False Advertising (34 page)

Once Noah was happily tucking into his carrot and his movie, Gemma returned to the kitchen to find Phoebe peeking around the plastic curtain that sealed off the back room. ‘How's Trish's grand project coming along?'

‘Getting there,' said Gemma. ‘I'd show you the baby's room, but we're not allowed to walk across the floorboards till they're sealed.'

The rooms had become rather a bigger project than was first imagined, but then again, making mountains out of molehills
was one of Trish's specialties. As her mother got more carried away, Gemma got more uninterested. She simply couldn't summon the energy to argue with her; the pregnancy had made her lethargic or apathetic or something. Charlie said the term she was looking for was bovine, right before she slapped him.

‘How did Mum talk Helen into letting her do all this?' asked Phoebe.

Gemma shook her head. ‘Helen was an absolute pushover.'

She had been no match for the persuasive talents of their mother. Trish had got her aside and babbled on about making it her project, and as she was doing up the baby's room as a gift for her grandchild, it was economically insane – that's right, insane – not to do the back room at the same time. And the carpet really had to be ripped up and you wouldn't put forty-year-old blinds back on the windows, and they wouldn't hear of Helen paying a cent: she was putting a roof over their daughter's head, not to mention their grandchild's. And when it was all done, they had a lovely sofa and some side tables and she was pretty sure there was a nice timber bookcase that wasn't being used, and before she knew it Helen had been tongue-lashed into submission.

Myles shared the ride home with Helen. He didn't have his car with him anyway. He rarely drove to work, he explained to her. He lived in walking distance of the office, and if he had meetings anywhere in the CBD it was much more efficient to get around by taxi. He'd catch a taxi home tonight as well, he assured her. It was just as easy.

‘So, this is it,' said Helen as they walked through the gate, laden with bags of food from what she had assured Myles was the best Thai in the area.

‘It's charming,' he said.

‘It's dark,' said Helen, walking up to the front door. ‘Don't expect a lot. The house has been in my family for a long time, and it's pretty much in original condition. Apparently we don't possess the renovation gene.'

She pushed the key into the lock and opened the door, as she heard Noah cry out. ‘Mummy!'

Next minute he came shooting out from the front room and propelled himself right at Helen, wrapping his arms around her hips.

‘Hello, sweetheart,' Helen said warmly, leaning down to hug him with her free arm. The nicest part by far about working was coming home to greetings like this. The door closed behind them and Helen remembered Myles. She turned halfway around. ‘Noah, there's someone I'd like you to meet.'

Noah lifted his head to look, but of course the moment he spotted the tall figure of a man, he buried his face under Helen's jacket.

‘Hi there, Noah,' said Myles.

‘He does this for a while,' Helen explained. ‘He'll get over it soon enough.'

Myles smiled at her, but Helen thought she detected a shadow of apprehension in his eyes. So the man at the helm could get nervous like anyone else when he was out of his comfort zone. Helen found that a little endearing.

‘Well, come on through,' she said, towing Noah along with her. When she arrived at the doorway into the kitchen, Gemma was standing expectantly between the table and the bench, clearly not knowing what to do with herself. Was everyone going to be weird about this?

‘Hi, Helen!' Phoebe said brightly. At least she seemed okay, helped no doubt by the half-bottle of wine she'd already consumed.

‘Phoebe, this is Myles,' said Helen.

‘Nice to meet you, Phoebe,' he said, reaching over the table to shake her outstretched hand.

‘You're the MD,' she remarked.

‘Please, call me Myles.'

‘I will indeed,' she said. ‘As long as you call me Phoebe. I'm Gemma's sister, by the way,' she added.

‘Oh, I didn't realise . . .' he said, a little awkwardly, glancing at Gemma.

‘Hi.' She gave him a nod as she leaned back against the bench. It didn't seem right to call him MD out of the office. But she couldn't call him Myles . . . there was something not right about that either. Like calling a teacher by his first name. No matter
how familiar you may have become, there are some lines that just shouldn't be crossed.

‘Hello, Gemma,' Myles said politely. He was on her turf now, and Gemma sensed a certain level of discomfort. ‘Thanks for having me . . .'

She was about to say,
Helen's the one having you
, but there was no way that was going to come out right. So she just said, ‘Thanks for bringing the food.'

He nodded. Then everyone just stood where they were, looking around while trying to avoid making eye contact with anyone else.

‘Let's start, shall we?' Helen suggested finally. ‘Before it gets cold.'

The bustle that followed – fetching plates and cutlery and napkins, serving up the food, finding more glasses and pouring the wine – helped to mask the awkwardness for a time, but it soon began to creep back in once they were all seated at the table eating. After a few polite questions about how everyone's day had been generally, the dreaded seven-minute lull fell upon them.

Thank goodness Phoebe was already lubricated.

‘So, Myles,' she said, ‘how's the whole job-sharing thing working out?'

‘I think it's working out really well,' he replied. ‘But you'd better ask these two.'

Helen glanced across at Gemma, but she was looking directly, and rather pointedly, straight back at her, obviously expecting her to go first.

‘Well,' Helen began, ‘I feel like I've dived in at the deep end. But I guess I'm enjoying the challenge.'

‘You're doing great,' Myles assured her. He looked back at Phoebe. ‘She's a natural.'

‘At advertising?' Gemma blurted. ‘She doesn't even like it.'

‘I'm aware of that,' said Myles calmly. ‘But a certain level of cynicism is not such a bad thing in this industry. What I meant was, Helen's a natural PA. She has excellent organisational and communication skills, and she's extremely efficient, which is great for me.'

Gemma felt like a thirteen year old again, listening to her mother read out Ben's and Phoebe's school reports at the dinner table.

Helen just felt self-conscious. She was trying to think of something to say to shift the focus. But Noah beat her to it.

‘What dat man doing here, Mummy?' he said suddenly. He'd eventually detached himself from his mother, but he was sitting with his chair as close to hers as he could get it, peering surreptitiously at Myles for much of the time.

‘That man's name is Myles, Noah,' said Helen. ‘And he's our guest.'

‘What's guest, Mummy?'

‘A guest is someone who comes to visit . . .' she hesitated, realising she didn't have a whole lot of examples to draw on, ‘like Nanna and Pop.'

‘And Phoebe!' Noah declared.

‘Yay me!' Phoebe smiled at him from across the table, raising her glass.

‘Yes, Phoebe is our guest, and she's our friend as well,' said Helen.

‘Is dat man our friend, Mummy?'

Helen glanced at Myles. ‘Of course he's our friend, Noah,' she said. ‘So you have to stop calling him “that man”.'

‘You can call me Myles if you like, Noah,' said Myles, which made Noah shrink back behind his mother's shoulder. ‘Your mummy and I work together,' he went on, ‘and so does Gemma.'

Oh, someone remembered she was here. Whoop-de-do. Just then there was a knock on the door. ‘I'll get it,' said Gemma, pushing herself up from the table. Anything to get the hell away from this excruciating scene.

As she sauntered through the house the knock sounded again, a little louder this time. ‘Coming!' Gemma sang out, intrigued as to who could be calling at dinnertime on a Friday night, unannounced and uninvited. Helen didn't appear to have a wide social circle. Gemma only hoped it wasn't the dreary in-laws. Imagine throwing them into the mix in there, as if they weren't struggling enough as it was.

Gemma opened the door. ‘Charlie!' she exclaimed. ‘What are you doing here?'

He gave her a weak smile. ‘You've been hounding me to come over . . .'

‘I have, absolutely,' she agreed, looking past him. ‘Did you bring Brittany?'

Charlie shook his head. ‘She had something on,' he said vaguely. ‘So I thought I'd take the opportunity –'

‘Come on in.' Gemma grabbed his arm and drew him inside. ‘I'm so glad you're here, you have no idea.'

Just then they heard voices, and a short burst of laughter. Charlie peered down the hall, frowning. ‘You have company?'

‘Kind of,' said Gemma. ‘But it's only my sister, and you'll never guess who else.'

He looked blankly at her.

‘The MD,' said Gemma, her eyes wide.

‘Oh? What's he doing here?'

‘Helen invited him. It was a last-minute thing, as far as I can tell.'

‘Maybe I should go . . .'

‘No way, buddy,' said Gemma, linking her arm through his. ‘I need an ally.'

‘What does that mean?' he said warily.

‘Nothing,' she dismissed, leading him firmly down the hall. ‘I'm just happy you're here, Charlie . . . Look who it is, everyone,' she declared as they got to the kitchen doorway.

‘Hi, Charlie,' said Helen, getting to her feet.

Myles stood as well and the two men nodded and shook hands. ‘How are you, Charlie?'

‘Fine, thanks . . . MD,' said Charlie.

‘Have you met my sister, Phoebe?' said Gemma.

‘I think so . . .' he said vaguely.

Phoebe nodded. ‘At the Opera Bar, remember? On that freezing night in July last year.'

‘That's right,' he smiled, remembering. ‘We were all huddled around one of those outdoor heaters trying to keep out of the rain.'

‘But it didn't slow the drinking down,' Phoebe winked at him.

‘Take a seat, Charlie,' Helen offered. ‘Have you eaten?'

‘Oh, I've interrupted your dinner . . .'

Everyone tripped over their tongues in an attempt to assure Charlie he had not interrupted anything and besides there was more than enough food. As they all settled back down again, Gemma put a beer in front of him, remembering he wasn't much of a wine drinker.

‘Where's Noah?' Charlie asked.

‘Here I am,' he exclaimed, popping out from behind his mother.

‘Hey, Noah, how's it going?' said Charlie, leaning over to high-five him, which Noah responded to enthusiastically. ‘How are those crazy Wastelander dudes?'

‘They's good,' he nodded, smiling broadly.

‘Who's your favourite, Noah?' Myles asked. ‘I like Damas best.'

Every head turned to look at him, but Myles remained focused on Noah, whose curiosity began to get the better of him.

‘I don't haff him . . .' said Noah, his eyes widening. ‘But I haff Yangus.'

‘And what about Spargus and the Leaper Lizard?' Myles asked.

Noah's face lit up. ‘No, but I haff Daxter and Krondor and Flut-Flut,' he exclaimed.

‘You have Flut-Flut?' said Myles, impressed. ‘Wow, can I see?'

Noah nodded furiously, making a dash for the door. As he went to go through, he looked back at Myles. ‘Hey, you haffa come too, Myers.'

‘Noah –' Helen went to protest but Myles caught her eye, shaking his head.

‘It's fine.' He got up from the table. ‘Excuse me, everyone, I have to go and meet Flut-Flut,' he said as Noah grabbed his hand and led him away.

The rest of them sat in silent bemusement for a moment till Gemma finally spoke. ‘What the hell was that all about?'

‘He sure knows his Wastelanders,' Charlie nodded.

‘Does he have kids?' Phoebe asked.

‘No,' said Helen.

‘Are you sure?' said Gemma. ‘I know he's not married, but –'

‘He's never been married, and he doesn't have any children,' said Helen firmly. ‘Though he came close once. To getting married, that is.'

‘How do you know all this?' said Gemma.

‘A little thing called rapport,' Charlie suggested.

Gemma pulled a face at him. ‘Who asked you?'

‘Look, we talk,' Helen shrugged. ‘It's not that big a deal.'

‘Then why did you ask him back tonight?' Gemma persisted, raising an accusing eyebrow.

‘To be friendly,' she defended. ‘He doesn't know anyone in Sydney.'

‘Except for a couple of hundred staff at Bailey's,' Gemma pointed out.

‘Oh sure, and look at the way everyone treats him, like he's the school principal or something.'

‘Well if he didn't walk around like he's got something stuck up his arse –'

‘Gemma!' Helen jumped up and poked her head around the doorway to make sure Myles was out of earshot. ‘Keep your voice down! The man's a guest in our house.'

‘I didn't invite him,' Gemma said grumpily.

‘Well, I like him,' Phoebe declared. ‘And he's a lot better looking than you made out, Gem.'

‘You reckon?' Gemma glanced around for confirmation.

Helen avoided eye contact so she couldn't be drawn on the subject: it would only incriminate her.

‘Charlie?' Gemma prompted.

‘What?'

‘Do you reckon the MD's good-looking?'

‘You know you can't ask a guy that,' he said.

‘Well, he is,' said Phoebe. ‘And he seems nice as well.'

‘He is, he's very nice,' said Helen. ‘He's one of the best bosses I've ever worked for. He's kind and fair, and incredibly supportive. And he's a lot more sensitive than you realise, Gemma. He knows the effect he has on people just because he's the boss, and he can't do anything about it. But he's completely approachable and very easy to get along –'