The Things We Never Knew

by Megan Mayfair

  “What happened?” Cole placed a cup in front of her.

  “I realised you were right. I can’t let anything get in my way.” She breathed in the scent of peppermint and jasmine. She wasn’t sure what concoction this was, but it seemed fresh and vibrant and leapt out of the cup at her. As much as she had resisted the idea, it did seem to be calming her.

  “What are you talking about?”

  Bebe took a deep breath. “The other day, you said that I couldn’t let anything stand in my way, that I needed to go to New York. You said that boys like him were everywhere.”

  “I didn’t mean if you really liked him!” Cole leaned forward. “Do you really like him?”

  “I did, but he told me he loved me. He said he wanted to take it back.”

  Cole made a face. “You can’t take that back. Once that genie is out of the bottle, it’s out.”

  “Exactly!”

  “Well, better now than down the line, and while I’ll be very sad to see you go, along with all the fashionistas of Melbourne, you deserve to fly.”

  Bebe sipped her tea. Cole was right. Of course, he was right. She couldn’t let these sorts of things stop her from accomplishing her dream. “I’d better get back to work.” Broken hearts or not, she had things to do.

  As she sketched and planned, she allowed herself to get lost in her work.

  “A visitor for you.” Cole’s voice startled her.

  “For me?”

  “For you.” Cole waved towards the front of the studio. “You’re the only one here!”

  Bebe looked up to find Michelle standing in the small lounge area they used for consultations. She looked a little pale but put on a smile.

  “Hello. What are you doing here?” Bebe walked over to her.

  “I spoke to Harry.”

  “Oh.” Harry and Michelle got on well. It hadn’t occurred to her that the break-up might hurt her friendship with Michelle.

  “I’m sorry to hear about what happened and I wanted to check you were okay.”

  “I’m okay. How are you? What happened with Leon?”

  Michelle shook her head. “It was a disaster. He dumped me.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “What a pair we are!” Michelle sighed. “I think we’re cut from the same cloth!”

  Bebe froze. What did she mean by that? “I’m sorry?”

  “You know, both of us dating nice guys, too scared to commit. Or something. I don’t know, maybe I’m just stupid.”

  “You’re not stupid,” Bebe soothed.

  “I have a university transcript and a dating record that would suggest otherwise. I seem to muck up everything I touch.” She inspected her nails before turning back to Bebe. “At least you had a reason to end things.”

  Bebe wasn’t sure what Harry had told her. “Well, yes, New York.”

  “Long-distance would have been hard and you’re leaving, in what?”

  “Two weeks.”

  “Exactly. Harry’s really sad, but I guess there’s a reason it wouldn’t have worked out.”

  That was what she’d told herself time and time again. Still, why did doing the right thing feel so miserable?

  They needed something to take their minds off the omnishambles that was their love lives, and she knew exactly what that was. It was the physical embodiment of sequins. “We’re going out. This weekend!”

  Michelle scrunched up her face. “I don’t feel like it. Unless it’s somewhere we can go and eat chocolate.”

  “I’m sure there’s a cocktail with chocolate in it somewhere in this town.”

  “But I can’t wear pyjamas. Believe me, getting dressed for work is a hassle right now.”

  “Come on!” Bebe cajoled. A night of dancing and drinks with a friend was exactly what she needed. That usually sorted out a broken heart nicely. “We both deserve a little fun.”

  Michelle groaned. “I think too much fun is usually what gets me into trouble.”

  “Come on. We should treat ourselves.”

  Michelle puffed out her cheeks and exhaled. “Okay.”

  “And Michelle? I want your measurements.”

  “My measurements?” Michelle brought her hand to her chest. “What for?”

  “I want to make you a dress.”

  “You’re going to make me a dress?”

  “A dress. Come on, step over here, Cinderella. We’re going to a ball this weekend. And I guarantee you, at midnight, this won’t turn into a pumpkin!”

  Chapter 39

  “It’s not him,” Harry said as Michelle’s head turned to the door of Espresso Walk as it opened.

  Her shoulders dropped. All week she’d hoped that Leon might come in, silver travelling coffee mug in hand, whistling a tune and ready to forgive her, and try again.

  But no.

  She glanced sideways at Harry. She’d seen him look at the door too, little doubt longing for his designer in residence to make a stylish appearance. But Bebe hadn’t been in. The chance of a reconciliation between them over a chocolate and cherry muffin was appearing as remote as her eating fish and chips around the Marek’s wooden kitchen table again.

  “How are you?” she asked Harry.

  He stacked a pile of coffee cups and rested his hands on the bench.

  “I’ve been better. I guess trying to make things work between here and New York would have been impossible.”

  He’d said that several times this week. A coping mechanism perhaps?

  “That doesn’t make it less difficult,” she said.

  He shrugged and flicked a couple of leavers on the coffee machine. “Yeah,” he muttered.

  “You should tell her that you could go with her. I’m sure Tessa would give you a leave of absence.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Well, thanks for your input, but I don’t think I’ll be taking your relationship advice anytime soon.” He walked towards the kitchen. “Not that I’m sure it’s not well-meaning,” he added in a tone that Michelle wasn’t sure was sincere or sarcastic.

  Harry was right—whether he was being ironic or not. She was hardly in a position to be dishing out advice.

  She glanced at the clock. She was meant to meet Bebe in a few hours. And despite her friend’s enthusiasm earlier that week, Michelle still didn’t really feel like getting glammed up tonight, but she’d been so adamant at the time, and had since shown her photos and sketches of the dress she was making, that Michelle had to go out. She couldn’t let Bebe’s generous offer and lauded tailoring skills go to waste.

  And with the clock ticking on when Bebe would return to New York, it might be one of the last chances they had to go out together.

  She sighed. Bebe and Leon hadn’t been in her life very long, but she’d come to adore both of them.

  And like that, both were being taken away from her. At least maybe one day she could visit Bebe in some exotic location for a catch-up, unlike Leon who wouldn’t even come back to Espresso Walk in order to avoid her.

  That night, Michelle straightened her hair and applied her make-up, pulling her robe and slippers on as she waited for Bebe and her dress to arrive.

  There was a high level of activity from outside the bathroom door. The dull roar sounded like the entire family was there.

  She walked into the hall, stepping back to avoid getting bowled over by a nephew, which one she couldn’t see as he raced off. “Careful!” she shouted after him.

  “Those kids nearly took me out,” she told Steve when she walked into the kitchen.

  “Kids. Calm down.” Heather said half-heartedly to no child in particular, between sips of a glass of champagne. She didn’t seem too fussed about their behaviour, however, as she hadn’t moved from her spot at the bench.

  “Sure you don’t want to come with us?” Mum pushed a large container filled to the brim with some sort of chocolate slice into the basket she was packing with snacks and thermoses.

  “It’ll be fun.” Clare jiggled Timothy in her arms. He bobbed his head as if in a
greement with his mum. “Though I’m not sure how long this little guy will last at a night match. He’ll probably be asleep by quarter-time.” She looked doubtfully at Pete.

  Michelle smiled at the sight of Timothy in his little Kangaroos jumper and a tiny beanie that fit snuggly against his head. “I would come, but I’m going out with a friend.”

  “In that?” Dad asked, pointing towards her robe before continuing to tune a small radio he took to the football with him so he could listen to the commentary during the game. “Are dressing gowns the new fashion?”

  “No, but I’ll tell you what is.” She paused for effect. “Bebe is bringing me a dress. She’s the most talented fashion designer, and I’m sure whatever she makes me will be cutting edge. It will be amazing.”

  “Like couture?” Heather’s eyes widened.

  “What’s couture?” Steve asked his wife.

  “Like tailored, just for her by a designer.” Envy dripped from Heather’s words.

  “Sounds expensive.” Steve’s voice was flat. He was probably dreading that couture gowns were going to be another thing added to his wife’s ‘wish list’ after the new car, private school fees and the trip to Fiji his wife had mentioned. Several times.

  Michelle turned the tap on for a glass of water, enjoying the reaction. “Yep. A design just for me.” She couldn’t wait to see what the outfit would be, but given how amazing Bebe always looked, and not to mention the stunning dress she’d designed for Tessa, her expectations were running high.

  “Bebe? That’s an interesting name,” Mum said, thoughtfully. “Is it her real name, or a nickname?”

  “No, her real name. Her surname is Baranov. Bebe Baranov. Doesn’t she sound like a designer? I can so see her name in Vogue magazine one day.”

  “Baranov?” Dad interrupted, looking up from the radio.

  “Yes, that’s right.” Michelle took a sip of water.

  He frowned. “Her mother isn’t Petra Baranov, by any chance?”

  Michelle nodded. “Yes, she’s an art curator. She’s in Melbourne for the latest exhibition at the National Gallery, but she’s curated exhibits all over the world.”

  “Well.” He grinned a sentimental smile. “That’s amazing. She did it, did she?”

  “Who is Petra Baranov? And what did she do?” Mum asked.

  “How do you know Petra?” Dad usually knew blokes from the footy club with names like Phil and Wayne who were tradesmen or who owned hardware shops. How did he know about glamorous, world-renowned Russian art curators?

  “Petra used to work in the office. I don’t know, twenty-five, maybe thirty years ago.” He rubbed his chin. “A long while back anyway.”

  “In your office?” Michelle scrunched her face. The office in question was a suburban engineering firm that looked like a 1970s classroom and smelled of old carpet and instant coffee. It was situated out the back of an industrial estate surrounded by warehouses that imported machinery parts and tyre repair shops. It didn’t seem a place that someone like Petra Baranov would voluntarily be spending her time.

  “Yep. She was at university, but did some filing for us on Fridays. Her parents knew the boss’s wife …”

  “Oh, Sandra?” Mum interrupted.

  “Nah, boss before that. What was his wife’s name?” He paused.

  Michelle didn’t want to get side-tracked into a conversation about the wives of Dad’s former employers. “You knew Petra?”

  “Wendy!” He snapped his fingers. “That was it. She was married to Craig and they had that place up at Bonnie Doon.”

  “Oh, yes.” Mum nodded. “She was lovely. She’d always send over hand-me-downs for you kids. And some of it was pricey, you know.”

  This was spiralling out of control. Michelle raised her hand. “Hang on. Can we get back to Petra? Are you sure it’s the same person?”

  Her Dad made a face. “I don’t really know any other Petra Baranovs who were studying art.”

  Fair call. Michelle blinked. Bebe’s mother—a highly sought-after art curator who travelled the world—had once done a bit of admin work at her father’s engineering firm.

  She had a new wave of admiration for Petra. Perhaps it wasn’t impossible to completely reinvent your life.

  “Bebe is her daughter?” Dad asked, as if suddenly remembering the start of the conversation. “Is she an only child?”

  What a strange question. “Yes.”

  Her father frowned. “How old is she?”

  “Twenty-six.”

  “Unreal.” He let out a whistle. “Small world. It’s hard to believe that baby is all grown up.”

  “What are you talking about?” Mum demanded, likely verbalising the thoughts of everyone in the room. “What baby?”

  “Don’t you remember what happened?” He shot her mother an inquisitive look.

  “Remember what?”

  “Petra had a baby.” He said this slowly and carefully.

  “I don’t even remember the woman, let alone her baby!” Exasperation rose in her mother’s voice.

  “Arne!”

  Mum’s mouth fell open. “Oh, my goodness. Arne!” She brought her hand to her heart. “Poor, poor Arne.”

  “I have no idea what is going on,” Pete said, looking between his parents. “Who are you talking about?”

  “Arne.” Her mother sighed. “He was a lovely man. He used to work with your father and he died in a motorcycle accident. I was so heavily pregnant with Lauren and my hormones were going crazy, so I remember being in floods of tears even though I’d met him a couple of times.”

  “He was a good bloke,” Dad agreed.

  “What does he have to do with Petra?” Michelle asked.

  “He was dating Petra and he was riding his motorcycle to work one day and he was in an accident. He passed away at the scene.”

  Mum shook her head. “It was on the news and everything. Awful, awful.”

  “Petra had to identify his body,” Dad explained. “I offered to do it, but she was adamant she wanted to go. She was a tough cookie, but I didn’t realise how much. She later told me she was pregnant, and she and Arne had been planning to marry and move overseas so she could pursue a job at a gallery in London.”

  Michelle brought her hand to her mouth. How incredibly sad for someone to lose their partner before their child was born. Bebe hadn’t mentioned her father, and Michelle hadn’t pried, assuming perhaps her parents had been separated or divorced. She’d never considered anything like this.

  “How awful.” Clare looked on the verge of tears. “Poor Petra. Poor Arne.”

  Michelle shot her a comforting look. Clare had her own complicated family history with her mother passing away at a young age, and understandably, these sorts of stories seemed to affect her at times. “What happened to Petra?”

  Dad rubbed his neck as he appeared to think. “She finished her degree and left the job. She wanted to go overseas afterwards to work. I thought it was a pretty brave thing to contemplate with a little baby.”

  “What about her parents?” Mum asked. “Did they go with her?”

  He shrugged. “No idea. I never saw her after that.”

  “What a small world that you’re now friends with Bebe,” Clare said. “That’s rather amazing, isn’t it?”

  Michelle nodded. It was a coincidence. She felt uncomfortable, like she had discovered some secret about Bebe’s family. “It is.”

  “I wonder how long she’s in town for. Maybe we could have them over for dinner?” Mum said.

  “Why not?” Dad asked. “It would be nice to catch up. I’d wondered how she got on.”

  Pete looked up at the clock. “Right, we’d better go or we’ll miss the opening bounce.”

  “Go?” Mum’s voice rose. “Now?”

  “Now, come on!” Pete said, gesturing towards the door, which then set off a few moments of pure pandemonium as people ran through the house looking for scarves and bags, and Mum nearly did her back in lifting the giant basket of food they w
ere taking with them that would probably not only feed the Fitzgerald family, but the team, the coaching staff, and the cheer squad.

  “Have fun!” Michelle called, closing the door behind them and taking in the glorious silence of inside the house while hearing Steve and Heather bicker about something outside and Pete trying to figure out who was going in which car.

  She did love them, but they were so noisy. It certainly wouldn’t have been like anything Bebe would have grown up with.

  Michelle turned the television on while she painted her toenails. Bebe had certainly had a hard time never knowing her father, and how challenging it must have been for her mother.

  Inspecting her nails, she wished she was getting dressed up for Leon—not that she thought Leon would have paid much attention to the colour of her nails. She should have made more effort with him and she should have blocked Ashton out of her life when he came crawling back.

  As familiar feelings of sadness crept over her, she stood and raided the bar in their rumpus room.

  It had been the centrepiece of many boisterous Fitzgerald family gatherings, and the source of a couple of alcohol-induced injuries like when Pete copped a piñata stick to the jaw, or Steve attempted to flip a rum bottle like Tom Cruise in Cocktail to impress some girlfriend of the time and chipped a tooth as it landed on him.

  She helped herself to a vodka from the top shelf and sipped slowly, trying to push all thoughts of Leon out of her mind. She was going out. Getting a fancy new dress. And maybe she’d meet some hot guys tonight.

  But none of it brought the same feelings of joy she’d experienced when relaxing with Leon. Part of her wished she were making the most of a quiet, empty house with a bottle of wine and a movie, and snuggling on the sofa with Leon.

  There was little point in thinking about that though. It was too depressing.

  She looked around the empty room. For so much of her life, she’d been desperate for everyone to be out so she could enjoy the silence, but she wasn’t really enjoying it that much tonight.

  It was a good thing to go out and Bebe needed to get a bad break-up out of her system too, though she wasn’t sure how bad it had been for Bebe. It had been hard for Harry, little doubt. He’d seemed so hurt. He had a sensitive streak beneath his cheery countenance, and Michelle had felt heartbroken as he absently swept the floor that afternoon at work, seemingly a million miles away.