Dying to Be Slim

by Abby Beverley

“After I torched the club and got away with it,” Vic continued, “I felt I were above law. Ended up doing time for battering a copper who caught us kicking in a mate’s lock-up. Some of me stuff were in that lock-up and since me mate were doing a stretch, I decided to help meself. That copper made out I hurt him more than I did. They got us on GBH but I reckon he wanted to try and up his criminal injury pay-out. Bloody coppers – they’re all on the bloody fiddle.”

  Jakey gasped.

  “Jail just makes a man worse,” smirked Vic. “I got in with a right bad crowd in there, I can tell you.”

  Vic lifted his sleeve to show a tattoo of a flying blue bat with sharp, distorted fangs.

  Vic looked over his shoulder and hissed quietly: “I became a member of them Cobalt Bat Boys.”

  Jakey had heard of them. He didn’t tell Vic that most people referred to them as the Cobalt Battie Boys. He just nodded and finished his beer.

  Vic downed the rest of his second pint, slammed it hard onto the bar and stood up to leave.

  “Keep that one to yourself though Jakey, alright mate?”

  “Yeah, course,” Jakey agreed.

  Was it Jakey’s imagination or was Vic threatening him?

  27

  Wednesday

  STARLA

  Starla walked out of the station and looked over at the Muncaster Hotel. She was pretty certain that Jakey had gone off to visit his beautiful widow in Leicester but, all the same, it wouldn’t hurt to see if he was working. She wished she’d paid more attention to his shift patterns.

  Starla crossed the road, walked across the hotel’s forecourt and entered the lounge area at the front. Jakey was sat on a stool hunched over the bar on his own with an empty pint glass. There were another two empty glasses next to him so he had probably been drowning his sorrows for some time. The bar was empty, other than Jakey. Even the bar staff had disappeared.

  She was uncertain how to approach him – how to approach this whole situation. But she needed him so badly.

  She crept quietly in and stood behind his stool.

  “Please don’t turn around, Jakey,” she began. “I have something to tell you.”

  Jakey’s shoulders twitched slightly, his desire to spin around evident.

  “My name is Starla and I need your help.”

  Jakey couldn’t help himself; he began to move around to face her.

  “Wait!”

  Starla stopped him by placing both hands on each side of his waist.

  “Please, please wait!”

  Jakey sighed and remained facing the bar.

  “Something strange has happened to me. Something magical. How can I explain it to you when I can’t even explain it to myself? I thought I was deluded but if I were suffering delusions, then how am I here touching you? I am a part of Clara. I am the slim woman in her that was dying to be released. I am Starla now and I am stuck this way.”

  “Doesn’t look like a bad way to be stuck,” commented Jakey matter-of-factly, inspecting the dregs in his pint and wondering if Vic had added a double shot of vodka to it.

  “Erm… what?”

  “I can see you in the taps,” explained Jakey.

  “Oh.” Starla jumped up onto the stool beside him and pushed the empty glass away.

  “Jeff?” shouted Jakey.

  Jeff came from the back room and took the two empty glasses off the bar.

  “Another pint for me and… for you?”

  “Oh, I’ll have a vodka and coke please,” she whispered. “I’ve had a very difficult afternoon.”

  Jeff served them and disappeared round the back once more.

  “Stocktaking,” Jakey explained.

  “Oh.” Starla smiled.

  “You do look a lot like my other half. Are you related? A cousin perhaps?”

  “No Jakey, you’re not listening. I am Clara. Well, sort of. I’ve come from Clara’s mind or body or something like that. My name is Starla.”

  “Her mother left home when she was only four years old. Perhaps a half-sister?” Jakey enquired, ignoring Starla’s ludicrous explanation.

  “Jakey, it’s me! Clara!”

  Jakey slid off his stool, walked to the end of the counter and lifted the hinged section so that he could position himself behind the bar.

  He stood opposite Starla and studied her face for a moment.

  Starla hoped he would recognise her and reached her hand across the bar.

  “Please listen to me, Jakey,” she begged him, “I’ve nobody else to turn to.”

  “No,” hissed Jakey, “You listen to me. I’m a friendly enough chap. I bought you a drink. I wish I hadn’t because I’m not in the habit of buying strange women drinks. You’ve caught me at a very peculiar time. I’ve had some bad news at home and I’m not quite feeling my usual self. Maybe I needed some company as well. But what I don’t need is you hitting on me, talking at me like you know me and telling me that you’re somebody you quite clearly are not.”

  “No… please… Jakey… please, just listen to me. Hear me out – please!”

  “No! Enough. I’m going in there now to get my laptop from my mate, I’m going to get my jacket and I’m going to go home. Enjoy your drink and have a nice life!”

  “But Billie’s pregnant! She needs us both!”

  “What did you say?” Jakey stopped in his tracks and leaned over the bar.

  “Jakey, Billie is our daughter. She’s pregnant. She told us last night. It’s me, Clara.”

  “You are one sick bitch! What have you done? Scrabbled around in our bins to find Billie’s positive test stick or something?”

  “No. I live with you. I’m Clara. Please believe me!”

  “Look, you’ve had a good laugh. You’ve got yourself a free drink. Now I suggest you sup up and sod off!”

  “And where am I supposed to go? I live with you!” Starla began to weep.

  Jakey sighed, shaking his head, and returned back to the punter’s side of the bar.

  “Don’t do that,” Jakey said uncomfortably, “I’m sorry for you, really I am, but I can’t take you in. Have you tried calling… erm… the Samaritans or the YMCA or something?”

  “No, I live with you,” sobbed Starla.

  “OK, this is all a bit too weird for me. I think I know the woman I live with quite well. I would certainly recognise her if she were able to walk into a bar and sit on a stool next to me. As it happens, she’s not able to do that. Heck… you’re not a journalist are you? Or some weird fat lady groupie that’s read about Clara in that magazine?”

  “Please Jakey. I need help.”

  “Yeah – I would totally agree with that. You do need help.”

  “Test me then,” cried Starla, clutching at straws.

  “Test you?”

  “Yes, ask me something that only Clara would know.”

  “Oh for the love of god…” Jakey shook his head.

  “You’ll be sorry when Skye’s teachers complain about the way she talks to people,” murmured Starla.

  Jakey frowned and stared intently at Starla’s face, thinking that he’d said the same words himself to someone recently.

  “Ok,” he mumbled, clearly unsettled, “What colour was the ribbon that I took from Clara’s hair the first time we… er… got together?”

  “Easy! Red.”

  “Lucky guess!” exclaimed Jakey.

  “With white edges,” whispered Starla, “draped over a photograph of me next to your bed. We danced a little before you pulled it from my hair. To Tupelo Honey by Van Morrison.”

  Jakey met her eyes, his own misty with the memory.

  He stared deep into her eyes and saw only truth. He didn’t understand this. He could never explain it. He didn’t even know if he was lucid. But he knew that he was stood next to Clara.

  “Oh, Jakey!” Starla’s eyes brimmed with more tears and she held one of his hands with both of her own.

  “Clara?” Jakey was incredulous. How could this be? This girl was his partner; the mot
her of his child; the love of his life. She was every bit as beautiful as Clara. She was Clara. What did she call herself? Starla? Why? How had she transformed her body like this? She was thinner than he’d ever known her. Ever. Possibly a bit too thin.

  “Yes it’s me, Jakey. Please don’t ask me how it happened because I don’t understand anything anymore.”

  “Did you have to pay someone so you could look this way?” asked Jakey, cautiously.

  “No, Jakey! I didn’t pay. I didn’t even ask for this! I once mentioned that I wished the slimmer me inside could jump out and live a fuller life but…” Starla stopped mid-sentence and shrugged.

  “You should always be careful what you wish for,” said Jakey philosophically.

  The two smiled at each other, still holding hands. Starla opened her legs so that Jakey could stand nearer to her stool. Jakey stroked her hair with his free hand, and then rested his forehead onto her shoulder.

  “You smell like Clara too,” he smiled into her hair.

  Starla suddenly pushed him away and jumped down off the stool.

  “Who is the ex-model in Leicester?” she asked him accusingly.

  “Oof! You always did have a bit of a jealous streak. Remember when I danced with Deborah Jenkins that time we went to her cousin’s twenty-first? You did your nut!”

  “You touched her bum!”

  “I did not. Well not deliberately. I’ve told you before. She was taller than I thought.”

  “So who is she?” demanded Starla again.

  “Who? Deborah Jenkins? You went to school with her I think.”

  “No, the ex-model?”

  “Oh, you must mean Lola Watson. She’s the only reason I’ve ever been to Leicester. She’s the sister of Mrs Spencer, the receptionist at the doctors. She’s a photographer. She’s very, very talented.”

  “How could you do this to me?” whimpered Starla, turning away.

  “Do what?” demanded Jakey, grabbing Starla by the elbow and turning her back to face him. “She’s a food photographer. Well, up and coming. She used to do modelling, then fashion photography, now she specialises in photographing food. She photographs my cakes. I’m writing a recipe book.”

  “So, you’re not having an affair with her?”

  “No! She’s got a fella, I think. I’m sure she has. She mentioned going on holiday with some bloke anyway. Her daughter, Rosie, is on work experience with our surgery at the moment. I think her aunt helped that one along, don’t you?”

  Starla looked at Jakey’s lovely, loving, familiar face and felt happy for the first time in days.

  She put her arms high around his neck and kissed him gently.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were writing a book and going to Leicester, Jakey?”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you’d had extreme liposuction, Clara?”

  “I haven’t had liposuction. I’m the thinner me that was buried inside. And my name’s Starla now.”

  Confused, disconcerted and non-comprehending, Jakey returned the kiss head on. He’d missed these beautiful lips, he’d missed the way his mind zoomed around with the stars when they moved against his.

  “Ahem!” coughed Jeff, returning to the bar.

  “Sorry, Jeff. This is my partner, Clar… Star… Starla,” stumbled Jakey.

  “Pleased to meet you. I’ve not been working here long but long enough to know that your bloke makes the best bakewell tart this side of Derbyshire!”

  They shook hands over the bar.

  “Right,” said Jakey to Starla, “I can’t have another one because my shift starts at six. Do you want to walk home? You can tell me why you need my help so badly on the way.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” nodded Starla, knocking back the last of her vodka.

  They called goodbye to Jeff, Jakey recovered his laptop case, and the two of them walked home holding hands in the dappled afternoon sunshine, Starla recounting everything from flicking Jakey’s ear to being mugged in the yard behind the market.

  28

  Wednesday

  COLE

  Cole watched his son, Connor, scratch the tattoo on his neck.

  “I thought that posh lass were going to pass out when you told her we might let Statham loose,” Connor smirked.

  “Yeah, well it wouldn’t’ve mattered if she had. We’d still’ve got her bag.”

  “Much in it then, Dad?”

  “I’ve told you not to call me that when we’re out on a job!” yelled the older man.

  “Sorry Dad… I… I mean, Cole.”

  “Wazzock,” mumbled Cole.

  He tipped the contents of the bag, formerly owned by Starla, onto the back seat of his van. Statham was padding around behind the dog grille, thrusting his wet nose through the square holes periodically so that he could smell his owners. They didn’t smell overly pleasant but Statham seemed to quite like it.

  The pair had made their way very hastily from the yard in case the police arrived and they were now many miles away, parked behind some shops on a rough estate to the east of the city.

  “Sunglasses, not expensive ones, sadly. Purse, no money in it at all. No credit cards. No debit cards. No identification or passwords or pin numbers. How the hell does this woman even exist? Some tissues – great. Umbrella, nail file, hairbrush, small mirror. All cheap and nasty. No medication.”

  “What sort of mobile phone?” Connor asked, looking hard at the bag’s contents.

  “No phone. Can you believe it? No cash, no phone. Nowt.” Cole frowned in disbelief. “Who the hell doesn’t have a mobile phone in this sodding day and age?”

  “The bird weren’t worth our time and effort then? I thought she looked posh, Dad. I mean… Cole. She didn’t look as though she had nowt. I thought she’d have sommat.”

  “Well, you thought wrong!” snarled Cole. “You’re bleeding useless. Always have been.”

  In frustration, Cole threw the bag down in the passenger well at his son’s feet, and started the car up.

  “Hang on a minute Dad!” cried Connor. He reached down into the well, his sleeve pulling back to reveal a tattoo – a blue bat with outstretched wings and unnatural-looking fangs. It matched his dad’s exactly.

  “Flippin’ ‘eck… maybe she were a posh bird after all!” Connor grinned.

  Cole cut the ignition and looked at the Celtic ring that shone in Connor’s palm. It looked expensive, like an antique or something. He smiled at his son as he took it and held it up to the car window to inspect it in better light.

  Rubbing its purple stone hard with his fist to further bring up the shine, Cole suddenly felt as though Connor had punched him in the guts.

  “Wha-a…?” Cole was about to punch his son right back, when he felt as though his skull had been clamped by one of those arcade grab machines. He felt his body stretch and was reminded of a toy he used to have as a child. It was a stretchy wrestler man, filled with gel, which would extend several feet before slowly morphing back to its original size. He was still stretching…

  Cole felt himself transported down a long, dark tunnel. Beneath, he could just about make out the roof of the van. Was that Statham barking? Ahead he flew, until he no longer recognised sight nor sound. Only a pinprick of light in the distance held his attention.

  As if expelled from a cannon, he felt his body sprinkle into thousands of dust motes, lit up by a shaft of sunlight which seared across an unfamiliar living room. His last coherent thought before he entered Clara’s body was: “By ’eck – that’s one fat mother…”

  Cole opened his eyes. He felt as though he were seeing himself for the first time. He lifted his arm. It was so heavy, he needed industrial help just to scratch his nose. He looked down at the expanse of gut that threatened to consume his head and gave a scream.

  He sounded like a girl.

  He screamed again. He still sounded like a girl.

  Where was Connor?

  Panic made Cole sweat. It ran off him in rivulets, chafing him everywhere. Between his
legs, he began to itch. Not the sort of outside itch that he was used to and that made him smile to scratch in public. This was a horrid internal itch that felt like… nothing he’d ever experienced before! It felt as though it went all the way up to his belly button.

  Cole screamed again. Again, high-pitched, not his voice. He tried to stand up. He couldn’t even sit up. He couldn’t move. All this weight. Pressing. Pressing.

  As if trying to shake off a suit of chainmail, Cole writhed and turned. Each time he moved, he felt pain in his joints and his breathing was becoming very laboured.

  “Mam, mam, are you alright?”

  A very attractive blonde girl of about seventeen or eighteen was peering into Cole’s face. Just the sort of girl that Connor could pull if only he’d stand up a bit straighter, walk a bit taller.

  “I… c… c… can’t… breathe.”

  She called him ‘Mam’. Mam?

  Before he knew it, a tube was sending oxygen into his lungs making breathing a little easier.

  The young girl had wheeled over a tank of oxygen on a trolley and fastened a mask to his face. Cole relaxed his muscles a bit and sighed. God, he was hungry. He lifted his mask to speak to the girl.

  “Where am I?”

  “Mam, stoppit. You’ve just had a bit of a panic attack. Breathe slowly.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Mam, it’s me Billie. Where’s Dad?”

  Cole was confused. His dad had been dead for ten years and the only Billy he knew was Billy McDuggan. They’d shared a cell in Hazelworth Prison during the 1990s.

  He’d never seen this girl before in his life.

  “How long have you been on your own?” the girl smoothed a long lock of hair off his face. It felt nice. It had been a long time since he’d had enough hair to be stroked by anyone, let alone a pretty young lady like this one.

  She stared at a long empty table that looked as though it was used for positioning over the walrus of a woman whose body seemed somehow connected to his head.

  “Has Dad cleared away your pots, Mam?”

  Cole didn’t know who ‘Mam’ was, let alone ‘Dad’.

  “Mam? Mam, have you eaten today?”

  Cole was starving. He lifted the mask again.