False Advertising

by Dianne Blacklock

  ‘Yes, Mrs Chapman,’ he nodded. She noticed his hands were trembling in his lap. ‘It’s a terrible thing . . . knowing he left a wife and a young child. Not a day goes past I don’t think about it. I pray for you to Saint Louise, every day. Patron saint of widows, you know.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Helen. ‘Thank you.’

  His eyes wandered around the room. ‘So, you’re okay? This is your house? You didn’t have to sell up or anything?’

  ‘No, we’re fine.’

  ‘And what of your little one? They don’t identify children under age in the inquest.’

  ‘He’s a boy, Noah,’ said Helen. ‘He’s only four years old, not quite that when it first happened. He’s too young to fully understand.’

  He nodded faintly, staring down at the carpet. Helen watched him. If there was ever an example of a shell of a man, Mr Druce was certainly it.

  ‘What about you, Mr Druce?’ she asked. ‘How are you? Do you still drive buses?’

  He shook his head gravely. ‘Oh, no, Mrs Chapman. Had to give it away, my nerves were shot. Took to drinking too much for a while there. I couldn’t sleep at night, I’d see it happen over and over. It’s a terrible thing, Mrs Chapman, a terrible thing.’

  ‘But you were cleared of any responsibility at the inquest,’ said Helen.

  ‘Doesn’t matter, I’ll always feel responsible, Mrs Chapman. I was the one behind the wheel.’

  ‘But do you think you could have stopped, could have done anything different?’

  ‘Oh, no, Mrs Chapman, I couldn’t of stopped. He was just there, he stepped out right in front of the bus.’

  Helen could feel her heart thumping hard. She could ask him. Ask him right now. And then she would know. Once and for all.

  ‘Mr Druce?’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Chapman?’

  ‘Can I ask you something?’

  ‘Of course, anything.’

  Helen took a deep breath. ‘Did my husband, David, did he turn to look, was he looking as he stepped off the kerb?’

  ‘Oh, no, no, Mrs Chapman,’ he said, shaking his head very definitely. ‘That was the thing. I’ve played it over and over, like I said. It all only took a few seconds, but you know how sometimes things happen in slow motion? That’s what it was like that day. I was headed along Broadway, coming to a green light. Then there was a loud screech and a bang, further down the road somewhere. I looked ahead, as you do, just for a second. The crowd waiting at the lights, all the heads turned at the same time, towards the noise. Funny how you remember things like that. No one was looking this way, and then one person just stepped off the kerb, just stepped off . . .’ Helen was watching him – she knew he could see it now in his mind. ‘I couldn’t do anything, he was right there in front of me, still looking up the street the other way. It was that quick, he wouldn’t of known what hit him, Mrs Chapman.’

  Helen had read and reread the report from the inquest, trying to find an answer, a reason, some piece of information that would make sense of it, give her some peace of mind. She had never been sure if he’d turned his head, never known till now if he’d suffered, even just one moment of horrifying realisation.

  Helen felt tears creeping into her eyes. So that was it. A momentary lapse, distracted by something further up the road, stepping off the footpath on autopilot. A life wiped out in a matter of seconds for no reason whatsoever. Nothing could ever make sense of that, ever make it right, or wrong. It was inexplicable. And it just was.

  She looked across at Mr Druce. ‘But I don’t understand. Why do you feel responsible, Mr Druce?’

  ‘I don’t know, I don’t know, Mrs Chapman,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Everyone asks me that. I don’t know what to tell ’em. Except it’s a terrible thing, a terrible thing, for someone’s life to end, right in front of your eyes. I can’t seem to let go of it. My wife, she can’t stand it any more. She left to stay with her sister. She said I’ve got to get some help. My kids, they don’t want to come and visit . . .’

  He was staring down at the carpet, broken. This wasn’t right: the poor man just happened to be at the wheel. It could have been anyone.

  ‘Is that him, is that Mr Chapman?’ Barry Druce asked; he was pointing at a framed photo on a side table.

  Helen nodded.

  He got to his feet and approached it almost reverently, stooping down to look at it. ‘May I?’ he said over his shoulder to Helen.

  ‘Of course.’

  He picked up the photo, examining it closely for a long while. ‘He had a good face . . . he looks . . . honest.’

  Helen came up behind him. ‘So you didn’t see him at all?’

  ‘No, no, Mrs Chapman,’ he said. ‘I couldn’t of told you what he looked like. Light hair is all.’ He gazed down at the photograph again. ‘You have a fine boy there, Mrs Chapman.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  He set the photograph down again, being very careful to position it exactly as it had been.

  ‘Mr Druce,’ said Helen.

  He turned to look at her.

  ‘There’s something I’d like you to know. My husband, David, he was a good man, a very compassionate man. He hated to see any kind of human suffering.’ Helen paused, choosing her words. ‘I can tell you without hesitation that he would never have wanted you to suffer in this way. It was a terrible accident, but there’s nothing you could have done, nothing anyone could have done. David would think it was far worse if even more lives were ruined because of it.’

  Mr Druce was listening intently, his eyes glassy.

  ‘He’d want you to live your life, Mr Druce. Make the most of every moment. That should be his legacy.’ Not fifteen minutes later Helen was running up the hill towards Darling Street. Mr Druce had taken his leave, clutching her hand and thanking her for her kindness, before shuffling back out the gate. Helen had dashed madly around the house, wasting precious minutes looking for her keys until she remembered that Gemma had taken the car. And so she’d grabbed her handbag and started up the street on foot, walking briskly at first, till she couldn’t contain herself any longer and she’d broken into a run. As she came to the corner of Darling Street, a bus was trundling up the block towards her. Helen glanced at the bus stop further up. There were two people waiting. She’d make it. She bolted, arriving breathless at the shelter as the bus pulled up beside her. Helen queued behind the other two, fumbling in her purse for change.

  *

  ‘Um, the city please,’ she said as she boarded.

  ‘Whereabouts, love?’ the driver asked her.

  ‘Oh,’ she hesitated, ‘do you stop somewhere around the Queen Victoria building?’

  He nodded. ‘That’ll be three seventy.’

  She dropped the coins in the chute, took her ticket and made her way up the aisle as the bus lurched off again. There were only a few people scattered around the bus; it was the middle of the day after all. Helen dropped into a seat and sidled over near the window. She gazed out as the bus dipped and bounced its way along the road. She was riding on a bus. And it was okay. Everything was going to be okay.

  When they finally pulled up at the back of the Queen Victoria building, Helen was waiting to jump straight off. She started up the street, restraining herself from running this time: she didn’t want to arrive all puffed and sweaty. She had remembered she’d need her security pass and had searched in her bag while she was still on the bus, relieved though not entirely surprised to find it there – it was her only decent handbag, and the only one she ever took to work. Helen slipped the lanyard around her neck as she arrived at the front entrance of the building, and walked inside. She was not exactly dressed for work, but at least she wasn’t in her daggy house clothes either. Fortunately she’d had to look half-decent to take Noah to preschool.

  The security guard recognised her and smiled, nodding, as she hurried over to the lifts. She stepped inside and her heart started to race. It seemed to take an awfully long time to get to the fifteenth floor, but finally the lift came to a
stop and Helen dashed out, racing up the corridor towards the office. What if he wasn’t there? There was every chance, but at least she could check his schedule from her computer, send him an email direct to his BlackBerry, track him down. Helen had never appreciated modern technology more.

  She went around the corner and scooted straight past her workstation to his office. Helen gave a quick knock and burst in, only to discover Myles was there but he wasn’t alone. She froze as four unfamiliar faces turned to stare at her.

  Myles got to his feet immediately. ‘Helen?’

  She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

  ‘This is Helen?’ said one of the men, also getting to his feet. ‘Helen Chapman, I gather?’

  He was walking towards her. Shit, now they were all walking towards her. Helen almost flinched as they converged on her, shaking her hand, all talking at once – at least that’s what it seemed like. She suspected they were introducing themselves, but they must have been speaking in another language. Chinese? Japanese perhaps? They didn’t look Asian, but Helen couldn’t understand a word they were saying. And then Myles was at her side and his hand was on her elbow, the hand with the magic electrical powers.

  ‘Helen, you wanted to see me?’ he prompted.

  She looked up into his face and managed to say, ‘Yes.’

  ‘Excuse us, gentlemen,’ Myles was saying. ‘I’m sure this won’t take long. Help yourselves to another drink,’ he said over his shoulder as he led Helen from the room. They walked back out through the door and Myles closed it firmly, turning to face her.

  ‘Helen, are you all right?’

  She nodded.

  ‘You seemed to be in a bit of a daze just now.’

  ‘Yeah,’ she said, slipping into a daze again, looking at his face, the face she realised she’d fallen hopelessly in love with, head over the proverbial heels. She could tell him now, if only she was able to put two words together.

  ‘Helen,’ he was saying patiently, ‘what is it?’

  ‘Oh, um, maybe this is a bad time,’ she said, stirring. ‘Maybe I should come back?’

  ‘No,’ he said, his voice low and steady. ‘I want you to say whatever it is you came to say, because I don’t want you to have a chance to change your mind.’

  He knew. But he had to hear it from her. She took a breath, trying to gather her thoughts. There was so much to say, she didn’t know where to start. She’d gone over it all in the bus, but it wasn’t exactly polished, nothing like it. It was all over the place, every random thought that had passed through her head in the last twenty-four hours since she’d seen him at the carpark at Brookhaven, since he’d kissed her.

  ‘Helen?’ He was gazing down at her with those wonderful eyes, from the face she loved with all her heart. When had she turned into such a hopeless romantic?

  There was only one thing to do.

  Helen reached up, wrapped her arms around him and planted her lips on his. Myles took only a second or two to respond, then she felt his arms drawing her close to him. And they kept kissing. And kissing. There was an awful lot that had to be said in that kiss. And they both kept right on saying it, and saying it. And after a long, intense conversation, Myles began gradually to pull back, little by little, as their lips played against each other, reluctant to part.

  ‘So,’ he breathed, still holding her close, ‘that’s what you wanted to tell me?’

  ‘Pretty much,’ she murmured. ‘There’s more, but we might have to go somewhere more private for that.’

  He smiled, gazing down at her. ‘So what brought this on?’

  She sighed happily. ‘So much, too much for me to go into right now. But I guess the final thing was the bus driver turning up at my house today.’

  Myles looked confused.

  ‘The one who drove the bus, you know, the bus,’ said Helen. ‘And he was so depressed and shattered, his whole life was in ruins, and I looked in his eyes and I didn’t want that for me, and I knew that David would never have wanted it either. And I finally knew it was an accident, that it was no one’s fault. And he’s gone, and it’s okay for me to be happy again.’

  Myles held her face in his hands. ‘Well that’s good, because that’s my plan, to make you happy.’

  ‘You’ve made a good start,’ she smiled, as his lips came down on hers again.

  ‘Myles –’

  They sprang apart. One of the Japanese speakers was standing in the doorway to Myles’s office, looking embarrassed and a little flummoxed.

  ‘Oh, um, sorry, as you were, sorry,’ he mumbled, closing the door again.

  Myles turned to look down at her. Helen was biting her lip. ‘Uh-oh, is this going to get you into trouble?’

  ‘No,’ he assured her. ‘But they might not take my glowing recommendation of you on face value now.’

  Her face dropped.

  ‘I’m kidding, don’t worry about it,’ he smiled, drawing her back into his arms. ‘I’d better go back in. Was there anything else you wanted to say?’

  ‘Oh, just, you know . . . I love you. I forgot to say that before.’

  ‘I kind of picked up on that. But it’s nice to hear it.’ He gave her one last, lingering kiss. ‘I’ll call you when I’m done here.’

  ‘Okay,’ she said.

  They drew apart, walking away from each other backwards, their eyes still locked.

  ‘Oh, Myles?’ said Helen as he reached the door. ‘There was one other thing.’

  He stopped, waiting.

  ‘I guess I’m saying, don’t go to Melbourne.’

  He smiled, taking a few steps back towards her. ‘You know what,’ he said, ‘I think I might have a better idea.’

  *

  Balmain

  ‘Myles asked you to go to Melbourne with him?’

  ‘That’s right. Me and Noah.’

  Gemma was sitting across the kitchen table staring gobsmacked at Helen. It was to be the inaugural post-Lola Friday night drinks that night, and they were expecting Phoebe soon. But Helen had jumped the gun and opened a bottle already; she had a feeling this would go down better with a drink.

  ‘So what are you going to do?’ Gemma wanted to know.

  ‘I’m going to Melbourne with him,’ Helen said simply.

  ‘Just like that?’

  ‘No,’ she said patiently. ‘Not “just like that”. We’ve been talking about it for over a week.’

  ‘Oh, wow, a whole week,’ said Gemma sardonically.

  ‘Gemma . . .’

  ‘How come when I took off with some bloke, leaving a good job, and I don’t know . . . everything behind me, people thought I was crazy and irresponsible?’

  ‘I think this is a little different,’ said Helen.

  Gemma’s shoulders sagged in defeat. ‘Okay, so Myles is not a total loser like Luke was, and you two actually love each other, for real and everything, but why do you have to move away? You can love each other just as well here in Sydney, can’t you?’

  Helen sat forward in her chair, leaning her arms on the table. ‘I think we need to get away from here to see what we have together. There are too many memories, too many ghosts. He doesn’t expect me to forget David, no way – he’s Noah’s father – but I think it’ll be good for us to start out fresh.’ She paused. ‘Anyway, it’s not like it has to be forever. If I don’t like it, we’ll come back in a year or so, Myles said, whenever I want.’

  ‘But you won’t,’ Gemma sighed.

  ‘To be honest, Gem, I’ve got no idea what’s going to happen, and that’s a little scary, but it’s also pretty wonderful. I’ve never lived anywhere else my whole life but in this very house,’ Helen said, looking around. ‘I think if I really want to move on, I have to move out. It’s time to finally spread my wings.’

  Gemma was watching the look on her face, the light in her eyes. ‘You have to do it,’ she said resignedly. ‘Of course you have to do it.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘But what will you do in Melbourne? I mean, Myl
es has a life there, what about you and Noah?’

  ‘Well, he hasn’t taken holidays since . . . forever, so he’s going to have some time off at first while we settle in. He wants to show me around, introduce us to his brothers; in fact, we’re going to have a week or so in Tasmania with Hugo’s family on their property. He’s got three boys, not to mention pigs and chooks and horses and what have you. Noah’s going to flip.’

  ‘All right, idyllic so far, then what?’ asked Gemma. ‘When Myles goes back to work, what are you going to do with yourself?’

  ‘Get a job, of course,’ Helen said. ‘I’ve already been looking on the net, in fact. Myles suggested I think about charitable organisations, environmental groups, that kind of thing. Somewhere I won’t be so ethically challenged,’ she grinned. ‘Turns out there’s some interesting possibilities. I was hoping you’d give me a hand updating my résumé, actually, Gem.’

  ‘Of course, I’d be happy to,’ said Gemma. ‘You certainly seem to have this all figured out, Helen. Why didn’t you talk to me sooner?’

  ‘Because I had to figure it out for myself first. And I wanted to check with Tony before I told you, make sure he was happy to take over responsibility for Mum, and the house. He’s totally supportive of you staying here: nothing’s going to change for you. He even suggested that Phoebe can move in if she’d like now that there’ll be a spare room.’

  ‘Oh no, Phoebe’s flying the coop, trekking to base camp, would you believe? Mad woman doesn’t know what a holiday is.’ Gemma paused. ‘Hey, I’ve just realised, you’re all abandoning me. What am I going to do on Friday nights?’

  Helen smiled. ‘There’s always Charlie.’

  ‘Given time,’ Gemma said, nodding. ‘I am going to be such a model of patience he’ll be begging me to take him in the end.’ She stared at the bubbles rising in her glass. ‘You know, ever since I began to look at him differently, I can’t stop looking at him. I finally understand what loving someone’s really all about. I’d do anything for him and Lola.’

  ‘I know exactly what you mean.’

  Gemma looked at Helen. ‘What a lame, lovelorn pair we are,’ she grinned.