Six

Rosie

Good Friday, April 1959

It was early. Dawn’s first rays of light broke through the ink of the disappearing night, and next to her Tom stirred, grunting before hauling himself out of bed.

‘Tom.’ She rolled groggily towards him. ‘Where are you going?’

‘To work,’ he answered shortly, his voice still full of sleep.

Propping up on her elbows, she watched him in the darkened room, wide awake now. ‘But … it’s Good Friday.’

‘So?’

‘I thought you didn’t work on holidays. I thought we could spend it together, as a family. We’ve hardly spent time just the three of us.’

Tom’s sigh spoke volumes. It told her that he was annoyed with her line of questioning so early in the morning. It told her that he didn’t care that it was Good Friday, or any other day. ‘I need to keep my job, Rosie. If I’m asked to work, I’ll work.’

‘I know that, Tom,’ she replied tersely. ‘But it wouldn’t kill you to make an effort and get to know your son.’ Rosie knew that a forty-hour working week had been instigated over a decade ago, and anything over the standard was paid as overtime at a lucrative rate, the money needed by many families. She had no problem with Tom working to earn more money—it certainly helped with only one wage. But she didn’t think it was too much to expect that on Good Friday Tom would be home with his family.

‘We need money, Rosie. Don’t you think I want to stay home with my son and wife?’ he spat. She wanted to believe he was being honest, that he wanted to spend the day with them, but it was hard when every spare second he had, he spent at the pub, wasting the money he was supposedly saving. Rosie wasn’t totally clueless about money. She knew they needed it, but with the amount he was working, and even with Doug leaving, apparently going back to his wife, she knew there should be more.

When Tom had left to come to Australia, Rosie had moved back in with her mother, and after she’d had Jimmy, her mother had encouraged her to resume working for Mrs O’Brien. When Rosie had tried to give her mother money for board, Aoife Hart had refused, telling Rosie she needed the money more.

‘Yes, you’re right. It will help me get to Tom sooner.’

‘No, Rosie,’ her mother had said firmly. ‘The money you earn will be for you and your son only. Never let a man take what is rightfully yours. There is no need to let Tom know you have your own money.’

Rosie’s first instinct had been to fight her mother on this matter. She didn’t want to keep anything from Tom and she surely didn’t want to keep any secrets, and yet for some reason, every time she’d written to Tom, she’d avoided telling him about her job with Mrs O’Brien. By the time she’d boarded the ship, Rosie had a thick envelope that she’d tucked into her tiny brown suitcase, and with each passing day, she was thankful for her mother’s advice.

A knock on the front door broke the silence. ‘Tom, you up?’ Doug’s brusque voice sounded.

‘Yeah, I’ll be out in a minute,’ Tom replied and resumed getting dressed. Rosie waited for their conversation to continue, but it didn’t. Tom put on his shoes, and a moment later she heard footsteps, muffled voices and the slamming of the door.

Rosie lay awake for what seemed like hours before realising she wasn’t going to fall back asleep. As her bare feet hit the floor, she felt her ankle throb. Wincing in pain, she sat back down and rubbed the tender, swollen spot. It had been almost a week since her fall. The first few days were the worst. On the first night, as the medication had worn off, the pain had returned. She was thankful to discover when unpacking her groceries that Jack had also packed her some aspirin. She had spaced out the dosages so they lasted longer, but she had run out last night. Rosie had hoped that by the morning she would wake with no pain, but it seemed it wasn’t to be.

Tom had berated her for falling. Called her a clumsy, silly cow. She had been shocked by his callousness and lack of empathy and she’d decided not to disclose the whole story. Not that he’d asked for details, but it still didn’t make her feel good to know she had lied to him. Mrs Hawkins and Mary had been an immense help, minding Jimmy for hours during the day. In return, Rosie had done some mending for them—a few odd buttons and sewing holes for Mrs Hawkins, and taking up hems for Mary.

Yesterday, Aurelian had sent a basket of bread and Alberto had sent his niece, Elena, with an assortment of goods. When Elena saw she was hemming Mary’s dress, she asked if she could bring her some mending. Rosie gladly said yes.

Pulling on her robe and slippers, she shuffled down the hall and cracked Jimmy’s door open to check on him. He was sound asleep, his tiny body rising and falling with every breath.

She shuffled into the kitchen, placed the kettle on the stove and mechanically went about making breakfast. She poured her tea and was about to sit down when there was a knock at the door. Slightly bewildered as to who could be calling on her so early, she slowly hobbled down the hallway. When she opened the door, she found a small brown box on her doorstep. She stepped out into the chilly morning. She tightened her robe, shivering against the cold, and cast her glance this way and that, but there was no sign of whoever had delivered the box.

Her first instinct told her it had come from Jack, but it was only after she took it back inside and unpacked it that she knew without a doubt that it had. There was no note this time, and Rosie was surprised how much that disappointed her, but there were more pain-killers as well as a fresh bandage and a hot water bottle. She almost wept with relief. The care package was exactly what she needed.

By the time Jimmy woke, she’d had time to have breakfast, place some heat on her foot and re-strap it. She was sure it was nowhere near as tight and effective as the way Jack had wrapped it, but it seemed firm, and not long after taking the tablets the pain had subsided considerably.

She fed and dressed Jimmy before making her way next door. Mary was home and agreed to mind Jimmy for the morning.

‘Hello there, my Jimmy-Jam.’ Mary greeted them in a pink baby-doll nightie with tiny straps and a plunging neckline that showcased her ample assets. Her hair was askew from sleep, her eyes were smudged with remnants of the night before, and her voice was still full of sleep, all telltale signs that Mary had worked late. In addition to working for her grandmother, Mary waitressed at The Roosevelt.

Since the Second World War and more recently, the Korean War, the Cross had been the place of choice for soldiers and sailors on Rest and Relaxation, keen to have a good time before returning to the battlefront. The influx of foreign armed forces was the driving force for the growing number of topless bars along Darlinghurst Road, which carried the sobriquet ‘the Strip’.

Rosie didn’t judge Mary. She knew the girls who worked on the Strip tended to earn good money. She also knew that Mary was saving to go to teachers’ college, and judging by the way she was with Jimmy, Mary Hawkins would make a fabulous kindergarten teacher.

‘Are you sure you can mind him?’ Rosie asked. ‘I can probably do all that I need to get done in between his naps.’

‘I’m sure.’ She nodded, her pretty auburn curls swaying and bouncing. ‘I love having this little man here.’ She snuggled Jimmy, rubbing her nose against his, which caused him to giggle uncontrollably and bury his head in Mary’s chest.

‘Is that James I can hear?’ Dulcie appeared from behind Mary. She was the only person to refer to Jimmy by his proper name and it seemed that Rosie’s son was the only person that could elicit a smile from Dulcie Hawkins. Mary often referred to her grandmother’s trademark scowl as resembling a cat’s bum.

‘Doolcie!’ Jimmy’s excited squeal said it all.

‘Come ’ere.’ Dulcie eased him from Mary and wrapped him lovingly in her embrace. The sight of the older woman cradling her son filled Rosie with both joy and sadness. Sadness because her own ma was missing out on watching Jimmy grow. With each letter her mother sent, she could literally feel the melancholy leaping off the page. But at the same time, and with some guilt, there was joy because she had come to understand how fortunate she was to have the Hawkins women next door.

‘I’ll be back later. I cannot thank you both enough.’

‘You know it’s no trouble. I love this boy here as if he were me own flesh and blood.’ Rosie didn’t doubt Dulcie’s words.

‘But I do have a little something I want to talk to you about.’

‘Oh, what’s that?’ Rosie asked, her curiosity piqued.

‘Nothing that can’t wait till later on,’ Dulcie said. ‘You go off and do what you need to do. We’ll have a cuppa and a chat later.’

Knowing her son was in good hands, Rosie made her way back home and started on the mending, her mind often wondering what Mrs Hawkins could possibly want with her. And later, as Jimmy played at her feet and Rosie sipped the strong tea that Dulcie placed into her hands, she had her answer.

‘I like you, Rosie Hart,’ Dulcie stated without fuss or fanfare, as was her nature.

‘Thank you.’ Rosie smiled politely, peering at the other woman as she took a seat opposite her.

‘You have a good face and a strong mind. You’re stronger than you think; you know that, don’t you?’

‘Well, I …’ Rosie blushed, caught slightly off guard.

‘I have a proposition for you.’ Dulcie lit a cigarette and took a drag.

Rosie choked on her tea, the still-warm liquid spilling out of her mouth. Hastily, she grabbed a handkerchief out of her pocket. ‘What … what kind of proposition?’ she dared ask once the coughing subsided.

A hoarse laugh erupted from Dulcie. ‘Dear girl, not that kind of proposition.’ Smoke billowed in the dim room as she spoke. Outside, the afternoon sun was quickly fading. ‘I’m not going to ask you to work as one of my girls.’

Rosie could barely contain her relief. ‘Thank the Lord for that.’ The words left her lips before she realised how they came across. ‘I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with your girls …’ Her face felt as hot as the tea.

‘Ah.’ Dulcie waved her hand about, not looking the slightest bit offended. ‘I know that’s not for you. But I do think you could help me, on the business side of things.’

‘How? I mean, I know nothing about …’

‘Running a brothel?’

Rosie nodded as Dulcie stubbed the cigarette butt. ‘Fear not, dear girl, I’ll teach you all there is to know.’

‘But why me? I mean, surely Mary would be the one you should be teaching?’

Dulcie gave a quick shake of her head. ‘Mary is remarkable, and she surely would be of great assistance to you, but my granddaughter doesn’t have the head for business. And besides, she has grand plans to become a teacher. She doesn’t want to be a brothel madam.’

‘But why me?’ she asked again. ‘You barely know me, Mrs Hawkins.’

‘I’ve been in this business for more than thirty years. Started in a whorehouse on Kellett Street back in the twenties. Worked for the infamous Tilly Divine at one stage. That’s what got me thinking I needed to get into the business myself. William Hawkins, Mary’s grandfather, was the man who made it happen for me. Left his wife and young son when I fell pregnant with my Eliza, Mary’s mother. I’m not proud of that, I can tell you. I spent many a night with the guilts for wrecking a home. But we were happy.’ Dulcie gave her a watery smile, the most emotion Rosie had seen on her face.

‘Anyway, after he died, William left me some money. I fought the ex-wife and won. I had to, you see, for my Eliza. I don’t need to spell out what a woman would do to protect her flesh and blood. I see that same tenacity in your eyes when it comes to this little man right here.’ She nodded towards Jimmy and Rosie’s glance drifted to her son.

‘Mary wasn’t much older than James when she came to live with me, and I can tell you that after Mary came to me, I was even more wary of people. I too was battered, you see. Losing my William, then Eliza. I was determined to make sure that I would do whatever I could to provide for her. She was all I had, still is, and after I’m gone—I’m not getting any younger—I need someone I can trust to look after not only Mary but what I’ve built up here. Don’t be fooled by the modest appearance. It’s quite a money-maker, and as long as men have needs, and are prepared to pay for them, and Christ, I don’t see that changing anytime soon, it will continue to do so. And you, Rosie, are the one. In the short time you’ve been here, you have charmed many. You have a way with people.’

‘That doesn’t mean I’d be a good businesswoman.’ She gave a nervous laugh, not even sure why she was considering it. ‘As I said, I wouldn’t know the first thing about it all.’

‘I would teach you what you needed to know. As long as you have a good head on your shoulders, and some sense up here,’ she tapped her temple, ‘that’s all you need. It doesn’t hurt that you have the looks about you either.’

As much as Mrs Hawkins’s words were flattering, Rosie couldn’t help thinking—a brothel madam? Her? How would it affect Jimmy? What would Tom think of it all? She couldn’t see him liking the idea one bit. The older woman read her mind.

‘You don’t worry about the lad, he’s smart enough that he’d love his mother no matter what you did, and as for that husband of yours … he doesn’t need to know a thing for now.’

There was something in the way Dulcie referred to Tom that made Rosie bristle some. She previously had got the impression that Dulcie didn’t think much of Tom. Still, Tom was her husband and she was committed to her marriage. What Dulcie was proposing certainly would cause tension. ‘I’m not quite sure how Tom would feel if I … I mean, he came here, we came here for a better life and I don’t think …’

Dulcie considered her for what seemed like an age before she spoke. ‘Can I ask you something, Rosie?’

‘By all means.’ Rosie was intrigued.

‘Why did you move to Australia?’

‘Why?’ Rosie was puzzled by Dulcie’s question. ‘Because my husband was here and I wanted Jimmy and I to be with him.’

‘And is it all you expected?’

‘Australia? It’s even more beautiful than I imagined, and the food—’

Dulcie waved her hand about, cutting her off. ‘I’m not talking about the scenery or the cuisine—you’re not a tourist, Rosie. I’m talking about your life. Living apart for years can take its toll on a wedded couple. Is Tom the same man you married?’

Rosie felt her cheeks flame. ‘Well, I don’t think that’s a question I would feel comfortable discussing with you.’

Dulcie didn’t seem to be perturbed by her briskness. ‘Let me tell you something, and mark my words. The Cross, it’s like nowhere else in Australia. It changes people. That’s what happens when you throw people into a melting pot.’

‘I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.’ Rosie wasn’t being entirely truthful. She had a fair idea where Dulcie was headed with this conversation.

‘What I’m saying, Rosie, is that the man you married came here and was exposed to … temptations that he himself didn’t expect, so I’d say if he’s different to how he was, then the Cross may be the reason why.’

‘Are you saying that Tom has been unfaithful to me?’ Rosie asked in a high-pitched voice.

Dulcie shrugged. ‘If he has, he has not been here either before or after your arrival, but I do know a little about Doug. Booze, gambling and hashish are his main games. I know they’ve been mates for a while and he’s been here a few times. I’ve had to give him a few warnings for being too rough with some of my girls.’

Rosie remained silent. A part of her knew what Dulcie was trying to imply, but the other part was clinging to a feeling she had been holding for a while. Doug was the problem. If it weren’t for Doug, their lives would be a whole lot better.

‘Life rarely turns out how we planned, Rosie. You just have to make the most of what you’ve got and try to make it better. Think about it. I don’t need a yes or no today.’ Dulcie stood, gathering the now empty teapot and cups.

‘Yes.’ Rosie smiled politely as she gathered Jimmy. ‘I’ll think about it.’

* * *

As she was pulling the baked potatoes out of the oven, Rosie heard the front door open.

‘Pa’s home!’ Jimmy’s eyes lit up as he bounded down the hall.

Rosie felt her stomach knot in a bundle of nerves, and in her heart she prayed that this would be the time that Tom picked up his son and showered him with the love and affection he deserved.

She held her breath. Hoped. Wished. Waited.

She heard both Tom and Doug’s voices as they came into the kitchen. Tom was holding Jimmy, whose face was beaming with delight. ‘Take him, I need to shower,’ Tom said as he walked up to her.

Rosie’s heart sank to her knees. As she took Jimmy from Tom’s arms, she was thankful for her son’s blissful ignorance of his father’s blatant indifference.

‘Is this fish?’ Doug asked as he lifted the lid off a pot, screwing up his face as if she had cooked up a pile of turd. The sooner Doug was out of the way the better. Rosie was sure that without Doug’s influence, Tom would have more time to dedicate to his family. Recalling her conversation with Dulcie, a tiny pebble of doubt lodged itself in the corner of her mind, telling her she was only making excuses, but she quashed it as quickly as it had appeared.

‘It’s Good Friday,’ she replied with as much politeness as she could muster. ‘Catholics always fast on Good Friday.’ Then she turned to Tom. ‘I thought we could head to St Columbkille’s for midnight mass tonight.’

‘Mass?’ Doug let out a mighty guffaw, as if it was a foreign concept. ‘The only mass we’ll be heading to is that being held at Saint Piccadilly.’

‘You’re going to the pub? On Good Friday?’

Tom merely sent her a look that said she was foolish to think otherwise.

And it seemed that he was right. Rosie foolishly had thought that the pub would be closed today, but it seemed that the Blue Laws didn’t apply to Kings Cross. So, while her husband was drinking the night away, Rosie took their son to St Columbkille’s in Woolloomooloo. Jimmy was fast asleep five minutes into the service, his tiny body resting against her chest, his weary head heavy on her shoulder.

‘Hello, darl,’ Rosie heard Floss’s distinctive voice as she slid into the pew next to her wearing a deep-plum dress with black chiffon piping along the neckline and cuffs. Floss had teamed it with a dusty-pink silk scarf with tiny black diamonds that she had tied in a pretty bow on the side. It was a beautiful accessory and it did well to hide her Adam’s apple. On her hands she wore kid leather gloves the same shade as the scarf. Her handbag was also pink, albeit a shade or two darker than the scarf and gloves.

‘Hello,’ she whispered back and swept an admiring gaze over her outfit. By Floss standards, it was tame, but in comparison to Rosie’s navy dress and tweed coat, it was sensational. She could see a few of the parishioners casting curious glances in their direction, no doubt wondering if Floss was a woman or a man. Rosie knew that it was illegal for a man to be dressed as a woman, but the Cross being the Cross, the vice squad tended to overlook certain things—as long as you were willing to compensate. The Cross tolerated what the rest of Australia would not. But then again, they were in a church, and not all seemed to share that sentiment. To her credit, Floss either didn’t care or ignored the leering glares and the boorish behind-the-hand whispers from those around them.

‘I take it Tom’s at the pub?’

‘Yes.’ Rosie pursed her lips, hoping Floss wouldn’t say anything else on the matter. It was a sore point. Why couldn’t Kings Cross close down for the weekend? It was one of the holiest events on the Christian calendar, after all. Deep down, she knew it wasn’t the Cross’s fault, nor was it the Piccadilly’s. It was her fault for not being strong enough to tell Tom how she really felt about his behaviour.

‘You’re planning to leave the boy with the Hawkins woman and go to church in the middle of the night?’ he’d asked incredulously.

‘No. I’m taking Jimmy with me.’ She had hoped that would be enough to suggest they would go together, but it seemed not.

‘Suit yourself.’ He’d shrugged.

And that had been the end of it.

‘How’s your ankle?’ Floss’s question interrupted her thoughts.

‘Much better, thanks … How’d you know about my ankle?’ Rosie hadn’t seen Floss since the morning of her fall. She figured that she must’ve seen Mrs Hawkins. After fleeing Maggie’s Diner, she’d arrived at Mrs Hawkins’s only to discover that Jack had called her to let her know what had happened. She felt foolish for not realising herself that Mrs Hawkins had a phone. Then again, she lived next door, and Rosie had never had the need to call. If she needed something, she went around.

‘No, it wasn’t Mrs Hawkins, and before you ask, it wasn’t Mary either, although I did see her this afternoon and she elaborated on it, too.’

‘Who was it, then, and what do you mean by Mary elaborated?’

‘Well, I was at Aurelian’s the other day, and it was there, as he was holding a freshly baked long baguette, and you know how much I adore a long baguette, especially one that’s Aurelian’s.’ Floss wiggled her perfectly manicured brows suggestively and Rosie sighed.

‘So it was the Frenchman, then.’

‘Aha, he told me the whole story. How your shopping bags broke and all your goodies went flying in every direction.’ Floss flung out her long arms to demonstrate, much to the displeasure of those sitting around them.

‘It wasn’t so much every direction, more like on the ground and onto the road.’

‘And then how the sexy American came galloping across the road to rescue you.’

‘He didn’t gallop, Floss, he’s not a horse,’ Rosie corrected. ‘And he didn’t rescue me. I’d already fallen. He simply helped to get me off the ground.’

‘Ah, but then he took you to his castle, I mean diner, and tended to your foot.’

‘Because he was a medic in the war and his diner was across the road, directly from where I fell,’ Rosie stated.

‘Ah yes, he was in the army.’

‘Jack was in the air force, not army.’

‘Yes, that’s right.’ Floss nodded. ‘He was a pilot; how could I forget? They wore those gorgeous leather bomber jackets.’ Trust Floss to turn the conversation to fashion.

‘He was there, he helped, it was appreciated. End of story.’

‘And you think he’s sexy.’ Floss smirked and Rosie gasped.

‘I do not!’ she said indignantly. ‘Watch your mouth, Floss! We’re in the house of God.’

‘Oh, yes you do. You were quick to correct me on his military background, and yet you didn’t correct me on his sexy status, which can only mean one thing.’

Rosie opened her mouth to refute the claim when Floss said, ‘And before you lie, I’ll have you remember we’re in the house of God.’

Rosie stared at Floss, her mouth agape. ‘I’m a married woman,’ she whispered with more than a hint of melancholy in her voice.

Floss sighed heavily and squeezed her hand.

‘You didn’t say what Mary elaborated on.’

‘She told me how he delivered the groceries when you left them behind. I mean where was your head at, darl? The man went and replaced everything and you forget them?’

‘I was rushing to get back to Jimmy,’ she said by way of defence.

The service concluded and Rosie groaned as she stood, her arms sore and stiff from the weight of holding her sleeping child. Jimmy stirred but quickly resumed his deep slumber. ‘I swear, he gets bigger every day.’

‘Here, let me.’ Floss held out her arms. ‘It’ll give you a break.’

‘Thank you,’ she said gratefully as she transferred Jimmy into Floss’s arms.

‘I might as well make use of my supposed manliness,’ Floss deadpanned and Rosie chuckled as she rubbed her aching muscles.

The night was cold and clear. Shrugging off her coat, Rosie covered Jimmy as they made their way north on McElhone Street towards Nesbitt Street, then onto Harnett and Brougham. ‘I’ll carry him up,’ Rosie said as they approached Butler Stairs.

‘Have you lost your marbles?’ Floss squeaked. ‘Your ankle won’t make it up those steps; there’s over a hundred of them.’

‘Floss is right.’ There was a voice from behind and they both yelped with fright. But even before Rosie turned, she knew whom the voice belonged to. ‘Your ankle won’t be able to handle those stairs with or without weight.’ Jack stepped out into the silvery light of the moon peeking through the branches of the plane trees. Even in relative darkness, the curves of his handsome face were as clear as day.

‘Hello, Captain Reid,’ Floss drawled. ‘What brings you out in the witching hour?’

‘I was just about to ask you both the same thing. Two young women roaming the streets of the Cross unchaperoned. These are dangerous times.’

Floss giggled and Rosie felt a smile tug at her lips. Captain Jack Reid certainly was likeable. He was a smooth talker—that was for sure. ‘We were at midnight mass, at St Columbkille’s,’ Rosie said.

‘Father Michaels always gives a superb service.’

‘I didn’t realise you were Irish Catholic,’ Rosie said with surprise, wondering how it was she didn’t notice Jack was part of the congregation.

‘My father’s family came from Galway, my mother is Welsh, but my gran always took my brother and me to church back home.’

‘In Kansas?’ she asked, recalling he had mentioned the city, or was it a state? The only thing she knew about Kansas was from The Wizard of Oz. Hurricanes, small dogs and a girl with a penchant for killing witches.

‘No, I’m from Bend, Oregon. It’s a logging town.’

‘Some say the Cross is a logging town,’ Floss said. ‘Or at the very least, full of wood.’

Jack chuckled. ‘How about I escort you two lovely ladies home?’

Before Rosie could open her mouth to let Jack know that once they reached the top of the stairs, they were practically home, Floss responded, ‘Now, we wouldn’t say no to that generous offer, would we, darl?’

In the still of the night, Rosie felt two pairs of eyes on her, both expecting the same answer from her, and defeated, she relented.

‘No,’ she exhaled. ‘Thank you for the offer, Captain Reid.’

Floss turned and started climbing the steps. Jack closed the gap between them and gestured towards the stairs. ‘Shall we?’ His voice was smooth and melodic, his breath warm against her chilled skin.

Silently she nodded, and turned to take the first footfall. As she did, the feel of Jack’s hand on the small of her back caused her to shiver.

‘Cold?’

‘No,’ she said, but even as she did, her teeth betrayed her by chattering. Within moments, Jack was removing his jacket and placing it around her shoulders. The scent of him—woody, musky, masculine—engulfed her, making her feel punch-drunk. She reached out, found the railing, yet still careened ever so slightly. She thought perhaps he didn’t notice, but when his hand moved to the small of her back, releasing all sorts of havoc in her mind, in her stomach, all over her body, she knew she was wrong.

‘Are you alright?’ he asked, his voice threaded with concern.

‘I’m fine.’ She forced the untruth from her lips, willing her focus forward, for she feared that should she let it stray and allow her gaze to be snared by his, her resolve would crumble.

But halfway up the stairs, her ankle buckled, and when she cried out, Jack didn’t hesitate, he didn’t ask, he simply scooped her up. Automatically, she wrapped her arms around his neck, to the safety of his embrace.

‘I’ve got you,’ he whispered, and for an infinitesimal second, she wished that was true. She wanted to lean into him, feel the warmth of his skin, the beat of his heart, she wanted to stay in his arms, in the moment forever, but she knew it was all fleeting.

He carried her with ease, as if she weighed nothing, and yet, as soon as they reached the top of the stairs, she reluctantly asked him to put her down.

‘I must be hurting your back,’ she reasoned. The amber light from the sodium-vapour street lamp illuminated his face as he grinned, his eyebrow cocked as if he was slightly miffed she was questioning his strength. She was not. She had felt the hardness of his chest, the muscles in his biceps; she was only questioning her own mental resolve.

Still, Jack didn’t argue. He nimbly placed her down, and her body missed his instantly.

He offered his arm and he sensed her uncertainty. ‘It’s either this or I pick you up again. Which would you prefer?’

It wasn’t a matter of preference, it was a matter that she shouldn’t want him the way she did. Without answering, she slipped one hand in the crook of his arm and with the other she pulled his jacket over her shoulder. ‘I haven’t thanked you for the groceries and the box you had delivered that morning.’

‘You were hurt, I helped you.’

‘Still … it was more than you needed to do.’

‘Did it help?’

‘Pardon?’ she asked, unsure where this was heading.

‘The groceries and the medication.’

‘Yes. I am ashamed of the way I left your diner the other day, I’m sorry about that, but I have to admit, the medication has been a godsend. Who knew humble headache tablets could work so miraculously on a sprained ankle.’

‘They weren’t headache tablets, Rosie.’

‘Well, what on earth were they?’ she asked, baffled. ‘It certainly looked like the aspirin I normally take.’ But now she thought about it, the little white pills were an odd shape.

‘They had aspirin in them …’ He was pussyfooting around the matter, she could tell. ‘But they also had … something a little extra.’

Rosie stopped short. ‘Drugs!’ Her shrill voice echoed across the deserted night. ‘You unwittingly made me take drugs?’ She had never taken anything stronger than aspirin. Even in childbirth, she had remained medication free. ‘What on earth would make you think that would be acceptable?’

‘Because I knew the level of pain you were in.’ He turned to face her, his voice calm and steady in contrast with her distressed and agitated state. ‘I knew in order for you to be able to function, you needed something strong.’ He didn’t sound apologetic at all; he sounded annoyed that she was questioning him.

‘That wasn’t your decision to make,’ she gritted.

‘Tell me something, Rosie. Who looked after your son for you during the day?’

Rosie narrowed her eyes suspiciously. ‘Mrs Hawkins and Mary minded him a few hours a day.’

‘And then you had him the rest of the time.’ It was a statement, but she responded all the same.

‘Of course!’ she huffed, trying to guess what point he was making.

‘And when your husband came home, did he relieve you?’

‘No, Tom works hard all day, the last thing he …’ She was about to say wants, but stopped in time. ‘The last thing he needs is for me to ask him to look after Jimmy.’

‘And you were able to do that? Your pain level wasn’t an issue?’

‘Well, once I had taken a tablet I—’ Then it dawned on her. He knew she had a child to care for. He had only been looking out for her, and she was in turn being ungrateful. Her face flamed with shame and she only hoped that it was not visible in the dark velvet night. ‘I’m sorry. I know you were trying to help, it’s just …’

What? What was she trying to say?

I’m not used to being looked after.

I’m sad that my husband is so indifferent to our son.

I’ve only just met you, and yet, you have shown more compassion, more concern, more regard for me than Tom ever has.

‘I’ve always been independent,’ she told him, ‘but in saying that, all your help this week has been appreciated … even the cloak-and-dagger drug dispensation.’

‘I only gave you what a doctor would’ve prescribed had you gone to see one.’

‘I know,’ she said, wondering how he had access to such medication.

‘You’re wondering where I got them from, aren’t you?’

‘What? No, I mean …’

Jack chuckled. ‘I was in medical school before the war, so I decided to be a combat medic. Anyway, it just so happened that one of the Aussies I met in Darwin works at St Vincent’s. I saved his life, so from time to time, I call in a solid.’

‘You never went back to medical school? After the war, I mean.’

‘I never went back home. I stayed here and opened Maggie’s.’

When they reached the front of her house, the light she had left on was still glowing. Tom was probably home by now. There was a tightening in the pit of her stomach as she realised her arm was still looped in Jack’s, and almost immediately she extracted it and moved to relieve Floss from holding Jimmy.

‘Would anyone care to come in for a nightcap?’ Floss asked and Jack shrugged.

‘Sure, I’ve nowhere else to be.’

Rosie shook her head. She had no idea if Tom was home, but if he wasn’t, she didn’t want to risk walking out of Floss’s house with Jack and having her husband see. ‘I’d better get this little one in his bed.’ As if on cue, Jimmy gave a little whimper. She bid them both a goodnight, turned towards her front door, then stopped. ‘Jack, I almost forgot, your coat.’

He strode towards her and lifted the coat, his warm breath caressing her neck. ‘Goodnight, Rosie,’ he whispered before walking away.

Sighing heavily, she lugged Jimmy inside, putting him to bed before crawling into her own.

She was fast asleep by the time Tom stumbled into bed reeking of beer. Within seconds he was clawing at her nightgown, his mechanical movements lacking affection. It had become a routine, and it seemed as if he was unwilling to touch her if he was not full of drink. Most nights, she had barely tolerated the crudeness of it all, but tonight it was sheer torture. She squeezed her eyes tight, tears rolling down the side of her face onto her pillow, down her neck and pooling in the dip between her clavicle. She fisted a hand and shoved it in her mouth, swallowing her sobs as her teeth penetrated the flesh above her knuckles.

Earlier that night, Father Michaels had preached about Jesus, who died on a cross. The cross was in the heart of God for all eternity, and in the Bible it is said that the Lord Jesus was the lamb slain for the foundation of the world. Before the world was created, before time began, it was determined that the Lord Jesus would die on a cross for the sins of the whole world. When the Lord Jesus came to this earth, he carried a cross in his heart as well.

And at that very moment, as her husband savaged her and all she wanted to do was curl up tight in a ball and die, for the very first time in her life Rosie fully understood just how much of a sacrifice it had been for Jesus to die for the sins of all mankind. Because she was sacrificing her potential happiness by staying in a marriage that it seemed could only be saved by divine intervention.

She needed to be patient. Except with each day that went by, the more Rosie felt helpless. She didn’t want to raise Jimmy the way she had been—without a father, without knowing where he had come from, where he belonged. And yet, how could she raise her son in a house that was not a home, with a man who wasn’t the father he should be, in a marriage that was a sham?

Who was she? Rosie barely knew anymore. What had happened to the girl who wanted to design dresses? The one that was so full of hope she was sure she could be a mother and work too. What had happened to Rosie Hart? It seemed that she had been left in Ireland. The other day when she had introduced herself to Jack as Rosie Hart, it had been a slip of the tongue.

The bead of doubt from earlier not only grew—it pulsed.