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.
‘I came here thinking you may need support. I know Sharon was a good friend of yours.’
‘Sharon was my oldest friend, Mum. You know that.’
‘Come home, Maggie.’ Rosie’s face crumpled then. She reached out and grabbed Maggie’s hand and Maggie’s heart soared. ‘Please come home before it’s too late.’
‘Too late?’ Her hope turned to dust.
‘I don’t want you ending up with a wasted life like Sharon.’
‘You think Sharon’s life was a waste? She made a mistake and paid with her life,’ Maggie cried.
‘You always were under her spell. Don’t you see how she has pulled you down?’ Rosie said coldly, and it made Maggie sick that her mother could speak ill of the dead.
‘Go home, Mother. Go home and never speak to me again.’
The rain returned then. The heavens opened up ferocious and fierce, and for the second time that day, Maggie walked away from someone whom she thought she loved.
‘Maggie!’ Mike called out, running by her side with an umbrella, but it was too late, she was already drenched to the bone. Her water-logged feet squelched in her too-tight shoes as she trudged over the mud-infested ground.
‘Bloody hell, you’re soaked,’ he muttered, guiding her by the elbow towards his car.
‘The wake,’ Maggie said, teeth chattering. She could barely feel her cheeks, and her fingers were bone white and refused to cooperate as she pulled her coat tighter around her.
‘Fuck the wake,’ Mike spat. ‘I’m taking you home before you catch pneumonia.’
Maggie wanted to tell him that you couldn’t catch pneumonia from being cold, but her teeth were moving so violently that it made it hard to think, let alone speak.
She must’ve drifted off at some point in the trip because the next thing she knew, Mike was gently shaking her shoulder.
‘Come on,’ he said, helping her out of the car. ‘I would’ve let you sleep, but you need to get out of those wet clothes.’
‘Wait, where are we?’ she said when he led her into the foyer of an Art Deco building.
‘I’m taking you to my place.’
‘Why?’ Maggie asked groggily.
‘You fell asleep before I could ask you where you live. Is this okay?’
Maggie nodded numbly. She didn’t want to go back to the flat anyway. Since finding Sharon’s body, she had slept in the living room, too distraught to be in the bedroom they’d shared.
Mike’s apartment was nicer and neater than she’d expected. It was probably the same size as hers, but with cooler furniture. It was a real grown-up’s place.
‘There’s a bathroom on the left.’ He gestured down the hall. ‘I’ll grab you a towel and see if I can find something for you to wear, just give me a sec.’ He darted off and returned with a towel, as promised, and a jumper that would easily pass as a dress on her.
‘Here you go; sorry I don’t have anything else more suitable.’
‘I would be surprised if you had women’s clothing lying around,’ Maggie said wryly.
His lips quirked. ‘Maggie Hart, this is the Cross, nothing should surprise you.’
‘True. But sometimes people do.’ She was talking as much about him as she was about Bobby, and for a moment Mike held her gaze knowingly.
‘I should, ah, let you warm up.’ He broke eye contact and took a step back.
Maggie smiled and headed down the hall. The shower was exactly what she needed and she was right—Mike’s jumper almost reached her knees. But it was soft and smelled of lavender. Huh, who knew Mike used fabric softener?
When she emerged from the bathroom, she found Mike in the living room setting down two mugs on the coffee table.
‘I made you Cup-a-Soup,’ he declared almost shyly. ‘There’s chicken noodle or pea and ham. Sorry for the paltry selection, but it’s all I had.’
Tears pricked her eyes. He was being so kind, and the last time they had been together she had been a total bitch.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry,’ Mike said, gently pulling her down towards the couch and handing her a box of tissues.
‘No, it’s okay, I mean, thank you for this.’ Maggie blew her nose and took a deep breath. ‘And I’m sorry.’
‘For what?’ Mike asked, placing a mug into her hands.
‘For what I said last week. I’m sorry for slapping you and for telling you to fuck off.’
‘You were upset.’ Mike shrugged. ‘And I wasn’t being all that nice either. Now drink up. I know it’s not fancy, but it’ll do you some good.’
‘Hey, I happen to consider Continental Cup-a-Soup the crème de la crème of soups.’
That made him smile. ‘Only the best for you, Maggie Hart.’
* * *
Maggie woke and for a while forgot where she was. It was afternoon, almost dusk, but the gloominess made it feel later. She must’ve fallen asleep on the couch. The last thing she remembered was drinking her hot mug of soup, the salty noodles filling her belly, the warmth thawing her soul enough to lull her into slumber. She was covered with a thick, soft blanket, and as she groggily sat up Maggie heard movement from the kitchen. She followed the noise and found Mike making a coffee. Never had the aroma of Nescafé Blend 43 smelled so divine.
‘Hey, sorry if I woke you.’ Mike peered at her over the rim of his mug.
‘You didn’t, but that smells good. Would you mind if I made myself one?’
‘I’ll do it.’ He was already flicking on the electric jug and pulling out a mug that read World’s Best Uncle. ‘Milk? Sugar?’
‘Both. One sugar, please.’
‘I need to go to work tonight.’ He handed her coffee over and Maggie’s stomach clenched.
‘Oh, I’ll get going before then …’ She trailed off when he shook his head.
‘I’m not telling you that so you can leave. I know heading back to your place may be hard for you.’
‘I can’t …’ A lump formed in her throat and tears threatened. ‘I’ve been sleeping on the couch ever since.’
‘You’re welcome to stay here as long as you like.’
Maggie stared at him. Just like that, without delay, without begging, he offered.
‘You can. I have a spare room. The bed’s a bit ancient, but it’s decent. My nieces and nephews stay here often so I made sure the mattress was comfortable.’
When she said nothing, he added, ‘Unless you have somewhere else you can go?’
He hadn’t mentioned Bobby yet, and Maggie was sure it was because he’d witnessed their spat at the church as well as the exchange of words with her mother. It also made her realise that she hadn’t thought of Bobby since this morning.
‘No, I don’t. Staying with Bobby isn’t an option, although I should call him. He’s probably wondering where I am.’
Mike nodded. He didn’t ask why she couldn’t stay with Bobby and she was thankful for that. ‘If you like, I’ll come with you to grab your stuff from your place, then I’ll drop you back here before I head to the club.’
Tears welled. ‘Why are you being so kind?’ Maggie was touched by his thoughtfulness, but it seemed the question surprised him.
‘Maggie, you’ve just lost your best friend. You need support and it doesn’t look like you’re getting a hell of a lot from …’ He paused, took a breath before saying, ‘From elsewhere.’
She dropped her gaze. It was clear he was about to say she wasn’t getting any support from Bobby, and while she should’ve defended him, she didn’t have the energy to do so. ‘It would be great to stay a few days, just until I get myself sorted.’
‘You can stay as long as you like.’ They both knew it would take more than a few days.
‘I, ah, should do something about my wet clothes.’
‘It’s all done. I washed and dried them while you were sleeping. Couldn’t do much about your shoes, though. Sorry.’
Maggie looked at him flabbergasted and a little overwhelmed. ‘I can’t believe you did that. You’re an angel.’ Instinctively, she leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. ‘You’re a good friend, Mike. One day, you’re going to make some woman very happy.’
She may have imagined it, but his smile faltered slightly. Mike cleared his throat as he deposited his empty mug into the sink. ‘Yeah, that I am.’
* * *
Maggie was thankful that she wasn’t alone when she headed back to the apartment. It was empty, both Leanne and Warren nowhere to be seen. Her hand poised to open the bedroom door, she felt a wave of nausea roll through, but as she pushed open the door, she saw that Sharon’s side of the room was stripped bare. No posters, no perfume bottles or empty cans of Coke lying around, no clothes strewn on the floor. It was blank. Sterile. It was as if Sharon had never lived, or died, in the room. Her mother, or maybe one of her sisters, had been here, and Maggie was relieved she hadn’t been present. She had spoken only briefly to her parents, but they had been so dazed with shock that Maggie was sure they wouldn’t remember doing so.
She packed her belongings with lightning speed, and then walked over to the chest of drawers they’d shared. It was as suspected, bare, save for a tiny sliver of gold that glinted in the light. As she pulled at it, she saw what it was and emotion clogged her throat.
Last year, they both had bought each other ‘Best Friends’ necklaces. Sharon had insisted that Maggie take the side that had the word ‘Best’ because she said Maggie was the best of them. The memory of that day was so raw and real that she could barely breathe. Slipping Sharon’s side of the pendant onto her chain, she walked out of the room and closed the door behind her with a thud.
‘Ready to go?’ Mike asked.
Maggie fingered the pendant and clicked the two parts to form a whole heart. ‘Yes, I’m ready. Let’s go.’
If only mending her own heart was as easy.
* * *
After sorting her things in Mike’s spare room, Maggie called Bobby, but when it went straight to the answering machine, she decided to brave the rain and walk from Mike’s apartment on Elizabeth Bay Road to Potts Point. As she approached his door, there was loud music, which explained why he perhaps hadn’t heard the phone. Maggie had to knock several times before he answered, except, it wasn’t Bobby at the door.
‘Hello, can I help you?’ A willowy brunette with dark eyes stared at Maggie as if she was a drowned rat. Maybe she was; the rain had picked up and she didn’t have an umbrella.
She was slightly confused and perhaps disorientated, so she glanced at the door number and back at the woman. She didn’t have the wrong apartment. This definitely was Bobby’s place, so the question was, who was this woman and why was she answering Bobby’s door?
‘Honey, who is it?’ Bobby’s voice floated from inside, and for a split second Maggie assumed he was talking to her. But when he appeared in the doorway, his face said it all, as did the massive rock on the woman’s left hand.
‘I don’t know, babe, I think this little girl is lost.’
Maggie glanced at Bobby, then the ring, and when she flicked her gaze back to him, he knew that she had seen it.
There was only one thing to do. She ran.
‘Maggie, wait!’ Bobby called out after her. ‘Stop! Let me explain.’
There was no point. She flew down one flight, then another, and she didn’t stop until she reached Mike’s apartment. She sat on the couch in a daze, hugging her knees and rocking back and forth.
She wasn’t sure how long she was there, maybe half an hour, maybe more, but the second she heard Mike’s key in the door, she launched into his arms.
He held her, stroking her head tenderly, shushing her, telling her all would be fine. She didn’t ask why he was home early. Later she would discover Bobby had gone to her apartment and then The Vinyl Room looking for her, and that was how Mike knew something was wrong.
‘You were right,’ she told him soberly. ‘He dropped me like a dirty dishrag.’
Mike framed her face and sighed. ‘I didn’t want to be right. I’m sorry that he hurt you. You deserve better, Maggie Hart.’
There was something about the way he looked at her that made her think, maybe, just maybe … It may have been her grief or his kindness, or perhaps it was the realisation that Mike was right, that she deserved better, she deserved someone like him.
So she kissed him, and let herself forget, just for a brief moment in time, just how much of a mess her life had become.