Thin Girls Don't Eat Cake

by Lindy Dale

  “I heard about you and that lovely Cole by the way,” Mum continued.

  “Mrs Tanner?”

  “No. Shannon-down-from Perth. She heard about it at her job interview.”

  What job interview? And why were they talking about me?

  “She got the job. Started yesterday, I think. Isn’t he simply adorable?”

  What job interview? Who was adorable? Honestly, you were off the radar for a couple of days and everyone was getting a new profession.

  “Who?”

  “Cole.”

  Oh okay. We were back to him.

  “He is rather.” I could feel my face breaking into an ecstatic grin. I’d been doing such a lot of that my cheek muscles were beginning to ache.

  Mum gave a knowing nod. “You’ll need to lift your game if you’re going to swim in that pool, possum. But you can do it. I have very confidence.”

  She made it sound like I was about to shoot the winning goal in a netball grand final. Ignoring the comment, I turned my gaze to the bunch of balloons. I’d never seen anything quite so gaudy. That amount of pink and sparkles would have even given Barbie nightmares. It was a wonder Mum had been able to get them through the door. “Who are the balloons for?”

  “Oh, I quite forgot. I’m such a ditz lately, my brain has completely left the building.” She handed them to me. “They’re for you. A little gift.”

  What would possess her to buy a bunch of balloons as a gift was beyond me but I thanked her and took the balloons, sliding the weight to the end of the counter, where they bobbed around merrily before righting themselves and becoming still. They were quite pretty, in an over the top sort of way.

  “Is there any particular reason for this gift?”

  “There is. I have some very exciting news.”

  I hoped this wasn’t going to be like the last time Mum sprung a surprise. I was still trying to get my head around that turn of events.

  “Well, go on.”

  “You’re going to be a big sister.”

  Mum was buying another cat? A puppy? Surely not. The way she jaunted around the world these days, the poor thing would spend more time in a cattery than at home.

  “There’s going to be a baby,” Mum explained.

  I swallowed. A wave of sheer terror — or was it disbelief — gushed through my veins. It had to be a joke. But it couldn’t be. My mother never played tricks on people. She didn’t even understand jokes. I looked up at the swag of balloons, my eyes coming to rest on the one hidden in the centre that had ‘it’s a girl’ printed on it. Slowly, like the sunrise over town in winter, the concept grew wings and began to fly around my head, rather like the stork delivering a baby.

  “It’s a girl,” Mum announced. “Well, I’m pretty sure it is—”

  She wasn’t serious, was she?

  “—I haven’t had a scan or anything. I’m not far enough along but I have all the symptoms I had with you.”

  It seemed she was.

  “It was a bit of a surprise. I thought I was late. The change and everything. You know how it is.”

  Well, I didn’t but I had an idea.

  I began to cough, large gulping coughs that threatened to choke me. Mum leant over, slapping my back.

  She’d lost the plot with this one. It was one thing to be missing Dad but compensating with a baby? A kitten was a far more sensible option.

  “And then I did the test and the little blue line popped up,” she continued. “And … it’s so exciting. Aren’t you excited, sweetheart? You always wanted a sibling.”

  Maybe when I was eight but not when I was twenty-eight. The very thought was enough to make me feel ill. I stared at my mother, incapable of forming words. How could she do this? Well, clearly I knew how she did it, of course, but…God…. Surely she wasn’t planning to go through with it. She was forty-eight years old. How was it even possible she could be pregnant?

  “Aren’t you pleased?” Mum looked slightly crestfallen that I wasn’t cartwheeling with joy around the shop.

  “Shocked might be a more apt description. I’m assuming—”

  “— that Connor’s the father, yes. I know I’ve been living it up since your father passed, darling, but I haven’t been a complete hussy. Connor’s the only man I’ve been with.”

  Which somehow — I don’t know how — made it worse in my eyes. Connor wasn’t father material. He wasn’t even boyfriend material. It was one thing for Mum to be having a fling, but marriage? Babies? She’d be sixty-eight when the baby was twenty. Grandmothers were sixty-eight, not mothers. God forbid, she might even be dead.

  And what about my feelings in this? Had she no respect for the daughter she already had? No matter what view I took, I could find nothing good in this scenario. I couldn’t feel excited when I felt slightly appalled, a bit hurt and a great big bit angry with my mother for being so selfish. She was putting me in a situation where I was expected to be over the moon, hand out the congratulatory champagne. But I didn’t feel that way and I didn’t know if I could hide it this time.

  Picking up the balloons, I handed them back to her. “I don’t want the gift, thank you.”

  “But darling.”

  “Don’t ‘but darling’ me. You had to know I wouldn’t be happy, Mum. Did you think buying me a bunch of balloons and making like we were going on a big adventure would help me to accept it? I’m not six. I know it sounds harsh but you’re old enough to be a grandmother. You’ve had your turn. You had me, remember?”

  Mum’s face sank. I thought she might cry. “It’s a lot to absorb.”

  “That’s something of an understatement.”

  “I might leave you to it, then. Give you time to think. I’ll call you later, all right?”

  “Fine.”

  Which of course it wasn’t.

  I walked to the door, opening it for Mum, who stepped onto the street and strolled off up the road, a certain bounce in her step I hadn’t noticed since Dad died. She was so happy about the baby, which made me feel awful for behaving the way I had — like the selfish only child. But she’d shocked me. If I’d had time to prepare maybe I would have approached the news in a different way.

  “Mum!” I called up the street.

  She stopped and turned and I ran down and wrapped her in the biggest hug. “It’s great news about the baby.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive.”

  Mum smiled. “Thank you sweetheart. Here, have some balloons.”

  As I got back to the shop, happy that I’d made my mother’s day in some small way — even if I hadn’t meant a word of it — I pushed the massive bunch of baby balloons through the door and shut it behind them. I stood for a second, staring at the cupcake shop across the way. There was no queue today. The paparazzi seemed to have disappeared too. If I turned the sign around, I could pop over the road, buy a cake and be back in time for my next client. I didn’t have time to walk to Maggie’s and back. And I really needed a cake. My thoughts always became clearer after cake.

  *****

  As I approached the front door of Death By Cupcake, my heart began to thump uncomfortably in my chest. The inside of my mouth was more parched than if I’d eaten a bucketful of sand. I felt faint with anticipation. I didn’t want to do it, I didn’t want to give in but I was being compelled by something I was powerless to control. I paused, the doorknob in my hand, as a tiny voice in my head began to tease. I knew I shouldn’t listen, that I should go back to Doggie Divas, drink ten litres of water and put cake as far from my mind as it would go but the voice was fairly convincing. Especially when it manifested itself in the form of a pink, sparkly demon, which perched itself on my right shoulder and began to whisper in my ear.

  It’s been a long time since a cake’s passed your lips, Olivia. Don’t you deserve it?

  No, I thought. One should never use cake as a reward. Or an emotional crutch. I took a step away from the door.

  But you’ve worked soooo hard, lost a lot of weight.
One teensy weensy cupcake won’t do you any harm.

  Which was a total lie because I knew I wouldn’t stop at one. And that would do me heaps of harm. I’d be back where I started before I knew it. This wasn’t just about my weight. It was my mental health too.

  It’ll make you feel better. You know it will.

  Drugs make you feel better in the beginning but look where Heath Ledger ended up, I countered.

  The voice was silent for a minute. I thought I was winning. I turned to head back across the road. Then it hit me with the argument I could never ignore and I stopped short.

  It’s only one cake. Buy one, ease that bubble of hurt inside you. Your mother was such a cow getting pregnant like that with no consideration of how it would make you feel. She was mean. Cake is never mean. Buy a cake. It will make you feel good. You can work it off by jogging.

  Well, yes. I could. I turned toward the front door again.

  One cake never hurt anyone.

  I guess not.

  Think of that icing, the decorations. You love the crunchy decorations. It’s only one little cake.

  Oh what the hell. My hand on the doorknob, I twisted it and stepped inside, pausing to savour the sweet aroma of cake. It was only one little piece. One cake and my craving would be gone and I could get on with the remainder of my day.

  I walked up to the glass fronted display case. My eyes — feeling as if a filter filled with glitter had been placed before them — took in the rows and rows of beautifully crafted cakes, each one prettier than the one beside it and every one calling my name. I swallowed, running my tongue over my lips. My fingertips quivered as they pressed against the glass. Velvety chocolate mousse cakes, tangy lemon meringue ones and miniature carrot cakes laden with cream cheese frosting. I’d been avoiding this place for months and now I knew why. I could taste the cakes already. There was not a hope in hell I was going to be able to leave with only one cupcake. I wouldn’t be satisfied until I was in possession of one of every variety of cake in the place, lovingly placed into a glittery cake box and tied with pink ribbon.

  I was a cake addict. Cake was my comfort food of choice. When things were at their worst others turned to alcohol or drugs. Some people were addicted to sex. For me it was cakes and slices. And at that very moment I needed a cake fix like a junkie needed heroin.

  Closing my eyes, I attempted to squash the temptation one last time. One cake. That was what I’d come for. One cake that would not ruin my diet and cause me to sink into the cycle of eating and self-loathing I’d fought so hard to get out of.

  “Oh, Olivia, hello. How lovely to see you.”

  A chirpy voice alerted me to the fact that I was, indeed, drooling over the counter. Adelaide had appeared from the kitchen and was wearing a t-shirt that looked remarkably like the one Cole quite often had on when he popped in to Doggie Divas. Over the top she wore a candy-striped apron. Behind her — through the confused fog that was descending over me — I was positive I could see Shannon-down-from-Perth, standing in the doorway, a piping bag in her hand.

  What on earth were they doing here?

  “Adelaide?”

  “Is there something I can help you with? Or have you come to see Cole?” Adelaide had slid the glass door of the cabinet open and picked up a pair of serving tongs in readiness. The smell of the cupcakes drifted into my nostrils, rendering me incoherent. I couldn’t process the fact that Adelaide and Shannon were standing behind the counter serving. The smell was overpowering my senses, turning my brain into a bowl of raw pudding.

  Then suddenly Cole appeared. On seeing me, his face lit up and he rounded the counter and walked towards me, smoothing his candy-striped apron as he did so.

  “This is a nice surprise. Have you come to test out the house special? Phoebe’s Double Choc Fudge Delight.” He pointed to the most heavenly looking cupcake I had ever seen. Lashings of chocolate icing were piped on the top of the cake forming a whipped dark coffee-coloured peak. White chocolate had been drizzled over it and finished with tiny white chocolate love hearts layered with edible glitter. It looked utterly delectable, so delectable in fact that my knees began to tremble. The only upside was, I hadn’t begun to whimper.

  But now I was even more confused. Was Cole’s business the cupcake shop? How could this be?

  The three of them stood staring at me as if it were the most natural thing in the world and they couldn’t understand why I was acting like such a fool, which was the precise moment my brain finally decided to slot the random pieces into place. Like the Cole constantly had in his hair, the references to getting fat from too much icing, the fact that he always seemed to know when I was in the shop and what I was doing. He’d seen me from across the bloody road. And of course, I’d been so wrapped up in my own problems and the diet and everything, I’d taken every clue and stuffed it in a pink sparkly box in my head and ignored it. Why? How?

  I was such a fool.

  I’d fallen for the one man in the world I could never date — with the exception of Gerry, of course — the man who owned a cake shop. It was the ultimate in karma paybacks — though what’d I’d done to deserve it escaped me.

  I looked at Cole, who was smiling as if all his Christmases had come at once.

  Crap.

  All I’d wanted was a bit of cake to help me get over the dreadful sadness I was feeling. How I was expected to deal with this?

  “Olivia?” Cole was staring at me now; a concerned look had replaced his pleased-to-see-you face.

  “Um, I… er… um.” I gazed at the cakes trying not to faint.

  “Have you come to buy a cake?”

  “NO! Thin girls don’t eat cake! I don’t eat cake! Oh crap. I have to get out of here now.” And without a look back — the fact that I was blinded by the image of that chocolate Phoebe delight or whatever it was enough of a torture — I ran from the shop.

  Tearing across the road as if my life depended on it, I threw open the door of Doggie Divas, shut it behind me and slid the bolt into place. My breath ragged, I turned the sign to ‘back in ten minutes’. Bugger if Mrs Jones turned up in the meantime, I needed to get my head together and, clearly, I was not going to be doing so with the benefit of the sugary fixings of a nice piece of cake or a slice. I could hardly leave my own shop now either and trot up to Maggie’s. She wouldn’t serve me. She’d made a promise not to give me one single peppermint slice until my goal weight had been achieved. I’d made her. Even though we both knew it meant a drop in income for her.

  I pulled my mobile from my pocket. There was only one thing for it. I needed an emergency supply and I needed it now. My hands were trembling uncontrollably. My breath was stuck in my lungs. It felt like I was having a heart attack or something. The tears welled. If I didn’t do something to combat them, my next appointment wouldn’t need the hydrobath.

  I scrolled my recent calls and dialled. I felt ridiculous and silly that I was losing control but I couldn’t help it. It was as if every problem in the world had suddenly taken root in my head and I had no idea which one to tackle first or even how I would tackle them.

  I gave a sniff and took a deep breath. “A…A… Alice?”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Can you come to the shop? Now? And bring cake. I need cake.”

  Alice repeated her question.

  “I… I can’t talk about it. Can you come? Please?”

  “Give me ten minutes.”

  *****

  By the time Alice arrived, I’d pulled myself together enough to begin working on Miffy. Mrs Jones had arrived smack on time for her appointment and had almost thumped the door into next week to get it open. Which had only made me feel worse for being unprofessional. I should have been able to handle it. I should have been able to wait until I got home before I went into full meltdown mode.

  “I think maybe you should turn the clippers off,” Alice said, pulling a bite-sized Mars Bar from her pocket putting it on the bench in front of me.

  I stared at it,
inspecting it like it might be about to explode. That wasn’t a cake.

  “I know it’s not a cake or a slice but I figure you’ve been so good you’d be very upset with yourself if you gave in now and started on a binge. The chocolate is sweeter than cake. It should get rid of your craving. And it won’t ruin your points for the day. It’s only little. I bought you a black coffee too. It’s got five sugars in it.”

  She plonked the tray of coffees on the bench and went out to turn the sign on the door back to ‘closed’.

  I looked down at the chunks of hair I’d already taken from Miffy’s back. It was probably a wise move to stop clipping. My hands were shaking so much the poor dog would go home with one ear and if I stuffed up the clip, Mrs Jones would have a convulsion — after she’d had a screaming fit first, that is. Mrs Jones was infamous about town for her screaming fits.

  Making sure the dog was secured and couldn’t leap from the grooming table, I reached over and turned off the clippers.

  We sat down, me on the bench and Alice on the chair beside it.

  “Eat your chocolate,” Alice said.

  I unwrapped the Mars Bar and slowly nibbled at the corner. I gave a ragged sigh as the chocolaty coating melted in my mouth. I felt better now Alice was here. And as usual she was right. I would have been angry with myself if I’d started on another binge — which was what I’d intended to do until I’d got into the cake shop and discovered my boyfriend was the owner. The combination of him knowing I was cheating on my diet and also being there had certainly stopped me in my tracks. Plus I felt stupid. How did I not know Cole owned Death by Cupcake? If I was any dopier they could have used me in a production of Snow White.

  I took a bite of the gooey centre of the Mars Bar, letting the sweetness sit on my tongue before swallowing. My blood pressure began to level. Much better.

  “Did you know Cole owned Death by Cupcake?” I said.

  “I thought the whole town knew. It’s not exactly a secret.”