The Wrong Man - Episode 44 - Confrontation
Chapter 42: Surry Hills, Sydney, 1937: Trigger warning - this chapter contains a description of violent assault
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The front door burst open. Thomas was framed against the remaining daylight behind him. From inside the dark room, it was hard to see him clearly as–trying to force a welcoming smile on my face–I turned from the witch’s pot I stirred on the small burner, wishing for spells to turn frog into prince.
It contained the meagre ingredients I could afford at the market this morning and conjured only a demon. I had done my best with the money left in my purse when I woke. It was the despised cabbage, onions and not much else. The smell made me queasy. But what was I to do? I was ready to drop when I got home, and an earlier headache had returned. In my desperation for bed, I forgot to hide the day’s remaining money on my way in. It was gone this morning, along with Thomas. Just once, couldn’t he have kept his pilfering hands off it? Only a few pennies remained, buried in a deep pocket of yesterday’s dress amongst the washing.
Things should be better, and they are for many. There are jobs again and food and housing. In this room, it becomes progressively worse as Thomas is more deeply embedded in gang activities. If he brought money into our home, I might feel more generous towards him. Ill-gotten or not, it would have lifted some work off my shoulders and lessened the hours I need to toil. I’ve already left Marigold and Joy with Clara, again, along with housekeeping money for them. The girls are old enough now to help around Clara and Fred’s house as the other children do. At home, their chatter makes Thomas angry. The girls welcome school days and hurry out. There isn’t much that doesn’t turn Thomas to violence these days. Joy, who spent her infancy without her father, has always feared him. Me? I find myself pregnant again and without the bloom of youth to sustain a new life, I have withered into a bony carcass.
My smile faded when Thomas advanced, fists already raised, as he lurched drunkenly through the door towards me, slamming it behind him.
Now the unhinged rage in his bloodshot eyes gleamed, a putrescent alcohol and stale sweat stink rolled off his body as he advanced on me. His knuckles were already grazed and bloody. One side of his face sported purple bruises. He’d been in another brawl before he came home, like yesterday and the day before that. It leaves him in a vile mood, especially if he ends up on the wrong side of the fight, as he usually does these days.
There’s no escape. Thomas is between me and the closed door. I’m overwhelmed by dread. The messaging to my legs makes them take root. Not again, I prayed silently, sinking to the floor. He had me cornered. Making myself as small a target as possible, I tried to protect my belly.
‘Please, Tommy. ’Tis me, love,’ I attempted to soothe. It might work, but I wasn’t hopeful. He left this morning fuming at me after I admitted there was another babe on the way.
‘Slag. What hav’ya gone an done now?’ He slurred the words. I knew what he was talking about.
‘It couldn’t be helped, Thomas, love. A babe just happens when you’re here. Like last time. I can’t stop it. You’re so strong. But you’ll love him when he comes. Be proud of him. You’ll see.’
Thomas paused his advance on me and seemed to be thinking about what I said. Perhaps it would be alright, and he’ll want sex with me instead, I thought. While he’s a rough lover, it’s better than a beating. But no, he advanced again. Growling through his bared teeth, he threw our two old and rickety, wooden chairs across the room. Inevitably, they smashed against the wall. Thomas stopped still and looked away from me, focused on the broken chairs now lying in a heap.
His already limited control appeared to evaporate completely at the sight. Body tensing, his face flushed a deep burgundy, sweat dripped down it, his chin protruded.
There are so few possessions. Less each day, as they become casualties of his outbursts. But he blames me. Even though it was me who earned every piece in that miserable room. He even accuses me of selling things and hiding the money from him. While my body remembers what happened, he has no memory of it after he wakes from his drunken stupor. Still, he’s usually been canny enough to beat me where it’s mostly hidden.
I remained as motionless as my trembling allowed, willing myself into invisibility. But he was not to be put off his target. He fixed his one good eye on me as the bruised one squinted. Moving deliberately, he put one unsteady foot in front of the other, picked up a broken chair leg and advanced again.
‘You’ve been selling yerself. That’s what this is. You’re not washing and ironing laundry. As soon as me back’s turned trying to earn a living for us, you’re off turning tricks for other blokes.’
I’d have laughed if I could, an angry laugh, the accusation too ridiculous to give it credence. I didn’t respond. What was there to say? Look at me, the mess I am now, do you think another man would want me after what you do to me? Once it was different. There was a time when I turned heads, a time when I had other choices. That was before I believed your lies and came to this life of pain.
As she grew, Lily became living proof of that. The reason I encouraged Florie to keep her, well hidden from Thomas. Made her promise never, ever, to tell Lily about Thomas. Made her promise to claim Lily as Florie and Ned’s own. I’d made that visit to Florie after Thomas returned to live with us. I was driven there by the pain of another beating. Choosing a time when I knew Lily would be at school, I showed Florie the bruises. Made sure she understood. It was a tough day amongst the many unkind ones I could recount. A lie I live with like a hair shirt. It offered me absolution. I try not to think of Lily as Caroline, it’s too unsafe. I’m thankful now for the time Thomas spent hiding from military charges in those years when I first arrived in Sydney. Grateful it let me keep her a secret and safe.
Remembering his frequent desertion fires up my courage. I know about the other women. All of them are abused as I am.
Stay away for good. How dare you blame me. Unvoiced, these thoughts gave me strength.
But my indignation was no match for Thomas’s fury.
I kept my head down as tears of fear and anger streaked my face like a dam had burst. A sob escaped, even though I tried to swallow it down. Crying fuels his anger. He wants to be blameless–justified–and tears accuse.
His rage feeds on my suffering, but anticipation of the pain he dishes out overcame me. Shuffling back until my body was up against the wall, I tried to keep a distance between us. But there was nowhere else to move, nothing to protect me.
My eyes followed the chair leg in his hand as he jerked it up and down, like a hammer. It was an addition to his usual fists, or belt. My dread increased and I couldn’t quench the sobbing once it started. I became terror personified. On hands and knees, holding my hands up in front of my stomach, I turned to face the wall, curling in the tightest ball possible, seeking what refuge I could. A hedgehog beneath the horses’ feet.
‘Please, Tommie, no. Please, don’t hurt me. Please, don’t hurt your baby.’ I begged; while his closeness and the heat off his sweating body grew, and my pleading words lit tangible flame.
‘My baby? No, your bastard.’ Thomas’ words menaced me, barely heard through my terror, as he landed the first blow. ‘D’ya take me for a blerdy fool?’
After that first hit, the thwacks rained down in a storm, one following the other, taking no care of where they landed. The chair leg broke. He threw it away. Thomas grabbed me by the hair, pulling me free from the scant cover afforded by the wall, dragging me across the floor. He screamed obscenities at me while he hit me in the face and then the stomach as my hands moved upwards. Through my pain and fear, up close like this, I saw his wild, contorted, merciless face. A grin spread across it. He was enjoying his assault.
I felt my nose crack. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. I heard my shrieks at the impact of belly hits. My hands and arms took the brunt of the first onslaught and were near helpless to protect me further. These wounds would be on view for all to see.
The pain had moved outside my own body, and I wondered abstractly whether it was my voice that howled. Whatever it was gave me enough endurance to fight back at last, in desperation, struggling against this new torture. Fighting to get free, I was beyond reason now as I battled for my life. There would be no rescuers to aid me inside this room. I had to get out.
All my strength went into thrashing out with my legs. It was ineffective at stopping him, but as I flailed out, Thomas tripped over them. Losing his balance, he crashed to the bare floor, hitting his head. In his drunken state, it was enough to put him down. He lay there, spread out in a puddle of my blood, snoring loudly.
My body hurt everywhere. Blood came from wounds on my arms, legs and broken nose. It dripped down my torn clothes. Patches of hair had been pulled out. But I was still alive. My stomach cramped and I felt slime ooze down my legs as waves of dizziness enveloped me. I needed help and–unable to walk–crawled to the door. A broken animal, I tumbled outside. In the haze of pain, I didn’t care who saw me. Anyone would do. I reached out, begging for help, clutching my belly as waves of pain followed one after another.
‘Please...help...me.’ I glimpsed people coming towards me, before I was engulfed by shrinking grey shadows with a black halo.
‘There, there, love. We’ll take care of you,’ I heard a kind voice say as I sank towards unconsciousness. Arms held me, cradling me gently, like a small child. Escaping from indescribable pain which seemed to come from everywhere, I sighed and let go.
I drifted back home…to England. In my darkness, I vanished into happier times: before I made the wrong choice…married the wrong man…came so far away searching for an exciting new life. My choice. My mistake. Even unconscious, I knew all that, but for a while I was back…before. In my dream, it was Bert there. Bert’s arms held me. Thomas was forgotten. Yet tears still fell. Even in dreams, I couldn’t entirely escape the pain that wracked my body.