Beneath the Southern Cross (52 page)

‘How much more do you expect me to take?' she yelled. ‘For over twenty years I've watched you go to this woman. “My best friend's mother”, that's the only explanation you've ever given me. And every time you come home you're a different man. You're fulfilled! You're content! “I saw Kathleen today” you tell me. And I'm supposed to be happy for you! Happy that some other woman can give you something I can't! Well to hell with you!' she
screamed. The years of neglect and emotional insecurity having finally caught up with her, she'd lost all control. ‘To hell with you and your precious Kathleen!'

‘God Almighty, Ruth, the woman's nearly twenty years older than me.' Had she been thinking Kathleen was his mistress all these years? It was ludicrous, if she wasn't so hysterical he might well laugh out loud.

‘I know, I know, and she's your best friend's mother, I know that too.' He put out his hand to comfort her but she shrank away, still screaming hysterically, ‘the only thing I don't know is whether you slept with her or not and I frankly don't care! All I do know is that you share your love with her and you don't with me!'

Tim stared at her, the truth of her words finally hitting home. Ruth had been so much a part of his business empire, that it was true he'd neglected her as a wife. The love had been reserved for his children, and indeed for Kathleen and Caroline.

Her body sagged against the door frame. She couldn't scream any more, her energy and her rage were spent, but her chest heaved as she tried to regain her breath. ‘And now you even share the grief of your son's death with her, Kathleen can hold you and you cry like a baby.' She gave a helpless, pitiful shrug. ‘He was my son too, Tim, why couldn't you cry with me?'

‘I don't know.' He shook his head hopelessly. ‘I wanted to, but I couldn't.' He felt overwhelmed with remorse. What could he possibly do or say to assuage her? ‘Please Ruth, come and sit down.'

She was too tired to argue, and he led her out onto the balcony. It was dark now and the lights of the ferries dotted the harbour, and the houses on the nearby promontory gave off a homely glow. One could practically see all the happy people sitting down to their dinners, Ruth thought as she looked across the bay. She was dried up, empty, spent.

He wracked his brains. Something special. He had to give her something special, something only they could share.

Tell her, a voice said. Was it his, or was it Robbie's? Tell her, you know you can trust her, give her that much at least. Go on, the voice said, tell her. Did he dare, he wondered, he might regret it, but he knew he had no alternative.

‘I want to tell you something about Kathleen,' he said.

‘I don't want to hear,' she stared over the water at the houses,
imagining them, the happy people, sitting down to their meals, laughing, enjoying being a family. ‘I don't want to know anything about Kathleen.'

He'd tell her anyway. And if she didn't accept his offer of trust, he'd hate himself for having told her. And he'd probably hate her too. But he'd tell her anyway, it was his only chance.

‘I was with Kathleen's son Robbie when he died.'

‘I know,' she said, dully, ‘you told me.' He had, briefly, in the early days. Robbie was Kathleen's only child, he'd told her, ‘I was with him when he died,' he'd said, ‘we were best mates, and I think Kathleen sees me as a son.' And in the early days, she'd accepted the explanation.

‘Kathleen needed desperately to know that Robbie hadn't died in pain,' Tim said, his eyes picking out the lights of a Manly ferry. He focused on it.

So? Ruth thought, unmoved as she watched the houses. What the hell did he think she'd been going through herself? It was the agony which plagued her daily.

‘I told her he didn't know what hit him,' he said. ‘One minute he was running, and the next he was dead.' Tim's eyes followed the ferry lights as it tracked its way across the black water. ‘That's what I told her.'

Well, bully for you, she thought, that was thirty years ago.

‘What I didn't tell her was that I killed him.'

What had he said? The houses and the happy families forgotten, she turned to him.

Tim was unaware whether he had her attention or not, but it didn't really matter, he'd started now, there was no turning back. Detached, remote, he stared at the ferry and said out loud the words that he had thought he would never say.
Could
never say.

‘He was a mangled mess. Unconscious. Dying. I thought he was dead at first. Then he started to come to.' Tim turned his head slightly, following the path of the ferry as it headed for Circular Quay, and saw his wife in his peripheral vision.

‘I took the bayonet off my rifle,' he said. ‘And I held the muzzle to Robbie's temple. And I blew his brains out.'

That was it, he'd said it. He turned to her. ‘So you see you know something that Kathleen doesn't, that no-one ever will.' He waited
to see how she'd receive it, but she said nothing. ‘It doesn't undo twenty years of neglect, Ruth, but it does show that I trust you. There's no-one else I would ever tell, and it's all I have to offer.'

‘I understand.' She didn't know what else to say. ‘We won't ever talk about it again.' Was he regretting having told her? She hoped not. Horrific as the story was, the belief in her trust was a declaration and she treasured it.

She did understand, he thought, thank God. ‘Good,' he said, ‘forget that I told you, I'd like it that way.' But there was one thing more he needed to say. ‘I said I wanted to tell you something about Kathleen, and I do. It's no excuse, and I don't offer it as one …' He searched for the right words, help me, Robbie, he thought. ‘When Kathleen looks at me,' he said slowly, ‘she sees a son …'

She nodded. It made sense. Anyone who could offer her comfort about the death of her own son would have her lifelong gratitude and affection.

‘… but when I look at her, I see Robbie,' he continued, ‘and I see Robbie when I look at Caroline. Not all the time of course, I love them both for the women they are. Real friends. Good, honest friends. But they're everything that Robbie was. He's a part of them, he's always there.'

He took her hand in his, and this time she didn't shrink from the caress. ‘He lets me know it too,' he added. ‘Robbie haunts me, Ruth.'

Her look was one of concern, but he smiled comfortingly. ‘Oh, he does it in the best of ways, believe me. He gives me advice, keeps me on the straight and narrow, reminds me of my roots, he's a bugger of a bloke like that.'

She returned his smile, entwining her fingers in his, and Tim was thankful that he'd told her. He was thankful to Robbie too, Robbie had come to his rescue. Good on you, mate, he thought. The rest would be up to him, Tim knew. He must work on his marriage, give more to his wife, but, for the moment, Robbie had saved the day. ‘If I've closed you out all these years, and I realise now that I have, then perhaps we can blame Robbie?' He smiled hopefully.

‘We will,' she said. ‘Are you hungry?'

‘Starving.'

 

Tim gently squeezed Ruth's hand, beneath the lace cloth of the
table. She squeezed his fingers back, then removed her hand, as propriety dictated she should. He glanced at her fondly. Whatever demonstrative passion may be lacking in their marriage, he could not want for a more loyal wife, his trust in her was infinite. Not only would Ruth never tell a soul of his secret, she would never remind him that he had told her. Unlike many of the wives of men he knew, she would not make him suffer for a confidence shared. They would not even talk of the toast she had made tonight, she would not want him to. But it was a gesture of forgiveness to him, and a genuine tribute to Kathleen, he could tell.

Tim could have laughed out loud at Kathleen's bewilderment though, and he could well picture what would happen when next he saw her.

‘What in God's name did I do to deserve such a toast?' she'd demand.

‘Ruth likes you,' he'd say, ‘that's obvious.' He knew that he'd love to add, ‘which is surprising because she's thought for twenty years we were having an affair,' just to see Kathleen's face and hear her guffaw of laughter. But of course he wouldn't say that, out of loyalty to Ruth.

Tim looked around the table at his guests. It had been a night of nights, he thought happily. He caught his daughter's eye and Kitty gave him a wink. He winked back, Kitty never missed a trick.

The waiter was clearing the dessert dishes. ‘Anyone for a port with their coffee?' Tim asked. ‘A port? A cognac?'

Wally nodded to both. He'd had the very best night, scoffing back wine like there was no tomorrow, and he was noticeably drunk, a little loud and a little uncoordinated. Ruth looked disapprovingly at him every now and then, but nobody else seemed to mind.

‘When do you go back to America, Gene?' Ada asked, sipping tentatively at her port, aware that she'd had quite enough alcohol already. She knew she behaved a little foolishly when she got squiffy, and she'd had too splendid an evening to risk spoiling it now. Kitty was shrieking and Caroline gurgling with laughter at a slightly off-colour joke of Wally's and Ada decided to make polite conversation with Gene in order to appear on her best behaviour.

‘I don't.'

‘Pardon?'

‘I don't go back to the States. Well, maybe just briefly, in a few months' time to ship my gear over and tie up some family business, but Caroline and I are staying in Australia.' Gene's telephone enquiries had been well received and his application to General Motors-Holden readily invited, but he had no intention of discussing his plans, not until a contract had been signed.

‘But you'll need to go back to be demobbed, won't you?'

‘No, I can be demobbed in Sydney, they give us the choice.'

‘Oh.' Ada pushed away her glass, the alcohol was definitely going to her head, she suddenly didn't feel very well. Or perhaps it was just the disappointment that officers in the US Marines had advantages over ordinary GIs. It wasn't fair, she thought, that Pete didn't have the same choice. She felt a little maudlin, which she put down to the port. She shouldn't have succumbed, she never drank port.

‘I'm just popping into the powder room,' she whispered to Caroline a moment or so later.

‘It's to the right at the top of the stairs,' Caroline instructed, she'd made three trips already herself, as her pregnancy demanded.

Ada was gone for some time. When she returned she was subdued.

‘Are you all right?' Caroline whispered. Ada had been bubbling merrily away throughout the night, and Caroline was concerned.

‘Shh,' Ada said, worried that the others might think she was a little the worse for wear, ‘just a bit of a headache that's all.'

‘Thank you so much for a wonderful evening, Mr Kendall,' she said outside in the street, while Gene organised a taxi and Wally staggered about a bit trying to help.

‘My pleasure, Ada,' he said effusively, ‘I'm glad you could come.' It had indeed been an excellent evening, he thought, as he assisted the women into the car. ‘We'll walk,' Tim had insisted, ‘we always do.'

They waved goodbye to the taxi, then strolled down the hill, the three of them, Tim in the middle, his arms around Ruth and Kitty.

They were behaving like drunken sailors, Ruth thought, conscious that those coming up the hill had to make way for them, walking three abreast as they were, Tim and Kitty chattering at the tops of their voices, it was most undignified. But she swallowed her pride and didn't say a word, nothing must spoil this night.

Three days later, at two o'clock in the morning, there was a thunderous pounding on Kathleen's front door.

‘Wake up!' a female voice screamed. ‘Caroline, wake up!'

In the upstairs bedroom, Caroline and Gene were instantly awake. It had been agreed that, until the baby was born, they would stay at Kathleen's. Gene raced down the stairs and threw open the door.

It was Ada's friend, Bev, in a state of hysteria, terrified at the sight of him.

‘What is it? What's happened?' he demanded.

‘It's Ada,' she gasped, ‘it's Ada.' She backed away as if he might strike her.

‘It's all right, Bev, I'm here.' Caroline appeared beside Gene and led Bev into the front room and sat her on the sofa in an effort to calm her. ‘What is it, tell us, what's happened?'

‘It's Ada,' Bev sobbed, ‘she's dying. I didn't know what to do. I didn't know how to stop it.'

Gene pulled the woman to her feet. ‘Where is she?'

‘She's dying I tell you, she's dying!'

He slapped her face hard and the sobs subsided to a whimper. ‘Where is she?'

‘In a room at the Cross, Kellett Street.'

Gene grabbed his coat from the peg on the back of the door and hauled it over his pyjamas. ‘Take me there.' He dragged her by the arm out onto the front porch.