The Food of Love

by Amanda Prowse

  ‘It’s an illness, yes.’ She tried to reassure her, not wanting Diana to feel this unconfident in her choice of words or actions.

  Diana shook her head. ‘I don’t think we had eating disorders in my day. Goodness, we were living in the shining glory of the post-war years and the variety of food was such a treat. Everyone seemed to work hard physically and people had got into the habit of growing food. There was just about enough, but I don’t recall seeing people who were horribly overweight – or under. There didn’t seem to be the extremes or the obsession. Maybe I just didn’t notice it, but nowadays it’s everywhere. Why do you think that is?’

  Freya beckoned her mother-in-law in as she spoke. ‘I don’t really know. I wish I did. It might have helped me keep Lexi safe. But I know you are right, it is everywhere, along with this horrible pressure that kids feel. I hate it and I hate that I feel it myself to a lesser degree. That pressure, a kind of fear, I suppose, of not being slim.’

  ‘Be that as it may, right now we only really care about little Lexi, don’t we? And the question is, what do we do to make her better? Lockie seems to think it’s a case of least said soonest mended.’

  Freya followed Diana up the stairs. ‘I know he does, but I’m not sure if that’s what he really believes or whether he is too scared to face what’s really going on.’

  Diana reached the top of the staircase and turned back to face her. ‘He’s lucky to have you.’ She leant forward and kissed Freya on the cheek.

  Freya smiled, knowing that this simple gesture meant any rift between her and this kindly lady who loved them all was most definitely healed. ‘We’re lucky to have each other.’

  ‘Hi, Gran!’ Lexi greeted her from the kitchen.

  ‘Hello, darling! How are you doing?’

  Freya noted the twitch to Diana’s eyelid; she was still nervous of saying the wrong thing.

  Lexi cut to the chase, giving the answer she knew was the salve for all their worries: ‘I put on four pounds.’ She bit her lip.

  Freya saw for the first time how the collective hope of the whole family rested on this girl’s narrow shoulders. It was certainly a pressure she could do without.

  ‘I’m very proud of you.’ Her gran winked.

  Lexi nodded and tried to swallow the words of disgust and recrimination that Freya knew bubbled on her tongue.

  ‘Hello! Hello!’ Lockie called, arriving home from the school pickup with Charlotte in tow.

  Charlotte ran up the stairs and burst into the room, dumping her bag on the floor. She gripped the back of the chair at the head of the table and proceeded to jump up and down, like an ungainly ballet dancer.

  ‘Guess what?’ she squealed, hardly able to contain the excitement that fizzed from her.

  ‘What?’ Freya abandoned the vegetable peeler and the fat carrot in her palm. It was a huge relief to hear her eldest child so animated; gone was the brooding silence that had followed her like a cloud since Freya had missed her concert. The snaking looks of reproach were more punishment than she could handle. This bright, lively entrance suggested that Freya might have been forgiven.

  ‘I’ve got offers!’

  ‘Oh, darling, that’s wonderful! What did you get?’ Freya rushed towards her from behind the counter, smiling at her clever girl.

  ‘Nottingham want three Cs, which is easy; my predictions are much higher than that. Bath, B, B, C. And Durham – unconditional!’ she screamed, as she resumed her bounding. ‘I’m going to university!’

  Diana clapped and beamed. ‘Well done, Charlotte, that is such great news!’ Her face split with pride.

  ‘We’d better get saving, eh?’ Lockie jokingly grimaced at his wife while placing a large open box of baklava on the table and making his way to the fridge for a bottle of Prosecco; both would do the job by way of celebration. She smiled at Charlotte, happy for her achievement and what this represented: a bright future, a plan. Her child looked elated, exactly as she should.

  ‘I didn’t think anyone would want me. I’m so relieved!’ Charlotte was unable to wipe the grin from her face.

  ‘Of course people want you. You’re amazing! Well done, darling! You’ve worked so hard for this, you really deserve it. We are so proud of you.’

  Freya’s smile, however, faded when her eyes shifted to Lexi. Her younger daughter’s expression was one of pure anguish. Her eyes were wide and haunted, her body rigid with fear, but whether at the prospect of her sister leaving home, or whether this achievement felt like holding a mirror up to her own life – or whether it was simply the idea of having to refuse to eat the rich, sweet honey- and nut-laden cakes that were a family favourite – she wasn’t sure. Either way, her little girl looked utterly crushed.

  Lexi’s expression at that single moment in time was one that Freya would never forget. Call it a mother’s instinct, but while Diana cheered, Charlotte bounced and Lockie fetched glasses and popped the cork, Freya watched in slow motion as Lexi shrank, withdrew.

  It was as if something clicked in her brain, a sixth sense that told her that this was not the start of her child’s recovery, as they had hoped; it was in fact the true start of her anorexia.

  It was the first time she was able to say the phrase in her head: My daughter has anorexia. Lexi, my little girl: she is anorexic.

  Freya looked up and saw that Charlotte was staring at her, her expression one of sorrow. She forced a smile of apology and beamed at her daughter on this momentous day. Charlotte blinked and looked away.

  ‘Come on up!’ Hilary buzzed her in.

  It felt strange to be treading the steps without Lexi; illicit, almost.

  ‘Hey, Freya, how are you?’

  She nodded, making her way into the cosy, busy room. ‘Thank you for seeing me. I know you’re busy.’

  ‘Not at all. I assume you are here to talk about Lexi?’ she offered in her no-nonsense tone, pushing her glasses up on to her nose as she took her seat, extending her palm towards the empty chair.

  Freya sat. ‘Yes. She’s . . .’ Her tears fell unbidden.

  Hilary swiped a tissue from a man-sized box sitting on the little table between them and flicked it at her, holding it between her thumb and index finger, a practised motion that she had perfected. Freya wiped her eyes and blew her nose. ‘Sorry, I can’t seem to stop crying.’

  ‘So, Lexi?’ the woman prompted, kindly, yet aware of time.

  ‘She . . . she seems to have taken a dive, mentally and physically.’ It felt like failure to admit.

  ‘In what way?’

  Freya swallowed. ‘She seems listless, like she’s given up. She looks sad, not even pretending anymore.’

  ‘Was there something that prompted the change?’ Hilary jotted something down in her notebook.

  ‘It started a couple of weeks ago. Charlotte, her sister . . .’

  ‘Yes.’ Hilary nodded. She of course knew all about Charlotte. She continued writing.

  ‘She got her offers for university, we were all delighted, but as we celebrated I watched Lexi: she seemed to crumble before my eyes. It’s hard to describe, but her face . . .’ She paused. ‘It was as if Charlotte’s success confronted her with a picture of her own life. She looked beaten. I knew something had changed, and since then she’s become more withdrawn and a little hostile. She’s hardly eaten. She manages a mouthful here and there, and the odd slice of carrot, or a cracker, but little else.’

  She swallowed, ashamed of the admission, and continued.

  ‘It’s a battle to get her to take her protein drinks, let alone anything more substantial. I had started to mix double cream into the shakes, told her it was just a thicker shake, any trick I could to get her to take on calories. Mashed potato packed with butter and pepper and wasabi to disguise the taste. She was doing so well, as you know, and this feels like a real setback. She says she isn’t purging and I haven’t seen any evidence of it, but’ – she wiped her eyes once more – ‘I can’t be sure and I really don’t know what to do.’

 
; Hilary nodded sagely. ‘I know that Lexi wants to please you all and I would suggest that she might have been a bit sunnier on the outside about her gain than she was letting on.’

  Freya nodded. She knew this was true.

  ‘I also wouldn’t be too certain that she isn’t purging; just because you haven’t witnessed it or found evidence doesn’t mean it’s not happening. As we discussed before when I first met you, people with this condition are almost programmed to deceive; it’s part of it, secretive behaviour, lying to achieve their goals and evade capture, if you like. It’s quite strategic; for every part of a regimen that you put in place, she has to find a way to evade it.’

  Freya pictured the bags of sick hidden in the drawer under her child’s bed, the layers of clothing, the secret scales, the two bras, the coins in her shoes . . .

  ‘It’s also not uncommon for there to be this rise and fall.’ She made loop shapes with her finger in the air. ‘It’s a complicated illness and there is no quick fix. And as hard as this sounds, sometimes sufferers have to fall further, hit the bottom, before they can start to climb back up again. I know that doesn’t offer much that is pleasant, but it is hopeful. Because when she has hit the bottom, there really is only one way to go.’

  ‘I’m worried for her physical health more than I ever have been. She looks terrible. Weak. It’s unbearable . . . I alternate between wanting to wrap her in cotton wool and hold her tight, and wanting to shake her and shout her into submission, and if I thought either would work, I’d do it.’

  ‘Have you taken her back to your GP?’

  ‘She doesn’t want to go. She went hysterical when I mentioned it. And I’m so tired of fighting with her, it felt easier to give in and stop the tears.’

  ‘Well . . .’ Hilary folded her hands in her lap. ‘That’s where the job of mum comes in. She’s a child and you need to tell her what’s going to happen, not negotiate. She needs to see someone, and it’s not fair on her or you that she is allowed to control the situation. Different phases in this illness require different approaches. Sometimes I recommend “softly, softly”, but when weight is dropping there needs to be an intervention.’

  ‘I worry that if I come down hard on her she will clam up even more. I feel like I’m the one person she can talk to without fear of reprisal, and if I have to get tough, then it’s like I’m removing her safety blanket, and that scares me.’

  ‘I think’ – Hilary seemed to be choosing her words carefully – ‘that sometimes those closest to the source find it the hardest to act objectively . . .’

  Freya heard Lockie’s words: I’m simply suggesting that everyone has to stop taking this so personally . . .

  ‘. . . And that actually by removing her safety blanket, you might force her to act, force her to face her illness. It could be the very best thing for her.’

  Freya nodded, both women silently acknowledging that she knew what had to be done, but the simple fact was she was dreading it. It didn’t matter how much sense Hilary’s words made in the cold light of day, even the thought of Lexi’s tear-stained face threatened to melt her resolve.

  Arriving home, armed with the shot of confidence that Hilary’s words had given her, Freya was resolved to take control, deciding to strike while her will was strongest. She quietly opened Lexi’s bedroom door and stared at her daughter’s frail back, watching her unseen as she did numerous sit-ups. Her skinny arms were locked behind her head, her long, bony feet hooked under her bed and her narrow thighs in black leggings set apart. She exhaled, pumping up and down, breathing, counting and lifting her weary body again and again to work off the invisible fat that she admitted picturing on the inside and outside of her body.

  It was horrible to watch.

  ‘Lexi?’ She spoke softly.

  Her daughter spun round and moved quickly to a sitting position, her breath coming fast through her pale lips. Her skin was mostly grey, with two high spots of colour on each cheek. Freya decided to pick her battle and chose not to mention the exercising; her single goal was to get Lexi to see the doctor.

  ‘I’ve been to see Hilary.’

  Lexi stared at her; her chest jumped.

  ‘The simple truth is, I need to know what to do for the best and I am struggling. She said it was very important that we get you to see Dr Morris to work out how we go forward, and I agree with her, I’m not going to take no for an . . .’ She paused.

  Lexi placed her palms flat on the floor either side of her legs and opened her mouth, as if struggling for breath.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ She leant forward.

  Lexi’s head slumped forward a little and her shoulders sagged.

  ‘Lexi? What’s wrong?’ She was unable to disguise the urgent tone to her question.

  ‘My heart feels funny, Mum.’ Lexi stared unblinking at her mother. Her expression was one of abject fear.

  ‘Lockie!’ Freya screamed as she fell to the floor, cradling her daughter to her chest. ‘Lockie!’

  She desperately hoped her shout would travel down the stairs and into the studio, to be heard above the burble of the radio.

  ‘How do you feel now, darling?’ She hoped for improvement, trying to keep the edge of panic from her voice.

  ‘Same . . . and like I might faint,’ she managed.

  ‘Lockie!’ Freya screamed again. ‘Hang on, my love; it’ll all be okay. I promise.’ She kissed her.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  Freya felt a wave of relief at the sight of her husband, knowing her tone and volume would have left him in no doubt that this was anything other than an emergency. He leant on the door frame, panting after his dash up two flights of stairs.

  ‘She says her heart feels funny! And she’s dizzy, faint.’ Freya wished she had medical knowledge, wished she knew what to do. ‘Call an ambulance!’

  Lockie stared at the ashen face of his little girl, who was slumped forward in her mother’s arms. He stood frozen to the spot.

  ‘Now, Lockie!’ she screamed. ‘Call an ambulance now!’ Lexi started shaking and Lockie sprang into action, running from the room.

  Freya remembered little about the dash to the hospital; could hardly recall the way her daughter’s limp frame had been strapped in for the journey, the way her lank hair fell towards the floor or the kindly words of the paramedic, informing and reassuring with well-rehearsed phrases, issued from lips immune to the deep panic she felt. The only thing she could recall were Lexi’s eyes, fear etched across the pupils, as she held her mother’s gaze.

  ‘Sorry, Mummy,’ she muttered listlessly, while Freya shook her head and ran her fingers over her child’s translucent skin, taut across the meandering veins on the back of her hand.

  The young male doctor in the emergency room was aloof, cool with flashes of irritation. He seemed to prefer looking at his clipboard and notes than at his patient. Freya took an instant dislike to him.

  She, however, was too busy processing the images of her daughter’s naked body, seen for the first time in an age, when they had removed her clothes and placed her in a hospital gown. It had taken all of her strength not to howl.

  Lexi’s thin skin was pulled tightly over her breastbone. It looked so fragile; she feared it might tear at the slightest movement. The buds of her chest, where a bust had been promised, were now flattened, and the curve of her ribs stood proud over a concave stomach. The mere sight of her caused both her and Lockie to weep. The collarbone looming large beneath her jutting jaw, and her arms, pale bones where the elbows looked disproportionately large: these were the images that would haunt her dreams.

  Freya wanted to take the young doctor outside the ward and shake him, make him aware that, yes, this was self-inflicted, but that a mental illness with physical effects was just as worthy of treatment as any that was purely physical. She doubted he would have felt the same way had he lived long enough to become a parent and love a child unconditionally. He was, however, the conduit between her sick child and the treatment she needed, and f
or that reason she smiled and nodded in all the right places, keeping her opinions to herself.

  ‘What’s the matter with my daughter?’ Lockie stood, meeting the young man eye to eye.

  The doctor took a deep breath and began, speaking freely in front of their child in a way that did even less to endear him to her. ‘Early indications suggest that as well as bone loss, she has a heart issue that’s fairly typical with prolonged anorexic behaviour.’

  ‘So it is her heart?’ Freya needed it confirming.

  ‘Yes.’ He nodded. ‘She’s at the age where—’

  ‘Lexi,’ Lockie interrupted him. Freya could see from the set of her husband’s jaw that he too took offence at the man’s manner. ‘She has a name and that name is Lexi.’

  The doctor was silent for a beat, and then continued. ‘Lexi,’ he stressed, in a way that was more placatory than sincere, ‘is at an age where she should be accruing bone, but due to her severely restricted calorie intake, in particular a lack of calcium and fats, she has in fact lost bone, and that, I’m afraid, is irreversible.’

  Freya squeezed her daughter’s hand, feeling the frail bones beneath the palm of her hand. ‘It’s okay,’ she murmured, for whose benefit, hers or her daughter’s, she wasn’t sure.

  ‘So why does her heart feel funny?’ Lockie pushed, wanting to understand.

  The doctor tilted his head to one side, as if he was getting to that. ‘A side effect of starvation is that it causes devastation to the heart. As well as losing bone mass, you lose muscle as well, and the heart muscle in particular. Lexi’s heart is getting smaller and weaker. I see she was exercising just prior: a weakened heart is not as good at circulating the blood needed for exercise, and therefore blood pressure can drop dangerously low.’

  Freya felt the strength leave her knees as she swayed on the spot. The doctor’s words played inside her mind on a loop: ‘devastation to the heart’ . . . No! No! No! We can do this. We can fight it! Please fight this with me!