The Things We Never Knew

by Megan Mayfair

  “It would have been hard.”

  “Very. And she proved me wrong in doing things her own way.” He gave a contented smile. “Good for her.”

  “Why do you think she kept the note?” Michelle asked. “Why did it mean that much to her.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe she kept it as a reminder there were people here in case she ever needed. It’s tough being overseas when you’re on your own.” He glanced sideways at her. “I gathered you found that out in Canada.”

  Michelle nodded. “I screwed up big time over there.”

  They pulled into the driveway and her father turned off the car.

  “I’ve made so many terrible errors of judgement,” she said.

  “You made some mistakes, we all do. But I love the fact you wanted to try something different.”

  “I spent a lot of your money. I wasted it.” She laced her fingers together.

  “Having five kids was never going to mean we were rich, but we have never wasted a cent on you. You’re all worth it. Giving you kids a good base, a solid foundation in life was what mattered. We paid the mortgage and didn’t lash out on things we didn’t need.”

  “Is that why Mum cut all our hair?” she asked.

  “Partly. And don’t tell her this, but she thought she was quite good at it.”

  She made a face. “We looked like we were in some sort of weird cult.”

  “I always thought Steve looked like a convict.” He smiled, but it quickly faded. “Around the time Petra lost Arne, I was worried for her. But I thought about it a lot, you know. It made me realise that I wanted to give you kids the solid foundation but as a springboard. It’s solid and there, but it should enable you to fly. In whatever way you wanted. So, no, what happened in Canada or at university, it wasn’t a waste. Do I wish you would have paid more attention? Yes, I do.”

  She grimaced.

  “It was a great opportunity for you and it sounds like you attended more parties than lectures,” he added.

  She shifted in her seat. “I’m sorry.”

  “But you learned from it. Not the lessons I thought you might, but it was a life experience.”

  “You still believe in me.”

  He smiled. “Of course, I do.”

  “I think I want to do something different. It’s early days and I’m talking to Tessa, but I think I might like to become a chef.”

  “Did winning the Master Chef Trophy have that much impact on you?” he asked.

  She laughed. “Maybe.”

  “I think you’d be good at that. What’s the plan?” He rested his arm on the steering wheel. It was the engineer in him—he liked a blueprint.

  She took a deep breath. “I’m going to shadow Gabriel at work sometimes, go in a bit early and help with the preparation.”

  “Early? How early?”

  She grinned. “Yeah, early. Not really me, is it? But I’m excited for it. If it goes well, Tessa said she’d be happy to look at me doing an apprenticeship.”

  He nodded, thoughtfully. “We may need to update the by-laws of the competition if you’re a professional.”

  She smiled. “It would be a while until I was considered a professional, but that’s the plan.”

  “It sounds sensible. I’m proud of you.”

  Michelle leaned back in her seat. She was proud of herself. “I think so.” The plan seemed smart, and cautious and considered. It was the sort of plan that Leon would have agreed was sensible and solid. That was Leon, sensible and solid. She pushed him from her mind. “But what if I fail again?”

  “We’ll catch you.”

  Tears prickled at the back of her eyes.

  “I know why Bebe envied what we have here. I couldn’t figure it out at first when her own life seemed so amazing to have lived all around the world, but she’s right. I am lucky.”

  Dad frowned. “Poor Bebe. I hate to think that she had this impression all this time. Arne was a good guy. He would have made a great father if he’d had the chance. It must have been upsetting for her to think her mother was hiding something.”

  Michelle shrugged. “Petra told her that, but she seemed to take this card as some sort of sign.”

  “I’m surprised she kept it.” He scratched his head. “I don’t even remember writing the thing. Would it help if I spoke to Bebe, or to Petra?”

  “I don’t know and I’m not sure I can ask.” She hesitated. “Things didn’t end well tonight. I stormed off on her.”

  He frowned. “Stormed off?”

  “I was angry.”

  “Always a bit dramatic, Shell.” His tone was warning, but not mad. “We raised you kids never to leave your mates alone.”

  She sighed. “I know. I’ll apologise I promise. Maybe it would help if this could all be cleared up. Maybe she’d like you to tell her more about Arne.”

  “I’d be happy to if that would be okay with Petra. I don’t want to get in between their relationship.”

  She nodded. “Thanks, Dad. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  “You’d be fine but if you’re ever not, you’re here. Now, I’m going to have a beer to commiserate this terrible performance,” he gestured towards the radio, where commentators were talking about another brilliant goal scored by the opposition, “before your mother gets home. Join me?”

  Michelle nodded and walked slowly back into her house, pausing as she viewed the photographs on the wall of their family, of wonky haircuts, homemade birthday cakes, dance concerts and graduations.

  But something she had never noticed before was that in every photo they were smiling.

  For so many years, it had felt her family were a boring prison that she longed to escape from and find a more glamorous life, yet, someone as worldly and brilliant as Bebe had potentially harboured longing for what she had.

  She closed her bedroom door and looked down at the dress Bebe had made her, unsure whether to be angry at Bebe, or feel sorry for her.

  Chapter 42

  Bebe stood in the doorway of Harry’s apartment block. She buzzed his apartment but there was no answer.

  Her head had been sore all day, but her disagreement with Michelle had left flecks of colour exploding at the sides of her eyes and a feeling that her brain was simply too large for her skull.

  Something wasn’t right. She’d see a doctor tomorrow but now, she needed someone. No, that wasn’t true.

  As she’d seen Greg Fitzgerald rescue his daughter from the street, Bebe had gasped and told the Uber driver to depart.

  She’d sunk back into her seat and tears had streamed down her face. She was alone, but she didn’t want to be. She needed him. Harry. Her Harry. Well, not her Harry anymore, but he’d been her Harry. She wanted to feel his arms around her and for him to tell her everything was going to be okay. He’d made her feel safe and secure, and that was what she needed now. She had to find him.

  Why wasn’t he answering his buzzer? She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye and checked the buttons again to make sure she had the right one. She did. Was he ignoring it, or simply out?

  Pulling her phone from her bag, she called his number, but it went straight to voicemail.

  Creeping around the side of the building, she could see light shining through the slits of the blinds that covered his windows. He was home. Maybe he had the music up and hadn’t heard the bell or his phone.

  She needed to see him.

  Glancing around, she located small pieces of white gravel in a nearby garden bed and threw one up so it hit the glass safety rail that edged Harry’s balcony. She threw another, and another.

  As she was looking for further pebbles, the light on the balcony sprung on, and a figure emerged from the doorway.

  “Harry!” she called.

  He leaned over the railing. “Bebe? What are you doing?”

  “You didn’t answer your bell. I needed to speak to you.”

  “I was in the shower. What are you doing here?”

  How on earth could she expl
ain it from the garden? “Can I come up?”

  There was a silence.

  “Please, Harry. I know I ended things and you have every right to be mad, but I need your help. Please can I come in?”

  There was another moment of silence before he heaved a sigh. “Okay, of course. I’ll buzz you up.”

  Relief swept over her, and she made her way to the door. He was letting her in, but she cautioned herself. He was a gentleman; there was no way he’d leave a woman stranded in his garden, asking for help.

  Her headache was getting worse. Thoughts swam slowly around her head. She was a little unsure of where they started or where they ended. She needed to get inside to Harry, where she could sit down. He always made her feel at ease.

  A buzzing noise sounded and she opened the front door. She pushed the lift button but couldn’t be bothered to wait in the brightly lit hallway, instead walking up the flight of stairs until she came to the second floor. He was at the door of his apartment, wearing a robe, and his hair was wet and slicked back.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

  “Why are you here?”

  Her shoulders slumped. He was less welcoming than she’d anticipated.

  “I haven’t had a good night.” She wrung her hands.

  “Are you okay?”

  She choked back a tear. “No.”

  He held the door open and gestured for her to come through. “Do you want a drink?”

  “May I have a cup of tea?”

  “Okay. I’ll put some clothes on and boil the kettle. You sit down and we’ll talk.”

  She walked into his apartment, sat on his leather couch, and stared at the poster he had on the wall. Vertigo. She looked away. The circles on it were hurting her eyes and aggravating her headache.

  Thankfully, he only had a lamp on, but even that seemed bright. She turned her back to it and rested her head on her arm, which she slung over the back of the couch, and listened to the whistling noise of the kettle. It was domestic and simple. The sound of home. Her eyes fluttered shut.

  “Bebe?”

  She opened her eyes to see Harry dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved Henley tee. With his hair slicked back and his glasses on, he looked like he usually did: sort of retro and staggeringly handsome. She wanted to dive into his arms, have him stroke her temple and assure her everything was going to be okay.

  “Sorry. Just resting my eyes.” She tried to sit up, but her head felt so strange. What on earth was happening to her?

  Harry moved into the kitchen and made two large cups of tea, and sat next to her. He handed her one, but the cup felt heavy in her hand so she rested it against her leg.

  “Are you okay?” He inspected her. “You look pale.”

  “I had a big fight with Michelle.”

  “With Michelle? What about?”

  It was a long story. And there was no place to start other than at the very beginning. “Do you remember that first day I came into the café? When I raced out so quickly and you came after me with the change?”

  He gave a small smile and nodded. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget that day.”

  Their eyes met and Bebe felt like crying. She’d hurt him so badly, and for what? Because he’d expressed his feelings to her? Why had she been so afraid to stay and see if she felt the same way?

  “What about that day?” he asked.

  “I didn’t come into the café by chance.” She looked down into her cup. It was perfect. Milky and hot, and she could smell the sweetness wafting up.

  “Why did you come?”

  She swallowed a mouthful from her cup. “I was following Michelle on social media and I saw she’d started working there. I wanted to meet her.”

  He rubbed his chin. “Michelle’s nice and a good laugh, but I’m confused as to why you wanted to meet her after seeing her on social media.”

  “Her father used to know my mother, and the topic of my father has always been one that was a bit vague growing up. Years ago, I found a note from Michelle’s father, and I wondered if there was more to the story.”

  “More to the story?” he clarified. “What did the note say?”

  “That he was there for my mother. But this is my mum; she keeps next to nothing of sentimental value. Why keep a card from an old co-worker?”

  “Maybe they were friends.”

  “Perhaps.” She said this carefully.

  “Oh, and then you thought maybe this was the man who you overheard your mother talking about?”

  She nodded. “I became curious. I looked him up and saw his family and started following Michelle on social media. Something clicked. We had all these things in common, like the same blood type and her family! It felt like the family I never had and I wondered …”

  Harry frowned. “And you thought that he was your father? The man who your mother had spoken of?”

  “I don’t know.” Her eyes welled with tears. “I was so confused. I became a bit obsessed with what I saw. My life has always been so busy, and it was just us. I love my mother, but it’s also hard living in that shadow. I used to look at Michelle’s photos on social media and imagine and wonder what it would have been like to grow up with siblings and the same school and family events.”

  He put a hand on her leg. “Did you ever talk to your mother about this?”

  “I asked her about family and my dad, and she always shut down. Over time, I wondered if that was because there was a secret.”

  “You should talk to her. You’ve gotten yourself tied up in knots about something that might just be a note to a co-worker and a coincidence.”

  It all seemed so outlandish when she said it out loud, but for years it had rattled around in her head, growing bigger and bigger until the thoughts couldn’t be stopped.

  “You told Michelle all this, I gather?” He sipped from his cup. “And she got mad at you for accusing her father of having an affair, and you had a fight?”

  She nodded. “I didn’t mean to, but her father mentioned to her how he knew my mother and it all came out.”

  “That would have been upsetting for her. They’re a close family.”

  Bebe rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I never intended it to be like that. I tried to take a sample of her hair for a DNA test—”

  “What?” Harry’s mouth fell open.

  She grimaced. “I know what you’re thinking. I didn’t. I couldn’t bring myself to do it, and I tried to ignore it, but then it came out and she stormed off.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. I know you two get along well.”

  “We do.” Bebe sighed. She’d always moved around so much that she met a lot of people, but making friends had been hard. She glanced up at Harry. And falling in love had been difficult too. “I miss you.” A tear ran down her face.

  “I miss you.”

  She wiped her tears away with the back of her hand. “I’m sorry about the other night. I don’t know why I said what I did.”

  He shrugged. “It’s my fault. I came on too strong. It was too soon to be saying things like that. I understand that you probably thought I was rushing things.” He rested his hand on hers.

  “I panicked.” She gripped his hand. “I was worried I was leading you on because I’m going to New York. I even thought about cancelling to spend more time with you here, but I don’t want to give up my dream.”

  “You shouldn’t have to do that. Definitely not for me.”

  “When you said…”

  He cleared his throat. “When I told you that I loved you.”

  Her heart leapt at hearing the words. How she wished she could go back to that moment and react differently. “Yes.”

  “You panicked, and didn’t want to make me believe you felt the same way. I get it.”

  “No.” She squeezed his hand. “You don’t get it as I’m falling in love with you.”

  “You are?” He blinked.

  She nodded. “Do you still feel the same way? I know you said it acci
dentally, but you said that you meant it.”

  “I love you.”

  Tears prickled at her eyes. She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him, his body warm against hers.

  Home had never really been a clear concept. It had just been whistling kettles or her mother’s capsule-collection wardrobe, or that little wooden box full of memories, but with Harry’s arms around her and her head on his shoulder, she wasn’t sure if it was home, but it certainly felt like a nice place to stop for a moment.

  She closed her eyes, a wave of fatigue sweeping over her, her body slowly winding down and becoming almost numb.

  Harry was saying something. It sounded nice, but she couldn’t follow the exact words. She was too tired to understand. They were simply a pleasant buzzing noise in the background. It felt comforting and reassuring, just like that place she sometimes went to before she fell asleep.

  This time she didn’t see fashion or ideas or inspiration—a warm light that she was being carried towards.

  The sound of Harry’s voice became faint as the light finally went out. She slipped into that space between waking and sleeping, enveloped in a heavy darkness.

  Chapter 43

  The sound of her phone buzzing against her nightstand woke Michelle. She fumbled for it, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the screen.

  It was Harry. She brought the phone to her ear. Had Espresso Walk burned down? Why else would he be calling in the middle of the night?

  “Hello?” she croaked.

  “Michelle. Something is wrong with Bebe; she’s at the hospital.”

  “Hospital?” She blinked and groped for the switch, turning on her bedside lamp. “Is she okay? What happened?” She had visions of the Uber Bebe had left in being involved in an accident, or her falling over, or, heaven forbid, being attacked on her way home.

  “No. She’s not.”

  Michelle’s heart lurched. “What happened?”

  “She came to my place after she had a fight with you, and we were sitting on the sofa. She rested her head on my shoulder and then I thought she’d nodded off, but I realised she’d passed out, and I couldn’t wake her so I called an ambulance.”