Weightless

by Michele Gorman

I couldn’t help but smile. ‘It was nice. I ran into someone I haven’t seen since we left school.’

  ‘Does this someone have a penis?’

  ‘You’re too young to be thinking about penises.’

  ‘Come on Ms. Markham, don’t be a prude. It was a bloke, wasn’t it? See? Aren’t you glad I made you go?’

  Actually I was. When I’d mentioned the reunion as a cautionary tale in the course of one of our sessions, Kate wouldn’t let it drop. Who was I to counsel her about standing up to her bullies and putting her past behind her if I wasn’t willing to do the same? She was right. Which was why I went last night. ‘Yes, I’m glad I went. Now, how about asking your Mum about that sports bra?’

  By the end of the session I’d wrenched a promise to talk to her mother, and a small sip of water, from Kate. Sometimes my successes were measured in baby steps.

  Chapter 4

  Most of my other clients were easy compared to Kate. Mrs. Clements was starting to control her diabetes with the meal plan we devised together. Wheat-intolerant William now knew the joys of gluten-free cooking. My allergy sufferers could cut out the causes of their discomfort. But there was no straightforward fix for an unpopular, overweight teen. To solve the chicken-and-egg problem, Kate had to believe that she deserved a solution. I just wasn’t getting through to her, even though I knew exactly how she felt.

  I’d been so afraid to go to university that I nearly gave up my place. Christy might have been safely in France, but there were other Christys out there, and they had a knack for finding me. I only went through with it for fear of disappointing my parents. Mum and Dad were so hopeful and supportive. They were desperate to give me a new start. I thanked them by vomiting down the side of the car when they drove me to Leeds for Orientation Week.

  Everyone in my dorm seemed pretty friendly but I kept to myself. Better safe than sorry. The dining room posed the usual problem. It was, along with the changing rooms, prime hunting ground for bullies. Eating without being noticed is an important survival skill in the fat person’s meagre arsenal. At school I’d had no choice but to have my lunch when everyone else did, but at university the dining room was open for several hours, and fortunately empty near closing time.

  My camouflaging wasn’t as effective as it might have been though. Laura Dunstable started paying attention to me. At first it was just a friendly hello when we crossed paths. Then she’d look into my room when she passed and the hellos continued. Over time she started popping her head through my doorway to ask what I was up to. Finally she asked me to join her for meals with some of the other girls. Eventually I said yes.

  Laura Dunstable walked every day, in fair weather or foul, irrespective of sore heads or period cramps. When she first asked me I thought she was joking. ‘I’m not really a walker,’ I said.

  ‘But you can walk, right?’

  ‘Well, duh.’

  ‘Then come on. I’m so bored of walking by myself. Please?’

  ‘Will you leave me alone if I say yes?’

  ‘For today,’ she said.

  I put my shoes on and started a new routine.

  At first I thought I was having a heart attack. I huffed. I puffed. I wheezed and whined. But Laura really wouldn’t take no for an answer and eventually we were able to walk a few miles together. We had excellent talks on those walks, and I discovered that exercise didn’t have to involve crushing humiliation.

  I also realized that the world wasn’t actually made up of bullies and victims. It was made up of normal people who just wanted to get along and be happy. I met a lot of those people at university, like Laura, and finally I was enjoying myself. I wasn’t scared. I wasn’t lonely. I was just me.

  Maybe dietetics wasn’t the obvious choice of study for a person of larger proportions. But I no longer felt like that person. My demons were exercised along with my body. And I had a plan.

  Physician, heal thyself.

  The move into the science of nutrition was a natural one for a geek like me. I spent three years learning the mechanics of healthy living. I didn’t need any courses to learn to empathize with my patients’ difficulties.

  Doing the course was no magic bullet. I didn’t suddenly see the light, repent my sins and transform into Kate Moss’s twin by the end of the first term. Slowly, slowly, with my friends’ support and the right information, my habits changed for the better. Eventually I was a happy, healthy size ten, and I learned perhaps the most important lesson in the process. I wasn’t happy because I lost weight. I lost weight when I was finally happy.

  Jack rang a few days after the reunion, just as I was beginning to develop OCD from checking for missed calls. Not only did he ring, he asked me out on a proper date. So I spent the next twenty-seven hours trying not to explode from excitement.

  I knew as soon as I walked into the French Belle Époque restaurant in Soho that he’d booked it in my (Christy’s) honor. Warm light glinted off the gilded mirrors and the heavy bronze chandeliers suspended from the ornately corniced ceiling. My heels clicked across the polished parquet floor, the sound muffled by the buzz of conversation.

  Even if I hadn’t lusted after Jack during my formative years, he’d have caught my eye as he waited at the bar among the trendy media crowd. Lots of men wear smart jackets with jeans, but not many look as comfortable as he did. ‘Hi!’ As he kissed each cheek I inhaled the citrusy, spicy scent he was wearing. He’d come a long way since his AXE days.

  When the waiter showed us to our table, Jack put his hand gently on the small of my back. I felt like the luckiest woman in the room. He pulled my chair out for me and said, ‘May I just say that you look gorgeous tonight? You really are so pretty... I’m sorry, I’ve embarrassed you.’

  ‘No, no, I’m always beet red like this.’ I grinned through my blush. ‘It’s just that I’m not very used to hearing that. Thank you.’

  ‘Well you should hear it every day because it’s true. There aren’t enough compliments in the world in my opinion. We deserve more.’

  ‘You look nice too.’

  ‘I wasn’t fishing, but thanks. I made an effort.’ He rubbed his designer stubble. ‘I thought you’d like it here. A little slice of home. Or do you think of England as home?’

  ‘Definitely England.’ I grabbed a menu, which was in French but luckily had subtitles. ‘The food looks delicious.’ Hopefully it wasn’t one of those restaurants that served its food as if on rations.

  ‘It is delicious. I’ve been here a lot with my colleagues. It’s a payday indulgence. Champagne, wine or beer?’ he asked me when the waiter appeared.

  ‘Wine please. Is white okay?’

  ‘Of course it is.’ He glanced at the list and ordered a bottle.

  It was his confidence that was so sexy. That and his eyes, gorgeous smile, strokeable hair, the way his jacket followed the contours of his biceps, his long legs that were obviously very fit… I drained my water glass and asked for more with lots of ice.

  ‘Can we also order a dozen of the Fine de Claire oysters, please?’ he asked the waiter when he returned to the table. ‘Nice way to start the meal, eh?’

  Sure it is, if you don’t mind the sensation of swallowing large gobs of snot. ‘I’m sure they’re delicious,’ I said. Not to mention still alive. ‘You go ahead with them.’ Don’t mind the wriggling. ‘I’ll have a goat’s cheese tart or something.’

  ‘But I thought you loved them. You smuggled them into school one day for your mates to try. Don’t you remember? You nearly got expelled.’

  That’s right. It was big news when Christy did that. What a pretentious little show-off.

  ‘Oh yes, well. That’s the problem. I ate too many. Positively gorged myself. I’m sick to death of them now. You enjoy them though.’

  So that was that. The point of no return. I was officially Christy sodding Blake. I’d have felt worse about it if my stomach wasn’t flipping with excitement.

  The conversation galloped along for hours, until we were the last diners
in the restaurant.

  ‘Pudding?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, cupcake?’

  ‘Would you like pudding?’ He handed me the menu as the waiter hovered. ‘You must miss speaking French.’

  ‘Mm, hmm,’ I said, studying my options.

  ‘I’m sorry I’m hopeless at languages. Otherwise we could talk together. But you can at least order in French.’

  As if.

  But the waiter nodded, poised to take my order. ‘Je vous écoute, madamoiselle?’

  He seemed to be waiting for an answer. If only I was sure of the question. Jack stared at me. The words were right there on the menu but I had no idea how to pronounce them. Mille feuilles? Was that Milly Fuilly, the French cousin to the 80s lip-synching duo? I had no clue. I never really got along well with French. There were too many tiny words to keep track of – oo, ay, la, sa, vous, coup. I knew about three useful words. One was merde, which probably wasn’t on the menu. ‘Er, où est… ça?’

  The waiter looked confused. ‘Où est…?’

  I pointed to the menu.

  ‘C’est dans la cuisine, mademoiselle,’ he said.

  That didn’t clear up anything. Frantically I scanned the list for something I could pronounce. Aha! ‘Sorbet, civilplay!’

  ‘Lequel, madamoiselle? Nous avons mangue, citron, pêche ou la noix de coco.’

  Cocoa sorbet? That sounded like ice cream to me. ‘Coco, civilplay, danka. What’ll you have, Jack?’

  ‘The lemon tart, please,’ he said, frowning. ‘I guess you lose a bit when you don’t speak a language regularly.’

  I tried laughing and eventually Jack smiled along. Phew. ‘Yeah. I didn’t realize how rusty I was. More wine?’

  I filled our glasses, resolving to avoid all French people in future.

  When the bill came I pulled out my purse. ‘Please, let’s split it,’ I said, withdrawing my debit card.

  ‘No, please, Christy, it’s my treat.’ He began peeling bills from the wad in his money clip just as I caught sight of my name on my card. My name. Not Christy’s. Merde. My hand froze.

  ‘Well, at least let me pay the tip,’ I said, digging a ten pound note from my purse. ‘And I insist you let me pay next time.’

  In cash, of course.

  Chapter 5

  There was no repeat of The Language Issue, as I’d dubbed my French faux pas, and Jack and I settled into a lovely dating routine. I use words like settled and routine, but it felt as far from those things as I’d ever imagined.

  Before I knew it, we’d been out nearly every night for two weeks. Each date drew us deeper into each other’s lives. He rang every morning. We didn’t go to sleep without saying goodnight. I didn’t ask where things were heading in the broader sense and neither did he. But it was coming, I could tell.

  It’s amazing how little of your past is involved in falling in love. Really, you just float around in a bubble of shared feelings and experiences, untethered to your history. And the other person gets to know you without all the baggage.

  There was less need for fibbing as we began to build our present together, though it was still disconcerting when he called me Christy. I hoped he’d soon find a pet name for me. Like Annabel.

  One weekend evening, Jack scored us tickets to The Roundhouse for an “immersive” theater experience. That mostly involved being herded into a darkened room where actors on wires waited in the rafters to pluck people from the audience. I spent the whole time with Jack’s hand clasped in mine. They weren’t going to get me without taking him too. We came as a two-for-one offer.

  ‘Promise me something,’ he said as we found ourselves wandering through Camden after the show.

  Was this it? Was The Talk imminent? I tucked a flyaway lock of hair behind my ear and wished I’d reapplied lipstick before we left The Roundhouse.

  ‘Let’s see more theater together,’ he continued. ‘Every time I go, I wish I’d done it more. I don’t want to have any regrets when I get old.’

  ‘Oh, right, I agree,’ I murmured. ‘Yes, let’s see more.’

  He stopped me on the bridge over the canal. ‘Oh bollocks, that’s not what I meant to ask. I mean… I do want to see more theater, but what I really want is to see more of you. Officially, I mean.’ He ran his hand through his hair. ‘I’m really quite shite at this, aren’t I? What I’m trying to say is that these past few weeks have been incredible. I still can’t believe my luck that you want to go out with me. So will you? Go out with me? Officially?’

  I nodded. ‘Of course I will, Jack. I feel exactly the same way. I’ve been so happy with you. Yes, definitely.’

  He pulled me to him, kissing me deeply as rain began spattering us. I didn’t care. I’d have stayed there through a hurricane.

  We didn’t stay there though. We went to Jack’s flat, which he shared with two friends. They weren’t home. I suspect he knew that.

  It was the first time we’d been alone together. It would be the first time for a lot of things. He kissed me all the way to the bedroom and not even the thought of him seeing me naked dampened my enthusiasm.

  As it turned out, seeing me naked didn’t dampen his enthusiasm either. Later, as I lay on his chest playing with the soft hair there, he said, ‘You’re my dream.’

  He took the words out of my mouth. And that made me very afraid.

  It no longer seemed possible to tell Jack the truth. Relationships are based on trust. Even with my relatively sparse experience I knew that. So how was I supposed to tell him now that I’d lied the night we met? I felt sick as I realized that saying anything would mean losing him.

  ‘Hey,’ he said, softly stroking my wrist. ‘What happened to your tattoo?’

  ‘My what?’

  ‘The heart tattoo you had on your wrist.’

  Why didn’t I remember Christy’s tattoo? ‘Oh that. It was only temporary.’

  ‘… But you told everyone how much it hurt when you got it. It said Amour in the middle because you were about to leave for France.’

  I thought ahead to the life I’d build with Jack, and knew I couldn’t keep lying. It might not matter so much with superficial things like tattoos and oysters, but how was I supposed to explain why my parents weren’t called Mr. and Mrs. Blake? As frightened as I was, I had to test the waters. ‘I guess I fibbed about that.’

  He sat up, his smile wiped away. ‘That’s not cool, Christy. Actually that’s pretty shite. You know, others got tattoos because you did.’

  ‘No they didn’t!’

  When he twisted around I saw the little yellow Tweety Bird on his shoulder. ‘Yes. They did.’

  If the idea that I told a lie ten years ago upset him like that, I couldn’t even imagine how he’d react to the news that I wasn’t Christy sodding Blake.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Jack. Do you want me to go get a tattoo to make up for it?’

  Eventually he smiled, and I started breathing again. ‘I forgive you, and it seems harsh to make you go under the needle now. Besides, I still love my Tweety.’

  I kissed his shoulder. ‘So do I.’

  ‘Are you hungry at all?’ he asked, my misdemeanor apparently forgotten. ‘I’m peckish. Why don’t I fix us a snack? I think we’ve got some cheese and biscuits.’ He bounced out of bed, grabbing the thick brown robe hanging behind the door, and left me to my thoughts.

  It was an impossible situation, and not only because I’d lose Jack if I told him the truth. This was bigger than our relationship. It was as if my past was being erased. With each date more of the hurt, the confusion and anger of my teenage years were rubbed away. That left a clean slate to fill any way I liked. I couldn’t lose Jack. Not now, when I- when I what? Loved him? Did I love Jack? Well, if you call the deep tickle in your guts or heart palpitations at the thought of him or fantasies about spending the rest of our lives together love, then yes, I suppose I did love him.

  I loved Jack. Jesus, now what was I going to do?

  I jumped a mile when a grey ball of fur landed on
the bed. His purrs rumbled as soon as I tickled under his chin. ‘Hello. Who are you?’ I whispered. His yellow eyes bore into mine from a perfectly round face that made him look like a hairy china doll.

  ‘Get off, Felix!’ Jack said as he made a grab for the cat, who deftly evaded him by climbing onto my belly for a cuddle.

  ‘Oh it’s all right. I don’t mind.’

  ‘You’re not allergic?’

  ‘Hmm?’ I nuzzled Felix’s soft grey fur, sending him into purry overdrive.

  ‘I thought you were going to die when you had that reaction to Lily le Bon’s scarf.’

  A memory surfaced at the mention of Lily le Bon. It was big news round the school. The day Lily le Bon’s cat-hair-covered scarf nearly killed a classmate. Poor Lily was never quite one of the popular girls after that. ‘Ah, yes, darnedest thing. I outgrew it. I’m fine with cats now.’

  ‘Good, because I’d hate to lose you now.’ He kissed me again. I kissed back, thinking the exact same thing.

  Chapter 6

  Kate and I made a breakthrough about a month after her volleyball incident. It was clear to me that she needed to find her way around bullies like Ariadne. But she couldn’t do that without some confidence. The time had come to look beyond the science to help her.

  ‘Tea?’ I asked as she shrugged off her coat and slumped in the chair.

  ‘No thanks. I had a chamomile tea with lemon before I came.’

  ‘Really??’

  ‘Gullible,’ she sang. ‘But you’ll be pleased to know that Mum has banned caffeine in the house.’

  ‘What, for the whole family?’

  ‘Yeah, Dad’s fuming. She makes him drink it at his office.’

  ‘Sorry about your dad but it’s a step in the right direction. You can always have a cup of hot water if you’ve got a craving.’

  ‘Mmm, sounds delicious. I can’t wait to go home and try it.’

  I smiled. ‘Fine. How about more fruit?’

  ‘Can’t we talk about something else?’