False Advertising

by Dianne Blacklock

  ‘Okay,’ she relented with a sheepish smile.

  And getting more bizarre by the minute. Gemma bent down to pick up the shoes, while the MD walked Helen across to the door.

  ‘Have a good weekend, both of you,’ he added as Gemma joined them. ‘I’ll talk to you soon, Helen. It was good meeting you.’

  ‘You too, Myles,’ said Helen.

  ‘Support her arm,’ he instructed Gemma. ‘Don’t let her take too much weight on that foot. And keep the ice on it when you get home.’

  Gemma led her away, waiting till they were out of earshot. ‘What the hell was all that about?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Helen guilelessly.

  ‘Did you give him a blow-job in there or something?’

  ‘Gemma!’

  ‘Sorry, I’ve just never seen him act like that before.’

  ‘I think you might have the wrong impression of him,’ said Helen. ‘He’s really a very nice man.’

  Gemma was waiting for the hooter to go off and Shane Bourne to pop out of a doorway.

  ‘I’ve been working for him for months and you meet him for ten minutes –’

  ‘No, listen to me,’ said Helen. ‘He was the nice guy from admin down in the basement.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Myles, he was the –’

  ‘Why do you keep calling him that?’ Gemma interrupted.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Myles.’

  ‘Because that’s his name.’

  ‘But no one calls him that.’

  ‘Yes, and he doesn’t like it,’ Helen retorted. ‘Amazing what you can learn in ten minutes.’

  ‘Now you’re going to get smug?’ said Gemma. ‘And what do you mean, he was the guy in the basement?’

  ‘When I fell, he was the lovely man I told you about, who helped me.’

  ‘But you said he was from admin?’

  ‘That’s what he told me, because he didn’t want to embarrass or startle me after my fall. Mind you, it threw me when I first walked into his office and realised it was him. I thought he was playing some kind of trick on me. But we sorted it out.’

  Gemma had been listening with increasing bewilderment. ‘So what’s the problem?’

  ‘There isn’t a problem.’

  ‘That’s what I mean. You two obviously got along.’

  ‘Yeah, we did . . . What are you getting at?’

  ‘Why did you say you’d have to think about it when he offered you the job?’

  ‘Oh, well, I guess I felt a little overwhelmed, and when I didn’t answer him straightaway, he said I should take the weekend to sleep on it.’

  They had arrived at the lift, and Gemma pressed the button. The doors opened immediately. ‘So what do you think you’re going to say?’ she asked, helping Helen into the lift.

  They turned to face the doors as they closed. ‘I’ll let you know after I’ve slept on it,’ she answered blithely.

  Balmain

  ‘Well, it sounds like you two certainly got off on the right foot,’ Phoebe declared, holding her glass up.

  Helen had just taken a gulp of champagne and she must have laughed at precisely the wrong moment, and suddenly she was gasping for breath and Gemma was hitting her on the back and Phoebe was squealing, mostly with laughter, and finally Helen’s airwaves were clear and she was able to breathe again. They both stopped to look at her.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  Helen nodded slowly, as her shoulders began to shake, and she burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. Phoebe soon joined her and they rolled around on the floor giggling like a pair of school-girls at a slumber party. Helen had still not got around to replacing the lounge suite, so Gemma had set up the back room when they got home, spreading a doona on the floor and propping Helen up with every pillow and cushion she could find in the house.

  Gemma had spent the afternoon playing nurse, mother, cook, and whatever else was required. She hadn’t stopped. No sooner had she got Helen settled, made her a cup of tea and something to eat, than she was out the door to pick up Noah. Then it was off to the supermarket with a list Helen had dictated to her before she left. When she got home again she put dinner on for Noah while she packed the groceries away, refreshed Helen’s ice pack, put Noah in the bath, made Helen another cup of tea, got Noah out of the bath, dressed him in his pyjamas, and she was just serving up his dinner when Phoebe arrived. It was Friday, after all, but she was also desperate to find out how Helen had got on, and she had bought champagne to celebrate or commiserate, either way. She and Helen had sat out in the back room, quaffing champagne, while Gemma had put Noah to bed. When he was all tucked in, Gemma had finally joined them, exhausted to say the least.

  ‘So, did you know about your MD being the other kind of MD in a past life?’ Phoebe asked her.

  ‘No way,’ said Gemma. ‘He’s never so much as mentioned it before. I think he was pulling your leg, Helen.’

  ‘Actually, he really was pulling my leg at the time,’ said Helen, which sent her and Phoebe off into paroxysms of laughter all over again.

  ‘Would you two please settle down?’ said Gemma, trying to be stern. ‘Phee, slow down on the champagne, Helen’s not used to it.’

  Phoebe looked up at her sister, laughing wearily. ‘You are the last person who should be commenting on anybody’s combustion of alcohol,’ she declared. That set them off again. Gemma groaned. It was going to be a long night. She’d never realised before how inane drunk people could be.

  ‘Well, I think Myles the mystery medico might just have the hots for our Helen,’ Phoebe announced when they had eventually calmed down.

  Gemma was shaking her head. ‘He’s not the type.’

  ‘What, is he gay?’ Phoebe asked.

  ‘No,’ said Gemma. Then she frowned. ‘I don’t think he is. No, I’m sure he’s not: the way he dresses he couldn’t possibly be gay.’

  ‘Then why couldn’t he be attracted to Helen?’ Phoebe persisted. ‘If I was a guy, I’d be attracted to her.’

  That caused another ripple of giggling to pass between the two women. Gemma rolled her eyes.

  ‘I’m not saying he’s not interested because he couldn’t be attracted to Helen,’ said Gemma. ‘I’m saying he’s not interested because he’s all work, no play – you know the type.’

  ‘Aah, maybe he just hasn’t met the right woman yet.’

  Helen blew a raspberry. ‘Stop it. He was only being nice. Can’t a guy be nice without having an ulterior motive?’

  ‘No,’ Gemma and Phoebe chorused at once.

  Helen looked at them. ‘Well, I’m glad I’m not as cynical as either of you two,’ she declared. ‘But I agree with Gemma: he wasn’t coming on to me, he was just being kind, that’s all there was to it.’ She sipped her champagne. ‘And you know what the best part about it was? He didn’t know who I was; he doesn’t know anything about me. He wasn’t being nice to me just because I’m a widow and, you know, because of the way David died.’

  Now Gemma wished she could have a drink. Phoebe was watching her suspiciously.

  ‘He said he liked being incognito for a while,’ Helen went on, staring into space. ‘I know exactly how he feels.’

  ‘Well,’ Gemma interrupted, slapping her hands together. ‘I’ve hung up my apron for the night, so I’m going to order pizza, because you two definitely need something in your stomachs before you drink another drop.’

  ‘You told him she was a widow, didn’t you?’ said Phoebe, pulling on an old T-shirt Gemma had given her to wear to bed.

  ‘Shhh!’ Gemma rushed to the bedroom door to make sure it was closed. Phoebe was too drunk to make her own way home. Gemma could have put her in a taxi, but Cameron was away so there was not really any need for her to go home. Besides, she didn’t think Phoebe should be on her own anyway. She had begun to get a little maudlin when Gemma had finally pulled the plug and called it a night.

  ‘You told him the whole sorry story, didn’t you?’ Phoebe went on, usi
ng her hands to mime a bus hitting a person, with accompanying graphic sound effects.

  Gemma winced. ‘Phoebe, keep your voice down!’ she whispered loudly, moving away from the door and taking a firm grip of her sister’s shoulders as she sat her down on the bed. ‘Yes, okay, I admit. I told him everything. He was wavering, I had to keep him interested –’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Phoebe slurred. She was very drunk. ‘It’s a good story, I’d use it in a court of law in a shot.’ She tried to click her fingers, but couldn’t quite manage it.

  ‘But don’t tell Helen, okay?’ said Gemma. ‘He promised he wouldn’t, he said he’d wait for her to bring it up herself.’

  Phoebe started to nod in agreement. But her eyes were closed and her head kept rolling back too far.

  ‘Come on,’ said Gemma, holding her up. ‘Get in under the covers.’

  She helped Phoebe into bed and walked around to the other side, grateful to climb in and lie down. She felt bone-tired. It was the end of a long day at the end of a long week. Phoebe was quiet – hopefully she’d passed out. Gemma reached over to switch off the bedside lamp.

  Phoebe stirred, moving over closer to snuggle into her side. ‘Can I feel the baby move?’ she asked plaintively.

  Gemma sighed. ‘Sure, it’s a bit quiet at the moment, though.’

  She felt Phoebe’s hand slide across her tummy. ‘Wow, you’ve really popped out.’

  ‘Mm, I’m always bigger at night, but it has suddenly popped,’ she agreed. ‘It’s funny, it’s like as soon as I let the cat out of the bag and told the MD, the baby came out of hiding. Like it knew or something.’

  She heard Phoebe sniff. ‘That’s so cute,’ she whimpered. ‘That’s your own little baby in there that loves you already.’

  Now she was crying for real. She broke into sobs. Gemma felt drained, she had never had to tend to the needs of so many people in one day in all her life.

  ‘Come on, Phee,’ she soothed, putting her arm around her and patting her shoulder. ‘You’re drunk, go to sleep.’ Gemma was beginning to feel sleep creeping up on her, and she was more than ready for it.

  ‘I want to have a baby so bad,’ Phoebe sobbed.

  ‘I know,’ Gemma shushed her, patting her shoulder again.

  ‘I want it so bad it hurts, Gem.’ She took a tremulous breath. ‘My belly hurts, even my boobs hurt . . .’ Suddenly she lifted herself up on one elbow and reached across Gemma to switch the lamp back on.

  Gemma squinted, blinking rapidly. ‘Phee, what are you doing?’

  ‘Maybe I’m having a phantom pregnancy!’ she gasped, her face close to Gemma’s.

  ‘No,’ said Gemma, pushing her away and turning the lamp off again. ‘Just a mental breakdown. Now, go to sleep.’

  Phoebe snuggled into her sister again, one hand across her belly, when the baby started to move.

  ‘Oh, my God,’ Phoebe breathed. ‘Did you feel that?’

  Gemma decided not to engage in conversation with her. With any luck Phoebe might assume she was asleep.

  ‘Gem, Gem, your baby’s moving!’

  She groaned. ‘I know, Phee, don’t you think I can feel it?’

  ‘What’s it feel like, Gem?’ Phoebe said breathlessly. ‘To have that little soul encased inside your own?’

  Jesus. ‘Sometimes it’s bloody uncomfortable,’ she said, trying to snap Phoebe out of it. ‘Like if it sticks its foot in my ribs, or in my groin, or it leans on my bladder.’

  ‘That’s beautiful,’ Phoebe said, dissolving into tears once more.

  Gemma sighed heavily, reaching out to turn the lamp on again. ‘Phee, if you want a baby this bad, you have to make Cameron understand how important it is to you. You have to talk about it.’

  She began to wail now, loudly.

  ‘Phee, quiet!’ Gemma shushed her.

  Phoebe sniffed. ‘I can’t talk about it with Cam.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘He put an embargo on any further discussion: I’m not even allowed to mention it.’

  ‘Who died and made him supreme ruler of the universe? Besides, what’s he going to do if you bring it up? Ground you?’

  The sobs had subsided. ‘He said he’d have a vasectomy,’ she said in a quiet voice.

  ‘What?’ Gemma shifted to look at her properly. ‘Are you serious?’

  Phoebe nodded gravely. ‘He said if I didn’t shut up about it, he’d just go and have a vasectomy and that would be the end of it.’

  ‘He can’t do that.’

  ‘Yes, he can,’ Phoebe said squarely. ‘He said as we’re not having a baby for a few years, he doesn’t want to talk about it constantly until then. What’s the point in putting it off if all you do is talk about it? I suppose I take his point.’

  ‘No, no,’ Gemma insisted. ‘Tell him to take his point and stick it where the sun doesn’t shine. This is all about what he wants, Phee; he’s not taking your feelings into account at all. The reason you can’t stop talking about it is because it’s so important to you. Doesn’t he care about that? Hasn’t he ever heard of compromise?’

  ‘You can’t compromise over a baby, Gem,’ Phoebe said sleepily. ‘It has to be something we both want, at the same time. I’m just going to have to wait till he’s ready. I haven’t got a choice.’

  She yawned loudly and rolled over. A minute later Gemma heard her breathing settle into a rhythm, punctuated by soft little snores. She’d finally passed out. And now Gemma was wide awake. She decided she hated Cameron with the passion of a thousand fiery suns, or thereabouts. Where did he get off ordering her sister around like that? What gave him the absolute right of veto over her life?

  Unfortunately, it appeared Phoebe had given it to him, on a platter, and there wasn’t a thing Gemma could do about it. She turned over on her side, pulling the covers around her. The baby shifted as well, adjusting to the new position. Gemma gave her belly a pat.

  At least there was one positive she’d gained out of all this. For the first time, single parenthood had never looked so good.

  *

  The morning after

  Helen opened her eyes, just enough to allow a tiny slit of light in, but still it stung her pupils. Her head felt as though it were being slowly but inexorably compressed in a vice. Why had she drunk so much? She wasn’t used to it, she hadn’t drunk like that in years. She’d forgotten what a hangover even felt like, or she never would have kept drinking last night. But unfortunately, hangovers were a bit like childbirth: you’d never put yourself through it again if you could remember the pain.

  She squinted over at the clock on her bedside table. 10.04. God! She had to get up. She had a momentary sensation of panic as she tried to work out what day it was, if Noah was supposed to be somewhere, if she was supposed to be somewhere. Her heart was pounding in her chest as she gradually realised that it was Saturday, it was all right, no one had to be anywhere.

  She rolled onto her back and took a deep breath. Oh God, here it comes.

  Helen threw the covers back and leaped out of bed, landing right on her bad foot. She yelped in pain. ‘Bugger! Oh, bugger, bugger, bum, ouch, shit!’ she babbled as she sat back on the bed, clutching her ankle. But her stomach was giving her no reprieve. She stood up again gingerly, taking the weight on her good foot. She was not going to manage hopping in her condition, so she hobbled as fast as she could out into the hall and around to the bathroom. She made it in the nick of time, almost falling on her knees in front of the toilet bowl.

  Standing at the sink a few minutes later, Helen splashed cold water on her face and rinsed out her mouth. She felt slightly better, but her head was still pounding. She turned off the tap and patted her face dry with a towel. The house seemed awfully quiet. She hoped someone had got up to Noah . . .

  Helen felt a pang of anxiety, laced with a heavy dose of guilt as she quickly checked his room, before limping her way to the back of the house.

  ‘Hi Mummy!’ Noah cried as she appeared in the doorway. ‘Did you sleep good?’


  Helen winced. ‘Not so loud, sweetheart,’ she said softly, holding a finger to her lips. ‘Where’s Gemma?’

  ‘She’s hanging a washing on a line, and then we’re gunna play Jenga!’ He threw his arms in the air and started running around in circles making a whooping sound.

  ‘Noah, Noah,’ she pleaded. ‘Mummy’s head’s hurting.’

  ‘I fought it was your foot?’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘You hurted your foot last day, now you hurted your head this day,’ he said, holding his arms out for emphasis. ‘Whata hell’s going on, Mum?’

  Helen smiled despite herself. She didn’t have the presence of mind to correct him on his language right now; besides, for all she knew he might have picked it up from her last night. She honestly had no idea.

  They heard the back door, and then Gemma appeared in the entrance from the kitchen.

  ‘Oh, you’re up,’ she said. ‘How are you this morning?’

  ‘Don’t ask.’

  Gemma couldn’t help feeling smug. There had to be some payback for a) not being able to drink and b) putting up with people who did.

  ‘Is Phoebe still in bed?’ Helen asked her.

  ‘Nooo,’ said Gemma, shaking her head. ‘My obsessive-compulsive sister was up at six-thirty and out the door. She didn’t have her running gear, so she had to get home before she turned into a pumpkin coach. There’s something seriously wrong with her. Hey, how’s your ankle, by the way?’

  ‘All right till I jumped out of bed right onto it.’

  ‘Ouch,’ said Gemma. ‘You’d better get it elevated again.’

  ‘Gemma!’ implored Noah from the other side of the room. ‘When are we gunna play Jenga?’

  ‘Just let me get your mum some breakfast first –’

  ‘Oh, you don’t have to –’

  ‘Yes, I do,’ said Gemma firmly. ‘You set it up, Noah Balboa. I’ll be right out.’

  They left Noah rolling around with laughter at the ‘Balboa’ tag. Small children and drunk people would laugh at anything, Gemma decided. ‘Sit,’ she ordered Helen. ‘I’ll get your ice pack.’