One Thing Different - Finale! - Gemma

I

Gemma sighed and tried to continue in a gentler tone. It wouldn’t help to get angry, even though she had every right to. “So you see if you recalculate the tax now you’ll see you may have worked it out slightly wrong.”

Her accountant blushed. “Er, you’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll redo this and give you a call later today with the up to date figures.”

“Thank you.”

Gemma left his office shaking her head. It was a natural mistake to make – that facet of tax law was a bit technical – but she shouldn’t have to teach her accountant about it. She’d done nothing more than skim-read through a book on it during her lunch break a couple of weeks before. She just had the kind of brain that picked things up quickly.

Which reminded her of the game they’d played at her party the other night.

The brain. It was part of the body completely invisible to the naked eye yet absolutely intrinsic to every thought; every decision made in her life. And she had a profoundly powerful one compared to most.

But had it made her happy?

She wandered down the high street and popped into G&T’s, looking for a bargain. It was a warehouse discount shop that sold everything from batteries to picture frames, toys and ornaments to towels and window blinds. Gemma loved a good bargain and she loved to browse in there whenever she came into Barton to see her accountant.

She picked up some shampoo and some tea light candles and queued up at the checkout, absently listening to the conversation of a couple of women who worked there who’d paused in their shelf stacking. They were both of them as rough as tree bark, laughing about the fantastic time they’d had on the razz the Saturday before, sleeping off their drinking binge all Sunday. They covered who’d snogged who, who’d thrown up on whose carpet and who’d gotten laid. Then they moved onto discussing in meticulous detail what they were going to wear for the upcoming weekend – Friday and Saturday nights of course!

Gemma smiled ruefully, reaching for her ringing phone. She noticed there was a voice-mail waiting for her that she must not have picked up the night before, then answered.

“Ye’llo!”

“Gemma?”

“Roger. Hi.”

“I was just wondering how you were getting on with the report on our latest figures.”

“Not too badly. I’ll have it done by close of play. I’m going to work from home and email it you later.”

“And the new designs?”

“They’ll be… They’ll be done by morning. At least in draft form.”

“Draft?”

Gemma sighed quietly. “Draft to me is a finished design to anyone else Roger, you know that. Don’t panic.”

“Right. Okay. And you’re going to cover last year’s figures in the report, right, as well as this year’s at the presentation in the morning?”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

There was a silence on the other end of the line. Gemma lowered the phone, sighed again, this time more heavily, then raised it to her ear. “But that won’t be a problem.”

“Thanks Gemma. You’re a star.”

She cut the call. “Yeah, fuck you too Roger,” she muttered.

Gemma reached the front of the queue and smiled at the pair of ladies working. One read out the prices and the other keyed them in. Each wore identical over-aprons; tabards; with “G&T’s” stitched into the chest and both of them were the wrong side of thirty and starting to go a little to seed. But they were pleasant and friendly and Gemma left the shop feeling happier than when she went in. 

On the way home in her BMW she listened to the radio. When the news came on nothing much was happening. Someone’s Lamborghini had been found abandoned in the back end of Barton somewhere – probably after a joyride, but the driver still hadn’t been tracked down.

She got home and made herself a latte, then settled down in front of her laptop, cursing her boss's name as she rushed to get the report done that he’d demanded. It was easy work but there was just so much of it – and that wasn’t to mention the fifty odd emails in her inbox and the designs that still needed doing.

After a couple of hours she took a break and gathered up her washing to stick in the machine. She didn’t notice the still blinking light on her mobile reminding her of the voicemail she’d missed, even when she put the phone on charge before she went back to work.

She got the report emailed off by six then paused long enough to cook up some spag bol, forking it into her mouth as she clicked through her emails, marking them by priority. Then she settled down to work on the designs with Rachmaninoff playing in the background and all the lights in her house lowered apart from the down-lighter over the kitchen table where her papers were all laid out.

It was one thirty by the time she finished and she wrapped the designs up in her carry-tube then stretched, pouring herself a large brandy. Enough was enough.

Except it wasn’t. She still had the washing to get out of the tumble dryer. Her sleeveless fawn blouse was in there and she wanted to wear that at the presentation in the morning. If she left it in there all night it would look like a pensioner’s arse by first light.

So she sighed again and cracked the dryer open, pulling out all the clothes.

Then she paused, startled, because in the top of the pile of newly dried clothes was something she could have sworn she hadn’t put in there. It had been a light wash made up of creams and light greens. This item was red.

Gemma raised it, turning it over and almost gasped when she saw the embroidered G&T lettering on the front. It was one of those tabard things that the ladies who worked there wore!

She had no clue how it had found its way into her house – or into the wash she’d done. For a start she’d emptied the washer into the dryer and it hadn’t been there then.

Feeling curious, she walked with it over to the mirror and held it up in place against her chest. She giggled. Then she slipped it on.

There was a hole for her head and a slit up one side with a clasp at the bottom to hold it in place. With it on she looked like she worked there. It looked really funny. She played with it, doing the voice. “Oh yeah Nora. It was fab at the weekend getting pissed and goin out clubbin. But we gotta plan what we’re gonna wear on Friday night! I’m gonna wear that top I got that shows me tits off. How about you?”  

She laughed, eyes sparkling out of the mirror at herself, then she sobered, thinking about her long day tomorrow.

The statuette she’d bought and showed off at her party was right there on the dresser. She stroked the top of it, thinking darkly about the inscription on it, then she gave a long yawn and turned away.

II  

Gemma woke with a start, her heart pounding and her head feeling thick and muggy, almost hung-over. She wasn’t in her bed. She was on the sofa in the lounge.

And she’d missed her alarm!

She leapt up and checked the clock on the mantle. She was pushing it but she wasn’t late. Yet. But she would be if she didn’t hurry.

She went up to her room, only then realizing that she was still wearing the tabard from G&T’s as she caught a glimpse of herself in the floor length mirror. She looked really odd in it and it made her feel funny. She shook her head, pulling it off and dumped it on her bed, then she quickly dressed.

The first top she tried on was a little tight for some reason. And the second. The third was a little baggier but it was still snug. She didn’t have time to fuss about that now though. She slipped on a pair of heels and went to the door but her ankle twisted and the right heel snapped, throwing Gemma against the wall.

“Ow! Damn it!”

She pulled off the heels and threw them at the wardrobe then, grumbling to herself, went to find another pair. She only had flats to match her outfit now and she didn’t have time to change. Cursing, Gemma put them on and went downstairs. She hated to wear flats. She wasn’t a dwarf or anything but she was fairly short and without heels she was by far the shortest person in any room. Especially at work she didn’t like the way that seemed to diminish her power. But needs must and she had to get there.

She gathered up her work stuff and piled it into the BMW, haring it across town to the office, her mobile tucked deep down in her handbag, well out of sight.

She got to the building in a flap, clumsily trying to carry everything inside, and to make matters worse she couldn’t for the life of her remember the entry code. She had to call security and wait while they verified her identity. More delay!

By the time Gemma got up to her floor she felt out of breath, hot and very very flustered. Roger was outside his office door looking through some papers as she approached, still struggling with everything she was carrying. “You look like hell.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“Have you put on weight?”

“I’m wearing flats. It makes me look dumpier. Where’s the presentation?”

He pointed and started walking.

Gemma went into the room, nodding politely at Roger’s boss and the clients and took a seat, opening her bag to get her things out ready to begin demonstrating the designs.

In the top of her bag, tucked in neatly and folded so as not to crease, was the red tabard from G&T’s.

Gemma frowned. She was sure she hadn’t put that in there… though she supposed it didn’t matter. She could drop it off at the shop in her lunch break. She pushed it to one side and got the rest of her things ready.

When everyone was settled she started the presentation but it started to go wrong immediately. She couldn’t get her notes organized and kept fussing and fiddling with them, becoming increasingly confused and flustered. She had difficulty projecting her voice and kept clearing her throat, sounding less and less confident by the minute. She put the wrong PowerPoint slides up and then shut the software down by mistake and couldn’t get it back up again. When she got help she couldn’t find the correct file.

Inside of five minutes, Gemma had gone from her normal confident and in-control self to an embarrassed clumsy buffoon who looked like a fool in front of the upper management lineage and these important external clients.

Roger called a break and Gemma leant against the wall outside the conference room, breathing heavily and trying to fight back tears.

“What the hell was that all about?” he whispered.

“I don’t know. I don’t know what happened to me.”

“Are you ill? Is that it? Has someone died?”

“What? No. I don’t know. I just…”

“Just what? I mean you come in here looking like shit and then that performance in there! I mean how long have you been putting on weight? You’ve been working from home a lot but still…”

“Huh?”

“And I have no idea what possessed you to do that to your hair! We work in the fashion industry for God’s sake. Image is everything!”

“What hair? What are you talking about?” Gemma was becoming increasingly confused and increasingly embarrassed. Her face was burning from shame. And she had no idea what he was talking about.

“Just get out of here,” said Roger. “Go and clean yourself up. Or go home. Get out of here, I don’t care. I’m going to try and sort this mess out.” He turned away from her then span back and pressed his face in close. “And for God’s sake Gemma. Sort yourself out or you’re out of this business!”

He marched back toward his office and the tears finally came, streaming down Gemma’s cheeks. She didn’t know how it could have gone so wrong so quickly but she felt like she’d ruined everything. How could she possibly show her face in front of the upper boss again?

She grabbed her handbag and fled to the ladies room then lent on the edge of the line of basins and wept, head hanging before her. She didn’t know what had happened to her. She was always so sure of herself and now—! Now she was a mess. Her emotions were running all over the place and she felt nothing but self doubt and confusion. Her thoughts felt so clouded it was difficult to focus at all. She tried to analyse what had gone wrong in the presentation but it was just a jumble of different images. She couldn’t get them straight in her head into any kind of chronology.

Gemma wiped at her blurry eyes and looked up at herself in the mirror over the sink and instantly stopped crying. She just stared.

She didn’t look right at all. She didn’t look like herself.

 
Her face was rounder than it should have been – maybe a stone – stone and a half heavier than she was meant to be. And her hair was an entirely different style than it should have been. It was much shorter and bushy, forming a mass of weight high on her head with spikes sticking up and out. And it was coloured a deep vibrant red! – something that should would never have done!

It was impossible! And she didn’t have the faintest clue how it could have happened. She tried to think but her mind was full of cotton wool. She could barely keep to the train of thought before she got distracted. Her hair couldn’t have changed like this. And it looked awful! Well… it was fine for a certain kind of woman, but not for her – not for a fashion designer!

She put her hand to her cheek, feeling the roundness there. She felt her chest and her waistline. The extra layer of fat was everywhere! But her clothes still fit. They still fit her!

This was insane! She had to get out of there!

She went to grab up her bag and paused, looking into the top at the tabard from G&T’s, gazing at it for several moments, lost in a dream. Then she snatched the bag up and ran out of the ladies room.

“Excuse me!”

Gemma turned. Katherine, her personal assistant was approaching looking stern and unfriendly. Obviously she’d heard of the palaver in the conference room. Gemma shrank back feeling mortified. She knew that Katherine had always wanted her job and would delight in the slightest chink in her armour and looking like this made it all the worse. With her flat shoes she looked and felt round and dumpy.

“Can I help you?” asked Katherine.

“What?”

“Only staff are allowed to be here in the back office. Are you here to see someone?”

Gemma frowned. “What?”

“If you’re here for the interviews; for the cleaner job; they’re downstairs on the ground floor.”

She didn’t know her! Katherine didn’t show the slightest bit of recognition in her face. Which was not possible. Magic or not, Gemma hadn’t changed that much.

“Well?” said Katherine. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave if you don’t have any business here.”

“I don’t understand,” said Gemma.

Katherine glanced down at her bag, seeing the exposed tabard. “Ah, G&T’s. I thought I knew you from somewhere. You work there?”

“No. I…” Gemma shook her head but she felt increasingly confused. She looked down at the tabard, felt her hair and then the side of her face. “I don’t…”

“Come on please,” said Katherine, herding her toward the door to the staircase. “If you’ll walk this way I can help you find you way out.”

“Wait,” said Gemma. “You don’t understand.”

But she was at the doors and Katherine had them open. And then she was out and the door was shut in her face, engaging the lock. Katherine didn’t waste another second on her. She turned away and walked back down the corridor. Gemma watched her pause outside the office that for the last year and a half had been hers, then go inside and close the door.

She looked down at the keypad, trying to remember the code to gain entry but she didn’t know it. She couldn’t remember it. She wasn’t even sure what that woman’s name was now.

She was so unsure of everything suddenly.

But maybe the woman was right.

Maybe Gemma did work at G&T’s…

III

Gemma went out to the car park to where she’d left her BMW, but it wasn’t there. In the same parking slot was an old banged up Fiat with a driver’s door that had obviously come from the scrap yard and had yet to be resprayed to match the rest of the paintwork.

Feeling increasingly exasperated, Gemma looked round for her car, questioning her memory as she never would have before. Ordinarily she had a photo-perfect memory of everything she said and did. Now she just had fuzzy half recollections. She wasn’t sure if she had parked it there in fact. It could have been anywhere!

She took out the key to activate the lock and lights but gaped stupidly at the set she found in her hand. They weren’t her normal keys. They had a Fiat emblem on the fob and a scruffy little teddy bear hanging from the ring by a chain. They weren’t her keys, but they’d been in her bag and she had an awful feeling that they matched that car.

Gemma went to the door and fit the key in, unlocking it with a heavy heart.

She got in fatalistically and put her head in her hands. What was happening to her? What on earth was happening?

She couldn’t work it out. She had no idea and her head was so full of cotton wool, she could hardly fit the facts together. Whenever she tried she kept forgetting things and having to start all over again. It was like her brain was out of fuel and was only puttering along, preparing to crap out on her.

She needed help. She needed to call someone. Gemma searched in her bag for her phone, only briefly fingering the reassuring silky fabric of the G&T’s tabard. When she flipped it open she saw the voicemail waiting message and rolled her eyes. She’d forgotten all about that. It took her a minute to work out how to retrieve the voicemail – her phone seemed a lot harder to comprehend than it had been. She pressed the retrieve button and listened to the crackly emotional woman’s voice on the message.

“Gemma! It’s Kim! The statuette! The magic! It’s real! It’s changing each of us in turn! You have to stop it – somehow – before it’s too late, or else you’ll—”

The phone beeped. The mechanical voice asked if she wanted to delete it or listen to it again.

Pale and quivering from fear, Gemma pressed the repeat command.

“Gemma! It’s Kim! The statuette! The magic! It’s real! It’s changing each of us in turn! You have to stop it – somehow – before it’s too late, or else you’ll—”

She closed the phone. “Oh my God…. Oh my God, the statuette… One thing different.”

That had been her friend Kim. She had to have been affected by this magic too. Gemma shuddered to think what horrible things it had done to her. Her life already wasn’t great: she was so obese and she worked such terrible hours at the garage.

Or was that…?

Gemma pressed her chubby hands against her eyes until stars appeared in the darkness. She didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t think. She knew that the statuette had transformed her and all her friends but she didn’t know what she could do. Its magic had already drained her intellect to the extent that she couldn’t think of a solution.

The statuette…

Gemma’s eyes widened in realization then narrowed in determination.

She had to destroy it! She had to get that horrible thing and smash it to pieces!

She started the engine and pulled out of the car park, pulling out into the road so fast that she caused two oncoming cars to veer out the way and smash into one another.

She didn’t look back; she just kept driving as fast as she could toward her house, trying to ignore the chubby arms gripping the wheel in front of her and the age and decrepitness of the car; trying to ignore the dullness of her brain and the stupidity that was slowly overcoming her and desperate to get there before these changes took over her life!

IV

Gemma screeched to a halt at a T-junction, narrowly avoiding overrunning into the carriageway ahead, she was finding it so hard to concentrate.

It was a left turn to her house but she wondered whether she ought really to go right, toward Barton. After all, her shift at G&T’s was going to start soon. She didn’t want to be late. She knew she was never going to get a promotion there – she was far too dizzy for that – but she didn’t like getting scolded for tardiness. Jimmy, the boss could be really intimidating – even if he was almost ten years younger than her and straight out of university.

She was sure there was something she really had to do but… she couldn’t quite remember what it was. She was sure it was important but so was getting to work on time.

There were no cars coming so she looked into her bag and slipped out her tabard, slipping it on over her head and doing up the clasp. That was better. She wouldn’t have to waste time putting it on when she got to work now. She smiled, her skin stretching round her chubby cheeks.

She started to turn right toward Barton then slammed on the brake.

No! This was wrong! She had to get the statuette! That was their only hope! She had to save all her friends!

Gemma turned back toward Farley and hit the accelerator, taking the car up as fast as it would go.

She pulled up outside her house and got out, running up the front path, fumbling with her keys. She tried them in the lock but they wouldn’t work! They didn’t turn! And even with her new dimwitted brain she realized what that meant!

This wasn’t her house anymore! Reality had shifted that much! She wasn’t going to be able to get inside to fetch the statuette back! She was really going to be stuck like this – a dimwitted shop girl.

Gemma went to the window and peered in. She could see the statuette on its shelf as clear as day but it was completely out of her reach. Apart from the statuette, all the furnishings and décor was different than it had been. The house belonged to somebody else. It was like she had never lived there.

Which was kind of obvious. She lived in her little studio flat above the pet shop on Barton high street. It was cramped, with her bed, kitchen and lounge all in the same little room, but it was cozy when she lit a few candles and settled down to watch her soaps with a family bag of Doritos, a jar of salsa dip and a bottle of cheap wine.

She could never afford a house like this, not on her wages at G&T’s.

In the window she caught sight of her chubby reflection: the bushy mop of cheaply-coloured hair, her round arms and cheeks, her thickened torso and rounder breasts; the smooth red tabard with the G&T’s monogram. In the glass her mouth was very straight, eyes just quietly watching, then her mouth turned up at the edges. She liked the way she looked. She liked wearing her work uniform. It made her feel like she was part of something important; part of a really good team.

Gemma looked forward to work. It was great to chatter to the other ladies about what had happened in Eastenders, Corro or Big Brother the night before. She loved reality TV shows and she and the girls delighted in speculating what was going to happen next on them.

And she’d really enhanced her social life working there. They went out on the razz every Friday and Saturday night. Gemma really looked forward to get really pissed and chucking up on the way home, then getting a kebab and maybe, if she was lucky, getting shagged by some bloke. They spent half the week planning what they were going to wear and where they’d go and the other half trying to remember what had happened the weekend before through their drunkenly hazy memories.

It was great.

Yes, Gemma smiled at herself, not sure why she’d bothered to drive all this way now. Something about a voicemail. Something about… No. She couldn’t remember now. And she was going to be late for work!

She did just pause though to take out her mobile and check. There was no use missing something crucial and regretting it later and she was such a dunce she’d never remember otherwise. People were always telling her she’d lose her head if it wasn’t screwed on tightly!

She dialed the number for voicemail and saw that the most recent one was from her friend Kim. That was right; yes. She pressed the button to listen again, hearing Kim’s bubbly voice.

“Hi Gemma, it’s Kim. How do you fancy hooking up later in the week and getting pissed? We’ll get all the girls together. Well everyone we can. Annie’s so fucked up nowadays that she probably won’t be up for it but we should be able to get Meko and Sam along. It’ll be lovely. Give me a call. It has to be this week though because I’m doing night shifts at the petrol station all next week. Seeya!”

Gemma smiled as she listened. That sounded great, but she frowned a little, thinking in the back of her cotton wool mind that the message had been different when she’d listened to it before… But no. It couldn’t have been.

She’d call Kim later. Right now she had to get to work! She was on shelf stacking again today.

But as she turned to rush back to her little car Gemma paused again and glanced back at her reflection one last time. She had a brief flash that this was wrong; that everything was wrong, seeing herself as a slim and fashionable woman, totally unlike the dumpy image that looked back at her.

Then she saw the statuette again on its shelf inside and it all came back to her. She remembered Kim’s real message and she realized what she had to do.

She lifted a rock from the garden in her fleshy arms and hefted it up, hurling it through the window, giving a cry of anguish and determination.

She had to get that statuette and destroy it before it was too late!

V

Gemma pulled in too hard and too fast to a parking space opposite G&T’s and got out, the statuette enfolded in her chubby arms. A car honked its horn, narrowly avoiding her then she lumbered across the road as fast as she could.

She had to keep it in the front of her mind before she forgot again. She had to destroy the statuette! And ironically, the very effect it was having on her had given her the means to do so.

As she went into the shop, she saw Jimmy, her boss, at the checkouts. “Gemma! Where were you! You’re late!”

“I’m sorry Jimmy. I’ll be right out!”

She cursed herself that she was falling back into thinking this was real and made herself grip the statuette; focus on it. As long as she was holding it she wouldn’t forget, she could still destroy it!

She went through into the warehouse and out to the back of the building. Her mate, Chelsea was standing in the doorway having a fag. She smiled round the cigarette when she saw her approach. “Hiya Gemma. Jimmy was looking for you. You better watch out or he’ll have you doing a double shift to make up for it.”

“Er, thanks,” said Gemma, squeezing past. She wanted nothing more to tarry and chat about what was on TV tonight with Chelsea like she normally would have but there was something awfully important she had to do with this statuette and that had to be done first.

Outside the back of the store was a massive trash compactor with an open top for rubbish to be thrown in and a massive button activated crusher to squash it down. Gemma went to it and raised the statuette up above her head.

It had to be destroyed. She remembered it all now.

She remembered everything!

Her friend Meko hadn’t just come to England recently. She wasn’t a cleaner at the TV studio. She had changed her name to Christine years earlier and become a well spoken and highly polished presenter and game show host.

Kim wasn’t obese. She wasn’t meant to be working back-breaking shifts at a petrol station. She was meant to be a beautiful and successful model.

Annie… Anne wasn’t a junkie whore who had dropped out of college and was now living in the darkest depths of crime-riddled Barton. She was meant to be married to the richest man in the county. She lived in the very lap of luxury.

Samantha wasn’t meant to be the slutty receptionist at her car dealership, desperately trying to hook a man before her looks faded. She was meant to be the manager! 

And Gemma herself wasn’t meant to be an idiot chubby shop girl with nothing to fill her life but a simple job and television and nights out with the girls. She was a top fashion designer. She had a high pressure job presenting and promoting designs in London, Edinburgh and abroad…

… working long hours; constantly under pressure to excel; underappreciated by her boss; forced to overcompensate, doing other people’s work for them because she was so gifted when they weren’t.

A long life of pressure from when she’d been a little girl and it had become clear how intelligent she was: pressure to do well in school, to get outstanding grades; to get into Oxford university, to come out with a first; to get a great job, to get a great house; pressure to always maintain her athletic body and stylish clothes; pressure to be this perfect paragon of effort and virtue that everybody else expected her to be; that she expected herself to be.

Gemma faltered, lowering the statuette by just an inch.

Or she could live this new life that the statuette was offering her: a simple life with no expectations. She could come to work, do her hours and go home and forget about it. She could never have to take work home again, staying up after midnight most nights to get it done.

She could have good salt-of-the-earth friends who just loved to chatter and gossip and plan their latest drinking binges and what men they would shag. She could watch TV for hours on end without worrying that she was wasting her time – just enjoy it for what it was instead of always expecting more from herself – some imaginary productivity that didn’t exist.

She could just be… happy.

Gemma looked up at the statuette above her head and looked down into the trash compactor, then she slowly lowered it.

Then she turned away.

She felt bad for her friends, especially Annie, but they all had simpler lives now without any of the pressure of success, and they were, all of them, happy in their own way.

She paused for three full minutes until she was sure she was making the right choice, then Gemma carried the statuette back into the shop, chattering with Chelsea for a couple of minutes in the doorway about their plans for the drinking binge at the weekend.

She passed a mirror in the warehouse and noticed nothing odd about her round face and chubby arms; her thickened torso and the red G&T’s tabard covering her chest. She patted her hair, loving this new style she’d had done the week before.

Her boss, Jimmy, was rattling around the shop, telling her off for being late but Gemma didn’t mind that. It was nice to have someone to tell her what to do; nice to not have to think for herself. Nice to be an ordinary girl with no pressure because she had no prospects.

She paused near the front of the shop and lifted the statuette to look at it. It was a pretty item that somebody was bound to want.

She put it on an empty bit of shelf then lifted a price gun labeler off a nearby trolley and spat out a price tag for £5.99.

She put it on the head of the statuette then turned her back on it and went toward the back of the shop to start stacking shelves, dreaming happily about her night out at the weekend and catching up with what was going on with Eastenders when she got home; a take-out pizza on her lap and a bottle of cheap plonk at her side.