False Advertising (32 page)

Helen knocked on her mother's closed door and opened it, peering into the dim room. Marion was lying on the bed, staring at the TV, but the sound was so low she could not possibly be following the program. It was just colour and movement, keeping her distracted.

‘Hello Mum,' said Helen, trying to sound positive. ‘How are you today?'

Marion's head turned slowly towards her, her eyes glazed. Helen felt her heart breaking. Even her sniping and abuse were better than this.

‘It's so dark in here,' Helen said briskly, crossing to the television and flicking it off. She walked around to the window and opened the blind. ‘Look at what a lovely day it is out there.' Then she had an idea. She checked her watch. ‘Come on, let's go for a walk,' she said, turning around to look at her mother.

But Marion shook her head. ‘I'm tired.'

‘You're tired because you've been lying in bed all day,' said Helen, hoisting her up. Her hair was stuck to the back of her head and she smelled stale. She was obviously getting to the point where she couldn't be left to bathe herself. Helen wondered if the staff were aware, whether they had a plan, when they would step up her care.

At least today she could get her mother out in the fresh air for ten minutes. Marion compliantly stuck each arm into the sleeves of her robe as Helen held them out for her. She knelt down and slipped her outdoor scuffs on her feet, then looked up at her. ‘Are you ready?'

‘Where are we going?' Marion asked, her voice small.

‘Just into the garden,' said Helen brightly. ‘It's a beautiful day outside.'

‘I'm very tired.'

‘I know, we won't stay long.'

Helen led her mother into the prettiest part of the garden, though it was still a little bare yet, being late winter. Some azaleas were beginning to bloom, but the rest would have to wait for spring to arrive. They walked over to a garden bench and sat down. There was a little bite in the breeze, but the sun was warm, and the aspect delightful. But Marion's face was not really registering anything. She seemed to be struggling with just being, let alone taking in her surroundings. Helen reached over and took hold of her mother's hand, where it lay listlessly on her lap.

‘I'm going to start a new job, Mum,' said Helen. ‘So everything's going to be all right. You don't have to worry about the money, about anything.' She paused. ‘It's a good job, too. Not exactly what I would have chosen myself, but I haven't really had a choice about much that's happened this year, so I'm thinking I'll just go with the flow for now. And my new boss, he seems really decent, kind. He's interested in my opinion; that's a new experience for me. He thinks I've got something to offer. I guess we'll see.'

She turned her head to look at her mother. ‘It's lovely out here, isn't it?'

Marion sighed deeply. ‘I'd like to go in now. I'm very tired.'

Helen deposited her mother back in her room, back in her bed, with the flickering TV set turned on again and the sound muted. She resolved to go back tomorrow, bathe her, wash her hair, get her into day clothes and out of that room. She felt agitated. She knew she wouldn't have as much time once she was working the two days Noah was at preschool; she always saw her mother on at least one of those days, if not both, especially as she had been less inclined to bring Noah of late, particularly for long visits. Would she even have the time for long visits after she started work? And what about after Gemma had the baby . . .?

Helen left her mother and started along the labyrinthine corridors, lost in thought. What had she let herself in for? It was untenable, wasn't it? She hadn't really thought it through. It was a job that suited her and Noah, but allowed very little time for her mother. By the same token, if she didn't take the job, she wouldn't be able to afford to keep Marion here for much longer.

‘Hello Helen.'

She jumped, startled to see Dr Chris coming towards her.

‘Finally we bump into each other!' he said warmly.

‘Chris,' Helen nodded. ‘When did you last review my mother's medication?'

He looked a little taken aback.

‘I'm sorry,' said Helen, ‘I didn't mean to jump at you like that, it's just that she's almost comatose in there. Surely there has to be a balance between calming her down and sedating her?'

‘Of course,' he agreed. ‘And it's a very difficult balance to strike. I'd think you'd be aware of that, Helen.'

She sighed. ‘I just don't like seeing her like this.'

‘Why don't you come back to my office. I'll make you a cup of coffee and we can talk about it.'

Helen shook her head. ‘I can't, I'm late for Noah already. But I'll be in tomorrow.'

‘I won't be.' He glanced around to make sure they were on their own, then he drew her aside close to the wall. ‘Look, I'm sorry if I sound blunt, Helen,' he said in a lowered voice, ‘but you should know things aren't going to get much better for your mother. That's what I've been trying to prepare you for.'

Helen felt an ache in the back of her throat. She swallowed. ‘I just want her to be a little . . . happier?' she said in a small voice.

Chris considered her kindly. ‘I'll look in on her this afternoon, and I'll have a word to the staff. See what we can do.'

Helen nodded faintly. ‘Thank you.'

Late that night Helen sat up in bed, hugging David's pillow. He'd know what to do. He'd calmly review all the options, the pros
and cons, and help her come to the right decision. But David wasn't here, and in fact it was because he wasn't here that she was in this mess.

Helen sighed. That wasn't fair, and feeling sorry for herself wouldn't get her anywhere either. She contemplated the phone she'd been holding in her hand for the past half an hour. Just do it. She dialled a lengthy series of numbers, then held the phone to her ear, waiting till she heard a ringtone. It was a female voice that finally came onto the line.

‘Oh, hello,' said Helen. ‘Um, I hope I have the right number. I was after Tony. Tony Zelinsky?'

‘Yeah, sure, you've got the right number. Can I ask who's calling?'

‘Um, it's his sister, in Australia.'

‘Oh, brilliant! Hold on . . . To
nyyy!!
It's Australia on the phone!'

Helen heard more calling and a door banging, someone running on stairs, by the sounds of it, the woman's excited voice repeating it was Australia, his sister calling from Australia, and finally Tony . . .

‘Helen, is that you?'

‘Yeah, it's me, Tony, hi.'

‘Is everything all right?'

‘Yes –'

‘Mum's okay?'

‘Oh, yes –'

‘Noah?'

‘Yes,' Helen assured him. ‘Everyone's okay.' He obviously expected a call from Australia to mean bad news.

‘How are you, Hel? It's good to hear your voice.'

And that was all it took. Helen burst into loud sobs, taking both Tony and herself by surprise.

‘Hel, what's the matter?' he said urgently. ‘Are you sure everything's all right?'

‘Yes, kind of,' she sobbed. ‘No one's sick or hurt, don't worry, but Mum's getting worse all the time.' She took a tremulous breath. ‘And I got a new job, so I can afford her fees, but now I won't be able to see her so much, and I don't know if it's the right thing, but I can't keep her there if I don't have a job, and
then I thought maybe I should just bring her home and nurse her myself –'

‘Helen,' Tony broke into her blubbering monologue. ‘Try to calm down, Hel, I can't make out what you're saying.'

She took a couple of deep breaths.

‘You got a job?' Tony prompted after giving her a minute.

‘That's right,' she sniffed. ‘Part-time, when Noah's at preschool.'

‘Well, that's good, isn't it?' he said encouragingly. ‘Is it in a hospital?'

‘No, I'm not nursing. It's, um . . .' Helen realised she hadn't said this to anyone yet. ‘Well, it's, um, personal assistant to the managing director of an advertising agency.'

‘No kidding?' said Tony, impressed. ‘That's not what I expected.'

‘No . . .' Helen said uncertainly.

‘Sounds great though, Hel. How did you land that?'

‘My boarder . . . oh, I didn't tell you about her, did I? But I took your advice and got a boarder in. Her name's Gemma, and well, turns out she was pregnant, which was a bit of a surprise. But on the positive, she had this great job that she didn't want to lose, so she approached her boss about job-sharing, with me, and he agreed.'

‘And so you're enjoying it?'

‘I haven't actually started yet. But I've met the boss a couple of times now, he took me on a tour around the place today actually. He's very nice, and well, very encouraging.' Helen paused. ‘He said I, um, well, he said that he thinks I've got a lot to offer.'

‘Of course you do,' said Tony, with obvious pride in his voice. ‘I'm so happy for you, Hel, this is going to be really good for you.'

She sniffed. ‘There's a problem, though.'

‘What's that?'

‘Mum's getting worse lately. They have to keep her on medication to calm her down, but she's like a zombie. She has no life. If I take this job, I'm not going to be able to visit her very much, and, well, I've been wondering if the best solution isn't just to bring her home and nurse her myself.'

‘No, Helen, absolutely not,' Tony said firmly. ‘That's not the best solution at all.'

‘But the more I think of it,' Helen persisted, ‘I won't have the fees, and I'll get some government help – not just money; I can use respite care for a break. And she'll be in her own home, doesn't she deserve that?'

‘What makes you think she'll even know it any more?' said Tony carefully. ‘How often does she recognise you, Hel?'

She sighed. ‘Not often.' Not at all.

‘And how are you going to give Noah the attention he needs if you're looking after Mum full-time? And what about your boarder? You can't just toss her out when she's expecting a baby.'

Helen hadn't thought of that.

‘Hel, you can't do it,' said Tony. ‘Your heart's in the right place, it always is, but this is not possible. Take the job, throw yourself into it, see Mum when you can, but don't stress about it. And stop feeling so guilty. In fact, package up all that guilt and send it over here to me. I should be the one wearing it, not you.'

‘Tony . . .'

‘It's true, Helen, you've done your bit.' He hesitated. ‘And look, I wasn't going to say anything until I was sure, but things have taken an interesting turn here, and I might be able to help out a lot more, sooner than I thought.'

‘Oh, what's going on?'

‘I still don't want to say too much,' said Tony. ‘But I'll let you know as soon as I can. In the meantime, promise me you're going to take the job.'

‘I will, I promise.'

‘Good.' He sighed, satisfied. ‘I'm glad you called,' he said. ‘I feel like your big brother again.'

Helen smiled.

‘Let me know how it goes, okay?'

‘Okay, thanks Tony.'

‘Love you, Hel.'

*

‘Why didn't you tell me you'd finished up work?' Trish exclaimed when Gemma opened the door to her mother, standing impatiently on the front porch in full ‘ladies-who-lunch' regalia. ‘I had to hear it from Phoebe, which seems to be the only way I ever find out any news about you these days. Do you ever listen to your phone messages? And what on earth is that get-up you're wearing, Gemma?' she frowned as she walked inside, past her daughter.

‘Come on in, Mum,' Gemma muttered, trailing her mother as she charged straight through the house to the back room.

‘Goodness,' Trish remarked, surveying the still almost empty room. ‘What happened out here?'

‘Nothing much,' said Gemma. ‘Helen sold nearly everything that weekend you came. She just hasn't had a chance to replace the lounge.'

‘We have a sofa we're not using. I'll get your father to organise someone to bring it around.'

‘Don't you think you ought to check with Helen first?'

‘I'm just saying, until she gets something,' she shrugged. ‘But of course I'll check with her. What's her number at work?'

‘Hold your horses, Mum.' Gemma's head was spinning. ‘What exactly are you doing here?'

‘Well, now that you've finished work I thought I'd help you get ready for the baby. You must have tonnes to do.'

‘I haven't finished work altogether,' Gemma corrected her. ‘Helen and I have just started job-sharing: she works two days and I'm still on three.' By the skin of her teeth. She was sure that if the MD had his way, she'd be out of there already. So Gemma intended to hang on as long as she could manage. She wanted to make sure she had a job to go back to.

‘I know about the arrangement, I just didn't realise it was going to start straightaway,' Trish remarked.

‘It wasn't meant to. But I trained Helen for a couple of days last week and she could do the job standing on her head. There was no point the two of us being there.'

‘Indeed,' Trish declared. ‘And this will give us more time to get ready for the baby. So run along and get changed, I'm taking you shopping.'

‘What for?'

‘Oh, silly,' her mother scoffed. ‘To buy things for the baby, of course.'

‘Mum, you already bought enough for the baby. For three babies.'

‘Nonsense, there must be something you need.'

‘There isn't.'

‘Then there must be something you
want
!'

Gemma sighed. ‘Mum, between what Helen's given me of Noah's and everything you've bought so far, I'm not going to want for a thing.'

Trish's eyes narrowed. ‘What did Helen give you?'

‘Don't start on about second-hand stuff,' Gemma warned.

‘I wasn't going to,' said Trish airily. ‘In fact, Leisa's kicking herself now that she got rid of her baby things. It was all Bugaboo and what have you, only the best. She did hold onto it for a while. After Antonia Kidman had her third, Leisa toyed with the idea of having another, but she decided she wouldn't get any “me” time at all with three.'

And wouldn't that be a tragedy of epic proportions.

‘Now why won't you let me take you shopping?' Trish persisted.

‘Because I'm starting work on the baby's room today,' said Gemma, changing tack.

‘Oh!' Trish clapped her hands together in delight. ‘Where is it? You have to show me.'

‘All right,' Gemma shrugged. Here goes nothing. She walked across to the door into the darkroom, forcing it open. The bottom of the door still caught on the carpet; she was going to have to do something about that.

Trish followed her in tentatively, the horror gradually dawning on her face. ‘Gemma, you can't seriously be considering putting a baby in here?'

‘It's just a room, Mum. As soon as it's all cleaned up it'll be fine.'

‘It's like a dungeon,' she sniffed, peering across the room. ‘Is that window painted black?'

‘It was used as a darkroom a long time ago,' Gemma explained. ‘I'm sure I can get the paint off the window. I was going start on it today as a matter of fact.'

‘At least that explains the way you're dressed,' said Trish. ‘But you're not starting on anything until I get our painter out here to take a look.'

‘No thanks, Mum, all the same,' Gemma said firmly. ‘I want to do this myself.'

Trish planted one hand on her hip. ‘Gemma, didn't you just say this room used to be a darkroom quite some time ago?'

She nodded. ‘So?'

‘Did they use lead-based paint on the window?'

Bam. ‘Um, I'm not sure . . .'

‘You can't be breathing in the dust and fumes trying to strip it away, Gemma – think of your unborn baby. And just look at that ceiling. It's probably lead paint as well, and it will have to be resurfaced. Look at the flaking, and the damp over in that corner. Do you have any idea what a huge job this is?'

‘Yes,' Gemma lied. ‘I'm not stupid, Mum. That's why I'm starting now. Why do you always think I'm so incompetent?'

Trish looked at her, unfazed. ‘I don't think you're incompetent at all, Gemma. I just don't want you to risk hurting yourself. Can see yourself up on a ladder, in a couple of months, painting those cornices?'

Double bam.

‘I thought as much.' Trish took her mobile phone out of her handbag. ‘I'll call Warren now and see when he can fit us in.'

Gemma trudged defeated out to the kitchen and put the kettle on while her mother launched into Project Takeover Gemma's Life. She may as well give up now. The fact that her mother was actually right this time would give her so much momentum she would be unstoppable.

Not five minutes later, Trish strode into the kitchen, jubilant. ‘How's this for serendipity? Warren is working in Five Dock, would you believe? You'd hardly ever find him this side of the Bridge. It was meant to be. Anyway, he's coming over when he finishes up this afternoon.'

‘What time will that be? I have to pick up Noah at four,' said Gemma.

‘Never mind, I'll be here,' said Trish.

Gemma groaned inwardly. That meant . . .

‘We have the whole day together!' Trish exclaimed. ‘What shall we do? I know, why don't we go and pick out colours for the nursery? You know what I think would look great? Something sunny and bright, like yellow.'

Damn. Gemma had wanted yellow. Now she was going to have to change her mind. Maybe. ‘Do you want a cup of tea?' she asked wearily.

‘Thanks, darling,' said Trish as she walked back to the doorway, looking across the back room. ‘You know, Warren might as well do this room while he's at it,' she mused. ‘Before we send the sofa over.'

‘Mum, I don't know if Helen can afford that –'

‘Oh, your father and I will cover it,' she said, waving her hand dismissively. ‘It can be our present for the baby, or a house-warming gift, or both, whatever.'

Gemma looked directly at her mother. ‘What if Helen doesn't feel comfortable accepting that?'

‘What?' Trish turned to look at her. ‘A can of paint and an extra half-day of labour? Oh please, Gemma, I'm sure she's not as bull-headed as you.'

‘I'm not bull-headed,' Gemma tried to say in an even tone. It was a common error to be bull-headed about insisting you were not bull-headed.

Trish laughed lightly. ‘Oh Gemma, of course you are, I should know. It takes one to know one.'

‘What?'

‘Where do you think you get it from? You're so much like me.'

That was too horrifying to even contemplate. ‘I don't think so, Mum.'

‘Of course you are,' she insisted cheerfully. ‘I used to give my mother merry hell as well. When we were having all the trouble with you, she used to say, “What goes around comes around.”'

Gemma was crestfallen. ‘Nan wouldn't have said that. Nan
and I got on great; she was the only one in the family who understood me.'

‘Of course she did,' Trish agreed. ‘She'd had practice! Now, how's that tea coming along? Perhaps we should leave it till we're out: we really have to get a move on if we're going to be back for Warren, and what time did you say you have to pick up Jonah?'

‘Mum, please, his name is
Noah
.'

‘Sorry, sorry,' Trish said, shaking her head. ‘I try to remember “ark”, but then I think of water, and “whale” ends up popping into my head. I hope you haven't picked out anything too weird for your baby, Gemma. I've had enough Shilohs and Suris and God help me, please promise me you're not naming your child after a piece of fruit. What is wrong with celebrities these days?'

Gemma looked sideways at her. ‘Yeah,' cause in your day they were so much more sensible, just ask Zowie Bowie and Moon Unit Zappa.'

Trish laughed again. ‘You're right, dear oh dear. Still, I'm sure you appreciate that your father and I didn't give you weird names. Can you imagine that poor child having to introduce herself when she's an adult? Hi, I'm Apple, but people tell me I'm a real peach!' Trish laughed and laughed at her own joke, till she was dabbing at tears at the corners of her eyes.

Gemma watched her, bemused. ‘Are you on drugs or something, Mum?'

‘Just high on life, darling,' she said, slipping her arm through Gemma's. ‘Why don't you go and get changed – into something nice, please dear – we'll have lunch while we're out.'