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 can 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.’
Rosie was horrified.
‘She was there when it happened, old enough to remember it, too. Lucky she had Dulcie. I remember when she came—she had such sad eyes, much like the ones we are seeing now. But Dulcie showered her with love, and after some time she thrived.’
Rosie opened her mouth to answer, but the sound of Mary crying out sent her and Floss fleeing to the outhouse. In the dim light, Rosie could barely see, but there was one thing she could see as clear as day—blood. Mary’s hands were covered in it.
‘I’m bleeding,’ she managed, her teeth chattering, her body shaking. ‘What’s happening?’ Her voice was full of fear.
Rosie could see blood trickling down her legs, forming a pool on the concrete.
‘What’s happening?’ Mary’s voice was louder now, her fear escalating. Rosie felt heat and cold consume her body. She knew exactly what was going on.
‘Mary, I think you’re losing the baby.’ She stepped towards her and gently took her by the shoulders.
Mary stared vacantly at her. Even though this was ultimately what she had wanted, Rosie could tell it scared her. Perhaps it was that she was suffering another loss.
‘Floss, call Jack. We need to take her to the hospital.’
Cleaning her as best as she could, Rosie found some fresh clothes, bundled Mary in a coat, and as soon as Jack arrived, they headed back to St Vinnie’s for the second time that week.
The loss of an old life, the loss of a life unborn—they both mattered, and now Mary truly had lost everything.
* * *
It was after midnight when Jack drove them home from the hospital. As Rosie had suspected, Mary lost the baby. The hospital was keeping her overnight, but if all went well, they would release her tomorrow.
Rosie didn’t want to leave her. Mary was a right mess, but once she was sedated, they were told that she would sleep most of the night. The light was on as she approached the house. Had it been on when they’d left for the hospital? Rosie couldn’t recall.
With her stomach full of knots, Rosie slid her key into the door and clicked it open. The kitchen light was on. Slowly she walked down the hallway, her footfalls echoing in her wake. There he was, sitting. Waiting.
‘Where were you?’ His voice was calm, but there was enough rage in his eyes for Rosie to know he wasn’t happy.
She took her time unwinding the scarf from around her neck, the thing that had hidden his sin, and bared it as a reminder. ‘We had to take Mary to the hospital. She … was ill.’ It wasn’t Tom’s concern why Mary was ill.
‘We?’
‘Yes, Floss and … I.’ Rosie deliberately omitted Jack from the equation.
‘Where’s Jimmy?’ He didn’t seem concerned that their son wasn’t with her. His question seemed to be more of the accusatory nature.
‘And what is he doing with those wogs?’ His rage was growing. She could tell by the way a muscle in the side of his neck twitched.
‘They looked after him while I was at Dulcie’s funeral. Jimmy wanted to stay and Rubina was fine with it—’
Tom moved so fast. He upended the table in one fell swoop and had her against the wall within seconds, his hands wrapping tightly around her neck.
‘Tom!’ she pleaded, struggling to breathe. The pain was worse than before; of course, the bruising would be the reason why.
‘You’re a fucking liar.’ His breath was acrid, and saliva sprayed out of his mouth, covering her face, her eyes. ‘I know it wasn’t just you and that tranny in that car, I know it was the Yank!’
‘No … nothing …’ She struggled to form words, but how do you speak when you cannot even breathe?
‘I saw you this afternoon. You were there in his little diner, having a cosy conversation. Yeah, I saw the way he was looking at you, I know you’re fucking the Yank.’ His wrath was mounting. Rosie didn’t think he could tighten his grip on her any more than he already had, but he did. He was squeezing the life out of her. She flung her arms about, but it was no use.
‘I’m going to kill you. I’m going to kill you, dump your body in the harbour and tell Jimmy his mummy left him. How do you like that?’ His grin was sick and twisted. He was serious. She could see the intent in his eyes. But all she could think of was her Jimmy. Her sweet little Jimmy.
Rosie closed her eyes and prepared for the darkness to wash over her. She wouldn’t beg, she wouldn’t allow for her last moments on earth to be begging to this man; instead she would think of Jimmy.
‘Let her go!’
The voice seemed to come from nowhere. Her eyes were watering, but strain them as she might, she couldn’t see who it was.
Tom glanced to his right, and gave a maniacal laugh. The next thing Rosie saw was a barrel of a gun pressed to the temple of Tom’s head.
Her heart flew into her mouth. It was Jack.
‘I said, let her go.’ His words were authoritative, and within seconds Tom loosened his grip and Rosie fell like a rag doll onto the floor.
She struggled to catch her breath, the very act of drawing oxygen seeming an effort as her windpipe felt as though it was crushed. ‘Darl.’ Floss was bent down next to her, gently helping her up. ‘Here, let’s sit you down.’
‘Jack …’ Her breath was wheezy, ragged.
‘He’s dealing with Tom. You don’t worry about that, you just sit here.’ Floss sniffed.
‘Are you … crying?’ Rosie managed.
‘Shhhh.’ Floss stroked her head. ‘Don’t try to talk.’
She could hear shouting.
‘I’m fucking done with her; you can have her!’ Tom yelled.
‘You’d be best to leave now, Mr Fuller. I see you near Rosie or Jimmy ever again, I will not hesitate in pulling that trigger, you hear?’
Tom muttered something unintelligible, his voice fading as he left. Then the front door closed and Jack was by her side.
‘He’s gone now,’ he said softly, pulling her close to him, and Rosie could not help but fall into his arms and quietly begin to sob.
‘Hush now. You’re safe. He won’t hurt you no more,’ he said, but his words only made her cry harder.
‘Did you mean what you said?’ Rosie asked when she had calmed down enough.
‘That I would kill him if he came back? Absolutely.’
Gently, he cupped her face with such tenderness that her heart almost exploded, and slowly he captured her lips with the softest kiss. ‘What better way to tell you that I love you than to show you just how much I do. Rosie, from the very first time I laid eyes on you, I wanted to kiss you, to hold you, to love you. I know that you’ve been through a rough time. God, you almost died tonight, and if I lost you …’ His voice broke. ‘I don’t think I would’ve ever forgiven myself if I lost you. I will take it as fast or as slow as you want, but know this. I don’t want to spend a single moment without you in my life.’
‘But I didn’t die. I’m here, a little broken and bruised, but I’m alive because of you. I love you, Jack, and I want you in my life, but I also want to build a life for myself and for Jimmy, too. I want to be able to stand on my own two feet without being reliant on a man.’
‘I have no problem with that. I always knew that there was tenacity and drive in you. Any idea what you want to do?’
Rosie felt a small smile form on her lips, sending a silent thanks to Dulcie up above. ‘Well, there is one thing I could do.’
‘Alright, you two.’ Floss appeared, holding three tumblers of whiskey. ‘I was going to make tea, but after the night we’ve all had, especially you, Rosie, I thought something a little stronger was needed.’ Floss handed out the tumblers and looked pointedly at her. ‘Rosie, do you want to make a toast?’
‘Why me?’
‘I dunno.’ Floss shrugged. ‘You’re the one that almost died.’ Floss was being flippant about it now, but they all knew just how close to the truth it was. Another minute, another thirty seconds and it could’ve been a completely different story.
Swirling the amber liquid in her glass, Rosie contemplated. There was something her mother used to say often that suddenly struck a chord. ‘To feathers.’ She raised her glass and watched as both regarded her with nonplussed looks. ‘Hope is like a feather, light but strong. They’re easily bent, but not easily broken. Tonight, you were both my feathers. You were my hope in my darkest hour. Sláinte chuig na fir, agus go mairfidh na mná go deo.’
‘All I understood from that last part is sláinte, so cheers to you.’
‘Health to the men, and may the women live forever,’ Jack murmured, peering at her over the rim of his glass.
‘Well—I guess that gives me good health and immortality,’ Floss quipped, and Rosie couldn’t help but laugh.
Jack reached over and took her hand in his, and for the first time in a long while, Rosie felt safe. She felt loved. She had hope.