The Things We Never Knew

by Megan Mayfair

  The next tram was four minutes away. Something needed to be said while they waited or she risked leaning over and kissing him again. Not that it wouldn’t have been nice, but she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to stop kissing him this time. And they were much more illuminated here thanks to the fluorescent lights of the tram stop. She didn’t want to risk being arrested for some sort of indecent behaviour. “It’s a beautiful night.” The weather? Oh, Bebe.

  “I like Melbourne in autumn,” Harry said, running a hand through his hair. “The night has that slight chill; you know?”

  She didn’t. Her body was on fire. “The trees are nice colours—the oranges and browns.” She fanned her flushed cheeks. Were they really here, talking about seasons when a few moments ago they’d indulged in that knee-weakening, passionate kiss?

  He smiled. “Yeah.” He fidgeted with a button on his shirt. “The trees are great.”

  “It reminds me of Boston.”

  “I’ve heard that. Did you like Boston?” He tilted his head. “It’s another place on my bucket list.”

  “This sounds silly, but I sort of like everywhere I’ve been. It all has something to offer and something to like.”

  “You like seeing the best in things.”

  Did she always see the best in things? Or in people? Was she seeing the best in her mother at the moment in thinking that she’d had some sort of affair with Greg Fitzgerald and lied about who her father was? Perhaps not.

  Harry was too generous in his assessment.

  A tram slowly pulled to a stop in front of them, and they climbed on. It wasn’t crowded, yet they stood rather than taking an empty seat. Her arm was outstretched to a bar above them and his hand grasped right alongside hers. A shiver of anticipation ran down her spine. She wasn’t sure how it was possible that such minor instances of intimacy could generate such incredible jolts of electricity through her body.

  As they reached her stop, they both disembarked and Harry walked her to the door.

  “I had a great time tonight,” he said. “Can I call you tomorrow?”

  She nodded. “Are you working tomorrow? Maybe I’ll come in and work for a bit. I really need to get some designs ready for Tessa.”

  “You can be our designer in residence,” he said.

  “What do I get for that?”

  He moved his head from one side to the other. “Great coffee and good-looking staff. Maybe a muffin.”

  “Well, that is very enticing.” She slipped her arms around his neck and their lips met in a tender and slow kiss, causing her knees to feel weak as she melted into his body.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said to her, sweeping a strand of her hair behind her ear.

  “Don’t forget to save me a muffin.”

  He nodded and smiled. “Night, Bebe.” He walked down the steps and onto the street, and she sighed.

  She brought a finger to her lips, mentally trying to preserve the taste of his mouth on hers.

  Floating upstairs, she climbed into bed and allowed herself to settle against her soft pillow. She yawned as her eyes grew heavy and fell into a dreamlike state between being awake and asleep, filled with a haunting undercurrent of the pianist’s voice, and the sexy kiss with Harry against the cool brick wall brought her inspiration of flapper dresses, jazz clubs, long beads and bow ties in one sultry, neon-hazed 1920s flashback.

  Fingers crossed she’d remember it tomorrow. She may have just mentally designed the perfect engagement party dress for Tessa De Luca.

  Chapter 23

  Michelle grabbed her phone as it buzzed against her nightstand, sounding her alarm. She blinked rapidly, groggy and disorientated. Had she been asleep for ten minutes or six hours?

  It wasn’t Monday morning already. It couldn’t be.

  Ugh. She inspected the time. Turned out it was and it was time to get up. She dimmed the light on her screen and allowed herself a few minutes to wake up and scroll her phone.

  Stifling a yawn, she opened her Messenger app.

  She could see a little green light next to Ashton’s name. Of course, he was awake. It was early evening there.

  As she willed herself to put the phone down and start getting ready for the day, a short, sharp beep sounded and a message appeared on the screen.

  Hey. Saw you were on-line. How are you, babe?

  Ashton! She gasped and pushed the phone to her chest. Why was he messaging her? She glanced at it again. Had he been looking at his phone, waiting for her to come online?

  How odd. How strange. How coincidental.

  Her finger hovered over the message, tempted to answer, but she paused.

  Don’t message him. Don’t message him. Don’t message him. She repeated this mantra again and again in her head and stuffed the phone under her pillow.

  Throwing back her covers, she slipped into the bathroom and turned on the shower. She whispered “Don’t message him. Don’t message him. Don’t message him,” to the rhythm of the hot water splashing against the tiles.

  It was hard to be strong. And it had taken her time to build up her resistance to break off all communications with him a few months earlier.

  The day that he’d sent that final text message to her, telling her he was sorry but it was over, she’d sent him back a barrage of unanswered responses. It had been desperate. It had been undignified. It had been embarrassing.

  She’d gone cold turkey a week after he’d ended things, perhaps faced with more challenging issues like flunking out of her final exams and running out of money, meaning she had been on the phone, in tears, begging her father to send her money to get home.

  Since she’d been home, she’d managed to hold off sending Ashton anything—even when she had exciting news or a date with the gorgeous Leon—and now shouldn’t be any different.

  It was simply a matter of self-control and of being the better person. Dressed and ready to go, she retrieved her phone from her pillow and scooped it into her bag.

  She didn’t check to see if there were any other messages, though she was almost beside herself at the thought of whether he’d sent a follow-up. Was he waiting for her to respond? Was he disappointed she hadn’t? Maybe she should…

  No. Stay strong.

  She placed her handbag over her shoulder and crept down the dark, still hallway to the kitchen.

  The flicker of green light from the clock on the microwave bathed the room in an eerie glow, just enough to make out the fruit bowl on the bench.

  Selecting an apple, she misjudged the way they’d been piled and several came tumbling out over the kitchen tiles. They rolled into a pair of fluffy bedroom slippers shaped like bunny rabbits with floppy ears and lifeless glass eyes reflecting against the dim light of microwave clock.

  Michelle gasped as the kitchen light was switched on. “You scared me.” She blinked as her eyes adjusted to the downlights.

  “I scared you?” Mum brought her hand to her heart over her grey bathrobe covered in rabbits, matching her footwear. “What are you doing up at this hour? I thought it was a burglar. I was about to grab the toaster and hit you over the head with it.”

  “Thank goodness you didn’t, because I’d rather not spend the morning in the emergency room. Is that how you treat any member of the family who happens to be up early? Clocking them over the head with household appliances?” She replaced the apples in the bowl, aside from one, which she washed and bit into.

  “It’s four in the morning. When have you ever gotten up at this hour?” Her mother scratched her head.

  It was a reasonable question. Michelle was only ever up at this hour to catch a flight, or stumble home from a night club.

  “Today, I have.”

  “Why?”

  “For work.”

  “Now? What time does your café open?” Her mother sounded astonished and squinted at the time on the oven, which was probably wrong. Her father was an engineer yet couldn’t figure out how to change it between daylight saving and standard time.

&
nbsp; “Not until later, but I’m helping to do some preparation.” And before she had to answer the ‘why’ that was no doubt coming, Michelle said her goodbyes and left.

  The drive to work was short, and she slipped in the back door, a gust of wind slamming it behind her.

  The lights were on in the kitchen, and she could hear the faint sound of a radio playing some peppy Latin American-style music.

  “Good morning.” Gabriel took a sip from an espresso cup and smiled at her. “I was thinking you might have slept in.”

  “Nope. I’m determined.” She put aside her bag and coat before slipping into the kitchen and washing her hands. Determined didn’t begin to cover it. She was even more adamant that she needed to win the trophy. And not just to annoy Pete. It was a matter of pride. Her pride.

  “Okay.” Gabriel poured flour into a large metal bowl. “I thought I’d make some éclairs today. We haven’t done those for a while and they’re always popular. You could see if they were something you could replicate at home.”

  Éclairs sounded rather fancy, and Michelle had memories of eating a beautiful, delicate buttery éclair drizzled in rich, dark chocolate in a bakery in Quebec with Ashton.

  She went to reach for her phone to see if he’d messaged her again, but paused. Stop thinking about him! There were far more important things to worry about.

  She refocused on Gabriel. Éclairs sounded like a competition-standard dish, but she had to be able to make them herself. It wasn’t like she could smuggle a chef into her parents’ kitchen to help her. Clare had once handed Pete a spoon during the competition and Steve had called for him to be disqualified.

  The ‘incident’ had inspired her father to write a complex rule book, so large it had an index and appendices outlining the governance of the competition.

  “Aren’t éclairs hard?” She wrung her hands.

  “They can be difficult, but if you get the pastry right, the whole thing falls into place. Make these and you’ll win that trophy.”

  “Brilliant. Where do we start?” She beamed at him.

  Gabriel was a little like his daughter. They shared the same dark hair and good looks. He had a little bit of a temper at times, but overall, he was high energy and had a dedication to perfection, like Tessa possessed.

  His kitchen was impeccable. The stainless-steel bench gleamed, every utensil, pot and pan had a home, and spices and herbs were neatly labelled in containers and jars. They were even in alphabetical order like at the supermarket.

  Food was a very serious endeavour with the De Luca Family. It was in their blood: generations of restaurateurs, butchers, chefs, orchardists, fishermen, and wine importers.

  It was certainly a big part of life with the Fitzgeralds, but it seemed more based on the fact that they needed to somehow satisfy enormous appetites than any great genetic affinity for the preparation of food.

  She watched Gabriel like a hawk, trying to take in the techniques, measurements and timings. It was like spinning plates. He had saucepans boiling, cakes in the oven, and mixers whizzing with ingredients, yet the whole kitchen was smooth and organised.

  “That was fun.” Michelle wiped her hands on a tea towel, amazed that more than two hours had zoomed by.

  “You did well,” Gabriel encouraged. “You’re very focused.”

  That was perhaps the first time anyone had ever said that to her, but it was amazing how she’d been able to block out the world and solely concentrate on the work.

  Maybe it was a good omen. She was going to be focused, on her job, on Leon, and on her future. Not on Ashton and her broken heart. Not on his callous dismissal of her. Not on her many, many failures.

  “I really appreciate this. Thanks, Gabriel.”

  He grinned. “It’s a pleasure. I’m happy for you to come in anytime if you want to try the recipe again.”

  She looked around the kitchen. Maybe she would take Gabriel up on the offer. It wouldn’t hurt to keep on refining her skills ahead of the competition and as a way to stay busy.

  Slipping her phone from her pocket, she looked at the message again and was even prouder of herself for not having responded. Take that, Ashton!

  Maybe, just maybe, she was curing her addiction to him and rebuilding her life.

  Chapter 24

  Harry placed a large chocolate and cherry muffin next to Bebe’s sketchbook.

  She blushed, and smiled at him. “Thank you.” She picked up the plate and took in the smell of vanilla and cherry. It was intoxicating.

  “The least we can do for our designer in residence.” He winked and walked back to the counter to serve a customer.

  A little jolt of lust hurtled through her.

  The muffin wasn’t the only thing that was intoxicating around here.

  She broke the muffin into quarters and popped a piece into her mouth and drew some embellishments on the dress she had thought about for Tessa.

  Since her dreamy half awake, half asleep state after her date with Harry to the club, her mind had gone into overdrive for Tessa and she had refined the design to the point it was almost ready to be made.

  Reaching out to pick up another piece of the muffin, she gasped as her eyes locked on a man who had walked into the café. It was Greg Fitzgerald. She ducked her head. What he if recognised her? She hadn’t thought he’d seen her that day at the office, but what if she’d been mistaken and he had noticed her peering around from around the pole.

  Surely he’d be suspicious of running into her twice.

  He sat at a table and opened a newspaper, flicking through the pages.

  Shoving another piece of muffin in her mouth and draining the last of her coffee, she slipped her phone into her handbag and stood, turning towards the back of the café, where she knew there was a back exit near the kitchen.

  Raising a hand to wave good-bye to Harry, she took a footstep before she heard a male voice call out, “Excuse me?”

  Was it Greg, talking to her? She gulped and took another step towards the back of the café.

  “Excuse me, miss?”

  She paused and turned slowly, clutching her handbag, meeting Greg eye-to-eye. “Yes?” she croaked.

  He pointed to the table she’d vacated. “Did you leave your book?”

  She picked up the sketchbook, stuffing it into her bag. “Thank you,” she mumbled and turned, rushing towards the hallway, and her escape.

  She glanced around the hall until she found the fire escape door. She pushed it open and slipped through, letting it slam behind her with a metallic clunk.

  That was close. Far too close. If she was going to play this game, she’d need to do it carefully or the whole thing could blow up in her face.

  Bebe walked arm-in-arm with Harry as they left a rooftop cinema he’d taken her to that night for their date.

  “You left the café quickly today.”

  “Oh, yes. I needed to get back to work. I’m sorry, did I owe you money for the coffee, or the muffin?”

  He shook his head. “You paid for the coffee and the muffin was on the house as always. Are you okay?”

  Not really. “I’m fine. And thanks for the movie, that was a lot of fun.” She’d enjoyed sitting on deck chairs on the fake grass on the top of a building with fairy lights strung above them and an old movie showing. They’d bought hot, salty souvlakis from a pop-up stand for dinner, and washed them down with glasses of rosé.

  “I’m glad.”

  “You know all the good places here.” His creativity in their dates was impressive. Jazz clubs and rooftop cinemas were much more than your standard dinner or drinks.

  “I grew up around here. So, your mother lived here when you were born?”

  “Yes.” She nodded.

  “And your father?” Harry asked. “Is he from here too?”

  “He was.” She exhaled. “He died.”

  Harry flinched. “I’m so sorry.”

  She looked straight ahead. “It happened before I was born. I don’t really know that much
about him.”

  He didn’t say anything, but took her hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. “You don’t?”

  “Not really. My mother doesn’t really talk much about him. I sometimes ask questions, but I don’t get much response.”

  “Maybe it’s painful for her.”

  “I understand that, but I wish I knew more.”

  “Is there anyone else you can ask?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “There’s no-one else to talk to. He didn’t have any family in Australia. He migrated here from Sweden when he was a kid with his parents, but they’re both deceased now.”

  “That must be hard, but it sounds like you’re close with your mother.” He squeezed her hand again.

  “We are.” That wasn’t the issue. “I’m grateful. I’ve had a lot of opportunities thanks to her hard work.”

  “You’ve been to more places than I’ve had hot dinners.”

  Bebe looked down at the pavement. Crisp brown leaves were strewn in front of them. A gust of wind picked them up and they danced down the street. Sometimes she felt like that. Like she was a leaf pushed along the path by the sheer force of her mother’s ambition and career. There was no base to return to. The tree couldn’t take back a fallen leaf. And like the leaf, she’d go where the wind took her.

  Or at least, that’s what she always thought, but she didn’t need to live like that, did she? Could there a base for her here? Was that why the winds of change had brought her back to her hometown?

  “Bebe?”

  She glanced at Harry. “Sorry. I was miles away. I always have a lot of thoughts, and get a bit lost in them.”

  “It seems like a nice place to be.”

  “Sometimes it is,” she said. “Sometimes, it’s just confusing.”

  He frowned. “Confusing?”

  “I move so much. It’s hard to feel at home. I find things to make me comfortable, but it can be hard to be grounded.”

  “I understand.”

  “You do, don’t you?” She paused. She wasn’t sure why exactly but his thoughts and hers did seem similar at times. Maybe it was a past life connection, or maybe a similar energy, but there was something about him that she felt like she could tell him the darkest fears that lurked within her, the greatest uncertainties and regrets.