The Things We Never Knew

by Megan Mayfair

  “Can I call you tomorrow?” he asked.

  “Of course.” She smiled.

  They said their goodbyes and she walked up the steps of the building and watched as the taxi departed.

  Unlocking the door, she realised the hall lamp was still on. Her mother didn’t appear to have arrived home, despite the late hour.

  As she lay down in her bed, she reached for the packet of aspirin she kept in her bedside table. She paused and brought a hand to her temple. Her head felt clear. This was the first day in so long she’d not had a headache. The jet lag was over and perhaps she was beginning to feel more settled, or maybe the date had relaxed her.

  Was Melbourne starting to feel like home? She may have been born here, but like everywhere else she’d lived, home was a vague concept rather than a reality, but thanks to a warm quilt, a romantic evening and a tender kiss with Harry, it was the closest to home she’d felt in a very long time.

  Chapter 19

  Leon juggled his reusable coffee cup while whistling a tune and holding the door open for a woman with a pram.

  “He’s drinking a lot of coffee,” Harry teased Michelle. “He’ll be bouncing off the walls of his worksite.”

  She blushed. She was getting used to seeing Leon’s face when he dropped by to have a coffee made, and ask her on another date before disappearing back to work. “You should be happy. I’m bringing in more customers.”

  “Yes. You never stop working.” Harry pulled cups from the dishwasher and handing them to her to stack back on the coffee machine. “But he’s a nice guy.”

  She sighed. “Yeah. Maybe too nice.”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “I’m not really used to it.”

  Harry frowned. “Your other boyfriends haven’t been nice?”

  She stared at the coffee cup in her hand. Nice wasn’t the word for Ashton, that was for sure. Her boyfriend before him—one she’d tried to keep a long-distance relationship going with—had been okay. “Not as friendly as Leon.”

  “Friendliness is an underrated quality.” Harry wiped his hands on a tea towel.

  “Maybe so.” Leon wouldn’t treat her like Ashton had, yet there was something a little dangerous about Ashton that, despite their brutal break-up, still had a hold on her. Maybe it was that sleek, cool attitude that made everything a little exciting.

  Leon was good-looking and sweet, but exciting? When they kissed, she would feel excitement pool in her stomach, but that was different—that was her body’s reaction to a guy as attractive as Leon.

  Exciting? That was more—it was attitude, spontaneity, creativity.

  “Are those women waving at you?” Harry pointed towards the door. “Are they familiar to you, or just strange?”

  Michelle looked up to find Mum and Lauren taking up a position at a table near the front window. “They are strange, but also familiar. That’s my mum and sister.”

  Harry nodded. “Ah yes, Clare told me a few stories about them when we worked together at Double Shot.”

  “They’re all true.”

  “But, you don’t know what she said.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “I can guess.” She collected two menus and approached their table. “Are you here for lunch?”

  “We are.” Lauren leaned forward. “But we also want to know if you’re ready for the competition?”

  “What competition?” Michelle handed them the menus and put her hands on her hips.

  “The competition,” Lauren repeated.

  Michelle shook her head. “You can’t keep on saying the same word over and over again and expect me to understand. I need more information!”

  “Is she serious?” Her sister asked their mother, before turning back to Michelle. “It’s the Fitzgerald Family Master Chef Trophy Challenge,” Lauren said this slowly and carefully as if Michelle were a dim-witted fool.

  “Oh. Sorry, I forgot.” She had forgotten. On purpose perhaps?

  Mum’s mouth hardened into a firm line. “We have to beat Pete this year. I’m getting sick of his smug face.”

  “Smug face? I thought he was your favourite child?” Everyone knew Pete was the golden boy of the family. He had the most photos on the wall in the house.

  “When he beats me in the competition he most certainly isn’t.” Mum folded her arms.

  Lauren sniffed. “I really thought I might have won last year with my chocolate tart, until someone sabotaged me.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Mum looked away, seemingly intrigued by a saltshaker on the table. “That pastry was far too flaky.”

  “You should see what I have planned for this year,” Lauren said. “You don’t need to worry about Pete; I’ll be the one to beat.”

  “Do you want to know what I’m making?” Michelle asked.

  Her sister scoffed. “Not really. It’s not like you’re a threat or anything. I thought you might have the inside word on what Pete’s doing.”

  “Well, that’s nice, isn’t it? I might just have a secret recipe. I’d be cautious, if I were you.” Michelle folded her arms.

  “Maybe. But if you know what Pete is cooking, let us know. Clare was cagey the other night, and I thought maybe Tessa had been slipping them some extra-special family recipes.”

  “Remember when Clare brought home Tessa’s gnocchi?” Lauren asked.

  They appeared to contemplate the gnocchi in silence.

  “It was like eating clouds of potato.” Her sister whispered. “I’ve been unable to order gnocchi again at any restaurant. It’s ruined me.”

  “Okay. I have other customers to look after. Have a look at the menu and let me know what you want.”

  Hurrying back to the kitchen, Michelle slipped inside and stood beside Gabriel. “I need your help with something.”

  “What can I do?”

  “I have a family cooking competition coming up.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “A what?”

  “It’s a long story, but basically, we all cook a dish and then my dad blind-tastes them. There’s a trophy, but it gets really nasty. People try to cheat and sabotage each other’s dishes.”

  He blinked—perhaps at the sheer ludicrousness of it—but nodded. “Okay.”

  “And because I’m basically the family screw-up—”

  Gabriel tilted his head. “You are?”

  “I was thrown out of university,” she told him. “I’m always making stupid decisions.”

  “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thrown out of uni. I didn’t even get into university, but I know something of being the black sheep in the family.” He paused, before nodding. “What can I do to help?”

  “Thank you!” This was her secret weapon. “I need to blow them away. They think I can’t cook anything worthwhile, but if you can show me something amazing, maybe I can win.”

  “Okay. Do you want to come in early when I’m doing preparation—”

  “Early? How early?”

  He smiled. “Early.”

  She paused. She wasn’t exactly a morning person, but it was worth giving up sleep to gain a competitive advantage over her family. It certainly would be nice, for once, not to be the black sheep of the Fitzgerald clan.

  Chapter 20

  Bebe sat with Harry on a park bench near Espresso Walk. It was a beautiful autumn day where the light had a warming amber glow. The breeze was gentle and the colours of the trees were golden, red and brown. Autumn was a comforting time. A slowing time. A time to change. A time to start over.

  He broke apart a chocolate and cherry muffin and handed her half. “These are our signature at the café.”

  She bit into the fluffy cake and let out a small moan of delight as the taste of chocolate, sour cherry and vanilla hit her tongue.

  “Good?” He raised an eyebrow.

  “So good.” She took a second bite, revelling in the sweetness. The simplicity of it was a masterstroke, but the ingredients all came together in a way that was homey and comforting, yet with a tiny bite of sourness.<
br />
  Maybe she needed some inspiration for her design of Tessa’s dress from Tessa’s own cooking—a classic combination, but with an unexpected twist.

  “What are you doing tonight?” Harry asked.

  She brushed the crumbs from her dress. “Nothing.”

  “You want to go to a club with me?” He handed her what she had thought was his half of the muffin. He was as sweet as the cakey treat.

  “A nightclub?”

  “In like an old-school way, yes. I play at a jazz club every month.”

  She paused. “Play?”

  He mimicked holding drumsticks and tapping on an imaginary drum kit.

  “In a band?”

  He nodded. “We used to play more gigs, but our saxophonist became a corporate sell-out and we couldn’t quite juggle that many gigs.”

  “Oh.” She smiled. “Creative differences.”

  He laughed. “Tell me about it, but we do play sometimes at a little place in town.”

  “That’s cool.” She’d always been drawn to music. She couldn’t play an instrument, and her singing voice could best be described as ‘nails against a chalkboard’ in pitch, but she loved the way she could get carried away by the rhythm and lyrics of a song. “I’d love to go with you.”

  He stood up. “Great. I have to get back for the rest of my shift, but what about I pick you up around eight?”

  “Sounds good. I’ll come with you. I quite like working in Espresso Walk.”

  It really was a nice place to draw, Bebe decided, sitting in a corner booth. She smiled at Harry as she caught his eyes on her. His admission about his band had been unexpected but also rather intriguing. She was looking forward to that date.

  She drained more of her coffee, hoping it would give her a buzz. It certainly didn’t help her creativity when she felt so tired and foggy at the moment. She stretched out her arms.

  “How are you going?” Michelle slipped onto the chair opposite.

  “I’m struggling.”

  “I think it looks good. I like that one with the flowers.”

  “It’s just mucking around.” Bebe started sketching Michelle. She drew her cheekbones first. They were rather striking and gave her face a nice shape. She followed with the lips, nose and eyes.

  “Is that me?” Michelle asked.

  “Yep.” Bebe finished with the hair, glancing up to make sure she had the nose right—the Fitzgerald nose—and pushed the sketch towards her.

  Michelle beamed. “That’s so cool! You have to sign that. You’ll be famous one day.”

  “I don’t think so.” Even once she graduated from the L’Or Master Class, she’d have to work hard to be noticed in such a competitive field.

  She turned a sheet over in her notebook, where she continued her sketches for Tessa’s gown, though none of them seemed right.

  “How do you come up with stuff?” Michelle asked, curiously.

  “What do you mean?”

  “How do you think of a dress to design?”

  Bebe shrugged. “Sometimes I sort of dream stuff. It sounds weird, I know, but you know when you’re about to fall asleep? That’s when I get my best ideas.”

  “Do you remember them the next day?”

  Bebe pointed her pencil at Michelle. “That’s the only problem in the plan. Sometimes I don’t. Sometimes if I’m aware enough, I’ll get up and write things down.”

  “And if not?”

  “I guess they aren’t meant to be. Perhaps another designer will dream them.”

  “You think it works like that?” Michelle’s tone was curious.

  “I don’t know. I’ve stood in so many art galleries and design studios, and I wish I knew where inspiration came from exactly.”

  Michelle narrowed her eyes. “I think you’re born with it. Look how talented you are. It’s probably genetic.”

  Bebe shifted in her chair. “Genetic?”

  “I mean, your mother is so good with art and things, it makes sense that you would have a good eye.”

  “Oh. I guess so.” She rested her chin on her hands, allowing her heartbeat to return to normal.

  “Wherever it comes from, I’m sure it will strike you soon.” Michelle glanced at her watch. “Oh! I’d better get a move on, I’m seeing Leon for lunch.”

  “Have fun!”

  She stood and slipped the drawing into the pocket of her apron. “Thanks again for the sketch. Mum and Dad will get a kick out of that.”

  “My pleasure.”

  Bebe stared at her notebook. She hadn’t thought that Michelle might show her father the sketch. What if she mentioned her to him? Would he put two and two together if he recognised her surname?

  She drained her coffee.

  Getting to know Michelle had been dangerous. She glanced over to the counter where Michelle was telling Harry some sort of story, using her hands and some sort of exaggerated expressions as Harry laughed. Bebe smiled. It had been risky getting to know Michelle, but she was fond of her.

  She paid for her coffee and waved goodbye to Michelle and Harry. With the afternoon to herself and no further inspiration manifesting for Tessa’s gown, she caught the train to Melbourne Central Station. It was the perfect opportunity to continue her research.

  Upon alighting, she carefully consulted the map on her phone and followed the directions until she arrived at her destination: The State Library of Victoria.

  Her visit to the office where Greg, Arne and her mother had worked hadn’t provided her with any answers. She needed to know more about Arne, and with no luck with various Google searches, she needed to look in places other than the internet.

  Arne’s motorcycle accident may have been in the newspaper at the time. Such old newspapers weren’t online, but after speaking to someone at the State Library of Victoria earlier that week, they were able to confirm they had newspapers on microfilm from that time.

  Entering the library, she momentarily stopped and admired the great old building. University students scuttled past her as she found someone to ask for help with the newspapers.

  She entered a small, dimly lit room at the back, filled with desks and large machines, the likes of which she’d really only ever seen in old movies. She’d certainly not used microfilm before, but quickly grew confident with the machine as the attendant demonstrated how to perform a search.

  Crouched on her ankle books, she flicked through the archives, located the film for dates she needed and settled in at a machine.

  She knew when Arne had passed away, but she wasn’t certain if there would be any record in the newspaper, or what date it might feature on. It may not have been reported until days after the event.

  She pushed a button and the pages of the old newspapers whirled by. She paused and inspected an advertisement for clothing, taking in the cut of the 1990s floral dresses. There was simplicity in the cut that she liked. But this wasn’t the time for that, so she continued to flick through, yawning as the papers sped up in front of her eyes, whizzing past her in a blur.

  She had to pause a couple of times to allow her eyes to settle down as the movement became dizzying, but, finally, she stopped.

  There it was. A newspaper article dated a few months before she was born.

  It spoke of a road accident that had occurred in the morning and Arne Andersson, aged twenty-five, had been killed when his motorcycle had been clipped by another vehicle.

  Her heartbeat sped up. She read the article again. There wasn’t much detail other than a quote from a police officer urging witnesses to come forward, and that the driver was ‘assisting police with their inquiries’.

  There was no mention of her mother, or anything about having a baby on the way. The final quote in the article was from a Greg Fitzgerald, saying he was in shock and Arne had been a friendly and talented co-worker.

  She leaned back in her chair in the darkened room as she looked at Greg’s name. How come whenever she looked up her father, she kept coming back to Greg Fitzgerald?

  T
he truth was that memories and blood types and left-handedness and parsley and quotes in the newspaper were all very well and good, but they weren’t definitive proof of anything.

  It could take years trying to sew all these little pieces of information together. She didn’t have years. She had weeks until she would be in New York on the next chapter of her life, and career.

  It was time. She needed to take drastic action to find out who her father was once and for all.

  Chapter 21

  “What’s that?” Leon stabbed a finger at the menu.

  “What’s what?” She raised her voice over the noise of the bustling Vietnamese restaurant they were seated in.

  “I can’t pronounce it.” He turned the menu to face her.

  “Oh, Phở. You say it like ‘fuh’.”

  “However you say it, it sounds pretty good.”

  “It’s delicious.” Her stomach rumbled as a waiter brought out a crispy Banh Mi and placed it at the table next to them.

  Michelle gave him a smile, and placed their orders.

  “Thank goodness you’re here,” Leon said. “Otherwise I’d look a complete idiot to the waiter.”

  She smiled. There wasn’t anything idiotic about him.

  “What are you doing later?”

  “Nothing.” She shrugged. “I have the rest of the day off. Did you want to do something? See a movie or go for a drink?”

  He ran a hand through his hair. “I’ve already committed to something, but you’re welcome to come. It’s not glamorous and it’ll be hard work.”

  “Sounds like my life.”

  He smiled. “My niece’s preschool is having a working bee. I said I’d do some repairs on a cubby house for them and check their window locks.”

  Okay. Even though he’d warned her, it wasn’t what she’d been expecting. She glanced down at her jeans, boots and silky shirt she’d purchased in Canada. She wasn’t really dressed for constructing play equipment, despite having a pair of sneakers in the car.

  “I might need to change my clothes. I’m not really dressed for yard work.”

  “I can loan you a work shirt,” he offered. “It’ll be fun, but if you would prefer to do something else, that’s fine.”