by Emily Madden
‘Brie, it is dinner.’ Then, ‘Holy shit!’ he exclaimed when he took stock of the surroundings.
‘It’s a real blast from the past, huh?’
‘I’ll say,’ Josh mused as he placed the food on the formica laminate countertop. ‘It’s like stepping back in time.’ He ran his hand along the walnut buffet and whistled. ‘This is top-shelf stuff. I’ve got a few mid-century replica pieces at home, but this is the real deal.’
‘It’s old, yet so new, right? I almost feel like I’m perverting the place being here. I mean, you can tell no one has lived here for years. But look at the kitchen.’ She gesticulated to the solid wood panel cabinets and mustard-yellow bench top. ‘It looks like it was newly renovated and never used. I’m not sure if there’s any cutlery or glasses.’
‘More importantly,’ Josh moved past her, opening and closing drawers and doors, ‘is there any wine?’
They found plates, forks, even some glasses, but sadly no wine.
‘I’ll be back in a tick.’ Josh raced out and was back just as Brie finished opening all the containers. She was right—it was Thai. Her mouth was salivating, and her stomach literally tying itself up in knots from hunger.
‘Got it!’ Josh bounded in, brandishing a bottle of red and two wineglasses.
‘Did you pilfer the bottle from the café?’
‘It’s from my stockroom.’ He unscrewed the lid and poured them both a generous measure. ‘I think I’m allowed to pilfer now and then, don’t you think?’
Brie shrugged. ‘You’re the boss.’
Josh lifted his glass. ‘To peace offerings.’
‘To old friends.’ Brie chinked her glass against his and took a sip. A look flashed across his face, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared and she couldn’t be sure that she hadn’t imagined it.
‘Although, I think it’s I who should be apologising. I shouldn’t have walked out of the café last week the way I did.’
‘You said sorry when I called you at the hospital,’ Josh said. ‘I should’ve been a little more gracious.’
Unsure how to respond, Brie shrugged again and directed their attention to the food. ‘We should eat before this gets cold.’
Brie was glad the tension between them had dissipated, and over pad kee mao and massaman curry the conversation flowed easily.
‘God, this is divine!’ Brie moaned as she fished the last bit of meat from her bowl. ‘I can’t remember the last time I had Thai this good.’
‘The area has become quite gentrified and there are loads of great places to eat.’
‘Do you eat much in the Cross?’ Brie asked, realising she had no idea where Josh actually lived. For some reason, she assumed it was somewhere in the Eastern Suburbs.
‘A fair bit. I live not far from here, about a ten-minute walk. When I got the café, it made sense to move close. When I first found out about this place,’ he nodded in reference to the flat, ‘I was kind of hoping Rosie would lease it to me. Actually, I wanted to buy the whole place, but it soon became apparent that Rosie had no intention of leasing the flat, let alone selling. I knew that it eventually would be yours.’
‘It’s not mine, not until all this stuff with the will has been sorted.’
‘Has Rosie’s solicitor given you a timeline for that? You must be keen to get home.’
‘Home?’
‘Home. Japan. Narita. Isn’t that where you live?’
Brie blinked. She almost told him that all her belongings from Narita were here in Sydney with her. There really wasn’t anything that tied her to Japan anymore, but of all people, Josh was the last person she wanted to admit this to.
‘Um, Joe’s going to try to get it all sorted as quickly as possible. It might need to go to court, and depending on the outcome, you might end up with a new landlord.’
‘And then you’ll leave.’
He said it as a statement, but it was the tone in which he delivered it that bothered her. It was as if he was goading her. Why did he have to go and stir up trouble? They were getting on so well.
‘Of course I’ll leave. Josh, what do you expect me to say? That I’m going to stay? For me to do that, there needs to be a reason …’
He looked at her dead in the eyes, holding her gaze hostage. ‘But. There’s a but in there, isn’t there?’
Brie sighed. ‘We work better as friends, Josh. We both know that.’
He nodded as if the words that had tumbled out of her mouth were exactly what he’d expected. ‘I’d better get going.’ He drained the rest of his wine and stood. ‘That paperwork isn’t going to do itself.’
‘Josh, wait …’ He paused as Brie searched for the words, but there was a discord between her head and her heart. What was she going to say? That she regretted saying they’d been a mistake? That she still had feelings for him? There wasn’t a point. When all this was over, she would leave. She didn’t know where she would go, but she knew it wouldn’t be here.
Josh needed someone who knew who they were and where they belonged. And that wasn’t her.
When Brie failed to say anything, he lifted a hand and gave a brief wave. ‘See you, Brie.’ He clicked the door softly on his way out, his footsteps echoing as he climbed down one flight to his office, and a moment later the slamming of a door made her jump.
Brie pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. She felt like shit, but was there any other way around this? Sighing, she poured another glass of wine and headed back into the room.
There were a whole lot of boxes that pertained to the different cafés Rosie had owned throughout the years, including the lease to Café Floss. There was nothing about the lease that was unusual, except for two little words.
Maggie’s Diner.
It reminded her of the conversation with the Di Norros and how Rosie’s Americano used to own a diner on Victoria Street. Could it be the same diner? Did Rosie name her mother after Maggie’s Diner?
Brie sifted through the rest of the boxes, scouring to find any more information about the diner in the hope that she would discover the name of Rosie’s American.
She didn’t find it, but she did find a sealed foolscap-sized envelope. There was no name, no address, no markings on the front, but the fact that it was sealed and buried at the very bottom told Brie volumes.
Slowly, she slid her finger along the closed edge and pulled out the contents. There were a number of papers bound together with a red ribbon. Brie unravelled the bow and discovered a marriage certificate. Then there were two birth certificates and finally three death certificates.
Each piece of paper was an integral piece of the puzzle, each provided answers but also questions. Brie looked inside the envelope—there were still two items inside. One was folded and was so small, it was tucked in the corner. She shook them out and saw that the paper was in fact a newspaper article, and the other a smaller envelope that seemed to contain photos, and when she pulled them out her heart stopped.
Over sixty years of history was laid before her. Every secret, everything that bound three generations of Hart women was in her hands.
She knew there were two James Fullers and one of them died a long time ago. Way before Maggie was born.
She knew who Jack Reid was. She knew why he wasn’t in Rosie’s life anymore. And she was pretty sure from the photo in her hands, she knew who her father was. Rosie had known all along. The photo was proof.
The only question that remained was why had Rosie kept this all hidden?
Thirty-one
Maggie
Kings Cross, July 1986
Even in the dead of winter, people came to the Cross looking for something. For some it was comfort, to fulfil a yearning that could only be sated in the arms of a lady of the night. For some it was the thrill of sensation and satisfaction, the raw and somewhat sadistic pleasure that only the Golden Mile could provide. And for some, it was to forget. Forget their cares, their woes, or in some extreme circumstances to forget their entire lives, and in the wa
steland hours between the darkest depths of night and when the sky began to lighten, their soul belonged to Kings Cross.
In the three months Maggie had been working at The Vinyl Room, she had seen many faces of the Golden Mile and it seemed that everyone had a story, a reason why they were drawn, or in some cases trapped, in the Bermuda-like triangle known as the Cross. She quickly came to see that unlike Warren, there were interesting people who worked at the club.
Ivan, the main doorman, had a stare that could bend steel. He was huge, Maggie put him at about six foot two and way over one hundred and thirty kilos, but if you asked nicely, he would crack your back. Perhaps the most noticeable thing about Ivan was his relationship with Destiny. There was something there—Maggie was sure of it.
Jerry was another of the door staff. Hailing from the south side of Chicago, he was strikingly tall with a silky moustache and shoulder-length, permed hair. Jerry had a voice that could narrate your life and a laugh that was as loud as thunder.
Gavin rounded out the door staff. He was younger than both Ivan and Jerry, but just as tall and muscly. Gavin would often announce closing time, which was three am most nights but seven am on Fridays and Saturdays. Maggie loved waiting to hear just which phrase Gavin would use on any given night. She and Mike would take bets. The main stayers were: ‘Time to make like a baby and head out’, ‘make like Marie Antoinette and head off’, and ‘make like a shepherd and get the flock outta here!’
The latter was Maggie’s favourite. Mike insisted that Gavin was gay, he apparently knew these sorts of things, but Maggie suspected it was because he was secretly jealous that Gavin was so handsome. Then Maggie accidentally walked in on Gavin and one of the waitresses, Nikki, doing the deed in the stockroom, so that blew Mike’s theory out of the water.
And then there was Mike. Originally from North Queensland, he’d come to the Cross on a rugby trip and never went home.
‘It’s Disneyland for adults,’ he said one night as they poured another round of top-shelf whiskey and Coke for the group of guys that had just arrived for a buck’s night. ‘Every wild ride you can think of, everything you want to indulge in is here.’
‘Do you think you’ll ever go home?’ Maggie asked.
‘Maybe one day,’ Mike said wistfully. ‘I come from a large family. My brothers and sisters all have kids. I want that, too.’
Perhaps she was being somewhat stereotypical, but given Mike’s lifestyle, it was the last thing she expected to come out of his mouth. Her surprise must’ve been evident because Mike laughed. ‘What, you think because I live in the Cross I want to stay here forever?’
‘No, it’s just that … I didn’t peg you as the type to want to have a family.’
‘If I meet the right person and they wanted the same, yeah for sure. But first, I need to get out before it destroys my soul. Just look at Destiny.’ He nodded to their boss, who was standing in the corner casting an eagle eye across the club. ‘Don’t you think she had dreams and hopes for a grander life than managing a club?’
Maggie had never thought of Destiny as having any desire outside the four walls of The Vinyl Room.
‘What are your dreams, Maggie?’ Mike asked.
Maggie shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I mean, I’m here until Sharon saves enough for our trip.’ She didn’t add that Sharon should’ve had the funds needed by now. Maggie had managed to make more in three months bar tending than she had in the two previous years of casual retail work. By comparison, Sharon earned more, but every time Maggie questioned her about it, she made some excuse. How she’d given money to one of the girls she had borrowed from a while back, or how she’d spent it on new clothes.
Despite living in the same apartment and sharing a room, it seemed to Maggie that they were drifting further and further apart. Even though their work schedules were similar, they barely spent any time together. Maggie was a light sleeper and was generally the first one up, with Leanne and Sharon sleeping well into the afternoon. Maggie soon had taken to going out so as not to wake or bother them, and half the time Warren was asleep on the couch so she had no choice but to leave.
‘And after your trip, what will you do? Didn’t you say you had the marks to become a doctor?’
Maggie inhaled sharply. Talk about studying made her think about her mother. Without fail on a Sunday, Rosie would call. It was the same conversation every time. Rosie would ask when she was coming home. Maggie would tell her she wasn’t. It was always terse and Maggie honestly wondered why her mother bothered.
‘I don’t know.’ She shrugged.
‘Well, you’ve certainly got the smarts. I can tell that.’
‘What, because I can add and subtract in my head?’ Maggie chuckled, loading up a tray for one of the new girls, Tracey, a tall willowy blonde with probably the best breasts in the club. ‘I think the word you’re looking for is a “nerd”.’
Mike peered at her from behind his fringe that flopped over one eye. ‘You’re more than that, Maggie. Of all the girls here, you’re the one with the most potential.’
Maggie grimaced. ‘That’s something my mother would say.’
‘It’s true. You’re every bit as hot as the girls here, but you’ve got this,’ he tapped his temple, ‘and that makes you even hotter.’
Mike had previously told her she wasn’t his type so she knew there was no way he’d have any romantic inclinations towards her, but even so, Maggie felt her face flame. ‘Well, I’m no Tracey.’ She laughed off his compliment, unsure how else to respond.
‘Fuck Tracey,’ Mike cursed. ‘That bimbo would—’
‘Hey, honey.’ Mike’s words were cut short by Bobby’s arrival.
‘Bobby!’ She walked out from behind the bar and into his arms, allowing her lips to brush against his.
‘Missed you,’ he murmured against her mouth before framing her face and pulling her in for a deeper, more passionate kiss. He tasted of whiskey and cigars.
‘Missed you more,’ she sighed.
‘Really?’ His fingers crept under the hem of her skirt, his hand sliding upwards to cup her butt cheek as strains of the Samantha Fox song ‘Touch Me’ filled the air. ‘Remember what we were doing the other night as this song was playing?’
‘Bobby!’ She grabbed his hand, moving away from him. ‘Not here.’ Maggie remembered clearly.
His grin was full of immoral promise. ‘Later, then,’ he whispered in her ear before nipping at her lobe. Laughing and swatting Bobby away, Maggie headed back to the bar and immediately felt Mike’s disapproval.
‘What’s up your arse?’ she asked, almost expecting him to complain that one of the waitresses was giving him the shits.
‘Nothing,’ he mumbled, moving sharply past her and dumping a bucket of ice into the tub with excess force.
Maggie placed one hand on her hip. She knew Mike was giving her a bum steer. ‘Come off it, Mike. Tell me.’
‘Nothing,’ Mike repeated, shaking his head, and it only made her more annoyed.
‘Mike, you’re giving me the shits. Tell me.’ Maggie folded her arms and waited.
‘Fine,’ he huffed. ‘You know he’s only using you.’
Maggie blinked, confused. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘That lawyer you’re seeing.’ The tone of his voice took her aback.
‘Bobby?’
‘Yes—Bobby Ryan. You know his father is corrupt as fuck, don’t you?’
‘What has that got to do with Bobby?’
‘From what I’ve heard, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.’
‘What the hell is that supposed to mean?’ she asked angrily. ‘What has Bobby ever done to you?’
‘Look, just be careful, won’t you?’ Mike’s voice was softer now. ‘I don’t want to see you hurt.’
‘I’m capable of looking after myself,’ she said defensively.
‘The Ryans come from money, old money. I bet the old man has already had little Bobby’s life mapped out for him, including a suitab
le bride.’
The sting of his words hit her like a slap. ‘A minute ago you were telling me how much potential I had, and now all of a sudden I’m not good enough for Bobby Ryan?’
‘Maggie, as far as I’m concerned he’s not good enough for you. Nowhere near good enough.’
Maggie threw her hands up in exasperation. ‘I don’t get you, Mike. What are you trying to say?’
‘He’ll never marry you, Maggie. You’re just a bit of fun on the side until he has to get serious and head into politics like his old man.’
Rage bloomed. She couldn’t believe that he could be so callous. ‘Where do you get off telling me how to live my life? I mean, how would you like it if I told you what I thought of your playboy ways?’
‘At least I don’t let people treat me like a dirty dishrag. Because that’s all he sees you as, Maggie.’
Her hand reached out and struck him across the face before she could stop it. ‘Fuck you, Mike.’
Maggie stormed off, seeking first Destiny to let her know she had a migraine and needed to leave, and then Bobby to tell him to take her home.
They ended up going back to his apartment, where he opened a bottle of champagne, really expensive proper French champagne. Maggie recognised the label from the club.
Still smarting from her argument with Mike, she downed the first glass in record time and was already through her second when she flopped down on the soft, buttery leather couch and toed off her heels. Bobby placed a soft kiss on the inside of her bare calf, sending shivers scuttling over her leg. When the Samantha Fox song started blaring from his CD player she arched her back, suggestively wiggling her hips along with the lustful lyrics.
‘Dance for me,’ he said. Maggie obliged willingly, any inhibitions shed as the alcohol pumped through her as if laced with desire. Bobby watched her like a lion about to attack his prey, his desire growing as she removed her top, then very carefully her skirt, then with careful precision her lace bra and barely there undies. Maggie wasn’t a dancer, but she’d watched the girls as they did their thing, and knew what would turn him on.