Cross My Heart

by Pamela Cook

  Tess tried to push herself up from the floor, but black dots spiralled before her eyes. She leaned up on one elbow, choking back vomit. Harrison staggered, his fingers stiffened into a claw, the glazed expression in his eyes turning to rage. Rabid and seething, he hurled himself forward.

  ‘You bitch,’ he roared, flinging himself on top of her and pressing his elbow into her throat. That same suffocating, sickly smell she remembered so close again.

  Fight, she had to fight back. Her eyelids were leaden, her lungs on fire, her head exploding, but she could not let him win.

  And then, an audible crack. A groan. The solid weight of him pinning her down. Burying her beneath his bulk. Had time warped and transported her back to that night? Was she reliving the nightmare?

  A quiet sob brought her around as the pressure on her larynx eased. Air trickled through to her lungs and she coughed. Her eyes flew open.

  Grace.

  Harrison’s face slipped to her shoulder, blood pouring from an open wound on his skull. He was lying on top of her, inert and limp. Looking down at them both was Grace, her arms hanging loosely by her side, the cast-iron fire poker dangling from her right hand. Her pale lips parted, she was staring at the sharply pointed end of her weapon.

  With whatever skerrick of fight she had left, Tess pushed her hands against Harrison’s chest and heaved. Pain ripped through her shoulder blade and her head swam. His body thumped to the floor. She inched away and hauled herself up onto her one good elbow, only to recoil at the sight of him lying there on his back, blood covering the entire left side of his face. His eyes were closed. Never in her life had she wished anyone dead, until now. She focused on his chest, saw the almost imperceptible rise and fall. He was alive.

  ‘Grace.’

  Not a movement. Glassy-eyed, open-mouthed, she was fixated on Harrison, the poker still gripped in her palm.

  ‘Grace.’ Tess had to get through to her, had to make her move. ‘Listen to me. Get my phone … kitchen bench.’

  A quiver of Grace’s chin, a flicker of her eyelids. A connection.

  ‘Go. Now. Dial triple zero.’

  And then a nod. A movement. Thank God.

  ‘Good girl.’ She fell back onto the floor as the footsteps became faint, the room growing darker, smaller. She was flagging, disappearing, but she couldn’t let go. If she tuned in on the sounds around her it might help. Wind whistling through the timber walls. Coals crackling. A small, distant voice saying something about needing help, and a bad man and please come now. Further and further away. But also strangely close.

  ‘The police are coming.’ A warm, soft hand on hers.

  She had to stay awake.

  For Grace.

  Twenty-three

  It was a postcard morning when they trundled out of Jules’s car and made the slow journey to the front porch. Not quite spring, but the feel of it was in the air, the sky a translucent shade of blue, bees busy in the garden. Fresh green shoots, bulbs Skye must have planted, were pushing up through the earth, and the leathery branches of a cherry-blossom tree at the side of the house were already covered in buds.

  Grace clung to Tess’s side, guiding her up the steps. While her legs were perfectly fine, she didn’t have the heart to deny the help. Her back and shoulder still ached three days later. The dislocation hadn’t been too hard for the paramedics to repair, but the fracture in her collarbone would take a little longer, with the help of a sling. Gradually the concussion had eased, the lingering headache worse when she got tired, but essentially she was in one piece.

  ‘Home sweet home.’ Jules popped up onto the top step carrying the overnight bags she’d packed when she insisted Tess and Grace recuperate at her place. She pushed the key into the lock, waving her arm in an exaggerated flourish to usher them inside. ‘Here we are.’

  ‘Darling.’ Tess’s mother rushed forward, throwing her arms out as she burst into a flood of tears.

  ‘Mum?’ Tess winced, pulling her encased arm closer to prevent it being crushed. ‘What are you doing here?’ Her father was standing awkwardly, hands in his jacket pockets, looking on.

  ‘Did you really think we wouldn’t come once Jules called us?’ Her mother released her from the embrace but was still standing too close for comfort, horror pooling in her eyes.

  Tess glared at her friend. ‘Jules told you what happened?’ Hadn’t she said she would tell her parents herself, once she was home and things were back to normal? Hadn’t she specifically said they were not to be called?

  Jules straightened her shoulders and stared her down. ‘I have a daughter not much younger than you and if she had been attacked …’

  Tess scowled, tipping her head towards Grace.

  ‘If she had been hurt,’ Jules continued, ‘I would want to know about it.’

  So much for loyalty, but she didn’t have it in her to be angry. There were more important things to spend her energy on. Her parents would have found out sooner or later, and maybe it was easier that she didn’t have to break the news herself. Although, she knew she’d have a few other things to explain. She gave a defeated smile. At least Jules hadn’t called Josh as well.

  ‘I’ll put the kettle on.’ Jules had the audacity to look smug. ‘Want to give me a hand, Gracie?’

  Grace turned, seeking approval. She’d been like Tess’s Siamese twin for the last few days, a complete turnaround from when they’d first arrived at the house.

  ‘It’s okay.’ She gave an encouraging nod and Grace went on her way.

  A thick silence filled the room. Tess swallowed, not game enough to look either her mother or her father in the eye.

  ‘How are you feeling, Spud?’ Her dad had aged a good ten years since she’d last seen him, the worry lines across his forehead deeper, the rings beneath his eyes more pronounced.

  ‘I’m okay, Dad.’ It wasn’t entirely true, of course, but she could see the pair of them were already worried sick and she didn’t want to make it worse. ‘Might sit down for a bit, though.’

  ‘Yes, you should.’ He rushed towards the chair and plumped a cushion, looking totally relieved to have a purpose. Her mother hovered, arms crossed over her pale-blue twin set.

  Tess slumped into one of the two old lounge chairs in the middle of the room, opposite the fire. For a split second, the memory of burnt skin seared her nostrils, making her stomach churn. She closed her eyes and shook her head to will it away. When she opened them again her mother was sitting on the edge of the opposite chair, her father perched on the armrest. Beth clasped her hands. She would be absolutely busting at the seams with questions, but to her credit she didn’t say a word.

  They both deserved to know what had happened and it would be better to get it over with. Tess glanced towards the kitchen. Grace didn’t need to hear any of this, so she kept her voice low. ‘The only reason I asked Jules not to call was because I didn’t want you to worry. And I wanted to tell you myself, when I was ready.’

  ‘Oh, Tessa, we’re your parents—’

  ‘Beth.’ Her father frowned, resting a hand on his wife’s shoulder.

  ‘I know. I’m sorry.’ Tess adjusted the sling, then placed her arm on the side of the chair for support. God, what a fright she must look. Her hair hadn’t been washed for days, the bruising on her cheek, where she’d hit the floor, was turning a nice shade of aubergine, something like the door. But she was alive and safe. They both were and that was all that mattered. ‘I don’t really know where to start. What do you know?’

  ‘Jules called and said there’d been an intruder.’ Her father jumped in to answer. ‘That you’d been attacked but had managed to get away and had been injured a little in the process. We read a few other bits and pieces in the paper.’

  ‘Right.’ Familiar noises leaked in from the kitchen. The boiling kettle. Cups clinking onto saucers. Jules chattering to Grace, keeping her busy. The normal, cheerful sounds of everyday life. Words hopped into her head and out again, like frogs in a pond, quick and slimy and h
ard to pin down. There was so much to say, so much she’d never told them. All the reasons she hadn’t spoken up circled through her head. She took a breath. There was only one place to start. That night years before, with everything he’d done and said. The sacrifice her friend had made, the promise she’d begged her to keep; how her own fear, and then paralysing guilt, had kept her quiet. Why Skye had moved away. The box in the cupboard, the equine sessions, her decision to come forward and support Skye’s accusations. And then, finally, what had happened right here in this very room only a few nights before, although the exact details were a little fuzzy. It came out in one long bumbling story, all of it slipping out now that there was no reason to keep the details secret.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell us?’ Her mother’s barely audible question mirrored the look of utter desolation on her face.

  ‘I was so scared.’ Her throat was raw, but if she let herself cry she might not be able to stop. ‘He told me he’d come to the house in the middle of the night. And then Skye begged me not to tell anyone. I know it was wrong, but I pushed it all into the back of my mind, pretended it had never happened.’ And turned into an angry, difficult teenager. An emotionally stunted adult.

  ‘The bloody mongrel.’ Her father walked to the window, stood with his back to them, gazing outside. ‘He’d better get what’s coming to him.’

  ‘That poor girl.’ Her mother’s face was wet with tears. ‘No wonder Jean never mentioned she had a son, if that’s the sort of person he was. The poor woman would be horrified. How long had it been going on for?’

  ‘I don’t know, Mum. Skye never said. The only time she ever mentioned it again was at her Jean’s funeral. He was there and she was beside herself. He was her only surviving relative and she had to make sure he’d never get his hands on Grace.’ A tremor skipped down her spine. That was not something she could even contemplate.

  Her dad turned back around. ‘Well, from what the police said, you did a mighty fine job of protecting her, love.’

  ‘You spoke to the police?’

  He nodded. ‘Jules gave us the number. The local fellow told us what he knew. Said you and Grace were like the dynamic duo.’ He tried to muster a smile, but only managed a slight upward turn of his lips.

  ‘I wish she hadn’t had to go through that.’ Her voice shook. She sighed, waiting to regain control. ‘As much as I wish he was dead, it’s probably a good thing he survived. Grace has had enough trauma without living with that for the rest of her life.’

  Beth reached out and put her hand on Tess’s knee, giving her a trembling smile. ‘I’m just so glad you’re both safe.’

  ‘Me too, Mum.’ Harrison was behind bars. For now. The attack meant new charges could be laid and it gave credence to both her statement, and Skye’s. It had been the stuff of nightmares, but the end result was what mattered. ‘When the story came out in the press, a couple of women who had worked for Harrison over the years came forward. He’d used the same MO, threatened to hurt them if they said anything. Told them they’d lose their jobs, that no one would take their word against his. Apparently, there’s enough piled up against him now to send him to jail for a long time.’

  ‘They should throw the bloody key away,’ her father growled. She’d never seen him so angry. ‘Prison’s too good for bastards like him.’

  ‘Poor Skye.’ Her mother’s eyes were glassy. She gave a weak shake of her head. ‘She had such a tragic life. I suppose it all got too much for her in the end.’

  ‘I’m not so sure it did.’ Despite everything, the horrible paintings, the memories that must have tortured her for years, Skye’s decision to speak out about Harrison, to actually press charges, didn’t fit with her choosing to end her life. ‘I really believe the overdose was accidental. Once she’d made the statement, she was probably terrified he’d find her, relied too much on the anxiety medication, the sleeping pills. She had so much to live for and I don’t believe she would never have deliberately left Grace.’

  A giggle came right on cue from the kitchen.

  Beth nodded, brighter now. ‘Are you two getting along better these days?’

  ‘We are. Or at least we were, until this happened.’

  ‘Kids are resilient, sweetheart. I’m not saying things don’t affect them, but with plenty of love and the right guidance they can get back on their feet.’

  ‘I hope so.’

  The tea was taking a suspiciously long time. ‘Does Josh know what happened?’ A text had arrived from him while she’d been staying with Jules, letting her know he was flying back to Europe for a quick trip to finalise his contract. She’d replied with a brief Good Luck and nothing more.

  A deep breath from Beth and then, ‘It wasn’t up to us to tell him. You can do it when you see fit.’

  Wow. Her mum really was trying. And was there a hint she knew things were over with Josh?

  ‘It’s a big thing you’re doing, Tess. I know I didn’t handle things well to start with.’ Her mother swallowed, faltering. ‘But your father and I are very proud of you. And we support you one hundred percent.’

  ‘We do, love.’

  The touch of her father’s lips to her forehead tipped Tess over the edge. She hung her head and let the tears fall. All these years she’d been so tough on her parents, blamed them, her mother in particular, for being too controlling, too interfering, too this, too that, when all along her own issues had been the problem. Somewhere in the fathomless depths of her mind she’d known the truth, but making them the scapegoats had been easier. She’d told herself she would have confided in them if only they’d been less judgemental, more compassionate. The truth was no matter who they were, she would have stayed quiet. It wasn’t their fault. It wasn’t Skye’s fault. It wasn’t her fault.

  It was Harrison’s.

  And now, finally, he was going to pay.

  Hours later, Tess stood on the porch and waved her parents goodbye, promising she’d call if she needed anything. Seeing them had been, despite her initial misgivings, quite wonderful, but she was tired and her mother’s fussing was too much. There were no beds for them here, so they were staying at a B&B in town despite Jules offering them a room at her place. Probably just as well—her mother would no doubt spend the night interrogating Jules, trying to find out more about what had happened, and really, what she knew was enough. In the end, it had been good to get everything out in the open, but endlessly rehashing it all would do none of them any favours.

  ‘You’re not too mad at me?’ Jules lingered in the doorway, looking slightly wan.

  Mad? It took a minute for Tess to work it out. Ah, the phone call to her parents. She could give her friend a hard time, make her squirm, but that wouldn’t be fair after everything Jules had done for them. And her intentions had been good. Sometimes promises needed to be broken. If only she’d learned that lesson earlier. ‘No, you did the right thing.’

  Colour flooded Jules’s cheeks. Her hair was pulled back from her face with a pale-yellow scarf, her silver curls falling softly onto her shoulders. She looked like a guardian angel. Actually, she was. They hadn’t known each other long and yet Tess trusted her implicitly. It had been a long time since she’d had such a close friend.

  Jules beckoned her over to the door. ‘Look at this.’

  She poked her head inside and there on the bed was Grace, cross-legged with Tiger sitting in her lap, fast asleep. Oblivious to her closed eyes, Grace was reading aloud to her. Anne Of Green Gables, a brand-new copy of her own, a gift from her nonna.

  Warmth spread through Tess’s limbs. Grace was already looking more like herself, the quivering fear that had taken up residence in her eyes these last few days beginning to fade. Her mother was right. Kids did bounce back. ‘You two look pretty cosy.’

  Grace lifted her head, nodded briefly and then returned to her narration.

  ‘We’ll just be out here if you need anything, okay?’

  Another nod, head bowed.

  Stepping back outside, Tess c
losed her eyes and turned her face to the sun, letting its heat ripple across her cheeks. There was something she needed to do—wanted to do—and now was as good a time as any. She straightened up and turned to Jules. ‘You got a minute? There’s something I want to show you.’

  ‘Sure.’

  She’d revealed pretty much everything over the last few days, but there was something she’d kept to herself and Jules was the person she wanted to share it with first. A soft breeze blew as she led the way around to the back of the house. Luminous yellow light kissed the line of gums on the horizon, casting the sky above in a perfect orange glow. It was so beautiful. Exactly the sort of scene Skye would love.

  When she reached the shed she dipped her free hand into her pocket and pulled out the key. She’d nabbed it from the hook earlier, hoping she’d get the chance to bring Jules out. With one arm encased in a sling and her loose hand a shaking mess, undoing the padlock was impossible. ‘Can you do the honours?’

  Jules took the key and did as she was asked. Even though the prospect of seeing the images again made Tess sick to the stomach, and as much as she was no expert, the power in the pieces was obvious. She moved towards the second door and waited while Jules unlocked it silently. One flick and the naked bulb lit the cramped space. The blanket tossed over the canvases was slightly askew after her last visit, and her rushed departure. She reached out and whisked it away, letting it fall in a heap to the floor.

  Jules’s hands flew to her face. She drew in a sharp breath. ‘Oh my God.’ Her voice was rough, her eyes watering. She reached out and moved the frames forward one at a time. Her expression changed from horror to incredulity as she took in every brushstroke. Knowing why they’d been painted, what they represented, made them hard to look at, but the pain and emotion Skye had somehow managed to capture also made them totally compelling.