Free False Advertising by Dianne Blacklock Page A

waitress.’
    â€˜Yeah, well, you could just as easily have said you work in advertising, if you’d wanted to fit in.’
    â€˜Why would I want to fit in with that lot?’ Gemma said, pouring herself a glass of juice. ‘Besides, I wouldn’t have a hope. I felt like Bridget Jones, only pregnant.’
    â€˜Bridget Jones was pregnant in the final instalments.’
    â€˜Was she? Who was the father?’
    Phoebe looked at her. ‘Do you really want to have a conversation about the paternity of Bridget Jones’s baby?’
    â€˜It’d be better than some of the conversations going on around me last night,’ Gemma groaned. ‘Work and real estate were all anyone could talk about.’
    â€˜Well, maybe when you have a job and you can afford somewhere to live, you’ll feel comfortable sitting at the grown-ups’ table.’
    â€˜Ouch,’ said Gemma. ‘I told you I’m going to start looking for a place.’
    â€˜And I told you it’s not a problem you staying here.’
    â€˜Obviously it is.’
    â€˜I was only joking about the grown-ups’ table, Gem.’
    â€˜I know,’ said Gemma. ‘It’s not you. Cameron can barely stand having me here a few weeks; he’d have a stroke if you told him I was staying indefinitely.’
    Phoebe started to protest the unprotestable.
    â€˜Besides,’ Gemma interrupted, ‘Mum and Dad are going to end up finding out if I don’t get out of here soon.’
    â€˜They have to find out sooner or later, Gem.’
    â€˜I’m opting for later.’
    Phoebe leaned back against the kitchen bench. ‘They have a right to know –’
    â€˜Are we going to have this argument again? One thing at a time is the best I can do, Phee, and “grandparents’ rights” are not exactly high on my list of priorities.’
    Gemma picked up the glass of juice and skolled it back. Phoebe was watching her. ‘You know you can see right through that nightie. Your tits are enormous.’
    â€˜I know, aren’t they great?’ said Gemma, smoothing the nightie over her breasts. ‘The one time in my life I’ve really got a rack, and I’ve got no one to appreciate it.’
    â€˜Gem!’ Phoebe winced.
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜You’re pregnant!’
    â€˜So, I’m not a nun,’ said Gemma. ‘Do you expect me to stop having sex?’
    â€˜I expect you won’t have a lot of opportunity, not while you’re pregnant.’
    â€˜I’ve heard some guys really get off on the idea of doing it with a pregnant woman.’
    Phoebe grimaced. ‘Well, now that you’ve loaded me up with that mental image, would you mind getting dressed before Cam comes out of the shower?’
    â€˜Okay, okay.’ Gemma drifted off towards the hall. ‘Hey, I thought later you might want to help me find something to wear for my interview?’ she said, turning halfway around.
    â€˜Sure,’ said Phoebe. ‘Where do you want to look?’
    â€˜I was thinking we could start in your wardrobe,’ Gemma threw over her shoulder as she disappeared up the hall.

Balmain
    Helen had been trailing the bus for blocks now. Stopping, lurching forward, stopping again. It was Friday afternoon and the streets were clogged. She couldn’t get around it, she couldn’t get away from it, she couldn’t do anything but sit behind it, staring at the garish ad for some kind of lolly-flavoured alcoholic drink, three bottles lined up doing the can-can, with leering big grins on their labels. Why not just say it up front? Come on, kids, try us, we taste like soft drink so you can get drunk really easily! How much more fun can you get in a bottle?
    â€˜Mummy,’ said Noah from his car seat in the back.
    â€˜Yes, Noah?’
    â€˜Is atta bus what smooshed Daddy?’
    Helen turned her head sharply to look at him. ‘What did you