The Things We Never Knew

by Megan Mayfair

  He stopped, and pulled her into him. He wrapped his arms around her waist and their noses touched. His felt cold as it rubbed against hers. She closed her eyes, the sound of the street fading into nothing as she became lost in him and their lips met.

  His hands stroked her hair and she grasped at the back of his jacket, pulling him further into her body.

  She wasn’t sure how long they were like this, but when a noisy gaggle of teenagers passed and giggled, she cleared her throat. What was it about him that made her unable to control herself when it came to public displays of affection?

  He grinned and took her hand. They continued to walk. “Do you want to take the tram home, or get an Uber?”

  She paused and bit her lip. It was too early for her to end this evening with just a kiss. She wanted more. She wanted him. “Could we go back to your place?”

  He smiled. “I’d like that.”

  They held hands as they took the tram, exchanging small glances at each other and smiles that made her heart flutter with anticipation.

  His apartment was furnished with a dark brown leather couch, a 1960s style, oval coffee table, a tall lamp and a rug with a geometric brown and aqua pattern on it. The whole effect was cool, effortlessly cool, actually.

  He brought over two small, white espresso cups on saucers and sat next to her, and the closeness of his body next to hers made her feel charged up.

  He cupped her chin, and their lips met in a slow and tender kiss. It was like they had all the time in the world compared to the fast and frenzied kiss that had shaken her entire world outside that jazz club.

  His hand skimmed across her thigh, and he pushed at the fabric of her dress up, only a few centimetres. She moved his hand further along her thigh.

  She wanted his hands on her body and to feel as close to him as she could. The undeniable mental, or perhaps spiritual connection needed an earthly element to feel even more real.

  Tugging at his shirt buttons, she moved her hand up against the warm, smooth skin of his torso and let out an involuntarily moan as his mouth moved across her face, kissing her jawline and neck. She grasped at his back, digging her nails in, urging their bodies closer together.

  She felt for the zip on the side of her dress, when Harry’s hand met hers. He raised his eyebrows, as if seeking approval. She nodded, and pushed his hand so the zip parted.

  He stood up, and paused. “You are so beautiful.” He held out his hand.

  She took it and he pulled her to her feet. As they made their way to the bedroom, she felt the pure chemical reaction take over, leaving her feeling light-headed and a little love-drunk as he slipped her dress over her head and lay her down on the bed.

  As his lips moved down along her bra, down her stomach, she allowed herself to close her eyes, and for the first time since she landed in Melbourne, her mind fell silent.

  Chapter 25

  “This is awesome.” Leon ate the rest of the pasta Michelle made him as they sat on the sofa in his living room.

  “I’m learning a lot from Gabriel.” She placed her bowl down on the coffee table. She’d gone in early four times over the past few weeks and each time had learned a lot, and enjoyed herself.

  “But you still made that by yourself. You must be a fast learner.” He took a sip of his wine and removed his phone from his pocket. He pulled her into him and snapped a selfie of them together.

  “Are you putting that on Instagram?” she asked as he flipped back to the shot and showed her.

  “Nah. Just for me to remind me what a beautiful girlfriend I have. Or do you want me to post it?”

  “Goodness no! Look at me!” She pointed to her hair, scooped up in a messy bun, and wiped flour dust off her top.

  “You look cute,” he insisted. “I like it.”

  “Are you on Instagram?” She’d searched for him a couple of times, but had been unable to find him, or more specifically, any evidence of any former girlfriends.

  “Yeah, but I use a handle and don’t have a profile picture. I should look you up though.”

  He hadn’t looked her up on socials? Really? “Here I am.” She pushed her phone towards him.

  “How do you have that many followers?” His mouth was open. “Are you a celebrity in Japan?”

  She giggled.

  “Oh, there’s my noodles from the other day!” He squinted. “You know moving that chilli really did make it look better. Who’s that guy?” He held up her phone to her, revealing a photo of her and Ashton.

  “Oh.” She ducked her head. Was Leon the jealous type? “An ex of mine. Sorry.”

  He tilted his head. “Don’t be sorry. We all have exes. What was his deal?”

  “I went out with him in Canada. It didn’t end well. I should delete it.”

  “Nah. Exes are part of our history.”

  She held out her hand. “Okay. Your turn. Hand it over.”

  He tapped on his phone and handed it to her. “I have thirty followers and I’ve probably posted one picture in my life so there’s not much to see on my account.”

  Thirty? He was right. And he most certainly didn’t post anything. There was one photo of a beach somewhere and one taken at the football. “Why even bother to have an account?”

  “I like to keep in touch with people. Sometimes if mates go overseas, it’s handy for touching base. But that’s about it. I guess I don’t really want people to know my every move.”

  “Are you on the run from the law?” she teased.

  “No.”

  “Why don’t you post anything?”

  “I don’t know. I forget to take photographs, and some I like just to be my memories, you know.”

  She glanced at him. “You’re not into posting pictures of the girls you date.”

  He cleared his throat. “Is that a sneaky way of asking me to open the ex-files?”

  Yes. “Only if you want to.”

  He rubbed his neck. “Not much to tell. Pip was my longest relationship. We broke up last year. Nice girl, but it was like being with a friend.”

  “Is that a bad thing? Friendship is a good basis of long-lasting relationships.” That’s what her parents always said. They’d been married for well over thirty years and they still snuggled together on the sofa while watching television and gave each other mushy cards for Valentine’s Day.

  “I don’t disagree, but you need that spark there. That little buzz that’s more than just hanging with a mate.” He held her phone out to her. “Why do you post so many photos?”

  She took back her phone and scrolled through her feed. “I like to show people what I’ve been up to. I want people to know I’ve been doing exciting things.”

  “Why? Why do you care what they think?”

  She put down the phone. Why did she care so much? “I don’t know. There’s something satisfying about people liking my photos.”

  He frowned. “Why?”

  “It makes me feel good. When I see that little icon lit up with comments and likes, it makes me feel special.”

  “You shouldn’t need likes or comments to feel like that. You are special.” He leaned forward and dusted some flour off her nose. “Your photos look great. But I really like the real you, not a virtual version.”

  She crawled onto his lap and ran her fingertip along his jawline. “I guess a virtual person can’t do this.” She leaned forward and kissed him, allowing her body to melt into his.

  “No, they can’t,” he agreed.

  “And they definitely can’t do this,” she whispered, with a flick of her hair and puffing out her lips in a way that she hoped looked pouty and seductive.

  At that point, Leon shifted and she lost her balance. She shrieked as she crashed to the floor and her shoulder slammed into Leon’s polished floorboards. “Ouch,” she whimpered.

  “Michelle!” He leaned forward and helped her up to a sitting position. “Are you okay? Anything broken?”

  “No, I don’t think so.” She sighed. “I was trying to be sexy.�
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  “You are sexy.” He sat next to her on the floor and massaged her shoulder.

  She raised an eyebrow. “Really? Even when I fall over?”

  “All the time.”

  She hesitated. “What about spark?”

  He scoffed. “Are you kidding me? You’re a firework.”

  She blushed as he leaned into her and their lips met and he brought his arms around her.

  Her feelings for Ashton had been like an out of control bushfire, Leon had felt more like a friend in many ways so far, but as they kissed, his tongue exploring hers and his hand skimming along the curve of her waist, she wondered if maybe friendship, plus spark, was the secret to a successful relationship.

  Chapter 26

  What time was it? The hours had blurred together before Bebe had fallen asleep, lying in the crook of Harry’s arm.

  She grimaced. Her head was throbbing. She felt along the floor for something to put on and when she hit buttons, she picked up a garment. It was Harry’s shirt. She pulled it on and crept into the living room. She brought her arms around her as the coolness of the apartment left goosebumps on her skin. It had been cosy in that bed with Harry, and she was loathed to leave, but she’d never fall back to sleep with her head aching.

  Switching on his kitchen light, she removed a glass from the cupboard, filled it with water and fumbled around in her handbag for some aspirin, and returned to the bedroom with the tablets.

  A lamp by the side of his bed illuminated the room. Harry sat up. “Headache?”

  She nodded, took the aspirin and a big gulp of water, and climbed back into bed with him, bringing his arm around her.

  “Are you okay?” He stroked her hair back as she snuggled into him.

  She felt tears well in her eyes. It was so warm and comforting and happy here with Harry, and despite the thumping in her head, things felt calmer when she was next to him.

  “Yeah. I don’t know. I’ve been getting a lot of headaches. I thought it was jetlag or tiredness or not enough water, but I wonder now if it’s stress. I’ve been going through some stuff since I got here.”

  “Work?”

  She shook her head. “It’s about my father.” She’d never told this to anyone. It was one of the things about moving so much. She’d had friends, and boyfriends, but there was always a distance. An emotional barrier of sorts. She smoothed out the bedsheet. “I’ve been undertaking some research into his past. I want to know more about him.”

  “What sort of research? Can I help?”

  She shook her head. “That’s so nice of you, but not really. I went to the State Library to see if I could find a newspaper article about when he died.” There was no way known she could take Harry on such trips, despite his generous offer to help. What if he noticed a link with Greg Fitzgerald?

  “And did you find out anything?”

  “Not much. It was what my mother had said, that he was killed in a motorbike accident.”

  Harry stroked her arm. “I’m so sorry. What are you hoping to find out about him?”

  “I need to know….err…well,” She sat up. “This is where it gets a bit complicated.”

  He frowned. “Complicated?”

  “When I was a child, I overheard my mother talking to a friend. We were still in London, but we moved to Paris shortly after. It’s all just bits and pieces, some of which I barely remember.” She closed her eyes, recalling the conversation she’d heard through the kitchen door of their London apartment. “They were talking about a man. A man who couldn’t be a father to me as he wouldn’t leave his family.”

  Harry narrowed his eyes. “Okay. That must have been hard for a little kid to hear.”

  “I think I blocked some of it out, or didn’t sort of realise what it meant at the time, but over the years, along with some information, I’ve begun to wonder who that man was and whether he was actually my real father.”

  “This man who wouldn’t leave his family?” Harry rubbed his chin. “You think your mother lied to you about the identity of your father?”

  “I wonder.”

  He paused. “That’s a big deal. Why would she have done that?”

  “If he couldn’t leave his family, maybe they had an affair and she wanted to protect me from that. Maybe it was easier for me to think my father had died rather than a man who didn’t want anything to do with me.” Her voice wobbled on the final words.

  “How old were you when you heard this?”

  “I was small. Maybe five. I wondered if perhaps she’d been in touch with him and tried to make it work, but he wouldn’t leave his wife.”

  “Perhaps. Did you ask her?”

  “I was five. It didn’t mean much to me. As I got older, I remembered it and started asking questions about Arne, and she’d always get cagey and so adamant that it would always just be the two of us. You and me. Me and You. That was our mantra.” She snuggled into Harry.

  “That’s a good mantra.”

  She nodded. “I know, and I’m grateful for everything my mother has done for us. I’ve lived an incredible life and I know that, but sometimes you can’t help but wonder…”

  “About whether this other man is your father?”

  “And what life could have been like. Could I have had that suburban, family life if they could have been together? But what could that have done? Could that have deprived another family of their father?” She swallowed. She wanted to tell Harry her fears about Greg Fitzgerald, and how if he left his family, he would have left Michelle.

  But it was too crazy. She trusted Harry, but he was also friends with Michelle.

  She wasn’t sure what any of this meant, and it could have far-reaching consequences if something ever came out about it. It could tear a family apart.

  “Maybe you should ask your mum a few more questions. You could be worrying yourself over nothing. Maybe there’s a simple explanation for what you heard.”

  Bebe shook her head. “Every time I even mention anything about my father, she shuts down. She doesn’t want to talk about it. I think she’s hiding something. Something big.”

  “Or maybe it’s just painful for her, but I’m sure she wouldn’t like you getting stressed about it.”

  “I also don’t want her to think I’m ungrateful. She has given up so much for me and shown me the world. I studied at amazing schools and universities. I’ve ridden camels in Egypt, I’ve been to palaces and galleries. I’ve met artists and actors and been to glamourous parties, but at the same time…”

  “You never felt home?”

  She blinked back tears and shook her head.

  He drew her in close to him and kissed the crown of her head, leaving her in no doubt that at that moment, there was nowhere else in the world she’d rather be.

  Chapter 27

  When the alarm went off a little after four-thirty, it hadn’t bothered Michelle as it had the first time she’d worked in the kitchen with Gabriel. Was she turning into an early riser?

  It certainly helped when Leon brought her a cup of coffee to help her wake up, rather than her mother mistaking her for an intruder and threatening to hit her over the head with a kitchen appliance.

  “I could get used to this,” she said as she sipped the coffee, snuggling up to him in bed.

  “It’s not as good as you make.”

  She smiled. “Not just the coffee, but being here with you. It’s nice.”

  “It is.”

  “Meet you back here later?”

  He grinned. “Sounds good. What’s for dinner?”

  “Let’s see what Gabriel teaches me today.” She flung back the quilt cover and handed him the coffee cup.

  “Tell him that I really like lamb,” he mused, kissing the top of her forehead.

  They both got ready, and he dropped her off at Espresso Walk.

  “Thanks for the lift.” She leaned over the gear stick and kissed him.

  “My pleasure. I’m going to go to a couple of jobs but I’ll come back for coffee
at lunchtime.”

  “I’d like that.” She gave him another kiss and climbed out, closing the door as he gave her a wave and whistled a cheery tune.

  There was something delightfully domestic about their situation in the morning—something she always thought she wanted to run from, but could it be just wanted she needed?

  “You’re good at this,” Gabriel said later that morning as Michelle pulled a chocolate orange cake from the oven. He had his arms folded and was watching her carefully. “You’ve made great progress over the past few weeks.”

  “Really?” Michelle had never considered herself a cook, let alone a good one. She’d learned a few basics, but she’d always thought that Pete was the chef of the family. She took in the smell of the cake and her stomach rumbled.

  “You are. Have you practised the éclairs at home? Remember the oven will vary. These are commercial ovens here; they will heat differently to your one at home”

  She nodded. She’d carefully made notes about the steps in the process and had thought about the difference in temperatures of the ovens. “Yes. I need to find a time when no-one will be home so they don’t get suspicious.”

  He quirked an eyebrow. “It sounds very competitive.”

  “Everything in my family is.”

  “If you want to come in early on Thursday, I’m happy to run through them again here.”

  She paused. “Thanks, Gabriel. That’s so nice.”

  He smiled. “I have an ulterior motive. Last time we made éclairs they sold out in by nine-thirty.”

  “You’re a good teacher.”

  “You’re a good student,” he said.

  “I don’t think anyone has ever said that about me.”

  “I think you’re going to prove yourself to your family in this competition.” He grinned. “Sometimes the black sheep comes through, yeah?”