Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Newcastle
Luca’s entire apartment was packed with people, littered with beer bottles and reverberated with music that blared from the record player.
Mima stood to one side, wearing her favourite red dress with the white collar, and chewed nervously on a fingernail.
The living room was busy with band members, beautiful women, and thick with smoke.
The Boltons from next door, with the newborn who’d brought Mima and Luca together, were there too.
Mrs Bolton sat in a corner holding the cocooned baby, dark smudges beneath her large brown eyes, her hair pulled into a bun at the nape of her neck with wisps flying around her head.
Her husband stood over her, encircled by a group of men in suits.
He puffed on a cigar and gestured wildly as he shouted something about defeating the government monopolies and ousting Menzies.
Mima glanced down at her dress, noticed the fraying hem and wished she’d had the time to fix it before she came over to Luca’s flat.
But the maternity ward had been extra busy all week, and she’d fallen into bed exhausted at the end of each day with no thought of hemming dresses.
Her mind had no room for anything other than work and Luca.
She’d been going steady with Luca for almost three months and had become a fixture in his life.
She helped him throw parties — cooking, cleaning and hosting them.
She knew all of his friends and bandmates, understood how he liked his tea — sweet and black.
She ironed his shirts and mended his pants.
She’d even taken to sleeping over most weekends.
They were doing what her mother would call “playing house,” but she didn’t care what anyone else thought about it.
She was in love, and she was happier than she’d been in years.
They’d spent the day together. He’d played a gig down at the RSL Club earlier in the day.
Then they’d snuggled on the bed, listened to the radio as the queen was crowned.
The coronation at Westminster Abbey meant that everyone in the country had the day off.
There were parades and prayer services, fireworks had lit up the city skyline only an hour earlier.
They’d enjoyed every moment of it together, although Mima wanted some alone time with Luca and it hadn’t happened—there were always people around them wanting his attention, talking his ear off, asking him things, smoking or drinking with him, playing instruments together or listening to the latest hits on his record player.
Luca switched off the latest record, then sat on the couch beside the drummer from his band with a cigar protruding from his mouth.
There was a banjo in his arms, and he picked out a tune while the drummer beat his hands on top of a biscuit tin in time to the music.
When they finished, the crowd around them burst into cheers and patted both men on the backs.
Mima clapped her hands quietly, watching it all from her place in the corner.
She had something on her mind. It’d been weeks since her period was due.
The day had come and gone with no sign of Aunt Flo visiting, and she was worried.
If she fell pregnant, would Luca marry her?
They hadn’t spoken about marriage—she wasn’t sure he wanted to get married.
He was a free spirit, a musician in search of a song.
Would the family life suit him? She wasn’t sure.
But if she was pregnant, they’d have to marry.
She couldn’t raise the child alone. After everything Edie had experienced, how could Mima have let this happen?
She’d witnessed firsthand how difficult things had been for Edie, even with the help of her parents.
But Mima’s parents wouldn’t be likely to help her.
Her mother barely spoke to her as it was and her father had avoided her for years.
Regret washed over her like a cold splash of water in frigid weather.
She should’ve been more careful. But maybe it wasn’t pregnancy.
She’d been stressed lately—working long shifts back-to-back, on her feet most of the time.
She was thin and ridden with anxiety. Maybe she’d simply stopped having a period.
Her stomach hadn’t grown, although she’d felt a little nauseated some days. That could be anything, though.
“What’s going on with you?” Luca came up beside her, a broad grin circling his cigar.
He flung an arm around her shoulders and pulled her in for a squeeze.
“You’re the most beautiful girl in the room, and I can’t stop staring at you.
What you do to me…argh!” He growled the last and lifted her off her feet, raising her into the air above his head, then lowering her down again to kiss her lips.
“You’re my inspiration, baby. I can’t live without you. You know that, right?”
She giggled and let herself fall against him. “I know. You’re mine, too.”
She loved this man. He was good to her, even if there was so much about him that was still a mystery.
He was handsome, romantic and impulsive.
He loved to drink and gamble, but he did it with such flair that no one held it against him.
And he’d been drinking heavily for several hours by that point.
She could see it in his eyes—he wasn’t himself.
“I’ve got a few things on my mind.”
He nuzzled her neck, and she stepped back with a half-hearted objection. “Luca, not here. Everyone’s watching.”
He waved a hand drunkenly above his head. “No one cares. They’re my friends. They know what we are, what we have.”
She frowned, crossing her arms. “What are we? What do we have?”
He stopped and inhaled a breath so that his nostrils flared. “Not now, amore mio. This is a party. We’re having fun.”
He spun on his heel and staggered away from her. But she wanted to have the conversation. Anxiety buzzed and hummed in her head—it was never a good time with him. He always put off the difficult conversations. She stamped after him, following him down the hallway.
He stopped and faced her at the bedroom. “I’m getting another cigar.”
“Fine, I’ll wait. But we’re going to talk about this.”
He wobbled. “About what?”
“Let’s go into the bedroom.”
He beamed. “So, now you don’t care what anyone thinks? Okay, then. Let’s go, honey.”
“I hate it when you drink,” Mima retorted. “This isn’t you. You’re sweet, warm and loving. Not like this. You’re scaring me.”
He shrugged as he searched through the drawers of his dresser. “Do you know where the rest of my cigars are?”
“I have no idea, Luca. But can you please look at me for a moment? I need to talk to you about something important.”
As he turned to face her, a strand of dark, slicked back hair fell onto his forehead between his eyes.
He looked so cute, innocent and happy. When he drank, it changed him, and she didn’t know how to talk to him about it since she usually joined him.
But not tonight. Tonight she was stone-cold sober.
“I think I’m pregnant.”
His eyes widened. “What? No. Really?”
“I’m not sure, but I think so. I’m late.”
He stared at her a moment, the light fading from his eyes. “Mannaggia! So, what now?”
That wasn’t the response she’d hoped for.
She’d imagined him falling on one knee to propose, vowing his undying love for her.
But in her imagination, he hadn’t been drunk, and they weren’t in the middle of a wild party at his apartment.
She should’ve chosen better timing, but there hadn’t been many of those moments lately.
He was always partying or playing in his band.
Their alone time together was brief and passionate, then he fell right to sleep.
He was an artist, tortured by a painful past. She understood him in a way no one else could, but it didn’t make things any easier.
When he slept, he looked so young and carefree.
But when he drank, he seemed older, more worldly. Someone she barely recognised.
“What do you mean? Do you have anything else to say?”
He hesitated, then stared at the floor. “I need a drink.”
He pushed past her into the hallway, headed for the kitchen. She followed after him, exasperated. “You’ve had plenty to drink. We need to talk about this.”
As he riffled through the cupboards looking for a cup, she stood behind him, wringing her hands together. “Come on, Luca. Look at me. I need you to look at me.”
He faced her, his cheeks red and his eyes thunderous. The loving, jaunty musician was gone, and the stranger in his place was sullen. “I’m looking at you. What you want from me?”
She took a step backwards, shocked at his expression. “Why are you angry?”
“You did this. You did it on purpose. I should’ve known.”
“On purpose? I wouldn’t do that. I thought you loved me.”
“Love?” He spat at the floor. “We barely know each other, Mima. Stop living in a fairy tale. Do you see this place? I rent it from a friend for cheap. It’s a dump, and I don’t know how long I can stay here.
After that, I have nowhere to go. I’ll have to figure it out.
I can barely take care of myself. How am I supposed to take on a wife and baby? ”
“I…” She stammered, swallowing. She didn’t know what to say.
She needed him to tell her how he’d love them through it all, how he’d take care of her and the baby for the rest of their lives.
Her heart ached to hear the words come from his mouth.
If anybody should care about what happened to her and their child, surely it would be him.
He shook his head and charged out of the apartment, hurtling past a group of men and women who stood in the doorway, shoving them aside.
“Where are you going?” Mima cried out, following him. But he didn’t respond.
He scurried down the stairs at a headlong pace and ran along the footpath. Mima followed, careful not to fall in the darkness on the uneven concrete.
“Luca, wait!” she called out to him, but he ignored her.
When he reached the street, he pivoted to look at her, his dark eyes gleaming with the light reflected from the street lamps. “So beautiful and untamed,” he said with a rueful smile. “I knew you’d ruin me. Goodbye, Jemima Everest.”
Then he turned to dart across the street. He moved quickly and was gone from sight before Mima could respond. She stood with both hands pressed to her mouth, her eyes wide. Tears blurred her vision, and she choked on a sob. What did he mean by that? He’d said goodbye. Was he coming back?
She knew the answer without a moment’s hesitation.
He was gone. He didn’t want the responsibility of a child.
They weren’t married, and he had no obligation to her.
It was just as her father had always warned her—she’d allowed herself to be used by a man who didn’t love her.
She’d hoped they could be married, dreamed that they’d build a family together.
He’d play beautiful music, and she’d decorate their home and warm it with her love. They could be so good together.
But he was gone, and she knew in her heart he wouldn’t return. He wasn’t the man she’d believed him to be. He didn’t care for her the way she’d thought he did. He was a coward and a scoundrel, and she was all alone in a world that would hate her as soon as it discovered what she’d done.
Without a sound, she spun on her heel and headed back to the flat to get her things.
She would return to the hospital and figure out what to do next.
Right now, she was too tired and upset to think clearly about anything.
She’d get some rest first, and then she’d be able to make a plan for her life.