*
Three days later
It had taken Helen a long time to get to sleep that night. What was she letting herself in for? Allowing a woman she didn’t know – a pregnant woman she didn’t know – with a tonne of baggage and no visible means of support, to come into her home. To live with her, and her young, impressionable son. She must be mad.
Helen had decided once and for all that she couldn’t face returning to work in the foreseeable future, possibly ever. Into nursing at least. With the help of the counsellor she had worked through her options, and she’d kept coming back to Tony’s suggestion of finding a boarder. So she wasn’t mad, she was desperate. Which could sometimes make you do mad things.
Truth was, Helen had barely had a response to her ad, apart from middle-aged men who were rather transparently after a ready-made family. She had politely taken their numbers and told them she would call back. But she wouldn’t. She had clearly stated ‘pref. female’ in the ad. She would have put ‘only females need apply’ but she had a feeling that was illegal. Discriminatory. She wasn’t sure, so best be safe than sorry.
Only three females had responded, and the ad had been running for weeks. The first was a junkie. She’d tried to hide it: she’d showered and washed her hair and worn her most presentable outfit. But Helen recognised the signs as soon as she opened the door. She’d seen enough junkies in Casualty over the years: the sunken eyes set in a pale, pale face, the trembling hands, the impossible thinness. So Helen told her the room had been taken just an hour before. She was sorry, she had been unable to get in touch with her. The girl took the news on the chin; Helen doubted she had the strength or presence of mind to argue. However, that night as she went off to sleep, Helen felt a little uneasy, not least at the thought of the girl passing on her address to any number of her wasted, druggie mates – she was a single mother, an easy target for a break and enter. But mostly Helen’s uneasiness stemmed from the guilt she felt for turning her away. It was the nurse in her. Or the sucker.
The next female who replied to the ad was a lesbian. Helen knew this because the woman told her so on the phone, first thing. Thought it was better to be honest at the outset. Did she have a problem with that?
Of course Helen didn’t have a problem with that. She and David were liberal in their views and intended to bring up Noah the same. In fact, it was probably good for him to be exposed to a wide range of lifestyles from the start so that he would never find it unusual or need to question it.
No, no hope of that. Noah questioned everything. ‘Why?’ was his standard response to pretty much any statement. What if the lesbian brought a girlfriend home? Would Noah’s curiosity be embarrassing, intrusive? How would Helen deal with it? Then again, if their hypothetical boarder – and it was beginning to feel more hypothetical by the minute – was straight, and she brought a man home, wasn’t that going to elicit a barrage of whys and wherefores too? What if the hypothetical boarder brought different men home every weekend, or more often? Helen had to ask herself how she felt about that, and the answer was that she didn’t feel too comfortable at all. Did she have a right to make rules? It was her house, wasn’t it? But the hypothetical boarder would be paying for her room so she had rights too, didn’t she? So whose rights superseded whose?
Helen took the lesbian’s phone number and told her she would get back to her, and then she thought seriously about abandoning the whole idea.
Until the call from Gemma Atkinson. She was thirty years old, she didn’t smoke, she didn’t drink, and she had a good job. Helen doubted she took drugs if she didn’t smoke or drink, though anything was possible. There was nothing whatsoever to make Helen hesitate, except her own inordinate fear of making decisions. David would have handled this kind of thing, but now she was going to have to do it herself. And she had to do it. Quite simply, she was running out of options. So Helen invited Gemma out to see the place.
Gemma Atkinson had showed up on their doorstep – the quintessential sun-kissed Australian girl, brimming with good health, leggy, blonde and gregarious. And also pregnant, as it turned out. She had neglected to mention that rather important detail, that they would be getting two for the price of one. Helen had suspected she might be approached by single mothers, and she certainly didn’t have a problem with having another child around per se. But a baby? Helen knew all too well how babies took over your house and your life, how their needs became paramount. This would be no quiet boarder who would keep to herself, that simply wasn’t possible.
But she and David had been planning to have another child, soon. They had talked about the impact it would have on Noah, and decided that all in all it would be a positive one. And they had intended to be very open about the whole process; they wanted Noah to learn the facts of life in a natural, normal way. Soon after the accident Helen had vacillated between desperately wishing she was carrying David’s child, and being incredibly relieved that she wasn’t left to raise two children on her own. Noah was clearly destined to be an only child, so maybe having a baby around was not such a bad thing; perhaps this would provide him with experiences he was otherwise unlikely to get.
Jim and Noreen were not going to like it one bit. Not that that was a reason not to do it; in fact, if David were here, he would say that was all the more reason to go ahead. But he wasn’t here, and he couldn’t tell her what was the right thing to do. Would he have taken a pregnant woman in? Of course. That was the kind of person David was. He probably would have even welcomed the junkie with open arms.
In the end, it was what Gemma Atkinson had said about the controlling parents, about needing to make her own life, that had moved Helen.
And now she was moving in. Today. Helen had intended to arrange for Noah to meet any potential boarder ahead of making a final decision, but Gemma had jumped at the mere whiff of an offer, and before Helen knew what was happening, they’d shaken hands and apparently confirmed that Gemma was moving in the day after next. She was starting her new job next week and she wanted to be settled. Helen supposed that was fair enough.
‘Mu-um, when’s a lady coming?’
‘Any time now,’ said Helen, checking her watch.
‘Whata lady’s name, Mummy?’
‘I already told you, Noah, don’t you remember?’
He looked at her with that impish grin that always reminded her of Tony. Although Noreen had staunchly insisted that Noah was the spit out of David’s mouth, in reality he had not inherited any of the Chapman features, and David had always been the first to say it. Noah was all Zelinsky – dark hair, dark eyes, standing there twisting his arms around each other, playing coy. Just like Tony.
‘I don’t bremember, Mummy,’ he said.
‘Her name is Gemma,’ said Helen.
‘Gemma!’ he cried enthusiastically, throwing his arms out like it was the best thing he’d ever heard. ‘Why is she’s name Gemma, Mummy?’
‘Because that’s what her mummy and daddy called her.’
‘Why?’
‘Because . . . maybe she looked like a Gemma to them.’
‘What does a Gemma look like?’
Helen heard a knock on the door. ‘You may be about to find out, Noah. That’s probably her now.’
‘It’s her now!’ Noah cried. ‘She’s atta door, Mummy, you haffa hurry!’
‘All right, all right,’ she said, trailing him up the hall. Of course as soon as she opened the front door he whisked around behind his mother, wrapping his arms around her leg and hiding his face.
‘Hi,’ said Gemma brightly.
‘Hi,’ Helen returned as a taxi pulled away from the kerb out front. It had not even occurred to her the other day to ask Gemma if she owned a car. ‘Is that all you have with you?’
‘This is all I have, full stop,’ she smiled, hitching her backpack up a little on her shoulder. She had borrowed a wheelie bag from Phoebe so that she could distribute her belongings between the two bags.
‘Really?’
‘I
got rid of most of my stuff before I went north.’ In truth, Gemma did have some stuff stored at her parents’, but she didn’t need it that badly.
‘You certainly travel light,’ Helen remarked.
Gemma hitched her backpack up again. She wished Helen would stop being fascinated by her belongings, or lack thereof, and invite her in. ‘Hey, hi there!’
Noah had peeked around to look at her but as soon as she acknowledged him, he shrunk back like a turtle into its shell.
‘He’ll put this on for a while,’ Helen told her. ‘But pretty soon he’ll be talking your ear off.’
Gemma nodded, giving one more laboured heave-ho of her backpack.
‘Oh, sorry, that must be getting heavy. Come on in,’ Helen said.
Finally.
Gemma followed her down the hall as Noah peeled away from his mother and made a dash for his room. Helen opened the door of what would now be Gemma’s room and stepped aside. Gemma walked past her, glad to be relieved of her load as she dumped her backpack on the bed.
‘I had some keys cut for you,’ said Helen.
Gemma turned around to smile at her. ‘Thank you.’
‘Back door, front door,’ Helen went on. ‘The back door’s the bigger key, and it’s square, whereas the front . . . but look, I’m sure you’ll work it out.’
‘I’m sure I will.’
Helen put the keys down on the dressing table. ‘I didn’t know if you had plans for dinner?’
‘No, no plans.’
‘So I’ve made a lasagne –’
‘I love lasagne!’ said Gemma.
‘Oh, but this, well, this is vegetable lasagne,’ Helen apologised. ‘I probably should have said . . . we’re vegetarians.’
‘Oh.’ Gemma nodded. ‘How vegetarian?’
‘Don’t worry, we’re not fanatical about it,’ Helen assured her. ‘I mean, it’s not a religion or anything, we just don’t eat meat. Dairy’s fine though, and eggs, as long as they’re free-range. But you know, if you wanted to cook meat, I mean, I wouldn’t have a problem with that or anything.’
Gemma smiled reassuringly. ‘I’m sure I’ll get by. I can always eat meat when I’m out. And it’s not as though we’ll be sharing all our meals.’
‘No, that’s true,’ Helen agreed. There was so much to work out it made her head hurt thinking about it. ‘Perhaps we’ll need a schedule . . .’
‘Let’s play it by ear for now, shall we?’ Playing it by ear was Gemma’s preferred mode of operation. She had an aversion to schedules, much as Helen had an aversion to meat.
‘Okay, good idea,’ said Helen. They could much more easily come up with a schedule once they were aware of each other’s movements, needs, preferences. ‘So, I’ll leave you to settle in. Call me if you need anything.’
‘I definitely will.’
‘Dinner’s in about an hour.’
Gemma glanced at her watch.
‘Sorry, we do eat early,’ Helen acknowledged. ‘You’re probably not used to having small children around.’
‘I’m going to have to get used to it,’ said Gemma cheerfully. All this politeness was becoming a strain.
‘Okay, I’ll leave you to it,’ said Helen.
‘Thanks.’
She walked out of the room and Gemma plonked down on the bed. So, this was it, her domain. This was where she was going to cross the great divide into motherhood, a single room in someone else’s house. Who’d have thought.
She flopped back, stretching her arms above her head and staring up at the ceiling. Bedroom ceilings were the most important ceilings in the house: you would spend more time looking at them than in any other room. Gemma was pleased that this one had a pretty ceiling rose and a rather ornate border, as well as flaking paint and a couple of damp spots. Plenty of detail to gaze at while she mused over life’s big questions. And she had a feeling that the coming months would provide plenty of fodder for that.
Gemma began to have that strange, inexplicable sensation that she was being watched. She turned her head to see Noah standing at the foot of the bed, staring unblinkingly at her.
‘Well,’ she declared, propping herself up on her elbows. ‘If it isn’t the infamous Noah.’
He shook his head solemnly.
‘Aren’t you Noah?’
He nodded. ‘I’m just Noah. Not mimfimiss Noah.’
Gemma smiled, sitting all the way up. ‘Right you are. I’m glad we got that sorted. And how old are you, Noah?’
He held up four fingers very importantly. ‘This many is four.’
‘So it is,’ she agreed. ‘My name’s Gemma.’
He nodded. ‘I already knowed that ’cause Mummy told me.’
‘Good, well, it’s nice to meet you, Noah.’ She put out her hand, but he went coy again. ‘That’s okay, you don’t have to shake my hand if you don’t want to.’
‘You’re gunna live wif us, aren’t you?’
‘I am,’ Gemma confirmed. ‘Is that okay with you?’
He nodded with a kind of resigned air. ‘’Cause my daddy can’t live here any more.’
‘Oh?’ Gemma thought she’d better not ask about his father, given Helen’s skittishness around the subject.
‘’Cause he’s been runned over by a bus.’
Gemma nodded warily. ‘Oh, that’s no good.’
‘And so we haffa take him to a special place and let him go.’
Was he talking about a dog now?
‘There you are,’ said Helen, appearing in the doorway. ‘Come on, out you come, Noah, I told you you’re not to bother Gemma.’
‘He’s no bother.’
Helen glanced at her and then returned her attention to Noah. ‘Come on, scoot. It’s time for your bath.’
Noah turned and scuppered out of the room as Helen went to follow him.
‘Helen?’ said Gemma.
She looked back at her.
‘Noah said a strange thing to me just now.’
‘He did?’
Gemma took a breath. ‘He said his dad had been run over by a bus.’
Helen’s expression didn’t change, nor did she offer any kind of explanation.
‘Why would he say something like that?’ Gemma persisted.
‘Because that’s what happened,’ Helen said coolly.
Gemma stared at her. ‘You don’t mean . . .’
‘Noah’s father, my husband, was run over by a bus on his way to work three months ago. He died instantly.’
Gemma couldn’t speak.
‘So now you know, not that it’s any of your business,’ said Helen. ‘I would prefer it if you didn’t grill Noah about it, if you don’t mind. We may be sharing a house, but I fully intend to respect your privacy, and I hope you’ll pay us the same courtesy.’
Bailey + Partners
When Gemma arrived at the reception desk on the ground floor, the daytime security guard remembered her immediately. Well, it had only been around eight months since she left, but he would have been unlikely to forget her anyway. Gemma was not someone easily forgotten.
‘Ms Atkinson,’ he beamed. Eddie had been with Bailey’s for years and was approaching retirement. It was nice to know that he hadn’t been given the chop under Attila the MD.
‘Eddie,’ Gemma purred, ‘it’s so good to see you.’
‘It’s better from where I’m looking, love.’
Gemma had rather enjoyed dressing for the part again. She’d swiped a couple of Phoebe’s suits to get her through the first few weeks; they probably wouldn’t fit her after that anyway. And though she hadn’t got around to having her hair cut, she’d discovered it was long enough to sweep up into a French roll. She felt quite the corporate PA.
‘I believe my heart missed a beat when I saw your name on the list this morning,’ Eddie was saying. ‘Are you back for good?’
The ‘for good’ part was perhaps a bit hazy, but . . .
‘I’m back,’ Gemma confirmed.
‘Then it is my great pleasure to pre
sent you with your security pass, and to escort you to the elevators.’
‘Thank you, Eddie,’ she said and, taking the arm he offered her, she walked with him across to the lifts. He swiped the card through the slot and handed it to Gemma.
‘Welcome back, Ms Atkinson.’
Gemma stepped into the lift, turning to smile at him. ‘Thanks, Eddie, I’ll see you around.’
‘I’ll look forward to that.’
As the doors closed Gemma felt a slight sense of trepidation. She was excited to see everyone, but she was not so sure that everyone was going to be all that excited to see her, or be as charming as Eddie had just been. She knew she’d done the wrong thing; not only had she left without a word, but she’d also left them in the lurch on a major account close to a deadline. It was not the way to go if you ever intended coming back. But she had never intended coming back. And surely it was not unforgivable?
Gemma supposed she was about to find out.
She stepped out of the elevator at the twelfth floor. She would be working another three floors up but she wanted to visit her old team first. See what she was up against. Gemma approached the wall of glass separating the lift bay from the office. There they all were, sitting around the long communal desk that was a Bailey’s innovation to keep the team cohesive and break down the hierarchy. But there was still a hierarchy; no amount of communal furniture could take that away.
Justin was the team leader and no one disputed it. He did not possess enough talent or commitment to specialise in one particular area, but he certainly possessed the requisite amount of arrogance to feel comfortable telling others what to do. He proved the maxim – those who can’t, boss everyone around to do it for them.
Marcus could give Justin a run for his money in the arrogance stakes, but he had a specialty. He costed the campaigns and controlled the purse strings, so even Justin had to defer to him at times. Mel coordinated production, and Gemma had been her assistant, so she assumed the little blonde sitting beside her was her replacement. Everyone else, Tom, Jen, Brooke and Nathan, were subsidiaries in one way or another to the big three.
False Advertising Page 9
