Historical
Date Published: 11-26-2024
Two women. Two generations. A lifetime of secrets…
Sydney, 1989. When a secret trunk belonging to her enigmatic mother is delivered, Olivia Bennet’s safe and predictable world is thrown into disarray.
Inside the trunk, long-buried secrets tell of a different life that is totally foreign to shy and unadventurous Olivia. Secrets she’s certain her mother intended to stay hidden.
For the first time, Olivia has hope of finding answers about her father, and along with it, her identity. But only if she has the courage to face who she truly is.
Sydney, 1964. Amidst the vibrant backdrop of multicultural inner Sydney, Rosemary Benito plans to leave behind her painful past and embrace the freedom her new home offers.
While her exotic beauty attracts unwanted attention, if she works hard enough in her new country, Rosemary can become whatever—and whoever—she wants. She just has to make sure her old life doesn’t catch up with her.
Neither woman can change their pasts. But if they’re brave enough, they both have the power to determine their futures…
A poignant family saga full of love and loss that spans two generations. There’s Something About You, Olivia Bennet, reveals the tender bond between mother and daughter, the undeniable ties that bind generations together, and the importance of belonging.
Excerpt
Her mother had chosen the name.
Olivia.
Her only connection to her ancestral home, where groves of olive trees reached towards the Mediterranean Sea.
Elizabeth.
Symbolic of a life trapped in secrets.
Bennet.
From Benito. ‘To be more Australian.’
Olivia Elizabeth Bennet.
A name that held secrets. A reminder of the mysteries her mother had carried close to her heart.
Olivia was determined to make sense of them.
Olivia
Chapter 1
February 1989
Holding her pants up, Olivia hopped into the living room to catch the ringing phone. In her efforts to sidestep Gin, she lost her balance and landed hard on the floor. Groaning, she stretched up to the antique credenza and flicked the handset off its hook.
‘Hello?’ a voice called out from the receiver.
Using the cord, Olivia pulled the handset towards her.
‘I’m here!’ she shouted. She’d been trying to get a hold of Shirley for a few days. There was no way she was going to miss the call. She quickly untangled the cord and placed the receiver next to her ear. ‘I’m sorry. I was getting ready for work.’ She pulled herself up and sat against the wall.
‘Is this Olivia Bennet?’
‘Yes, it is.’
‘This is Matron Rixon,’ said the stern voice. ‘Shirley O’Connor was admitted this morning. She’s had a stroke. You’re listed as her next of kin.’
Olivia’s heart slammed against her chest. ‘Is she okay? Can I see her?’ She glanced at the clock. She was due downstairs at the shop. ‘I just need to find someone to take my shift.’
‘Miss Bennet, I believe this is a Sydney number?’
Olivia nodded frantically then realised the woman couldn’t see her. ‘Yes.’
It may not be best to come today. Mrs O’Connor is resting, and we have tests scheduled. Tomorrow would be better.’
Olivia fumbled to grab the pad and pencil on the credenza. ‘What ward is she in?’ The pencil shook as she scratched down the details the matron provided. ‘Please tell Shirley I’ll be up tomorrow. Thank you, Sister, for calling me.’
Her skin prickled with heat as she hung up. She needed some fresh air. After pulling herself up, she limped to the wooden French doors across the room. She rattled and pushed against the charcoal vintage handles, which already required some force to open. As the warm air blasted her, she sucked it in, working on stilling the panic in her chest.
Shirley had to be okay.
She wouldn’t be okay without her.
A car horn on Johnston Street made Olivia jump. She stepped back into the flat and jammed the doors shut with a clank. A heaviness settled in her chest. She glanced at the clock again and grimaced. She needed to compose herself before facing the Saturday-morning customers.
Taking slow, deep breaths, Olivia straightened the floral patchwork quilt on the gold two-seater she’d picked up at the retirement village where she volunteered. Tidying up usually had a soothing effect on her. She ran her hands along the length of it, teasing out the crinkles.
After checking that the tap in the old kitchen had been turned tight, she picked up her copy of Forrest Gump and tucked it in her handbag.
‘Gin,’ she called.
Her well-fed marmalade cat sauntered out of the bedroom. As soon as she opened her apartment door, he shot past her and down the wooden stairs. At the door to the street he meowed, itching to spend the day outside. He rubbed and wrapped himself around her legs as she unlocked the two bolts. The feel of his warm body on her bare ankles calmed her further, but when Olivia pulled open the door and Gin bolted down the street, her heart tightened again.
Today of all days, she wouldn’t be able to bear it if anything happened to him. She hoped he’d come hang out in the bookshop when it got too hot.
She turned to see a crowd of irritated adults and impatient children outside on the footpath. She checked her watch.
9:45 am.
Why wasn’t the shop open and where was Poppy?
‘I’m sorry.’ She avoided eye contact with the customers and fumbled for the keys in her backpack. ‘I’ll get the shop opened up right—’
‘I’ve been here since 9 am,’ said a woman wrangling a rambunctious toddler.
Olivia flushed. Saturday-morning story time was due to start in fifteen minutes. Where is Poppy?
She rushed into the shop to turn off the alarm, and the crowd filtered in after her. An audience of eager kids made themselves comfortable on the scattered cushions in the kids’ area while their parent began browsing—most likely the only peace they’d get that weekend.
With trembling hands, Olivia picked up the address book near the cash register and flicked the pages looking for Poppy’s number. When she found it, she tucked herself inside the door frame that led into the staff kitchenette behind the register.
Please answer, she prayed.
When someone picked up, she worked hard to keep her voice steady. ‘Good morning, my name’s Olivia Bennet and I work at Bertie’s Bookshop. Is Poppy there?’
The woman on the line informed her that Poppy had left for work.
Olivia did some calculations in her head. Poppy should be here by now. She fixated on the door, willing her to walk through. Poppy maintained a laissez-faire attitude to life and Olivia, although only a few years older at twenty-four, looked out for her like a big sister.
A squeal made her jump. The kids were getting bored. She thanked the woman and hung up then turned to see a mother with her hair pulled back tight in a ponytail tapping the counter with bright-red fingernails.
‘Excuse me. Isn’t story time supposed to start now?’
Olivia gulped. ‘I’m sorry. It shouldn’t be too long until we get going.’
She loved working at the bookshop, but the Saturday-morning shoppers weren’t her favourite. They weren’t locals but people from the outer suburbs who came into the city for a day out with their children.
Bertie’s Bookshop was renowned for its children’s books. Short sky-blue and orange shelves arranged asymmetrically stood like a maze around the kids’ area. On tiptoes, Olivia could just peer over the top of the highest shelves.
Wanting the shop to be comfortable, Bertie had added three large wing chairs for people to sit and read, each one a different design and colour. Every time Bertie renovated her townhouse in Rose Bay, a new wing chair found its way into the bookstore.
The woman glared at her. ‘You know you shouldn’t advertise an event if it’s non-existent.’
‘I’m sorry, but Poppy, the girl who runs story time, is running late. She should be here any minute.’ Olivia plastered on a nervous smile, willing the woman to accept this and not stand there giving her annoyed looks. Story time had been Poppy’s idea. She had a knack for knowing how to relate to children.
‘Well, why can’t you do it? I gather you can read. You do work in a bookstore after all.’
A chill drained the blood out of Olivia. Being the centre of attention, even if her audience was composed of pre-schoolers, terrified her. Plus, her scar would likely pique their curiosity, cementing the focus on her even more. Avoiding people meant no questions, and no questions meant she could keep her guilt buried. Before she could stammer out a response, a guy who looked to be about her age approached the counter. His bohemian attractiveness—tussled wavy hair and light stubble—forced her to catch her breath. Warmth flooded her body.
‘Excuse me,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry to interrupt, but I’m happy to do story time.’
‘You can?’ Olivia said, relief joining the warmth.
‘Sure. Happy to do it.’
‘Are you sure? It’s just that—’
‘It’s what I do nine to five,’ he interrupted with a grin. ‘. Well, nine to three. I teach primary kids.’ He glanced over to the kids’ area, where several toddlers were pulling books out of coloured crates. ‘Though under-fives aren’t my speciality. But kids are kids, right?’
Olivia nodded quickly. ‘Are you sure? There’s craft time afterwards too.’
Sebastian leaned over, and Olivia caught a whiff of his cologne—cedar and sandalwood.
‘Craft is my superpower,’ he said with a broad, cheeky smile activating a pair of dimples.
Olivia blushed. Then she quickly reached up and covered her scar with her hair. The redness would make it glow.
‘Thank you,’ she said, avoiding direct eye contact.
‘No worries. What’s the story?’
~ * ~
Poppy yawned and stretched. ‘I’m beat.’
Olivia nodded. It had been a long day, and worrying about Shirley hadn’t helped. People had streamed in non-stop, purchasing books for the new school year. Regardless of the time of year, though, the shop did well.
‘You can go home,’ Olivia said, continuing to wipe down the picture books with eucalyptus spray. ‘There won’t be many more people coming in this late in the day.’
‘Okey-dokey.’ Poppy’s blonde pigtails bounced as she hopped up from the stack of books she’d been sitting on near the register. ‘I’m going to make a toastie cheese sandwich before I go. Sorry again about being late this morning. I’ll make sure I get the earlier bus from now on.’
‘That’s a good plan.’
It wasn’t entirely Poppy’s fault she’d been late. Inner-city traffic on Saturday morning in Sydney was awful. Saturday morning equalled sport. For Olivia, lying in bed with a good book and patting Gin on his tummy was enough sport for her.
She took a deep breath, enjoying the smell of the eucalyptus spray. It unlocked cherished memories of her mum. Olivia’s childhood had been filled with books. The bookshelf in their lounge had been a timeline of Olivia’s growth, marked by her reading ability: picture books followed by early readers, chapter books with pictures, and novels. A voracious reader, her mother, an Italian migrant, had introduced her to the classics. She’d said that reading the classics helped her master English.
‘Books and stories make you smart,’ she often said. She also quoted Cicero often: “‘A room without books is like a body without a soul”.’
The memories were bittersweet. The pain stuck to her like a seared cloth under a hot iron.
Finished with her task, Olivia stood and stretched her back and rotated her neck. Tiny popping sounds escaped. She hoped Poppy would be early from now on.
She never wanted to be in that position ever again.
Olivia returned to the register to sort out the sales receipts. Two stragglers were still browsing, but she was never in a hurry to get out on time. It wasn’t as if she had any plans.
Poppy sat on the stool in the kitchenette waiting for the jaffle maker to heat.
‘Wasn’t he a spunk?’
‘Hmmm?’ Olivia glanced back at her distractedly.
‘The guy doing story time. Come on! You must’ve noticed how gorgeous he was in a sort of nerdy way. Was he an author? He had that scarf on. One of my professors used to wear a scarf like that. He was nerdy but kinda good-looking too—’
‘Who’s good-looking?’
Olivia and Poppy both turned to see Demi. Her wild dark curls were caught up in a bright-red scarf, and curiosity beamed out of the large brown eyes framed with heavy black eyeliner.
Demi lifted the mood every time she entered a room. Three years ago, Demi had found Olivia sitting at the bus stop a few doors down from Bertie’s Bookshop freaking out about the interview. She’d swooped in and told her straight to take a chance. Olivia knew she’d gotten the job in part because of Demi’s take-the-bull-by-the-horns attitude. They’d been best friends ever since.
‘Demi.’ Poppy high-fived her as she walked into the kitchenette. ‘Olivia’s new boyfriend.’
‘What? No.’ Olivia’s chest knotted in embarrassment. ‘Poppy was late this morning and this guy stepped in to do story time. That’s all.’
‘His name’s Sebastian,’ Poppy chimed in. ‘And he took ages to leave. I think he likes you, Olivia.’
Olivia sniffed the air. ‘I think your sandwich is burning.’
‘Shit.’ Poppy raced to the jaffle maker.
Olivia couldn’t stop the small smile that had snuck up on her. Sebastian. It suited him.
She’d marvelled at how he’d captivated the kids with his performance of Hattie and the Fox. The kids had sat quiet, their mouths gaping like little sparrows waiting to be fed. Even the mother who’d spat out her demands about story time had been taken aback.
‘Well. He’s certainly got a way with them.’ She’d then spun around and disappeared to browse.
The last straggler approached the counter, and Olivia rung up the sale. She tucked the receipt inside the copy of Silence of the Lambs and popped the book in a paper bag.
The man ignored Olivia. He was fixated on Demi, who had plonked down on a beanbag in the kids’ area and was singing ‘Material Girl’. Her headphones disappeared inside her mass of corkscrew curls, and she waved her hands like a tipsy conductor. Thank goodness she had a decent voice.
‘Thank you for shopping at Bertie’s Books,’ Olivia said, snapping the man out of his reverie. She locked the front door behind him then moved to the shelves to straighten the books.
Her thoughts drifted to Sebastian again. He’d been good for business, too. All the copies of the picture book he’d read sold out. Olivia had been ordering a copy for one mother when he stepped up to the counter to hand over the box of scissors and glue she’d given him for craft time.
‘Thank you,’ Olivia had said, busying herself with the order.
‘My pleasure. I could tell that looking after a bunch of rug rats wasn’t your—’
‘Superpower,’ Olivia interjected, surprising herself with the quick remark.
He laughed. ‘More like being sent to the gallows. The look on your face.’
Olivia passed the order slip to the woman. ‘Thank you. We’ll call when the book arrives.’
Sebastian stood there looking at her.
She avoided eye contact and began tidying the counter. ‘Being in the limelight isn’t my superpower.’ She willed herself to look at him. He’d really helped her out, and she needed to show some gratitude. She caught herself in his blue eyes. ‘Can I offer you a voucher for your time?’
‘Maybe a coffee?’
‘Oh.’ She felt heat rising under her blouse.
‘That is, if the boyfriend doesn’t mind?’
‘Boyfriend?’ He might as well have asked if she’d been to Mars.
The invoices she was holding slipped out her hand, and she dropped to pick them up off the floor. Bugger, she’d have to organise them again. ‘No.’ She let out a nervous laugh. ‘No boyfriend.’
‘Great.’ Sebastian peered over the desk. ‘Think of a place. I’ll pop in to find out what day and time.’ He glanced at the Dr Seuss clock on the wall. ‘I’ve got to take my nonna to an appointment.’
‘Nonna?’ The term brought her thoughts back to Shirley, and she felt a pinch in her chest.
‘My grandmother. She’s Italian.’
Olivia met his gaze. ‘I know. My mother was Italian.’
‘Small world.’
‘Welcome to Little Italy.’ She offered a shy smile. ‘This part of inner Sydney is full of Italians.’
An attractive woman wearing a navy-and-white netball uniform walked into the store. ‘There you are.’ She cosied up to Sebastian and wrapped her arm through his. ‘Are you ready? I’m starved.’
‘Yep.’ Sebastian turned to Olivia. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t actually get your name.’
‘Olivia.’ The word seeped out of her mouth. ‘I’m the manager.’
‘I have said too much unto a heart of stone.’ Sebastian tipped an invisible hat and bowed. ‘And laid mine honour too unchary on’t.’
‘What are you blabbering on about?’ the woman said. She adjusted the tunic across her breasts.
‘Twelfth Night,’ Olivia said, impressed. How many people, other than her professors at uni, could quote Shakespeare? And at a drop of a hat?
The woman sighed and pouted.
Apparently taking the hint, Sebastian picked up the Hattie the Hen craft he’d made with the kids. ‘It was nice to meet you, Olivia, manager of Bertie’s Bookshop.’ He smiled warmly and tipped his invisible hat.
Olivia watched as the woman, most likely his girlfriend dragged him out. Typical. All the really nice guys were swooped up by girls Olivia could never compete with. The bell above the door tinkled as he left. Her heart made the same sound.
~ * ~
‘Coffee, eh?’ Demi said, as she helped Olivia tidy up the kitchenette. A lemony scent drifted across the room.
‘He was only being polite. Thank goodness, too. I don’t think I could go on a date. What would I say? I have nothing to say.’
‘Livvie, it’s just coffee. You’re not picking wedding china. Go. It’ll be good for you.’ Demi sidled up to Olivia. ‘You never know, it might just lead to something more than coffee.’ She winked.
“Not helping.’ Olivia swiped at Demi’s arm.
‘I second that,’ Poppy said, from her perch on the olive-green Formica benchtop. She was flicking through old fashion magazines.
Demi took the mug out of Olivia’s hand and started wiping it dry. ‘Olivia, what do you want to do with your life?’ She waved the tea towel at her. ‘All you do is stay at home and work. And home is above the shop.’
‘That’s not true. I go to movies in the city, and I ride my bike to . . . places . . . and church.’ Olivia sometimes wished she had the courage to be more adventurous, but mostly she was grateful for her safe world full of movies and books.
‘Wow. A whole three blocks away.’ Demi hung the dried mug on one of the hooks above the counter.
Olivia wiped her hands on a tea towel and walked out of the kitchenette.
‘Don’t ignore me, Olivia Bennet!’ Demi called after her.
‘I’m not,’ Olivia said over her shoulder. ‘I’m getting the new releases to price.’
She balanced the box of books in front of her and returned with the pricing gun. She held it up to Demi, proof that she hadn’t just walked away.
‘What are you going to do with that? Price me to death?’
Olivia grinned. ‘Not your best comeback, Miss Kokkinos.’
Demi flicked the tea towel at her. ‘You need to get out. Do stuff. Let your hair down. Be wild.’ Demi’s dark eyes widened. ‘Kiss someone. Sounds like this Sebastian guy might oblige.’
Olivia knew the lecture by heart. It was one of Demi’s favourite topics, especially when an opportunity like this presented itself.
‘I’m doing plenty.’ Olivia lifted the dirty linen basket towards Demi, who slam-dunked the tea towel into it. ‘I’m very content. Exactly how I want to be.’ Her skin prickled. She was living exactly the life she deserved.
She began pricing books at the table in the kitchenette. ‘And he was just being kind. Sometimes people do kind things without ulterior motives, you know.’
‘Demi’s right,’ Poppy said, wielding her cheese toastie. ‘And boy, he was such a spunk, Dems. And he only had eyes for Olivia.’
Olivia got a plate and handed it to Poppy. ‘No, his girlfriend came in.’
‘Are you sure she was his girlfriend?’
‘She was draped all over him!’
‘You never know . . .’
Ignoring Poppy’s baiting, Olivia walked back into the shop and placed the books on the specials shelf.
‘Wanna hand?’ Demi said, coming up behind her.
‘Thanks. Just hand them to me. I need to get home to my dull life.’
‘That’s not what I meant. You know I just worry about you.’
‘But it’s how I like it.’ Her heart swelled knowing she had Demi looking out for her. The truth was, she was lonely. She’d already lost her mum, and now the only person she considered family was in hospital.
‘Hey.’ Poppy rushed out of the kitchenette. ‘Let’s go to Bondi tomorrow. It’s going to be a stinker.’
‘I can’t,’ Olivia said, and swallowed hard. ‘I’m taking the train up to Gosford.’
‘Oh. Are you going to see Shirley?’
Olivia placed her hand on her mouth, willing the tears not to come.
‘What’s happened?’ Demi grabbed Olivia’s shoulders.
Poppy rushed over and put her arms around her. ‘I’m sorry! You don’t have to come to the beach.’
Olivia offered Poppy a weak smile. ‘No, it’s not that.’
Unable to hold them in any longer, she let the tears fall as she told her friends about Shirley’s stroke. Demi collected her in her arms and let her cry while Poppy rubbed her back.
Olivia bit down on her lip as a barbed black mass strangled her heart. Next would come the memories. Her mind drifted away from the soothing sounds of her friends and snaked towards what hid inside her wardrobe—the one thing that could satisfy her demons, if only for a small slice of time.
About the Author
Valerie G. Miller is an Australian author celebrated for her dual timeline historical fiction, weaving heartfelt narratives that resonate across generations. Rooted in her Italian heritage, Valerie brings rich cultural nuances to her stories, crafting tales that celebrate family, resilience, and the deep human need for belonging. Her short stories explore the intricacies of human connection, capturing the tender moments that bind people together and create a sense of home in each other's hearts.
In addition to her writing, Valerie is training to become an accredited book coach, sharing her passion for storytelling and supporting aspiring writers on their creative journeys.
Originally from Sydney, Valerie now calls Brisbane home, where she lives with her husband, daughter, and a lively household that includes her dog and two cats. A lifelong lover of storytelling, she earned her Master of Letters in Creative Writing in 2021, further honing her craft.
Valerie is never far from her next story, always keeping a novel and a notebook tucked in her bag, ready to capture inspiration wherever it strikes.
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