The Food of Love

by Amanda Prowse

  Lockie’s key in the front door roused her. Curled on the sofa in the den overlooking the garden, she had been lost in a daydream, staring at the Rendletons’ kitchen window, lit by lamplight. She wondered how they both were, picturing Mrs Rendleton’s gloved hand gripping her husband’s arm, seeking solace, trusting the man to keep her afloat in a choppy, hostile sea of confusion.

  ‘People are so fragile,’ she spoke aloud.

  ‘Who are you talking to?’ Lockie threw his keys into the bowl and slipped his arms from his jacket, shrugging it off and laying it on the nearest chair.

  ‘Myself.’ She smiled.

  ‘I went to the pub,’ he announced, as if quickly confessing helped lessen any guilt associated with the event.

  ‘Good for you. See anyone interesting?’

  He shook his head. ‘Couple of the dads from swimming were at the bar, but I just waved and found a quiet spot with my pint. I’m not really in the mood for small talk. I can only think about Lex, and there’s a danger of pinning down a complete stranger and telling them every last detail of what’s going on.’

  ‘Like you used to when they were little,’ she reminded him. ‘I’d catch you in shops or in the street saying, “And then she took three steps and is already saying ‘mumma’, ‘dadda’, ‘cat’ . . .” They’d stare at you, bored stupid, but you carried on regardless, giving them all the details, as if no one had ever owned a toddler before.’ She smiled at the memory of that simpler time.

  Lockie sat next to her and twisted until his head lay on her lap and his feet hung over the arm of the chair. She ran her hand through his thick shoulder-length hair.

  ‘I think Lexi’s losing hair.’ She pictured the little clump nestling in her jeans pocket.

  Lockie closed his eyes, as if to spare himself the image.

  ‘I’ve decided to take control, Lockie,’ she continued. ‘I need to get a grip, get over the shock of what’s happening and put a plan in place. I agree with Dr Morris that the most important thing is getting her weight up, but I think it’s also good for Lexi and us if we understand it a little more. I want to pay for her to see a therapist. If we have to wait it might be an age and I think we need help sooner rather than later.’

  ‘How much will it cost?’

  She knew that it was a worry about affordability and not a lack of concern that prompted his first question.

  ‘I’m not sure. Dr Morris said it was pricey.’

  ‘I’ll ask Mum. I know she won’t mind, and if you think it will help.’

  ‘I don’t know anything, but I think we have to try, don’t we? Tomorrow we shall start with the protein shakes and I’ve decided to take her shopping with me, let her pick out things she might want to eat. Help us to help her.’

  Lockie eased himself up and swung his legs around until he was sitting next to her. ‘I’ve got to be honest, Freya. This is exactly what I was afraid of.’ He ran his fingers through his hair. She smelled the beer fumes.

  ‘What?’

  ‘This whole pandering to her every wish when it comes to food. You taking her shopping, instead of saying “Just bloody eat this!”’

  ‘I wish it were that simple.’

  ‘Maybe it is!’ He raised his palms. ‘Maybe that’s just the point. We have to stand up to her and tell her no, we are not going to let this spiral out of control. Like I did yesterday. I’m not saying I have all the answers, but I sat on that bed and she knew I wasn’t going anywhere until she’d eaten that toast and she did. She ate every bit because I didn’t let her get away with it.’

  Freya stood.

  ‘You think you know what’s best, Lockie, but you don’t – neither of us do, because this is all new. But at least I realise we are walking a tightrope across a ravine and I will do all I can to keep things steady.’ Walking forward, she grabbed the mug from the draining board, tipping the contents into a shallow pasta bowl before slamming it down on the table.

  ‘Come and look at this.’ She stood with her arms folded.

  ‘What is it?’ He was reluctant to leave the comfy spot.

  ‘Just come and look!’

  He walked slowly from the den.

  ‘What’s that?’ He wrinkled his nose at the dark, oily tea with the tiny sludge mountain that sat in its midst.

  ‘That, Lockie, is the toast that you confidently watched your daughter eat, washing each mouthful down with a sip of tea. Only she wasn’t; she was spitting it back into the cup.’

  ‘That’s revolting.’ He stared at his wife, his tone incredulous. ‘I can’t believe she lied to me!’

  Freya gripped the back of the chair. ‘Yes she did and you are right, it’s revolting and upsetting and deceitful, which is why we have to take extra care that she doesn’t jump. We have to do whatever it takes!’

  Her tears coursed down her cheeks unbidden.

  Lockie walked forward and took her in his arms. ‘I’m sorry I went out. I felt like I was suffocating.’

  She nodded against him. ‘I know that feeling.’

  ‘Did you ask her about the scales?’

  ‘Not at first, it felt like another pressure. I was afraid to. But eventually yes, and she went nuts! She was shouting at me, but confessed that she has some hidden in her wardrobe. I told her she could keep them because I was too scared to take them away. She was so relieved; I honestly don’t know what she would have done if I’d taken them.’

  Lockie held her at arm’s length. ‘Could you ever have imagined a situation where you were afraid to have a conversation with our little Lexi?’

  Freya hung her head forward, until her chin was on her chest, as her tears fell again.

  Seven hours . . .

  ‘I’ve just thought of something I’d like to put.’ Charlotte poked her head around the door.

  ‘Oh.’ Freya laid the pen down. ‘I guess I could go and have my bath; how long have I got?’ She stood, twisting her aching neck to the left and right.

  ‘Seven hours, Mum,’ came the whispered reply.

  Both were thinking that time was going far too fast for comfort. Freya felt a jolt of fear as she thought ahead.

  ‘Oh God, Charlotte!’ She placed her hand over her face and tried to breathe, tried to stay upright.

  Her daughter held her. ‘Shh. It’s okay. Keep breathing and go and have your bath. And I’ll be right here.’

  She nodded, as the cat jumped up and left the room, a little perturbed that his sleep had been disturbed. Freya followed him, closing the study door behind her.

  Charlotte sat at the chair that was still warm with the memory of her mother and smiled at the idea that people no longer present could leave such an imprint, a shadow, a reminder. It was a good thing.

  She picked up the pen.

  I don’t know why I am thinking about this, but do you remember that weekend when you were about ten and we decided it would be a fun thing to tie our socks together and walk everywhere joined at the toes? We put on our longest socks, pulled them down and knotted them together. We got Dad to pull the fabric doubly tight and off we set! Circumnavigating the kitchen table, holding on to each other’s forearms, like very stiff dancers, and then going up and down the stairs. We even climbed in and out of the bathtub. How we roared!

  One of us walking backwards, or scooting together, side by side, usually out of time so we both stumbled, falling headlong into doors and bed frames. It didn’t stop us, did it? It was the best game ever. And at suppertime, we couldn’t figure out how to sit opposite each other without undoing our socks, which would have meant, as we agreed, the end of the game. Dad came to the rescue. He moved the chairs out from the table and got us to sit underneath it facing each other and then wriggle backwards, until our bums were on the seats and our legs and feet were suspended beneath, like a sock bridge. It wasn’t comfortable, but did we care? Not a jot. I could hardly eat for laughing and Mum and Dad were laughing too at how bonkers we must have seemed. That was one of my very best days, Lexi, just you and me and a pair of lo
ng socks. Brilliant. I’d like that day again.

  I’m not sure how I’m going to get through the day. Perhaps I should be like Granny at Christmas and hit the booze. (And now I’m smiling again, picturing you judging me. Little Lexi Goody-two-shoes.) You know, when she keeps topping up her glass of Baileys until the bottle is empty (don’t worry, I won’t be doing that!) and then sits snoring in the corner. It’s one of Dad’s favourite things, isn’t it? I can picture him chuckling and winking at us the next morning when she claims to have no clue as to why she’s got a headache and hunts around for the bottle of Baileys that has miraculously disappeared!

  Happy times.

  I used to get really annoyed when we were little and everyone bought us the same presents, even Uncle Hugh and Granny and Pappy, as if it were too much effort to think of two gifts for two girls of different ages. The only person who went to real effort to buy us cool and unusual things was Marcia; she once got me a make-up palette, I thought it was ace! And for birthdays, she picked out books for us that we actually liked. Yours were always audiobooks, remember? Good old Marcia.

  If I look back at the photos of when we’re small, we’re in the same pyjamas with the same dressing gowns, holding the same toys. It drove me crackers, until a few years ago, when I thought it would be nice to have the same as you, be the same as you, but I guess that would have been a bit odd. We’d look like those one-hundred-year-old twins you see in National Geographic who still sleep in bunk beds and plan their identical outfits the night before, creepy!

  I’m a mess, Lex. I’m a total mess . . .

  SIX

  The upbeat pop song, as selected by Charlotte, provided the background music to their journey. The traffic lights turned green. Not that it mattered. Sitting bumper to bumper along the London Road, they weren’t going anywhere. An impatient finger, too far back in the traffic to see the gridlock, pressed the horn anyway, as if this irritating noise might somehow have the power to make the cars, lorries and buses disappear and propel her forward.

  Freya felt her stomach clench and her jaw tighten at the sound.

  ‘Think I might be late at this rate.’ Charlotte pulled out her phone and started texting. ‘I’ll get Mills to say I’m on my way. That should buy me a few minutes.’

  ‘I’m sure they’ll understand. You can’t help the traffic, love,’ Freya soothed.

  ‘True, but I can help leaving fifteen minutes later than usual.’ She kept her eyes on her phone screen.

  ‘I’m sorry. I just wanted to check on Lexi and make sure Dad was going to wait with her until I got back.’ She looked to the left at her beautiful girl.

  ‘’S’okay. I know it’s all a bit difficult at the moment.’

  Freya gave a small laugh at the understatement. There was a second or two of silence, while both contemplated the day ahead.

  ‘Do you think it’s my fault?’ The question came out of the blue.

  ‘What?’ She twisted to face her daughter.

  ‘Lexi. And not eating and stuff?’ Charlotte kept her eyes averted, staring at the parade of shops outside of the passenger window, where a man with a shaved head and a large hoop earring bent low and lifted the graffitied metal shutter, rolling it away and preparing to start his day.

  ‘No! Of course not, Charlotte! No, you must never think that.’ She placed her hand on her child’s shoulder.

  ‘I feel really guilty.’

  ‘Why do you?’ Freya was keen to understand.

  ‘Because . . . because I’ve been mean to her about Toby and I’ve been mean to her about other stuff, but I kind of thought it was a joke, Mum, just how we were, taking the mick out of each other; we’ve always done it.’

  Charlotte shrugged and flipped the phone in her palm, glad of the distraction.

  ‘You two love each other; don’t ever doubt that. And being sisters is sometimes tricky, especially when you are quite close in age. Being the oldest means you break boundaries she is yet to experience and she gets away with things because she’s the youngest. It’s not always easy, darling, but you mustn’t feel guilty or let what’s happening to her shade your life. Does that make sense?’

  ‘Kind of.’

  Freya took a deep breath. ‘I can’t fully explain what Lexi is going through because I don’t really understand it myself. I think it’s partly to do with what goes on around her, but mainly it’s because of what is going on inside her head.’

  Charlotte’s body shook as she cried.

  ‘Don’t cry, darling! Please don’t cry.’

  Freya leant in and held her in her arms, struggling to reach her, as she negotiated their seat belts.

  The lights had completed a cycle and were now back to green. The car behind beeped and this time she had no recourse other than to disentangle herself from the embrace and shove the car into gear.

  Freya pulled up outside school, as other late arrivals in various states of dress made their way hurriedly across the concourse.

  ‘I’d better go, Mum.’ Charlotte grabbed her bag from the footwell and reached for the door handle.

  ‘It’ll all be okay, you know.’ Freya smiled at her daughter, hoping she was telling her the truth.

  Charlotte looked at her earnestly. ‘I know, but the trouble is, I think what’s happening to Lexi is already shading my life, shading all of our lives, and I don’t know what to do about that.’

  Freya watched her pick up speed and jog into the building, feeling nothing but guilt at her daughter’s words which she knew to be the truth.

  By the time she got home, Lockie had his camera bag packed and was ready to leave for work. He was pacing the kitchen impatiently.

  ‘I’m so sorry. The traffic was a nightmare! Charlotte was a bit upset as well. Oh God, Lockie, I didn’t know worry could be this exhausting.’

  He looked at her and sighed, as if he really couldn’t take one more bit of negativity. She decided not to expand on the subject.

  ‘I hope you haven’t missed your train?’ she offered.

  He looked at his watch, as if he hadn’t been doing so every few seconds for the last ten minutes. ‘I should be fine if I leave right now.’ He slung the strap of his bulky bag over his shoulder and kissed her on the cheek. ‘I’ll see you tonight.’

  ‘Lockie?’ she called, as he made it into the hallway.

  He gripped the frame and popped his head back through the door. ‘What?’ His impatient tone verged on aggressive. ‘I cannot miss this train!’

  ‘What’s that?’

  She pointed to a flat, square glass object on the table, questioning him calmly, as if unaware of his urgency.

  ‘That, Freya, is Lexi’s scale. I have been reading up about this bloody situation, and the very worst thing is for her to have access to a scale, where she can obsess about every ounce lost and gained and use it as a stick to beat herself with or beat us with. I can’t talk about it now; I have to go.’

  ‘But I promised her!’ She was aware of the nasal tone to her retort.

  ‘Well, I didn’t, and in case you hadn’t noticed, she has two parents, and what I think counts just as much.’ He tapped on the door frame with his wedding ring, like a bell signalling the end of the round, and dashed down the stairs.

  Freya scanned the bedroom, unsure whether Lexi was in it, until a slight movement of the duvet revealed where her daughter was hiding. Gently, she peeled back the cover to reveal her tear-stained face, staring vacantly ahead.

  ‘Dad took my scales,’ she offered calmly.

  ‘I know.’ Freya considered how to proceed without showing disloyalty to either of them. It wasn’t easy. ‘He thinks it might be better for you not to have access to them all the time or to have to hide them away, and he might be right.’

  ‘I want them back,’ she croaked.

  ‘What about if we agree that you can weigh yourself with me present at a certain time each week? We need to do that anyway, to check on your progress and see that you’re heading in the right direction.’
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br />   ‘What if I just keep them in this room and promise not to look at them so much?’ She leant up on her elbows, trying to bargain, negotiate through her tears.

  Freya felt torn. It was hard to resist not only her daughter’s pleading expression, but also the idea that Freya didn’t want to go back on her word.

  ‘Let me think about it, Lexi. I don’t know what the right answer is.’ She pulled the duvet over her daughter’s shoulders. ‘But I do know that today is a brand-new day and we are getting into action. We are going to start your food log and go over the nutrition sheets and we are going to the supermarket together. You can help me, advise me on what you might like to eat, and we can write your eating plan together. And I shall make a few phone calls and see about finding you someone to talk to. Someone who knows how to help.’

  Lexi lay back on the pillows and nodded.

  ‘I’ll leave you to get ready.’

  Freya smiled brightly, the grin slipping the moment she left the room. She decided to look for the positive: Lexi hadn’t exactly enthused, but at least she hadn’t refused altogether.

  ‘Is it nice to be out in the fresh air?’

  Freya smiled as they abandoned the car and went in search of a cart in the supermarket lot. She watched as Lexi unfolded her limbs from the passenger seat, wanting to stare at her large knees in her skinny jeans and the narrow width between the sharp triangle of her shoulder blades or her very strong, square jaw.

  She was certain that Lexi had lost weight in the last couple of days, although she was not about to raise that with her child or, God forbid, Lockie.

  Earlier, while Freya had written up her shopping list, Lexi had drunk a banana-flavoured protein shake, puncturing the little foil strip on the coated cardboard box and sipping it endlessly through the narrow straw.

  It took all of Freya’s reserves not to urge her daughter to drink quicker; the time it took was excruciating, but at least her daughter had managed to finish it and had kept it down. Guilt swam in her veins at the irritation she had felt, reminding herself to be patient, just as she would with any other ailment.