Chapter 2 #2
Prodding a teabag around her mug, it occurred to her that Abby wasn’t the only one with contacts.
Gemma had spent years in advertising – she knew loads of people who could help, and…
She closed her eyes and focused on her breathing.
Who was she trying to kid? Yes, she had contacts, all of whom would know exactly what had happened to Leonard Associates, and would also doubtless know about Neil McPherson’s new agency and, by extension, her own fall from grace.
She’d let people down over the last two years and, whether she’d had good reason to or not, in the cut-throat world in which she used to work, that counted for nothing.
Gemma wasn’t entirely sure she’d ever been Somebody, but one thing was very clear: now she was Nobody.
Taking her drink back to the breakfast bar, she cradled the mug in her hands, taking comfort from its warmth.
Abby had been right about one thing. Looking after her mum had been the bravest and the hardest thing she had ever done, and she’d succeeded in that at least. Not in keeping her mum alive, but in caring for her, right up until the end.
She never once gave up, never once thought the task was beyond her, and she’d become a master at being resourceful, at solving problems and finding solutions born out of her own intuition.
If anyone could find a way through her current predicament, it was her.
She just had to apply some logic and a degree of lateral thinking to the problems.
It was as she was peering at several stray tea leaves in the bottom of her mug that she remembered the advertisement she’d seen in a magazine while waiting to see her doctor.
She couldn’t recall it fully, hadn’t had the time to digest all the details, but she did recall the flicker of interest it had raised.
Leaving her mug by the sink, she grabbed her coat and bag from the bottom of the banister, quickly giving her face a once-over in the hall mirror.
It was still only the middle of the afternoon and the surgery was just a five-minute drive away.
The waiting room was still as full as when she had left it earlier, and she took a seat awkwardly, wondering how weird it would look to instantly be riffling through the magazines there.
Far better to appear like any other patient waiting for their appointment and give it a few moments before casually perusing the stack on the table.
She eyed it now, trying to decipher the titles from the limited view afforded her.
It wasn’t a magazine she’d seen before but the cover was green, a landscape of rolling hills – she could remember that much.
She folded her hands into her lap and adopted a suitably patient pose.
Her first foray into the stack offered her a gardening magazine, a golfing title, a copy of HELLO!
magazine from three years ago and an issue of Good Housekeeping.
Gemma chose the latter and flipped open the front cover while surreptitiously studying the waiting room to see what other people were doing.
Most were glued to their phones, but two other people were reading and, like her, held their magazines flat in their laps, so there was no way Gemma could check the titles.
She pretended to study a page with interest while the clock on the wall ticked on.
Half an hour later, Gemma was pretty certain the magazine she was looking for was no longer there.
There’d been an occasion about ten minutes ago when the waiting room had miraculously almost emptied, four people being called within moments of one another.
At that point, apart from herself, only one other remained, an elderly chap who was studying the gnarly bones of his hands and didn’t seem remotely interested in anything else that might be happening.
Gemma took the opportunity to have a good rummage, but came up empty-handed and since then, more people had arrived.
She was stumped. Eventually, chiding herself for being so ridiculous, she approached the reception desk.
The phone began to ring before Gemma was even halfway through her enquiry, and it was clear the receptionist hadn’t the time or inclination to be dealing with matters of a non-medical nature.
Her reply was polite but dismissive, the wave of her hand indicating that Gemma should carry on looking.
Gemma paused, gave a smile and moved to the next window to speak to a colleague in the dispensary.
‘So you see, I was only here this morning, but the magazine seems to have vanished. Would it have been taken away for any reason?’
The colleague blinked, adjusting her glasses. ‘Possibly.’ She turned to look over her shoulder. ‘Tina, has Yvonne been in to sort the magazines?’
Tina barely even looked up. ‘Not that I’ve seen.’
The colleague smiled. ‘Yvonne’s one of the admin team and it’s usually her who swaps them all around. People donate them, you see, so every now and again she refreshes what’s there.’
‘And could I speak to her?’
The colleague checked her watch. ‘She will have gone home now. She only works until two.’
Gemma nodded. ‘Oh, I see, and nobody else might know where the old ones would be if she had swapped them around?’
‘Um… I don’t.’ She looked around her as if surrounded by people who might come to her rescue. ‘Which magazine were you after?’
‘I’m not sure what it’s called. It was green – hills and trees on the cover. Sorry. It’s just that it had an advert I wanted to look at.’
‘If it was a recent one, you could check the shops.’
‘Right… yes, of course, I’ll do that. Thanks anyway.’ She hadn’t even checked the date on the cover – the ad could have been years old for all she knew.
Gemma began to back away; she was beginning to try everyone’s patience.
She was loath to give up her search, but the magazine could provide a solution to her problems. It probably wouldn’t, but Gemma would never know if she didn’t find it, and the thought was there now.
Like using the same lottery numbers week after week and then wondering if the one time you forgot to buy your ticket would be when your numbers came up.
Tempting fate was too risky and Gemma felt bound to her task, even if there was only the slightest chance that something could come of it.
‘Is everything okay, Gemma?’ The voice came over her shoulder. Dr Evans was holding a bunch of notes, smiling benignly but clearly wondering what she was making a fuss about.
‘Yes, fine. I was just asking about a magazine I saw here this morning, but it’s disappeared. No problem though.’
‘Oh…?’ Dr Evans was still smiling in the irritating way she had, deploying it just before she left a lengthy pause which Gemma always had an overwhelming urge to fill.
‘If you made a special journey to come back for it, it must have been something important,’ she added after a moment during which Gemma kept resolutely silent.
‘Just an advert I wanted to follow up.’
Dr Evans nodded. ‘I see…’ She tipped her head to one side. ‘How did your meeting go today? Everything okay, was it?’
‘Fine, yes. Really good, thanks.’
The doctor’s eyes narrowed, the look she gave Gemma one she knew of old – the one which saw right inside her head and rummaged around for a bit.
‘I’ve got five minutes…’ She turned slightly, her gaze now angled towards her surgery door.
‘I can still give you a fit note if you like? No need to make another appointment.’
Gemma shook her head. ‘Thank you, but I’m good.’ She produced a smile from somewhere, nodding at the woman in the dispensary who was still following the conversation with interest. ‘Thanks for your help,’ she said, backing away. It was time to leave.
She’d almost made it through the door when another voice registered from behind. ‘Excuse me?’
Gemma turned back to see a much younger woman holding out something in her hand. ‘I couldn’t help overhearing,’ she said, ‘and this was shoved down the side of my chair. Is it what you were looking for?’ She held out a magazine, well-thumbed and bright green in colour.
Gemma took it with as grateful a smile as she could muster. She was well aware that most of the waiting room had also been listening and were now eager for the next development. ‘Thanks, that’s kind. I just wanted to check something.’
An elderly lady sitting by the door caught her eye. ‘I don’t think you’re supposed to take the magazines out of the surgery,’ she whispered. ‘But I don’t think people mind if you… tear a little piece out. I’ve done it myself, with recipes…’
Gemma checked herself. ‘Oh, of course, I’ll just…
’ She flipped to the back pages of the magazine before pulling her phone from her pocket and opening the camera.
She snapped a quick photo of the advert, no idea if it was even in focus, and handed the copy back to the young woman. ‘Thanks… all sorted.’
And for the second time that day, cheeks flaming, she left with as much dignity as she could muster.