Cross My Heart

by Pamela Cook

  ‘And Europe? How was it?’

  ‘Like I said on the phone, it was awesome.’ He paused again. ‘Missed you, though.’

  ‘You didn’t look too forlorn in your Facebook photos.’ Ouch. She’d meant it as a joke, but that wasn’t how it sounded.

  ‘Well, I wasn’t going to sit in my hotel pining.’

  And now it started, the same old back-and-forth sniping that inevitably ended up with them kicking and screaming their way to the bedroom. Time to damp it down. ‘Sorry.’ She shook her head. ‘I’m glad you had a good time. Did the business stuff go okay?’

  The question seemed to temper the simmering anger in his eyes. ‘Very well. In fact … that’s what I came here to talk to you about.’

  His hesitant manner started her alarm bells ringing. Usually he was so cool, so sure of himself, but the way he kept shifting in the chair and peering into his cup had her worried. If he had something to say, why didn’t he just come out and say it? She folded her arms and waited.

  ‘I know things weren’t great between us when I left.’

  That was an understatement.

  He lifted a hand, palm upturned, then let it fall. ‘I’ve been offered a job in Brussels. A two-year contract doing programs for an international software company, the place I’ve been doing the project for.’

  Brussels? ‘Don’t you like working for yourself?’

  ‘I do.’ He shifted the chair around and rested his elbows on his knees, suddenly alive. ‘But this is a fantastic opportunity. It would put me in touch with businesses all around the world, the connections would be phenomenal. And the package they’re offering is mind-blowing. Full rent, car, travel expenses. We could go anywhere we wanted in Europe for next to nothing.’

  She peered at him. ‘We?’

  ‘Yes, we. I want you to come with me.’

  ‘Hang on, let’s rewind. The last time I saw you, you said you didn’t know what you wanted.’ Had he meant Grace or them? Either way, he’d been unsure.

  He sat back and rested his hands on his thighs. ‘Look, things happened fast. I felt … I don’t know, like the life we were living wasn’t the one I’d signed up for.’

  And now? Had he considered it more while he’d been away? Changed his mind about being a father?

  ‘It was so weird only talking to you in snatches. Even weirder coming home to an empty apartment. This would be a chance for us to start again. It would be like one big, long holiday. We’re always at our best on holidays.’

  He was right. They did holidays well: no responsibilities, no work distractions, plenty of sex. But that wasn’t real life. Certainly not with a child. A child he hadn’t mentioned once in this new life plan.

  ‘What about Grace?’ She was in the next room, could probably hear everything they were saying, but it didn’t matter. What mattered most was his response.

  He gave a half-hearted jerk of his shoulder. ‘She could come. If that’s what you want.’

  ‘What do you mean if that’s what I want?’

  ‘You said yourself at the beginning you’d see how it all went before you made a decision one way or the other. So is it what you want? This whole foster-parent thing?’

  Tess resisted the urge to pick up her mug and send it spinning across the table. Nothing seemed to have changed for him but for her everything had changed. ‘Yes, it is.’ She drew in a breath. ‘But it’s not what you want, is it?’

  He shrugged again. ‘I can live with it.’

  Live with IT? Really? ‘Josh, this isn’t a rabbit or a budgerigar we’re talking about. This is a child.’ She lowered her voice. ‘I’m all she has. She’s already been through so much. Uprooting her and dragging her across to the other side of the world just won’t work. She needs stability.’ And love.

  ‘What about me?’ His face darkened. He stood and threw his hands in the air. ‘Doesn’t what I want matter?’

  And finally, it all made sense. Everything had always been about him. What Josh wanted, what he convinced her she wanted. The flash apartment, the fancy cars, the expensive holidays. Just the two of them. Child-free. Unencumbered. He’d spun her the fairytale and she’d believed every word. Maybe it was what she’d wanted, back then. But things were different now. She had Grace. She had a responsibility to Skye, and more than that, she had a life she’d never imagined, a life she was absolutely loving. There was no one to blame. It was just the way it was.

  ‘The truth is …’ As soon as she said the words her marriage would be over, but even knowing that she couldn’t stop. ‘We just don’t want the same things anymore. I don’t want to go to Europe, I want stay here, with Grace.’

  He had the wild-eyed look of an abandoned kitten. ‘I can’t live here, Tess. I need to take this job.’

  ‘I know.’ Two small, soft syllables signalling the end.

  ‘So, that’s it?’

  She nodded. The truth was, it had been over weeks ago, the second she had torn open the envelope from FACS, but the cracks had appeared long before. They sat for a minute, not speaking, until finally he stood. ‘You’ve changed, Tess. You’re not the person I married.’

  He was so right. And she was glad. He meant it as a criticism, but in fact it was probably the highest compliment he could have given her. He’d married someone who was only half functioning, who was shallow and self-centred. The mirror image of himself. Since Skye’s death, and being here with Grace, Tess had discovered the part of herself she’d lost that night, the vulnerable self who cared deeply about others, who sometimes even put them first.

  The decision was made, and while she knew they’d need to talk more about it, she had said all she could for now. She stood, looked directly into his eyes.

  ‘Is there anything I can say to convince you to come with me?’

  She gave a slow shake of her head. He sighed and she remained where she was as he walked to the door, a gust of wind whipping through the lounge room as he opened it and closed it behind him without another word.

  Tears coursed silently down her cheeks like raindrops down a windowpane. She brushed them away, and when she dropped her hand, a smaller one held it gently.

  ‘Hey there.’ Tess smiled down at the sweet child by her side. There was a good chance she’d overheard the whole thing. ‘You okay?’

  Grace nodded. ‘Are you?’

  She sniffed, not really sure. ‘Feel like watching a movie?’

  ‘Enchanted?’

  ‘Not again?’

  ‘Pleeeease?’ Grace hammed it up, clutching her hands together and looking up with eyes like saucers, one stop short of begging.

  ‘You set up the laptop and I’ll grab the hot chocolates.’

  Grace bounded away, found the computer and set herself up in the bigger bed, making sure the disc they’d hired from the library was inserted and ready to go. It hadn’t taken her long to work out how to operate the laptop. Their favourite movie-watching beverage was hot chocolate, tonight with extra marshmallows and sprinkles. Within minutes they were snuggled up under the blankets, wearing milk moustaches and matching grins. Spending a couple of hours cuddling up with her favourite girl wouldn’t mend her broken marriage, but it might at least numb the pain.

  As the fireworks burst into life over the Disney castle, the aftermath of Josh’s visit began to fade, replaced by something indefinable, something solid and warm. Something that felt a lot like home.

  And so they all lived happily ever after.

  Julie Andrews’s parting words as the credits rolled brought her back to reality with a thud. Life was no fairytale, but it had been nice to escape it for a while. And be a kid again along with Grace. The pause midway for toasted sandwiches and milk had been an excellent decision and set them both up for an early night. Tess closed the computer and was about to climb out of bed when Grace sat up. ‘You can sleep here if you want.’

  The hopeful tone stopped Tess in her tracks. ‘As in, we both sleep here?’ She pointed at the bed and then each of them in turn. ‘Tog
ether?’

  Grace underlined her nod with a small smile. She dipped her head and picked at some fluff on Toffee’s head. Now that Grace was talking, it was nice to know the bear’s name. The poor fellow really needed a wash. ‘I know you’ve had a bad day.’

  The reference to Josh’s visit was impossible to miss and Grace had been witness to the distinct lack of a happy ending. The invitation to share her bed was a way of reaching out. Little by little the walls were coming down.

  ‘Thank you.’ Tess wrapped an arm around Grace and drew her close, their foreheads kissing, the fruity fragrance of kids’ shampoo a vivid reminder of her own picture-book childhood. Those days had been magical, she really had been the spoilt Disney princess, the only girl, over-indulged by her father and fussed over incessantly by her mother. Was it a plus to live in a bubble like that? Or did it just make it tougher when you realised what a horrible place the world could be?

  Reluctantly, she let Grace go. ‘We’d better do the teeth thing first. Don’t want them being all green and furry in the morning.’ She pulled an ugly face and Grace squealed.

  ‘Like caterpillars.’

  ‘Big, fat, hairy ones!’

  ‘Urgh, yuk.’

  They raced each other to the bathroom, Grace blocking the door, both arms outstretched, laughing. ‘You can’t come in, you’re gonna have caterpillar teeth.’

  ‘Oh no, I’m not.’ Tess reached out with wiggling fingers and tickled her under the arms, refusing to stop until Grace collapsed on the floor in hysterics.

  ‘No, stop, stop. You win. You can come in.’

  Tess eased off on the torture. ‘You give in so easily.’

  A pleasant ache echoed through her chest, along with a louder noise. Was that a knock at the door? She dropped her hands and became instantly quiet, tried to hear over the sound of Grace’s rapid breathing as she recovered from her giggling fit and the faint crackle of the fire. The incessant shrieking of the wind drowned out every other noise. Maybe she’d imagined it? No. Grace was staring at the door with possum eyes. She’d heard it, too.

  Another round of knocking began, louder this time. Grace’s face was blank, but there was fear in her eyes. Tess had shielded her from her visit to the police station, but there was no way of knowing if she’d overheard any of her subsequent conversations with Jules. Right, Tess, you’re the adult, take control. ‘It’s okay. I’ll see who it is. You go brush your teeth.’

  Not a movement.

  ‘Go on.’ She pointed in the direction of the bathroom and lightened her tone. ‘Otherwise, those hairs might start growing.’

  One more slight hesitation and Grace did as she was told.

  Who would be knocking at seven-thirty on a night like this? Jules? Unlikely at this time. Apart from her, there wasn’t anyone else around here who might make a house call. Not unless it was something urgent, something that couldn’t wait. Her shoulders fell as realisation dawned. It was Josh. He’d probably booked somewhere in town to stay the night and was back to try to get her to change her mind. Or couldn’t find accommodation and was looking for a bed. The dull headache that had lodged itself behind her eyes when he’d arrived so unexpectedly this afternoon began to throb. She was definitely too tired for another heart-to-heart. She marched to the door and turned the knob.

  ‘Look, Josh …’

  A hand slammed against the door, forcing it open. Tess threw all her effort into pushing back. Her stomach lurched. Standing in front of her was the one man she’d hoped to never see again—unless it was in the courtroom during his sentencing. The same half-bald head as the photo, the short neck and round face, but instead of the fake media smile a flat, straight mouth and purple shadows beneath his bloodshot eyes.

  ‘Expecting someone else?’

  The scent of his aftershave blew in with the next gust, hitting her like a slap. Her legs had gone to jelly, but she had to stay upright. She tensed her calves, then her thighs, tightening her diaphragm so that when she spoke she would sound assertive, in control. All in a matter of seconds. ‘You’re not allowed to be here.’

  ‘Says who?’ He kept his hand on the door, equalising the pressure she was applying.

  Says no one. She was in the middle of nowhere with not a soul she could call on for help. She was on her own. ‘Says me.’

  Beneath the film of stubble his jaw hardened. ‘Who the fuck do you think you are?’

  ‘Who is it?’ Tess turned towards the small voice, her heart stumbling. She spun back around, followed the path of his eye towards the girl standing by the fireplace. A beating of wings started up in her gut, a swarm of locusts jostling for position. ‘No one.’ Her pitch was too high. She coughed and tried again. ‘Go into your room and read for a minute. I’ll be there soon.’

  ‘My room? But you said …’

  She gritted her teeth. ‘Just go. Now!’

  Grace blinked, dropped her chin to her chest and did as she was told.

  Tess took in a deep gulp of air and turned back to the man standing in her doorway.

  ‘Cute kid.’ He smirked. ‘Yours?’

  ‘Yes.’

  The slight lift of his eyebrow told her he didn’t buy the lie. Grace was the spitting image of her mother. His hand spread against the timber, the fat, stumpy fingers, the manicured nails. Being face to face with him made every millimetre of her flesh feel like it was crawling with maggots. She had to get rid of him. Fast. ‘You have no right to be here. You need to leave.’

  Crease by crease his frown softened, the lines around his eyes smoothing out so they were barely visible. It was like watching the beast morph into the prince. He angled his head, raised his free hand and flashed a conciliatory smile. ‘I’m sure we can work this misunderstanding out. Can I come in so we can talk things through?’

  Come in? Was he fucking joking? She had no idea how he’d found her, but if he thought she was going to invite him in for a cuppa and a chat he was seriously deluded. He clearly had something to say, though. Maybe he’d incriminate himself even further if she let him speak. Her arm was aching. She folded her arms and leaned her body against the door for extra support. ‘No. You have one minute, so talk fast.’

  His smile vanished, and then returned in an instant. ‘Look, I’m not sure why Skye made these terrible accusations, but I suspect she had some mental illness and …’

  ‘Mental illness?’

  ‘Her mother was bipolar, you know, prone to bouts of depression.’ He barely disguised a snicker. ‘Probably would have killed herself like her daughter did if the cancer didn’t get her first.’

  ‘Skye did not kill herself.’

  ‘According to the coroner she did.’ His smile made her want to be sick. ‘Amazing what you can find out when you have the right contacts. My friends in the Victorian Police have come in very handy.’

  The same friends who had no doubt accessed the files and advised him of her whereabouts. ‘Even if she did, it doesn’t change what she told the police.’

  ‘She was a mentally ill single mother living like some Deliverance hillbilly. Do you think a court is going to take her word against that of a highly respected businessman about to be voted into government?’

  Pins and needles numbed her hand, yet still she was not letting go of the door. He thought he’d won, but she still had cards of her own to play. ‘It’s not just her word, though, is it?’ Her gut twisted. She’d wanted a showdown, but had planned on it being in a courtroom, in public. ‘Skye was your victim and I was a witness.’

  ‘Victim.’ He spat out the word like a rancid piece of meat. ‘Victim of an overactive imagination is about all.’

  ‘So that’s your tactic, is it?’ His arrogance was making her bold. ‘Denial? Blame the poor, mentally ill recluse who dreamed up the whole thing.’

  ‘Got it in one.’

  ‘And what about me? My testimony.’ Keeping her voice even was a struggle. ‘What you did to me.’ Would he even remember or know what she was referring to?

  �
��Easy.’ He shrugged. ‘Loyal—and equally deluded woman—trying to salvage what’s left of her dead friend’s reputation.’ He licked his lips. ‘And if it does go to court, when I get off—and I will—just remember I know where you live now.’ He leaned forward, whispering. ‘Where the kid lives.’

  Her scalp prickled. Her blood sizzled. She dropped her arms, fists clenched and took a step forward. ‘You lying piece of scum. You’ll never get anywhere near her.’

  ‘I’m here now, aren’t I?’ He drew himself up to his full height, thrusting out his chest like a parading peacock. ‘Drop the charges.’

  ‘Go fuck yourself.’ She grabbed the edge of the door with both hands, throwing her body against it, but Harrison was too quick. One shove and he unbalanced her. Another and she staggered backwards, almost falling. ‘Get out of here. Now!’

  ‘Or what?’ He laughed as he stepped inside. ‘You’ll call the police? That hasn’t exactly worked for you so far.’

  She was in her pyjamas. Pocket-less, phone-less. Her mobile was on the kitchen bench. He was slightly shorter than her but wider, stronger. The door was still ajar, but if she made a dash for it he’d overpower her in an instant. And then there was Grace.

  He moved towards her, shoulders arched, elbows bent so that his hands hovered slightly above his hips. ‘So what are you going to do now, Ms De Santis?’

  ‘Tess?’ Grace called her name from the doorway of the bedroom. Shit. This was exactly what she didn’t want. She had to get him out of here somehow.

  Harrison turned at the sound of the small, frightened voice. ‘So much like her mother.’ He reached out and picked up a few strands of her hair. ‘So pretty.’

  White noise crescendoed in Tess’s eardrums. She lunged forward, throwing herself at him as if she was scaling a high jump. Her body crashed into his and sent him flying. A sharp pain shot through her shoulder as she hit the floor, her head bouncing against the timber, jerking her neck backwards. For a few, long, dizzying seconds she lay perfectly still. Was the room spinning around her or was it her spinning, like a bottle in a game of truth or dare? A hot tide of nausea swelled inside her stomach, but she forced her eyes open. Harrison reeled away from her, toppling over as he reached out to catch himself, his hand finding the squat shape of the combustion stove. His wail ricocheted off the walls of the room as he righted himself, clutching his wrist.