The Food of Love

by Amanda Prowse

  The family slipped around each other in the kitchen, moving quietly, all trying to reconcile the events of earlier; all sharing a sense of awkwardness and shame, and each in their own way taking responsibility for what was happening. She and Lockie ducked and twisted in silence, making coffee and taking seats at the table, as if engaged in an unfamiliar dance of realisation and denial.

  Charlotte hovered in the doorway, holding her files and pencil case. ‘I’ve got to go or I’ll be late for school. I’ll see you all tonight.’

  Freya nodded, barely acknowledging her eldest as she left.

  She sat at the table with her husband by her side, opposite Lexi, who held the duvet close about her body.

  ‘We love you,’ she began.

  ‘I know,’ Lexi managed, her voice small, issued from a slumped posture with shoulders rounded, limbs gathered together and her head bowed.

  ‘And we will do everything we can to understand this, but to do that, you are going to need to help us out a bit, okay?’

  ‘’Kay.’ Again her voice was nothing more than a warble.

  ‘How long have you been making yourself sick?’

  Even saying the words felt like a boulder dropping through the ceiling from the room above, hitting the table and showering them in splinters. It is a ridiculous thing, making yourself sick! Why would anyone do that? It’s disgusting! Freya quieted her thoughts.

  ‘About nine months.’ Her eyes flickered up and then back again.

  ‘Nine months?’ Lockie asked with emphasis.

  Freya placed her hand under the table and laid it on her husband’s thigh, reminding him to keep calm. She swallowed; it felt like the three were balanced on a tiny ledge and one wrong move . . .

  ‘Why do you do that?’ She asked the simple question hoping there might be a simple answer, because then they could start the process of fixing things. Just like she promised.

  Lexi stared beneath the table.

  Freya tried again. ‘Why did you keep it under your bed?’

  Without lifting her eyes, Lexi whispered, ‘I knew you’d hear me if I went up to the bathroom, so I did it in the night, under my duvet. And then it was a way to keep a record, kind of.’

  Freya dug her fingers into her husband’s thigh: the only reaction she allowed herself, a mechanism to stop from yelling, Sweet Jesus! What madness!

  Lockie pushed her for an answer. ‘If you’ve been doing this for as long as you say, you must have given it a lot of thought. It takes a lot of . . . planning.’

  Freya glanced at her husband, sensing how close he had come to using the word ‘deceit’. It was a while before her daughter replied.

  ‘I don’t want to get fat.’

  ‘But you haven’t been fat for ages! Years!’ Freya responded quickly and with zeal, trying to reinforce how wonderful she looked and to remind her of her success.

  It was only when Lexi lifted her head that Freya saw her expression: wide-eyed, terrified. She had inadvertently confirmed that her child had been fat, and just the use of the word was like poison to Lexi, whose chest heaved and limbs trembled, as rounded tears slipped down her elfin cheeks, and she swallowed, as if gagging on the information.

  ‘Don’t cry, please don’t cry.’ Lockie reached across and held her hand inside his own. ‘We will get you better, Lex. We are your mum and dad and we will make this all better.’

  Freya looked at her husband, loving the nature of this kind, smart man. There was also a small sense of relief. He was right. They would do what they always did: dissect the problem, understand the issue and find a solution.

  The sooner the better.

  Freya sat on the same sofa in the reception area where she had sat months ago, the nervous anticipation she had felt before now replaced by the sadness that came with knowledge, and the shame that came with accepting the fact that she hadn’t listened.

  This time it was Mrs Janosik who met her. The woman was pretty, in her late twenties, comfortable in her tracksuit bottoms and school polo shirt, her long blonde hair sitting at the back of her head in a high plait. She was muscular, tanned and make-up free, boxy and striking, attractive. Freya felt a flicker of guilt at how she judged people in this way, particularly women.

  ‘Mrs Braithwaite?’ She smiled and walked forward, hand outstretched.

  Freya shook it, happy to feel the force of the teacher’s assertive interaction, figuring that if she was this strong, this confident, she just might have solutions, and what she wanted more than anything else in the whole world was for someone to tell her what to do. How to make things right.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘This way.’

  She stepped ahead in her spongy trainers, smiling and nodding at several pupils who shyly caught her eye. They made their way towards the gym, past the girls’ changing room, along a corridor where the faint tang of sweat hung in the air, and into a chaotic office. The desk was piled high with books and stacks of paper. The shelves lining the walls bulged with a variety of sporting goods, from a deflated basketball to a plastic tray labelled ‘Spare Socks’ and yet more books on fitness and physiology.

  ‘Sorry about the mess. I plan every month to devote one day to getting this room straight, but that day never comes.’ She sat behind her desk. ‘Please sit down, Mrs Braithwaite.’

  ‘Freya.’ She smiled.

  ‘Thanks, Freya.’ She placed her hand at her breast. ‘Marta.’ Her accent held only the faintest trace of her Baltic ancestry. ‘How’s Lexi doing?’

  Clearly her message, left on Miss Burke’s answerphone in part panic, had filtered through. She bit her lip, wondering how to start.

  The words felt surreal, even though she had lived through the previous day, had removed the vile collection of bags, each containing her little girl’s stomach contents, and had thrown away the drawers themselves, thinking not only that it was easier than cleaning them, but primarily that if they were gone, then there was nowhere for Lexi to hide things.

  ‘I don’t know how she is, really . . .’ She coughed. ‘Not good.’

  ‘This isn’t your fault.’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘What Lexi is going through – it isn’t your fault. I expect that you will be reliving every aspect of her life in recent times and maybe even further back, trying to figure out what you did or said that might make her have an issue like this. But the truth is, disorders like bulimia and anorexia are indiscriminate. You don’t choose them; they choose you, and they know no barriers.’ She shrugged. ‘I have this conversation more often than I care to admit. Boys, girls, all ages. What’s key is how we best support your daughter from here on in.’

  Freya stared at the stranger who felt comfortable in offering this very personal advice. She opened her mouth, but it was a second or two before she found the words.

  ‘You think she has anorexia or bulimia?’

  She noted the almost imperceptible flash of Marta’s pupils. ‘Don’t you?’ Her tone verged on condescension.

  Freya looked past her, out of the wide picture window that offered a perfect view of the running track. The track where her little girl had run lap after lap, melting the fuel that padded her frame, aiming for thin and then thinner still.

  ‘Those words make it sound . . .’ Again she struggled for words. ‘Very serious.’

  The woman leant forward on the desk. ‘It is very serious.’

  Freya blinked furiously, processing the thoughts and facts that were coming at her thick and fast. ‘I was hoping that this might be a blip.’

  ‘I think to assume that Lexi isn’t in the grip of something that could alter her life could be dangerous. If it’s been going on for as long as you say – nine months?’

  Freya nodded. ‘That’s what she said.’

  ‘It doesn’t seem like a blip.’

  ‘I guess I’m having trouble getting my head around it,’ she admitted.

  ‘Of course.’ Marta smiled. ‘I do understand.’

  ‘Who is it best to tal
k to? My doctor?’ This is what she came for: advice.

  ‘Yes. Some are brilliant, sympathetic and aware, others not so much – it’s pretty much the luck of the draw. They will be able to suggest a therapist and what you need to be doing at home. I will arrange to have all her lesson plans and notes emailed to her, but we completely understand that schoolwork isn’t her priority right now. She can do as much or as little as is right for her. Getting her healthy is obviously the priority, and then she has all the time in the world to catch up.’

  ‘So you think it best we keep her at home?’ She was a little shocked, unnerved; staying at home was only for those who were very poorly.

  ‘I think it’s up to Lexi and you, but in my experience, getting well might take all of her focus, and that’s enough for anyone to cope with.’

  ‘Okay, so we’ll keep her home for a bit, while we figure out how to go forward.’

  ‘Of course. You’ve got my number, Freya. Call me anytime. If I’m in lessons, then I will get back to you as soon as I can, and please give Lexi my very best wishes. She’s a lovely girl.’

  Freya nodded as she stood. ‘Yes. She is.’

  She drove home in an agitated state, able to focus only on the mundane: chores that needed doing, tomorrow’s weather, anything to divert her brain from her discussion with Marta. She regaled Lockie with the details of her meeting with Mrs Janosik before taking solace in the watering and pruning of her tubs, delighting at the dwarf daffodils that sprang up in clumps here and there. She then swept the courtyard free of leaves before going inside and picking up the phone. She ended the call and trod the stairs, hesitating before she knocked, still wary of what waited for her on the other side of the door.

  ‘Come in!’ Lexi called, sounding quite bright.

  Freya found her wrapped in her duvet, wearing bed socks, joggers and her favourite baggy sweatshirt. The spring sunshine lit the window and the atmosphere was a little brighter.

  ‘Hey, darling, just got back from school. I had a good chat with Mrs Janosik. She seems really nice.’

  ‘She is.’

  ‘She suggested we go and see Dr Morris and that she will be able to point us in the right direction.’

  Lexi gave a single nod.

  ‘I’ve just got off the phone and made an appointment for Friday. But don’t worry about that now, we’ll take it slow and we’ll get good advice. There is nothing we can say or tell her that she hasn’t seen or heard a hundred times before. It’ll all be fine.’

  She sat on the edge of the bed and patted her child’s leg. ‘How are you feeling right now?’

  Freya couldn’t help but view this as a virus, a bug, and just like a bug, she wanted it gone, determined to minister to her little girl until it was behind them and they could all get back on track.

  ‘Okay.’

  It was the familiar cure-all word that Lexi cast like a balm wherever it was required.

  ‘What can I get you for lunch?’ Freya was determined. ‘I’ve got some nice soup, or just toast? What do you fancy? You name it!’ She smiled, in the way she had always done whenever her children were poorly and needed feeding up, trying to make both the food and the medicine sound attractive.

  Lexi slumped further down against her pillows, trying to hide. ‘I . . . I don’t want anything yet, thank you.’

  The word ‘yet’ had given her hope. She hadn’t said no.

  ‘Okay,’ Freya said, ‘but I’ll pop back in a bit and see what you might like.’ She kissed her forehead before heading back to the kitchen.

  Lockie worked at the table.

  ‘How is she?’ His fingers paused, hovering over the keyboard.

  ‘She seems a little brighter. Didn’t want any lunch just yet, but said later.’

  He ran his palm over his stubbly chin. ‘Is this what it’s going to be like? Waiting on tenterhooks to see if she eats something?’

  ‘Lockie, I don’t know. But I do know that it’s now not okay for her to jump up and leave the table right after eating or to be really picky. We have to keep an eye on her.’ Freya silently reprimanded herself for all the times she had praised Lexi for refusing sweets and second helpings.

  ‘So do we have to spy on her, tempt her?’ he offered, half in jest.

  ‘Yes, I think we do, for a while at least. Just until we can break the cycle, get her to relax about food and start eating normally.’

  ‘How long will that take?’ He looked at her, confident that she had the answer.

  ‘God, Lockie, it’s only been a couple of days, are you fed up with it already?’

  ‘No.’ He scooted the chair away from the table a little. ‘Not fed up with it, exactly, but my stomach is in knots. I can’t concentrate. I keep thinking how horrible it feels when I’m hungry, how greedy I am for food, and I can’t bear the idea of her feeling like that for hours on end.’

  ‘I know.’ She put the mug down. Coffee could wait. ‘The good news is, she seemed quite open to the idea of going to the doctor.’

  ‘When’s the appointment?’

  ‘Friday, eight-thirty.’

  ‘Great. I’ll come with you. Charlotte won’t mind getting the bus to school; she has for the last couple of days anyway.’ He tapped into the calendar on his laptop.

  Freya drew breath. ‘I think it’s best if you stay here, love. It might be a bit overwhelming for her and we need to keep things as relaxed as possible. If we all go it just makes it more of a circus.’

  ‘I wasn’t going to come into the room. I understand she’ll want privacy, of course, but I thought it might be good to come along, to support her.’

  ‘You don’t have to, just get the kettle on for when we get back.’

  She smiled, hoping that was the end of it. She resumed her coffee making, seeking out the little pod and pressing the button on her coffee machine.

  Lockie closed his laptop a little more forcefully than normal. He stood and leant against the table, his arms folded.

  ‘I’m just going to have to come out and say this.’ He drew breath, as if nervous.

  Freya lifted her little glass coffee cup from the machine and waited for him to speak; it wasn’t like him to make such a grand statement or to be so reticent.

  ‘Are you certain that we are doing the right thing, going to the doctor, speaking to her teachers, keeping her off school? I wonder if this is really a thing or are we just making it a thing? Indulging her?’

  She thought how best to answer. ‘The truth is, Lockie, I don’t know what the right thing to do is. Her teacher said she was anorexic or bulimic.’

  It was the first time she used the words to Lockie that they had been very careful to avoid.

  ‘What’s the difference?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m not entirely sure, but I think one you overeat and then make yourself sick and the other you don’t eat, but I don’t really know.’ She hated how little she did really know.

  He stared at her. ‘I think everyone needs to slow down. There’s a million miles between not wanting to eat, having a mini meltdown for a bit of attention, and a diagnosis like anorexia. I’m just worried that we are jumping the gun by labelling her, or worse, putting her into a system that will label her for us, and then what? It might be hard to retreat when it all blows over.’

  ‘I did think that the first time, when I went to speak to Miss Burke. I thought I knew best, and I put any doubts out of my head because we sat down that night and had dinner. I’d made omelettes, and I watched as she reached for the bread and told us that there was nothing to worry about. I believed her.’ She faced her husband. ‘But then I found the bags full of sick under her bed. You saw them too! She was tricking us. Why would she do that? And she is so very skinny.’

  She pictured Lexi in her underwear, the sharp bite of her collarbones and hip-bones, stripped of the layers she used to deceive.

  ‘I hear you. I just think we need to be very careful of going down a route from which it is impossible to do a U-turn. That’s all.’ He spoke
reasonably.

  Freya nodded. ‘And I agree with you. I told Mrs Janosik that I thought it was a blip and I do think that. We are not the kind of family who will sit back and hope for the best. We are good parents; we know our kids and we will work with Lexi to get her back on track, I’m absolutely confident of that. And when she’s feeling better, we can move on – it doesn’t have to be mentioned; we can’t let this define her. We will beat it. I know we will.’

  Lockie nodded at her and smiled. ‘I hope so.’

  ‘I know so.’ She countered. This, she had to believe.

  Seven hours, thirty minutes . . .

  Freya sat up and stretched her arms above her head. It was still strange to her that she could sleep and wake feeling physically refreshed, but with her mind so very weary.

  Charlotte was slumped over the desk, her head rested on her arms. The creak of the floorboards under her mother’s foot drew her from her repose.

  ‘I needed that. Thank you, darling.’

  She felt a little more with it, but only a little. She didn’t want her daughter to think that her efforts and kindly gestures had been in vain.

  Charlotte sat up straight and ran her hand over the page. ‘Do you want to take over?’ she asked.

  Freya nodded and hugged her girl, as she vacated the chair. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I think I might go and have my shower,’ Charlotte whispered into her mum’s hair that covered her face.

  ‘Good idea. How long have I got now?’

  Charlotte pulled away and looked at the clock, doing the mental calculation that on any ordinary day would be easy, but this was not an ordinary day.

  ‘Erm, we are being collected at two and it’s now six-thirty. So, seven and a half hours.’

  As Charlotte closed the study door behind her, Freya sat and took the pen in her hand.

  Brewster gingerly crept into the room. With his back arched, legs stretched and tail up, he looked as elegant as ever. He glanced at her quite dismissively and hopped up on to the sofa, curling into a soft circle, with his pretty head resting on his tail and paws. He blinked once, twice, and sighed in the way that cats sometimes do.