I stood by the window as directed, feeling very self-conscious as she snapped away with her digital camera. And this was with my clothes on. My tummy lurched at the thought of what lay ahead.
She took my measurements – I tried not to flinch as she committed those irrefutable facts to the public record. Then she snapped Jane.
‘Perfect. So, no dramatic changes please, between now and when we film. The stylists will plan your looks based on these photos and stats. I’ll have contracts sent out to you to sign. Is email okay?’
Within five minutes we were back in Channel 4’s lobby with our heads spinning.
‘So that’s it?’ I asked Jane. ‘We’ve got it?’ It seemed like there should be a more formal Ta-da! when something this big happened.
Jane grinned. ‘Yes, sweetheart, that’s it. We’ve got it. It’s times like this that I’m so glad I work in television!’
‘Do you ever miss it, Jane? Being a presenter, I mean. You were so good. You seemed so natural.’
She shrugged. ‘Oh, I made my peace with giving it up long ago. At the time, moving to Bristol with Andy and the children was the most important thing for me. I’ve never regretted that for a moment. I don’t think there’s anything that could pull us apart now. Not many people can say that, so it was worth it a hundred times over. A job will always be a job for me, but my family and my happiness are everything. And to be honest, when we came back to London I didn’t have the stomach to try for another presenting job. I hadn’t lost any weight, and knowing how my producer felt about that made looking for another position seem ridiculous. Besides, I’ve enjoyed being on the development side. If I wasn’t, we might not have had the chance to meet Rea today. I’ll forward the contract as soon as she sends it to me, okay? It’ll be pretty standard, just to make sure you can’t sue them if you don’t like the show.’
‘You mean in case the camera makes me look fat?’
She laughed. ‘Exactly. Do you remember how to get back to the Tube? I’ll stay and do some work here. Thanks again for making the meeting. And Katie? This is really huge.’
Those words rang in my ears all the way back to the office.
There wasn’t a soul on the floor when I got to my desk. Odd. Cressida hadn’t mentioned an away day when I phoned earlier and it was too early for lunch.
Just as I was plugging into my computer, my colleagues emerged from the big conference room at the far end of the office. When I caught the look on Ellie’s face I grabbed my handbag.
‘What’s going on?’ I asked as we got in the lift.
‘Not till we’re outside,’ she said, giving me an attack of the worries all the way to the ground floor. I told her about the Channel 4 meeting, but she was too distracted to be properly excited. My anxiety stepped up a notch.
We went across the road to our usual café. The barista didn’t need to ask for our orders. Two skinny caffè macchiatos appeared.
‘This is bad,’ she said.
I knew she wasn’t talking about her macchiato.
‘The company’s still having serious problems. They wouldn’t give us the details, naturally, but it was easy to read between the lines. We’re not making enough money. Cressida blamed all the internet supplement companies. Our clients think they can get them cheaper online.’
‘It’s probably true.’
‘It’s definitely true, which makes it disastrous for our business. And for our chances of keeping our jobs.’ She flinched when she said this. ‘Sorry! I know you’ve been dealing with this for a while now. But it sounds like it’s going to get a lot worse.’
‘Did they mention redundancies?’
‘No. They definitely didn’t mention redundancies. Which is why I suspect they’re coming.’ She blew out her cheeks. ‘That would be very bad for me. I haven’t exactly been sticking to my savings plan.’
I looked at her in surprise. ‘You have a savings plan?’
She nodded. ‘I plan to save one day.’
‘Almost everything I had saved went into the flat. It’s not as if I have a redundancy fund.’ Dad always pestered me about having six months’ living expenses in the bank, just in case. I had about six weeks’ worth, if I lived on tinned soup and didn’t take the Tube.
‘I wouldn’t worry if I were you,’ I said. ‘You’re the only one who knows how to keep the office running. Clive can’t live without you.’ Me, on the other hand … I looked at my coffee. ‘Maybe we should drink the free stuff from the machine from now on.’
Losing my job hadn’t factored into my thinking. I vaguely remembered the bank mentioning something about redundancy insurance when I got my mortgage. I’d waived it away. Me? Redundancy? The chances of that happening were as slim as …
‘I also found out that Thomas and Colleen are having lunch together next week. Bad news comes in threes, right? What’s next?’
… As slim as Ellie calming down about Thomas and Colleen, probably. ‘Have you been hacking his phone again?’
‘Of course not. He mentioned it just now, in the meeting.’
‘And you think it’s a double-bluff? He’s using lunch to cover for the fact that he wants to butter Colleen’s baps?’
‘I wish you wouldn’t be so flippant about my love life. I need your support, not your jokes.’
Chastened, I said, ‘I’m sorry. I just don’t want you to get upset over nothing. What will it take to make you feel better? Shall we follow them around to make sure they’re not up to anything?’
I stopped smiling when I caught her expression. ‘Oh, Ellie, no. You’re not seriously thinking about it. Do you realise that that will officially tip you into stalker territory?’
‘Not if you come with me. Then it’s just two friends having lunch who just happen to turn up in the same place where one friend’s boyfriend may or may not be flirting with his colleague.’
‘But what if he sees us?’
‘Then we’re just two friends having lunch who just happen to turn up in the same place where one’s boyfriend—’
‘… may or may not be flirting with his colleague. Got it. Do we need disguises?’
‘No, but you’d better practise your innocent-looking face, just in case.’ She looked at her watch. ‘We should get back and make some money. Otherwise we may be serving this coffee one day instead of drinking it.’
‘For the customers’ sake, I hope not.’ We made our way back to try to keep our company afloat.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Just thinking about our first speed-dating event was making me go all stabby.
At least I wasn’t the one speed-dating. I had quite enough to obsess over between my non-relationships with Rob and Alex. And I definitely didn’t begrudge anyone finding love in three minutes. I just didn’t want the Curvy Girls Club to go down that slippery slope.
Judging by her smile, Pixie felt none of my angst. She was already there when I arrived at the bar.
‘Here’s your badge, love,’ she said, pasting the label to my left breast. ‘Are your boobs shrinking too?’ she accused.
‘Thanks for feeling me up, and no, they are not.’ They were, a bit, but I wasn’t about to give her that kind of satisfaction. ‘I’ve got the doctor’s appointment at the end of the week.’
‘Good. You know I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.’
‘As long as I don’t lose weight.’
‘So shoot me.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s just not fair.’
‘What is this?’ I asked, looking closely at my badge. ‘I thought we agreed. We aren’t calling it Fat Friends.’
‘Did we? I must have forgotten.’ She turned away to label the two women who’d just arrived.
She absolutely had not forgotten. I was seething as I went to check on arrangements. It wasn’t the first time Pixie and I had disagreed on things. It also wasn’t the first time she’d done whatever she wanted. In some ways I admired her bullheadedness. Just not when it clashed with my own.
The bar was dimly lit (always
good when meeting potential dates) and spacious (also good for mingling afterwards) with a nice long bar (to ensure spirits remained high). We had a very good turnout. It just remained to be seen whether the night would end in tears.
It wasn’t just my gut telling me that Fat Friends was a bad idea. There was hard science to prove it. Not long after Pixie first brought up the idea, I’d read an article about how differently men and women see themselves. Some clever Danes found that while overweight men were convinced they were perfect (I’m paraphrasing), they mentally added weight to their wives and girlfriends. On the flip side, women didn’t need any encouragement to see themselves as fat – they added pounds to their view of themselves with no help from anyone else. So what did you get when you put a bunch of chubby people in the same room? Flabby fellas rejecting women for having the very same jiggles, and a load of women feeling like gigundo monsters as a result.
But Pixie wouldn’t take no for an answer. That’s why we were labelling plump singles for romance in three-minute intervals.
As we got everyone settled in their places I tried to look objectively at the event. All right, fine. It was well-attended. Nearly eighty people had signed up. And they did look like they were up for a laugh. I imagined myself coming to one of these events. Yes, it would be fun. If I’d met someone like Rob here, I’d definitely consider the night a success. And Alex? I’d probably make a fool of myself lunging over the table at him … if history was anything to go by.
There was no doubt that these kinds of events were money-makers. With almost no expenses the £15 fee was nearly pure profit. I just couldn’t shake the feeling that it wouldn’t end well.
‘Nice turnout,’ I admitted to Pixie as I set the three-minute timer.
She smiled. ‘I told you it was a good idea. Even though in ten years they’ll probably hate the sight of each other.’
‘We probably won’t use your quotes in the marketing. And you never know. Lots of people are still in love after a decade.’
‘You say that, love, but it’s the luck of the draw. There’s no way to tell at the beginning. Himself and I were so in love at first it was sickening. We couldn’t fart without the other thinking it smelt of roses. When he proposed I nearly passed out I was so happy. Everybody was. My family loved him. My friends loved him. I’d never met such a clever, funny, friendly, happy man.’ She laughed. ‘I can see the question on your face. What the hell happened to him then?’ She shrugged, and continued her story as I dinged the bell every three minutes. The fact that she was talking about him at all told me how bad things must be.
Trevor had always liked a drink. He was happiest being the life of the party. The problem was, he wasn’t very happy away from the party. And he didn’t see why he should be away from it just because he was a husband. Not that Pixie wanted to stop him then. Those were the honeymoon years. They went out nearly every night with their friends, just as they had when they were first dating. But then the late nights started wearing Pixie down. She was tired all the time. Even one drink made her feel ill. She quickly sussed out the problem, but she worried about telling Trevor. With his building business still waiting to take off, even the few quid she earned as a dinner lady would be missed if she stopped working.
Eventually she had to tell him. Her excuses had worn thin and she was starting to show. She made him a nice dinner, lit the candles, poured him a drink, and told him he was going to be a father.
‘I thought you were on the pill?’ he asked. It wasn’t the reaction she’d hoped for. For a split second she thought about making a joke about his manly sperm, but his expression stopped her. She was on the pill, she said, but she may have missed a day or two.
‘You did this on purpose!’ he shouted. ‘You know I’m just getting the business going. We agreed to wait a few years before you had any brats.’
His words stung her. ‘It’s your brat too,’ she said quietly.
‘I don’t want it. Get rid of it.’
‘No fecking way, Trevor! How dare you even say that to me? If you don’t want our baby, fine. I’ll raise it myself.’
By the time the baby was born they were barely speaking. He hated everything about her pregnancy. As if the stretch marks and sore nipples and weight gain had been pleasant for her. He went to the pub every night as usual, but without her. The honeymoon was well and truly over.
‘Why didn’t you leave him then?’ I asked gently.
‘I was all talk, love. I still loved him, and I had a little baby to look after. How was I going to support her? What would I do with her while I worked? Tuck her in the warming tray whilst I dished up the children’s school dinners? My parents are up in Manchester. They didn’t have the money to have me back at home, with a granddaughter to look after as well. And Trevor did love Kaitlin. He does love her. He softened a little after she was born. It was even good sometimes. Our friends started having children and our social life shifted a bit. More dinner parties, fewer knees-ups at the pub. So it wasn’t all terrible.’
But it wasn’t all good, either, she said. Trevor had made little jokes about her weight when she was pregnant. But when she failed to shed the pounds afterwards, his jokes turned overtly hostile.
‘I’d always been plump,’ she said. ‘And Trevor liked me having a bit of extra meat on my bones. I liked me with curves. I’ve never fancied being one of those scaffolding board women. So it wasn’t like I ballooned from a size ten, but I did balloon. Like someone stuck an air hose up my leg. And if you’re told you’re fat and ugly often enough, I don’t care who you are, you start to believe it. Every time I looked in the mirror I saw what Trevor saw. You’d think that would have kicked me up the arse to do something about it, but I didn’t have the energy. Then I fell pregnant again. This time Trevor was happier about it. He’d started the business with his partner and they were doing okay. Even though the drink was becoming a problem, we were better. When Connor was born, Trevor was absolutely over the moon.’
Trevor fell in love with his son and Pixie wondered if things might turn out all right after all. For a year or so they felt like a proper family. Money was tight with only Trevor working but everyone needed builders. Pixie loved being a mother and her children adored her. They didn’t mind her squidgy tummy or her saddlebags. In their eyes, Pixie was the most beautiful woman on the planet.
Unfortunately Trevor’s eyes were elsewhere.
‘He blamed me when I found out about the slapper he was banging at his job. If I’d been a proper wife he wouldn’t have strayed. I just wasn’t appealing to him with the extra weight. So I showed him. I gained three stone.’
‘You were depressed,’ I said.
Yes, low-level depression, her GP said. He offered medication, but given that weight gain was a possible side effect, that didn’t seem like the answer. Nothing seemed like an answer, until she found Slimming Zone.
‘So I’m still fat but at least I don’t feel so alone,’ she said. ‘I’m even starting to like myself again.’
‘And clearly, so is Trevor,’ I said. ‘Or has your furry onesie finally put him off?’
‘I wish. No, he’s still after me most nights. He’s getting desperate for another baby.’
‘I’m surprised. He doesn’t seem overly keen on the ones he has.’ Pixie had often mentioned Trevor’s indifference to her children. That hurt her at least as much as his taunts and insults.
‘Ah, Katie, that’s why he wants another one. He thinks I’ve poisoned the children against him. He says I’ve ruined them. He wants another one that he can make in his own image.’ She closed her eyes. ‘I shudder at the thought.’
What an egotistical, selfish, horrible man. ‘Definitely go on the pill, Pixie. You cannot have another child with him.’
‘I know that, but I can’t go on the pill. You only have to look at me and I’m up the duff. He knows that. If we had sex and I didn’t get pregnant he’d know I was preventing it. I’ve got to avoid him until I can get out. And I can’t let him find out w
hat I’m doing.’
She didn’t say what she was probably thinking. She didn’t need to. She was afraid he’d hurt her if he realised what she was doing.
‘I really am going to leave the bastard this time, Katie. Want to hear how I’m going to do it?’
As she outlined her plan I felt elated and sick in turns. She was right. She’d finally figured out a realistic strategy. To do it she needed to work for the club. Unfortunately that meant expanding it with the launch of Fat Friends. And I couldn’t let that happen.
CHAPTER TWENTY
‘This place is a circus!’ I said to Rob the next night, pointing to Royal Albert Hall’s Cirque du Soleil banners. It had been a spectacular walk from the Tube at Hyde Park Corner. In response to a rare sunny day, the park was heaving with after-work picnickers, cyclists, joggers and lazy layabouts. Leafy plane trees, oaks and chestnuts stood out against the brilliant blue sky as we wandered along the edge of the park. Further along, the mosaicked and gilded Albert Memorial was blindingly beautiful in the early evening sun. It was, at least for the moment, finally summer.
‘You know what?’ Rob said as he shoved me playfully on the shoulder. ‘I’d have bet a thousand quid you’d say that.’
‘Am I that cheesily predictable?’ I shoved him back but he didn’t move much.
‘I just know you well,’ he said, not answering the question, I noticed.
‘How on earth did you get tickets? It’s been sold out for months.’ We’d looked at Cirque du Soleil as a possible club event but we’d have had to sell our kidneys to score tickets. I hoped Rob wouldn’t now need dialysis.
‘I’ve got friends in high places,’ he said, guiding me through the door. His hand on the small of my back made me shiver.
Our seats were right down on the floor, in the third row. As people streamed in around us, the looks on their faces reflected the same open-mouthed awe at the spectacle. A few skimpy rope ladders snaked their way to the high ceiling. Poles and wires were tantalisingly braced from the floor, hinting at the acrobatics ahead. It sounded as if hundreds of birds were in the rafters, which were bathed in deep blue light. Spotlights shone randomly every few minutes. Then I realised they were shining into the audience. Close to us.
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