The Food of Love

by Amanda Prowse

  ‘I’m not sure what cognitive . . .’ Her mind went blank.

  ‘CBT? It’s based on the theory that how we think about a situation affects how we act, and, in turn, our actions can affect how we think and feel. The therapist will try to show Lexi how her thoughts might be unhealthy, that she might have unrealistic beliefs about food and diet, to highlight them and break the cycle.’

  ‘Okay.’

  Freya didn’t like the idea of Lexi going to talk to a complete stranger, and at some level agreed with Lockie that she didn’t want her to get entangled in a system that might make it worse. She hoped that the whole thing might be cleared up before it got to that stage. She smiled now at the thought of her eating a slice of toast earlier. It was a start and felt like a win.

  ‘There is always the option of private therapy,’ Dr Morris continued. ‘Same deal, just without the waiting list. It can be pricey; I just wanted to point that option out to you. But right now the best thing you can concentrate on is getting Lexi to eat. That’s the only goal, because when her weight is up and the ship is a little more steady, we can then start to look at the reasons behind her issues and we can think about the future, but right now, as I say, it’s all about getting her to put on those pounds. The protein shakes I suggested might help.’

  ‘I don’t know why she is doing this.’

  She hadn’t intended to verbalise the thought.

  ‘She’s doing it because she is ill.’ The doctor spoke definitively.

  ‘But it doesn’t make much sense to me. I work with food and have always tried to set the right example by eating right and staying fit. I cook for them too; healthy food. And I’ve taught them how to watch their weight, keep strong. It feels like an odd thing to choose. She always loved eating and mealtimes.’

  ‘That’s the thing, Mrs Braithwaite: anorexia is not about food; it’s about control.’

  And just like that, there it was, that word again: ‘anorexia’.

  It seemed that the more she tried to run away from it, the closer it crept, placing its cold hands on her shoulders until she had no choice but to acknowledge its presence.

  The next day, the three books Freya had ordered online were delivered by an indifferent deliveryman who had no idea of just how much the words he handed her in their corrugated cardboard wrapping were anticipated.

  Shutting her study door, she ripped the packaging, flopped down on the old sofa and read the titles: My Journey In and Out of Love with Food; Starvation and Me: A Tale of Anorexia; Ten Steps to Recovery from Self-Loathing to Self-Love. She let the books fall open at various pages and let her eyes rove over the painful accounts. She felt a spike of sadness pierce her core at the photographs of emaciated bodies and words that leapt from the page: ‘disgust’, ‘purge’ and ‘decay’.

  Closing the pages, she quietly put the books in the bottom drawer of her desk, deciding it might be a mistake to read these very graphic accounts, written by women who seemed to be suffering to a far greater degree than Lexi. They were scary to look at, and more fear was the last thing she needed.

  Lockie knocked and entered.

  ‘Hey, you.’ He smiled and put a large mug of peppermint tea on the coaster on her desk.

  ‘Thank you.’ She closed her eyes.

  ‘Books any good?’ He turned the redundant desk chair to face his wife and sat down.

  ‘I’ve had a quick scan. They’re quite graphic, so I’ve put them in a drawer. Denial, I know, but it just feels easier to shut it all away and get through today.’

  Lockie nodded; this he understood.

  ‘I’m going to cancel my shoot for the end of the week. I think I should be here, even if it’s only to bring you tea.’ He reached for and handed her the mug, which had cooled a little.

  ‘There’s no need to do that, love. Firstly, I don’t think one or both of us being here will make any difference, and secondly, we need the money.’ She sipped her tea, hoping to dilute the bitter taste of the unpalatable truth.

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘Dr Morris said that Lexi is probably weighing herself, and that we probably have scales in the house we don’t know about.’

  Lockie knitted his brows. ‘Well, there aren’t any in the bathrooms or the loo. I haven’t seen any.’

  ‘Me neither, but she suggested that Lexi would hide some and lie.’ She watched his jaw tense, mirroring the anger she had felt at the suggestion that in any other circumstance would have sent them raging to her defence.

  ‘I clearly don’t know enough about this bloody eating disorder, but I do know a bit about human nature, and I believe that trust breeds trust. We know our daughter and we trust her and we should continue to do so. We need to encourage her to be truthful. So let’s just ask her about the scales.’

  ‘If you think we should.’ She blinked.

  ‘I do.’

  Lockie heaped brown rice on to his plate and a good helping of spicy roasted vegetables, including butternut squash, onions and carrots, along with a mint and yoghurt raita on the side. Charlotte followed suit, taking the serving spoon from her dad and dipping it into the steaming fare before positioning it on her plate, just so.

  Freya stood and reached for Lexi’s plate. She felt hopeful, supremely confident that this was all that it would take, a few healthy meals to ease her back into eating.

  ‘What can I get you, darling?’

  She avoided looking at her daughter, concentrating instead on the bowls of food, faking that this was simply any other evening with any other meal waiting to be served. Ignoring the quake in her stomach and the tremor to her hand, and with a quick shake of her head, the image of the knotted carrier bags secreted under the bed were wiped from her mind.

  ‘Erm . . .’ Lexi stared at the food on the table as if the decision were too great, her complexion wan. She looked a little clammy. Her deterioration had been steady; smaller portions and a certain awkwardness at eating in front of others now manifested itself as this total dislike of having to eat at all.

  ‘How about a little of each?’

  Freya didn’t wait for a reply, but instead scooped no more than a tablespoon of rice and the same of vegetable tagine on to her daughter’s plate. It looked appetising, bright and not over-plentiful.

  ‘Ooh, this looks lovely.’ Freya smacked her lips together in the way she used to when the kids were little and she could encourage them to eat by expressing desire or envy for whatever she was trying to get them to munch: Oooh, mashed potato, my favourite! Quick! You’d better eat it all up or Mummy will!

  ‘How are rehearsals coming along, Charlotte?’ she asked, consciously trying to switch focus and involve her other child as she set the plate in front of Lexi and proceeded to serve her own food.

  ‘It’s going okay.’ Charlotte spoke between mouthfuls. ‘Except Mr Gordon’s being a right pain. He reckons we need another three or four full rehearsals and we’re running out of time. Some people have exams, practicals and things, and so we can’t all get together that often. I think he’s just panicking.’ Her eyes darted to her sister, who had yet to start eating.

  ‘The performances are always polished and perfect and I’m sure this will be no different. How is it, Lockie?’ she asked her husband with a false brightness that seemed to stun him slightly.

  ‘It’s good.’ He nodded, reloading his fork.

  The sound of Lexi picking up her cutlery was a sweet note that rang out around the room.

  Charlotte glanced at her little sister. ‘I was thinking, Lex, if you want to bring Toby along then of course ask him. I shouldn’t have gone off at you like I did. I was feeling nervous about the concert and was stressed because I couldn’t find my straighteners and took it out on you. I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s okay.’ Lexi smiled.

  Freya exchanged a look with her husband, both lit from within by pride at their eldest girl’s lovely, conciliatory gesture at a time when it was needed, and the sweet interaction between the two people they loved the most. It wa
s a moment that brought a lump to her throat in her heightened emotional state; she coughed and heaped her supper on to her fork.

  Lexi swallowed her mouthful and then another, smaller bite. She then toyed with the food on her plate.

  ‘Keep going, darling, you are doing really well!’ Freya offered the words of encouragement.

  It was the sound that first alerted her. Freya was savouring her mouthful when Lexi’s head fell forward and a revolting gagging sound came from her mouth. Charlotte, sitting opposite, scooted her chair back from the table, just as Lockie jumped up and put his arm around his daughter, who instantly pushed him away.

  ‘Is she choking?’ she screamed.

  ‘No!’ Lexi managed, with her arm outstretched.

  Her body seemed to convulse as she gagged and retched, her head bent over, her hair falling over her face and her feet planted firmly on the floor.

  ‘What is it, Lexi? What’s wrong?’ Freya fired off, as she stood behind her. She caught Lockie’s eye and looked away. ‘Can I get you a glass of water?’

  It was a pathetic offering in lieu of a more constructive thought; as ever, her instinct was to do something.

  Lexi sat with her shoulders rounded. Every heave left her body like a ripple of revulsion that started in her gut and continued until it found her mouth, coming to the surface and ending with the translucent, grey-green goo that she spat on to the floor. It was only as the gagging stopped that she found her strength and left the table, running up the stairs as if desperate to escape.

  The three remaining family members looked from one to the other, hoping that one of them might provide insight. Lexi had left the room, but the shadow of her actions cloaked them, burying joy and normality under a dark cloud of tension and confusion.

  The food cooled on the table, but no one had the confidence or inclination to resume eating. This horrible disruption and fear of food was grabbing territory; not satisfied with getting its claws into Lexi, the consequences were now affecting them all.

  Freya pictured anorexia as a giant bird that had her child in its talons and whilst the rest of them were free of its grasp, they were still exhausted and fearful, jumping high to hold on to her and shielding themselves from the beat and brush of its giant wings.

  Lockie grabbed his waxed jacket from the back of the chair.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Her tone, a little accusatory, betrayed her irritation that he was leaving.

  ‘Out.’

  ‘Do you think we should check on her or give her some space? I don’t know what to do!’

  He opened his mouth to speak as he zipped up his jacket, but closed it again, as if changing his mind.

  ‘I need some fresh air.’

  ‘What do you mean, you need fresh air?’ Freya stared at him.

  ‘I mean I can’t cope right now with the crushing disappointment. We think we are making progress and then, bang, back to this!’ He indicated the mess on the floor. ‘And to watch you pandering to her, offering to get a drink of water . . .’ He sighed.

  ‘What am I supposed to do? Yell? That’s about as useful as running out,’ she retorted.

  ‘I just need a bit of space.’

  And with that he was gone.

  ‘I’d let her calm down, Mum, and go up in a bit,’ Charlotte offered, before padding up to her room, where Freya knew she would call Tara and Milly and they would throw a virtual arm around her and wrap her in their love and understanding, making her feel special, taking the sting out of the event, analysing and rationalising, which strangely would provide comfort when the time came for lights out and sleep.

  She looked at the serving bowl of food, spoiling in the middle of the table, the abandoned plates and the shiny pool on the floor in front of the chair that Lexi had recently vacated. And she wished, just for a second, that she too could run out, leave the house or, at the very least, go and lie on her bed and harvest the sympathy of her friends, who would tell her that it was all going to be okay.

  Instead, she cleared the table, stacked the dishwasher, mopped the wooden floor and headed upstairs to talk to Lexi.

  Her daughter was shivering under the duvet.

  ‘Let’s see if your radiator’s on,’ she said as she bent down, peering at the metal knuckle on the end of the pipe, trying to figure out which way was off and which on; it was tricky to see clearly without her glasses. ‘I’ll get Dad to check it’s on when he gets back.’

  ‘Where’s he gone?’ Lexi peered out from the edge of the cream-and-blue tartan duvet cover.

  ‘Just for a walk.’

  ‘Is he angry with me?’

  ‘No, Lexi. We are not angry with you, just very worried about you. And I’m nervous of doing the wrong thing and worried about not doing the best thing to help you, because I don’t know what those things are. It feels like a very tricky puzzle.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Pulling her knees up under the cover, Lexi laid her head on her folded arms and cried.

  ‘I don’t want you to be sorry; I just want you to tell me how to get you to eat. Because you have to eat, Lexi; that is non-negotiable.’ Freya sat on the edge of the bed. ‘Don’t cry, darling, please don’t cry.’

  She rubbed her child’s thin back and ran her fingers through her hair. As she removed her hand, she was horrified to see several strands entwined about her fingers. Surreptitiously she curled her fingers and ran them over her palm, twisting the long hair into a knot and placing it in the pocket of her jeans.

  ‘What happened at the dinner table? You seemed to be doing well.’

  ‘I could only manage a little bit.’ Lexi lifted her head, her voice warbling as if they were in the middle of winter.

  ‘What changed?’

  She swallowed and tucked her hair behind her ears. ‘It was the thought of it being in my stomach.’

  In an almost involuntary motion, Lexi bared her teeth and her skin seemed to jump. She shook her head as she continued. It was a strange animal reaction that sent a bolt of fear through Freya.

  ‘I don’t want anything in my stomach, Mum. Even the thought of it makes me sick. I can’t help it.’ Lexi rubbed the tops of her arms.

  Freya jumped up and left the room, returning swiftly with the pale-pink mohair blanket that lived on the arm of her floppy old sofa in the study. She shook it out, ignoring the dust and loose fluff that rose into the air and fell like soft drops of rain. Folding it in half, she placed it over her child’s shoulders like a shawl.

  Lexi gripped the sides together under her chin, rubbing her face against the soft fabric.

  ‘You look like Brewster when he snuggles up to something soft.’ She smiled, stroking her daughter’s leg over the duvet. ‘So it was just the thought of eating that food that made you retch?’

  It wasn’t easy to resume the topic, but she knew that if she was ever going to understand this situation, it was vital that she did just that.

  Lexi nodded.

  ‘But you ate the toast Dad made you yesterday afternoon,’ she thought aloud, trying to figure what had worked about that food, but not hers. Her eyes were drawn to the mug, still sitting on the windowsill.

  Call it instinct, but Freya walked over and lifted the mug. It was half full of tea, but that wasn’t what caused her stomach to shrink around her bowel. Sitting on top was a mass of bread, chewed toast, expertly spat into the liquid. Dr Morris’s words rang loudly in her ears, People with eating disorders are often deceitful; there are a dozen tricks they employ to hide weight loss and non-eating.

  ‘You didn’t eat it?’ She stared at her child, who shrank back against the headboard.

  ‘I did, I . . .’ Lexi stared at the mug in her mum’s hand.

  ‘Do you have any scales, Lexi? Do you have scales hidden somewhere that you use to weigh yourself?’

  The girl shook her head, as her tears fell. ‘No!’

  ‘And you did eat the toast?’ she pushed.

  ‘Yes! I told you!’ Lexi beat the duvet with her fist.

 
; ‘This munched-up toast that I am looking at with my own eyes, you did eat it?’ She held the mug out towards her child, daring her to dispute the evidence.

  ‘Yes! I did!’ she shouted. ‘I just . . .’

  ‘No, you didn’t! It’s here, in this mug, you spat it out!’ Freya again tipped the mug to show her little girl the contents.

  ‘Mum, please, I . . .’ Her mouth flapped, as she looked from side to side. Her thoughts and lies couldn’t come fast enough.

  ‘Do you have weighing scales hidden, Lexi?’ She kept her tone firm.

  ‘No! I don’t, I don’t have any scales!’

  ‘And you did eat the toast?’

  ‘Yes! I did!’ she shouted again.

  ‘But you didn’t, Lex, it’s here. And I think you have scales hidden. Where are they?’ It was Freya’s turn to shout.

  ‘In my wardrobe!’ Lexi yelled, immediately crawling forward until she was kneeling on top of the duvet. The blanket lay across her back like a cape. ‘But please, please don’t take them, Mum! Please don’t. I need them.’ Lexi sobbed.

  ‘Why do you need them?’ Freya struggled to keep her own tears in check.

  ‘To check my fat! To check I’m not getting fatter. I need to keep checking. I don’t want to be fat! I don’t want to be disgusting!’

  Freya put the mug back on the windowsill and fell forward on to the bed, taking her little girl in her arms, rocking her gently, until her body stopped trembling and her tears subsided.

  ‘Don’t cry, Lexi,’ she whispered.

  ‘Please don’t take them, Mum.’

  She sounded petrified at the prospect. Freya looked towards the wardrobe door where the object of obsession was secreted.

  ‘I won’t.’

  Lexi’s body seemed to melt against hers in complete relief. With her arms curled in against her chest, she snuggled against her mother, as her breathing slowed and her tears dried. It was in this calmer environment that Lexi whispered, ‘Thank you, Mummy.’

  Freya kissed her scalp and held her tightly, hating how much her child relished the stay of execution.