The Desperate Bride’s Diet Club

by Alison Sherlock

  But Violet also knew she wouldn’t bring up the subject of money. She had always sought to please everyone and hated confrontations. So it was best to let it slide. Doves and all.

  She sighed as he rang off and stared once more at the vending machine.

  ‘That wasn’t a customer phone call, was it?’

  Violet spun round and came face to face with Mark.

  ‘No.’

  But Mark was waiting for her to speak, she realised.

  ‘It was just my fiancé.’

  ‘Ah,’ he nodded. ‘How are the wedding plans?’

  Violet blew out a sigh. ‘Complicated.’

  ‘As long as the food is excellent, that’s all that matters.’ He gave her a warm smile. ‘Italian weddings are all about the food. It’s the best way of celebrating with family and friends. And everybody normally eats outside. Weather permitting, of course.’

  Violet bit her lip. ‘What do the guests eat?’

  He shrugged. ‘We start with antipasto. You know, olives, salami, prosciutto, stuffed mushrooms and so on. Then on to the pasta, salads, soups, meats, fruits and the dessert, of course.’

  Violet’s mouth gaped open.

  ‘Sometimes there are as many as twelve different courses.’ He grinned at her. ‘Nobody goes home hungry from an Italian wedding.’

  ‘Wow,’ sighed Violet.

  It sounded fantastic. She could just imagine having a relaxed day full of food, friends and sunshine. Not that she had too many friends, apart from her weight-loss club. But it certainly sounded better than a dreary country club with Sebastian’s parents’ snooty friends.

  ‘Is that for me?’ asked Mark, pointing at the vending machine.

  ‘Er, no,’ she said, picking up the plastic cup. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Thank God,’ he said, peering into the synthetic froth. ‘No Italian has a cappuccino after ten o’clock in the morning.’

  ‘Why not?’

  He thought for a minute. ‘It’s a breakfast drink. It would be like having cereal for lunch.’

  Violet had briefly considered the cereal diet a while back but said nothing.

  ‘Next time we’re in Nonna’s deli, remind me to get you a ristretto. Now that’s proper caffeine.’

  And he wandered out again.

  Next time? She shook her head and pressed the button for the next coffee.

  But Violet was still thinking about Mark’s words as she headed out for a breath of fresh air at lunchtime. Not that she wanted to go back to the delicatessen and bump into him again. Hell, no. But she needed some olive oil for a recipe and that was probably the best place to get it.

  Olive oil was hideously high in fat and calories but the salad recipe required just a tiny drizzle. Violet figured that if she was only allowed a small amount, she had better make it count.

  So she found herself back at Gino’s, inhaling the intoxicating scent of Italian food. The queue was huge again. But as she waited patiently in line, Violet felt a touch on her arm. She looked round to find Nonna standing next to her.

  ‘Ciao,’ said Nonna, her smile revealing a few missing teeth.

  ‘Hi,’ said Violet.

  To her embarrassment, she was dragged out of the queue by the little old lady and was taken to the end of the food counter.

  Nonna rattled off a question in Italian which Violet translated, or hoped, to be a query of her order.

  ‘Olive oil,’ said Violet, very slowly.

  Nonna led her by the hand to a large shelf unit nearby which had hundreds of bottles fighting for space on the wood. She brought down a bottle and handed it over. Violet stared at the label. ‘Olio di oliva’, it read.

  Nonna made a hissing noise and then mimed a frying action with her hand before giving her the thumbs up.

  ‘Cooking?’ guessed Violet.

  A nod was given in reply.

  Nonna then brought down a different bottle from the shelf. The label read ‘Olio extra vergine di oliva’. Ah, the extra virgin olive oil. This was the stuff Violet had read about in Isabella’s book.

  Nonna took Violet over to the counter and pointed at the salads. Another thumbs up. Then she took her into the kitchen and pointed at the stove before shaking her head. OK. Violet understood. The extra virgin olive oil was no good for cooking. Just for salads.

  Violet nodded her understanding and said thank you.

  Nonna patted her hand and smiled. She was really very sweet. Violet wondered if Mark knew how lucky he was to have a family as warm and friendly as this.

  Having paid for her goods, and received an unexpected kiss on both cheeks from Nonna, Violet headed back to the office with her goodies. With her mind on all things Italian, she made a brief detour into a bookshop and bought some more cookbooks to flick through.

  At home, Violet studied one of the low-fat cookbooks she had bought. Quite a few of the recipes were Italian, such as spaghetti bolognese. Probably not quite as authentic as Nonna would have liked but it had to be better than a ready meal.

  So the following evening, Violet cooked her fiancé the spaghetti bolognese.

  ‘This is all right,’ he told her, between mouthfuls.

  She smiled and thought how wonderful that Sebastian couldn’t tell that it was made with extra lean mince and that both the beef and the onions had been dry fried. The sauce was also low in fat. OK so she’d added a splash of red wine, but the herbs and stock cubes had also enriched the sauce.

  ‘I don’t know why you’ve been bothering with all that healthy stuff you’ve been trying to force feed me,’ said Sebastian after finishing his plate. ‘This is much more like it.’

  Violet should have been pleased that he couldn’t tell the difference but his words still bothered her.

  ‘Don’t you want me to lose weight?’ she asked.

  ‘What’s the point?’ he said. ‘It doesn’t matter to me. And if you’re going to put it all back on again then we might as well save ourselves the bother.’

  Violet took a deep intake of breath. Did he really think she was going to fail? But then, did she really believe she would succeed in losing all her extra weight?

  Sebastian was so different to the friends she had made from the weight-loss club. She had never thought about them as friends until Kathy’s disintegration at the last meeting but it was true. Staying positive for each other was what kept her going. Hopefully all the way to her target of ten stone.

  Violet took the plates into the kitchen, thinking how much easier it would be if Sebastian was also positive about her weight loss. Positive like Mark, for instance. He never seemed to question her capability, either at work or regarding her diet. Why couldn’t her own fiancé feel the same way?

  They were quite different, Mark and Sebastian. Certainly in looks. Mark was dark where Sebastian was blond. Mark was tall, Sebastian short. Mark was good-looking whereas Sebastian was perhaps not quite so handsome.

  Violet frowned. What did it matter if Mark was better looking? Sebastian had always been her dream man, the one she wanted to share the rest of her life with.

  Besides, it was personality that counted. Mark oozed charm but he was Italian! Weren’t all Italian men professional charmers? Yes, he was also kind and funny. Sometimes a little too frank in conversations but at least it encouraged her to be honest with him in return.

  Sebastian had other gifts, that was all. It wasn’t his fault he had been smothered by his mum when he had been growing up. It wasn’t his fault that his sister had died so young and left his parents devastated. All that was bound to have an effect and make him perhaps a little immature at times.

  She shook her head as she tidied up the kitchen. She didn’t know why she was trying to justify her love for Sebastian. After all, he had asked her to marry him! She glanced at her emerald engagement ring and tried to forget about Nonna’s warning. It was just an old wives’ tale.

  Sebastian came into the kitchen. ‘What’s for pudding? The football’s on in a minute.’

  ‘I’ll just get
it,’ said Violet, reaching into the freezer for the lemon sorbet she had made the previous evening. Sebastian could always cover his with chocolate sauce if he wanted.

  She glanced at a nearby stack of papers on the counter. Hopefully Sebastian wouldn’t find Italian for Beginners hidden underneath.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  MAGGIE HAD BADGERED Kathy about the fitness class until she finally conceded defeat. So now she sat in the car, waiting for Maggie to arrive.

  Apparently it was a fitness class run by some army commandos or something. Maggie had told her that Lucy had said a blunt no way but that she would feel better with company. Out of the goodness of her heart, Kathy felt unable to say no.

  Kathy felt better in herself but was still embarrassed about her collapse in front of the others earlier that week. Revealing her inner misery had been the worst moment. But then, she realised, everyone else had revealed their lowest points too. Perhaps she needed to get everything off her chest to feel better and move on.

  It was eight o’clock in the evening on a Thursday night in high summer. The weather should have been glorious but the heatwave had broken and it had been raining nonstop for twenty-four hours.

  It was getting later and later and Kathy was beginning to hope that Maggie had forgotten all about their meeting. But no such luck. At that moment, Maggie arrived on the other side of the car park.

  Her heart sinking, Kathy switched the engine off and got out.

  ‘Nice weather for it!’ said Kathy brightly.

  Maggie tried to smile. ‘I’m a bit nervous.’

  Kathy let her face drop. ‘Thank God! So am I. But think of all those calories we’re going to burn off.’

  They walked across the car park together.

  ‘How are you?’ asked Maggie.

  Kathy nodded. ‘A little better, thanks.’

  She just wasn’t sure how long that good feeling was going to last.

  They joined a large group of people who had gathered on the edge of the park. Kathy could see them all bouncing around, like a litter of overexcited puppies.

  ‘Welcome!’ boomed a very muscular man in army combats. ‘I’m Sergeant Steve Coldfield but you can call me Sarge.’

  Maggie and Kathy gave a nervous giggle.

  ‘That’s Sergeant Roger Cartwright.’ Another Action Man nodded his greeting. ‘Right. Help yourself to a bib. Blue if you’re a beginner. Red if you’re fit. And green if you’re super-fit.’

  There was a huge pile of blue bibs, left untouched by the rest of the class. The majority were wearing green bibs, with some red bibs dotted about. Maggie and Kathy grabbed a blue bib each. Kathy found it barely fitted across her chest and noticed Maggie hadn’t been able to use the velcro at the sides either.

  It reminded Kathy of all those hideous games lessons at school where she was the last one to be chosen by the team captains.

  ‘So?’ said Sarge, coming to stand next to them. ‘You want to get fit? Become more active?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ said Maggie, lying through her teeth.

  Kathy stayed quiet. The only active thing about her was her imagination.

  ‘Come on, Blue Fourteen. Let’s see some enthusiasm!’ he barked.

  Kathy looked around and then realised he was talking to her. Her bib had a large fourteen painted on it. She was no longer a name. Just a number.

  ‘How about it, Blue Fourteen?’

  Kathy gave him a small thumbs up, unable to speak for terror.

  ‘Right!’ he boomed, now addressing the rest of the class. ‘We’ll start with a gentle jog over to the other side of the park as a warm-up. Let’s go!’

  The rest of the class began to trot across the grass. Maggie and Kathy exchanged a look of sheer fright. Jogging? Oh no.

  As soon as she began to move, Kathy remembered that she should have invested in a sports bra. Her boobs were nearly hitting her in the face. But at least that took her mind off the pain in her legs, which had never run anywhere since she was a child. She found herself slipping and sliding on the mud.

  And this was a warm-up? Her cheeks were already bright pink, her pulse thumping hard and loud. Next to her, Maggie was also panting but didn’t look too miserable about it. The class had disappeared over the horizon, leaving just them and Sergeant Roger.

  ‘Come on!’ he shouted at them. ‘Pick your feet up.’

  Kathy was wheezing and gasping for air.

  ‘Make the effort! Get moving!’ he screamed.

  Kathy found she was so anxious to get away from him that they made it over the hill to where the main group had gathered. As they got nearer, Kathy realised that the rest of the group were springing up and down in star jumps.

  ‘Glad you could finally make it,’ boomed Sarge. ‘Give me twenty press-ups.’

  Maggie and Kathy glanced at each other before gingerly getting down. Kathy’s hands squelched in the mud as she laid them flat on the grass. She copied Maggie, who was on all fours and bending her face towards the ground.

  ‘All the way down, Blue Fourteen,’ said Sarge, pushing on the back of Kathy’s head until her nose went into the mud.

  ‘That’s one! Nineteen to go!’

  Kathy inhaled some mud up her nostril and gagged. But Sarge wouldn’t let her get up or even pause for a second. She had to carry on until she had completed all twenty push-ups.

  By now, everyone else had swapped to sit-ups. And that was the next instruction to Kathy and Maggie. Lying down, her back freezing on the cold ground, Kathy wondered if she would have to throw away her clothes once she got home.

  Each time, she struggled to sit up, her stomach twinged in agony. As did her back. And her neck.

  By the time Kathy had finished and had stood up, the sergeant was shouting once more.

  ‘Right! Go and touch five trees and then return here. Now!’

  Everyone sprinted off at high speed except Maggie and Kathy.

  ‘You didn’t start quick enough for my liking,’ roared Sarge at them. ‘Give me ten squats.’

  Maggie and Kathy looked at each other not knowing what he meant. So Sarge showed them and made it look so easy. He was bouncing around like Tigger on speed. Kathy knew it wouldn’t be painless and was proved right. Her whole body was jiggling and her thighs were burning in agony.

  Kathy just wanted to die. Please don’t let me live through another forty-five minutes of this, she prayed.

  But the horror carried on. Once the rest of the class had rejoined them and completed a couple of dozen star jumps, he shouted at them to get going.

  ‘Sprint!’ he roared at everyone, causing a dogwalker nearby to jump out of her skin. And the dog to start barking at the group.

  Kathy tried to sprint. Honestly she did. But she was beginning to feel nauseous from the exercise.

  ‘It’s too much,’ she croaked, staggering to a halt. She clutched her pounding heart, fearful it would explode.

  ‘Too much?’ Sarge bellowed at her. ‘I did fourteen weeks in Afghanistan. Get moving!’

  Kathy lurched off once more, in pursuit of the class. Even Maggie seemed to be faster than she was. As usual, Kathy was the last. She was the most unfit, she told herself. The slowest. The most useless.

  The sergeant was cruel, taking full advantage of the ghastly weather. He got the group to crawl around on their stomachs like snakes. The mud was seeping into every pore, into every nook and cranny. There was a game of tag where Kathy couldn’t even catch anyone. There were more press-ups, more jumping, more squats.

  By the end of it, the tears were streaming down Kathy’s cheeks. But nobody noticed them with the rain pouring down. She didn’t even have the energy to wipe them away.

  ‘Give me ten more press-ups,’ shouted the sergeant.

  Everyone squatted down once more. Kathy dropped to her knees, her legs unable to hold her any longer. She put her hands on the ground and then sort of stayed there. She felt so ill, so nauseous.

  And then the sergeant pushed her face into the mud once
more. Except it wasn’t just mud. There was a different smell. The dogs had been there too.

  Kathy got up, clutching her hand to her mouth. She staggered over behind a tree and retched and retched. At least it replaced some of the mud on her trainers. ‘You all right?’ puffed Maggie, coming to join her.

  Kathy shook her head, still recovering.

  ‘That’s it,’ screamed the sergeant. ‘Session over. Get out of here.’

  The fit, skinny people were looking muddy as well, but they were all on their exercise high, bouncing along with glossy skin and skinny bones.

  Maggie and Kathy looked at each other, at the mud plastered into their hair. At the bright red cheeks, the sopping-wet clothes. The sheer mess of each other.

  And then they laughed and laughed until they slid down into the mud, their legs unable to hold them up any longer.

  Eventually, they staggered over to Kathy’s car. Kathy opened up the door and looked down.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ she said. ‘My seats are going to be ruined.’

  And they began to laugh once more.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  VIOLET HAD DECIDED not to share her good news with Sebastian about losing a stone in weight. He was still a bit funny about the whole weight-loss thing and it was easier to keep quiet rather than rock the boat.

  Besides, it probably wasn’t noticeable. She was wearing the same clothes, though they were a little baggier, especially her trousers. The tops had always been baggy so they still hid the rolls of fat underneath.

  But she caught Wendy looking at her later that week.

  ‘You OK?’ she asked.

  Violet nodded. ‘Fine, thanks. Why?’

  ‘You haven’t caught that bug I had, have you? You look tired.’

  Julie peered from around her computer screen. ‘She doesn’t look tired.’

  Wendy put her head to one side. ‘Well, something’s different.’

  ‘Cheekbones,’ said Julie suddenly. ‘You’ve lost weight.’

  They both looked at Violet, waiting for an answer. So she gave them a little nod to let them know they were right.

  ‘How much?’

  ‘A stone,’ said Violet, somewhat embarrassed at the attention.