The Food of Love

by Amanda Prowse

  ‘Mum?’ Lexi propped herself up on her elbow.

  As their eyes adjusted to the darkness, they blinked. Freya knelt on the rug by her daughter’s bedside.

  ‘I am sorry the evening ended how it did, darling. Your food was really delicious.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Lexi paused. ‘It’s not your fault. I didn’t tell you about the sites because I knew you wouldn’t understand,’ she whispered.

  ‘That’s true, I don’t understand, but that will only change if you talk to me, explain it to me,’ she countered.

  ‘They help me, Mum.’

  Freya was silent, suppressing the desire to shout that that was a crazy idea. They could only harm her, either by giving her ideas or by normalising her skewed views; instead, she chose her question wisely.

  ‘Some of those sites talk about self-harming. Is that something you have ever done or thought about doing?’ Holding her breath, she waited for the response.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Are you certain?’

  ‘Yes, Mum. Positive.’

  Freya exhaled.

  ‘I’m glad about that, darling, and you know if thoughts like that ever cross your mind, you have to talk to me first, whenever or wherever. You tell me and we can get through it together. Remember?’

  Lexi nodded. ‘Some of those blogs, Mum, I like reading them.’ She paused. ‘It makes me feel better to know that I’m not the only one who feels like this.’

  ‘Like what?’

  Lexi sighed, twisting her body into an upright position and lifting her knees under the duvet. ‘Like . . . like I’m pointless. Like I’m rubbish.’

  The rush of tears was unexpected, arriving with such speed Freya had no time to blot her eyes or nose or disguise her wave of distress.

  ‘Don’t cry.’ Lexi placed her hand on her mum’s cheek.

  ‘I’m crying because that is one of the saddest things I have heard. And it’s not true! You are not pointless and you are not rubbish, you are my amazing girl and I love you so much.’

  ‘I knew you’d say that, but no matter what you think, if it feels true to me, then it is, isn’t it?’

  Freya opened her mouth, but no words came. Instead, she laid her head on her daughter’s duvet and cried some more, wishing that she knew when these feelings had started and what, if anything, had been the catalyst. Her tears flowed, a visual display of the guilt she felt and the overwhelming feeling that she had failed her child.

  Six hours . . .

  Freya walked into the study; her wet hair lay in tangles on her shoulders. She had got back into her pyjamas and dressing gown. Clothes, make-up: today everything felt like a chore.

  ‘Do you feel better?’ Charlotte turned to face her mum.

  Freya shrugged. ‘Better? No, but cleaner and slightly more awake, I guess.’

  ‘I just told Lexi that I lost my virginity.’

  Freya took a couple of steps backwards and sat down hard on the sofa. ‘Well I never.’

  ‘I wanted to tell her something that she didn’t know.’

  ‘Something that none of us knew, Charlotte.’ She placed her hand over her mouth. ‘Do you have a boyfriend?’ she asked.

  Charlotte shook her head. ‘No.’

  ‘Do you want to talk about it?’ she offered with more of a sigh than she had intended.

  ‘Not really.’

  Freya nodded, slightly relieved. ‘Are you . . .’ She wiggled her fingers in the air, as if the words she searched for might be lurking in the ether for her to grasp.

  ‘I’m not pregnant or harmed or distressed or overly keen to repeat the experience.’

  ‘Well, I think that answers all my questions.’ She smiled briefly at her daughter.

  ‘All seems like a bit of fuss over nothing.’ Charlotte twiddled the pen in her fingers.

  Freya closed her eyes and leant back on the sofa. ‘When it’s right it can feel like everything, about as far from nothing as it’s possible to be.’

  ‘So I guess I’ve got that to look forward to.’

  Opening her eyes, she looked at her daughter. ‘You have everything to look forward to, Charlotte. Everything.’ She closed her eyes again.

  Neither chose to comment on the sour note of resignation that seemed to lace these words, the message loud and clear: Be thankful for what lies ahead of you. Be thankful that you managed to dodge the bullet that caught Lexi.

  The front doorbell rang.

  They both looked towards the door.

  ‘Do you want me to go?’ Charlotte sat up straight.

  ‘No. I’ll go.’ Freya nodded. Placing her fingers in her hair, she twisted it to remove some of the excess water.

  ‘We could ignore it?’ Charlotte suggested, seemingly not noticing the tears that slipped silently down her cheeks.

  ‘Not today.’ Freya took a deep breath and headed down the stairs.

  EIGHT

  Freya came in from the courtyard, where she had removed some dead tendrils that had snaked over the wall from next door, and had spoken kindly to her lavender, of which she expected great things this summer.

  She wished she could eradicate the mental remnants of the previous night as easily as she had the dirty dishes and leftover food. The words written by girls just like Lexi had haunted her thoughts until the early hours. Painful, self-indulgent missives, littered with offensive words like ‘fat bitch’, ‘ugly pig’, ‘greedy whore’, terrible, horrible nouns and adjectives, italicised, highlighted and spat with venom. She shuddered, overwhelmed with sadness at their very existence, and again thinking of the phrases she had uttered without thought: I’m the size of a house! when the waistband of her jeans felt a little snug; Roll me off of the couch! when she had sampled a morsel of pudding.

  Opening up the article she was writing for Marcia, she read the last paragraph, written before she had served supper:

  . . . if a label has a leaf on it, parents automatically think of nature, a piece of fresh fruit and the mind jumps to ‘goodness’. Sunshine equates to vitamins – the tricks deployed are multiple.

  She paused to consider the parents just like her all over the country who would read her words, each making a judgement call whilst navigating the minefield that was child nutrition, and her heart sank. She didn’t want to make it any harder for them than it already was.

  Charlotte interrupted her, bumping her cello case down the stairs.

  ‘All set?’ Freya painted on a smile, not wanting to spoil the day of her concert.

  ‘Yep.’ Resting her cello case against the wall, she headed for the cereal cupboard. ‘Make sure you don’t sit where I can see you tonight. If I catch your eye it will only put me off. You can tell me afterwards where you sat, but not in my eyeline, deal?’

  ‘Deal. But I can stand and clap and shout “bravo” and “encore” and all that stuff?’

  ‘Well, yes, but only at the end. And only if everyone else does,’ Charlotte clarified.

  ‘Well of course at the end! What did you think? That I’d jump up when the fancy took me? Give me some credit, Charlotte.’ Freya laughed at the thought.

  ‘Actually it’s not you I’m worried about, but I wouldn’t put anything past Dad.’

  ‘Good point. I shall brief him thoroughly on concert etiquette.’ She smiled, turning her attention back to her computer screen.

  ‘You’re not still looking at those blogs, are you, Mum?’

  Her accusatory tone made her sound so much older than her years, reminding Freya so painfully of her own mum that it took her breath away. She wished she were still around, certain that she would shoulder some of her worries and make things better; that’s what mums did.

  She cleared her throat. ‘Not still looking at them, no, but certainly still thinking about them,’ she admitted.

  ‘I’d say don’t worry about them too much. It might even be that Lexi gets some practical help from them in some way.’

  ‘That’s what she said.’

  ‘Well there you go.’ She poured a
healthy pile of cereal into the bowl.

  ‘When did you get so smart?’ Freya smiled at her girl.

  ‘I wish.’ Charlotte splashed on the milk and filled her cheeks with cereal, crunching loudly. ‘If I was, I wouldn’t be so worried about my uni applications; as Toby says, I’d think it was easy!’ Speaking with her mouth full, she sprayed the area with cereal.

  ‘I think you can safely ignore what young Toby says. He strikes me as quite troubled.’ She spoke quickly, wanting to change the topic. ‘You’re going to be great tonight. I’m so proud of you.’

  ‘Imperial great? Or just Nottingham great?’ She laughed.

  ‘Very funny, Charlotte.’

  Lexi arrived and went to the sink to fill her water bottle.

  ‘She’s only teasing.’ Freya stood and hugged her little girl, placing her hands across her back; she felt the ribs at the back of her nightie.

  Don’t be stupid, she’s doing great. She tried to ignore the leap of fear in her stomach.

  ‘Are you not coming to school today?’ Charlotte queried, now quite used to her sister’s erratic attendance.

  Lexi shook her head, avoiding eye contact as she trod the stairs, heading back to the comfort of her room.

  ‘Yep, well, good luck, Charlotte! Have a good one! See you soon!’ Charlotte mockingly spoke the words that her sister had omitted.

  Freya opened her mouth to make an excuse on Lexi’s behalf, but thought better of it.

  It was mid-afternoon when Lockie’s mother, Diana, floated into the house in the brightest of moods, looking nautically chic in her navy blazer with a red-and-white scarf knotted at her neck. Her grey hair had been cut into a blunt bob that naturally curled up at the ends.

  ‘The house looks lovely, Freya! This large window at the back of the den lets in so much light. It’s quite beautiful.’

  Freya smiled; she had to admit that on a bright, sunny day like this, with a simple green jug of daffodils gracing the long table, she felt enormous pride in their family home.

  ‘I’m so excited about this concert.’ Diana clapped her hands. ‘It will be wonderful. Can I take photographs? I’ve been practising with my phone.’

  She held up her new phone, as if proof were needed.

  ‘I should think so. That is if we get a clear enough view and aren’t stuck behind any hat-wearing, bushy-haired giants. Plus I have promised Charlotte that we won’t sit anywhere that might distract her; apparently the sight of me is enough to put her off.’

  ‘How charming.’ Diana giggled. ‘Such a clever girl, being able to play the cello. It’s quite something, isn’t it?’

  ‘They’re both clever, must take after their dad.’ She smiled.

  ‘Hi, Gran!’ Lexi rushed across the room and welcomed her granny with a hug.

  ‘Goodness me, hello, Lexi! It’s lovely to see you. How are you, darling? You have always given the best hugs.’

  Lexi beamed. ‘I’m good, thanks.’ She tucked her long hair behind her ear.

  ‘Well, I am jolly glad to hear it. I hope this therapist lady is helping you. Daddy said you’d been having a bit of a problem with eating; I was very sorry to hear that.’

  Freya froze. They made it a rule not to discuss her therapy, let alone the specifics of her illness.

  ‘Thank you.’ Lexi glanced at her mum, unsure of the expected response. ‘And yes, Hilary is really good.’

  ‘What can I do to help?’ Diana was determined. ‘Is there anything you fancy to eat? How about a nice piece of steak or a baked potato with cheese? I’m sure Mum would rustle you up whatever you liked, wouldn’t you, Freya? Or we could go and get you some noodles or fish and chips, whatever you wanted!’

  She nodded at her mother-in-law in response, wishing that it were that gloriously simple, and similarly trying to work out how to change the subject.

  But Diana wasn’t done.

  ‘I bought you some chocolate, that’s always a favourite.’ Diana reached into her Birkin-style bag and pulled out a family-sized bar of Galaxy. ‘Shall I leave it on the table or do you fancy a couple of squares now?’ She waved it at her granddaughter, as if this might be enough to tempt her.

  Lexi folded her arms across her chest. Freya noted that she had gone a little ashen. She felt the tension rise in the room. Nerves fluttered in her stomach, tinged with a little anger, as if she hadn’t already offered to make her daughter any type of food, day or night; she would do anything! Diana’s suggestion that this might be the solution sent ripples into the room. And still she had more to say.

  ‘I can’t understand it at all, Lexi. You were always such a little greedy guts. Pappy or I would be feeding you in your high chair and you would bash the plastic tray with your little spoon if we didn’t go fast enough! And you were always bonny, rounded. You loved your puddings; we could encourage you to behave with the promise of sweeties. You were an adorable, chubby little thing! Everyone said how gorgeous you were and you still are . . .’

  Freya zoned out from Diana’s rambling. Watching, as if in slow motion, as Lexi’s chest heaved and her stomach seemed to cave. She held the back of the nearest chair, almost like the strength had left her legs. She looked . . .

  Freya struggled to find the word.

  She pictured Lockie feeding her as a baby, sitting in her high chair. Remembered the sense of pride she felt when her baby ate what was offered to her, confident that she was going to grow big and strong. Lockie had loved to feed her, a chance to spend time with his youngest.

  ‘Here comes the choo-choo! Come on! Open up! That’s my girl! Ooh, she loves this mashed carrot and lamb, or whatever the hell this is.’ He pulled a disgusted face at his wife and looked at the grey goop in the bowl.

  ‘Ah, don’t look like that, you’ll put her off!’

  ‘I doubt it!’ Lockie laughed, as Lexi leant forward with her mouth open, ready for the next spoonful, like a little bird.

  Freya laughed. ‘She certainly loves her grub, don’t you, don’t you, my beautiful baby?’

  Freya left her daydream and stared at that baby, now a grown fifteen-year-old who found life hard and was cowering in the wake of her gran’s good intentions. She recognised in the woman’s words the lack of awareness that had snuck up on her and grabbed her without warning; she herself had uttered so many pointless, damaging words to soothe and distract, all doing more harm than good. This realisation was almost more than she could bear.

  ‘For God’s sake be quiet, Diana! Just be quiet!’

  She hadn’t meant to shout.

  Lexi appeared not to have noticed her mother’s outburst. Freya watched as her daughter’s mouth moved silently, as if recounting her gran’s words. Diana, on the other hand, looked mortified. She swallowed, playing with the scarf at her neck as if it might choke her. All stood in silence for a couple of seconds before Diana grabbed her large handbag and swept from the room and out of the house.

  The word that had eluded her earlier came to her then, suddenly and unbidden.

  Lexi looked terrified. Utterly terrified.

  It was nearly midnight when she heard the key in the door. Freya looked up and realised that she had been sitting in the darkness for some time, hardly noticing when the sun had finished its shift, handing over to the moon. The only light came from the Rendletons’ upstairs window that cast long shadows over the wall and on to the courtyard.

  Lockie walked in and flicked on the light. She squinted at the bright intrusion and could see instantly by his set expression that he was less than impressed. He threw his keys into the bowl and slipped his arms from his corduroy jacket.

  ‘Where’s Charlotte?’ She looked past him towards the hallway, expecting her to appear, fixing her smile.

  ‘I said she could stay at Milly’s. They finished late and were on quite a high, as you can imagine. The concert was first class. It felt wrong to drag her away. Milly’s parents were keen; they seem like nice people. They said they’d get the girls tucked up with hot chocolate and then drop them bo
th into school in the morning. I didn’t see the harm.’

  ‘Of course.’ She nodded, wishing that Charlotte were here, firstly so she could apologise for missing her concert, but also, at some level, knowing that someone else’s presence might help prevent the row that she knew was brewing.

  Don’t be such a coward, she silently reprimanded herself.

  Lockie leant on the semi-industrial console that lined the wall, rescued from a locker room in the old sports centre; its grey metal was battered, aged, but still functional, and now a statement piece and talking point. He rested on it, placing his hands in his jeans pockets.

  ‘Okay, Freya, let’s have it, what happened today?’ He wasted no more time on small talk. ‘I have never heard my mother so distressed, never.’

  She shook her head. ‘I never wanted to upset your mum. I love her; you know that. I don’t really know what happened. It just—’

  ‘Don’t tell me it “just happened”. Anything but that. You have known her for nigh on twenty years, never a cross word, and then this, snapping at her out of the blue? I can’t fathom it.’

  He stood with every muscle coiled, his eyes blazing.

  ‘She . . . she was chatting to Lexi, going on and on about how she used to be bonny, rounded – that was the word she used. “Rounded”!’ She blinked rapidly at the uncomfortable recollection.

  ‘My mother adores Lexi, adores both the girls, adores us all, you know that! She would have only meant it as a compliment,’ he spat.

  ‘I know she loves the girls, but the fact is I don’t actually care how she meant it.’ She sat up straight and knitted her hands at the knuckles to stop them shaking. ‘Lexi has a very real fear of fat and of being fat. It’s that simple. You should have seen her face. It was like she had been struck!’

  ‘Jesus Christ, have you heard yourself? A “fear of fat”? Where has that come from?’ He paced, snorting his derision through his nose.

  ‘Well, what did you think, Lockie? What did you think this was all about? Getting a week off school? You just don’t get it!’ She stood now, matching his stance.