Sweet Temptation

by Lucy Diamond

  Shelley was probably jealous, I decided, because she was still swinging from one date to the next, never staying with one bloke for more than a few months, always getting swoony crushes on a new man. And that sort of thing was all very well in your early twenties, but now that she was knocking on thirty … really, she should be thinking about settling down, like me.

  Still, I couldn’t shake off the nagging feeling that Shelley and the others were having a lot more fun than me. But then again, fun wasn’t everything, was it?

  Charlie was gone all evening, and when he came back he was drunk and red-faced, and his eyes were cold.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said timidly as he walked into the living room. I’d been curled up on the sofa watching a Jennifer Aniston romcom, trying not to think about the emergency biscuits. Yes, all right, so I’d actually eaten a few, but I reckoned having your fiancé walk out on you was definitely an emergency. At least I hadn’t gone out to buy chocolate. I was proud of myself for that. And I’d managed to stop after four biscuits. That was pretty heroic too, in my opinion.

  He leaned against the radiator and stared at me, really stared, like he hated me. ‘Who is he, then?’ he said at last.

  I blinked, not sure what he meant. For a split second I thought he was asking about the smooth-faced actor in the film I’d been watching, but I managed not to blurt out anything stupid. ‘I … What do you mean?’ I asked carefully.

  He drummed his fingers against the radiator, still staring at me. ‘I said, Who. Is. He?’ he repeated. ‘This bloke you want to meet tomorrow.’

  I was confused by his belligerence, and starting to feel frightened too. ‘There isn’t any bloke,’ I stammered. ‘It’s Phoebe from work. Just her and some girlfriends. No blokes.’

  ‘Right,’ he said. The drumming stopped, and Jennifer Aniston giggled in the background.

  I swallowed. ‘Charlie … I … I swear there isn’t any bloke. The only bloke I want is you.’

  He came towards me then, and I held my breath, suddenly scared that he was going to clench a fist and hit me. But he sat down on the sofa, and his head drooped as if the fight had gone out of him.

  ‘I’ve been doing my nut,’ he said. ‘I just got it into my brain you were seeing someone else, that’s all. I couldn’t bear that.’

  I bit my lip. ‘I’m not seeing anyone else,’ I said quietly. ‘I’m marrying you. I love you.’

  He turned his head and looked at me, his eyes bloodshot and gritty-looking. ‘Good,’ he said.

  He reached out and grabbed my breast, watching my face. He was squeezing me too tight and I flinched, wanting to cry out with pain. But then he was kissing me hard, his mouth stubbly and rough against mine, and he was pushing me back against the sofa, one hand up between my legs. ‘Good,’ he muttered again in my ear as he yanked at my knickers. I could smell the alcohol on his breath. ‘Because if I ever find out you’re cheating on me, I’ll kill you and him.’

  I shut my eyes as he forced his way in, and I tried to kiss him back. ‘I’m sorry,’ I whispered again and again. ‘I’m sorry.’

  The next day was Saturday, and I had work. Usually I loved Saturdays – they were our busiest day in the salon and time always sped by – but when the alarm went off that morning, I felt groggy from sleeping badly all night and wished I could have another few hours to doze. I turned the alarm off quickly and crept out of bed, worried that Charlie would want sex again. I was really sore inside and it was painful going to the loo. I stared at my reflection, pushing my hair out of my eyes. My skin was grey and creased-looking, and my face looked fatter than ever after those biscuits last night. No wonder Charlie had been so angry with me. I was a let-down to him, I knew it.

  I showered, scrubbing violently at my body with the loofah, half wishing I could scrub myself away, make myself disappear altogether. Then I gulped down a coffee and a banana for breakfast. It wasn’t very much and my stomach felt miserably empty as I left the house, but I didn’t deserve any more. I’d been fat and disgusting for too long. I had to pull myself together. I had to get tough with myself.

  Clients came and went in a blur. I had a good mix of regulars who I’d known for a few years now, as well as the occasional treaters, in to get their eyebrows done before a big night out, or to use up a pampering voucher someone had bought them. I felt slightly detached from them all day, not quite able to engage in proper conversation with anyone or care very much when they poured out their woes to me.

  ‘Is everything all right, Jess?’ asked Anna, one of my favourite clients. She was in her fifties, I guessed, but still in wonderful nick – she had the most beautiful skin for a lady of her age, with no hint of turkey neck whatsoever. She’d come in for a massage, and usually we chatted away for the whole session, but this time I hadn’t managed to keep the conversation flowing as I usually did. ‘You’re very quiet today.’

  I paused, my hands working away at her left shoulder. ‘I’m fine,’ I said unconvincingly. Then, wanting to divert the subject away from me, added, ‘But how about you? Your back’s full of knots, you know. Have you been worrying about something?’

  ‘Oh, life, death and taxes, just the usual,’ she said lightly. ‘And men, of course.’

  ‘Of course,’ I added, trying not to sound too glum about it.

  I avoided Phoebe all day, wanting to put off telling her I couldn’t go out for a drink that night for as long as possible. But then, on my afternoon break, I saw her, all bright-eyed and bubbly, and knew I had to get it over with.

  ‘Happy birthday,’ I said, giving her a card and a pretty bracelet I’d bought the day before. ‘Pheebs, I’m really sorry but I don’t think I can make it tonight after all. I’m not feeling too good.’ It wasn’t actually an out-and-out lie, as I did feel pretty grim, but even so, the words were hard to say.

  ‘Oh, mate, that’s a shame,’ Phoebe replied. ‘You do look a bit under the weather. Well, if you start feeling better and change your mind, we’ll be in the Star Bar from about eight, all right? Just turn up if you want to. You’ve got my mobile number, haven’t you?’

  I nodded. ‘Will do,’ I said.

  Phoebe opened the present and her eyes lit up. ‘Wow! Jess, that’s gorgeous!’ she said, draping the bracelet over her wrist to admire it. She gave me a hug. ‘You’re such a honey – I love it. Thank you!’

  I really like giving people presents, but today I could feel myself welling up at her nice words and had to pretend I needed to nip out to Boots to buy something just to escape. What was wrong with me? I was all over the place, and the argument with Charlie kept spinning around in my mind. I hoped he’d be in a better mood today. Maybe I could do something to cheer him up?

  The perfect thing popped into my head as I was on my way out of the complex, and I dialled his number. ‘Hiya,’ I said when he answered. ‘I was thinking maybe I could cook us something nice tonight – we could stay in and have a romantic dinner.’

  ‘I’m going out,’ he said.

  My optimism was punctured, just like that. ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Well … Maybe I could come along too?’

  ‘Lads’ night,’ he said. I could hear the telly on in the background.

  ‘Oh, right,’ I said.

  ‘What do you mean by that, “Oh, right”?’ he asked. ‘Have you got a problem with it?’

  ‘No,’ I said, feeling tearful again. I didn’t know why he kept getting so aggressive with me at the slightest thing. ‘I didn’t mean anything, I was just—’

  ‘Only you sounded a bit narky, like you don’t want me to go out or something,’ he went on. ‘When it’s none of your business what I do, all right?’

  I started to cry then, and bent over the phone. ‘I didn’t mean it like that, Charlie,’ I said, tears running through my make-up. ‘Oh, don’t! I’m sorry! Please don’t be cross with me again.’

  But he’d already hung up. I walked blindly out of the building, shaking and crying. People were looking at me but I didn’t care. He was going to leave me
for someone else, I knew it. I just knew it.

  Chapter Seven

  Jam Tart

  Lauren

  ‘And so how have we all got on this week? Any confessions to make? Any triumphs to report?’

  It was Monday evening and I was back at FatBusters, much to my surprise. To be quite frank, I’d barely thought about dieting or calories the whole week and it had taken me a few minutes to decipher the code FB 7.30 p.m. in my diary that morning. (If you must know, my first thought had been Frank Bruno at half-seven? which seemed quite a bizarre appointment, until I remembered the far more prosaic reality.) But I’d had such a dull weekend, I couldn’t bear another evening staring at my own four walls with just the cat to keep me company. So what the hell. I was here again.

  The group leader, whose name I’d totally forgotten, had given us another rousing, you-can-do-it speech, and now we were all expected to fess up to the terrible crimes we’d committed against our waistlines. ‘I had a few drinks on Friday night,’ one woman said. ‘I might as well come clean now, before the scales do it for me.’ She laughed nervously. ‘It was my birthday and my friends had bought me champagne, so …’

  ‘We’ve all been there,’ the group leader – Alison, that was it – said sympathetically. ‘And a birthday is a birthday, I know. But try to stick to one small glass next time and really savour it – that should be enough of a treat. You could even pretend you have to drive somewhere if you can’t face telling people you’re on a diet, all right? Anyone else?’

  A bespectacled woman with belly-rolls like the Michelin Man put up her hand. ‘Good news from me – at last,’ she said in a rich, happy voice. ‘I’ve managed to stay off the chocolate all week – first time ever!’

  Alison looked delighted by this earth-shattering news. ‘Go Jocelyn!’ she whooped. ‘That deserves a round of applause, I think. Fantastic!’

  We all duly clapped, then it was back to the confessions.

  ‘I had four biscuits on Saturday night,’ one sweet-faced girl said, her lower lip almost trembling with misery. Dear, oh dear, I thought to myself. Is that what we’ve come to? Doom and gloom over a few blooming Digestives?

  Alison cocked her head, her eyes concerned. ‘What was the trigger, lovey?’ she asked. ‘Bad day? Or just hungry?’

  The girl – woman, rather: she was in her late twenties, I guessed – looked down at her knotted fingers in her lap. ‘A bad day,’ she said in a low voice.

  ‘Okay,’ Alison said kindly. ‘Well, I think everyone can relate to that. You have a crap day, you come home and put your feet up, and all you want to do is pig out on comfort food. Yes?’

  ‘Yes,’ we all chorused, me included, even though I hadn’t meant to.

  ‘No!’ she rebuked, wagging her finger. ‘No, no, no. As soon as you get that feeling – that ‘I need a boost, I feel a bit miserable’ feeling – you’ve got to break the habit of turning to food to make you feel better. Very important. So let’s all take a minute to think what else could … Jess, is it? What else could Jess have done to cheer herself up? What do you lot do instead of picking at biscuits or crisps?’

  ‘Watch a good film,’ an old lady suggested. ‘A funny one to make you laugh, or a really miserable one to make you count your blessings.’

  ‘Go for a run,’ said a smug, nearly-thin woman at the other side of the room. Creep, I thought to myself.

  ‘Have a cuddle with me missus,’ one of the blokes said bashfully, which earned him a smattering of ‘Awwwww’s from the softies.

  ‘Sudoku.’

  ‘Phone a mate for a chat.’

  Alison put her hand up to stem the flow of suggestions. ‘Wonderful, wonderful,’ she said. ‘All good ideas. I particularly like the idea of phoning a friend. Having a chat with someone is great, especially if you can have a moan about whatever it is that’s put you in a bad mood. Even better – ’ she paused for dramatic effect – ‘even better if you can phone a diet buddy, someone who really understands when you feel tempted.’

  An interested Ohhh noise broke out among the ranks at that. It was like being at the panto here sometimes.

  ‘I was going to talk about this later, but hey, I’m a spontaneous kinda gal,’ Alison went on, ‘so let’s do it now. The diet buddy system can be whatever you make it, really. Some days you coast along barely thinking about food, but other days it might seem difficult and, for all your best efforts, you can feel yourself craving chocolate or a piece of cheese or something you know you shouldn’t be tucking into.’

  ‘I’m with you,’ one woman nearby muttered, nodding sagely.

  Alison gave her a brief smile of sympathy and went on. ‘Well, if you’re having one of those days, I strongly suggest you pick up the phone and tell your diet buddy. Not a full-on whinge-fest or anything dramatic. Just fess up, say how you’re feeling, and have a chat about it. It’s then up to the diet buddy to talk you round, to remind you what this is all about, to support you. To say, “Hey, we all have those days, but food is not the answer. How about doing something else instead?” Does that sound okay? If you like the idea of buddying up to provide some mutual dieting support during the week, raise your hand.’

  A forest of hands shot up. Everyone’s, in fact, except mine.

  ‘Excellent,’ Alison said, not seeming to notice that I was the only tree not joining the forest. ‘Split yourselves up into pairs or small groups – say three or four – and, if everyone’s willing, you can swap phone numbers and agree some ground rules. For instance, some of you might work shifts and won’t appreciate a call at certain times of the day when you’re asleep. Sort it out between you, anyway – see what works for your group.’

  There was a squawk of chairs as people started rushing to pal up with one another. I was reminded, dismally, of picking teams in PE at school. Nobody had ever wanted me on their team – lanky Lauren who couldn’t catch a ball to save her life.

  ‘Hi, do you want to make up a threesome?’ came a voice just then.

  Daniel Craig and George Clooney were smiling beguilingly at me and— Oh, okay. Just my little daydream. A friendly-faced blonde Bessie Bunter and the tearful biscuit-eater were hovering nearby. (She wasn’t even that fat, the biscuit-eater. What was she doing here with the rest of us blobs? I wondered.)

  ‘What with us three being the newbies and all,’ blonde Bessie said, when I didn’t immediately reply. ‘Is that all right?’

  I must say, I didn’t relish the thought of the biscuit-eater phoning me up in tears to say she’d nibbled a crisp or something equally catastrophic, but I couldn’t really say no. ‘Sure,’ I said, shrugging. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Great,’ the blonde woman said, heaving her arse down next to me. ‘I’m Maddie, and this is Jess. So …’ She spread her hands. ‘How shall we do this? What do we all want to get out of it?’

  There was a pause and then Jess spoke, her voice small and timid. ‘A bit of moral support would be good,’ she said. ‘I’m not exactly getting much of that at home.’

  ‘Nor me,’ Maddie said, rolling her eyes. ‘My husband keeps going on about ice cream and takeaways all the time. It’s driving me nuts.’

  Jess nodded. ‘And my fiancé—’ she began, but then went bright red and clammed up without saying anything else. Aha, I thought. Bust-up on Saturday night then. Maybe I’d have a new client by the end of the evening, if nothing else.

  ‘Well, I live with the fattest, greediest cat in Birmingham, who’s not exactly a role model either,’ I said, to fill the silence.

  ‘Sounds like we all could do with some back-up,’ Maddie said. ‘So we could swap numbers or …’ She glanced around to check Alison’s whereabouts, then lowered her voice. ‘Maybe we should just go to the pub after this for a chat?’

  A woman after my own heart. ‘I’m in,’ I said at once. Another surprise. This day was turning out to be full of them.

  And so it was that the three of us trooped into The Hat and Feathers later that evening, each feeling a tad self-conscious, I thi
nk. Maddie took the lead. ‘What are we all having, then?’ she asked us at the bar. ‘Let’s go wild on the diet drinks.’

  I laughed at the sarcastic look on her face. ‘I’m going to push the boat out and have a Diet Coke,’ I said.

  ‘Slimline tonic for me,’ Jess chirped.

  Maddie squinted over the bar. ‘Oh God, this is depressing, isn’t it?’ she sighed. ‘What I’d give for a large glass of chilled white wine …’

  ‘115 calories,’ Jess put in at once, then looked apologetic. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I’ve been swotting up.’

  ‘Lucky one of us has,’ Maddie said. ‘I’ll just have a lime and soda, I think. Here, I’ll get these since it was my idea. You two sit down.’

  Jess and I found a quiet corner and settled on the red velour banquette – I’m never comfortable on a bar stool, always conscious that half my bum is hanging over the edge of it.

  ‘So,’ I said, fiddling with a beer mat. Then I couldn’t think of anything to say.

  ‘How did you get on this week with the weighin?’ Jess asked after a moment.

  I wrinkled my nose. ‘I put on a pound,’ I told her. ‘I kept forgetting about the diet. And I’ve lost my calorie book already. How about you?’

  ‘I lost a pound,’ she said with a little flush of pleasure. Bless her.

  ‘Even after those biscuits!’ I teased, then felt a bit mean as her face fell. ‘I’m only joking,’ I said quickly. ‘Well done – that’s great.’

  Maddie came over with the drinks and put them on the table. ‘That is the saddest, cheapest round I’ve ever seen in my life,’ she announced, plonking herself down next to me. ‘Hey ho, it’ll all be worth it when we’re skinny bitches, though.’ She pulled a funny face. ‘And actually, I know this is kind of tragic, but when Alison said I’d lost two pounds, I felt like kissing her in relief.’

  ‘Two pounds!’ Jess squeaked. ‘That’s brilliant!’

  ‘That is good,’ I added, because Maddie was looking so damn chuffed with herself. ‘What’s your secret?’