The Cinderella Reflex

by Buchanan, Johanna

  It all started so well. Helene began by explaining the background to how she had started on what she called her Ten Years Younger Journey, how she had researched lots of treatments – Botox, non-surgical facelifts, anti-ageing creams with almost miraculous properties – all claiming to stem the tide of time. She would, she promised, be explaining to the listeners how all of these treatments worked in reality. She was breathless from her late arrival and as usual, she was speaking much too fast. But at least, Tess acknowledged, she wasn’t stuttering over quite ordinary words like she normally did on-air. And she was genuinely enthusiastic about this topic, which was always a plus.

  But then, halfway through Helene’s recitation of the scientific ingredients in one of her treatments, Ollie got bored. Tess knew the moment he began to run his fingers through his hair, followed by fiddling with his pen, clicking the top of it on and off noisily. Helene ignored him until he finally interjected. “And tell me, Helene – what’s so important about looking ten years younger in the first place?”

  “Well, it’s more important for women to look young because they are judged as much on their looks as their ability,” Helene replied confidently.

  “Really?” Ollie sounded sceptical.

  Tess shifted in her chair, her antenna up.

  “Really! In fact, women have to do better than men in all areas of life simply to get the same results. As someone said about Ginger Rogers, she had to do everything Fred Astaire did, except she did it backwards in high heels.” Helene smiled flirtatiously at Ollie, delighted with this opportunity to portray her sense of humour on-air.

  “And what does that mean?” Ollie asked irritably.

  “What does it mean?” A note of defensiveness crept into Helene’s voice. “It’s a metaphor – for how much more difficult things still are for women in the workplace.”

  “I don’t know if I agree with that, actually,” Ollie folded his arms and stared at Helene.

  “You don’t have to agree with it.” Helene leaned forward in her chair, enunciating her words very carefully, as if she were talking to a two-year-old. “Which part of it do you not understand, Ollie?”

  Tess pushed the talkback switch. “Go back to talking about the treatments, Ollie.”

  But Ollie’s earlier acquiescence had vanished. “Let’s see what someone else thinks, shall we? Our Psychic Granny is here with us in studio too and she’ll be telling us about her psychic abilities in just a moment. But what do you think of all this, Grandma Rosa?” he asked abruptly.

  Rosa, who had been studying her tarot cards, looked up when she heard her name. “Er ... about what?” she asked.

  “Helene has just said women have to do everything men do to succeed – except they have to do it backwards and in high heels.” Ollie didn’t bother to keep the sneer out of his voice. Rosa considered his words silently, her neck to one side, like a little bird. Say something, Tess implored via mental telepathy, as several seconds of dead air ticked away.

  “I think Helene probably has something there,” Rosa said finally. “Things are harder because women have to have their babies at the same time as they are building up their careers. Whereas men can put off that lark until they’re in their dotage, so it’s not exactly a level playing field, is it?”

  “Thank you, Rosa.” Helene turned back to Ollie. “So. To get back to my Ten Years Younger Journey ...”

  “But what I’d like to know is how to feel ten years younger!” Rosa said suddenly. “Have you any tips on that, Helene?”

  “No, I don’t,” Helene said shortly. “That’s not what my journey was about.”

  “It’s just that when you get to my age – and I don’t mind telling the listeners,” Rosa leaned into her microphone, “that I’m over seventy – feeling ten years younger is a lot more attractive than simply looking it. Do you feel better since you had all these treatments and therapies?”

  “No, actually.”

  Tess, who had glanced down at her notes, and was wondering how soon she could pull the Ten Years Younger item, jerked her head up at the strange note in Helene’s voice.

  “In fact, I feel ... very peculiar ...” And then her voice trailed away altogether and she slumped sideways in her chair.

  Grandma Rosa and Tess were on their feet at the same time. But by the time Tess had pushed through the door, Rosa, displaying remarkable strength for her age, had caught Helene, stopping her from hitting the floor.

  “Play some music!” Tess hissed at Ollie. She hunkered down beside Helene.

  “Is she okay?” She looked fearfully at Rosa, who had two fingers on Helene’s wrist. “Ring for an ambulance!” Tess turned back to Sara who was hovering in the doorway.

  “She’s okay,” Rosa said soothingly. “She’s just fainted.”

  Tess looked at Helene. Her bright red lipstick was like a gash against her pale, translucent complexion. Beads of moisture gathered on her forehead and she looked clammy and sick.

  “I’m not taking any chances,” Tess decided. “Sara! Dial the emergency services.”

  “Honestly, there’s no need.” Rosa said calmly. “I was a nurse in a former life and I know what I’m talking about. Look – she’s coming around already.”

  Tess looked down as Helene’s eyelashes fluttered like spiders on her cheeks. She opened her eyes, and looked about her, dazed.

  “We need to get her out of here, it’s too hot. She needs something to drink.” Rosa gently helped Helene to her feet. “Are you okay, love?”

  Helene blinked, looking as if she didn’t know where she was.

  Tess left Sara in charge and followed Rosa, who was guiding Helene towards her office.

  “I’m fine,” Helene insisted. “You can go back to the programme, Tess.”

  “Yes, you can,” Rosa interjected. “But only after you get her a cup of hot sweet tea.” She turned to Helene. “You look very shaken, love.”

  “I’m just a bit – maybe I will have something to drink then,” Helene’s voice was fading again.

  Tess rushed to the kitchen and rooted in the cupboards for something sweet. She returned with a tray of tea, as Rosa had instructed, and a packet of chocolate biscuits. She stopped outside the office, balancing the tray on her hip and angling herself so she could push open the door without having to disturb Rosa. She could hear Helene’s voice, explaining plaintively, “When you asked me if I felt ten years younger I remember thinking I’ve never felt worse in my life, actually. And then I must have fainted. But it’s true. I feel fat and fed up and exhausted all the time lately. This morning I felt so tired I actually threw up. I knew I was on-air first thing so I didn’t bother with breakfast. That’s obviously why I fainted, because nothing like this has ever happened to me before. But I’m fine now. I’m going to tell Tess I’m okay to go back on-air and finish the slot.”

  “Tired? Fat? Morning sickness? The Stork card appearing in the Tarot? What does that all say to you, Helene?”

  “What?” Helene said in a strange, high voice.

  Tess froze at the door. Helene was pregnant? Then she heard Rosa again, asking urgently, “Helene! Helene – are you okay?”

  Tess barged into the office and plonked the tray down on the desk. Rosa was holding Helene’s head in the crook of her arm and fanning her face with the script Helene had prepared for her Ten Years Younger slot. A slot which she definitely wouldn’t be resuming any time soon.

  Because Helene had fainted again.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Helene lay on her sofa, Grandma Rosa’s words echoing in her head. “Tired? Fat? Morning sickness? The Stork card appearing in the Tarot? What does that all say to you, Helene?” That’s when she’d fainted for a second time, when she’d heard those words, words that were both bizarre and terrifying. But words that Helene knew she couldn’t ignore nonetheless. Not when she remembered how she’d almost been sick on the side of the road on the way back from the spa, and how bone-tired she was lately. And how her boobs were really sore.

>   Of course, there were perfectly reasonable explanations for all those symptoms, other than pregnancy, she reasoned. Food poisoning from that wretched spa, for one. And who wouldn’t be extra tired with all the additional pressure at work? As for sore boobs, they were a normal symptom of PMT – everyone knew that. Helene had never had that particular symptom herself, but she was nearly forty, her body was changing.

  The most relevant symptom – an overdue period – was difficult for her to work out because her monthly cycle had never been regular. And the real test – a pregnancy testing kit – was not something Helene wanted to think about right now.

  She had enough to worry about. Like how much of the conversation with Rosa had Tess Morgan overhead? By the time Helene had recovered from her second fainting fit, Tess had a taxi waiting outside to take her home. She had insisted on escorting Helene to the cab, making her promise to see a doctor as soon as possible.

  Helene had no intention of doing so, at least not today. Richard was on his way over. He’d been listening to the radio when she’d fainted and had phoned her when she was in the taxi, wondering what had happened. Helene had successfully sidestepped his questions, but she was going to have to tell him something when he arrived.

  It was typical, Helene mused. All the nights she’d wanted him here and he hadn’t been available, because he’d been busy with work or his kids or the eternal “family stuff” he had to attend to with his wife. Now tonight, when all Helene wanted was to be on her own, to gather her wits and to think, Richard had brushed aside her protestations and insisted he’d be over just as soon as he finished work.

  Helene hadn’t the strength to argue. As soon as she got home, she switched her phone off and crawled into bed, literally pulling the duvet over her head. When she woke up, three hours had passed. Her head still felt muzzy but that was probably because she still hadn’t eaten. Richard was bringing food later so she’d wait for that.

  She spent the rest of the afternoon pampering herself. She switched on some music and relaxed in a warm bath, mulling over what to tell Richard about what had happened earlier. She didn’t want him to get even a hint that she might be pregnant. What was the point in frightening him when it may not even be true? They had only barely made up after their row at the press conference. Richard had apologised for his behaviour, explaining how he had completely freaked out when he realised Jack McCabe had cottoned on to the fact that he was having an affair.

  “I overreacted and took it out on you. It wasn’t fair,” he’d said tenderly, taking her hand in his and kissing her slender fingers.

  No, it wasn’t, Helene thought, hauling herself out of the bath. But that didn’t mean it wouldn’t happen again, if the going got tough. She stretched out to paint her toenails, clearing her mind by concentrating only on each brushstroke of black varnish. By the time the doorbell announced Richard’s arrival she had decided she would ask all about his plans for her fortieth birthday party, as a way of distracting him.

  She opened the door to find him half-hidden by an enormous bouquet of flowers – extravagant white lilies and blowsy red roses nestled in a sea of artfully arranged greenery. He held a brown paper carrier bag.

  “Food!” He thrust the flowers at Helene and strode past her, straight through to the kitchen. “I’ve got your favourite.”

  Helene hovered in the doorway to the kitchen, trying not to gag at the distinctive scent of the lilies and watching Richard as he produced a smoked salmon salad from the bag and a container of handmade ice cream for dessert.

  As she watched him bustle about her tiny kitchen, looking for cutlery and crockery, Helene thought how handsome and virile he looked. The silver streaks in his dark blond hair made him look sexier, not older. He had his contact lenses in and his eyes were vividly blue. Helene still found them mesmerising. Smiling, she found a vase for the flowers and sat down on the opposite side of the table. As they settled down to eat, he looked at her keenly.

  “So. What happened this morning?”

  “I fainted,” she shrugged. “It must have been a bug. I’ve slept it off, I think.”

  He watched her push her food around her plate. “Aren’t you hungry?”

  “I am.” She forced herself to eat a forkful of salmon. “So – what about my birthday bash? Where’s it going to be?”

  Helene had originally thought of asking Richard to throw the party in a public place, simply because she knew it would be so difficult for him, a foolhardy test for him to prove his commitment to her. Now, with a secret of her own to keep, Helene didn’t have the appetite for that sort of game playing.

  “I thought we could have it here.” Richard looked around the cramped apartment. “I mean, you don’t have that many friends, do you?”

  Helene’s features darkened, and Richard quickly changed the subject. “Look, we can talk about that later. I have some news. The party for the relaunch of Atlantic has been brought forward so we need to have your party before that, so they don’t clash.”

  Helene stared at Richard in dismay. “But that means we’ll need to have our pitches for It’s My Show in earlier! People have barely had a chance to develop their plans.”

  “I’m not sure that’s true, actually,” Richard stroked his chin thoughtfully. “My desk is piled up with proposals already.”

  “Really? You’ve seen the proposals?” Helene’s eyes widened. “What are they like?”

  “I didn’t play a blind bit of attention to them.” Richard shrugged. “I opened them – just to show willing – but I didn’t bother reading them. It’s not going to be my call, after all. That PR woman, Paulina Whatshername ...?”

  “Fox. Paulina Fox.” Helene was still thinking of the proposals on Richard’s desk.

  “She’s going through them.” Richard leaned back in his chair and linked his hands behind his head. “Once the launch party is over I’m hoping I’ll be out of there for good. And it won’t be a moment too soon.” He smiled secretively. “It will be a whole new chapter for me.”

  Helene felt a surge of panic. A whole new chapter for me? Surely he’d meant to say us? She thought again about a pregnancy test kit. Maybe she should go out and buy one now, and they could both wait together for the result? That would be one way of making sure they were both on the same page about their future together.

  But Richard suddenly stood up, walked around and pulled Helene up into his arms and she forgot about her worries and remembered how lucky she was to have such a dynamic man in her life. For once, there appeared to be no dramas at chez Armstrong and Richard didn’t seem to be in a hurry anywhere. They spent the rest of the night chatting, drinking wine and making love and Helene completely forgot about her pregnancy scare.

  He stayed much later than normal. Helene noticed the time glowing in red neon on the clock as he slipped out of her bed to go home. Four a.m. She smiled drowsily in the dark. They were practically living together already. Whatever lay ahead, at least she and Richard would be together full-time soon.

  At breakfast, she felt absolutely fine, with no queasiness whatsoever. She made herself eat a breakfast of tea, toast and a boiled egg, and by the time she got to work, she was chiding herself for giving any credence at all to Rosa’s prediction.

  She swapped her high heels for the pair of flats she kept under the desk, switched off her phone and spent the next two hours working on her pitch for It’s My Show. She thought Jack McCabe was proceeding with unseemly haste but then wasn’t that what he was famous for – a human dynamo who forged ahead with his plans and expected everyone else to keep up or drop out? Well, he wouldn’t find Helene wanting on that score.

  In fact, she could feel the adrenaline surging through her now that the deadline had been shortened. She decided she would continue with her Ten Years Younger series and air it each day over the coming weeks, giving herself maximum on-air presence. She could also take credit for Grandma Rosa’s slot, which, judging by the amount of calls Sara had taken from listeners wanting to know more abo
ut Psychic Granny, was destined to be a huge success.

  She would weave Psychic Granny into her new show proposal, which would be called ... Helene’s brow furrowed as she tried to think of a name. Finally, she scribbled down ‘The Silver Surf Hour’. She held up her A4 pad to consider it. The name wasn’t strong enough – too clichéd – and it was a risk not going after the youth market, but then Helene figured everyone else would be pitching for that.

  She was going to go with her hunch that there was something in this grey power trend Rosa had mentioned. If Helene could convince Jack McCabe that she could capture a sizeable chunk of older listeners with disposable income she would illustrate that she knew something about the business side of radio as well as her more obvious creative streak.

  She smiled to herself. All those hours listening to Richard droning on about the pressures of his work had come in useful after all. And, she thought happily, at forty she would practically seem like a teenager to her target audience. Helene put her memo pad down on the desk, allowing herself to bask in the familiar fuzzy, warm feeling of knowing she was on to something. This was why she did it, she realised. This was why she put up with all the long hours and the dramas and the histrionics.

  She reached into her bag for a mint and a business card fell out. Helene picked it up and turned it over. It was for the Travel Cafe. Of course! She could get Matt to come in and do a Gap Year for Grown-ups slot, keeping the positive ageing motif going. Genius! She picked up the phone, twirling a strand of hair around her fingers as she waited for someone to pick up.

  “Travel Cafe! How can I help you?”

  “Hi, Matt. It’s Helene Harper here. From Atlantic 1 FM.”

  “Helene! It’s great to hear from you again. How are you?” Helene looked at the telephone receiver, slightly taken aback at how pleased he sounded. She was used to people being defensive, or wary or even sycophantic when she spoke to them. But not genuinely happy to hear from her.