Weight Till Christmas

by Ruth Saberton

  “Switch that computer off and come and have a drink,” Nick orders me, or at least as much as a twenty two year old with skin like pizza can order me. He’s wearing a paper hat and already has several drinks under his belt. Actually, does he have a belt on? It’s dress down Friday and Nick is wearing baggy jeans slung so low that I can see his pants. I resist the urge to tell him to pull his trousers up. God, I’m getting old.

  There’s a party atmosphere here at Broom! Broom! today because it’s a half day and the last working day before Christmas Eve. The office and showroom are festooned with streamers and tinsel, cheap fizzy plonk is being sloshed into plastic cups and the entire contents of Mr Kipling’s mince pie factory circulating on paper plates. So far I have resisted but without Sam to keep me on the straight and narrow my resolve is starting to weaken…

  I shut my computer down and join everyone at the reception area where I sip wine so rough I could file my nails with it and listen to the chatter. Everyone is on a high now and filled with excited anticipation about tonight’s party. I wish I felt more excited but instead I just feel flat. Maybe this is the come down from reaching my goals? I guess I just thought that when I was slimmer I’d feel happier, but it hasn’t worked out like that at all. I’m still me, Ellie Phant, only in a slimmer body and wearing skinny jeans. I’m just as good at my job as I always was and I’m just the same friend to Sam as I’ve always been too. So why is he being so strange? Why isn’t he coming for a drink?

  I’m just on the brink of heading into the workshop, grabbing Sam by the throat and demanding an explanation when a loud clearing of throat and clapping of hands announces that our boss is about to make a speech. He’s parked himself right between me and the door, which is a bit of menace because I can’t escape. Death by management speak it is then! Digging myself in for the long haul, I slosh some more white wine into my cup.

  “Merry Christmas, team!” booms Charlie. He’s even redder in the face than normal, courtesy of all the booze. “I just wanted to take this opportunity to thank you for all your hard work this year. It’s been a bumper one for us, in spite of the economic climate, and I hope that next year is even better.”

  There’s a ripple of applause and congratulations. I wish he’d get on with it. I really want to catch Sam before we close for the afternoon.

  “Now tonight, as you all know, is our big celebration,” the boss continues, “but before we all leave to get ready for that – or even more drunk in the case of Rick and Nick – I’ve one final announcement to make. You’ve all been wondering what was going to happen regarding Drake’s position and as you know we’ve been waiting to see how the sales figures pan out before coming to a decision.”

  I do know. I’ve asked Charlie several times about promotion and he’s dodged the issue skillfully. I even rewrote my CV and a covering letter to say why I should be considered for Drake’s job, but so far so silent. He probably shredded it instantly.

  “Anyway, gang, I’m happy to tell you that we’ve decided to promote a member of our team here to fill it.”

  Suddenly all eyes are on him. Vicky pauses in mid nail paint, the brush hovering between gore red talon and bottle, Rick and Nick put their beers down and stitch conscientious expressions to their faces and even the receptionists look hopeful.

  “I’ve decided to appoint the post of Luxury Brand Salesperson to a member of the team who’s constantly shown professionalism, dedication and enthusiasm,” says Charlie. “Someone who is undoubtedly the type of person whose attitude and image fit the ethos of our company.”

  Here we go again. This is the bit where he’ll say that Vicky has the job, we’ll all have to be pretend to be surprised and then she’ll lord it over us as usual. Excuse me if I switch off for a bit and go back to day-dreaming about Drake…

  “Ellie! Ellie!” Charlie’s boom is on a par with the 747s taking off down the road at Heathrow. “Don’t be shy! Come up here and shake my hand.”

  Eh? Roused from the best bit of my dream, the part where Drake takes my hand and leads me to the mistletoe, I look up and find that everyone is staring at me and clapping. Everyone except Vicky, that is, who just looks furious.

  “Go on!” hisses Rick, giving me a little push. “He wants to congratulate you. Boss!”

  I stare at him. “What?”

  “You’ve got Drake’s job,” Nick explains slowly and as though I am very, very thick. “You’ve been promoted, Ellie!”

  As though in a very weird dream, I join Charlie. Only when he shakes my hand so hard that my wrist is nearly sprained do I realize this really is happening. Oh. My. God. I have been given Drake’s sales role! After all this time of plugging away and hoping desperately to be noticed.

  Good-bye Micras, hello BMWs!

  I wonder what changed?

  Then it dawns on me: absolutely nothing has changed, or not the things that count anyway. I’m the hard working and good sales woman that I’ve always been. My customers feel as valued as they always did and I have earned the company the large sums that have become a badge of personal pride. The only thing that’s changed is my appearance. Now I’m a bit slimmer and fitter, I’m considered suitable for the role, the role that I was just as qualified to fill when I was heavier and so unfit I couldn’t run a bath. Being slimmer doesn’t make me a better person or saleswoman. It just makes me – slimmer.

  What’s going on? I have the body I’ve always wanted and now the job too, but instead of turning cartwheels I’m hardly able to summon the enthusiasm to accept. I can afford to have a fantastic Christmas now and a really happy new year on my new salary. All I need is to see Drake this evening and I’ll have everything I’ve dreamed of. Come on, Ellie, smile.

  And I do smile and shake hands and thank everybody when they congratulate me, but it feels hollow. If I wasn’t good enough when I was overweight then I shouldn’t be good enough now. It’s actually really insulting.

  Finally the excitement dies down and we all return to our desks to pack away for the Christmas break. Once the computers are unplugged, answerphones switched on and the showroom locked up, we all head to the Coach for more pre-party celebrations. I’m just about to secure the back door and join the others when Sam appears from the darkness of the workshop. He’s dressed in jeans, scuffed CAT boots and a battered leather jacket and my heart trampolines into my mouth. I’d thought he was long gone.

  “You made jump out of my skin!” I exclaim, my hand on my chest. Yep, there’s my heart playing squash against my rib cage.

  “Sorry. I just wanted to catch you on your own before you leave.”

  I stare at him, concerned. He looks tired though today. Blue shadows smudge his eyes and his skin is taut over his high cheekbones.

  “Are you OK? Rick and Nick were going to have a quick drink in the Coach before getting ready for the party. Aren’t you coming?”

  Sam shrugs. “Just not in the mood, I guess. Well done on the job, by the way. I always knew you could do it.”

  “You’re the only one then,” I sigh. “Nobody else thought I was anywhere near capable of selling the luxury cars until I lost weight.”

  He digs his hands deep into his pockets and regards me thoughtfully.

  “Losing weight isn’t quite what we thought, is it?”

  This is so true and I nod.

  “You’re way too good for this place,” Sam remarks. “Why don’t you look for something else?”

  “I don’t know,” I admit. “Maybe before I didn’t have the guts to try? Things feel so different now though. Mum is happier, I’m free of Luke and I actually feel I can do anything.”

  “Of course you can! Ellie, you can do anything you put your mind to, haven’t you already proved that over the last few weeks?”

  I nod. He’s right.

  “And I’ve been thinking the same,” Sam continues. His face is serious as he says this, the green eyes dark with thought. “It’s time to move on and make a change from being here and being the person I used to be. �
��

  I stare at him. I’ve known Sam a long time and I can tell when he’s on the brink of saying something important.

  “I’ve handed in my notice,” he says. “I’m going to go back to college and study fitness and nutrition, make a real change. I’d like to go into teaching if I can.”

  “You’re leaving?” I echo.

  He nods. “This is my last day here.”

  I can’t speak. Normally I chat so much you could use my vocal cords to power the national grid, but now I’m robbed of language. Sam has resigned? He’s leaving the company? No wonder he’s been so preoccupied. But why didn’t he tell me? I thought we told each other everything?

  “So I guess that’s it,” Sam says when I don’t reply. “New jobs and new starts for both of us.”

  “I’ll miss you,” I whisper, dangerously close to tears. “You’re my best friend.”

  He looks away. “Yeah. Me too. Look El, I’m no good at this. Maybe I’ll see you tonight at the party? We can catch up then.”

  The party? I’d nearly forgotten about that.

  “I wanted you to have this now. It was meant to be a surprise for tonight. Open it when I’m gone.” He reaches into his rucksack and pulls out a parcel wrapped in white tissue paper and lovingly tied with yellow ribbons. He places it into my arms and smiles, a sad smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Happy Christmas, Ellie Summers. I hope all your Christmas wishes come true.”

  And then he’s gone, out into the fading light of the December afternoon. The lengthening shadows swallow him up and although I stare after him for what feels like ages, he has vanished.

  The parcel is in my arms, soft and rustling. Slowly realization starts to dawn. Is this what I think I it is? Slowly, and with shaking hands I unwrap it and when I see that I am right, I gasp, almost unable to believe it.

  In my hands, surrounded by gossamer soft tissue paper, is my beautiful green dress. I close my eyes and open them slowly, but it makes no difference. It’s still here.

  Sam has bought my dream dress for me.

  Chapter 11

  “Thanks so much! Keep the change and have a lovely Christmas!”

  My taxi pulls away, scrunching across the immaculate gravel drive that leads up to Pendleton Manor, and I huddle inside my furry wrap, drinking in the wonderful festive scene before me. Although I’ve arrived in a rather battered Ford Mondeo, driven by a garrulous cockney named Chas, rather than sweeping up in a stagecoach I’m still feeling deliciously Lizzie Bennet-like in my wonderful green velvet gown and with my hair all piled up on the crown of my head. Throw a beautiful mansion into the mix, a string quartet playing on the terrace and scores of beautifully dressed people and I could be on my way to the Netherfield Ball. All that’s missing is my Mr Darcy.

  With any luck he’s inside…

  Anyhow, the setting of Pendleton Manor is everything I’d imagined and more. It would be hard to picture a more perfect venue for a Christmas party. Small fir trees festooned in white lights line the steps leading up to vast front doors thrown open and spilling warm buttery light into the darkness. Music drifts on the night air and bubbles of chatter rise into the starry sky, words punctuated by the tinkle of glasses and peals of laughter. The wisteria clinging to the ancient walls has been threaded with yet more twinkling white fairy lights and fluttering red ribbons, while every mullioned window glows with light and promise. I don’t think I’ve seen a more romantic scene in my life. Dreams have got to come true here. If they don’t somebody should sue Mills&Boon.

  I shiver, partly because it’s bitterly cold, the air raw with the promise of snow, and partly with anticipation. Cinder Ellie shall go to the ball and with any luck she’ll find Prince Charming. I wish I wasn’t arriving on my own though. Sam and I had planned to travel up together which would have been loads of fun. We could have played my Mamma Mia CD, sung all the way and shared a packet of M&Ms. ‘Sod the diet,’ Sam would have said, ‘it’s Christmas’. I always eat the orange ones and he likes the green ones so normally while he drives I sort them all out and then we play this really funny game where you spit out the colours you hate. Seriously, it makes us hoot for ages.

  OK. Never mind, you probably have to be there to get it.

  Anyway, that’s just what we do, or should I say, what we used to do? If Sam’s leaving Broom! Broom! then I probably won’t see that much of him anymore, especially if he doesn’t want to train with me.

  This thought makes me really sad. As I climb the steps up to the house even the beautiful swathes of Christmas garland above the door and flickering candles don’t make me feel much better. I really hope that Sam’s inside and that we get a chance to chat. I’d hate him to leave without saying goodbye and making some arrangement to keep in touch. With any luck he’ll be in the hall chatting to colleagues and I can catch him there before Project Drake is go.

  I enter the Great Hall, my wrap taken by a helpful attendant and a glass of steaming mulled wine pressed into my hand, but there’s no sign of Sam anywhere. Vicky stares at me, looking unflatteringly shocked, while Rick and Nick whistle but Sam isn’t with them. Neither is he with Charlie at the bar or the reception crew, who’ve gathered by the enormous roaring fire. My heart plops into my gorgeous new glittery sandals. He’s got to be here somewhere. He’s bought me this beautiful dress, which has made me feel like a princess from the moment I stepped into it, and I really want to thank him. It was such a generous thing to do.

  I knock back my drink. It’s so strong my hair nearly stands on end. I’d have another but past experience tells me this probably isn’t the best idea. I glance around for Sam. Maybe he’s over by the tree? There’s a few of the Broom! Broom! mechanics by it…

  Mulled wine in hand, I wind my way through the press of colleagues, pausing briefly to chat or air kiss on my way to admire the tree and find Sam. And what a tree it is, placed proudly at the foot of the staircase, just as I’d imagined, and rising up to reach the minstrel’s gallery. Rainbow-hued lights have been woven through the thick branches, interspersed with jaunty crimson bows. High up, and hopefully not suffering from vertigo, an angel tops the tree and guards the piles of gifts that have been scattered artistically at the foot.

  This is exactly as I’d pictured it! The perfect romantic Christmas setting. Now all I need is Drake…

  “Ellie? Is that you?”

  As though I’ve conjured him with my thoughts, Drake has joined me at the foot of the tree. Ikea blue eyes wide with surprise, he is openly gaping at me. Those eyes. They get me every time. You could bottle my knees as an alternative to Evian.

  “Ellie!” he breathes. “You look amazing.”

  The words, ‘what happened’? linger in the air like the trail made by a sparkler on Guy Fawkes Night. In reality it’s a little bit insulting. So I’m a bit lighter and I’m wearing a beautiful dress but I’m still the same Ellie. The Ellie he thought would embarrass the high-end clients.

  Ellie, stop being so picky! Drake is stunned by how much you’ve changed. Isn’t this exactly what you wanted?

  “Thank you,” I smile. I’m just about to say that he looks great too when I spot Sam across the Great Hall. Crikey, he can really rock a tux. Whoever knew? Brad Pitt should be very afraid! No wonder bloody Vicky’s all over him like a chest bandage.

  Maybe I should rescue him?

  “That dress looks wonderful on you,” Drake is saying, his eyes taking a leisurely stroll over me. “It makes your hair look like fire.”

  I rip my attention back to him. “Oh! Thanks.”

  Now this is the point where I’m probably supposed to tell him that he looks great too. And he does look nice in his DJ, his dark hair falling over his face and his eyes as bright as the blue bulbs on the tree, but he’s put a few pounds on since I last saw him and the sharp angles of his face and the strong line of his jaw are blurred.

  “Congratulations on your promotion by the way,” Drake says warmly. “I always knew you were good. About time the powers that be s
aw it too. You’re an asset to any company.”

  I’m sorely tempted to ask him why, if this is the case, he didn’t stick up for me when Imogen made her nasty comments back when he’d just started at the city branch? But of course I already know the answer to this: however much he may or may not like me, Drake thought I was too fat. Never mind fat being a feminist issue; it’s clearly an employment one as well.

  “Thanks,” I say again. Wow, Ellie. Sparkling conversation, not. Think of something intelligent and interesting to say, for heaven’s sake! This is your chance to make a big impression with gorgeous Drake, the chance you’ve worked so hard for. Don’t waste missing out on all those cheeseburgers and doughnuts by going down a linguistic no through road! Why can’t I think what to say? Should I mention that I overheard him and Imogen?

  Fortunately, Drake doesn’t seem too worried about my lack of witty repartee. He’s far too busy telling me all about how amazing things are in Park Lane. Even as he leads me onto the dance floor he’s running through figures and accounts and asking me questions. He used to do this all the time when we worked together. I called it, in Charlie speak, ‘cascading knowledge’ whereas Sam would snort and say it looked more like ‘brain picking’ to him.

  As we dance, swaying to the strains of Frank Sinatra dreaming of a white Christmas, Drake pulls me into his arms just as I’ve imagined for so long. His hand caresses the small of my back, his fingers hot against my skin, and he rests his chin on the top of my head.

  “Ellie Summers,” he breathes into my hair, “you really are something else.”

  My attention’s certainly somewhere else; across the room to where Sam and Vicky are dancing to be precise. She’s hanging off his neck like a baby monkey. Ridiculous. And what’s he doing encouraging her? Sam thinks Vicky has the charisma of a lettuce, I know he does. Granted, she looks amazing in a tight red sparkly dress that shows of her skinny legs, but the skirt’s so short I can practically see what she ate for lunch.