Free False Advertising by Dianne Blacklock

and she didn’t want to look even vaguely pregnant. She caught her nightie in close at the back so that the thin fabric clung to her silhouette. Her breasts were definitely bigger, which wouldn’t go against her. She smoothed her hand over her belly. Although she felt bloated, there was really nothing to show for it yet. Gemma had been blessed, or cursed – depending on the mood she was in, or what style of clothing she was trying to fit into – with a pear-shaped figure. At its worst, too much on the bottom and not enough up top, but passable most of the time. She only hoped these so-called child-bearing hips would live up to their name and provide the peanut with a nice little hideout where it could remain tucked away discreetly for the time being.
    Gemma heard noises at the front door. She walked down the hall to the living area just as Phoebe and Cameron bounded in, their faces shiny with perspiration, wearing not quite matching but certainly coordinated jogging outfits.
    â€˜You cannot be serious,’ said Gemma, putting her hands on her hips. ‘Please tell me you haven’t been for a run?’
    â€˜If you want,’ Phoebe panted, heading for the fridge, ‘but it wouldn’t be the truth.’
    â€˜You were both pissed as newts last night.’
    â€˜We weren’t pissed ,’ Cameron refuted.
    â€˜Were too,’ said Gemma. ‘I’m surprised you could get out of bed, let alone run anywhere.’
    â€˜Running’s good for a hangover,’ said Phoebe, passing Cameron a bottle of water. ‘Gets the heart pumping and the blood flowing to clear all the toxins away.’
    â€˜Not that we were pissed,’ Cameron added.
    â€˜You were all pissed from where I was sitting,’ said Gemma. ‘It was excruciating.’
    â€˜That’s only because you’re usually more pissed than anyone,’ Cameron threw at her.
    â€˜Ah, those were the days,’ Gemma returned, unfazed.
    â€˜I’m going to have a shower,’ he said as he walked up the hall.
    â€˜So, last night,’ said Gemma, perching herself on the edge of the table. ‘Did you have a good time?’
    â€˜Yeah, I think it went off well,’ Phoebe said. ‘I’d say it was a success.’
    â€˜No, what I was actually asking was whether you had a good time.’
    Phoebe crossed her arms in front of herself. ‘What are you getting at, Gem?’
    She shrugged. ‘Well, I was just wondering . . . would you call those people last night close friends, Phee?’
    â€˜I don’t know . . . we have lots of friends,’ she said defensively.
    Gemma walked over to the fridge and opened the door. ‘They just don’t seem like your kind of people.’
    â€˜Well, maybe you don’t know me as well as you think,’ said Phoebe airily.
    Gemma smiled, glancing at her sister. ‘I know you used to eat snails out of the garden before you knew they were escargots and –’ she straightened, flourishing one hand and affecting an accent, ‘– so 1980s, darling. Who was that prat Duncan?’
    â€˜Duncan Reynolds. He’s senior partner at the largest law firm in the country. He’s very influential and very rich.’
    â€˜Then why doesn’t he go out and buy himself a decent personality?’ said Gemma, picking up a bottle of juice and closing the fridge door again.
    Phoebe slumped in defeat. ‘God, I know, he’s such a bore.’
    Gemma swung around, her eyes lit up. ‘Ha! You big fake!’ She pointed a finger accusingly at her sister. ‘What are you doing hanging around with people like that, Phee?’
    â€˜I don’t hang around with them,’ she defended. ‘Cam just likes to network with the right people.’
    â€˜He must have been thrilled no end to have me here,’ saidGemma wryly. ‘They all looked at me like I had a disease when I told them I was a