False Advertising (37 page)

‘What do you want for lunch, Noah?' Gemma called from the kitchen as she peered into the refrigerator. She had an inexplicable hankering for McDonald's, which she would have loved to put down to serious cravings as an excuse to take Noah there for lunch, but Helen would never fall for it, and besides, there was no McDonald's in Balmain. Naturally.

Gemma felt bone tired, and it was barely noon. So much for the glowing middle months of pregnancy; they had been rather short-lived. Now she had sporadic indigestion, a feckless bladder, and other indiscriminate aches and pains, all serving to make a sound night's sleep almost impossible. Sometimes Gemma felt as though she and the baby were fighting it out for domination of her body, and the baby was winning.

But that wasn't the only competition going on. Every woman she met who had ever given birth felt duty-bound to disclose the worst of their experiences: nasty ailments, gruesome labours and the dark, awful epoch of baby's first few months of life. ‘You think it's hard now, just wait till . . .' was their favourite refrain. Gemma frequently had the urge to tell them to shut the fuck up. But that would never do. Pregnant women were supposed to be serene and Madonna-like. Not so much the snatching-babies-from-Africa Madonna, but the sitting-dreamily-in-a-white-flowing-caftan-listening-to-Mozart Madonna.

‘Wait till you get to the last few weeks,' Trish had confided only this morning. ‘You'll barely be able to walk if you end up anywhere near as big as I was.'

Her mother had already been and gone. Perhaps that was why Gemma was feeling sapped. Trish had so much energy she sucked the life out of any room she walked into. She had arranged to meet the blind and curtain man here at eight-thirty, but at that time of the morning Gemma could no sooner focus on styles and colours than fly to the moon. So Trish took over, no surprise. She got on the phone to Helen and fast-talked her into whatever it was she wanted in the first place, and the deal was done. The blind and curtain man went on his way, and so
did Trish. She had been running late for coffee with Wendy Whatsit, before whizzing up to the most divine little place in Newport where she'd seen a darling lamp in this month's edition of
Belle
that would be utterly perfect for the baby's room, and then she had to fly back for lunch at Meredith McWhosit's, making sure she left in time for her hairdresser's appointment before dinner out with Mr and Mrs Who-the-Hell-Cared-Any-More? Gemma never ceased to be amazed that one woman could be so busy for so long with so little.

‘Noah?' Gemma called again, the tail-end of his name morphing into a giant yawn. She was going to have to take a nap after lunch. If she curled up on the couch and put a DVD on for Noah, that would not be considered leaving the child unattended, would it? She was not sure that Helen would approve, but then again, Helen was not here. Helen was slowly but surely stealing her job away. Myles had suggested that Helen might as well keep Wednesdays up now that she'd started: make it a nice gradual transition. Hmph, more like a coup by stealth.

Just then the baby gave her a sharp kick in the ribs. ‘Ow, what was that for?' she winced. ‘Don't tell me you're on her side too?'

Gemma heard a knock on the door at the same time as Noah appeared wide-eyed in the doorway.

‘Gemma, Gemma!' he cried. ‘Sum'n's atta door, you haffa hurry!'

‘All right, Noah,' she said. He was always so urgent whenever someone was at the door. Gemma ambled through the house to the front hall as Noah scampered around her like an excited puppy, ducking in behind her just as she reached the door, and peeking around as she opened it.

‘Nanna! Poppeeee!' he squealed with delight before Gemma's brain had even registered who they were. Oh great. She wasn't going to have to entertain them until Helen got home, surely? That was not in the agreement.

‘Gemma,' Jim said sternly. ‘Nice to see you again,' he added, like it was no such thing.

Gemma said ‘Hello' vaguely, distracted by the fact that in less than thirty seconds Noreen had managed to slip Noah a lolly. She had a touch of the Artful Dodger about her. Helen was not going to like it one bit.

‘Is Helen about?' said Jim, peering past Gemma down the hall.

‘I'm afraid you're out of luck,' she said with feigned regret. ‘Helen's not here, and she won't be back till close to six.' So go away.

‘Then who's looking after Noah?' Jim demanded.

Gemma glared back at him. ‘I am. Helen and I have started job-sharing. I look after Noah while she's at work.'

Noreen managed to tear her attention away from Noah, and both she and Jim were staring at Gemma, gobsmacked.

‘She's gone back to work?' said Jim. ‘Since when?'

Great. Helen hadn't told them anything. What was Gemma supposed to say to them?

‘Look it's only been a few weeks. Helen's been so busy, she probably just hasn't had a chance to call you.'

‘We were talking to her only last week.'

‘Oh?'

‘Look, do you mind if we come in for a minute?' said Jim.

She did, but Gemma was pretty sure he was only asking rhetorically. She stepped back and allowed him to charge past, with Noreen in his wake, and Noah toddling along behind.

‘What's going on here?' Jim wanted to know, confronted with the plastic curtain across the doorway into the back room. Trish had insisted it was kept in place till the rooms were all finished. She had grandiose notions of a ceremonial unveiling, Gemma suspected.

‘We're just painting,' she explained, ‘refinishing the floors, that kind of thing.'

He swept the plastic aside and peered in. ‘How can she afford this?'

That was certainly none of his business. ‘Look, what did you want to see Helen about? Maybe I can give her a message?'

He turned abruptly, allowing the plastic sheet to drop back into place. ‘Well, we've got a lot more to talk about now than we did when we knocked on the door.'

Noreen stood at his side, her head bobbing in agreement.

Gemma groaned. ‘Look, what do you want from me? I don't know why Helen didn't tell you she was working, or refinishing the floors, or whatever else you need to know about her business.'

Jim's eyes narrowed; he knew what she was implying.

‘So you're a nurse as well?' he said.

‘No way,' said Gemma.

‘But you said you were job-sharing?'

‘We are. Together we're PA for the managing director of an advertising agency.'

‘What on earth is she doing that for when she's trained as a nurse?' Jim asked gruffly.

Gemma shrugged. ‘It was a good opportunity. We share hours, share childminding. At least, we will after I have a child to share.' That didn't come out right.

‘But we can look after Noah,' said Noreen, her voice wavering.

‘I don't understand why she wouldn't ask us,' said Jim, clearly irritated. ‘We've offered dozens of times.'

Gemma decided it wasn't her place to tell them why Helen wouldn't ask them.

‘She's only been working the days Noah's at preschool,' said Gemma. ‘There's been no need to ask for your help.'

‘Noah's not at preschool today,' Noreen observed, with breathtaking acuity.

‘This is only the second Wednesday Helen's worked,' said Gemma.

‘So what's going to happen when you have your baby?' asked Jim. ‘Is she going to work full-time then?'

Gemma sighed. This had gone on long enough. ‘Look, I think this is a discussion you have to have with Helen. Sorry, but I was just about to make Noah his lunch.'

‘We were going to see about taking him out to lunch,' said Jim. ‘That's right,' said Noreen.

Gemma shrugged. ‘Sorry, perhaps you can set that up with Helen for another time.'

Jim frowned. ‘He's our grandchild. Are you saying we can't take him out to lunch?'

‘No, that's not what I'm saying,' said Gemma calmly. ‘But you have to run it by Helen first.'

‘Okay, do you have her number at work?' he insisted.

‘I don't think that's appropriate. The boss doesn't like us taking personal calls during office hours.'

Jim was positively scowling at her. Helen was going to owe her big time for this. But right now, she just wanted to get them out of here.

‘Okay, so I'll tell Helen you came by,' said Gemma as she started to usher them back up the hall. ‘And I'll make sure she gives you a call. Noah, give your nanna and pop a big hug goodbye.'

Myles walked briskly out of his office, pausing at Helen's desk.

‘I'll be across town till after two. Call me if you need anything.'

Helen looked up at him. ‘I'm sorry, didn't you get me to schedule the meeting with the team leaders for eleven, which is –' she consulted her watch ‘– less than fifteen minutes away?'

‘Yeah, but you can take that meeting,' he said matter-of-factly.

Helen shot up from her chair. ‘What did you say?'

‘You take the meeting, Helen,' he repeated calmly. ‘Report to me when I get back.'

She was gobsmacked. ‘I can't take the meeting. How do you take a meeting, anyway? I don't even know how to do that.'

‘Of course you do,' he dismissed. ‘How many meetings have you sat in with me?'

‘I take notes, Myles. I don't take meetings.'

‘Helen,' he leaned the edge of his briefcase on her desk, ‘do you think I'd leave you with this if I didn't think you could handle it?'

She blinked, looking at him fearfully. ‘What if
I
don't think I can handle it?'

‘Did you draw up an agenda for the meeting?'

Helen nodded.

‘Then you already know how to run it. Just follow the agenda, get everyone to report on what they came up with, and let them air any concerns or questions or ideas they have.'

‘Air their concerns?' she said. ‘You have to be kidding, Myles.
None of them liked the idea. And I don't think any of them like me either.'

‘I find that hard to believe,' he said. ‘But anyway, none of them like me and I get by.'

‘That's supposed to reassure me?'

‘Helen,' said Myles, ‘I'm not asking you to make any decisions, or even to deal with any problems that come up. Don't you realise they're less likely to raise issues with you than me? This way, they should stick to reporting their findings and a bit of discussion, rather than haggling with me. Trust me, this is the best way to go about it.'

It seemed Helen had little choice, because Myles was walking away.

‘See you after two,' he called as he disappeared around the corner.

‘Well, look at that,' said Myles, walking up to Helen's desk, ‘you're still in one piece.'

She glanced at him sideways. ‘Okay, you were right, you threw me to the lions but they showed mercy. Or pity, I'm not sure which. Of course it helped that Justin wasn't there.'

‘He didn't show?'

Helen shook her head. ‘He sent one of his lackeys instead. Alyssa. She barely said boo the whole time.'

He smiled. ‘Have you been to lunch?'

‘No, I got caught up –'

‘Have you eaten?' he persisted.

‘I had a biscuit with my coffee . . .' she shrugged.

‘I thought as much,' he said, producing a paper bag and dropping it on the desk in front of her. ‘I picked it up from the restaurant.'

Helen just stared at the bag; she didn't know what to say.

‘It's okay,' he said, offhand, ‘it is vegetarian. Come into my office while you eat and you can fill me in on the meeting.'

Helen followed him in a moment later after she'd gathered up the reports submitted at the meeting, along with her lunch. Myles indicated a chair on the other side of his desk for her to sit in.

‘Oh, you'll need a fork, I guess,' he said, ducking over to the wall unit that housed a virtual kitchen behind its sleek maple veneer panels. With the bathroom and a couch big enough to sleep on, Myles could quite comfortably live here, which Helen suspected he almost did.

‘Do you want something to drink while I'm here?' he was asking.

‘No . . . thanks,' said Helen.

He came back to the desk and passed her the fork.

‘Thank you,' she said. ‘Really, thanks for this, Myles, you didn't have to.'

He waved dismissively as he took his seat opposite her. ‘So, what have you got for me?'

Helen cleared her throat, opening a folder. ‘Okay, well, I'll start with Deb –'

‘Hold on, Helen,' said Myles. ‘I don't need you to read every report out for me: I could do that myself. You'll save me a lot of time if you just tell me what you think.'

She looked at him expectantly. ‘Think about what?'

‘Which campaign will work best with this treatment,' he said simply.

Helen frowned. ‘I have no idea, Myles. You said I didn't have to make any decisions.'

‘I'm only asking for an opinion, Helen.'

She slumped in her chair. ‘Oh Myles, I don't know.'

‘I bet you do,' he cajoled. ‘Come on, what was your gut reaction?'

‘I really think you're asking the wrong person. You have some idea that I'm an “everyman”, or everywoman, I guess, but I'm not, really, I'm not at all. If anything, I'm just the opposite.'

He was listening to her, bemused.

‘Did you know,' she went on, ‘that every time I decide I like
a particular brand of something, or even a flavour, or a type or a new line of some already established brand, they discontinue it?'

‘Every time?'

‘Nine times out of ten.'

‘That much, eh?'

Helen suspected Myles wasn't taking her seriously. ‘I'm telling you, I'm like a marketer's black spot. You'd be better off asking me what was going to fail rather than what was going to work.'

Myles sat forward in his chair, leaning on the desk. ‘You should start eating before your food gets cold.'

‘Oh, right,' she said, tearing open the paper bag. ‘You know, Helen, people say what you just said all the time in focus groups.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘A significant number report that all their favourites keep being discontinued,' he explained. ‘So you're not so out of the ordinary, after all, Helen.'

She popped a forkful of what looked like a very yummy frittata into her mouth. Helen loved frittata.

‘The thing is,' Myles went on, ‘companies are always looking for new ways to attract customers, and one way is through brand proliferation. They develop new ranges and styles and flavours all the time, at a much faster rate than ever before, so it'd almost be unusual if some product you liked hadn't been discontinued in the past few years. It took Coca-Cola more than sixty years to offer any alternatives other than Diet Coke, and only a couple of years to bring out half-a-dozen “new” flavours and diet variants.'

Helen swallowed down a mouthful.

‘How is it?' Myles asked.

‘Mm, very good. Thanks.'

‘My pleasure,' he said, watching her closely. ‘You know, Helen, you don't seem to have a lot of confidence in your own opinions. Have you always been like that?'

Helen stopped abruptly with another forkful on its way to her mouth. ‘I . . . I don't know . . . I didn't think . . . Don't I?'

He smiled. ‘It's not a criticism; it's just something I've noticed.'

But it felt like criticism. Helen wasn't completely comfortable being scrutinised like this. That's why she usually kept her opinions to herself; Myles was the one who was always trying to drag them out of her. She put the fork down again.

‘I seem to remember you saying that I held very strong opinions about certain things,' said Helen. ‘Vegetarianism, advertising . . .'

‘I said you had strong values and ethics,' said Myles, ‘and you do. You're very clear about your beliefs, almost to the point of sounding rehearsed.'

‘They're not rehearsed,' she insisted. ‘Just because I may have been influenced by people along the way doesn't mean they're not my opinions.'

‘I'm not saying that,' he said. ‘It's just when I ask you for an opinion off the top of your head it seems to throw you.'

‘It doesn't throw me,' Helen returned, becoming quite defensive now. ‘But is it such a bad thing to take time to think things through? Not to start sprouting an opinion before you've formed one?'

‘Of course, you're right.' He seemed to be retreating all of a sudden. ‘I apologise, Helen.'

‘Why are you apologising?' she said, flustered.

‘I've upset you –'

‘You haven't upset me.'

‘No, I have, and I'm sorry. I obviously struck a nerve.'

‘You haven't struck a nerve!' Helen cried.

Their eyes locked across the desk. It was obvious to both of them that of course he'd struck a nerve.

‘Sorry,' she said quietly.

‘Don't be sorry, Helen,' said Myles. ‘I want you to say what's on your mind. That's all I was getting at.' He paused. ‘I'd like you to feel comfortable telling me anything. It won't make me feel any differently towards you.'

Helen's heart was beating rapidly. What did that mean? What did he want to know? And how did he feel towards her? No, strike that last question. She didn't want to go there.

*