Dying to Be Slim

by Abby Beverley

  Reminded, Clara reached up and stroked the Celtic amulet. She wanted to find Billie and check that she was alright. After that, she needed to find out if Billie’s tormentors could somehow be exposed and made to stop. Either way, she’d have to visit St Jude’s and do something. Could the stone in the amulet provide her with the means to achieve some of this? Clara stroked the purple stone harder, shaking her head because this was a ridiculous notion based on a deluded fantasy.

  The voice on the television seemed to lose some clarity and Clara blinked as Clinton Montague-Scott became hazy… looking less like himself and more like Star. Clara rubbed her face and, sweating, felt a strong lurch forward. Her body was travelling now… perhaps being mixed in the blender that was shown close up on the screen…. the physical form that was Star appeared and began to smile as Clara’s essence poured gently into her like liquid mist.

  STARLA

  Starla stretched high, touched her toes and moved towards the front door. She turned to survey the sleeping Clara, baffled at how she’d allowed herself to grow to such a size. There were no full length mirrors downstairs and any photos she couldn’t avoid were usually just head and shoulders – except for that awful one in the Femme Fanfare article where Mr Kelly had managed to photograph far too much of her. Staring at herself now, Starla was surprised at how misshapen her body looked. She had described herself as a toad but, in actual fact, she looked more like a walrus with tiny swollen feet stuck out the end of her smock like flippers. Starla felt her skin prickle with shame. No wonder Jakey slept upstairs!

  Stepping out of the house once again gave Starla the shakes. The feeling wasn’t too bad within the property but when she moved out into the street, Starla felt small and vulnerable. She held onto the gatepost and concentrated on slowing her breathing. When she felt able, she took a few steps forward and tried to focus her attention on the lamppost at the end of Jubilee Terrace. If she could just reach that first, she could maybe make it down to Billie’s school.

  A sudden shout from next door gave Starla a start.

  “I’ve told you about that George. I ain’t hooking you up to no machine when you can’t breathe. And mark my words, if you take any more shit into those lungs, that’s what’ll happen!” Mrs Unwin screeched out of her bedroom window.

  Mr Unwin, who was standing to the side of their front porch, thinking he couldn’t be seen, dropped his cigarette as if it had burnt his fingers.

  “You’ll end up like that fat cow next door, George. Mask over your face at night and barely able to move. You mark my words!” Mrs Unwin had quite a few words to mark, it seemed.

  Poor George Unwin sighed and disappeared down towards his shed. Probably his place of sanctuary, thought Starla. She couldn’t understand why Edna Unwin didn’t just leave him alone. It wasn’t like he smoked in the house or near anyone. Not that Starla was pro-smoking. Far from it; she thought it was a vile habit, especially since Vic used to smoke around Marnie and Mikey when they were babies. Thankfully, none of her children had ever taken up the practice. For that, she was very grateful.

  What she wasn’t so grateful for, however, was the description Edna had given of her next door neighbour! How dare she speak like that about Clara – and shouting it into the street too! No wonder Billie’s tormentors behaved the way they did online, if this was the way adults behaved in public.

  Knowing herself to be a more responsible adult citizen than Mrs Unwin, gave Starla some confidence and she walked as boldly as she could to the lamppost at the end of Jubilee Terrace. From here, she could see down to the bottom of Church Street on her left. Jubilee Park was up to her right, complete with its large children’s play area at the front, and netball and tennis courts behind. The remains of the Hawpeak Youth Club lay over to the far left of the courts, although some box hedge had been planted in between – handy for catching all those misfired tennis balls!

  A flat grassy area, punctuated with decorative flower beds, stretched out between the courts and the football pitches. It was bordered by a smooth, evenly-laid path for the old folk to amble along or for people to walk their dogs around. The park looked as though it had broken out in measles, with the recent stationing of several bright red dog-mess bins all over it, encouraging the dog owners of Hawpeak to ‘scoop the poop’.

  The Hawpeak Harriers’ Rugby Clubhouse was adjacent to the children’s play area but much higher up the hill to the right. Around the back, its rugby fields stretched across to the east as far as the eye could see. The football pitches at the back of Jubilee Park were dominated by the insanely highly-positioned fields belonging to the Harriers’ but this created a steep, natural slope between the two. Affectionately termed ‘The Ramp’ by locals, it was a popular place for kids to roll down in the freshly mown summer grass, or for sledging in winter.

  On the other side of the Harriers’, even further up the hill and leading to the peak, was an extensive wooded area called Hawpeak Crag. Not many folk ventured into these woods; there wasn’t a path as such and it was very steep and stony in places, particularly towards the top, where a wire fence marked the edge of Hawpeak. Beyond the fence was said to be a drop of several hundred feet but nobody really knew whether that was the case because dense, spikey, hawthorn bushes, deeper than was penetrable without machinery, grew along the ridge. Further down, it could also be quite boggy if you happened to step near one of the tributaries that fingered its way down from the top.

  Local legend insisted that Hawpeak Crag was haunted by the ghosts of two turn-of-the-century sisters, known only by their first names: Averil and Vanda. Both in love with the same man, they had flung themselves from the top of Hawpeak Crag on the day of his wedding to the daughter of a Spanish merchant. On stormy days, it is said that you can hear their anguished, unrequited howls echoing around Hawpeak but, in truth, the wind just whistles down from the Crag.

  Turning her back on lovelorn ladies and Jubilee Park, Starla set off down the hill into Hawpeak town. She knew it would take her a good ten minutes to reach the bottom, so she tried her best to breathe well and enjoy the flexibility of a body which carried no extra weight.

  As she reached the bottom of Church Street, Starla could see that not a lot had changed. The post office was in the same place with the same overflowing bins and unemployed youths outside it. Even the dog tied up outside the door looked as though it had always been there, although it wasn’t a breed that Starla particularly recognised. It barked like mad as Starla walked by and one of the youths yelled a profanity at it. Starla was so busy wondering if the dog could see her that she almost walked into the pillar box!

  Next to the post office, was a hairdressing salon with the not-so-original name: A Cut Above. Starla couldn’t tell whether the salon was open or not. It might have been, since there was a portable sign outside advertising various beauty procedures with Molly and Hollie in the Blush beauty parlour upstairs. Years ago, Marnie had worked in the salon on Saturdays while she was training to be a stylist at the College of Further Education. Although Marnie had encouraged her mother to drop by for a shampoo and blow-dry, she had never fancied popping in, lest she break a chair or otherwise embarrass her daughter.

  The chip shop was still next to the salon, its side door opening out behind the bus shelter on Station Road. It was shut at this time in the morning so all that was visible in the window were the ‘specials’ transfers that were probably held on by grease and willpower. Starla noticed that some of them were curling away from the window as if to escape the oppressive heat in the shop. She wondered if Spud was still working there. She hadn’t heard a peep from him since she’d started seeing Jakey Jackson properly, supporting her theory that he may have fancied her for himself. Jakey said he’d seen Spud with a pregnant woman when he was shopping in Meadowhall a few years back, but he wasn’t a hundred percent sure and hadn’t thought to hang around lest he was drawn into convivial small talk with someone who had quite possibly been his love-rival.

  Across the road from the chi
p shop, on the other corner of Church Street, stood St Mary’s and its elevated churchyard, packed with ancient headstones. Several steps led up to the imposing church, which seemed to dominate all other premises despite the fact that it was located at the bottom of the hill. Mikey and Tina had married at St Mary’s and Starla tried to picture the scene, regretting her lack of attendance on the day. She knew that Tina had looked wonderful in her strapless white dress and Mikey had scrubbed up into a hired suit with turquoise cravat to match the bridesmaids’ dresses. They had called in to see Clara up on Jubilee Terrace before heading off to the Harriers’ Clubhouse for a bit of a knees-up.

  Starla sighed and crossed over the road to read the church notice board. It was then that a large, colourful sign, partially obscured by a curtain of conifers, caught her eye: Bubbles Nursery. The local nursery sported a bright logo that was familiar from Skye’s take-home newsletters. It was right next to the church where Mikey and Tina had wed… and she just never knew! Maybe it was she who had existed in a bubble! Starla chided herself for never asking where her little granddaughter was headed each day. Had she been so obsessed with champing food and watching telly that she hadn’t even thought about the world outside her front door?

  Temporarily putting aside her intention to visit St Jude’s Academy, Starla decided that she had enough time to take a look at Skye’s nursery. It was time she involved herself more in the lives of all her family members.

  She walked down the car track which led down the side of the church but gently arced away from both church and vicarage. Eventually the track split. The left hand fork curved back towards the church and a sign informed Starla that continuing along it would lead her to the Millennium Hall. The right hand side continued until it was interrupted by a barrier displaying the nursery logo. Without hesitation, Starla slipped beneath the barrier and into the car park area of the nursery. One of the staff members was having a crafty cigarette down the side of the building, holding the fire door open wide with her foot to save locking herself out. Remembering that she was invisible, Starla stepped over the woman’s foot and entered the nursery with ease.

  The noise was beyond anything Starla could ever recall. Small children were squealing and running between an indoor and outdoor play area; a small group were singing and clapping; adults, perhaps parents, were chatting with each other and several tiny tots were screaming in highchairs, as two flustered nursery nurses tried to feed them all in turn.

  Starla spotted Skye in the outside play area. She was digging in the sandpit with another little girl. Both girls were giggling and flicking sand left, right and centre as they struggled to make wobbly sandcastles. Some boys at the other end of the sandpit were ‘brumming’ heavy metallic diggers into the girls’ castles. All seemed to be enjoying the game. They were being watched by two nursery assistants who were sat on a bench situated between the sandpit and a small climbing frame which was currently empty of climbing toddlers.

  Starla moved outside and perched on the end of the bench next to the two assistants. It wasn’t her intention to eavesdrop. She was more interested in watching how Skye got along with the other children. However, hearing Skye’s name caused her ears to prick up.

  “She’s a nice little girl that Skye, don’t you think so Nyree?” commented the smaller of the two women.

  “Yeah. She seems pretty happy considering…”

  “Oh you mean… the father buggering off?” The smaller assistant had the grace to silently mouth the second part of her sentence, since Skye was playing quite near to the bench.

  Starla’s mouth hung open, and then she closed it in a tight line. How dare these women say that Skye had no father? She had seen the wedding photographs. Marnie and Skye had kept their surname, true, but ‘Waterfall’ was so much prettier than ‘Pratt’. Marnie had her career to consider. Who would want their hair styled by Mrs Pratt, when they could have Marnie Waterfall?

  “I don’t know that he was ever around, was he?” Nyree asked quietly, shifting her bulk to get more comfortable on the bench.

  “I don’t know too much about it really – just heard he’d cleared off. It’s the grandfather that helps out. His name’s Jake.”

  “Oh yeah, I’ve met him,” said Nyree. “He’s not her real grandad you know.”

  “Is he not?” The smaller assistant knelt down to brum a digger back to one of the little boys before sitting back on the bench.

  “I heard…” Nyree leaned her substantial body forward and looked left and right, as if she were about to divulge some great confidence. “I heard that the grandma is thirty-four stone and housebound. Our Charlotte read it in Femme Fanfare. There was a photo of Skye an’ all. I’ll see if Char’s still got a copy of the article and bring it in for a bit of a laugh.”

  The smaller assistant frowned disapprovingly, then to avoid conflict with her colleague added quickly: “However does that all work then? I mean, how could you possibly not want to get up and get out, slim down and play with your grandkids? It’s so sad.”

  “That’s what I thought, Jen,” agreed Nyree, despite being a larger lady herself. “And however can a man and his wife be in a proper relationship like that? No wonder Skye’s grandad plays away.”

  Starla felt the blood drain from her face.

  “And just where did you hear that, Mrs Gossip?” Jen folded her skinny little arms curtly.

  “Bev Hodges told me. She says he drops her off here then goes to visit his bit on the side!”

  “Ah give over! Bev sees the bad in everyone. He’s probably gone to work. He’s a chef down at the Muncaster Hotel in town. Our Amy’s lad, Martin, used to do the washing up there and raved constantly about his pastries.”

  “Maybe that’s what he feeds his wife then!” cackled Nyree cruelly, standing up to rub her ample buttocks.

  Starla felt her eyes narrow and her fingers itched to slap the pudgy cheek of hypocritical Nyree Harman. She clearly knew nothing; she didn’t even know that Jakey wasn’t married, that she wasn’t his wife!

  Jen stayed sitting, refusing to laugh at Nyree’s nastiness. “I’m sure there’s nothing going on. Every family has their troubles; it doesn’t automatically mean that someone’s cheating. Skye’s grandad seems like a nice bloke.”

  “Well, maybe he is Mr Wonderful, who knows? That little girl could do with some stability in her life – poor kid. We all know that her mammy’s a right old slag!”

  Later, when they asked her how it happened, Nyree could only shrug her shoulders. All she had felt was an almighty shove before landing in the sandpit facedown, in between four toddlers who thought it was very funny that Mrs Harman wanted to swim in the sand. Jen, still sitting on the bench, simply stared in confusion. Perhaps karma had been served – although she was a little shocked to see that Nyree’s nose appeared to be broken from landing so awkwardly on one of those metal diggers.

  9

  Tuesday

  MARNIE

  When Marnie let herself into the house on Jubilee Terrace, all was quiet but for her mother’s heavy snoring. Marnie fetched her hairdressing tool kit from the car then wandered into the kitchen to put the kettle on. As she waited for it to boil, she idly flicked through the post she had gathered up from the mat and studied the calendar on the wall charting Clara’s home health visits and medicine doses, all written in Jakey’s tiny handwriting. Here and there, Billie had scrawled the odd thing in fat, bubbly pencil letters – mostly the dates of friends’ sleepovers. Flicking back, Marnie noted a monthly star which was obvious to any woman but which, to Jakey, wouldn’t mean a thing. He probably didn’t even know that Billie had become a woman, preferring instead to keep her a little girl forever in his head. Men were like that, according to the man-attack gossip she’d heard from many of the women at the salons she’d worked in. Not that she’d know, of course. Her father had left long before she’d learned enough language to implore him to stay. Brothers, no matter what age, were just silly boys. And, as for Skye’s father, well… that wa
s ancient history.

  Marnie nipped to the loo to freshen up. She didn’t want her mam to catch the recent smell of tobacco on her breath. When she came out, it was to the sound of the kettle boiling. She smoothed the creases from her pencil skirt and pushed up the sleeves of her short, thin cardigan to wash her hands at the kitchen sink.

  Eventually, with a mug of instant coffee clutched in one hand and a letter for her mother in the other, Marnie sighed resignedly and walked through to the living room to wake Clara.

  “Mam… Mam…” Marnie gently shook her mother’s arm. Clara stirred and opened her eyes.

  “I got her good and proper,” Clara muttered. “Saying things like that. Who do these people think they are?”

  “What people, Mam?” Marnie frowned. She knew the effect that some of her mother’s medication could have. “I think you’ve been having a bit of a dream, haven’t you? Come on, let’s get you sorted. There’s a letter from the hospital for you here.”

  Clara blinked sleepily then suddenly cried: “I do worry about you all!”

  “We know you do, Mam. It’s fine. We’re all fine. The boys are all working. I’m here, Skye’s at nursery, Billie’s at school and Jakey’s at his mam’s. Everything’s just as it should be.”

  “No, it’s not! It’s not! I dreamed about Billie. I think that she’s being bullied and it’s all my fault!”

  “Why do you think that, Mam? Has she said anything to you – or to Jakey?”

  “I’ve seen stuff on her laptop – some really cruel stuff. Comments on one of those supposedly friendly sites where you have a photo of everyone you know, and you say if you like what they’ve bought, where they’ve been or how they’ve done their hair.”