False Advertising

by Dianne Blacklock

  ‘Of course not,’ Helen said.

  ‘I rest my case.’ Gemma got up onto her knees and crawled over to Helen, taking hold of both her hands. ‘Do you really think David would have wanted you to live a mediocre life out of some kind of misplaced respect for him? You have a right to be happy, Helen. You have a life. Don’t be scared to live it.’

  Next day

  ‘Charlie’s still not answering his phone,’ said Gemma as Helen walked in the house after dropping Noah at preschool. ‘Or my messages.’

  Helen nodded vaguely.

  Gemma looked at her. ‘I take it you’re not going into work again today?’

  ‘No,’ she replied. ‘There’s a big board meeting,’ she added, as though that explained everything.

  Gemma wondered if she ought to say something, but enough had probably been said yesterday. Helen was the type who had to sit on things for a while. Gemma, on the other hand, was not.

  ‘Well, if you’re not using the car,’ she said, ‘would you mind if I take it for a couple of hours?’

  ‘Sure,’ said Helen. ‘Where are you off to?’

  ‘I’ve decided I’m going to see Charlie and force his hand. I think that pep talk worked better on me, yesterday,’ she said pointedly. ‘I know what I want and I’m not going to wait around any longer. You know what they say: if the mountain won’t come to Mohammed . . .’

  ‘I think you got that the wrong way around,’ Helen smiled faintly. ‘Do you want to leave Lola with me?’

  ‘No, but thanks,’ said Gemma. ‘I don’t know how long I’ll be, and she’s going to need feeding. Best that she’s with me. Don’t worry though, I’ll have the car back in time for you to pick up Noah.’

  Gemma turned into the street where Charlie lived in Newtown. She hadn’t been there for ages, since before she’d taken off with Luke, and that felt like another lifetime ago. Newtown was as hard a place to find a park in as Balmain, so Gemma ended up blocks away. It was easier to set Lola up in her pram, with all her paraphernalia, than try to carry it all. Of course, that took nearly another ten minutes.

  Gemma had lately come to envy the third-world women who carried their babies in simple fabric slings across their backs. Then again, they were usually toiling in the fields at the same time, so perhaps she didn’t have it so bad. But she still baulked at all the stuff she had to cart around. And no matter what she brought, she always ended up with too much of what she didn’t need and not enough of what she did: Lola would throw up on her only cardigan and the weather would turn cool. Or she’d bring seven cardigans and wouldn’t need one of them. Thank God she was breastfeeding. If she had to carry feeding equipment as well, Gemma figured she’d need a trailer attachment on the pram.

  Finally she was on her way up the street towards Charlie’s place. He’d better be there after all this. Gemma manoeuvred the pram through his front gate to the door, which, apart from one small step, was at street level. It was a tiny, single-storey cottage, one in a long row of the same. She remembered when Charlie bought it. They’d known each other a while by then, and Gemma had teased him about becoming a mortgage slave. It seemed like such an alien, grown-up thing to do. What Gemma had failed to appreciate was that Charlie was a grown-up, and so was she, in fact. Pity she hadn’t acted more like one.

  However, as she often reminded herself these days, she would not have Lola right now if she’d made more sensible decisions back then. Gemma liked to believe there was enough space in a lifetime to make mistakes and live on the edge for a while, as long as you pulled back and took responsibility when it really mattered. And now that she had a daughter, it really mattered. Gemma was finally ready to be a grown-up.

  She rang the bell three or four times straight, till she heard Charlie call from inside, ‘Okay, okay, I’m coming.’

  A moment later the door opened and Charlie squinted out at her. He must have just woken up, but he’d managed to pull on jeans and a T-shirt to answer the door. ‘Gemma, what are you doing here?’ he said, dazed.

  ‘If the mountain won’t come to Mohammed,’ she said, pushing the pram into the house past him.

  ‘I think you got that the wrong way around,’ he muttered.

  ‘Whatever.’ Gemma walked down the narrow hall, glancing into his bedroom, relieved to see his bed dishevelled but empty – an uncomfortable thought had crossed her mind when he’d opened the door half-asleep. She pushed the pram into a corner of the living room and turned around to face him. He was leaning against the doorway, watching her.

  ‘Did you get my message yesterday, about Luke?’ she asked.

  He nodded but didn’t say anything.

  ‘Why didn’t you call?’

  He shrugged. ‘Sorry, I was going to call . . . I’ve been busy.’

  Gemma regarded him sceptically. ‘What’s going on, Charlie?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘So it seems.’

  He scratched his head, ruffling his hair so that a tuft stuck out sideways. ‘I’m going to need caffeine if you’re going to start speaking in riddles,’ he said, turning towards the kitchen.

  Gemma followed him. ‘Okay, I’ll give it to you straight.’ She paused, choosing her words. ‘Luke’s not going to have anything to do with Lola, or me. He’s completely out of the picture. Okay?’

  Charlie was at the sink filling the kettle. ‘It has nothing to do with me, Gem.’

  ‘Of course it does.’

  ‘How do you figure that?’

  ‘Charlie, will you please just stop and listen to what I have to say?’

  He turned around and leaned back against the bench, folding his arms.

  Gemma took a breath. ‘Okay, here it is,’ she began. ‘I don’t want my life to be a series of train wrecks any more, Charlie, and I don’t need to wait for my hormones to settle. My hormones are fine. This is not a rash decision; in fact, along with keeping Lola, this is the best decision I’ve ever made. I want to be with you, Charlie, I want to build a life with you and Lola. You’re the best man I’ve ever known. You’re good and you’re kind, and you’re decent, and you’re going to make a wonderful father. And I love you, Charlie.’

  Gemma’s heart was beating hard against her ribs. Didn’t he have anything to say to that? Apparently not. He just stood there, looking uncomfortable.

  Maybe he just needed prompting. Gemma cleared her throat. ‘This is the part where you say you love me, Charlie, and we fall into each other’s arms, and the closing credits roll and they play some lame song, like . . . I don’t know . . .’

  ‘“Will You Love Me Tomorrow?”’ Charlie suggested.

  Okay, now she could see where he was coming from. ‘That depends,’ said Gemma. ‘“Are You Strong Enough To Be My Man?”’

  ‘“You Can’t Always Get What You Want”,’ he countered.

  ‘Well,’ said Gemma. ‘“I Believe In A Thing Called Love”.’

  ‘“Love Will Tear Us Apart”.’

  ‘“Love Will Keep Us Together”.’

  ‘“Only Love Will Break Your Heart”.’

  ‘“All You Need Is Love”.’

  Charlie sighed. ‘“If Love Is A Red Dress Hang Me In Rags”.’

  ‘What?’ Gemma frowned.

  ‘It’s really the name of a song,’ he said sheepishly.

  ‘So what are you saying, Charlie? You don’t believe in love, or you don’t believe I love you?’

  He was quiet for a moment. ‘I do believe you think you love me, that you love me in some way, but it’s not enough. I’m not in your league, Gem, never have been. And it goes against all the laws of nature to cross leagues. Like crossing the streams in the Ghostbusters movie, and look what happened there.’

  ‘I’m so glad you take relationship cues from an eighties sci-fi comedy,’ Gemma snapped. ‘I happen to think this is serious, Charlie.’

  ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I think it’s serious too. It wouldn’t work, Gem.’

  Her face dropped. ‘We could make it work. If we both commit –�
�

  ‘And what’s going to happen when the guy comes along that you really fall in love with?’ he said. ‘The right one, the one you should hold out for, Gem.’

  ‘What if he has, what if he’s been there all along and it’s just taken me a while to realise?’

  ‘It shouldn’t have taken this long,’ said Charlie. ‘You should have felt it much sooner. You know: the earth moving, the harps playing, all that.’

  Gemma had a brainwave. ‘So it’s the sex?’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘If you want the earth to move, then fine, let’s have sex,’ said Gemma, pulling up her T-shirt.

  ‘Gem, what are you doing?’ he said, coming over and taking hold of her to stop her. ‘I’m not going to have sex with you.’

  She looked at him. ‘You don’t find me attractive any more? Since I had a baby?’

  Charlie sighed, pulling her T-shirt back down. ‘Of course I find you attractive,’ he said. ‘Incredibly attractive.’

  ‘You do?’ she said, looping her arms around his neck.

  ‘Don’t, Gem,’ he murmured.

  ‘Why not?’ she breathed, tilting her head to brush her lips against his.

  And suddenly he caught her up in his arms and his mouth came down on hers and he was holding her tight and kissing her frantically. Gemma took a moment to catch up . . . then as suddenly as it had started, it stopped again. Charlie released her abruptly, turning away to lean against the kitchen bench, his back to her.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘I can’t do this, Gemma.’

  She took a step closer. ‘Why not? What’s wrong?’

  He didn’t respond. Gemma nestled into his back and drew her arms around him. ‘You kissed me then, Charlie. The other time, I kissed you, but just now, you kissed me. You feel something, Charlie.’

  He wrenched away from her. ‘Of course I fucking feel something, Gemma,’ he said.

  She just stared at him.

  ‘I’ve been in love with you from the start; you knew that, everyone knew that. It took me a long time to get over you, Gem, but I finally did. I’m in a good place now. And I don’t want to go back there.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘When Luke rang the other day, Jesus, it all came back again.’

  ‘But nothing was going to happen, Charlie!’ she cried. ‘Why don’t you believe me?’

  ‘Because I can’t, that’s the whole problem, Gem. Don’t you see that? It won’t work if I can’t trust you.’

  Gemma was bewildered. ‘But I don’t want anyone else, Charlie. I’ve had enough losers. It might have taken me a while to realise, but I know now for sure – I want to be with you.’

  But he just looked at her sadly. ‘I don’t want to win by default, Gemma.’

  ‘Charlie . . .’ She didn’t know what to say to him. He was standing right there, right in arm’s reach, yet he was out of her reach, and there was not a thing she could do about it. It seemed the universe had exhausted its goodwill towards her in giving her Lola. She couldn’t have them both. But the void Gemma felt, imagining not having Charlie in her life, was almost more than she could bear to contemplate.

  ‘You know, Charlie, I always thought you were one of the few people in my life who really got me,’ she said after a while, the ache in her throat making it hard for her to speak. ‘And I was right. You get me so well you don’t want to have anything to do with me.’

  ‘Gemma,’ he chided gently, taking a step towards her.

  ‘No.’ She held her hands up to stop him. She didn’t think she could cope if he touched her now. ‘You’re right, Charlie. We are in different leagues, and clearly I’m way out of yours. I’m really sorry, so sorry, for hurting you . . . for everything. I won’t bother you any more.’

  She turned into the living room, blinking back tears.

  ‘Gem . . .’

  She ignored him; she had to get out of there. She started to wheel the pram out of the corner.

  ‘Gemma, please wait.’

  She stopped, but she didn’t look at him.

  ‘I don’t want you to go. Not like this. Can’t we be friends?’

  Gemma turned around then. ‘I don’t think so, Charlie. You might have your feelings under control, but I haven’t got to that point. I can’t be around you if I don’t think there’s any chance . . . I wouldn’t care how long it was going to take, but I have to have some hope.’

  He stared at her for a while, not saying anything. Gemma could feel her heart plummeting into her stomach. She felt sick as she started to push the pram over to the hall.

  ‘Gemma, stop.’

  She sighed, turning around again.

  ‘I, um, I’m still going to need a production assistant.’

  ‘Charlie, I said I can’t be around you –’

  ‘Look, are you interested or not?’ he interrupted firmly. ‘I don’t want anyone else . . . for the position . . . and well, I can’t make any promises right now . . . It’s going to take time.’

  Gemma gazed across the room at him. He could take all the time in the world.

  ‘Okay?’ he prompted.

  ‘Okay,’ she croaked, her voice breaking as she burst into tears. A moment later she felt his arms around her, and she melted into his chest, crying with relief. The universe was going to give her another chance after all, and she wasn’t going to screw it up this time.

  Charlie drew back to look at her as she calmed down. ‘Are you all right?’

  Gemma nodded, wiping her eyes. He planted a firm kiss on her forehead, and she smiled up at him.

  ‘So we have a deal?’ said Charlie.

  ‘Yes we do,’ she said happily. ‘Though, actually, I have been meaning to raise something with you.’

  ‘You have?’

  ‘You know me, Charlie: I don’t do the “assistant” thing very well. Just ask Myles.’

  ‘So what are you saying?’

  ‘I’m saying that “producer” sounds better. Don’t you think?’

  Charlie’s face relaxed into a broad smile. ‘I think I’m probably not going to have much of a say in it.’

  ‘Good answer.’

  Balmain

  Helen was sick of herself. She had been wandering around the house all morning, restless and agitated. She didn’t know what to do with herself any more. Nothing interested her, nothing seemed to occupy her or keep her mind off her dilemma. Everything Gemma and Phoebe had said yesterday made sense, of course it did, but Helen still felt stuck. Whenever she thought of asking Myles to stay, she was terrified by the enormity of it. It was a huge life decision, and it didn’t only affect her; she also had Noah to consider, and she didn’t even want to think about the conversation she would have to have with David’s parents. Maybe it was easier if Myles went back to Melbourne, let a few months pass. But whenever she thought of him leaving, she felt desolate.

  When they had made love, Myles had touched her so deep down, Helen had glimpsed the hidden, buried grief she realised she’d been suppressing. But the grief wasn’t for David; it was for herself, for all the years lost to her mother, her marriage . . . stifled and silenced and suffocated. She’d lost herself under the weight of everyone else’s needs, all their expectations. And now Myles said she had to work out what she wanted. But Helen had no idea how to do that.

  She was lying on the sofa, swirling in the whirlpool of her thoughts, when the sound of knocking gradually penetrated her consciousness. Helen sat up, listening, but she couldn’t hear it now.

  As she walked up the hall to investigate, she couldn’t see anyone through the frosted glass panel in the door, but when she opened it she saw the hunched figure of a man leaving through the front gate.

  ‘Excuse me,’ she called.

  He turned around. Helen didn’t recognise him.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘I didn’t hear you knocking right away. I was at the back of the house.’

  ‘Mrs Chapman?’ he asked from where he stood. He was late midd
le-aged, she guessed, and terribly thin and frail-looking, with lank grey hair and a drawn, weary face.

  ‘Yes, I’m Mrs Chapman,’ said Helen.

  ‘Mrs David Chapman?’ he said solemnly.

  Helen took a breath. ‘Well, um . . . yes, my husband was David Chapman.’

  The man kept his eyes on her as he shuffled back up the path and up the steps to the porch. ‘My name is Barry Druce,’ he began.

  The name sounded vaguely familiar, but for the moment she couldn’t place it.

  ‘I’m the . . . well, at least, I was . . . the bus driver who . . .’ he said. ‘I was the bus driver.’

  Helen just stared at him, a million thoughts crowding into her head at once. ‘How did you find me?’ she asked eventually.

  ‘From the report of the inquest,’ he explained. ‘Transit, they won’t give you no information at the time. You have to sign something that you won’t try to contact the family.’ Then he shook his head. ‘A few months later, it’s all up on the internet, for anyone to see. Addresses, the lot.’

  Her head was still spinning. ‘What can I do for you, Mr Druce?’

  He looked directly at her, and Helen could see the pain in his faded, hollow eyes. ‘I hope you’ll forgive me, Mrs Chapman, I just had to see, had to know if you were all right. You and your little one.’

  Her heart cramped suddenly in her chest. ‘Come on in, Mr Druce.’

  ‘No, no, Mrs Chapman,’ he said. ‘I know I shouldn’t of showed up like this. I don’t want to bother you.’

  ‘You’re not bothering me,’ she said, stepping back. ‘Please, I’d like you to come in.’

  He bowed his head and stepped inside. Helen closed the door and started down the hall. ‘This way,’ she said to him.

  He followed her into the front room and Helen offered him a seat. ‘Can I get you anything, a cup of tea, a glass of water?’

  ‘No, no, Mrs Chapman,’ he said quickly. ‘I’ll be right.’

  Helen sat in an armchair opposite him. Neither of them said anything for a few moments. ‘Um, you wanted to know if we were all right?’ Helen prompted him after a while.