Page 9 of In the Long Run

KNOX

The flat’s quiet when we get back. I leave Gen in the courtyard with Madeleine and Chouquette, ducking inside to grab two plates and a couple of knives. Impulsively I swipe a blanket off the back of the couch as well.

Gen’s sitting at one of the wrought-iron chairs that matches the little table Eugene’s had forever.

Her hands are wrapped around her coffee, and she’s untied her hair so it tumbles everywhere.

Her nose is pink, cheeks all rosy, mouth plump.

Every time I see Gen, she’s more beautiful than I let myself remember.

If I allowed myself to have a type, she’d be it.

And she runs. Active women have always been my kryptonite.

‘Thanks,’ she says when I pass her a plate.

Her gaze doesn’t stay on me for long though.

She cocks her head to the side and rolls her lips inside her mouth, surveying the park in front of us.

It seems like there’s something on her mind, but I don’t want to pry, so I sip my coffee and pull out the chair next to her.

The metal feet scratch along the pavers.

Wherever he is right now, Yeti’s shaking his head at me.

He shouldn’t be surprised though. I’ve never been confident talking to women.

A therapist would suggest it has something to do with always bracing myself for people to leave when they find out what happened when I was younger. And they wouldn’t be wrong.

Eventually I think of something to say. ‘Brought you a blanket too in case you get cold.’

Gen’s running tights and jacket cling to her curves but they don’t look warm enough, considering the sun’s still climbing into the sky. She hums appreciatively and wraps herself in the tartan blanket. Unsurprisingly, she looks great in it too.

I sit and nudge the box from Alizée’s towards her. ‘Ladies first.’

She places her drink on the table and taps her fingers against the top of the cardboard. ‘How do you feel about cake for breakfast?’

Not favourably, but I keep that to myself. ‘It’s all yours.’

Gen lifts the slice of opera cake and holds it in front of me. ‘I’ve had indecent thoughts about this cake, it’s that good.’

I hide my smile in the top of my coffee cup. This is more like the night we met, before I stuffed everything up. I want to keep the easy, fun conversation going, so I say, ‘Should I leave the two of you alone together?’

She puffs out a laugh, the noise warming me more than the hot beverage I’m drinking. ‘Maybe.’

I shake my head and lean back in the chair, stretching my legs out and crossing my ankles.

Gen pushes the box back towards me and I pick up a miniature quiche Lorraine that Celeste added to my order.

It’s exactly how I remember: smoky bacon and sweet yet nutty Gruyère cheese.

I’m mid-bite when Gen moans softly, her eyes fluttering closed as her tongue darts out between her lips, chasing the smudge of buttercream in the corner of her mouth.

‘You’re missing out, Knox,’ she says, eyes still closed.

On so much, I want to tell her. But these are the consequences of the choices I made.

‘Sure you don’t want a bite?’

The quiche turns to dust in my mouth. I bet she tastes like coffee and sugar. Sweets have never appealed before but right now, I’d eat a bag of sugar if I could pretend it’s Gen. ‘You’ve got a little bit of …’

Her thumb swipes at her lips but misses the errant buttercream. ‘Did I get it?’

‘No, it’s, ah, here.’ I reach for her. Christ, her skin is soft. Her eyes flare when I gently smooth my thumb against her mouth.

She jumps up and I jerk back.

‘You know what, I should get out of your hair. But if there’s anything I can do to help Eugene’—she waves towards the glass doors that separate the courtyard from the flat—‘let me know. I can easily squeeze it in around my bookkeeping. And I’m always at home.’ She scoops her keys off the table.

I’m momentarily distracted by the glittery ‘G’ key chain because she doesn’t strike me as a glitter girl, but then her words filter through.

Bookkeeper.

Could Gen help me sort out the financial mess Alizée’s has found itself in?

‘Remember’—Gen’s stern tone is derailed by the faint smear of chocolate still lingering on her lip—‘it’s okay to accept help.’

The problem is that I’m not the one who’s going to need convincing.

Choosing a superpower is something I thought about a lot as a kid.

The answer was always the same. Invisibility didn’t interest me; I’d managed that on my own.

Really, my parents had gifted it to me by being so wrapped up in their own lives that they never bothered to pay attention to mine.

Until everything fell apart, of course. Then invisibility would’ve been very welcome.

No, if I’d stumbled across a genie in a lamp, I wouldn’t have needed three wishes.

Because how good would it be if you could read minds?

Case in point: right now. Eugene’s flicking listlessly through one of his favourite recipe books.

If I could read his mind, I’d know how to help him without asking the questions that will upset both of us, because even if Eugene is trying to convince himself that it’s time to let go of Alizée’s, I’m not.

It’s not just Eugene’s home away from home.

It was mine too for many years. A huge part of the safe haven he created for me when I was so lost and angry.

‘I can hear you thinking over there,’ Eug says.

Time to rip off the band-aid. ‘Just thinking about Alizée’s.’

His book closes with a soft thump. ‘Why?’

‘You still thinking about closing? Maybe selling?’

‘Possibly.’

‘Because of the letters on the bench?’

‘Guess I should’ve been expecting that.’ Eugene removes his glasses and tucks them over the neck of his faded navy cable knit jumper.

Even though he was born in Australia and grew up here, he’s always looked like he belongs in a tiny French seaside village.

He rubs his eyes before picking up a cushion and plucking at its tassels. ‘I wasn’t trying to hide it from you.’

I raise my eyebrows, trying to recreate the expression he used to give teenage-me when he knew I was full of shit, which was most of the time.

He smiles at my attempt before his expression flattens, lips pinching, eyes sad.

‘We’re supposed to tell each other things, Eug. What’s really going on?’

He tosses the cushion aside and immediately picks up the dark green blanket I put on the couch before he woke up. The tartan one Gen used this morning is folded neatly at the bottom of my bed and I don’t know why. That’s a lie; I don’t want to admit why. Not even to myself.

‘Do you remember the fire we had three years ago?’ he asks.

‘No.’

Guilt clouds his face for a second before clearing. ‘You were out field when it happened. On that big training exercise the Yanks come over for.’

I have a staff job right now, but my previous posting was with a unit that flew unmanned aerial vehicles, and I spent a lot of time on courses or out field.

For a second the flame of betrayal burns brighter as I wonder why Yeti or Celeste never mentioned a fire.

But Yeti hadn’t posted to Melbourne yet, and Celeste was going through her own stuff back then, too.

‘I made a mistake with my insurance. Accidentally let the policy lapse. Alizée’s had to close for five months, and I had to cover the repair costs myself. That was when they found the asbestos and it had to be checked. Then Mum needed to move into aged care, so I maxed out my redraw on this place.’

The mention of his mother sets my heart hammering. She and Eug might not hold me accountable for what happened to her, but I’ve never been able to forgive myself.

‘Add in the cost-of-living crisis and people are spending less on non-essential items. I don’t know how we’re still going.

Or,’ he pauses, throat working hard, his eyes squeezing shut and then opening again, ‘if I’ve got the fight left in me to keep going.

I’m old. I’m tired. I’m busted up. Sometimes you have to recognise that it’s time to give up. Let go of the dream.’

‘You should have told me.’ But even as I say the words I know why he didn’t. Celeste might think I’ve got the heart of a protector, but I learnt from the best. Eugene has always put me first, even though he had no obligation to do so.

He addresses the blanket instead of me. ‘I thought I had things under control, but you know how it goes – life keeps giving you lemons. Unfortunately they weren’t the type I could turn into lemon meringues.’

‘I could’ve helped.’ It’s true, too. The benefit of losing everything at such a young age means I’m very careful with everything now. My heart. My money. Living on base and eating at the Mess keeps my expenses down. Not that it matters. I’d give Eugene my last dollar without hesitation.

‘But I didn’t want you to. The mistakes of others aren’t your responsibility, Knox. When are you going to believe that?’

I flinch because his words poke at a wound that feels like it’s never going to heal.

Eugene’s shoulders slump. ‘I don’t mean it like that, mate. I know you don’t like to talk about the past.’

‘It doesn’t matter.’

Eugene shakes his head. ‘It matters to me. I’m supposed to be looking out for you, not coming to you for a handout because I made a stupid mistake.’

What goes unspoken is the reference to how I periodically get those requests from my parents.

Never a ‘hello, how are you, we miss you, we’re sorry’.

Just a text or email with bank details and a new version of the sob story they’ve been peddling for the last twenty years.

But I push aside the lump that appears in my throat whenever I think about the people who were supposed to love me and never did.

I swallow until speaking doesn’t feel impossible.

‘Do you really want to close Alizée’s?’ I ask. The gruffness in my tone isn’t helpful but all the feelings inside me have to come out some way.

‘I think it’s the right decision.’ The fact that he still won’t look at me tells me everything I need to know.

‘What if you give me a chance to see if I can turn it around while I’m here?’

‘I don’t know, mate. It’d be a lot of work.’

‘But what if I can come up with a sustainable business model so there’s less pressure on you? I’ve got ideas already.’

The first one: pay off the patisserie’s debts with my savings and get it back in black.

The second: call in that favour with Gen and find a way to keep it there.