False Advertising (25 page)

‘But think about it, MD, this is a very progressive step you'd be taking for the company. I'm sure some government department or other gives out awards for this kind of thing. Family-friendly initiatives. I'll look into it. And you can bet there's not a whole lot of that going on in this industry. You'll be a trailblazer, a pioneer. And you've always been a little worried about what the staff think of you. This will certainly put any doubts aside about just where your heart is.'

‘Okay, okay, I think you're laying it on a bit thick now,' he said.

Gemma held her breath. ‘So what do you say?'

He picked up his glasses, replaced them and looked directly at Gemma across the desk. ‘Do I at least get to meet this super-woman before I decide?'

‘Of course you do,' said Gemma nervously. As soon as she let Helen in on the plan, that would be absolutely fine. ‘When do you want me to set it up?'

‘As soon as possible.' He clicked on his mouse to bring up his schedule on the computer screen. ‘Tomorrow's good.'

Gemma swallowed. ‘Tomorrow?'

He nodded, staring at the screen. ‘I want to know if this has any chance of working. Or if I'm going to have to sack you and start all over again.' He glanced at her. ‘Is that a problem?'

Problem? Was it a problem? Of course it wasn't a problem! It was a fucking crisis.

But she just said, ‘No, no problem.'

‘Okay, meetings all morning,' he murmured half to himself. ‘One o'clock. Get her to come in at one, tomorrow.'

Gemma forced a smile and stood up. ‘I'll let her know.' She turned and walked towards the door when the lead weight dropped right into the pit of her stomach. She spun around again.

‘Oh, MD, you can't, um, at least, you won't, you weren't intending to bring up about her husband, were you?' she said frantically.

‘What do you mean?'

‘Well, when you meet her tomorrow,' said Gemma, ‘you won't ask her about the accident, or refer to her as a widow, or anything, will you?'

He sat back in his chair, regarding Gemma dubiously. ‘So you did make all that up.'

‘No!' she insisted, walking quickly back to his desk. ‘How could you think I'd make up something like that?'

He didn't look entirely convinced.

‘It's just that she's very sensitive about it, surely you can understand that?' Gemma paused, thinking. ‘Look, his name is, was, David Chapman. It happened about six months ago, I think, near Railway Square. There must be some reference to it on the net, in news archives. There was an inquest, I'm pretty sure she said.'

He still didn't respond.

‘I promise you, I wouldn't make this up,' Gemma said earnestly. ‘But she really doesn't like talking about it, and she can't handle people feeling sorry for her.'

The MD sighed deeply. ‘Okay, I won't bring it up if she doesn't.'

‘Phoebe, it's me.'

‘Hi Gem, why are you whispering?'

‘Can't explain, can't stay on long, just wanted to ask if you can come over tonight.'

‘Tonight . . .?' she said vaguely. ‘What for?'

‘I need your help. I can't explain now, but it's really important. Just come, please, and back me up, whatever I say.'

‘What are you talking about? Back you up to whom?'

‘To Helen.'

‘Oh, I don't know, Gem, I don't want to get in the middle of something between you two.'

‘It's not like that, this is a good thing. It's a win-win situation.'

‘Oh really?' said Phoebe doubtfully.

‘You have to believe me,' Gemma insisted. ‘I like Helen, and more than that, I respect her. I wouldn't do anything that wasn't in her best interests, I promise you.'

She heard Phoebe sigh. She had her.

‘Great, I'll see you at home. And bring a couple of suits, you know, your best interview suits? And shoes. Look, what the heck, just bring whole outfits.'

‘Gemma!'

‘Have to go, see you later.'

Gemma bolted for the door when she heard the knock. ‘I'll get it!'

She left Helen standing bemused at the kitchen sink. Gemma had been skittish all evening, prattling on about her job more positively than Helen had ever heard before, being overly attentive to Noah, checking the door what seemed like every five minutes. Something was going on, and Helen had a feeling she was about to find out what that something was.

Phoebe was standing on the porch, loaded down with garment bags, when Gemma opened the door. ‘Quick!' Gemma hissed, grabbing her arm and dragging her inside. ‘Before she sees you with all that.'

‘What are you doing?'

Gemma didn't answer her till they were safely behind her bedroom door. She took the bags from Phoebe and laid them flat across her bed. ‘Thanks for bringing all this, Phee.'

‘Are you going to tell me what's going on?'

Gemma turned to her. ‘I finally told the boss today that I'm pregnant.'

‘Oh?' said Phoebe. ‘How did that go?'

‘Surprisingly not as bad as I expected,' she admitted. ‘He's prepared to consider letting me job-share.'

‘Wow, that is good. Really good. So what's all this about? Why did I have to bring all my suits? I didn't think they'd fit you any more.'

‘They're for Helen. All going to plan, she'll be the one sharing my job.'

Phoebe raised her eyebrows. ‘I didn't realise she was looking for work.'

‘Well, she wasn't . . . exactly . . .'

Phoebe folded her arms. ‘Spill. What's going on?'

‘Okay, here it is,' Gemma began. ‘Helen's financial position is pretty shaky, from the little she's told me, but she doesn't want to go back to nursing because shiftwork's too hard with Noah. So when I got to talking with the MD today, and the idea of job-sharing came up, I immediately thought of her. She'd be perfect.'

‘But she hasn't got any experience in this kind of work, has she?'

‘Well, not in advertising per se. But she's really organised and efficient. She understands the MD's rostering system, she's more competent on a computer than I am. That's all she needs in this job. It'd be so good for her, Phee, get her out of the house and into the real world. She could start meeting people, rebuild her life.'

Phoebe nodded. ‘Okay, I agree, it all sounds good. So why are we talking about it in here, out of earshot, like it's a conspiracy?'

Gemma sighed. ‘I was hoping you'd back me up. I haven't told Helen yet.'

‘Hold on,' said Phoebe. ‘You put her up for a job without checking with her first?'

‘I just threw her name in the ring. Nothing's set in stone. He has to interview her first.'

‘So that's why you wanted me to bring the suits,' said Phoebe, putting the pieces together. ‘But why the rush? This only happened today, didn't it?'

‘Yeah, but the interview's tomorrow.'

Phoebe's eyes widened. ‘She has an interview tomorrow for a job you haven't told her about?'

Gemma nodded lamely. ‘It all happened so fast. I just mentioned I might know someone who could job-share, and before I knew it he'd scheduled an appointment. He said he wants to meet her as soon as possible.'

‘Gemma, what if Helen's not interested?'

‘Then I guess I'm screwed,' she replied. ‘But I'm getting used to that. In the meantime, can you please try to think positively and help me convince her this is a good thing?'

Phoebe winced. ‘I don't know, Gem . . . I feel a little uncomfortable. I don't want to railroad the poor woman. Don't you think she's been through enough?'

‘I'm not trying to railroad her,' said Gemma. ‘I wouldn't do that. I genuinely believe this would be good for her.'

‘And it just happens to be good for you too.'

‘Yes, it does,' she agreed. ‘It'll save my arse if it works out, but if you don't think this is a good opportunity for Helen, then fine, go home. Don't get involved.'

Phoebe considered her sister's piqued expression for a moment. ‘Okay, I'll stay. But you're doing the talking. I'm only here for moral support.'

Gemma looped her arm through Phoebe's. ‘Good, I need as much of that as I can get.'

When they walked into the kitchen, Helen had just finished the washing-up. ‘You didn't have to do that,' said Gemma. ‘I would have finished it.'

‘It's not a problem,' said Helen, leaning back against the sink. ‘Hi Phoebe. How are you?'

‘Fine, fine,' Phoebe nodded, a little awkwardly.

Helen looked from Gemma to Phoebe and back again. ‘Is everything okay?'

‘Fine,' they chorused, a little too eagerly.

She frowned. ‘Um, would you like me to get out of your way . . .?'

‘No!' Gemma blurted.

Helen looked at her. ‘What's going on?'

‘Um, well, the thing is,' said Gemma, searching for the right words, a way to begin, ‘I know, let's have a drink, shall we?'

‘A drink?' said Helen. ‘I'm not sure if we've got anything.'

‘Damn, I didn't bring anything either,' muttered Phoebe.

‘Phee,' Gemma whined. ‘You always bring something.'

‘Yeah, well, I was distracted, because of the . . . other stuff I had to bring.'

‘What other stuff?' asked Helen.

The sisters turned to look at her simultaneously.

‘Maybe you should sit down,' said Gemma.

Helen hated hearing those words. Her heart dropped
sickeningly, her whole chest heaving with the dread of whatever they had to tell her.

‘Oh, no, Helen, don't get the wrong idea,' said Gemma, seeing the expression on her face. ‘It's nothing bad. In fact, it's good, it's great. I have a very exciting proposal for you, which I think you're going to find hard to resist.'

Helen sat and listened while Gemma talked. She had worked it out down to the finest detail; since speaking to the MD she had barely been able to think of anything else. The fact was, this was a tailor-made solution for both their predicaments. Helen could start off working one of the days that Noah was at preschool, and eventually both, and Gemma would be home to drop him off and collect him. Solved. After the baby was born, Gemma suspected she'd be virtually housebound, so it was not going to be any trouble to look after Noah as well on the days he wasn't at preschool. Then, as she felt ready to return to work, perhaps, and she had a good feeling about this, Helen would be prepared to mind the baby, for a fee, of course, on the days Gemma was at the office. Depending on how it all panned out, some kind of variation on such a roster could continue for as long as everyone was happy. Which she was quite sure they would be. It was a perfect, simple, obvious solution. As though it was meant to be.

‘I can't do it,' said Helen flatly as soon as Gemma had finished her spiel.

Gemma blinked. ‘What do you mean?'

Helen sighed, getting to her feet. ‘I can't do it. Sorry.'

Gemma jumped up to stop her. ‘No, wait, there's room for negotiation here, heaps of room! You can't just walk away, Helen,' she gasped.

‘I'm only putting on the kettle,' Helen said calmly.

‘I'll do it!' Gemma exclaimed, dashing across to the bench and snatching up the kettle.

‘Fine,' said Helen, sitting down again.

Gemma walked to the sink and turned on the tap. ‘What can I say to sweeten the pot?'

‘Nothing really. The pot's sweet enough. I just can't do it. Sorry.'

Gemma was floored. She hadn't expected a flat refusal. She looked across at Phoebe and made a face at her.

Phoebe shrugged, but then sat up straight, focusing on Helen. ‘Helen,' she began, ‘why do you think you can't do it? I'm sure you're quite capable –'

‘That's not the point,' said Helen. ‘I just can't leave Noah, that's what it comes down to.'

‘What, ever?' demanded Gemma as she flicked the kettle on and turned to look at Helen.

‘I think what Gemma's trying to say,' said Phoebe, taking over in a more conciliatory tone, ‘is that you're going to have to leave him sometime, isn't that right?'

Helen shrugged. ‘I think it's still too soon.'

‘Well, that's fair enough,' said Phoebe. Gemma glared at her from behind Helen. ‘I can't even imagine how you must feel in your situation, and you have to do what you believe is right for you and Noah.'

Gemma was beginning to wish she'd never called Phoebe. So much for moral support.

‘But putting that aside for the moment,' Phoebe went on, ‘just say Noah was ready, do you think Gemma's idea is at least viable? Think about it: his routine would not have to be disrupted at all; the only difference is that it'd be Gemma taking him to preschool and back, instead of you. I'd imagine there may even be some room to move there, wouldn't you say, Gem? Perhaps Helen could start a little later, or finish a little earlier?'

‘I'm sure something could be arranged,' Gemma agreed. This was good. Phoebe clearly knew how to manipulate a negotiation, it was the lawyer in her.

But Helen was a little flummoxed. ‘Look, I just don't think Noah's ready.'

Gemma sat back down beside her. ‘Don't you trust me with him?'

‘Of course I do,' she said quickly to be polite. It wasn't that she didn't trust Gemma, it was that she didn't trust Noah out of her sight.

‘Well, he'd be at preschool most of the time, and then he'd be in his own house, with me. He'd only be away from you for a
couple of extra hours a week,' said Gemma, trying to emulate Phoebe's more dulcet tones, and resisting the urge to shake some sense into Helen. ‘This would ease your financial situation, Helen, and it would give you some excellent experience, if you really want to get away from nursing.'

They were making sense, of course they were making sense. So why did Helen feel as though she couldn't breathe?

‘You could think of it as a trial,' Phoebe suggested. ‘If it doesn't work out, if Noah doesn't cope, then you don't have to stick it out.'

‘But what will Gemma do then?'

‘Probably get the sack,' Gemma said blithely. Phoebe frowned at her. ‘Helen, I'd be no worse off than I am now if you don't give it a go. Why don't you just meet him, see how you like him –'

‘You're always saying he's a pig.'

Bugger. ‘No, not seriously,' she denied. ‘I meant it in an affectionate way, you know . . .'

Phoebe rolled her eyes.

‘Look, I have to admit, he's being really decent about this,' Gemma persisted. ‘He's not such a bad guy. In fact, come to think of it, you'd probably get on really well with him. A lot better than I do.'

Helen looked doubtfully at her. ‘Why do you say that?'

‘Well, he's a schedule freak, like you.'

‘You think I'm a schedule freak?'

‘Not at all,' Gemma corrected herself. ‘You're organised, and efficient, which is totally appropriate for a mother of a young child. I'm taking notes, let me tell you.'

Helen appeared placated, but still not convinced. ‘There's one more thing,' she said carefully.

‘What's that?'

She sighed, looking apologetically at Gemma. ‘I just don't know if I can bring myself to work in advertising.'

‘Oh? Why not?'

‘Well . . .' she hesitated. ‘No offence, but I hate advertising, I'm totally against it, I won't even watch commercial TV. As far as I'm concerned, advertising has helped create the blow-out in consumerism that's corrupting our society.'

She sounded just like Luke. And look what a pillar of society he'd turned out to be.

‘There's a chicken and egg argument if I ever heard one,' said Gemma. ‘I don't think you can say that advertising
creates
consumerism.'

‘Maybe not, but it certainly lights the way,' said Helen.

‘Okay,' Gemma said, thinking quickly. ‘Maybe advertising is evil, but have you ever considered it might be a necessary evil? What do you think pays for the big fat
Sydney Morning Herald
you read every Saturday? Not all advertising is bad, Helen.'

‘Just most of it.'

‘Look.' Gemma realised she was not going to win that argument; she had to take a different slant. ‘I should point out you'd hardly have anything to do with that side of things. I could be working in a doctor's surgery for all my day-to-day job has to do with advertising. I keep the MD's schedule up to date, answer his mail, file . . .'

‘And you're always complaining it's boring.'

‘Parts of it are boring, I'll admit. But it's a job, and a well-paid one for what it is. In a nice office, with clean toilets and good coffee. This is a golden opportunity to try it out, Helen, working hours that fit around Noah. I don't think you'll get another chance like this.'

Helen sat there staring across the table. ‘You're right,' she said finally. ‘I'd be a fool to turn you down without even considering it. I promise I'll give it some serious thought.'

Gemma and Phoebe exchanged a frantic glance.

‘Well would you mind thinking seriously fast?' Gemma blurted. ‘The boss wants to meet you, asap.'

‘Oh? How soon?'

Gemma held her breath. ‘Tomorrow. One o'clock.'

‘Tomorrow?' Helen exclaimed. ‘You've got to be kidding me? I'm not ready for this.'

‘Don't worry, Phoebe brought over all her failsafe interview suits.'

‘
Interview?
'

‘Meeting,' she corrected herself. ‘Just a meeting, where you get to . . . meet each other . . . It's not really an interview, as such.'

‘I don't know . . .' Helen said, her voice wavering.

‘Can I say something?' asked Phoebe.

‘Please!' Gemma insisted.