False Advertising

by Dianne Blacklock

  ‘Okay, I’ll stay on the line, Helen, but put the phone down somewhere close. I’ll be here if you need me. My name’s Lyn, by the way.’

  Helen raced around to the other side of the bed and placed the phone on the bedside table.

  ‘What’s happening?’ Gemma wailed.

  ‘You’re going to have a baby,’ said Helen calmly as she lifted Gemma’s nightie up and over her belly. ‘I’m just taking your pants off, Gem.’

  ‘Why are you doing that?’

  ‘So your baby doesn’t come out wearing your undies on his head,’ said Helen. ‘It’s not a good look.’

  Gemma suddenly howled. ‘Shit! It hurts!’

  ‘What did you expect? Now stick your feet up here on my shoulders,’ she said, taking hold of Gemma’s ankles and doing it for her.

  ‘I didn’t ask for this, you know,’ Gemma whimpered.

  ‘You took the risk every time you had sex.’

  Gemma glared at her. ‘What, are you going to give me a safe-sex talk now?’

  ‘It’s a bit late for that: your baby’s on its way.’

  ‘Oh fuck!’ Gemma cried. ‘Can’t you stop it?’

  Helen shook her head. Nothing’s going to stop it now.’

  ‘This can’t be happening!’ Gemma was frantic. ‘I can’t have the baby here – I have to get to a hospital. I have to have drugs!’

  ‘Gemma, millions of babies are born all over the world nowhere near a hospital –’

  ‘Yeah, and you said they all die.’

  ‘I did not say that,’ she chided.

  But Gemma wasn’t listening any more; she let out a deep, shuddering bellow, which sounded not unlike a cow mooing, it occurred to Helen.

  ‘Gem, we have to get you back up the bed a little,’ said Helen. ‘Can you use the post to push against with your foot?’

  It was mostly Helen heaving and hoeing to get Gemma into a better position, but at least now she could see what was going on. Or coming out, rather. There, plain as day, was the bulging crescent of the baby’s head, pushing through into the world. Helen snatched the phone up.

  ‘Hi, Lyn, the baby’s head is definitely crowning,’ she reported. ‘How far away is that ambulance?’

  ‘They’re saying three minutes, if you can get her to breathe through it –’

  They were interrupted by a piercing scream as Gemma hoicked herself up on her elbows. ‘Helen, get this fucking thing out of here, it’s killing me!’

  ‘Gotta go,’ Helen said, dropping the phone.

  She’d never delivered a baby before, but she’d watched enough being delivered. They really did it themselves; Helen knew as long as the baby turned itself sideways after the head was out, the shoulders would be able to pass through okay, and the rest should all take care of itself. Nonetheless she said a silent prayer, to a God she didn’t believe in, that the cord was not wrapped around the neck or the baby didn’t come out blue, or any one of a number of complications that she would not dwell on right now. The ambulance would be here any minute – they could deal with any emergency. She looked up at Gemma’s face; she was straining so hard her eyes looked as though they were going to pop right out of her head.

  ‘Gemma,’ she said loudly, getting her attention. ‘Push towards me, don’t strain, put some oomph behind it.’

  Gemma panted for a few moments, and then started to push again.

  ‘Towards me, Gem, towards me.’ Helen watched as the head began to emerge. ‘That’s great, you’re doing great!’ she said, slipping the perineum down over the baby’s chin till the head was completely free. ‘You did it! The head’s all the way out!’

  Gemma collapsed back flat on the bed. ‘Is it a girl or a boy?’

  ‘Can’t tell yet,’ Helen laughed, looking at the squashed, angry little face as the baby turned itself sideways, just like it was supposed to do. ‘But I’m looking at a pretty gorgeous face, and a head full of black hair.’

  Gemma laughed weakly, and then she was up on her elbows again, the resolve plain on her face. She gave one last tremendous push and all of a sudden the body slithered out, whole and pink and perfect. Helen scooped up the baby and popped it on Gemma’s stomach as the lights of the ambulance flashed through the windows into the room. Gemma was lying flat on her back, laughing and crying and feeling for her baby. Helen glanced at the clock. ‘It’s 4.07, Gemma. Congratulations.’

  ‘What’s the date?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s the fifth,’ said Helen, a smile breaking on her lips. She took a breath. ‘It’s my birthday.’

  Gemma looked at her. ‘Helen,’ she said warmly, ‘that’s so great! You have the same birthday . . . Oh my God, I don’t even know if I have a son or a daughter.’ Her voice was drunk with joy and sheer relief.

  Helen grabbed a couple of pillows that had drifted down the bed and propped them up behind Gemma. ‘Here, look for yourself.’

  Gemma gazed down at the beautiful, wriggling little alien lying on her tummy. She cradled one arm around the baby, her baby, and shifted slightly.

  ‘She’s a girl, Helen,’ she said staring up at her as tears streamed down her face. ‘I knew it all along.’

  In the commotion that followed, Noah finally woke up and was dazed and delighted to see the brand-new baby, but, it had to be said, much more impressed to see a real ambulance, flashing lights and the whole bit. As they wheeled Gemma out on the stretcher, she reached out to grab hold of Helen’s hand. ‘You’re coming with me to the hospital, aren’t you?’

  ‘I won’t be far behind,’ said Helen. ‘I’ll get cleaned up and I’ll be in as soon as I can.’

  ‘You promise?’ she said, still grasping tight onto Helen’s hand.

  ‘Of course. And I’ll call Phoebe straightaway.’

  ‘And Charlie, you have to call Charlie. Call Charlie first.’ Helen stood with Noah perched on her hip as the ambulance trundled off slowly up the street.

  ‘Why isn’t the ambalints going ee-aww, Mummy?’ Noah wanted to know.

  ‘Because it’s not an emergency,’ said Helen. ‘Gemma and the baby are both fine, absolutely fine.’

  Noah insisted he wasn’t tired and he didn’t need to go back to bed, but Helen talked him into just lying down while she got ready. He drifted off to sleep barely a few minutes later. Helen phoned Charlie and then Phoebe, waking them both, but it hardly mattered once she told them the news. It was quite a wonderful thing to be the bearer of good tidings. And she was glad to hear they both intended to make their way to the hospital directly; in fact, the way Charlie had responded, she had a feeling he might beat the ambulance there. Helen would have to get out of her clothes and have a shower before she went anywhere, and she had to clean up the beds before that.

  She started in Gemma’s room, stripping off the sodden sheets and liner and putting it all through the hot cycle in the washing machine. Helen’s bed did not get off so lightly. It was a mess, and Helen decided that the sheets would have to go. She fetched a garbage bag from the kitchen and bundled all the linen inside, even the mattress liner.

  Down on the floor she noticed the vomit-soaked pillow. Helen knelt beside it. It was David’s pillow, still in the same case, the one she’d never been able to change. Tears welled, spilling over her lashes and running down her cheeks as she pushed the pillow into the garbage bag, drawing the ties together tight. She sat there on the floor and sobbed and sobbed, aware of a huge weight lifting off her. A baby had been born here today, a new life had come into the world, right here, in Helen’s bedroom. This house had been so choked with grief and death, but it was as though this new life, this one little baby girl, had cleared the air, scattering the ghosts in her wake.

  Helen stood up and carried the bag out to the Sulo bin, the tears still flowing freely down her cheeks. But she didn’t feel sad. She went back inside and straight into the bathroom, shedding her clothes. She stood under the shower for a long time, until there were no more tears, no more sobs rising in her chest. She felt calm. And strangely unbur
dened. Maybe she would have a happy birthday after all.

  She padded back into the bedroom wrapped in a towel and opened the doors to the wardrobe. There were David’s clothes, all still hanging there, undisturbed since the day he’d died. Helen reached out and touched the sleeve of a shirt. She really needed to do something about all of this. She should give Steven a call, see if he wanted anything of his brother’s. Helen sighed deeply, closing the door on that side of the wardrobe. Soon. One thing at a time.

  Charlie arrived at the hospital first, only to be told he wasn’t allowed in to see Gemma because he wasn’t immediate family. When a message was relayed to Gemma that he was there but they couldn’t let him in, she fumed, ‘Excuse me, doesn’t my partner count as immediate family?’

  ‘What did you tell them?’ Charlie said when he finally made it to her bedside. ‘They were falling over themselves to apologise.’

  ‘I just said you were my partner,’ she grinned. ‘So you’d better make out like one and come and give me a hug.’

  He didn’t have to be told twice. ‘I’m so proud of you, Gem,’ he said, hugging her warmly. ‘You did it, you actually did it.’

  Gemma smiled up at him as he drew back. ‘So what do you think of her?’

  Charlie shifted his gaze to the baby and a look came over his face that Gemma found quite disarming. ‘Wow,’ he breathed. ‘She’s so perfect . . . so tiny, but so perfect.’

  And she was so perfect, Gemma could hardly believe how lucky she was. That for once in her life she had got something so right.

  ‘Do you know, I’ve never held a newborn baby before?’ she said to Charlie.

  ‘Neither have I,’ he said.

  ‘Do you want to have a go?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said warily.

  ‘She won’t break,’ Gemma assured him, passing the baby into his arms.

  ‘Wow,’ was all Charlie could manage, looking down at her in quiet awe.

  ‘I can’t believe I thought I could ever give her up.’ Gemma leaned her head on Charlie’s shoulder, gazing at her daughter. ‘I’ve only had her for a couple of hours and if anyone touched a hair on her head I think I could quite possibly kill them.’

  ‘She looks just like you, Dad,’ said a nurse as she breezed past the bed to open back the curtains.

  ‘Oh, no, I’m not –’

  But Gemma nudged him. ‘That’s what I reckon,’ she chirped.

  The nurse smiled, leaving them alone again.

  ‘I don’t know what she was on about,’ said Charlie. ‘She looks just like you.’

  ‘She does? You’re not just saying that?’

  ‘No, she really does.’

  Gemma looked down at her baby girl. ‘I’m not being vain or anything, Charlie, I was just so scared she’d be the image of her father. I didn’t want to be constantly reminded.’

  Phoebe arrived soon after, teary and breathless, and it took her approximately fifteen seconds to burst into heaving sobs as she held her newborn niece. Gemma knew this was more than just a particularly emotional response to the birth of her sister’s baby, but now was not the time to explore those murky waters. Though if Cam came anywhere near her, Gemma would personally give him a vasectomy, with a rusty knife.

  She was beginning to wonder what was taking Helen so long when her mother burst through the door of the hospital ward like a southerly gust, her dad trailing in her wake.

  ‘Oh my God, where is she? Let me see her, where’s my new granddaughter?’

  Gemma blinked, her eyes adjusting to the vision splendid that was her mother. How had she got dressed and fully made up this early in the morning?

  ‘Do I know you, young man?’ Trish asked Charlie as she swooped on him and confiscated the baby.

  ‘This is Charlie, Mum,’ Gemma explained. ‘My best friend from work.’

  ‘Well, if he’s such a best friend, why haven’t we been introduced to Charlie sooner?’ Trish declared. ‘It’s nice to meet you, Charlie, and you have to come to dinner, soon. Oh, Gemma, look at that hair,’ she cried. ‘Gary, look at that hair, just like Gemma when she was born. Do you remember?’

  Gary was leaning over Gemma to give her a kiss. ‘Of course I remember. Prettiest baby I’d ever laid eyes on. Until her sister came along,’ he added, winking at Phoebe. ‘Then it was a tie,’ he said warmly, taking hold of Gemma’s hand.

  She smiled at him, cocking her head towards the baby. ‘Not bad, eh?’

  ‘Not bad at all.’

  ‘So does she have a name yet?’ said Trish, before wincing a little. ‘Now, I’ve been preparing myself, Gemma. I promised myself I wouldn’t say a word if I didn’t like it.’

  Phoebe snorted. ‘So she’s going to know now, Mum, if you don’t say anything.’

  ‘Her name’s Lola,’ Gemma announced.

  Trish’s mouth dropped open, and for once she was speechless, although Gemma noticed her eyes had developed a glossy sheen.

  ‘Well, isn’t that nice, love?’ said Gary. ‘Naming her after your mum.’

  ‘Yes, it’s lovely,’ Trish said huskily, clearing her throat. ‘Your nanna would be so thrilled, darling,’ she added, squeezing Gemma’s hand. ‘When did you decide that?’

  ‘I’ve always planned to call my daughter after Nan.’

  ‘I didn’t know you’d always planned to have a daughter.’

  ‘I didn’t really,’ Gemma smiled. ‘I’m just lucky, I guess.’

  Phoebe sniffed, pulling a tissue from the box on the bedside cabinet.

  ‘Does she have a second name?’ asked Trish. ‘Or is that not the go these days?’

  ‘I didn’t have anything picked out,’ Gemma admitted, ‘until she was born. Now it has to be Helen.’

  Trish smiled. ‘That’s a lovely gesture too, dear, but I’m afraid they don’t go together.’

  ‘What?’ Gemma and Phoebe looked at each other blankly.

  ‘I bet you haven’t said it out loud yet,’ said Trish. ‘Lola Helen. See, it doesn’t sound right, does it? Too many l’s. You’re going to have to rethink that, darling. Helen will understand. It’s simply uncoordinated.’

  ‘Mum, it’s not an outfit,’ said Gemma, ‘it’s her name.’

  ‘Then it’s all the more important,’ Trish insisted. ‘It’s not as though she can change it next season.’

  Gemma shook her head. ‘Mum, that’s going to be her name and that’s all there is to it. Helen delivered her, and, I almost forgot, it’s Helen’s birthday today as well. What kind of amazing coincidence is that?’

  ‘Thank God she was there, is all I can say,’ Gary broke in. ‘I hate to think what would have happened if she wasn’t.’

  ‘So do I,’ said Gemma. ‘Lola was in such a hurry, did you know my body actually went into shock –’

  ‘Well, I’m sorry, dear,’ said Trish with a forced laugh, shaking her head, ‘but if you’re looking for sympathy because you had a quick labour, you’d better tell someone who didn’t go through eighteen hours like I did with Ben, and then you were not so much better at fifteen –’

  ‘How do you manage it, Mum?’ said Gemma, shaking her head, feigning admiration. ‘I gave birth barely a few hours ago and we’re already talking about your labours.’

  ‘All right, all right,’ said Trish blithely, gazing down at the baby in her arms. ‘She’ll do the same thing to you, Lola, just you wait. It’s what mothers do.’

  Gemma was a mother now. The enormity of it hit her like a tonne of nappies. Her life was never going to be the same. Though the way she was feeling right now, she could only imagine it would be nothing short of sublime.

  ‘How are you feeling, Gemstone?’ asked Gary. ‘Fantastic,’ said Gemma. ‘I feel like I’m on a high. I don’t even feel tired.’

  ‘Well, you should get all the rest you can while you’re in the hospital,’ said Trish. ‘It’ll be a different story once you get home.’

  ‘But I’m planning to go home tomorrow.’

  ‘You can’t do that!’
Trish exclaimed.

  ‘Well, actually, I can, Mum.’

  ‘No, the window coverings aren’t up yet, but I am going to ring the man the minute we leave here and tell him to rush it, and then we have to move the furniture into the living room, and the cot’s being delivered tomorrow.’

  ‘Mum, I told you, Helen gave me a cot –’

  ‘I know that – I sent it away to have it refurbished,’ said Trish. ‘Now you simply can’t come home tomorrow. You have to give me three days at least, darling.’

  Just then the door swung open and Noah barrelled in, his arms wrapped around a big bunch of pink flowers. Helen was following behind, and she was nearly bowled over in the rush as Gemma’s parents and Phoebe all came at her at once.

  ‘How can we ever thank you?’

  ‘Happy Birthday!’

  ‘Thank God you were there.’

  ‘You’re amazing, Helen.’

  They all took a turn at hugging her, something Helen was not altogether used to. Only Charlie stood back; she smiled at him across Gary’s shoulder, and he winked at her.

  ‘Don’t mob her, let the poor woman through,’ Gemma called from the bed.

  Gary released her and Helen went over to the bedside, smiling broadly. ‘How are you feeling?’ Her eyes drifted to the baby. Trish had promptly planted her in Gemma’s arms when Helen had appeared in the doorway. ‘Oh, Gem, she’s so beautiful,’ said Helen, leaning down. Then suddenly Gemma’s arm hooked around her neck pulling her close.

  ‘I don’t know how I’m ever going to thank you, Helen. What would I have done without you?’ she sobbed.

  Helen extricated herself so she could look at Gemma’s face. ‘It’s okay, Gemma, you would have done the same –’

  ‘No, because I’m not a good person like you,’ she wailed.

  ‘Gemma, it’s all right,’ Helen said kindly, squeezing her hand. ‘In fact, it was an incredible experience. I’ll never forget it as long as I live.’

  Gemma sighed tremulously.

  ‘Can I hold her?’ Helen asked.

  ‘Of course.’ Gemma passed the baby into Helen’s arms. ‘I’m naming her Lola.’

  ‘After my mother,’ Trish chimed in.