The Curvy Girls Club

by Michele Gorman

  ‘All right?’ said Trevor behind me in the doorway. He looked unshaven and unhappy.

  ‘Hi, Trevor. Yes, all right, thank you.’ What was I to say to the man I was helping my friend leave? ‘How are you?’

  He rubbed his stubbly beard. ‘As you’d expect. This came out of the blue. But Pixie says she needs to go. We’re starting counselling you know.’

  In all the years I’d known Trevor, the closest he’d got to a personal disclosure was when he admitted welling up when hearing ‘Jerusalem’ sung. This was not an emotionally sharing man. He must have taken Pixie seriously to tell me about the counselling.

  ‘Well that’s good. Very good.’ I stopped myself from saying I hoped everything worked out, because I didn’t. I thought Pixie could do much better than Trevor. I hoped she’d realise that too in the coming weeks, though I also understood why she’d agreed to counselling.

  ‘Ready, love?’ Pixie came down the stairs with a bin bag in each hand. I noted she was talking to me, not Trevor. ‘Just these bags for the van and we’re ready to go.’

  The mood became awkward as we realised we were about to witness Pixie’s good-bye scene.

  ‘I’ll just take these out to the car,’ I said, making a grab for the bags just as Jane did the same.

  ‘I’ll help,’ Jane said. ‘Come on, Ellie. Pixie, we’ll meet you in the van.’

  ‘Shall we take the children?’ I asked, then realised Trevor was giving me a filthy look. ‘Or, no, well, I guess you’ll want to …’

  ‘I’d like to say good-bye to my children, if that’s all right,’ said Trevor.

  I felt like such a tit as we made our way to the van. As soon as we got there we saw the logistical problem. ‘Where’s Pixie going to fit?’ Ellie asked.

  Excellent question. Unless she wanted to ride in the back amongst the suitcases with the children, we needed another car.

  Trevor seemed to realise the same thing. He trailed after Pixie from the house.

  ‘We’ll sort it out, don’t worry,’ Pixie was saying.

  ‘Why do you have to be so damn stubborn, woman? Let me drive you and the children. You can’t ride on the roof of the van you know.’

  Pixie rounded on him. ‘Trevor. I know I’ve messed up, okay? Yes, once again I’ve done it wrong. I should have thought about how we would get there before, but I didn’t. So now I’ll sort it myself.’

  She looked at us, then back at the house. ‘Give me the keys,’ she said to Trevor. ‘Our car keys. I’ll drive it over with the children, come back to drop it off and take the train back.’ She put her hand out. That woman was not going to take no for an answer.

  The flat she’d found wasn’t too far from the house. The children could stay in the same school and it would be easy for them to see their father.

  It looked like any other 1950s block – brown brick and concrete with the flat doors facing external walkways along the front of the building.

  ‘It doesn’t look too bad,’ I said to Jane and Ellie as we peered from the car park at the front. ‘Is it special housing? You know, for women leaving abusive relationships?’ I don’t know what I expected; maybe haunted-eyed mothers with waifs grasping their skirts.

  ‘No, it’s a regular flat with a private landlord,’ said Jane. ‘Pixie doesn’t qualify for sheltered accommodation because Trevor hasn’t hit her.’

  ‘Emotional abuse doesn’t count?’ Ellie asked.

  ‘I guess with so many women getting beaten up, they have to prioritise,’ I said.

  I could only imagine what Pixie must be feeling, upending her life and leaving her husband. Excitement? Fear? She hadn’t let on. In the past few days she’d kept conversations safely moored to the logistics of the move. I didn’t blame her. She’d been thinking about her marriage for years. It was probably nice to leave the emotion out of it for a little while.

  ‘Here we are!’ she said to Connor and Kaitlin as she helped them from the car. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘We’re living here?’ Kaitlin asked quietly.

  ‘Yes, for a while at least. Look, there are swings around the side. What do you think, love? Like it?’

  ‘It’s different from home,’ Connor said, suspiciously eying the building.

  ‘Well, yes. That’s because this is a building and we live, lived, in a terraced house. But this will be nice. You’ll see. We’re on the third floor and there’s a lift.’

  ‘Our house has a lift?!’ Connor’s eyes went wide and his round face broke into a grin. Promises of puppies and upheaval in his life were forgotten. ‘Can I push the button?’

  Pixie laughed. ‘You’ll have to take turns. We’ve got lots of button-pushing to do today. Are we ready?’

  It took just a few hours to empty the van. Pixie had mostly taken clothes and kitchenware along with some of the children’s toys. The first thing she did when we let ourselves in was to throw open all the windows. A nice breeze billowed the net curtains and soon cleared away the closed-off smell of the uninhabited flat. Their small one-bedroom home came furnished. The décor was a little tired but functional, with a brown leather sofa and two cream fabric reading chairs in the living room. A small table and four chairs stood against one wall in the kitchen. We put the toys away in a large wooden crate in the corner. Pixie set out a few of her favourite decorative pieces on the tables and shelves – the brightly painted earthenware vase she got on holiday in Majorca, some tall pillar candles in black iron holders, and her pride and joy: the red, green and yellow ceramic chicken that Connor and Kaitlin had made together for her birthday last year. It was very different from her house – more dated and clearly rented accommodation – but with their things in it, it would start to feel like home. It had everything she’d need. Mostly what she needed was time away from Trevor.

  The bedroom walls were lined with white shelves and built-in cabinets for everyone’s clothes and books. They made up the children’s beds, shaking out Connor’s Shrek duvet and Kaitlin’s Finding Nemo coverlet (she was going to be an ‘oceanographist’ when she grew up), and the room became homely. Above the children’s single beds was a mezzanine where Pixie would sleep.

  ‘God, don’t roll out of bed,’ Ellie said, eying the circular metal staircase leading to the sleeping platform.

  ‘I’d crush the children,’ Pixie quipped. ‘Go on up and have a look. There’s just enough room to stoop over beside the bed, but it’s not so bad. All my clothes will fit with the children’s into the cabinets. At least there’s some privacy up there. And best of all, there’s no Trevor.’ She smiled.

  ‘Does that mean you can retire your furry onesies?’ I asked.

  ‘Not a chance, love. I’ve grown to love them.’

  ‘Even if you did throw them away,’ Jane teased, ‘you won’t be bringing anyone back for a night of passion up there.’

  ‘Love, for me a night of passion is watching EastEnders with a pint of ice cream. Ehem. Speaking of which … Katie? How was your night the other night? Did you enjoy your … ice cream?’

  ‘What’s this?’ Jane asked.

  ‘Erm, it was fine, thank you very much. Shall we see what the children are doing?’

  Pixie ignored me. I knew she’d do that. ‘Katie was out with Rob last week,’ she said. ‘She had a sleepover. Details, please. I have to live vicariously through my friends.’

  ‘For the record, you’ve been misinformed. It wasn’t Rob. It was my colleague, Alex, and it was fantastic!’ I felt a twinge at the small fact that things weren’t going quite to plan so far. But I pushed that aside. Just remembering the night tickled my tummy.

  Pixie expression went funny. ‘It wasn’t Rob?’ I shook my head. ‘Oh, that is a shame.’

  I laughed. ‘Everyone wants me to go out with Rob.’

  ‘No, that’s not it,’ Pixie said. ‘The thing is … I may have been indiscreet.’

  My heart dipped. Oh no. She hadn’t.

  ‘I thought it was Rob you’d been out with, so when we saw each other on Frid
ay, I teased him about it. No wonder he looked confused. I’m so sorry, love. It was an innocent mistake. I hope you’re not too embarrassed.’

  I told Pixie it was no big deal. But I felt sick inside. What must Rob be thinking? Scratch that. I knew exactly what he was thinking. Slapper. I’d see him next Wednesday at the speed-dating event we were working at together. That gave me four days to think of something to say. Not that there was any way to make sleeping with Alex sound less sordid.

  The children were desperate to go outside and play on the swings, so we took the lunch that we’d brought out to the picnic tables.

  ‘This is nice!’ Jane said, taking in the summer profusion of bushes and flowering shrubs that bordered the play area and separated it from the road. The grass was a little bare in patches but at least there was outside space for the children. ‘I’m very happy for you, Pixie. It’s the start of a new life. If that’s what you want?’

  Pixie considered the question. ‘I feel like it’s what I want, but I won’t make any decisions lightly. Trevor’s the father of my children. I have to consider that too. I’m just glad I’ll have the space, physically and emotionally, to weigh up my decisions.’ She tipped her face to the sun, looking more at peace than I’d seen her in a long time.

  We spread a feast across the sturdy wooden table – quiches, sourdough bread and West Country cheese, enormous purple grapes and juicy red strawberries, low-fat hummus from the Turkish deli near Jane’s house. I watched her pick at a piece of pitta. Then I caught Ellie’s eye. We had to say something today. We’d agreed to do it after Pixie’s move. There was probably a protocol or something, but we weren’t exactly clued up when it came to interventions. How, exactly, did one tell a friend to stop their pill habit?

  ‘Aren’t you eating?’ Pixie asked Jane, smoothly opening the way for our talk. I smiled gratefully at her. She gave me a tiny nod.

  ‘Oh, I ate earlier,’ Jane said. ‘Isn’t this weather lovely?’

  ‘Earlier when?’ I asked. ‘We’ve been together since eight o’clock this morning.’ She looked pale, despite the sunshine and the exertions of the day so far.

  ‘I’m just not hungry. You go ahead and eat. Everything looks delicious.’

  ‘Jane, we know why you’re not eating,’ Pixie said. ‘And we want to talk to you about it. We’re worried about you, love. Those pills you’re taking aren’t good for you. You need to stop taking them.’ Ellie and I nodded our agreement.

  She looked at each of us. ‘I appreciate your concern, but you really needn’t worry. I feel better than I have in a very long time. I’ve got loads of energy, my clothes are starting to fit and most importantly, I’m beginning to feel like me again. They’re just herbal supplements. They’re not dangerous.’

  ‘But they are, Jane,’ Ellie said. ‘And you’ve got loads of energy because you’re taking speed. I’ve asked at work and those pills are associated with a higher risk of heart attack and stroke. They took a similar product off the market last year. These aren’t just vitamins you’ve bought in Holland and Barrett or Boots. They’re unregulated, off the internet … and I know you’re taking more than you’re supposed to be.’

  Jane looked guilty. Then anger flashed across her face. ‘They’re the only thing that’s worked in nearly a decade. I’m not giving them up. Don’t I have a higher risk of heart attack or stroke from carrying around an extra three stone? At worst that means I’ve traded one risk factor for another, so I’m no worse off. Except that I’m getting slim, so that makes me better off, actually.’ She crossed her arms.

  I hadn’t thought of it like that. Maybe she had a point. Being overweight could be dangerous. If she could get slim and have no higher risk than before—

  ‘Bullshit!’ said Pixie, blowing the trade-off argument out of the water ‘Knowingly taking a drug that causes heart attacks is just stupid. Stop being stupid, Jane.’

  ‘She’s right, Jane,’ I said. Of course she was right. As Ellie said, they were unregulated speed, no matter how natural the marketing made them sound. ‘This isn’t worth the weight loss. You’ve got to stop.’

  ‘Katie, you of all people shouldn’t be lecturing me about what’s healthy! Look at you. Are you on that thyroid medicine the GP suggested? Or are you purposely not taking it so that you can stay thin? You might want to look at yourself before you start judging me.’

  ‘That’s unfair!’ I said. ‘I’m deciding what to do, Jane. I’m not purposely taking medication that could kill me.’

  ‘No, instead you’re purposely not taking medication that could keep you healthy. I can look on the internet too, you know. I’ve seen what an overactive thyroid can lead to – high blood pressure, osteoporosis, eye disease, heart attacks. So you ought to stop being a hypocrite. You’re doing exactly the same as me, only you’re not being honest about it.’ She gathered up her handbag and stood. ‘I’m tired now. I’d like to go, please.’

  She waved away our objections. ‘No. I’d like to go. Pixie, will you please take me back home? If not, I can take the train.’

  Ellie and I watched Pixie drive off with Jane. I was sure that wasn’t the way an intervention was supposed to go. We hadn’t even told her we loved her.

  ‘Do you think she’ll see sense?’ I asked Ellie as we cleared up our lunch.

  She shrugged. ‘I hope so. Otherwise … I don’t know.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  I’d heard nothing from Alex all weekend, so I don’t know what possessed me to walk past his office on Monday. It was no use trying to fool myself. It wasn’t for a caffeine fix – I was already jittery from my morning cuppa. My diagnosis gave me the all-clear to indulge my caffeine habit again. Besides, the kitchen was on the other side of the floor. The loos were there too. Only the big conference room was down the hall past his office. So I had to pretend to be looking for my favourite pen (as of that minute, my very favourite standard issue blue biro), just in case. As an excuse it wouldn’t stand up in court, but desperate people do desperate things.

  I meandered past, walking as if contemplating something of deep importance. He looked up as he heard my footsteps (I walked extra-loud, just to be sure). I waved. He waved. He turned back to his computer screen. There was no way to take that as an invitation to stop for a chat. Luckily the conference room was empty, so at least I didn’t have to stand in the corridor to wait the thirty seconds before starting back.

  I peeked through his doorway, only to see him staring out the window with his back to me. That wasn’t the action of a man who wanted to talk. I was utterly depressed.

  When Wednesday came around I still had no idea what to say to Rob. Pixie apologised again for dropping me in it, but I couldn’t blame her for the gnawing angst with which I anticipated seeing him again. As I was the one who’d slept with Alex, I’d be the one to pay the price. I just hoped it wouldn’t cost me a friendship. Not when the payoff seemed to be dateless nights and kicked-in self-esteem.

  Rob was handing out name badges when I got to the already crowded bar. It was where Pixie and I hosted the first event. Her idea hadn’t died the natural death I’d hoped. If anything, each speed-dating night was more popular than the last. Like it or not, Fat Friends was starting to look like a necessary eventuality. That didn’t mean I had to be happy with the direction the club was taking.

  After watching him from the bar, where I was ostensibly ensuring there was enough bar staff (actually avoiding him for just a few more minutes), I couldn’t put it off any longer. It was time to face him.

  ‘Hey,’ he said, smiling as I approached. ‘I’m glad you’re here.’ He handed me a badge he’d already made.

  That sounded like his usual happy self. And he was glad to see me! The last few days of worry edged away a little.

  ‘There are really too many people to do this alone. Great turnout, eh?’

  So he was just glad to see me there as an employee. Crestfallen, I helped him label the rest of the would-be-daters. I kept a sneaky eye on him, alert for signs o
f anger, disappointment … judgement, disgust, hatred. The list of possibilities went on. We worked in silence until everyone was in place and it was time to start.

  I recognised a few of the clients milling about. Even pain-in-the-neck Arthur was there. ‘Hello!’ He waved when he saw me. ‘Fancy meeting you here. Har har, get it? Meeting you here?’

  I could see he’d made a big effort to look nice. His thinning hair was carefully combed to one side. He was neatly ironed from his checked shirt to his too-high trousers. I could smell a musky aftershave and see he’d nicked himself shaving. Something in my chest squeezed at his enthusiasm. I smiled. ‘Very good, Arthur. Thanks for coming. I hope you’ll have fun.’

  ‘Oh, I know I will. Everybody is talking about these events, you know. I don’t need to tell you that many a fair maiden has been won over here. I bet we’ll have our first Curvy Girls Club wedding before long.’ He patted his large tummy, something he often did in satisfaction.

  I couldn’t bear the hopeful look in his watery blue eyes. ‘Just be … Just have fun, Arthur, and good luck. There’ll be surveys at the end. Please do be sure to fill one out. We’re interested in what everyone thinks.’

  As he lumbered off I felt the stab of doubt again. More than eighty people had signed up. In return for their fifteen-quid fee was our implicit promise of the chance for love. How many of them would come away from tonight feeling worse about themselves? As I made a few last-minute checks I realised that I was asking as much for them as I was for myself.

  Rob and I stood together while he kicked off the speed-dating, explaining that the women got to sit and the men had to hop tables when I rang the bell. He had just the right balance of friendliness and efficiency to put everyone at ease. Well, nearly everyone. I clicked the stopwatch and sat beside him, awkwardly casting about for something to say.