The Things We Never Knew

by Megan Mayfair

  Was it the story of a sweet, workplace romance between her and Arne, or an illicit affair with Greg?

  As she stood, she heard a car drive past behind her, and up the driveway of the office building. It startled her. It was so quiet she hadn’t expected to see anyone.

  Glancing towards the car, her eyes widened as she recognised the driver.

  Greg Fitzgerald.

  She swallowed and looked around. She didn’t have a car she could dive into. Where could she hide?

  Would he recognise her? Even if he didn’t, he might ask what she was doing here or if she was lost. The streets were empty, and it would be unusual to find a girl standing in the car park on the weekend.

  The car door slammed, and she sprinted towards the next office building where she took refuge on the doorstep and peered out from behind an electricity pole.

  Greg unlocked the door and walked into the office.

  She exhaled. In person, he wasn’t much different to how he’d appeared in Michelle’s photos. Maybe a little softer and rounder in the belly, and a little greyer around the temples, but he had that same ‘dad’ look.

  Chewing at the edge of her fingernail, a heavy feeling set over her.

  Was it him? She’d once overheard her mother tell a friend about a man she loved who ‘wouldn’t leave his family’.

  Bebe had only been small, and it hadn’t made much sense to her at the time, but as she’d learned more about Greg, it did make sense. In fact, it made a lot of sense.

  She looked at the office building: a suburban-based, probably fairly small, workplace. Everyone would know everyone, and everyone else’s business.

  A scandalous affair would certainly have caused a ripple of problems, especially Greg, who remained married to this day.

  Had her mother protected Greg’s marriage, and reputation, by pretending Arne was Bebe’s father?

  She paused as she heard the office door squeak open.

  Greg walked from the building, manila folders stuffed with papers under his arm. A piece of paper flew out, catching the wind and he turned, awkwardly chased it down and shoved it back inside the folder. He piled them onto the front seat, climbed in and drove off again.

  There were still too many questions. And she wouldn’t get any answers standing in front of this building, yet she knew whatever happened here all those years ago was critical.

  She needed to learn more about the puzzle to make it all fit, and the more she looked at the building, it was clear the biggest missing piece was Arne.

  Chapter 17

  Michelle hadn’t been to the Melbourne Cricket Ground since she’d returned home. The season for Australian Rules Football was only starting, and the excitement had been palpable in the Fitzgerald household with great discussions over fixtures, player injuries, chances of playing finals, and coaching tactics.

  “This is our year!” Pete had exclaimed over their weekly family dinner. But he said that every year. She didn’t get her hopes up.

  She showered and threw on a pair of jeans, white sneakers and a white long-sleeved top. She slipped her footy jumper on and wound her worn, blue and white Kangaroos scarf around her neck. The white parts were nearly grey and the scarf was pilling, but she’d had it since she was a child. It was her lucky scarf, crammed with badges of players, some of whom had retired when she was a kid but were still favourites.

  Walking out into the living room, a sea of blue-and-white-clad people were watching Timothy attempt to crawl, or so it appeared.

  He was perched on all four of his chubby hands and knees with a broad, watery grin plastered over his little round face as he rocked back and forth, as if willing himself to move.

  Mum and Dad were on the couch, Lauren on a nearby chair, while Clare and Pete were lying on the floor on their stomachs next to Timothy, Pete holding out his iPhone.

  “Is he crawling?” Michelle asked with interest.

  “Shh,” Lauren hissed, waving a hand at her.

  “Why do I need to be quiet?” Michelle whispered, but received no answer.

  “Look how strong he is!” Dad’s tone was low. “This is amazing!” He sounded astounded like he was witnessing something he’d never seen before. Did he have no recollections of any of his own five children performing the exact same feat?

  The commentary continued in hushed voices as the family watched Timothy who, despite continuing to rock, still hadn’t edged forward.

  “Maybe it’s the carpet,” Pete suggested. “Would it be easier if he were on the tiles? He might be able to slide his knees across to get some momentum.”

  Mum shook her head. “No. The carpet provides a good grip. All you kids crawled beautifully on carpet.”

  Whatever the optimal surface for crawling was, it appeared Timothy was making them wait, and it seemed everyone was prepared to camp out until it happened.

  “Are you going to the game this afternoon?” Michelle whispered.

  “The game?” Lauren didn’t take her eyes of Timothy.

  “Of course.” Pete scoffed as if his status as a lifelong member was being challenged. “We’ll go soon. Coming with us, Shell?”

  “No, I’m meeting someone first.”

  “Oh!” Clare grabbed Pete’s arm. “Did he just move that leg?”

  “I don’t know. Did he?” Her brother groaned. “My phone battery is running low!”

  “I’ll see you later,” Michelle whispered and headed out the front door, closing it carefully behind her so as to not disturb the Timothy-watch.

  Leon was already at the stadium when she arrived, wearing a St Kilda scarf. She giggled. St Kilda wasn’t playing today.

  “Can I get you a better scarf?” she asked, waving the edge of her scarf at him.

  “No. I’m right, thanks. This is all I need.”

  “They’re not even playing today!” She waved her arms around at the crowds of people clad in Richmond or North Melbourne scarfs, jumpers and beanies.

  “I’m always happy to fly the flag.”

  “There’s no shame in trading teams.” She ducked to avoid a giant Kangaroos flag a man was waving.

  “Oh, really?” Leon took her arm to lead her away from the man who was now shaking the flag more vigorously. “I can’t convince you to become a Saint?”

  “Not in any sense of the word.”

  He chuckled, and they walked to the MCG where crowds of people were starting to enter through the gates before buying pies, doughnuts and coffees from the food trucks situated around the entrance. Some people even purchased a copy of the game day Record magazine. Little kids raced around, kicking footballs back and forth, each draped in their team’s colours.

  Going through the turnstiles, she breathed in the sights and sounds. The emerald-coloured, manicured grass, the sound of the crowd, the smell of hot chips and beer, and the sight of the players warming up on the ground.

  With beers in hand, they found their seats.

  “I’m sure my family are here somewhere.” She took a sip from her cup. “This place is probably crawling with Fitzgeralds.” Those who could or couldn’t crawl, for that matter.

  It had been the first game she’d been to since she’d arrived back, and she’d forgotten how much she enjoyed it as she chatted happily with Leon, shared a bucket of hot chips smothered in tomato sauce, lamenting the umpiring together and swapped stories about their favourite matches and players.

  As the final siren sounded, and the winning team song played, she sang it until she was hoarse, and then they went to a nearby pub, and found an empty booth in the corner of the room.

  The pub was bursting with the football crowd and the highlights were showing on a nearby big screen with the over-excited commentary blaring from massive speakers.

  Leon leaned forward. “Tell me more about Canada. I hear it’s beautiful.”

  “It is.” She looked down at the table and moved around a series of cardboard coasters that had been left there. What exactly was there to say about Canada? Though, he’
d started with the scenery, so she could continue on that topic. “The cities are lovely and the snow is amazing. I love skiing, so I really enjoyed that.”

  “And you taught skiing?”

  “To little kids who were always falling over in their giant skis and poles. They were so funny, but the parents want the kids to learn young so they can get more out of family ski trips.”

  “That would have been fun. Those ski places always have good bars and things, yeah?”

  She nodded. “Expensive, but it was fun. I got to know a lot of the staff there.” And Ashton. She pushed the thought from her mind.

  “And then other times you were at university?”

  “I did an exchange. I’m not sure how I got into the program to start with, as my grades were pretty average, but I scraped through.”

  “Did you like studying there?”

  She took a sip from her glass. “About as much as I liked studying here.”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “I recently was kicked out—that’s why I’m working at Espresso Walk until I figure out my next move.”

  He frowned. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I’m fine. And it was my own fault. I was okay at school when I had teachers constantly reminding me and following up about assignments, but the freedom of university? I probably enjoyed it all a bit too much and my natural disorganisation took over.” She plaited the blue and white fringe on her footy scarf.

  “Do you like the cafe?”

  “I do.”

  “Perfect. Maybe it worked out for the best then.”

  The other patrons cheered as the highlights continued to play on the big screen.

  Their heads snapped towards the television where the Captain had just kicked, arguably, the goal of the year.

  “Actually . . .” She paused as he turned back to face her, “Tessa recently got engaged, and she’s having a big party to celebrate. She invited me, and a guest. Would you like to come?”

  “I’d love to go. Thanks.”

  “Great.”

  “Drink?” he asked. “Should I get a menu as well?”

  She nodded and once he’d moved to the bar, she sneaked her phone from her pocket and brought up her messenger app. Ashton was showing up as online. Her finger hovered over the icon revealing his face with his glistening, white teeth and perfectly combed hair. She longed to tell him that despite how he’d ended things and having to return to Australia with her tail between her legs, that the joke was on him.

  Leon returned, two glasses in hand and a menu sticking out from under his arm. He sat next to her in the booth.

  She slipped her phone back into her bag. “Next to me?” she asked, taking a sip of her wine. “This is a bit cosy, isn’t it?”

  “I could say it was so we could both look at the menu.”

  She smiled.

  “Or was it that obvious I wanted to do this?” He put his arm around her shoulder.

  His body was warm against hers and his arm felt strong and secure—not surprising given how muscular it had looked in his work t-shirts when he’d come into the café.

  She tilted her head up. “Totally obvious. But I approve.”

  “That’s good news.”

  Their eyes met, and she was overtaken by an aching sensation of wanting to be held and kissed. Properly kissed. Passionately. Uncontrollably. Desperately.

  The noise from the pub disappeared as she moved her eyes to his lips.

  He cupped her chin and butterflies hurtled through her stomach as she cuddled further into the crook of his arm, bringing their faces closer.

  As their lips met, a loud cheer sounded through the pub, and while she knew it was in response to some of the game’s highlights on the big screen, it was almost like the universe was sending her a message that it was okay to move on.

  In fact, it was the best play she could make.

  Chapter 18

  Bebe pulled on a pair of ankle boots, a floral dress and her biker jacket. She wound a long set of amber beads she’d found at a flea market outside of Paris around her neck and flicked her hair.

  The events of the morning remained with her. Had Greg seen her? Or had he been too wrapped up in his files and papers that he’d simply never noticed a girl peering at him from behind a pole.

  She wasn’t sure, but either way, her visit reconfirmed that she needed to find out more about Arne. And with no family to ask, and all the relevant documents she had been able to find in her possession, she’d need to undertake some research.

  That, however, would have to wait. Tonight, she had a date with Harry, and was looking forward to the distraction.

  Stepping outside, rain sprinkled the umbrella over her head and the pavement around her as she walked to the tram stop. The crisp, drizzly weather was invigorating and romantic. It was the season of crackling fires, full glasses of red wine and snuggling under chunky, knitted blankets.

  She sniffed the air—the smell of rain demanded being cosy, and when she was cosy? That was as close as it got to home for her.

  Folding her umbrella, she boarded the tram and tapped her hand against the rail as they trundled towards the cinema Harry had suggested for their date.

  Her stomach flipped when she saw him standing under the black and white awning of a restaurant next to the cinema.

  He was wearing a black velvet blazer over jeans and a white shirt. A red-spotted handkerchief popped out of the pocket. Oh, his style!

  The tram stopped and as the doors sprung open, their eyes met and they exchanged a smile.

  “Hello,” she said, kissing him on the cheek. “This is perfect weather for a movie.”

  “Couldn’t agree more. Do you want to get something to eat first? This place is fantastic.” He gestured at the bistro behind him.

  She wasn’t hungry. Her appetite certainly was down at the moment, but as she glanced through the window of the candlelit bistro, complete with white tablecloths and vases of red flowers on the tables, she changed her mind about getting a bite to eat. The restaurant was inviting and the idea of being tucked up inside with Harry and a glass of pinot noir was very tempting.

  “I could have a little something to eat,” she told him. “And a glass of wine?”

  “Sounds like a deal. After you.” He held open the door and they walked through.

  Seated at a table near the glow of a fireplace, they ordered a cassoulet.

  “Is there any parsley in that?” she asked the waiter.

  “As a garnish, yes.”

  “That’s fine,” she said, handing him her menu. She could remove it.

  Harry tilted his head. “You don’t like parsley either? Michelle thinks she’s allergic to it.”

  Bebe’s cheeks flushed. “It sometimes tickles my throat.”

  “There we go. I better remember not to give either of you any parsley at Espresso Walk.”

  She re-arranged the napkin across her lap and smiled. “So, tell me a little more about working at Espresso Walk.”

  “There’s not that much to tell. Your job is much more interesting.”

  She leaned back as the waiter poured them each a glass of wine. “I don’t think it’s more interesting than yours, but I do love it. I can’t imagine doing anything else.”

  “When does your class start in New York?” he asked, taking a sip of wine.

  “In about six weeks. I’m waiting for my visa and then I’ll book tickets.”

  He leaned forward. “What does it involve?”

  “It’s intense, but you learn from the best in the business, and just about everyone who successfully completes it ends up at a big fashion house. It’s widely respected in the industry.” She became lost in their conversation about L’Or, and started when the waiter placed the cassoulet between them, accompanied by rustic, crunchy bread and creamy butter.

  They washed it down with a glass of fruity pinot noir and talked about their favourite movies, art and travel destinations, the conversation flowing across the flic
ker of candlelight.

  After the meal and coffee, they walked into the art-deco style cinema, where they took their seats and, within moments of the opening credits, she found herself lost in the gorgeous 1940s fashion, especially the beautiful cuts of the suits. They were so impeccably tailored. She actually let out a sigh at times when she saw Cary Grant. What a stylish man.

  The stylish man who she was on a date with rested his hand on the armrest between them. She looked at it out of the corner of her eye before placing her hand next to his. They weren’t quite touching, but their hands were so close, a coin could have barely slipped between them.

  Her heartbeat accelerated as she moved a fingertip to his hand. He glanced sideways, and pushed his fingertip against hers so they were almost playing a game of footsies but with their pinkie fingers.

  A shiver of excitement hurtled through her body; far greater than what she would have expected from such a seemingly innocent move.

  The movement, so small, yet so intimate and romantic, continued for the rest of the movie.

  The film ended and the lights slowly rose, her heart gave a little jolt when he took her hand and they walked from the cinema slowly.

  “Cab?”

  She nodded, and he flagged down a waiting taxi. Light from the streetlamps flashed by the window, and once again, she reached out so their hands were touching as they discussed the movie.

  Disappointed the trip wasn’t longer, she pulled the key from her bag as the cab pulled up in front of her apartment complex. Harry got out and moved around to the other side of the car, and held the door open for her.

  “Thank you,” she said as she slid out. “And for the movie and dinner. I had a really nice time.”

  Harry took her hand, and she stepped towards him. “I did too,” he said.

  Her lips parted as he leaned into her and kissed her. Like the subtle, spine-tingling sensation of their hands meeting in the movie theatre, his kiss was soft and tender.

  She started when he pulled back, wishing it could have gone on for longer, like every other part of the night.