The Society Game

by H. Lanfermeijer

  She looked back up to the sky to absorb the sunshine having triumphantly revealed her great mystery to happiness. She continued, ‘Come and live with me and Carebear in London. You’ll do well with me, I promise.’

  The cards were thrown and I accepted. I would be living with my two best friends, which included fun as part of the package. I didn’t have to worry anymore at piecing together a plausible future as this amazing lady sunbathing on the pier in front of a crowded beach of cheating men had crumpled all my anxieties away by handing me a new deck of cards to play with.

  The final days were spent in a daze of excitable planning about where we were to live; it transpired that Carolanne had access to a flat in Baker Street through her father. It was occasionally used by him during the week whilst he was working in London but he was taking early retirement and he was nested in his bungalow in Eastbourne with his third wife.

  My stomach no longer lurched with nerves but it churned with excitement. I was now eager to return to England and I promised myself I would start fresh with a diet and new clothes. I was confident a job would be easy to find as my perspective had altered and now a job was secondary to my lifelong needs. I didn’t want to work and the job I got would serve to finance the appropriate investment in me, so I was able to hunt for the appropriate boyfriend which, according to Tatiana, was easy to catch. This was my new job; to find the right man who would treat me to an exciting, fun and frivolous life, but for this position I would have to look the part.

  I needed to slim down considerably; my bottom was far too large, my legs were too cumbersome for their purpose of placing one foot in front of the other. If I stood with my legs hip distance apart they did not meet for the first time at the knees but instead moulded together like a mono-leg. I calculated I needed to lose at least half a stone to look as elegant and beautiful as Tatiana and Carolanne. The revenge attack on my pear-shaped body started in earnest and it would continue for the rest of my life.

  James was opposed to me losing any weight, claiming that I was already too slim. I ignored his gentle pleas especially as I felt strong at the control over my body shape by just denying it food. It proved to be a cheaper option as I did not need to buy any groceries but unfortunately, this was the only immediate benefit of only eating toast in the morning and then water throughout the day with a reward of toast in the evening.

  The immediate disadvantage to my radical plan was obviously hunger. However, starvation is beyond hunger – it’s a constant pain. At the start, my brain screamed at me to prescribe food; any food. It didn’t matter what. I would obsessively watch others eating, as if their chicken sandwich with juicy tomatoes and lettuce all dripping in mayonnaise would telepathically arrive in my mouth. I found myself involuntarily licking my lips then actually chewing my tongue as I watched a sugary doughnut being eaten. Each night I would be uncomfortable as I lay on my side trying to think about anything other than food. I would wake from a disturbed night’s sleep excited at the thought of my toast or one bowl of cereal that I allowed myself in the morning. As the days passed I progressed from just pain to feeling tired to then owning a constant state of lethargy and apathy to everything going on around me. Eventually I was rewarded from the sense of achievement each day at overcoming cravings and controlling my body and watching my casket slim down to the shape I wanted.

  I never quite reached the haven of my perceived ideal shape but I liked seeing my clothes become baggy and no longer fit me anywhere. This meant I could slip into the type of clothes that flattered Tatiana whose legs were stolen from a giraffe; they did not meet at any point from groin to toes.

  I also wanted to be a reflection of the models in the magazines and I wanted to believe that I had stumbled across the secret to happiness as all I needed to be was slender and beautiful and my life would effortlessly fall into a glamorous world where others admired me. I would be that butterfly emerging from the chrysalis of an awkward childhood, or I could become the Barbie doll I used to play with as a twelve year old instead of the chubby baby doll girl I initially cuddled. Surely, life would be simpler, easier and happier if I was thinner, much thinner?

  My friends were supportive of me, especially Tatiana. She encouraged me to skip meals and continually warned me of the calorie content of foods. She helped me to ignore hunger pangs by diversion tactics, such as cleaning my teeth or deliberately starting a conversation with anyone around. She also taught me phrases to live by such as; ‘will a second bite taste any better than the first?’ or ‘chew food thirty times before swallowing’. I can’t say it was particularly helpful in stopping my brain from obsessing about food but it bought me time so that I escaped the temptation of picking up a biscuit that was calling me, shouting my name and telling me it was just 54 calories so what harm would eating it be? Every time I resisted was like a victory for my future happiness, but when I ate the illegal food it felt like a deep defeat and I loathed myself and what I was and what I could potentially become if I don’t control my life by controlling my appetite: a pathetic overweight girl living in her childhood home, who no one could possibly like.

  On the penultimate day in Australia I was approaching my goal of existing on 500 calories a day. I knew that my extreme lethargy was due to my lack of food but I wasn’t going to abandon the dreams of the stunning clothes I would be able to wear or having legs that could not touch each other. I could see the trousers I would wear to show off my figure, with high heels that elongated my legs even further. I would appear to glide wherever I went and I would be accompanied by envious looks and songs of ‘Ooh, isn’t she gorgeous!’

  ‘You look proper sick,’ said James. He had sneaked up from behind and sat down on the beach beside me. The sun was starting to set and the air turned an orange colour, which discoloured all the anchored boats touching one another like clinking wine glasses.

  ‘I’m okay, just a bit under the weather at the moment.’

  I kept staring ahead at the people who had arrived to start their evening on board their yachts,

  ‘I haven’t seen you in ages. Are you avoiding me? I’m getting worried about you.’ He playfully nudged my elbow.

  ‘C’mon, what’s up? You’re not yourself,’ he persisted.

  ‘I said I was fine, so why are you asking me again? I’m just a bit tired that’s all,’ I spat.

  I kept staring ahead at the people who were now on the deck of their boat and opening their bags to reveal bottles of wine and long French sticks which would, most likely, be eaten with soft brie or pâté and cucumber. My mouth started to water and I imagined they must be wealthy and happy people because their life was easy and fulfilling thanks to their bank balance that afforded the boat the pretty women could party in.

  ‘You’re not fine Ol, you’re miserable! Please look at me Olive, not them, and tell us what the matter is.’

  The women were now laughing with the men who had accompanied them on board; they were undoubtedly, rich and successful.

  ‘Olive, what is wrong with you?’

  ‘What do you want me to say James? I tell you I’m well and still you have a go at me! I’m just a little tired.’

  ‘Try eating then and maybe you won’t be so tired!’

  I knew I was being irrational but his last comment dragged out tears; tears I didn’t want or need and tears I was embarrassed by and yet, there they were.

  ‘Olive, you can tell me anything. Please, just talk to me.’

  It was tempting; I knew it would be therapeutic like rubbing cooling cream on a burning rash.

  ‘Don’t you want to be like those people on the boat? James, I go soon and I have nothing, nothing to go home to,’ I sobbed.

  In the dusk I noticed that James’ skin was clear of spots and the setting sun shaded his face in parts to make him look rugged and almost handsome. I wanted a warm, gentle hug but instead I looked back at the bobbing boats.

  ‘Look at t
hem, they are clearly having fun,’ I continued. ‘The woman in the red, sheer, tight top, she’s stunning, and the blonde woman, you can tell she’s rich just by looking at that dress; that’s a dress that I wouldn’t be able to find at the local market; no, that is an expensive dress. And look how great their night is going to be on that boat, eating and drinking and soaking up their evening to its max. I doubt they’re looking my way wishing they were me!’

  ‘Well they should, Olive. You’re beautiful and you’ll have a rich life; maybe not one filled with boats and champagne and the like, but a happy one if you let it.’

  ‘No, James, it’s not fair, it’s not fair! I want what they have, I want to be as beautiful as the woman in red and I want to be drinking champagne on a boat.’

  Envy harpooned its way towards me from the yacht, yet I couldn’t look away from them to James.

  ‘Jeez, Olive, you’re better than any of those hags especially the one in red. Seriously Ol, when I look at her I just want to ask if she’d like a sandwich, chocolate, anything – just eat woman, you look proper skinny!’

  James stroked my hand and then let it rest between his.

  ‘You don’t need any boat, Olive, and you don’t need to lose weight. Olive, you can look at them and think ‘good for them’, but then you need to remember you’re naturally beautiful, and when you laugh it’s infectious. You’re intelligent and kind. You’ve got it all.’

  ‘I may not need a boat or champagne but I want them,’ I whispered.

  ‘Please just be you Ol, cos you’re who I love.’

  James’ words stung me and I swung round to stare at him, so he continued.

  ‘I love you Olive. You’re not the woman on the boat but you’re the woman who travelled around Oz with me, laughed at my crap jokes, went diving with me in between feeding the fishes, made me laugh until my sides split. You know I love you and I don’t know how I’m going to cope with my last two months here without you beside me. I know I’ll just be counting away my days until I can get on a flight to be close to you.’

  I stared at him wishing I knew how to migrate this conversation back to talking about me wanting champagne with handsome men.

  ‘I love you Olive, if you’ll have me?’

  Jason, if there’s a moment in our lives that we could return to and change anyway we liked then that single moment, sitting on the beach under a warm sky surrounded by laughing people and a gentle breeze that stroked my hair across my face, would be one of the moments I would run back to – just then, just after James confessed he loved me. Once there, I would slap myself as hard as I could or I would shake myself until my shaking head made me dizzy. Then I would sit myself down again and tell me to stay quiet, say nothing, just be.

  Unfortunately, a moment is only lent to us, for us to either enjoy or for us to ruin like muddy snow.

  ‘Ah,’ I snarled at James. ‘I’m not interested in you, I never will be! I told you that I’m not interested, I told you that from the beginning and that was one of the conditions of our friendship, why destroy it all?’

  ‘Okay, you’ve made your point.’ He looked away from me.

  At least I should have stopped there, when James dropped my hand and faced forward, his smile gone and his head bowed. I should have, but I didn’t.

  ‘Who do you think you are?’ I continued. ‘I don’t fancy you, I never will and even if I did, we have nothing in common – I want a life of champagne and yachts and you want to be a carpenter, brewing beer on the side.’

  ‘It’s a great ambition and I’m good at it,’ he said,

  ‘So what?! I’m not going to waste my life as a carpenter’s assistant or, God forbid, a carpenter’s wife – why would you even think that?!’

  ‘Ol, where’ve you gone? Since getting back to Sydney you’ve changed. You’re two women; one perfect, who I think of all the friggin’ time. Literally no other thought gets in my head; I forget where my hostel is when I’m walking home cos you’re stuck there rubbing out my directions. I don’t sleep, I don’t eat.

  ‘And then there’s the woman, sitting here on the sand. Jealous of a skinny, posh bird just cos she’s sitting on a yacht. The Ol I love wouldn’t care, or so I thought; she also wouldn’t be so cruel. Thanks, I feel a proper wazzock because I actually thought you could love me back.’

  ‘Seriously? Not a hope!’ I retaliated with a cruel snigger.

  ‘You know what, Olivia, this morning I couldn’t imagine a day without you, but I see you can’t imagine a day with me in it.’

  At that point James got up and started to walk away. After a few steps he turned back.

  ‘Ever since you got here you’ve done nothing but hate yourself. You’re this timid mouse who wouldn’t dare say boo to your mistress Tatiana. Grow some, Olivia, and when you have, look me up. Maybe we can be friends again. Until then, enjoy your life. I’m done.’

  I watched his strong lanky body be whisked away by his long lanky legs and I sat rigid to the sand. I can still see him, even today, walking away from me. I still yearn for him to turn around, just once more to look at me, as maybe I would have shaken my head and rebuked my thoughts and run after my friend. Instead I sat sobbing whilst woefully watching the bobbing boats. I had forgotten I was hungry but its effect was still there as I was too listless to attempt moving from my position.

  It was my last night in Australia and it was time to say goodbye to this section of my life and to start afresh with Tatiana and Carolanne. Perhaps if James had returned then, maybe, he would have steered me away from the next section but he continued walking and he didn’t look back.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Jason

  I visited my mum the following weekend for a Sunday roast. I was grateful as my work schedule doesn’t permit me to keep track of a government recommended high nutritional diet; I’m either grabbing a full fat sandwich from some dubious middle eastern deli shop or I’m entertaining clients with cocktails washed down with beer before grabbing a burger at 11pm from Waterloo station.

  I can hear the rumble of my stomach straining at the sides and threatening to bulge to a thirty-something paunch as soon as it deems I’ve reached that apathetic life stage where I’m too tired and lazy to do anything about losing weight. That apathy is closer than I’d like to admit as Saturday football has given way to catching up on emails whilst nursing a hangover.

  Mum had cooked lamb followed by jam sponge with custard. Colin, my step-dad, or just Dad, was asking about work; he got the hint that it was a conversation I didn’t want, from my monosyllabic answers, so he changed the subject to the fact he’s planted the runner beans and as soon as they’re ready he’ll come by and re-plant them in my garden. I reminded him that last year’s crop died as I didn’t, and still don’t, have the time to water them, but he was adamant as they’re a hardy plant and apparently they were my favourite vegetable when I was a child.

  I sat next to Dad whose round stomach was embraced many years ago when he abandoned his love of playing cricket. He’s known me since I was six years old. I remember sitting on the beach, on any one of our summer holidays as a child, teasing him with Mum about the fact that his stomach looked like he was heavily pregnant. He would join in – claiming he was nursing a beer baby that any Englishman would be proud of.

  My dad is a great bloke with a square face and a thick line of hair around the back of his head, as if his head had grown a hedge to keep his neck warm. He’s a retired history teacher and now spends most of his time content and happy in the garden or at the local history club.

  ‘So, what was the outcome of your recent appraisal?’ he began. ‘Did you remind them you are not a slave and everyone deserves time away from work and when you joined you only wanted to work there – you hadn’t planned on moving in!’ Dad chuckled and to my disappointment he continued, ‘You told me there are showers there so why not go the full hog and install a lounge,
kitchen and bedroom?’

  ‘There are showers as people cycle in or go to the gym during their lunch hour. There is a kitchen and there is a lounge but no Dad, ha ha, there’s no bedroom. My appraisal was last month and I mentioned it to mum but to summarise yet again, I’m doing fine but promotion could not be discussed as there is an announcement soon by the company so, yada yada yada – who knows?! But then who ever knows?’

  Before Dad or Mum could prolong the career talk about a career they knew nothing about, I pounced in.

  ‘What was Aunt Olive like when she came back from Oz?’

  Dad shook his head, ‘Didn’t know her then, er, Janet?’ He looked at Mum, placed half a roast potato in his mouth and settled back for a story.

  ‘You missed nothing Colin! She came back slimmer, moody and moved in to a flat in London with a very skinny and equally moody woman. We called her Pariah.’ Mum smiled to herself. ‘Irritating woman who I think has muttered the total of five words to me in all the time I’ve known her.’

  Mum paused to pour more gravy over her dinner and nodded as she did this. ‘Yes, strange woman but Olive was still my sister and I endured Pariah to be with her. You won’t remember her Jay as you were just a toddler but Australia had definitely changed your aunty. She had grown but shrunk in size. Travelling should influence a person in positive ways but instead she remained a tempestuous teenager who took her frustrations out on me.

  ‘Apparently, life was inadequate back at your nana’s house so she needed to break away and spread her wings.’

  Mum’s voice raised to a dramatic high and her arms raised above her head as if addressing an operatic audience.

  ‘To grab all that life had on offer and to conquer her greatest dreams and be all that she could be!’ Her arms dropped. ‘So, she left home, got a job in Boots and shared a horrible little flat above a carpet shop.’ Mum huffed her contempt.