The Things We Never Knew

by Megan Mayfair

  Tomorrow would be the day.

  Michelle turned the page of the glossy magazine. Of course, it would be—she’d been telling herself that for months.

  But, maybe tomorrow, it would finally be the truth.

  Chapter 4

  Bebe’s eyes fluttered open. Blinking several times as she adjusted to the light streaming in through the gaps in the blinds, she looked around the room she had taken within the furnished apartment her mother had leased for the length of the exhibition.

  The room, like the rest of the apartment, was elegant with gilded mirrors, highly polished floors and heavy wooden furniture. It might have been a little old-fashioned for Bebe’s taste, but the bed was soft and the shower powerful.

  They were her main two requirements to create a comfortable house.

  She stretched her arms out and reached for her phone. Swiping a manicured finger across the screen, she entered her password and immediately began scrolling Instagram.

  Given the fact she was upside down in the world, she was out of sync with her friends in Europe and the United States. While she slept it was daytime in the northern hemisphere, and her friends were getting on with their lives at the small studio where she used to work.

  A knock sounded at her door.

  “Come in,” she called, placing her phone down on the bedside table.

  “Bebe.” Her mother’s face appeared at the door. Her impeccable make-up and chic bob gave her an Anna Wintour-like appearance, and she was just as fiercely talented and creative as the legendary Vogue editor.

  “Morning.” Bebe sat up.

  “Good morning, my darling. I need to leave early this morning, and I won’t be home until late. I have a dinner tonight with sponsors ahead of the opening of the exhibition. My assistant is organising a grocery delivery today with some meals, so simply help yourself.”

  “Thanks. That would be great.”

  Her mother didn’t eat very much. She only drank champagne and black coffee, and ate strawberries and almonds. Yet she had always provided Bebe with the most nutrient-laden, square meals over her entire life, cooked on the little stove of the apartment they’d lived in during their time in London, or fresh bread rolls crammed with the most succulent tomatoes and cheese purchased from the markets in Paris.

  “My assistant will email you with all the upcoming events: the gala dinner, the opening night, the charity high tea.” She waved a hand to indicate the large number of events. “You come to whatever you would like, but feel no obligation to attend. If you’d like to bring a friend, that would be fine.”

  Bebe didn’t have any friends in Melbourne. Or in Australia, for that matter.

  Cole at work was as close to a friend she had in town. Maybe she could see if he would like tickets. “I’ll think about it,” she said. “Good luck with today.”

  “Thank you, my darling.”

  “Mum?” Bebe hesitated.

  “Yes?”

  “While I’m in Melbourne, I’d like to visit Dad’s grave.” She swallowed. “I think it’s important.”

  Her mother paused. “You would?”

  “Yes, I would. Where is it?”

  “He doesn’t have one. He was cremated.”

  Bebe’s heart sunk. She’d never known this. “What?”

  “I said he was cremated.”

  “I heard you,” she snapped, before taking a breath. “I’m sorry. I’m surprised you never mentioned this before.”

  Her mother blinked. “You never asked.”

  A little rush of anger rose up in Bebe’s chest. She’d asked so many things about her father over the years—about his family, about his job, about his personality—and received little information in return. Did she have to ask about everything? Couldn’t her mother ever volunteer some information? She pinched the bridge of her nose. “What happened to his ashes?”

  Her mother paused. “I had them spread along the Great Ocean Road. That’s where he liked to ride his motorbike, so I thought that’s what he would like.”

  “Maybe we could go down that way one weekend. I hear it’s beautiful there.”

  “I don’t think I will have a weekend free before we leave for New York, but we’ll see. I better go. Have a nice day.” Her mother blew her a kiss, and closed the door behind her.

  Bebe rolled back onto her side and snuggled into the soft linen sheets.

  She was surprised she’d never known about the cremation, but she wasn’t surprised at her mother’s response. It had been the same whenever she’d asked about her father in the past. And she didn’t hold out much hope for ‘we’ll see’—that usually meant no.

  Bebe turned back to her Instagram feed. Amongst the photos from her friends and influencers overseas, there was one of Michelle. A new photo. She brought the camera to her nose to inspect the picture only posted a minute earlier.

  Michelle’s long chestnut hair was tied into a messy bun and her bright hazel eyes sparkled with mischief, as they usually did. She was wearing a three-quarter-length black and white striped top with black trousers. There was a black apron over her shirt with a little logo embroidered on the top corner that Bebe couldn’t make out. She was holding a large coffee cup and leaning against an aqua and chrome coffee machine.

  I’m back to work, baby. If you want the best coffee in town, stop by Espresso Walk and I’ll fuel your caffeine addictions xx.

  Bebe glanced at the time. Most cafés opened early given they were catering to commuters and office workers. She clicked on the location tag. The streets weren’t that familiar to her, yet she noted a main road that was near the studio she was freelancing at until she went to New York.

  She stared at the ceiling. It was all too weird—Michelle being back at almost the exact same time, and now working in a café so close to the studio.

  It really didn’t look that far, she decided, as she re-examined the map. Certainly somewhere she could easily visit while at work, either via a walk or public transport, or even an Uber.

  The word rang in her mind. Visit? Was she really thinking that she would go and see Michelle?

  It was ridiculous. She flung back the covers to get ready to go to work. It was one thing to scroll through Michelle’s social media and ponder her life, but another thing to move her stalking beyond the realm of cyberspace.

  She wasn’t sure of the exact lines in these situations, but that was definitely crossing one.

  Material was strewn over her desk when Bebe walked into Earth & Fire’s airy design studios.

  Cole looked up, his arms full of fabric. “Sorry. It’s a shambles, isn’t it?” He grimaced.

  “I didn’t say that.” She looked around the converted warehouse space at the polished concrete floors and beams and industrial lighting.

  “Maybe not with your words.”

  “Not even with my thoughts. This place is impeccable.”

  While it was a popular studio, it certainly was nothing like the mayhem and chaos of the studio she’d worked at in London where she’d been one of dozens of designers working on hundreds of projects.

  Despite only having worked here for two weeks, she’d already eased into a peaceful and collaborative working arrangement with Cole, who was in charge of the studio. He was such a calming force that his idea of a ‘shambles’ were a few rolls of fabric not put away and a couple of unwashed coffee cups in the sink in the small kitchenette at the back of the studio.

  She needed Cole’s order and Zen-like attitude today. Her mind had gone back and forth on the decision to go to Espresso Walk to sight Michelle in person to the point where it felt like a jumbled mess. It was hard to remember which decision she’d arrived at last.

  As she’d walked to the studio from the tram, she’d decided a little visit wouldn’t hurt. It wouldn’t be like she’d talk to Michelle or anything. She just wanted to see this girl in person, this girl who had led a life so different from her own but one that could have been hers.

  “Great news! Zoe was delighted with the go
wn!”

  Zoe Diaz was the partner of a football player and had needed a last-minute gown for some very important event. Bebe had worked overtime on it, drawing inspiration from a 1960s style she’d seen on exhibition in London to create the perfect fit for the glamourous Zoe. “That’s wonderful.”

  “That dress will be all over Instagram and the papers. Everyone follows Zoe around here.”

  “Do they?” Bebe rubbed her temple. Another headache? It must still be the jet lag. She paused at her desk. That didn’t seem possible. Jet lag didn’t last weeks. But then again, she had pulled an all-nighter working on Zoe’s gown earlier that week. Maybe she just needed more sleep.

  She sat down and heaved a sigh.

  “Do you need some tea?” Cole had teas for everything. He kept them in small silver tins in the kitchen, neatly labelled with their alleged powers written on the side. ‘Energy!’ one would say. ‘Clarity!’ another. And they all had exclamation points as if to reinforce, or perhaps warn, of their potency.

  “I’m fine.” She forced a smile. “I can’t seem to shake this jet lag.”

  “You’ve been here for weeks. How are you sleeping?” He leaned against her desk.

  “Not as well as I should.” She didn’t want to be prescribed tea. “I need a coffee.” She stretched her arms. “A real caffeine hit. There’s a place I saw on Instagram that looks good,” she said, casually. “Espresso Walk?”

  “That place is good. Jordan and I did brunch there last week. The waffles are amazing. I know I shouldn’t be eating carbs, but the calories were worth it,” he added, ruefully. “But it’s a bit far for this morning.”

  Bebe’s face fell. It had appeared quite close to the office on the map, but she’d clearly misjudged. “How far is it?”

  “It’s a twenty-minute walk at least.” He inspected a silver wristwatch. “We have a meeting with Claudette in fifteen. Go over the road. They do a good espresso.”

  They did make delicious coffee at the café across the road, but it wasn’t about the lattes.

  She’d have to wait a little longer to see Michelle, or maybe it would give her time to come to her senses.

  No good could come from this, surely, yet the need to sight her was becoming almost overwhelming.

  Chapter 5

  Michelle glanced at her phone and gave a fist pump as the comments and likes appeared on her post about working at Espresso Walk.

  She’d made her manager, Harry take the photo at least ten times, and he’d rolled his eyes on the final three shots, but it had been worth it.

  There was no way she couldn’t chronicle the moment. She left so few gaps on her social media that not mentioning a new job would be considered weird.

  So, she’d taken the cutest photo she could and put a positive spin on it. And no one in her circle needed to know anything other than she was back in Melbourne, loving life, wearing a chic little apron and making coffee in a trendy café. It was so random! Super fun! Heart emoji! #worklife

  Oh, the mask of social media. How perfect everything could look when cropped to a cute square and a filter applied to it. She even had an app to make her face look thinner and remove any annoying blemishes that popped up when she indulged in too much fast food.

  It was amazing the life she could curate and present to the world. And if the comments were anything to go by, her followers thought she looked adorable and the job sounded awesome.

  Brilliant.

  She pushed the phone back into her bag. Her break was over and there was certainly no time to worry about social media when she was working. The lunch rush had arrived and the light and airy café was crammed full of professionals with slick laptops knocking back espressos, and toned, fit-looking people in Lycra coming in from nearby group exercise classes to order protein-laden superfood snacks and smoothies.

  Fixing her apron and washing her hands, she found Harry at the coffee machine.

  “What do you want me to do?” She put her hands on her hips and looked around.

  “Could you take the register again?” he asked.

  “Of course.” She walked to the register as a willowy girl with long, swinging blonde hair streaked with violet approached the counter and ordered a coffee.

  “I like your scarf.” Michelle loved everything about this girl’s outfit, but the scarf was divine. It was black with lots of little icons embroidered onto it. Birds and bows and leaves. The shades of mauve on the scarf electrified the purple highlights in the woman’s hair.

  “Thank you.”

  Michelle couldn’t place her accent. It was posh, clipped and elegant. Maybe a little British, but there was a tinge of German to it. Or was it Swiss? Whatever it was, she sounded glamorous, like a citizen of the world.

  “Can I ask you where you got it from?” She deserved to splash out on some sort of trinket to congratulate herself on her new job. Though it was day one. She should perhaps make sure she could make it to a full fortnight before she started spending money she didn’t have.

  “Oh.” The girl touched her neck. “I made it.”

  Michelle could sew a button on a shirt. Her mother had insisted all the kids knew the basics of self-survival, but making accessories and clothing far exceeded her abilities with a needle and thread.

  “Did you want to have the coffee here or take it away?” Harry looked up from the coffee machine.

  “I’ll sit down.”

  “Great. Anywhere you like. I’ll bring it out to you,” Michelle said.

  “Thanks.” The girl walked to a table and sat down, removing a glittery sketchbook and a pencil from her handbag. The pencil flicked back and forth.

  It was hard for her not to be in awe of people who could do creative things. Michelle couldn’t draw or sing or act or play an instrument. She’d been sent off to old Mrs Hayes who’d lived on the next block for piano lessons, but she’d been so fidgety and badly behaved that she’d been sent home with Mrs Hayes telling her mother that Michelle was by far the ‘worst’ of the Fitzgerald kids. She still wasn’t sure if being the ‘worst’ was a reflection of her behaviour, or a general lack of talent. Perhaps both.

  She took the coffee Harry had made and slipped it onto the table where the girl was still sketching. “You’re a lefty too.”

  “What?” the girl fumbled her pencil.

  “You draw left-handed. So do I. Well, I can’t draw well, but I write left-handed.”

  “Oh.” The girl stared at the pencil in her hand, almost in confusion. “Yes, I’m left-handed.”

  “It can be a bit of a pain when you are writing in ink. I have to be careful not to smudge up birthday cards and things.”

  “That’s true.” She cleared her throat, and looked back to her sketching.

  Michelle’s eyes lingered on the scarf. “Do you sell those scarves online or at markets? It’s gorgeous.”

  “I work in a studio nearby. We do sell some things in there, but we mainly do couture work.”

  “Really? Like wedding gowns?”

  The girl took a small sip of her drink, leaving a smear of mauve lipstick on the glass. “Sometimes, but all sorts of gowns. You should come and have a look. It’s called Earth and Fire.”

  “It sounds fancy. I doubt there will be much I can afford.” She eyed the girl’s perfectly tailored, black lace dress and cropped velvet blazer. The fabric, styling and stitching seemed far outside Michelle’s usual price bracket. She’d bet Ashton could afford it. Stop thinking about him!

  “I’m sure I can get you a staff discount.”

  “Really?” Michelle tilted her head, surprised at the girl’s generosity. “That’s so nice of you. I’m sorry, I don’t even know your name.”

  The girl’s cheeks flushed. “Bebe.”

  “Hi, Bebe. I’m Michelle.”

  Bebe coughed, and took another sip of her coffee.

  “Are you okay?”

  She cleared her throat. “Yes, thank you. I…I drank too quickly.”

  “That happens sometimes.
Is your studio near here?”

  “It’s about a twenty-minute walk.”

  “I’ll come down.” Since Bebe offered, she should take a look. Besides, she did love beautiful clothes, even if she was unable to afford them.

  It would be nice to have a little sneak peek and a touchpoint back to the glamorous life she’d briefly led in Canada before it abruptly ended, like she’d been living some sort of Cinderella story in reverse.

  Chapter 6

  Bebe drained the remaining coffee from the cup and escaped outside, leaving the money on the counter.

  She hurried around the corner to a small, cobbled laneway, where she paused, taking in what had just happened.

  Resting her head back against the graffiti-covered wall, she took a deep breath and rubbed her temple. Why had she done that? She’d gone to look at Michelle, see her in the flesh, and then what? She’d invited her to the studio and offered her discounts? No. That shouldn’t have happened. This was insane. She had crossed the line.

  What if her illusions about the Fitzgerald family were simply that, or even worse? What if they were true?

  Did she think that somehow she’d be embraced into the fold of their family barbecues, Christmases and birthdays?

  How foolish.

  She took a deep breath. Hopefully, Michelle was simply being polite about the scarf and wouldn’t bother to show up at the studio.

  Bebe wouldn’t come back here. She’d let the whole thing rest. It wasn’t right. It could end up with a lot of people getting hurt, open up old wounds, or simply cause trouble.

  Maybe it was time to accept her mother’s version of events and call it a day.

  “Are you okay?”

  Bebe started at the sound of a man’s voice. She looked up to find the blond barista from Espresso Walk. She’d noticed him when she’d been sitting in the café, with his wavy hair and dark-rimmed glasses. He was holding out a note and coins towards her. “You forgot your change.”