A Season of Hopes and Dreams

by Lynsey James

  There’s something really liberating about talking about something so personal. I’d expected to feel exposed and vulnerable, but instead I feel empowered. Although I’ve left out the part about my binge-eating and the diet pills, I feel good for having shared something about my past with him. When I get up the nerve to look Scott in the eye, my heart rate quickens. He’s smiling, but I can tell he isn’t laughing at me or mentally filing me under “charity case”.

  ‘That’s incredible,’ he says, squeezing my hand again. ‘I mean it; it takes a lot to say “right, I don’t want to live like this any more” and do something about it. I always tell my clients it’s being healthy that counts, not a clothes size, and healthy means different things to different people. You realised how much your weight gain was affecting your life and decided to change it. That takes balls, Cleo. There are so many people sitting at home thinking about making a change to their lives, but you’ve fucking done it. You’re awesome.’

  I feel a warmth rush over my skin and drop my gaze to the sticky mahogany table. Scott lifts my chin to bring it level with his.

  ‘Shall we get out of here?’ he suggests. ‘We could go for a walk round the village or something?’

  Saying yes to this is the easiest thing I’ve ever done.

  Chapter Twelve

  Although Silverdale regularly makes it on to Britain’s Prettiest Villages lists, nobody realises quite how beautiful it is until they come to visit.

  As I walk through its twisty, winding streets with Scott, heading towards the village green, I feel a deep sense of contentment. I’ve walked the same streets my whole life, but walking them with Scott in tow makes me see them in a whole new light. There’s something about showing my familiar surroundings to a newcomer that fills me with joy.

  ‘And down that street, there’s the primary school, and that road leads you to the park.’ I’m doing my best impression of a tour guide; all I’m missing is a massive umbrella to point at various attractions with. ‘The village green’s the heart of Silverdale, though; every summer, there’s a massive fair and everyone gets involved. There’s cake baking, a pet show, games and more bunting than Bake Off.’

  I feel Scott’s eyes on me, and turn to see him grinning in my direction.

  ‘Sorry,’ I say, ‘I must sound like a right bore, I just love living here! It’s such a strong community and, yeah, everyone knows everyone’s business, but there’s something kind of nice about that.’

  Scott slips his hand into mine and gives it an affectionate squeeze. ‘Again with the apologies! It’s actually really nice to see someone who’s so passionate about where they live; I couldn’t wait to get out of my hometown and start building my own life. Now, whenever I go back, I wish I’d appreciated it more while I was living there.’

  ‘Where did you grow up?’ I ask as we step onto the village green and make our way over to the bench in the centre. It’s silent apart from the breeze whispering through the grass.

  Scott looks around at the row of cottages opposite and a sad smile crosses his face. ‘I’m from Gloucestershire originally. I grew up in a place like this really; a little village tucked away in the middle of nowhere, with everyone knowing everything about their neighbours. When I was living there, it all felt so… claustrophobic. Like there was a big, wide world out there waiting for me to explore. I left for uni as soon as I could then spent a year travelling round Asia. When I came back, I got a job at the gym I’m at right now in Manchester and the rest is history.’

  ‘Wow,’ I say, trying to conceal my envy, ‘travelling round Asia must’ve been amazing! Where did you go?’

  At the mention of his travels, Scott’s hazel eyes light up. ‘Mostly India, but I went to Nepal, Cambodia and Thailand too. It was the best year of my life, if I’m honest. I’m saving up to go backpacking round Australia soon; there’s something amazing about seeing new countries and cultures, you know? Have you done much travelling yourself?’

  I let out a laugh. ‘I wish! Furthest I’ve been is Lanzarote with Emma for two weeks. When I was younger, I had all these things I wanted to do, but I just put them all on the backburner when I gained weight. They all became things I’d do “one day”, but “one day” never really came. I wanted to travel the world, dance in the West End, move to New York and perform on Broadway. They all kind of got pushed to the side because it seemed silly to dream when my weight was holding me back so much.’

  He reaches over and puts his arm round my shoulders. ‘It doesn’t have to any more. You could still do all those things if you wanted to. The number on the scales will only hold you back for as long as you let it.’

  ‘It’s a bit too late to be a professional dancer now, plus my leg wouldn’t let me,’ I reply. ‘But you’re right; it’s never too late to dream, is it? I’ve actually made a new bucket list. Found the old one in my wardrobe and decided to go for it. If fourteen-year-old Cleo could do it, twenty-six-year-old Cleo can!’

  ‘That’s brilliant!’ Scott smiles. ‘You’ll have to show me it sometime. Maybe I can help you with a couple.’

  ‘I’d like that,’ I reply, feeling goosebumps rise on my arms.

  ‘I’ve been thinking,’ he continues, ‘what about teaching dance? You could do some kids’ classes at the community centre or something? At least that way you could be part of dancing again, even if you can’t perform.’

  I edge away from him and put my arms round my stomach. ‘I’ve tried getting into teaching, but it hasn’t worked so far. I’ve applied for loads of trainee dance teacher positions and been knocked back from all of them. I’d probably need a teaching qualification to set up any classes and going to college would be really expensive. My job at the bakery pays for my house, so I can’t lose the money from that while I study.’

  Scott’s face falls. ‘I’m sorry to hear that, Cleo. For what it’s worth, those dance schools would be lucky to have you as a trainee teacher. Who knows, maybe you’ll get there one day. It just takes one school giving you a chance, right?’

  ‘Yeah, but it doesn’t look like that’s going to happen.’ My tone’s more blunt than I mean it to be, but I’m hoping it’ll bring the conversation about dancing to an end. ‘Anyway, it’s getting late. I’d better get going, I’ve got an early start at the bakery tomorrow.’

  I get up from the bench and Scott follows suit.

  ‘Can I walk you home?’ he asks. ‘My bus back to Manchester isn’t for another half an hour, so there’s plenty of time.’

  My first instinct is to politely decline and say goodnight. The evening’s gone well, apart from our brief foray into my car accident and shattered dancing career, so maybe it’s best to leave it on a high note. However, there’s something about the look in Scott’s eyes that makes me wants to say yes.

  So that’s exactly what I decide to do.

  ‘OK then,’ I say. ‘It’s not far from here.’

  He falls into step with me and we start walking to my cottage. His fingers gently brush against mine, temporarily catching me off-guard.

  ‘Sorry.’ He rubs the back of his neck and looks away from me. ‘I didn’t mean…’

  I shake my head and reach for his hand, lacing our fingers together. My nerves are at an all-time high, but doing it feels right. We steal glances at each other and smile as we approach Larkspur Cottage. Walking beside him doesn’t feel real. I don’t usually do stuff like this; I’m more your stay-in-the-shadows-avoiding-people kind of girl. It’s nice to see what giving someone a chance is like.

  We stop outside my front door and look at each other for a moment.

  ‘I had a great time tonight, Cleo.’ Scott smiles and takes my hands in his. ‘When I saw you at the speed-dating event tonight… all I could think was “God, I hope she doesn’t end up talking to some other bloke”.’

  I giggle. ‘You had some pretty stiff competition from the bloke who had serious mummy issues!’

  ‘I’ll count myself lucky then!’

  The laughter subsides a
nd we stare into each other’s eyes. Although I know exactly what’s about to happen, I’m not sure I’m ready for it. Although tonight has been all about facing my fears and trying new things, the thought of taking things to the next level with Scott is pretty scary. Now that it’s so close to happening, doubts begin to appear at the corners of my mind. My breath catches in my chest as I watch him bite his bottom lip and take a step towards me. His head tilts to one side and he puts a hand on the back of my head, drawing me nearer to him. I find myself wondering what his lips will taste like on mine and how it’ll feel to be wrapped in his arms. Yet, at the same time, I’m utterly terrified something will go wrong. My dating experience before this hasn’t exactly been extensive, so I’m bound to do something that ruins the romantic mood.

  My nerves take over and I back away from him. Better to end the moment here before things go wrong.

  ‘Is everything OK?’ he asks with a frown.

  ‘I-I… I just…’ I stutter as my brain scrambles to put my thoughts in a coherent order.

  Scott’s phone blasting out an Oasis song interrupts me. He screws his eyes shut and digs around in his pocket until he finds it.

  ‘It’s Chris, wondering where I’ve got to.’ He sighs and shakes his head. ‘I’d better go and find him in case he gets lost or something!’

  I chuckle and he looks at me, staring deep into my eyes. I can tell he’s wondering whether to try and kiss me again or walk away. The conflict is written all over his face. Part of me is screaming I should pull him into a kiss, while the other tells me to head inside.

  ‘I’ll… see you around, Cleo.’ The corners of his lips pull up into a smile and he does an awkward little wave as he turns to walk down the path.

  ‘Yeah, see you.’

  I watch his retreating figure get swallowed up by the night. Should I go after him and create one of those moments you see in rom-coms, where the two lead characters kiss passionately in the moonlight? Or should I let myself in and forget the whole thing?

  Eventually, I choose the latter.

  *

  I’m glad to get back to the bakery the next day. It provides a great distraction from thinking about last night with Scott. I’ve kicked myself umpteen times for letting my low self-esteem get the better of me and ruin the moment between us. Inevitably, it crosses my mind throughout the morning. My brain chooses to replay the moment I pulled away from him at random intervals: while I’m mixing batter, as I’m serving a customer, or even while I’m having my Carb Counters Lean & Mean salad (the only cookbook recipe that doesn’t taste or look like dog food).

  Fred quickly twigs something’s wrong with me. After I accidentally get my ratios wrong on a cupcake batter and kick the wall in frustration, he takes me to one side and sits me down.

  ‘What’s up with you, love?’ he asks. ‘You’ve not been yourself today, and it’s not like you to get cake batter wrong. You could make it in your sleep!’

  I shake my head and let out a groan of frustration. ‘It’s nothing, Fred. I just… I went out with a guy last night and things didn’t quite go to plan.’

  Fred nods and flashes me a knowing look. ‘You know what they say, Cleo; sometimes you’ve got to kiss a lot of frogs before you find Prince Charming. Just because this man wasn’t decent doesn’t mean another one won’t be.’

  ‘He was decent, though,’ I reply, feeling the frustration well up inside me again. ‘He was a lovely guy who wanted to spend time with me, and when it looked like something was about to happen, I backed out.’

  I glance at Fred, who looks like he has no clue what to say. I can’t say I blame him; comforting a crying woman can’t be easy at the best of times.

  ‘I’m sure it’s nothing that can’t be fixed,’ he says, patting my arm and looking for something to busy himself with. ‘It’ll all come out in the wash.’

  I get up and wipe my eyes again. ‘Thanks, Fred. I don’t think I’ll be seeing him again, though! He’s probably got himself a new identity and fled to Brazil or something.’

  I hide my regret behind a sunny smile and head off to make a new batch of cupcake batter. As my mind loses itself in the familiar processes of breaking the eggs, measuring the flour and sugar and mixing them all together, regret makes my insides twist themselves into knots. For the first time in I don’t know how long, a guy was genuinely interested in getting to know me, and I ruined it.

  Well done, Cleo; ten out of ten for being an utter knob.

  *

  By the time I’ve finished work for the day, I’m desperate to gain back some control. I made more mistakes in the bakery as the day went on, had a customer yell at me because I gave her a cream puff instead of a slice of caramel shortcake, and accidentally split open a huge bag of flour. Plus, I couldn’t stop replaying what happened with Scott and picturing how I could’ve done things differently. Everything feels like it’s spinning out of control and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. Walking across the village green from the bakery to my cottage, the world feels too loud for me. It’s like white noise pounding in my ears, even though the streets are relatively quiet. If I can just find a way to make everything feel better, it’ll be OK.

  And I know just how to do it.

  As soon as I’m back at my cottage, I head straight for my secret “treat” cupboard. It’s where I lock away all the delicious things I love, so I’m not tempted between Carb Counters meetings. My shoebox stash is the hoard I trust myself with; this lot is for when shit really hits the fan. I have a designated “treat night” every week, but even then I only consume the tiniest amounts to avoid that dreaded gain on the scales. Right now, though, seeing the pounds go up is the last thing I care about. I wrench it open and grab everything I can see: cupcakes, brownies, huge family bags of salt and vinegar crisps, multipacks of my favourite chocolate bars. I haul my stash onto the kitchen table and eye it with rabid desire. This pile of food in front of me, this is what’ll make me feel better.

  I pick up a box of brownies and tear it open in a blind frenzy. I grab one and prepare to stuff it into my mouth, but stop myself just as it reaches my lips.

  ‘No,’ I say, my voice shaking dangerously, ‘not this time.’

  With trembling hands, I gather up my treat stash and shove it back into the cupboard, slamming the door hard. My breathing is ragged as my heart thunders against my chest; I’ve scared myself. This is the closest I’ve come to returning to my old vicious circle for a long time. The chocolate buttons were a minor blip compared to this; I ate them then stopped, but now I know I’d eat everything on the table. I assumed I’d kicked the habit a long time ago, but the urge to binge on unhealthy food was so strong I almost couldn’t deny it. I sink onto one of my old kitchen chairs and take deep breaths to calm myself down.

  It’s OK, I tell myself, you were able to stop yourself in time. You’re not the person you used to be; you’re stronger now.

  I can’t help but think about who I used to be. The binges where I’d eat everything I could get my hands on, only to purge it all minutes later. I can easily conjure up the feelings of self-hatred and worthlessness from that time; although I’ve come a long way since then, they’re still as vivid as ever. Things came to a head when I added diet pills to the mix and ended up in hospital, which was the best and worst thing ever to happen to me.

  For a brief moment, I consider phoning Emma or my mum to tell them what’s happened. I’m not sure what I’ll say: hey, guess what, I almost had an almighty food binge like in the bad old days, but I didn’t?

  Nope, that doesn’t sound too good.

  There’s only one thing I can think of doing right now, and it’s not my usual idea of fun.

  Chapter Thirteen

  If there’s one thing I’ll never describe myself as, it’s a gym bunny.

  However, I’m nothing if not a glutton for punishment, so despite things with Scott not going entirely to plan, I take myself off to the gym. I’m absolutely terrified in case I run into him, of course, but after
my near-binge I need to clear my head.

  I don’t immediately clock him when I first walk in, and I’m glad. I make my way upstairs to the cardio machines and calmly set up my iPod to blare dance music while I attempt to run without making a fool of myself. A heavy electronic beat blasts through my headphones and I feel my anxiety slowly melt away as I pick up the pace. I’m definitely not a natural gym-goer, but I have to admit it’s not as bad as I thought it would be.

  After a few minutes, I get up the courage to break into a full-on sprint. I close my eyes and pretend I’m running along a beach somewhere, the wind in my hair and the salty tang of the sea on my tongue. The chaos of the last day or so begins to subside and it’s just me, the music and the treadmill.

  Utter bliss.

  I inch my eyes open a little and my heart sinks when I see Scott down at the weights area. He’s conducting a personal training session with what can only be described as a goddess of a woman. She’s tall, blonde and has a bum Beyoncé herself would kill for. She’s holding a heavy-looking kettle bell and squatting effortlessly, as Scott gives her instructions. He has a bright smile on his face and who can blame him? She’s perfection on toast.

  I know looking down at my own baggy vest and tracksuit bottoms to compare them to her stretchy black Lycra get-up is a mistake. But yup, you guessed it, I do it anyway. I look like an old windsock compared to her and I’m fully aware of it. Judging by the look on his face, he’s probably thanking his lucky stars I flounced off the other night.