by Jean Ure
“It doesn’t have to be funny,” he said. “It can be anything you like!”
Not with a turnip head. How could you be romantic with a boy whose hair grew to a point? It looked ridiculous! Why didn’t he have it cut?
“I want to do something by myself,” I said.
I worked out this scene where I was on the Eurostar, travelling to Paris to meet my boyfriend. I was on my mobile, talking to him. Talking the language of love. When all of a sudden—
“We’re going to crash!”
It was just so dramatic, and so sad. I really didn’t know what people found to laugh at. There is nothing remotely amusing about a train crash.
Mrs Ambrose (mopping her eyes) said, “Jenny, I’m sorry! That was such a good idea. You weren’t quite able to carry it off… but it was a brave attempt. Well done!”
Saffy said later the reason people had laughed was that one minute I’d sounded “all syrupy and slurpy” and then it was “Help, help! We’re going to die!”
I said, “You must have a very warped sense of humour if you think that’s funny.”
“It was you that was funny,” said Saffy.
Angrily I said, “You’re sick! You know that? You are sick!”
“You’re the one that’s sick,” said Saffy.
We parted on very bad terms. I didn’t like quarrelling with Saffy, but just lately she had been really starting to annoy me. What had come over her? Why did she have to be so picky all the time?
I decided that I would ignore Saffy and concentrate on what I was going to wear for my transformation scene. Everyone knew that I was going to do a transformation scene, because I had introduced it at the last rehearsal; but nobody knew what I was going to wear! Neither did I. Yet.
I lay awake in bed that night, mentally trying on everything in my wardrobe and rejecting it all as too big, too baggy, too boring. I’d got to look glam! But not what Mum would call “tarted up”. I wasn’t aiming for a fairy-at-the-top-of-the-Christmas-tree effect. I wanted to look more natural and casual, like I hadn’t made any special kind of effort; but at the same time I wanted everyone to think “Wow.” A difficult combination!
I knew what I was going to wear as an old lady: an ancient raincoat of Mum’s that came down to my feet, with a scarf tied under the chin and a pair of joke specs with a long rubbery nose that had what looked like a dribble at the end. Truly disgusting! I’d found the specs in the Party Shop last time I’d gone to the shopping centre with Saffy.
The old lady gear was easy. But I spent the whole of Sunday morning desperately trying on clothes. They were just as baggy and boring as I’d feared! How could I ever have worn such stuff? Huge pairs of elephant trousers, and tops like tents. Ugh! It made me feel sick, just thinking of how I used to be. I still wasn’t thin enough, nowhere near. I could still pinch bits of flesh between my fingers, and my thighs still went flomp! like jellies when I sat down. I had a good long way to go before I even approached my target body image, but at least I could now walk down the street without feeling that everyone was looking at me and going, “That is some fat girl!”
In the end, squashed away at the back of the wardrobe, I found a denim skirt that I hadn’t been able to get into for absolutely ages. I’d forgotten all about it. I pulled it out and put it on, and oh, joy! It fitted me. It was quite groovy, I could see why I’d bought it. It had little embroidered stars on the pockets and a zip with a red tassel. And it was short! Really no more than a strip, which if I’d worn it a few months ago – if I could have got into it – would have been positively indecent. I mean, who wants to see huge jellyfish thighs slapping and banging against each other? No wonder I’d hidden it at the back of the wardrobe!
What I needed now was a hot top to go with it, and maybe a pair of boots. I decided to ask Dad. Not Mum! I can wheedle almost anything out of Dad if I put my mind to it. I waited till I came home from school on Monday, when I could be sure of having him to myself. Dad was making a cheese sauce to go with some macaroni. He was eager for me to try it, so I obediently took a spoonful over to the sink and said, “Yum yum! That’s good!” at the same time frantically running the tap and washing the sauce down the plug hole, because cheese is extremely fattening.
“Dad, do you think I could have a new top and a pair of boots?” I said. “I need them, Dad! It’s for this show we’re doing. We’re going to film it on Saturday, and I’ve got nothing to wear!”
That was all the wheedling I needed to do. Dad was so taken up with his sauce that I think he would have said yes to anything. He told me to go ahead and buy whatever I needed.
“When do you want it?”
I said, “Tomorrow?”
“I’ll come and pick you up after school,” said Dad.
I was so grateful that I gave him a big hug and took another spoonful of sauce to dump in the sink.
“Is it OK?” said Dad.
“Scrummy!” I said.
I knew that it had to be, because Dad’s sauces always are; and in any case some had touched my lips so that I’d been almost tempted to eat it. But I knew that I mustn’t! Just one mouthful would be enough to set me right back. It had to be all or nothing – which was what I explained to Saffy when I invited her to join me on my shopping trip and she started on at me yet again about not eating.
“I don’t know how your mum and dad let you get away with it. My mum would go spare if I stopped eating!”
“Look, just shut up” I said. I’d invited her to come with us ‘cos I thought she’d enjoy it, helping me choose what to buy. Now she was going and ruining it all! “Don’t keep on,” I said. “It’s very bad manners.” I mean, for goodness’ sake! She was my guest.
Dad took us to Marshall’s and sat himself down in a chair while me and Saffy roamed about, examining stuff. I could buy anything I wanted! Skinny rib, halter neck. Anything! With Saffy’s help I finally got a blue T-shirt with writing on it (Funky Babe, in gold letters) plus a pair of blue denim boots with zips and high heels. I thought that Mum’s raincoat would cover the heels so that no one would know I was wearing funky footgear and not old lady shoes. I swore Saffy to silence.
“You’re not to tell anyone! It’s got to be a surprise.”
Saffy said, “Yeah. OK.” and waved a hand like all of a sudden she was bored.
“Now what’s the matter?” I said.
“You!” said Saffy. “Always giving orders. You’re so bossy.”
Well! Bossy is just about the last thing I am. I said, “Look who’s talking! I’m not the one that’s been going on.
At that point we left the changing room area and found ourselves back out in the open. Just as well, or we might seriously have fallen out. With Dad there we couldn’t very well go on slinging accusations at each other so we both simmered down and tried to make like there was nothing wrong. Dad wanted to take us upstairs to the restaurant to have tea. Once I would have thought this was a brilliant idea, since Marshall’s is famous for its cream cakes and squidgy buns. Once I would have guzzled a whole plateful of them. Today I was thrown into panic at the mere thought of it.
“Don’t you think we ought to get home?” I said.
“No, I think we ought to go and have some tea,” said Dad.
“But Saffy’s got to get home!” I said. “Her mum will be wondering where she is.”
“No, she won’t,” said Saffy. “I rang her.”
“So what do you reckon?” said Dad. Talking to Saffy. Not me. “Do you reckon we ought to go and have some tea?”
“Yes, please!” beamed Saffy.
Oh! She was such a traitor. I glared at her all the way up in the lift, but she resolutely took no notice and chattered brightly to Dad about absolutely nothing.
“Now, what shall we have?” said Dad, rubbing his hands in delighted anticipation as he studied the menu, which I am here to tell you is a total nightmare of carbohydrates and calories. “Mm… raspberry pavlova! How about that?”
Dad had raspberry pavlova, Saffy ha
d fudge cake, I had the plainest thing I could find, which was a packet of boring biscuits. But even boring biscuits are fattening! If I’d been on my own with Dad I could have slid them off the table, one by one, and hidden them in my school bag. I couldn’t do that with Saffy there; she watched me the whole time. Well, actually, she watched the biscuits. She got, like, fixated on them. I just had this feeling that if I tried anything she would tell on me. So I had to force myself to eat them. It nearly made me gag! There is nothing worse than having to eat when you don’t want to.
But anyway, ho ho to Saffy! The minute I got home I did my usual trick. I raced upstairs to the lavatory and stuck my fingers down my throat. I was distinctly annoyed with Saffy, though, because it is not at all pleasant sticking your fingers down your throat. For one thing it makes your throat sore, and for another it makes your stomach muscles ache with all the heaving and straining you have to do. But I couldn’t afford to put on weight. I had to be thin for my transformation scene!
SATURDAY CAME, AND I was so excited! We all were, but me, I think, more than anyone. I put on my transformation outfit before leaving home, with Mum’s raincoat over the top. I wanted it to stay a secret right until the very end! While everyone else was changing, I sat in a corner, huddled in my raincoat with all the buttons done up. People kept tweaking at it and going, “Come on! Let’s see what you’re wearing!” but I wouldn’t let them.
“I bet she knows,” said Twinkle, pointing at Saffy. “Tell, tell! What’s she got on?”
“My lips are sealed,” said Saffy, zipping a finger across her mouth.
One girl, Mitch Bosworth, even crawled on her hands and knees and tried to see underneath! The boys were nowhere near as interested. In fact, they didn’t really seem to care what I had on underneath Mum’s raincoat. I thought that was good, because then it would really come as a surprise.
Filming was due to start at two o’clock. I had always thought that making films was a very slo-o-o-w and laborious process. I’d read somewhere that it could take an entire day just to shoot one tiny little scene, but we filmed the whole of Sob Story in one afternoon. I suppose it wasn’t quite the same as real movie-making. Two students came in from the local art college with a video camera and we just had one final run-through and then it was, like, go for it!
We did have one or two stops and starts. That silly girl Mitch Bosworth, for instance, got the giggles, and Saffy went and forgot her lines. Her own lines, that she had made up. She just, like, froze, and this trapped expression appeared on her face. It wasn’t quite as bad as the angel disaster back in Juniors, when she had to be led off stage, sobbing; but I did think it went to show that she was not cut out to be an actress.
Zoë, on the other hand, far from forgetting her lines actually went and added to them! She launched into this mad speech that she had never done before. It went on and on, going absolutely nowhere, saying absolutely nothing, and the rest of us just standing around with our mouths sagging open, wondering what to do. It was Mark who saved the day. He just suddenly cut in over the top of her, and that shut her up. If it hadn’t been for him, she might have gone rambling on for ever, and all the things that were supposed to happen – all the things that we had so carefully rehearsed – would no longer have made any sense. Mark pulled it all together again, and I thought that showed that he was a true pro. Whereas Zoë was nothing more than a silly selfish show-off, with no control over her own mouth.
I would like to report that I rose to the occasion, as the saying goes. I would like to tell how I rushed in to the rescue, and came to Mark’s support as he struggled to get us back on track; but I didn’t! I wasn’t a true pro. I just stood around with the rest of them, gaping, and not knowing what to do. I felt like running at Zoë and strangling her, but in fact I took root, like a pot plant, and did nothing at all. I was just so worried that she might ruin my transformation scene! That was all I cared about. I had long since lost any interest in being a crotchety old woman who went round complaining. I didn’t care if it did make people laugh. I didn’t want people to laugh! I wanted them to gasp and go wow! I wanted to be glamorous! I wanted Gorgeous Gareth to be gobsmacked! I wanted Beautiful Mark to take notice of me… which I suppose must mean that I am no more cut out to be an actress than Saffy. Sigh.
Thanks to Mark and his quick thinking, we were able to move on. We got to the end. My big moment… ba-boom! Gasp. Wow!!!
Nobody actually did gasp or go “wow!” because by now they were all expecting it, and in any case it would have been unprofessional, but Zoë came up to me in the changing room afterwards and said, “Groovy gear, Granny!” Portia said I looked fab, and Mitch Bosworth told me that “That was a really neat idea… like something out of panto.” Only that stupid Twinkle had to go and upset me. She poked me in the ribs and said, “Come on, you can tell us now! You have been slimming, haven’t you? Was it because of the book?”
Acting as hard as I could go, I said, “What book?” Like very cool and sophisticated.
“You know!” said Twink. “The one you were on the cover of… the one about the fat girl.”
Oh! I was so hoping they wouldn’t have seen it. But I might have known they would. I had to pretend not to care. I mean, there is such a thing as pride. (I may have said this before.) I gushed, “That photo was just so awful. They padded it out!”
“They what?” said Zoë.
“Padded it! You know, like they take away people’s lines and wrinkles and double chins? They padded it out to make me look fat.”
“How do they do that?” said Mitch.
I said, “I don’t know how they do it, but that’s what they did. And it looked so horrible!”
“I thought it looked like you,” said Twinkle.
“Oh, thank you very much!” I said.
“So is that when you started slimming?” said Connie.
“I didn’t!” I said. “It just happened!”
Saffy made this noise in the back of her throat. There was a pause.
“Well, anyway,” said Portia, “you look fab in that gear!”
“If you could just manage to lose another few kilos,” said Mitch, “you’d almost l—”
“Don’t!” That was Saffy, suddenly coming to life. “Just stop encouraging her! She’s lost as much as she needs to.”
I wondered what Saffy’s problem was. Could she be jealous? She’d always been the thin one! I’d been the fat one. Maybe she didn’t like me being thin? How utterly pathetic!
I decided yet again that I would take no notice of Saffy. We were having a party to celebrate the end of term – and the end of filming – and I was going to enjoy myself! I went marching out of the changing room with Connnie and Portia, leaving Saffy on her own. I didn’t think I liked her any more. She was jealous and mean and spiteful! She was trying to ruin my little moment of success. Just because she had gone and forgotten her lines!
The party was totally brilliant, in spite of Saffy skulking around like a big black cloud. I refused to let her spoil things. She was being mean as could be, and I wondered why I’d ever become friends with her.
As soon as we’d changed we all sat down to watch the video. I sat in the middle of the front row, next to Gareth! Saffy sat way back, where in my opinion she belonged. After all, she was little more than a glorified extra. She’d never bothered to develop her part. She’d never become a real character; just someone who occasionally spoke in a (very bad) American accent, saying things which she fondly believed to be American, such as “Gee” and “Shucks” and “Hot damn!” If she hadn’t turned up, nobody would have missed her. Whereas if I hadn’t turned up, we wouldn’t have had a proper ending. So I deserved to sit in front, in the middle, next to gorgeous Gareth. It was like I’d earned the right. I wasn’t a nobody any more. I was SOMEONE!
The video lasted three-quarters of an hour. The biggest parts were played by Zoë and Twinkle, and Mark and Gareth, but I was the next biggest! If it hadn’t been for the cast being listed in alphabe
tical order, I would definitely have been number 5. It quite annoyed me that simply because of her surname beginning with B, Saffy was number 2. She didn’t deserve it!
When we got to the transformation scene I held my breath thinking, “Please don’t let me look fat!”
Well! I didn’t look too fat. Some people might have said I didn’t look fat at all, but once you start summing you set these very high standards for yourself and know that you can’t stop until you have shed every single gram of excess weight. I still had a long way to go. But maybe not everyone agreed with me because guess what? They all applauded!
It was Gareth who started it. When I threw off my old lady raincoat he cried, “Way to go!” and burst into loud clapping, and everyone joined in. Except, probably, Saffy. I bet she didn’t. I bet she just sat there, all sour and scowling. But who cared about her?
For the party we had loads of nibbles. The two students from the art college stayed on and acted as DJs, and we all danced, including Mrs Ambrose. Even though she was old she could still move! It made me realise that when she was young she must have been really good. It made me think about being old, and how horrid it must be; but I only thought about it for a few seconds as Gareth asked me to dance. He danced with me and with Zoë, but not with anyone else. I didn’t dance with anyone else, either. It was Gareth or nobody! I knew that Ben would have liked to dance with me. I could see him, out of the corner of my eye, hovering and quivering, but I kept pretending not to notice. If he wanted someone to dance with, he could dance with Saffy. Not me!
It was really difficult to avoid picking at the nibbles as everyone kept getting into little huddles round the table and people would have noticed if I hadn’t eaten anything. Plus I didn’t want to give that spiteful Saffy any chance to start up. So I picked and nibbled along with everyone else, thinking to myself that I would do my usual thing. Stick my fingers down my throat before I went to bed. I couldn’t afford to start putting on weight again!
