The Cinderella Reflex (30 page)

When she woke up she found she’d slept a straight six hours and a curious sense of calm had descended upon her. Over breakfast, she phoned to arrange to have the locks on her apartment changed. Not that she expected Richard to bother coming back any time soon. But it was the only thing she could think of to wrestle some small piece of control back into her life. Since then she had gone through each day on automatic pilot, and it was only when she saw Richard arriving at the relaunch party with Louisa that she had been jolted back to the painful reality that she really was on her own now.

A sharp, breaking sound jolted Helene back into the present. She looked down, startled at the sight of her yellow pencil, snapped into two halves. She had been holding it so tightly she had broken it. Disgusted she threw the pieces onto her desk and stood up. Nothing in her life was working. She walked out into the open-plan office, trying to distract herself from her troubles. Andrea was busy at her computer and as Helene drew alongside her desk, she could see she was browsing through a website called New Nannies
.

“Looking for a Mary Poppins?”

Andrea jumped guiltily and swirled her chair around to face Helene. “Sorry – I know I shouldn’t be doing personal stuff on company time but I need to arrange childcare urgently,” Andrea broke off and looked at Helene keenly. “Are you okay? You look a bit pale.”

Helene looked at Andrea absently. “Oh yeah ... I’m fine.” She was staring at the computer screen. “Em ... how difficult is it – to get good childcare?”

Andrea laughed hollowly. “How long have you got? Possibly easier to get the proverbial camel through the eye of a needle.” She went back to scrolling down the pages.

“Oh,” Helene said in a small voice.

Andrea looked up sharply. “Are you sure you’re okay, Helene?”

Helene turned away before Andrea could see the panic in her eyes. “I’m just a bit hot. I think I’ll just go out for a bit of air, actually.”

Helene turned and practically ran out of the building. She stood on the pavement, fighting off a fresh wave of nausea. She was having morning, noon and night sickness now. She pulled out a tissue, held it over her mouth and forced herself to take slow, deep breaths. Until now, she had been too distraught over Richard to give much thought to the practical nuts-and-bolts problems of her pregnancy. Like childcare.

She thought back to all the times she had been annoyed with Andrea’s childminding crises. The time she couldn’t cover an assignment because one of the children – Helene couldn’t remember which one – had a bit part as a sheep in the school Nativity play. And the morning Andrea had missed the planning meeting altogether because the toddler was having night terrors. Why couldn’t her bloody husband take up the slack once in a while, Helene had often fumed, and not always silently. She had always felt that if women wanted equality in the workplace then they shouldn’t be looking for special privileges all the time.

“How hard can it be to organise your life so you’re not lurching from one childcare crisis to another?” she’d actually asked Andrea once.

Well, she would find out the answer to that one soon enough. If she’d won It’s My Show, she might have managed. She wouldn’t be working such long hours. There would be back-room people like Tess to organise the programme for her. She wouldn’t have to make fifty decisions a day, a feat that had once filled her with a sense of her own power but now simply made her feel faint. In fact, she could barely make up her mind what shoes to wear these days. And now she was expected to cope with having a baby on her own?

Was there something she could have done to keep Richard? Perhaps if she hadn’t been so preoccupied with winning the contest she would have been more attuned to his mood. She might have sensed his decision to leave her and somehow found a way to pre-empt it.

But Helene knew she couldn’t afford to spend too much time in the land of what-might-have-been. The reality was that Richard was gone and she was going to have to cope on her own. Get used to it, Harper, she told herself sternly.

A taxi pulled up by the kerbside and Paulina Fox stepped onto the pavement. She was dressed in a lemon linen suit, teamed with high black wedges and her ash-blonde hair was tied back in a neat chignon. She looked calm and carefree, as if the chaos that was reigning inside Atlantic 1 FM had nothing to do with her.

“Paulina!” Helene called. Ever since the news had broken that Chris had won the contest, she had been trying to get an explanation, but all her phone calls had gone unanswered.

“Hi ...” Paulina looked at her warily.

“I need to talk to you.” Helene pushed herself away from the wall.

“About what?” Paulina kept on walking and for a fraction of a second, Helene thought she was going to ignore her completely.

“About why some outsider won the contest!” Helene hissed.

“Let’s take it inside, so.” Paulina pushed open the doors to the radio station and strode along the corridor so swiftly Helene had to practically run to catch up with her. By the time they reached her office, she was having trouble breathing. She sat down heavily and stared at Paulina.

“So?” she challenged.

“I’m sorry, Helene.” Paulina fiddled with the catches on her briefcase. “I know how much it meant to you.”

“I doubt that!” Helene snorted. “So. What has this Chris Conroy got then?”

“Let’s see. He’s on the radio and TV every other week as a commentator. He’s a former foreign affairs correspondent.”

Helene frowned. “What I meant was – what has he got that qualifies him for his own show?”

Paulina arched her eyebrows. “I don’t think it’s constructive to go down that path.”

“Well, d’you know something? It’s not all about what
you
think, Paulina,” Helene slammed both her hands onto the desk. “I want to know. I
deserve
to know.”

Paulina’s eyebrows went even higher. “Fine! So, let’s see. As I was saying, Chris Conroy is confident, outgoing, with a brilliant CV. He’s coming in from the outside so there is a sense that we’re getting something new and fresh. And he’s very, very hungry for success.”

“But I am confident and outgoing and ...” Helene tried to remember the list of winning qualities Paulina had just recited, “... and hungry! Actually,” Helene looked at Paulina meaningfully, “you wouldn’t believe just how hungry I am right now.”

“Of course you are. Lots of people are. Ultimately, I suppose it’s what I said we were looking for from the beginning. Chris Conroy has the X factor.”

“Oh, come on!” Helene shook her head in disgust. “What a red herring that is!”

“If you take my advice, Helene, you won’t waste too much of your time analysing why he got it and you didn’t. Move on.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Helene snapped.

“I suppose it is,” Paulina said it easily. “So I’ll say it again, just so you understand. Chris Conroy is the winner. It’s over. Look for the opportunity here.”

“Yeah yeah, every cloud has a silver lining, look on the bright side, dah de dah de da.” Helene said bitterly. “So what’s happened to Ollie?”

“Ollie is toast.” Paulina pulled a pile of press releases out of her briefcase and dumped them on Helene’s desk. “But on the bright side? You get to keep your job. Barely.”

“Barely?” Helene’s breath caught at the back of her throat. “What the hell does that mean?”

Paulina gave her an odd look. “It means that Jack knows you are having an affair with his sister’s husband, and it was all I could do to persuade him to keep his personal feelings out of his business decisions.”

“
Was
having an affair,” Helene tried to keep the tremble out of her voice. “It’s over.”

“Really?” Paulina looked at her appraisingly. “Well, that’s something, I suppose.”

“Well, sort of over. I don’t know if I should be telling you this but ... well, the thing is ...” Helene took a deep breath, “I’m pregnant.” She waited nervously for Paulina’s reaction.

“Seriously? Is it Richard’s?” Paulina couldn’t keep the surprise out of her voice.

“Of course it’s Richard’s!” Helene was outraged. Was everyone she told going to ask her that question?

“I was just wondering.” Paulina looked at her coolly. “Being pregnant will make it harder for Jack to sack you. A lot harder.”

“Is that actually meant to make me feel better?”

“Look, Helene, I like you. And you once asked me for career advice, which is why I am going to give you some now. Jack will be relying on someone to hold Chris Conroy’s hand over the coming months – to make sure he fulfils his potential. We need him to become a household name – a star – and pretty sharpish for the whole relaunch of Atlantic 1 FM to work. So make sure that that someone is you. Copper-fasten your position here,” Paulina’s eyes flickered to Helene’s waist, “and do it before your pregnancy becomes obvious.”

A phone rang and Paulina fished hers out of her pocket and squinted at the screen. “Sorry I can’t stay longer, but I have a rake of stuff to do.” She winked at Helene. “But call me if I can be of any further help.”

Helene watched her go in disbelief. She had actually
winked
after hearing about Helene’s life-changing dilemma? She stared after her as Paulina strode unconcernedly past a huddle of staff watching her fearfully from their desks, her blonde head bobbing, until she’d disappeared from sight.

Helene picked up one of the press releases and scanned it lethargically.

Chris Conroy will soon be the name on everyone’s lips. The broadcaster and journalist won a nationwide contest to host his own show on new national station Atlantic 1 FM and is now facing a meteoric rise in his fortunes. What was once a low-key local station will soon be transformed into a ...

Blah blah blah. Helene let the sheet of paper slip out of her hand and watched it waft down to the floor. Could the day get any worse? But after a few minutes she realised that sitting holed up in her office wasn’t going to make it any better. Listlessly, she took up the pile of press releases. She may as well hand them out to people, put them out of their misery by confirming the rumour about Chris and It’s My Show.

“This has been a long time coming,” Helene announced as she passed by each desk. “And it is certainly a pity that it isn’t one of us who is getting the chance to host our own show, especially now that the station is finally going national.”

She started off on the pep talk automatically, and was about to continue with a host of platitudes about how everyone should now put their shoulder to the wheel and get behind the new presenter, and how a rising tide would lift all boats. But suddenly she couldn’t stand the fearful, subdued atmosphere a moment longer. And so, for the first time her life, she pulled a sickie.

She was home within an hour and as she turned her key in the new lock, Helene tried not to think about the fact that she would never again hear Richard opening her hall door, surprising her with flowers or food or an unexpected night off from his family. She opened her wardrobe, looking for something more comfortable to wear. The skirt of her business suit was already starting to pinch at the waist. All her designer clothes and shoes looked pretty useless now, she thought ruefully, inspecting some of her dresses, wondering half-heartedly if any of them could be altered to accommodate her bump once it started to grow.

The dress she’d worn to her fortieth birthday party slipped of its hanger as she rummaged and as she watched it float to the floor, everything that had happened came rushing back to her. What the hell was she going to do, she asked herself for the thousandth time? It was all very well for Paulina to fork out advice about Jack needing someone like her to make Chris a star. Helene knew that even if Jack went against his instincts and kept her on – and legally he would probably have to, now that she was pregnant – he could still undermine every decision she made.

And even if he didn’t, did she have it in her to make Chris Conroy into a star? Helene knew more than anyone the kind of dedication, energy and sheer bloody-mindedness that particular task would require. To expect her to do it for the rival who had come from nowhere and scooped her dream job from under her nose was a big ask. Too big, Helene realised. And there it was. The answer she had been waiting for, ever since she had started her pros and cons list early that morning. She didn’t want to make anyone a star, ever again. Unless it was herself.

She would have to leave the station. But what then? It might be a welcome escape right now, but would it mean a slow spiral into single parenthood poverty over time? She thought again about Richard’s cheque. It had seemed sizeable when she had a salary going into her bank account every month. But it wouldn’t last long by itself.

Still, it could buy her some time. Time to find out who she really was, or who she could become when she was no longer Helene Harper, executive editor at Atlantic 1 FM, or Richard Armstrong’s lover. She had dismissed Richard’s idea that she should take time out to travel because of her pregnancy. But maybe she could go somewhere once the baby was born? Somewhere she could recover from her broken romance and learn how to be a mother?

She thought of Zoey, living on the other side of the world in New Zealand. She and her sister had never been close, but Helene knew she would welcome her, especially once she knew she was pregnant. They were family. She could visit her, for a start.

Helene felt a great surge of energy course through her body. She could face the future after all, she realised. She would do it by taking each day as it came with her head held high and a smile on her face no matter what. Already she could feel the ghost of a grin pulling at the corners of her mouth.

The one thing she hadn’t been able to cope with over these past few weeks was not having a Plan. Because planning was Helene’s forte.

She noticed him immediately. He was at a corner table, deep in conversation with a young couple who had a map spread out in front of them.

“Helene!” Matt’s face lit up when he saw her. “It’s so good to see you. I was a bit worried about you after the party night and ... ah, but never mind all that now. How are you?”