A Season of Hopes and Dreams

by Lynsey James

  She points me in the direction of the changing rooms and darts off to help another customer. I head into one of the cubicles and pull the curtain round so I don’t treat the whole shop to the sight of me in my knickers.

  ‘Let’s see what we’ve got here,’ I murmur to myself.

  The assistant has chosen some lovely dresses, but I can’t imagine myself in any of them. They all look like they’re meant for someone way more stylish than me. As I flick through the selection, I come across a beautiful white skater dress. It has delicate lace detailing, a full skirt and an angelic quality to it that I absolutely love. I’ll probably make it look like an oversized doily, but it can’t hurt to try it on, right? I pull off my clothes and slip it on, keeping my eyes tightly shut as I turn to the mirror. If there’s one thing I’ve learned through years of awful shopping trips, it’s that changing-room mirrors are never your friends. They have a nasty habit of magnifying everything you hate about yourself.

  Five, four, three, two, one…

  I take a deep breath and open my eyes. The sight in front of me makes my heart jump. I look… pretty. The dress flatters my curves and falls nicely to just above my knees. My body doesn’t look awkward and lumpy; instead, it’s curvy and feminine. I haven’t been able to look at myself like this for such a long time. I turn and examine myself from all angles, convinced one of them will show me in my real light and make me change my mind.

  After a couple of twirls, I eventually decide none of the other dresses is going to trump this one. I pull the curtain back and head onto the shop floor, my skin tingling with excitement. This is the moment I’ve waited years for, and it’s more than worth it.

  ‘Did you find everything you needed?’ the assistant asks when she comes over to me.

  ‘I certainly did! I’m taking this one.’ I do a little twirl, feeling utterly resplendent in my amazing dress. ‘It’s gorgeous, isn’t it?’

  She nods slowly and her smile falters a little. ‘I-I didn’t know I’d picked that one up for you actually. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather pick something a bit more… flattering?’

  I frown and look down at the dress again. ‘No, I’m pretty sure I like this one. I feel great in it.’

  ‘OK then! Why don’t you get changed back into your clothes and I’ll get you at the till when you’re ready?’

  I look down at myself one more time, suddenly not feeling as confident as I did in the changing room. I catch sight of Emma emerging, having finally chosen the blue dress.

  ‘What do you think of this dress?’ I ask.

  Emma gives me the once-over, pulling about a million different faces and tilting her head from side to side.

  ‘I love it,’ she says with a smile. ‘You look great, honestly.’

  Although she’s my best friend, I know I can rely on her to be honest with me when it counts.

  ‘Thanks,’ I reply, ‘I think I’m going to go with this one!’

  When I get back into the changing room, I look in the mirror again, hoping to feel that magic I felt the first time. I turn from side to side, hoping to capture the feeling of excitement again. It doesn’t come, much to my disappointment. I admit defeat and emerge in my old clothes, carrying the dresses I didn’t try on in my arms.

  The assistant’s bright smile pops back into place as she takes the pile of dresses from me and guides me over to the counter.

  ‘Did you find everything you were after today?’ she asks, her words a little too sweet for my liking.

  ‘I certainly did.’ I hand over my card and keep my gaze fixed to the carpet until it’s time to put my PIN in.

  Once Emma’s paid for her dress, we head out of the shop.

  ‘That wasn’t so bad, was it?’ she says, looking at me a little uncertainly. ‘You found a gorgeous dress in the first shop we went to! That’s great.’

  ‘I don’t know about this dress, to be honest. I liked it in the changing room, but…’ My eyes dart down to the bag I’m holding, and my heart sinks. ‘The assistant said I should choose something more flattering.’

  Emma scoffs and links her arm with mine. ‘How did you feel when you first pulled the dress on? Before you showed anyone or let that stupid assistant have her say?’

  ‘I felt brilliant,’ I admit. ‘I can’t remember ever having a really good shopping trip to be honest; there would either be nothing I liked on the shelves, or I’d have a meltdown in the changing room when I saw myself in their awful mirrors. Today was different, though; I actually felt confident for a change. Until I came out of the changing room and saw that assistant’s face, I felt absolutely awesome.’

  ‘Don’t let people like her bother you,’ Emma says, giving me an affectionate squeeze. ‘You’re never going to see her again, so why let her opinion get to you? I thought you looked great in that dress and if you felt good in it, even better.’

  I nod and heave a sigh. ‘You’re right; I don’t know why I’m letting her bother me anyway!’ I feel an icy blast of air and go to zip my jacket up, only to find it’s not there. ‘Oh crap, I must’ve left my jacket back at the shop! Hang on, I’ll run back and get it.’

  ‘OK, I’ll be in the coffee shop at the end of the street,’ Emma replies. ‘Come and meet me there when you’ve finished.’

  I nod, and head back up the hill towards the shop we’ve just come out of. I open the door and a pair of voices drift towards me.

  ‘So I said to her, “Don’t you think you should try and pick something a bit more flattering?” and she said no! I mean, she looked dreadful; I’ve seen sacks of potatoes look better than she did in this dress. Anyway, some people just can’t be helped, can they? I bet she’s the designated ugly fat friend among her friends. They’ll be guaranteed to pull when she’s around!’ I recognise the voice as belonging to the assistant who helped me just a few minutes ago. She throws her head back and lets out a high-pitched, braying laugh that makes my stomach turn.

  ‘I think I saw her actually,’ a second voice says. It belongs to a tall, leggy blonde who looks like she should be sipping champagne on a millionaire’s yacht. ‘She looked like a stuffed sausage in that white dress! Still, it’s money in the till, isn’t it? She’s the one who’ll end up looking a complete mess at whatever event she’s going to.’

  I stand there, rooted to the spot with no clue how to react. They’re talking about me in such an awful manner, and I’ve heard every word. My self-confidence withers away to nothing and I’m pretty sure I can feel my heart split in two. They’re saying the worst things I think about myself out loud and it hurts so much I can’t begin to describe it. At the centre of their bitchy comments is a little kernel of truth I just can’t ignore.

  ‘Ahem!’ I clear my throat and the assistant turns round. Her jaw drops a little when she sees me, which confirms she’s been talking about me.

  ‘Can I help you?’ she asks, slipping back into retail mode with relative ease. The discomfort on her face delights me.

  ‘I… I left my jacket in the changing room, so I’ve just popped back to get it.’ My voice is thick with tears, but I’ll be damned if I cry in front of these nasty girls.

  The assistant moves to help me, but I stride past her to the cubicle I’ve left my jacket in. The leggy blonde just leans against the wall, a vacant expression on her face. She looks dead behind the eyes and I pity her for a second. I snatch my jacket up and slip it on, making a direct beeline for the door. As my hand reaches for the handle, I decide I’m not quite finished with them yet.

  ‘You know, I feel sorry for you two,’ I say. ‘Your lives must be really pathetic if you’ve got nothing better to do than bitch about people who haven’t done anything to you. If the worst thing about me is I’m a couple of sizes bigger than you, I’m doing fucking well. Have a nice life.’

  Leaving the pair of them open-mouthed and speechless, I storm out of the shop and slam the door behind me. When I’m outside, the reality of what I’ve just done hits me like a sucker punch to the stomach. The low hum of
city traffic becomes a deafening roar in my ears and my knees go weak. Tears overwhelm me and I have to lean against a nearby shopfront for support.

  My worst nightmare has just unfolded in front of me, and it was every bit as painful as I imagined.

  *

  How I get through coffee with Emma is anyone’s guess. Somehow, I manage to act normal and chat away like I always do. When she asks me how the Inspire course is going, I manage to tell her how much I’m enjoying it and how happy I am that I decided to go for it. It’s as though I’m running on autopilot as I try to erase the awful memory from the clothes shop.

  That’s brilliant!’ Emma claps her hands and does a happy little dance in her seat. ‘You’ll be an amazing leader, Cleo; way better than Marjorie, that’s for sure. If you take over from her, I might even start following the plan properly. Got to keep myself trim now I’m going out with Ben!’

  ‘He should love you no matter what size you are!’ I snap. ‘The number on a clothes label isn’t everything, you know!’

  Emma’s eyes widen and she falls silent, turning her attention to the mug of Americano in front of her.

  ‘I’m sorry, I… I didn’t mean to bite your head off. I just don’t want you thinking you have to change yourself to please Ben. He should love you for who you are, not what dress size you wear.’

  I can feel myself beginning to crumble. I’m on the verge of tears and I’m not sure I’m strong enough to hold them back. One thing’s for sure: I’m not telling Emma what I overheard in the shop. I can’t bear the thought of bringing my nightmare to life again.

  My best friend smiles and shakes her head. ‘I was only joking, but thank you. You’re such a good mate, Cleo. Don’t know what I’d do without you sometimes.’

  The conversation slips into familiar territory: work, our boyfriends, family stuff. I’m not sure how I manage it, but I open my mouth and make words come out. I even appear normal, even though I feel anything but. All I can think about is the two girls in the shop. The humour in their voices and mannerisms as they talked about me makes me feel sick when I think about it, and the assistant’s whiny laugh echoes through my head.

  What hurts the most is that it’s only taken one tiny moment to completely derail my self-confidence. They may not know it, but they’ve snatched away one of the most important things in the world to me.

  Maybe they’re right.

  Maybe I’ve been looking at myself through the wrong lens. Maybe their perception of me is spot-on. Maybe it’s what everyone secretly thinks of me, but is too afraid to say.

  I catch sight of my reflection in the coffee-shop window and quickly look away. Not being able to trust what you’re seeing in front of you is perhaps the worst feeling in the world.

  *

  To make an awful day even worse, Mum insists I drop in to see her on my way back from shopping. I try to text her a few excuses, but she’s not having any of it. I hop off the bus when I get back to Silverdale and make my way across to her cottage, a sense of impending doom washing over me with every step I take.

  One thing’s for sure, this won’t end well at all.

  Sure enough, the nit-picking starts as soon as I walk through the door.

  ‘Your hair looks like a bird’s nest today,’ she says, pawing at it to try and flatten it down. ‘Have you changed your hair products again? You know what that does to your hair. You take after your dad; his used to be like wire wool.’

  I’ve never been less in the mood to hear Mum’s critical comments, but I try to put a face on it. The urge to binge begins to build at the back of my mind, although I do my best to ignore it.

  ‘No, Mum, I haven’t changed my hair products,’ I say wearily. ‘It’s just a bad hair day, that’s all.’

  I take a seat beside her at the kitchen table as she busies herself sorting mugs of tea.

  ‘So, what’s been happening then?’ she asks cheerfully. ‘You’ve hardly been round here these last couple of weeks! Tell me everything.’

  I scrunch my eyes shut as I remember I haven’t told her about becoming a Carb Counters leader. If there’s one thing that’ll spark an argument between us, it’s definitely that. Then again, I reason, it’s a brilliant opportunity and she should be happy for me.

  Right?

  ‘Well… um…’

  Mum sighs. ‘Why do you always take ages to tell a story, Cleo? Just spit it out!’

  I dig my fingernails into my palms and brace myself for what’s about to happen. ‘I’ve started training to become a Carb Counters group leader.’

  ‘You’ve what?’ She spins around and almost knocks over the mugs. ‘Why the hell would you want to go and do that?’

  This is it; I’ve finally had enough. The two girls in the shop have made me feel awful and now’s as good a time as any to have it out with Mum.

  ‘Because I bloody well want to!’ I yell, slamming my fists down on the table. ‘Why do you always have to be so bloody negative, Mum? Carb Counters has helped me get my life back, but for some reason you don’t want to see that.’

  There’s an eerie silence for a moment as she joins me at the table. Her eyes are filled with tears, which startles me. I’ve never seen Mum cry before.

  ‘Do you really not know why I’m so against you being part of a slimming group? Can you not work it out for yourself?!’

  I grunt in frustration. ‘I’ve been going to the group for a year, Mum, and I haven’t gone back to my old ways! I know it was an awful time for you and Dad, watching me go through that, but I’m not that person any more.’

  ‘No, not yet, but those groups aren’t a good environment for people like you, Cleo! Don’t you think you’ve put your dad and me through enough worry without adding to it?! How are you supposed to lead a group of people wanting to lose weight with your history?! You didn’t have control over your own eating habits!’

  I flinch as though she’s slapped me in the face. Of all the sly remarks and digs, this one has to be the worst. Mum looks like she’s just come out of a trance or something, as she realises what she’s said.

  ‘Cleo, I’m… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.’

  I storm past her as she tries to put her arms around me and run out of the house. Today is officially the worst day of my life.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  As I storm across the village to my cottage, there’s only one thing on my mind: bingeing. I practically sprint across the village green to Larkspur Cottage. All I can think about is eating until things don’t hurt any more.

  Off to the treat cupboard I go, as soon as I’m through the door. I wrench the door open with more urgency than I’ve ever felt before, and start hauling food out by the handful. Pain sears my insides; I still can’t get the vision of those two girls in the shop out of my head.

  She looked dreadful; I’ve seen sacks of potatoes look better than she did in that dress.

  The fact it was two strangers almost makes it worse because the only thing they’ve judged me on is my appearance. They know nothing about me, yet they felt compelled to make fun of how I supposedly looked in my dress. I might’ve stood up to them, but their words have hit home and knocked me for six.

  ‘Fuck them,’ I murmur to myself. ‘Fuck everyone.’

  I grab a pack of chocolate brownies and rip them open. Their smell ensnares my senses and I can’t wait for their taste to explode on my taste buds. I go to take one out of the packet, but hesitate. Maybe I don’t have to do this; maybe there’s another way to deal with the pain I’m feeling. I wait for the strength I’ve built up in spite of years of self-hatred to take over, make me put the food away, and show me I’m bigger and better than those awful remarks.

  It doesn’t happen.

  The light at the end of the tunnel I’m desperately waiting for doesn’t come, so I pick up the brownie and chomp a huge chunk out of it. Two bites later, it’s gone. Hot tears run down my face as I pick up a second one, swallowing it whole in seconds. The sugary-sweet taste lingers on my t
ongue and coats the roof of my mouth. I really don’t want to do this, but I can’t see any other way out of how I’m feeling. If anything, I feel worse. Like I’ve crossed a line, gone past the point of no return.

  Maybe a different texture and taste will help?

  I tear open a bag of my favourite crisps and thrust a handful into my mouth, screwing my face up as the salt and vinegar clashes with the remnants of the rich brownie. They definitely don’t make a good combo. After deciding salt and vinegar crisps aren’t the answer, I begin ripping open more bags of food – popcorn, cupcakes, Doritos – to find the one that will make everything feel better. I ignore the lurch in my stomach as I shove more food into my mouth and keep going with my frenzied quest. Something has to work; it just has to. Some part of me knows that what I’m doing is wrong, that this binge is a sign I can’t cope with my issues alone any more and need help.

  Yet I still can’t stop.

  I don’t even hear the front door open, or the voice shouting “only me”.

  ‘Cleo, what’s going on?’ I look up to find a mildly horrified Scott standing in the kitchen doorway. ‘What’s happened here?’

  I look up from the huge mess I’ve created on the kitchen floor and don’t say a word. I can’t. There aren’t any to explain what I’ve done.

  He crouches down next to me and brushes some hair away from my face. ‘Cleo, please tell me what’s happened. You’re scaring me.’

  I open my mouth to tell him about what happened in the shop and with my mum, but I burst into tears instead. Not just quiet little sobs either; full-on wailing with tears going everywhere. I curl myself into a ball, hugging my knees to my chest and burying my head between them.

  Scott sweeps some of my binge debris away and comes to sit next to me. He tries to prise my arms away from my knees so he can hug me, but I jerk away from him.

  ‘Please, just go,’ I sob. ‘I don’t want you to see me like this.’