The Secrets Mothers Keep

by Jacquie Underdown

  Or maybe, she knew all along that from the way this man drew her into him from the moment they met that what she feels for him is very real and incredibly strong, and she didn’t want to risk that. Not right away.

  He reaches for her face and flutters his fingertips over her cheek. She leans into his warm touch. Tingles fan across her flesh as his hand strays lower, reaching in behind her neck so he can gently tug her face towards his.

  Their lips meet; her eyes close.

  She doesn’t want to say goodbye. Ever.

  He parts her mouth with his lips and his warm tongue meets hers, sparking currents of pleasure through her body. He deepens the kiss, tilting his pelvis into her. He’s already so hard and this fuels the fierce flames within her body. As she rocks against that hardness, he groans against her mouth. It steals her breath to hear such desire and desperation communicated with sound alone.

  Hands caress her thighs, hiking her dress up as he strays higher and higher, igniting pleasure along her flesh. He grips her bottom, her hips, and he grinds her against him.

  What is happening here is going in only one direction and this is her opportunity to stop it before they take it to the next level.

  But her body is alive, aroused, ready, and she can’t bring herself to stop. She wants to taste every inch of this man, feel him deep inside her.

  Luca grips her tightly and stands with her still in his arms. She kisses his throat, down to that soft flesh at the juncture of his shoulder and neck, salt and the subtle stab of stubble against her tongue, as he carries her to his bedroom, afraid if she doesn’t keep her mouth busy, she’ll talk instead and confess.

  He rests her gently on the bed and climbs on, nestling beside her, facing each other. “You want this?”

  Arousal is strong in his loose features and passion burns hot in his gaze. Never has she wanted anyone more in her life. “Very much,” she says before pulling him to her and kissing him hard.

  And what they do then has nothing to do with anyone else or the future, but their bodies and their hearts and for a few moments, it’s like they are connected at the spirit, almost the one person.

  Never has she made love to a man who is so strong and assertive, yet tender and deeply passionate. With every whispered word upon her flesh, with every pull, thrust and caress, he adores her.

  When they entwine in each other’s arms afterwards, and he strokes the hair from her face and leaves soft kisses on her face, a flourishing emotion fills her heart.

  Love. She is falling in love with him.

  Cold tingles spread along her scalp and down the back of her neck. Only then does she understand the meaning of Aunt June’s prophetic words, spoken to her all those months ago: the next man you fall in love with will be the last. That can be a blessing or a curse; the universe hasn’t decided yet.

  A solid stone sinks in her stomach and she shudders. The universe hasn’t decided yet because she hasn’t yet revealed her secret.

  Chapter 41

  Mary

  1981

  Only as Mary had more time to think about the fact that she was pregnant to a married man, did she realise the potential problems it raised.

  But she wanted this child more than anything and was willing to settle with whatever decision Julian made—whether he stayed with his wife and continued their affair secretly or he left his wife to raise this baby with her or if they ended their affair altogether.

  She was ready for the town gossip and judgemental looks.

  No matter the scenario, the baby came first. She had been through heartache, loss and difficult times; she could do it again if need be. She had money left from Robert to sustain her if that’s what it came to.

  The best outcome would be for Julian to live with her here in the manor and take on his role as a father to their baby with all the passion he did everything else.

  Mary fantasised before she went to sleep each night about their growing family all together here. June would be welcome too. As this little bundle nestled in her belly, she understood more than ever the immediate bond a mother had with their child. She would never come between that. Never.

  So, when the school holidays arrived and Mum and Dad took Lily-Rose with them back to Hobart for a week, she invited Julian over for the evening. June had made herself scarce, going to the pictures with her girlfriends.

  It left Julian and Mary a few hours of privacy to talk it through.

  She was nervous. Only now did she realise how this would not be the best news for a man who had a high position in town, a wife and small children.

  When Julian knocked, her stomach was tensing with nerves. She opened the door. He stood on her darkened doorstep.

  His usual charm and uplifted demeanour were gone, replaced by a sagging frown and an air of hostility.

  He regarded her with desire but not passionate desire. Desire that was possessive and objectifying. She was a mere column of flesh for which he had the right to devour.

  She stuttered nervously as she allowed him in. Though she had been married to a man for nineteen years, she didn’t have a great deal of experience with men, especially one that oozed … something she couldn’t quite figure out.

  “Would you like a drink?” she asked as she led him through the house. Maybe some hard liquor would calm him down.

  He shook his head. “Not yet.”

  “Oh?” she stopped. “Is something the matter?”

  He blew out a long breath. “I lost my job.”

  “At the bank?”

  His eyes narrowed and nose wrinkled with a snarl, somewhat resembling a shark. “Yes, at the bank. Where else would I mean?”

  She blinked, took one step away from him. “I’m so sorry. That’s horrible.”

  “It’s not ideal.”

  “Let me make you a drink. We’ll take a seat and talk about it.”

  The look he gave her, that possessive glare; she knew they wouldn’t be talking about it. Her naivety rose to the surface of her skin like sharp prickles. Her cheeks heated with embarrassment at her own stupidity. He had one thing on his mind, the one thing this entire relationship—if she could call it that—had only ever been about.

  “I’d much rather not talk. I’ve spent the last three hours listening to my wife bark on about it. I didn’t come here for more of that.”

  Mary narrowed her gaze, shook her head. “I wouldn’t bark at you about—”

  He closed the space between them, held her face between his hands and kissed her, hard and desperate with too much tongue.

  She couldn’t keep up and had to tilt her head back, but he pulled her harder to him, his hand on the back of her head. His free hand roamed over her waist, thighs, breasts, pawing, clawing, not tender, not loving.

  He was usually caring—passionate of course—but still gentle. Although, in the last month, she had noticed more and more moments when he would arrive at their meeting place angry, and their sex would be an intense extension of his emotions.

  She wanted to push his chest and tell him no, but the consequences of that would be worse—intuitively she knew that. She had the baby to consider now and would do everything to protect it.

  He gripped her hand and yanked her into the kitchen. She stumbled to keep up with his long, fast strides. Julian was strong, much stronger than her and never was it more apparent than now.

  “What are we doing?” she asked with an anxious giggle; even to her own ears, it was too affected, too high-pitched.

  But he didn’t answer her, just looked with dark, brooding eyes that spread goosebumps along her arms and neck.

  Hands on her waist, he spun her until her back was to him. Pain pierced her skull as he fisted her hair and shoved her head down towards the dining table. Her face pressed against the cold timber.

  Her breaths were harsh now. Her heart raced.

  He lifted her dress, pulled down her knickers and within moments, he was inside her, hard and fierce. She squeezed her eyes shut as he thrust into her hard. S
he didn’t need to know Italian to understand that what he was spitting between grunts was vulgar and diminishing.

  And when he was done, he leant heavily over her back, squashing her against the table. She could barely breathe, the pressure so great. His loud pants made her throat sicken.

  Then the pressure was gone as he stood up, slapped her bare bottom and released a long, satisfied sigh. “Get dressed. I would like that drink now.”

  Trembles started first in her hands, then her legs as she slowly pushed herself upright again, pulled her knickers up her legs and lowered her dress. She brushed the hair from her face and swallowed hard.

  She couldn’t meet his dark gaze.

  “What have you got? Scotch? Bourbon? Wine?”

  She cleared her throat and tried to control her voice. “Scotch.” She didn’t look at him as she moved around the kitchen, fixing them both a drink—a scotch for him, water for herself—using the time to gather some composure.

  “You’re not having a drink?” he asked.

  She shook her head and finally peered into his eyes as she handed him his glass. “Not tonight.”

  He shrugged and took a sip of the room-temperature spirit. He made a loud ‘aah’ sound and grinned. “Good girl. Not the cheap stuff.”

  “Only the best for you.”

  He winked and smacked her bottom again. “And don’t you forget it.”

  They retreated to the living room where she put an LP on the record player, Bruce Springsteen, and took a seat. He sat beside her.

  “I’m sorry I was gruff earlier,” he said. “I’m passionate, you know? I feel everything so deeply in here,” he said smacking his chest with his palm. “But you make it all better. Was I too rough?” he asked with an apologetic lilt.

  “A little.”

  He shuffled closer and lifted a tender hand to her cheek. “I am so sorry. I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

  She shook her head.

  He rested his forehead against hers and groaned. “I can see I scared you. I forget you Australian women haven’t grown up around such displays of emotion. Will you forgive me, Mary?”

  A glimmer of relief filled her heart for his remorse and recognition that he had behaved inappropriately. “Of course.”

  He sighed. “I’m upset about losing my job. I’m afraid of losing you.”

  Losing her? Her brow furrowed as she met his despondent gaze.

  He swallowed a mouthful of the amber liquid. “I may have to leave Campbell Town and find a job in another town. I may have to leave you …” he said with whispered anguish.

  For the second time tonight, her stomach sunk—all her plans vanishing with those few simple words. He was leaving. Just like that. Her mind was whirling with confusion. He couldn’t up and leave now, not when …

  “I’m pregnant,” she blurted.

  He grew incredibly still. Very slowly he shifted his head back from her. His breaths were heavier. “You’re pregnant? My child?”

  She giggled, but the nervous edge to it was unmissable. “Of course it’s yours.”

  “But we were careful.”

  “Not every time.”

  He looked away, ran his fingers through his dark brown hair and let them slide down his face. “Pregnant?”

  She nodded.

  “This is not a good thing, Mary. Not at all. I have a wife, remember? And children of my own. I do not need a bastard thrown in for good measure. I no longer have a job. How am I meant to support you all?”

  Her next breath was rushed. “You don’t have to support me. I have my own money. Maybe you can move in with me. If you like. Until you find another job?”

  His brows arched. Sarcastic bewilderment was rich in his expression. “And desert my wife?”

  “Well, no, not desert her. You can keep supporting them. I can help out with that until you find employment.”

  A glimmer of a smile curled his lips, but there was a violent edge to it. He whispered something in Italian under his breath. “You are serious?”

  She pressed her hand to his thigh. “I want to be with you. We could have a good life and raise this baby together.”

  He was silent for a long moment, staring at her hand as it gripped his leg. His gaze grew darker when he tilted his head up to look at her.

  She lifted her hand away.

  “Did you purposefully do this?”

  She shook her head. “Of course not.”

  The intensity of his glare, the fury contained within those eyes, poured from him into her, drenching her with bewilderment and fear. “Don’t mess with me. I don’t take lightly to whores demanding things from me.”

  His words hit her like a slap. Whore? Is that how little he thought of her? Again that recognition of her naivety rippled. “I’m sorry. Forget I mentioned it. You have enough to worry about at the moment. Let me handle this.”

  His eyes narrowed as he assessed her with suspicion. With scorn. Disgust was communicated in the way his lips twisted. “You a troublemaker? You trying to make trouble for me?”

  “Of course not. I’m sorry I mentioned it.” She straightened her dress over the thighs. “I can take care of this baby alone if that’s what you would prefer. You are not obligated in any way to help or even be here. I …” her voice shook, “I fully understand that this would make things difficult for your wife.”

  A brow arched. “Is that a threat?”

  She shook her head hard. “Of course not.”

  “You planning on telling her about this?”

  “No. Not at all. I’ll … I’m great at keeping secrets. No one ever has to know.”

  He squeezed the bridge of his nose.

  She lurched to her feet, legs trembling structures beneath her. “I’m sure it will be fine.”

  He stood too. “You see, Mary, I don’t think it will be.” He gripped her shoulder, squeezed it hard until pain radiated from her neck down to her fingers.

  “Ouch! You’re hurting me.”

  His arm swung back, lightning fast, then like a pendulum of solid concrete, his fist smashed into her stomach. All the air burst from her lungs. Jarring pain. His fist struck her again, harder than before.

  She groaned and crumpled to the floor, curling in on herself to protect the baby. He kicked her back. She uncurled reflexively and arched as she shrieked. The next boot landed in her stomach. Again. Again.

  Her ribs cracked. Pain rocketed. Fear. Confusion. He was going to kill this child and her, that’s all she knew.

  “There will be no baby,” he said and kicked her again. She groaned, warm fluid spewing from between her lips. Another kick. “You will not contact me or my wife again.”

  “Stop it, please,” she groaned. She looked up at him panting above her, eyes black and consumed with rage. “Please.”

  The last thing she saw was the sole of his boot stamping towards her head.

  * * *

  Mary woke in a white sterile room a day later. Launceston hospital. A weary but relieved June was by her side. Her body ached deep into her bones. Every breath was laboured and ignited pain in her lungs. She didn’t need the doctor to tell her what she already knew.

  But when he stood beside her bed after a brief consultation and said that she had lost the baby and would never bear a child again due to the extensive injuries, she wailed like a small child.

  “You’re lucky to be alive,” he said. “Concentrate on that.”

  She felt anything but lucky. She was a hollowed out shell, the best part of her flushed away, leaving behind gnarled, bruised and worthless innards.

  She shook with the pain of her wounds, but the emotions hurt worst of all. She beat at the bed, pulled the sheets until her hands were bloody and all the while she screamed and cried for her baby.

  “Calm down, Mary,” the doctor said, then rushed to the doors to call the nurses.

  He had no idea what it was like to want something so much, and then to finally have had her fingertips brushing that reality and felt the small being growi
ng from the inside, only to have it murdered.

  She loved her baby. And now she was to feel lucky for being alive?

  She howled, overtaken by the blistering pain shooting through her heart. Her baby was gone. Gone.

  Nurses raced into the room, but she barely saw them.

  “Mary, you have injuries. I know it’s difficult and you’ve been through a lot of trauma, but you need to try and relax or you’re going to split these stitches open.”

  She threw herself back against the pillow, looked at the ceiling through bleary eyes and howled for that little being who will never see her mother’s face.

  Mother? Oh, that word was so elusive now like a taste on her tongue she couldn’t quite recognise. She was a mother for the briefest of moments, and now she was no longer.

  “You don’t know how long I have wanted this. You don’t understand how long. And now it’s gone.”

  She shook her head from side to side, beat her fist, and grieved for the future she will never have with her child: little fingers that would wrap around hers, sleepless nights, dribbly smiles, powder-scented cuddles, Christmas mornings, birthdays, teeth falling out, first day of school, graduation, a wedding.

  Mary bore down like she was giving birth, growling, howling, but nothing would come forth from this body. The only substance left inside her was pain.

  The nurse filled a needle from a vial and jabbed her arm.

  For nineteen years, her husband had thieved her dreams of becoming a mother. And then, in the space of a season, Julian had slain any remaining chance she had left.

  Sleepiness overcame her as the cold liquid from the needle pulsed through her system. She willed it to take her under, wanting no more of this agony.

  * * *

  Ten days later, Mary was released from hospital. June had organised for Lily-Rose to stay an extra week with Mum and Dad. She was grateful that she didn’t have to deal with an explanation for her injuries yet. A fall down the stairs—the same story she gave to the doctors and police at the hospital—seemed the appropriate lie.

  The police visited her again while at home in case she had remembered any other details. They suggested that perhaps someone had pushed her down the stairs. They knew she was lying, but, to their incredulity, she didn’t implicate Julian.