father and grandfather had taken—a sort of family dynasty.
But Mike wasn’t right about everything. He couldn’t be. He didn’t know Bobby like she did. He didn’t know the depth of what they had. After she went to London with Sharon, she would come back and go to uni, maybe not to study medicine, maybe to do something else. She was going to make a life for herself. She would be worthy of Bobby’s love.
The feel of Bobby stirring broke her thoughts. He stretched before tightening his embrace and nuzzling at her neck. ‘Morning,’ he said groggily.
‘Morning,’ Maggie murmured, turning her body around to face him.
‘Mmm.’ He smiled against her lips, moving his hand down and hooking her leg over his hip. Maggie knew the drill. They would make love in bed, then again in the shower before Bobby got ready for work and she headed home. They had fallen into the routine so easily over the past three months, but it occurred to Maggie that most of their time together was spent at the club or here, in Bobby’s apartment.
‘Why don’t we ever go out?’ Maggie pulled out of his embrace. Her question seemed to stump him.
‘You’re asking me this now? Right before I’m about to … ah …’
‘Fuck me?’
A slow smile spread across his face. ‘I love it when you talk dirty.’ He tried to pick up where they’d left off, but Maggie pushed against his shoulder.
‘Bobby, I’m serious. All we do is meet at the club then we head back here and have sex before bed, sex when we wake up, sex in the shower.’
He seemed to take her seriously then. Brows furrowed, he propped up on one elbow. ‘Are you saying we’re having too much sex? ’Cause I have absolutely no problem with the amount of sex we have.’
Maggie sighed and rolled onto her back. ‘Sex isn’t the problem, it’s that …’
‘It’s what, Maggie? Is this about what you said last night? When you said you loved me?’
Maggie felt her face flame. She had said it in the heat of the moment. ‘I just feel … Bobby, is this, us I mean, is this only about the sex?’
‘Oh, Maggie May.’ Bobby cupped her cheek and tilted her face towards him. If she had any doubt about how he felt towards her, it all dissipated there and then. There was so much emotion in his eyes, those piercing blue eyes that made her green eyes look so ordinary. ‘You are more to me than that.’
‘Really?’ Her heart contracted with hope.
‘Really,’ he whispered, brushing his lips tenderly against hers. ‘The night I met you at Kardomah, I knew there was something special about you. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. When you didn’t call, I thought I would never see you again, and then when I walked into the club and you were there, it was like serendipity. You’re not the only one whose feelings have grown, Maggie.’
Maggie felt the hope turn to joy, and with every breath it spread through her. Pulling Bobby close, she kissed him passionately, only for him to pull away. ‘What do you say that tonight I take you to Caffe Roma? How does that sound? Maybe we need to, ah, spend some time outside the bedroom.’
Maggie smiled. ‘That sounds perfect, as long as we don’t spend too much time away from this bed. It’s so damn comfy I could stay here all day.’
‘I could too.’ Bobby kissed the side of her neck and cupped her breast, tracing lazy circles around her nipple with his thumb. ‘But I have to go to work and you need to get home.’
Maggie ignored the annoyance that sprung at the mention of the word home. He always insisted she leave either before or with him, never after he left, and never had there been any mention of them moving in together, or Bobby giving Maggie a key. Surely that was all about to change.
Yes, she needed to push away those seeds of doubt and focus on the positives. Bobby’s feelings for her were growing. Why couldn’t that be enough?
Because the thing was about seeds, with enough time, they sprouted and became weeds. Everyone knew that the only way to get rid of a pesky weed was to pull it out. But for now, Maggie had to hope that dousing her doubt was enough.
* * *
It was late afternoon when Maggie walked into the Piccolo Bar and took a seat at the only spare table there was.
‘Hey, Maggie! Ciao, come stai?’ Fabio called to her from behind the cappuccino machine. The Piccolo Bar on Rosyln Street was a meeting point in the Cross, and many would say a Kings Cross institution. The first time Maggie had walked into the tiny infamous café, she thought of her mother. Fabio served coffee the pure Italian way—just like Rosie did.
‘Molto bene grazie, e tu, Fabio?’
‘Ah, I cannot complain, bella. Do what you love and you never work a day in your life.’
Her coffee had only just been placed in front of her when Sharon walked in. They’d crossed paths briefly earlier that day when Maggie had returned home. Sharon had joked to Leanne that she probably should halve Maggie’s rent since she was spending more and more time at Bobby’s.
Leanne had smirked, commenting how that wasn’t going to happen. ‘She’ll need a place to stay when he dumps her.’
Maggie had stared at Leanne in disbelief. Jesus, had she been conspiring with Mike?
‘As if!’ Sharon scoffed. ‘Hey, we’re going to have a little party here tonight, you should ask Bobby to come along.’
‘Can’t. Bobby’s taking me to dinner at Caffe Roma.’
‘Ooh, fancy!’ Sharon said in a singsong voice. ‘Well, enjoy, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.’ She laughed.
Her friend wasn’t laughing now. In fact, she seemed rather surprised to see her. ‘What are you doing here, Maggie? I thought you were going to dinner with Bobby.’
‘I am, we’re meeting here first.’
Sharon looked nervously at something behind her, but when Maggie turned to follow her line of sight, she realised it wasn’t something, but someone. A middle-aged man with a beard tapped impatiently at his watch.
‘Who’s that?’ she asked.
Sharon rocked anxiously as she glanced over at the man. ‘He’s just someone who’s getting me some gear for the party tonight.’
‘Gear?’ Maggie blinked. She didn’t like the conclusion her mind was leaping to. ‘What do you mean gear?’
‘Oh, don’t act so innocent. You know what gear means!’
Maggie was taken aback by Sharon’s tone. ‘Shaz, don’t you remember the last time you took drugs?’
‘Maggie, for someone so smart, you really can be dumb. You think that’s the last time I’ve taken something?’ Sharon gave an acerbic laugh.
‘Hey, honey.’ Bobby appeared, wrapping his hand around her waist and Maggie’s response was lodged in her throat. ‘Hi, Sharon, how’s it going?’
When neither of them said anything, Bobby’s gaze flickered between them. ‘Is everything alright?’ he asked carefully.
‘Everything’s fine,’ Maggie said curtly. ‘Sharon was just leaving to meet a friend.’ She grabbed Bobby by the hand and led him away. ‘Better not keep him waiting any longer,’ she tossed over her shoulder, not bothering to look back.
‘What the hell was that about?’ Bobby asked
as they turned onto Ward Avenue.
‘Nothing,’ Maggie said, summoning a smile and leaning in for a kiss. ‘Sharon was just being a bitch, but I don’t want to think about her or anyone else. Tonight, it’s just about you and me.’
‘Sounds like a perfect plan.’
And that’s what she did. For the rest of the night, Maggie didn’t think about all the times she’d been there for Sharon. All the sacrifices she had made, even to the point where she’d estranged herself from her mother because of the promises she’d made to Sharon. The only reason she was working at The Vinyl Room was because of Sharon and their trip. Maggie foolishly had thought she was protecting Sharon. But it seemed she was the one being taken for a ride.
Maggie didn’t think of Sharon as she drank Chianti and enjoyed her antipasti, her spaghetti vongole or her tiramisu. And she certainly didn’t think of Sharon as Bobby peeled off her dress and made love to her.
It was only as she walked home the next day that she felt the first gnaw of regret, unaware of just how quickly it would implode.
Later, she would replay the moment over and over, and for years to come, she would wonder if she could’ve done something to stop it. And each time, she came to the same conclusion. The first domino had toppled. It was inevitable that the rest would follow, until they all had fallen down, leaving mess and destruction in their wake.
Thirty-two
Maggie
August 1986
A girl dying of a drug overdose in Kings Cross was hardly worthy of an item on the late-night news, unless that girl was a former Catholic schoolgirl from the Eastern Suburbs. St Patrick’s was packed to the rafters on a day befitting to farewell a young life taken too soon.
Maggie sat towards the back, not wanting to think about how the white wooden box at the front contained her oldest friend in the world. She didn’t want to think about how annoyed she was the last time she and Sharon had spoken, and she certainly didn’t want to think about how she’d walked into their bedroom and found Sharon lying face down.
At first it seemed that Sharon had passed out after the party the night before. The apartment was awash with the previous night’s sins. Maggie sidestepped over Warren, who was asleep on the floor. She suspected he’d started out on the couch but had rolled off at some point.
The flat reeked of marijuana, stale beer and an unidentified acrid pong she thought better to leave a mystery. That combination of smells, the image of Sharon’s blue-tinged lips and wide, glassy eyes, and the sound of her own screams would live with her forever.
Dropping her head into her hands, she silently sobbed while Bobby rubbed her back. Maggie had lost track of the tears she had shed over the past week. There was a delay in the funeral. An autopsy needed to be carried out and there was talk about an investigation, too. The man Sharon was meeting at the Piccolo Bar, Youssef Ahmed, had sold her the marijuana, but it wasn’t what had killed her.
Sharon had died from an ecstasy overdose, though her system also showed a high amount of alcohol and cannabis. Leanne and Warren were both under questioning, as the tablets had come from a friend of Warren’s.
Fumbling in her handbag, Maggie searched for a Kleenex. ‘Fuck, I’ve run out of tissues.’
Bobby patted down his jacket. ‘I don’t have any, sorry, honey.’
‘Shit,’ Maggie cursed as she sniffled.
‘Here,’ came a gruff voice from behind her.
It was Mike holding out a fresh packet of tissues. They hadn’t spoken since that night she’d slapped him at the club. She’d been too distraught to go to work and Destiny had given her as long as she needed. Maggie had no idea how long that would be. Right now, it felt as if she would be in a hole forever.
‘Thanks.’ She smiled weakly as she took them.
‘No worries,’ Mike replied, not meeting her gaze, his jaw set, eyes forward.
When the service concluded, the congregation stood as the coffin was carried out of the church. Maggie squeezed her eyes shut before it came into view, but she was well aware of the exact moment it passed by; the smell from the wreath of lilies was suffocating. It made her both dizzy and nauseous. She swayed and Bobby’s hands reached out to steady her, except when she opened her eyes she realised it wasn’t Bobby—it was Mike.
‘You okay?’ he asked softly.
‘Yeah.’ She froze, the awareness of Mike’s hands on her, and Bobby’s gaze, made her feel awkward and annoyed. Why hadn’t Bobby caught her?
Mike’s gaze flickered from Maggie to Bobby before releasing her.
Maggie felt Bobby’s arms slide around her waist. ‘You alright, honey?’
No, she wasn’t. She wanted to tell him that she was far from it and that the sight of Sharon’s mother being held up by two of her children while walking behind the coffin of her youngest child made her heart ache. That every time she closed her eyes all she saw was Sharon’s face. Maggie had failed her and she wasn’t sure if she would ever be the same again.
‘Just felt a little off, but all good now.’ She forced a tight smile. The movement felt unnatural and made her cheeks sore.
They filed out of the church as the coffin slid into the hearse. Ominous grey clouds that shrouded the sky opened up and a sea of black umbrellas rose.
So much black.
‘She would’ve hated this,’ Maggie murmured.
‘Hated what?’ Bobby asked.
‘All this … dreariness. Sharon loves colour … loved colour,’ Maggie corrected herself and wondered if it would ever feel natural to talk about Sharon in anything but the present tense.
‘It’s a funeral, Maggie. There’s supposed to be black, it’s a sombre—oh shit!’ Bobby suddenly tugged her back, dragging her away from the tide and retreating in the church.
‘What? What are you doing?’
‘There’s media out there!’ he hissed, pulling her into the closest pew.
‘So?’ Maggie was confused and more than a little annoyed. ‘What has that got to do with anything?’
‘Think about it, Maggie. For the past week, Sharon and that girl that went missing in Bondi, Samantha Knight, have dominated the front pages, and tomorrow isn’t going to be any different. How is it going to look if I’m photographed here?’
‘You’re at a funeral with your girlfriend. I don’t see—’
‘Maggie, honey, my father wants me to run for a local government seat next year. I can’t be associated with a girl who …’
Maggie’s ears began ringing. Surely Bobby wasn’t referring to what she thought he was referring to.
‘With what, Bobby? With a girl who works in the Cross?’
‘Keep your voice down,’ Bobby warned, his gaze darting to the stragglers who had yet to exit the church. ‘I was going to say who was friends with a drug addict, but yes … that, too.’
‘I’ll speak at whatever volume I like,’ Maggie retorted, not liking the ugly side of Bobby she was seeing. ‘And since when did you want to get into politics? You’ve always detested it.’
‘I don’t have a choice.’ He sighed heavily, running his hands through his hair.
She had heard him say it before, and every time she actually had felt sorry for him, but this time it sounded like a cop-out.
‘You always have a choice, Bobby. Always. You’re just a coward. Grow some balls.’ She walked away, her eyes burning with tears. She wasn’t sure she could feel so much anger and pain at the same time, but here she was—her blood boiling while her already broken heart was shattered into a million pieces.
Maggie stood under the shelter of the church entrance as the downpour became a deluge, and as the hearse pulled away, the crowd began to thin. Mike seemed to appear out of nowhere with a gigantic umbrella, beckoning her to join him. Maggie turned to see if Bobby had followed her, and felt her stomach drop when she saw that he was gone.
She darted from under the eaves as thick cold raindrops hit her hot, tear-streaked cheeks.
They drove to the cemetery in complete silence. By
some luck, the rain held off for the burial service. As they lowered the coffin, Maggie let out a sob and Mike reached out and grabbed her hand. For some reason, she had expected his hands to be rough and calloused; they were soft and firm and pleasantly warm. His touch was the exact comfort she needed.
‘Maggie.’
As they were leaving the cemetery for the wake, she heard her name called out from behind. She recognised the voice and stiffened.
Mike noticed. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Maggie.’ There was the voice again, louder and closer.
Maggie inhaled sharply and turned. ‘Mum.’
Her mother stood a couple of feet in front of her, her hands clasped, her eyes drinking her in. They stood there for the longest time simply staring at each other. Part of Maggie wanted to rush into her mother’s arms, but there was a wariness in Rosie’s eyes that stopped her. Or maybe it was her guardedness.
More than six months had passed since she had last seen her mother. Even though Rosie called weekly, they were hardly heartfelt conversations. Each time it was all about asking Maggie to come home. When was she going to let go?
‘Um, hello, I’m Mike.’ Mike extended his hand in Rosie’s direction and Maggie watched as her mother accepted it cautiously.
‘Rosie Hart, Maggie’s mother.’
‘Pleased to meet you, Ms Hart. Maggie’s told me so much about you.’
Maggie watched as Rosie cocked a brow as if she found this totally inconceivable. ‘Are you Maggie’s boyfriend?’ Rosie’s gaze dipped to Mike and Maggie’s joined hands.
Mike coughed and released his grip, and Maggie shook her head. ‘No, he’s just a friend, we work together.’
‘At the club.’ Her mother’s voice was laden with judgement.
‘Yes, Mother. We work at a bar called The Vinyl Room. Mike and I are the bartenders.’
When Rosie remained silent, no doubt smarting over the fact her daughter had thrown away her potential to work behind a bar, Maggie asked, ‘What are you doing here, Mum?’ The question came out harsher than she’d intended, but she was drained, and the last thing she needed was a confrontation with her mother in a cemetery.
