The Food of Love

by Amanda Prowse

  Freya had only given the carton one surreptitious shake before popping it into the bin and was delighted to find it was empty. Two hundred calories: yes! She saw this and every mouthful consumed as a small win.

  ‘Okay.’ She’d straightened the list on the table. ‘So you tell me what you might be able to eat and I’ll pop it on the list.’

  She had almost sung, trying to keep things positive and matter-of-fact.

  Her daughter had swallowed, pulled her sleeves over her hands and bitten her bottom lip, as if she found saying the names of foods a challenge, let alone putting them past her lips.

  ‘Maybe yoghurt, but only plain yoghurt.’

  Her fingers poked from her sleeve as she toyed with the straw, twisting it between her thumb and forefinger.

  Freya had nodded encouragingly as she added the item on to her shopper’s jotter.

  Lexi continued, her voice quiet. ‘And plain, hard crackers, like cream crackers or water biscuits. Clear soup, but not with too much meat in, like maybe chicken-and-corn soup, but not ham and pea or anything like that. And corn not in soup, frozen and not in a tin, and broccoli stalks, but not the flower bits . . .’

  The specifics, the finicky requests, were as infuriating as they were ridiculous, but she didn’t care. Whatever it took, whatever Lexi wanted, she was determined to get the girl to eat.

  If it had been for any other reason that she had ushered her from the table and immediately down the stairs into the car, preventing her from going into the loo, it might have been amusing.

  ‘Right, let’s go!’

  She pulled the shallow cart from the row in which it sat and, with her head held high, entered the store. Lexi placed her hand on the metal side, whether helping with the navigation or holding on for support, Freya wasn’t sure.

  Meandering through the fruit and veg displays, tossing lettuce, tomatoes, carrots, broccoli and onions into the trolley, she tried to look indifferent, aloof, like every other shopper, and not reveal the sense of panic that swirled in her gut.

  ‘Are you okay?’

  Lexi nodded. ‘Shall I go ahead and look at the soup?’

  ‘Yes! That’s a great idea!’ she enthused, massively encouraged by this sign of commitment.

  Striding purposefully up and down the aisles, Freya completed her list and went in search of soup. Lexi was taking an age.

  She halted her trolley at the end of the row; unseen, she hovered, blocking the corner and making it harder for people to get around. Not that she noticed; her attention was entirely taken up studying her little girl. She stood back a little so she could watch without being seen.

  Lexi stood in front of a large fridge, her legs firmly planted, her hips forward and her posture rigid. In each hand she held a carton of fresh soup towards her face. With a contorted expression, she first studied one label, her eyes roving over the details, her mouth moving, reciting the information. She then switched cartons, staring at the other, trying to compare, mumbling to herself and looking at the picture and then the contents and nutrition information again. Remembering lists and retaining the similar, minute details was very difficult for Lexi.

  But that wasn’t what upset Freya the most.

  She would have found it hard to explain to others just how much her daughter’s actions distressed her. It was the intensity: oblivious of anyone else, she agonised and repeated, evaluating to see which might be the best to eat, when her true choice would be neither. Her task was all-consuming, and unlike most health-conscious teens, this was not a choice about whether to eat a doughnut or stick to fruit; she was comparing two remarkably similar cartons of chicken-and-corn soup.

  Removing her hand from the cart, Freya placed her flattened palm on her chest, trying to stop the sob that built there and to slow her heart that flipped.

  ‘How are you getting on?’

  She walked forward, whispering, trying for nonchalant, as if she had happened upon her child by accident.

  ‘I . . . I don’t know if it’s better to get one that’s lower in sodium or one that has less carbohydrates per hundred grams. I don’t know.’ Lexi furrowed her brow and looked towards her mum.

  ‘Which do you think you might prefer to eat?’ Freya coaxed, applying some simple logic to the situation, despite barking at Lockie for doing the same.

  Lexi put both cartons back on the shelf and tucked her palms under her armpits. ‘I don’t want either. Can we go now?’ Lexi almost shouted with a sense of panic.

  ‘Sure. I’ll just pay, nearly done.’

  ‘I want to go! Now!’ She raised her voice.

  ‘I know and we are leaving soon. I just need to pay,’ she soothed.

  ‘Please hurry!’ Lexi spoke with urgency.

  Freya watched as the girl’s eyes darted from person to person, hugging her form and keen to get outside. She loaded the car in silence as quickly as she could. By the time she put the key in the ignition, Lexi was highly agitated.

  ‘I think it’s disgusting, all those really fat people buying fatty food, like cheese and cake. They make me feel ill. Choosing to put fat food into their fat mouths. I hate to think about it and I hate to see it. I don’t know how they can do it!’

  She chewed her nail, biting and spitting out the tiny fragments as she ripped them with her teeth.

  ‘How can they stand to look like that? And they are choosing it. It makes me feel sick!’ She placed her hand on her stomach, her breath coming in short bursts.

  ‘Nearly home, Lex.’

  In the face of her daughter’s odd, angry outburst, it was all she could think to say, while swallowing her own guilt, remembering the time she had pointed out girls at the mall who were wearing shorts that were two sizes too small or raised her eyebrows as a heavy woman asked for a second serving in a restaurant. She recalled how she had commented that rather than eat more, she might instead be better off running around the block. I didn’t mean it! But the fact was she had meant it, and it was only now in the face of Lexi’s illness that she questioned the phrases and observations that tripped from her tongue with ease.

  Freya was delighted that Lockie came home late. She had fed Charlotte, Lexi had managed another shake and an apple, and Freya had managed to wolf a couple of slices of toast between chores. A dish of braised pork and pak choi awaited her husband.

  ‘I spoke to Mum. She said she was more than happy to help out with Lexi’s therapy bill. Said she’d pay it direct or write us a cheque, whatever was easiest.’

  ‘That’s so kind of her. I think I’ve found a lady. She works out in Harpenden. Her name is Hilary Wainwright. I spoke to her earlier, she sounds great.’

  Lockie nodded, still looking less than comfortable with the idea. He sat at the head of the table and lifted his fork. ‘Thank you. This looks delicious. Everyone else eaten?’

  It saddened her that the common phrase was now so heavy with connotation. She nodded.

  ‘Yes. Just shakes for Lexi, but she’s kept them down. Oh, and an apple, I forgot.’

  It felt strange that something as ordinary as eating an apple was now the cause for mini celebration.

  He ignored her and ladled the tender meat into his mouth.

  ‘I took her shopping with me. It wasn’t pleasant. Like torture for her really,’ she began.

  ‘Don’t you see?’ he interrupted her, placing the deep spoon in the bowl. ‘We are falling into that trap of pandering to her. It’s what I dreaded most, what I tried to guard against.’ He sighed.

  ‘No, actually, I don’t see. We are in this situation. It’s not like it might happen and we have a window to figure out how to avoid it. It’s happening! And if you could have seen her today, studying packets and labels, literally agonising over every choice . . .’ She took a second to calm herself. ‘It was horrible to watch.’

  Neither had heard Lexi tread the stairs, only aware of her presence when she was a few feet from them.

  Lockie looked up at his little girl who stood in the doorway, clutching her
laptop. She was wearing leggings and a long-sleeved T-shirt and she looked very, very skinny.

  ‘Hi, Dad.’ She lifted her hand in a wave.

  Freya caught his eye, unaware of how much Lexi had heard.

  ‘How’s my girl?’ he asked, pushing the bowl away into the middle of the table, as if he’d been discovered.

  Freya watched him, wanting to show him that whilst he was quick to point the finger at her, he too acted instinctively to lessen Lexi’s discomfort.

  ‘I need to do an assignment for Mrs White. She’s sent my work through and I’m a bit stuck.’

  ‘Oh, well, can I help?’ He smiled.

  Lexi nodded and walked forward. She took the empty chair next to her dad.

  ‘What is it we have to do?’ Lockie pulled his glasses from the top of his head and popped them on.

  ‘I have to make out I’m starting a restaurant and think of a name and prepare a menu. It can be any type of restaurant, but we have to think about the balance of the food and stick to a theme.’

  Lockie looked first at his wife and then back at his daughter. ‘Is this a joke? Is that Mrs White positively bonkers?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Lexi twisted her head to one side to look at her dad quizzically.

  Lockie sat back in his chair. ‘Here’s the thing, Lex. The kind of restaurant you want to eat at would serve fresh air for a starter, or maybe a single kiwi-fruit pip, followed by a light foam of nothingness with half a strawberry for sweet! We’d all have to go to the fish and chip shop on the way home! That is if your mother wasn’t with us. She’d much prefer that we picked up sushi and quinoa!’

  ‘That’s true, I would actually.’ Freya giggled, happy for the change of atmosphere.

  Lexi’s smile turned to a laugh. ‘You’re right, Dad, my restaurant would be rubbish!’

  ‘But there would be plenty of water right to wash everything down with,’ he carried on.

  Lexi giggled and nodded with the beginning of tears in her eyes. ‘I know it’s weird what I do. But I can’t help it.’

  The admission caused Freya’s tears to pool. Oh, my little girl . . .

  ‘Weird? It’s not weird! It’s positively preposterous, little Lex!’ He placed his hand over hers on the tabletop.

  ‘What are you all laughing at?’ Charlotte asked, as she entered the kitchen.

  ‘Lexi is thinking of opening a restaurant!’ Lockie announced, banging the tabletop loudly.

  ‘Good luck with that!’ Charlotte laughed with something close to relief and smiled at her mum.

  ‘And on top of everything else, we need to give it a name!’ he roared. ‘I’m torn between “Go Eat Somewhere Else” and “Don’t Bother!”’

  The girls laughed at their dad.

  ‘What about “Seconds? Not Likely!”’ Charlotte joined in, tucking her long hair behind her ears as she went to the fridge for juice.

  ‘I know! We can go through some of my recipe books and see if anything jumps out at you, Lex, and we can steal the descriptions for your menu!’ Without waiting for a response, Freya jumped up and began poring through her bookshelf, selecting books at random, any with bright covers and appealing dishes of beautifully photographed, appealing food made the cut. And just like that, the Braithwaite family sat around the table, as Lockie reached for the spoon and dipped into his supper bowl and the girls flicked through the glossy pages, talking about and getting lost in descriptions of food.

  ‘Are you okay with this, Lex?’ she asked, wary of her previous reactions to food.

  ‘Yes!’ Her daughter smiled, as if this was a revelation for her too.

  The optimism Freya felt at this interaction was quite overwhelming. It filled her up.

  The evening had felt like a reprieve.

  As Freya switched off the landing light and closed their bedroom door, Lockie was sitting up in bed, resting against the headboard.

  ‘I’m sorry, Frey.’

  ‘What are you sorry for?’ she asked, as she massaged cold cream into her neck and face.

  ‘For thinking I always know best, for not wanting to acknowledge what’s going on, for being so shit scared that I want to run away.’ He held her gaze. ‘I can’t stand it. She’s my little girl and the thought of her . . .’

  Freya pulled the curtains closed and flicked off her bedside lamp. Hopping under the duvet, she shuffled over to his side of the bed and laid her head on his broad chest.

  ‘I understand. I do. And you were amazing with her tonight. She was laughing and that whole discussion was around food! I can’t believe it.’ She lifted her head and kissed his chin. ‘It’s made me feel quite hopeful, happy.’

  ‘I know what might make you feel happier,’ he growled. ‘In fact I think it would make us both feel happier.’

  Reaching out, he turned off his bedside lamp before taking his wife in his arms and pulling her down under the duvet.

  For the last few weeks, things had been on an even keel. Lexi had put on six pounds, and with this gain Freya and Lockie had lost most of their initial panic. This had a ripple effect; with their lack of tension Charlotte had relaxed, and as the atmosphere of the whole house lifted, Lexi seemed to have more life in her, gravitating towards any hubbub, joining in. Even mealtimes seemed more jovial. Freya no longer approached the twice-daily event with a twist in her gut or the need to scrutinise every morsel that made its way into her daughter’s mouth. She did as Lexi had asked, trusted her, and that trust was rewarded with the consumption of food.

  They were winning.

  For Freya, Lexi’s returning to school had been a landmark day, with her restaurant project under her arm and a desire to catch up with Fennella proof of her return to normality. She had watched as her little girl bit her lip and blinked away her fears, treading the steps slowly, without looking back. It took guts.

  She was a little concerned about Lexi’s return to exercise, running when the fancy took her, but remembered what the doctor had said: that allowing Lexi to feel comfortable and lead a healthy life was also important. It was yet another delicate balance to be negotiated.

  As Freya had driven back to an empty house she had cried tears of relief, finally believing that they were nearly over the blip and overjoyed that Lockie had been right: there were indeed a million miles between not wanting to eat, having a mini meltdown, and a life-changing diagnosis like anorexia.

  It was four in the afternoon when Marcia boomed down the phone.

  ‘Darling! I need to run this by you. You’ve been asked to write an exposé piece on the hidden additives and high salt levels in baby food. What do you think?’

  ‘I think it sounds interesting, scary but interesting.’ She decided not to admit to Marcia that at the present time, she wished she had any other job. Having to write about, analyse and compare food for work when her every waking moment was filled with doing just that in regard to Lexi was torturous.

  ‘You’re a doll. It doesn’t have to be in for a few weeks, so I know you’ll leave it till the last minute!’ Marcia assumed gleefully. ‘How’s the family? Lockie still snapping away instead of getting a proper job?’ She snorted.

  ‘I’m telling him you said that! You’re too funny. He’s great, working lots, so happy.’ Freya smiled at the thought.

  ‘And the Gorgeous Twins?’ Marcia had no children and Freya knew that she genuinely couldn’t see what all the fuss was about.

  When Charlotte had been tiny, Marcia stared at her, asleep on the sofa, and asked ‘What is it she does?’ Her expression was one of pure disappointment, as if she’d been given a gift without the batteries, or one which promised so much more in the advert. Freya, whilst understandably miffed by the slight towards her newborn, had laughed. ‘She doesn’t do anything!’ This had only served to baffle her agent more. Marcia was no more enamoured by the baby than she would have been with any other small offspring, like ducklings or guinea pigs.

  For all her initial indifference, however, as the girls had grown, so had her love and ge
nerosity towards them. Marcia adored her girls; of this Freya was in little doubt.

  ‘They’re great!’ She smiled across the table at her daughter. It wasn’t that she was deliberately trying to deceive Marcia, but rather that she chose not to divulge Lexi’s issues, unable to face the hours of dissection and advice offered good-naturedly. If she was being truthful, it felt good that for the seconds she spoke to Marcia, her life felt like it used to, when everything was good.

  ‘So glad to hear it. Give them my love. So this piece . . .’ Marcia was keen to get back to business. ‘Look at the organic brands too; we need a good cross-section sample. I’m going to whizz you some stats and quotes over, they make for an interesting read. It’s a fine line. We don’t want to scare parents, but at the same time I think it’s only right we debunk the myth that just because something says “organic” or “additive free”, we can’t instantly assume it’s bursting with goodness. How does that sound?’

  ‘Sounds good. I’ll get straight on it.’

  ‘We both know that’s a lie!’ Marcia laughed.

  Six hours, thirty minutes . . .

  Charlotte sat at the kitchen table and took a deep breath. Her writing meandered across the page at an angle; not that it mattered.

  I wonder what kind of granny Mum will be? Not that I can think that far ahead at the moment. I can’t think about tomorrow. I keep looking at the clock, counting down the hours . . .

  But that’s not what I want to write! No!

  I want to share stories with you. That’s the idea.

  I’m trying to think of something you don’t you know about me? Okay, here it is, the big one.

  I’m not a virgin.

  I know – big news, right? I used to think that when I had lost my virginity everyone would be able to tell, that maybe I’d be marked in some way that only other non-virgins could recognise, like we had been initiated into a secret club. But no. I didn’t learn a secret signal or sport an identifying stain on my body like a birthmark, nothing like that.