False Advertising

by Dianne Blacklock

  ‘I think I’d better take Noah outside to find the other children,’ she finally came out with. ‘Before he gets stuck permanently,’ she added in a lowered voice, patting Noah’s head, still planted firmly under her jacket.

  ‘Leisa,’ said Gemma after Helen had left the room, ‘how about a little sensitivity?’

  ‘What?’ she blinked. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘It’s not exactly appropriate to stand there in front of Helen, going on about private school fees and music lessons and personal trainers.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Surely you worked out her circumstances are a little different from yours?’

  ‘Oh, that’s right,’ said Leisa, nodding. ‘She’s recently widowed, isn’t she? I forgot.’

  Gemma turned to glare at Trish. ‘Mum! You told Leisa? Why did you go and blab all of Helen’s business?’

  ‘I did no such thing.’

  Gemma was gobsmacked at the barefaced audacity of her mother – caught red-handed and she still wouldn’t admit it.

  ‘I didn’t “blab all of Helen’s business”, Gemma, because you didn’t tell me any of it,’ she said airily. ‘The only thing I know is that she’s terribly young to be a widow. Was it cancer?’

  Gemma groaned.

  Leisa clicked her fingers. ‘It wasn’t something controversial like AIDS, was it?’

  ‘Oh for . . .’ There was only one way to shut them up. ‘It was a road accident, okay? And it was very tragic and she’s not over it so do not say a word,’ Gemma hissed threateningly.

  ‘Okay, okay, you don’t have to make such a fuss,’ said Trish.

  ‘You have to promise.’

  Trish sighed dramatically. ‘I promise.’

  ‘Leisa?’

  ‘Of course I won’t say anything,’ she said defensively. ‘Do you think I’m completely socially inept?’

  Gemma decided not to answer that.

  Trish checked her watch and shooed them out to the kitchen to help serve lunch. For the next ten minutes Gemma and Leisa and Phoebe and Aunts Lyn, Carol and Sue, along with adult cousins Rachel and Lauren, wore a path from the kitchen to the dining room carrying platter after platter of salads, meats and antipasto, a range of hot dishes, baskets of bread and rolls, bottles of wine and jugs of softer alternatives. The vast table looked as though it might collapse from the weight of it all.

  ‘Pass me your plate, Helen,’ said Trish when they were all seated and serving themselves. ‘You must have some of this baked ham, it’s divine.’

  Helen glanced at Gemma.

  ‘Helen and Noah are vegetarians, Mum,’ Gemma explained for her.

  ‘Oh my God, Gemma, why didn’t you tell me?’ Trish cried frantically. ‘Well, this is just awful, what on earth are you going to eat, Helen?’

  Helen surveyed the feast in front of her. ‘I’m sure we’ll find something.’

  Trish stood up, anxious. ‘I wonder if I’ve got any salmon in the freezer, that wouldn’t take long to grill up . . .’

  ‘Mum, sit down,’ said Gemma. ‘Vegetarians don’t eat fish either, but there’s enough food to feed a small African country here.’

  ‘Honestly, we’ll be fine,’ Helen agreed.

  Trish sat down with a heavy sigh of resignation, and soon the rabble resumed. Helen tried to keep up, but she felt as though she were suffering from sensory overload. There was so much of everything. The food on the table vied for space and attention with assorted table decorations, and every platter, dish and receptacle was virtually a work of art in itself, but lost amongst the clutter. The room was the same: so many cushions on the sofas, you’d have to move some to sit down; enormous vases filled with enormous arrangements of flowers everywhere she looked; the light fittings were huge sculptural edifices, but if they didn’t provide enough illumination, elaborate wall conches were set at frequent intervals around the room, dotted amongst ornately framed pictures, paintings, photographs, in groups, rows, or alone if they were too large. Helen knew her place had been cluttered, but this took it to a whole other level.

  The guests were all overdone as well: overdressed, coiffed and bejewelled. Only the men were a little more toned down. Gemma’s father seemed like a nice man, if a little mild. Cameron was a surprise: Helen had expected Phoebe would be with someone more . . . genuine, perhaps. But the word ‘wanker’ was invented for people like Cameron. Ben was handsome in a generic, department-store-catalogue way. Helen could see the family resemblance, but that’s where it ended. He seemed aloof, not really engaged in the conversations around him. Perhaps that was because he was constantly interrupted by phone calls on his mobile. Trish would give a shake of her head each time he took a call, but with a smug little smile as if to say ‘that’s how important my son is’.

  ‘Ben, the world will keep revolving if you stop to have lunch,’ she finally remarked, but he didn’t respond, answering his phone as he got up from the table once again. ‘Apparently, it might not!’ she shrugged, looking around the table, beaming with parental pride.

  Ben was not the only one who couldn’t leave his phone alone, however. There was a constant stream of beeps and buzzes and musical ringtones. The teenaged cousins spent the whole time sending and receiving SMS messages, but they weren’t alone. At one point Helen looked bewildered around the table as every second person either had a phone to their ear, or was reading the screen, or punching in their own message.

  Phoebe caught her eye and gave her a wink.

  ‘Cam, I’ve been meaning to ask,’ said Gary. ‘You’re one of the only people I know who actually uses the cross-city tunnel. Did you get stuck after that big accident the other morning?’

  Cameron shook his head. ‘I was already at work before it happened. Did you hear they couldn’t get the ambulance through because of the road closures?’

  ‘Okay, that’s enough,’ Trish interrupted firmly. ‘A little sensitivity, please?’

  Gemma groaned. Helen looked confused. Then the penny dropped. Helen glanced around the table. Some obviously had no idea what Trish was referring to – including Gary, it appeared – but others averted their eyes as Helen looked around. This was excruciating.

  ‘Excuse me,’ she said quietly as she slid out from her chair and darted down the hall to find the bathroom.

  ‘Well done, Mum,’ said Gemma. ‘Subtle as a head-on.’ She got up from the table and followed Helen. She knocked on the bathroom door. ‘It’s only me, Helen. Are you all right?’

  ‘Uh-huh, I’ll be out in a sec.’

  Gemma sighed. ‘Helen? Do you want to let me in?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Please?’

  There was a moment’s pause before Helen opened the door. Gemma stepped inside and closed it again, leaning back against the door. Helen sat down on top of the toilet seat, dabbing the corner of her eye with a bit of scrunched-up toilet paper.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Helen,’ Gemma began.

  ‘Why did you have to tell them, Gemma?’

  ‘I didn’t,’ she said, realising she sounded like her mother. ‘I mean, I didn’t give them any details, I just said he died in a road accident.’

  ‘But why did you have to tell them anything at all?’

  Gemma took a breath. ‘When they came to the house, Mum asked if you had a husband. I told her he died, but that was all. Then today, she and Leisa were speculating all kinds of things, so I said it was a road accident to shut them up.’

  ‘That really worked well,’ Helen grimaced. ‘I feel like a freak.’

  ‘No, Helen,’ Gemma insisted. ‘It’s my family who are the freaks.’

  Helen looked at her squarely. ‘Every time people realise I’m a widow, they treat me like I’m the carrier of a disease they might catch.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s what it is. I think they’re just taken by surprise because they don’t expect it in someone so young.’

  ‘I’d just like to be anonymous sometimes, for no one to know anything about me,’ Helen said wistfully. ‘Then I feel guilty for
thinking that, because I don’t mean that I want David to be forgotten. I want to be able to talk about him, for Noah’s sake especially. But the whole thing just makes people uncomfortable, and then they feel like they have to say all these clichés, and that cheapens it, cheapens his memory.’ Helen sighed. ‘I don’t really want to talk about him to people who didn’t know him.’

  Gemma nodded. ‘That’s fair enough, Helen. Would you rather we go?’

  ‘No, that’d be rude.’

  ‘They’re the ones being rude. Stop worrying so much about other people and look after yourself for a change. If you want to go, we’ll go. Whatever you decide.’

  Helen thought for a moment. ‘You know what? Noah’s finally settled down and enjoying himself with the other children, and it would only make a bigger fuss if we left now. I don’t mind staying, I just don’t want to walk out there again.’

  Gemma pulled out her phone. ‘I have an idea.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘I’ll text Phee,’ she said, already pressing the buttons. ‘Tell her to keep the conversation going, on something else, when we walk back out.’

  As they came out of the hall a hush descended on the table. Gemma caught Phoebe’s eye and glared expectantly at her.

  ‘So Gemma,’ she piped up, ‘does your boss know about the baby yet?’

  Gemma looked at Phoebe, mystified.

  ‘What’s that?’ asked Trish. ‘Is she saying they don’t know you’re pregnant at work?’

  ‘Sorry,’ Phoebe mouthed, wincing.

  They returned to their seats. At least Helen was out of the frying pan now; Gemma had been thrown into the fire instead.

  ‘Gemma,’ Trish persisted, ‘why didn’t you tell your boss you were pregnant?’

  Gemma cleared her throat. ‘Because I wouldn’t have got the job.’

  ‘But won’t he just turn around and sack you when he finds out?’ asked Gary, concerned.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Gemma. ‘I’m not sure what my rights are . . .’

  ‘Cam?’ Gary prompted.

  Cameron advised corporations in the finance sector on employment contracts, and not only that, he loved nothing more than to be asked for his opinion. He sat back, crossing one leg over the other, waiting till he had everyone’s attention.

  ‘He certainly can’t sack her for being pregnant. That would be discriminatory. But the fact remains she didn’t disclose.’ He looked at Gemma then. ‘It depends largely on what’s in your workplace agreement. I take it you did sign one?’

  Gemma nodded. She hadn’t read it that closely though.

  ‘If it’s a condition that affects your job performance,’ Cameron went on, ‘then he would have a right to terminate your employment.’

  ‘Well, it doesn’t,’ said Gemma. ‘I’m performing my job perfectly well.’

  ‘That may be for now. But the minute you go off to have that baby, it’s affecting your work performance. Then he’s got you.’

  ‘What do you think she should do, Cam?’ asked Gary.

  ‘I think she should be upfront as soon as possible. Try to renegotiate her workplace agreement in line with her change in circumstances.’

  ‘Will they let me do that?’ asked Gemma.

  Cameron shrugged. ‘Depends what you can bring to the table.’

  Bailey’s

  Monday came and went with no appropriate opening for Gemma to make her announcement, or even to mention she had to take Wednesday morning off for the ultrasound. Tuesday was the same. So Gemma did the only thing she could do. She took the cyber coward’s way out and did it by email.

  From: gatkinson@baileys.com.au

  To: mdavenport@baileys.com.au

  Subject: tomorrow morning

  Unfortunately I will be late to work tomorrow. I have an appointment in the morning. I’ll be here as soon as possible afterwards.

  Gemma

  From: mdavenport@baileys. com.au

  To: gatkinson@baileys. com.au

  Subject: re: tomorrow morning

  What is it this time?

  From: gatkinson@baileys. com.au

  To: mdavenport@baileys. com.au

  Subject: re: tomorrow morning

  Still personal

  From: mdavenport@baileys. com.au

  To: gatkinson@baileys. com.au

  Subject: re: tomorrow morning

  Still work time

  From: gatkinson@baileys. com.au

  To: mdavenport@baileys. com.au

  Subject: re: tomorrow morning

  Ongoing investigations

  From: mdavenport@baileys. com.au

  To: gatkinson@baileys. com.au

  Subject: re: tomorrow morning

  Legal, medical, taxes?

  Gemma sighed. She supposed she had to tell him that much.

  From: gatkinson@baileys. com.au

  To: mdavenport@baileys. com.au

  Subject: re: tomorrow morning

  Medical

  From: mdavenport@baileys. com.au

  To: gatkinson@baileys. com.au

  Subject: re: tomorrow morning

  Are you all right?

  There had been a pause before the last email arrived. Gemma wondered if the MD was actually being a tiny bit considerate. But that was unlikely. He was probably only trying to ascertain how much he was going to be inconvenienced.

  From: gatkinson@baileys. com.au

  To: mdavenport@baileys. com.au

  Subject: re: tomorrow morning

  I’m fine. Routine stuff. See you tomorrow.

  Tomorrow

  Gemma had planned to catch a bus to work straight after the ultrasound, maybe a taxi if it took too long. Helen had driven her to the hospital as she didn’t want her to have to cope with public transport and a full bladder, but Gemma had shooed her away at the front entrance. It was too hard to get parking, she had insisted. Helen must have better things to do with her time, she had insisted. She would be fine, she had insisted.

  She shouldn’t have been so insistent. She wasn’t fine. She was a wreck. Emotionally, psychologically, even physically. Gemma had virtually looked into the eyes of her baby. She had seen the future, and she was terrified.

  ‘What are you doing home?’ asked Helen, coming into the hallway when she heard Gemma at the front door.

  ‘I, um, I felt sick,’ said Gemma. ‘I must have had a bad reaction.’

  ‘To an ultrasound?’

  Gemma walked past her and straight into her room, dropped her bag on the floor and herself onto the bed. Helen came to the doorway.

  ‘What’s up? Is the baby all right?’

  Gemma groaned, rolling over. ‘Yes, the baby’s all right. Isn’t anyone ever going to ask me how I am any more?’

  Helen suppressed a smile and walked further into the room, folding her arms. ‘Are you all right, Gemma?’

  ‘Do I look like I’m all right? I’ve seen the baby.’ She sat bolt upright. ‘I mean, I’ve actually seen my baby! Is that even right? It doesn’t feel right. It feels like I’ve looked into the future or something, that I’m going to muck things up because I know too much now. If God had meant for us to see our babies while they were still inside, he would have put in a window, a peephole, something, don’t you think?’

  Helen was calmly waiting for her to take a breath. ‘Or perhaps, if there is a god, he gave someone the inspiration to invent ultrasound technology.’

  ‘Who asked him?’ she grumbled.

  ‘What exactly is the problem, Gemma?’

  ‘The problem,’ said Gemma, exasperated, ‘is that it looked really real. Like a real baby, you know? When you’re there, and it’s live action, and they’re describing it . . .’ She took a breath. Her eyes filled with tears. ‘You can see it as clear as day. Whenever I’ve seen those ultrasound pictures before, the baby always looked like a blurred blob, I had no idea what I was even looking at. And I still don’t.’ She reached over for her bag and rummaged through it, finally extracting a photo. She thrust it
at Helen. ‘See, I was looking at it on the way home and I can’t relate it to what I saw moving on the screen.’

  Although Helen was not a midwife, she was a little more accustomed to ultrasound images than Gemma was, and she could make out the baby quite clearly. She was not about to say that to Gemma though.

  ‘How am I going to do this?’ Gemma went on, her voice trembling. ‘Why did I do this? I brought a human being into existence. What was I thinking?’

  Helen went over and sat down beside her on the bed. ‘It wasn’t too late,’ she said after a while. ‘Was it?’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘The first day you came here, you told me that by the time you found out you were pregnant, it was too late to do anything about it.’ She paused. ‘But it wasn’t, was it?’

  Gemma stared at her, then slowly shook her head. ‘I was just being a romantic nong. I thought it would change Luke, make him settle down. I thought we’d be this awesome little family unit, that we’d be the coolest, most unconventional parents out, and we’d have this amazing child.’

  ‘You must have really loved him,’ said Helen, a little wistfully.

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘Well, to be able to picture your whole future like that, you must have felt very strongly.’

  Gemma sighed. ‘I don’t know. I think I was kidding myself. I mean, look what a no-hoper he turned out to be. He didn’t even have the guts to face me, he just snuck off like some petty criminal.’ She paused. ‘The thing is, part of me is glad that he isn’t going to have anything to do with the baby. I don’t want someone like him in her life. But I can’t help thinking that, as low as he is, he didn’t want me, so what does that say about me?’

  ‘Gemma . . .’

  A tear spilled over onto her cheek. ‘I’m bringing this poor kid into the world, and all she’s got is this pathetic mother who couldn’t even keep her useless father interested. What hope has she got?’

  ‘There’s always hope,’ said Helen quietly. ‘I have to believe that. I mean, I know they say kids without a father don’t do as well, but –’

  ‘Oh, Helen, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking about the way that came out. Your situation is completely different. Noah will be fine, he’ll always know he had a father, and that he didn’t leave him. And besides, you’re an amazing mum.’