You Don't Have to Say You Love Me

by Sarra Manning

  ‘Are you still committed to losing weight?’ Gustav asked.

  Neve stared at him in amazement. ‘Of course I am!’

  ‘Because we could work on a maintenance programme rather than a weight-loss regime,’ Gustav continued.

  Neve flailed on the chair in sheer, ineffectual disbelief. ‘I’m nearly twelve stone. I’m still medically overweight. I want it off! I want this gone!’ She pinched one of her thighs so Gustav could see the rolls of fat that she was never going to shift at this rate.

  ‘This five pounds, it’s nothing. You go back to your diet and exercise plan and pfft! It’s gone in a fortnight.’

  Neve put her head in her hands. ‘William will be back in London in two and a half weeks.’

  ‘William? I cannot keep track of all your men,’ Gustav tutted.

  ‘There’s only two men and I absolutely cannot see Max any more,’ Neve said because the 165 pounds on Gustav’s scale had made the decision for her. ‘Before Max, there was William and the goal that I’d be in a size ten dress by the time he got back from California and, quite frankly, the only way I’m going to get into a size ten is if I have intense, hardcore liposuction.’

  ‘Neve!’ Gustav moaned in protest. ‘I’ve been clear about this from the start. You do this for you, not for a man. Any decent man should love you for who you are, not how much you weigh.’

  ‘I’m not doing it for a man,’ Neve said, though to her ears it sounded hollow because Neve knew decent men, and instead of loving her in all her rotund glory, they’d always gone for the skinny boho girls at Oxford who wrote really, really bad poetry. And then there was Max who had his pick of model-thin, beautiful girls to go home with every night, but he hadn’t loved Neve for who she was, rather than how little she weighed, because he didn’t love her at all. But when she took William and Max out of the equation, then the truth was that she could never expect any man to love her despite her weight, when she didn’t love herself. ‘I didn’t start this because of William, you know that, but yes, his return coincides with a desperate need to hit at least one hundred and forty pounds on the scales. Do you think I could weigh ten stone and still get into a size ten?’

  Gustav didn’t look convinced. ‘If this William is the one, he’ll wait and you can concentrate on your diet and exer—’

  ‘It’s been six bloody years already!’ Neve realised she was almost shouting and tried to lower her voice. ‘What about that extreme diet for really obese people before they have major surgery so they don’t die from complications with the anaesthetic? Can I do that for a few weeks?’

  ‘You’re not listening to a single word I’m saying,’ Gustav rapped back. He was perilously close to shouting too. ‘If you dare even think about some fad diet or laxatives or surgical intervention, because I will know, Neevy, then you’ll be looking for a new personal trainer.’

  ‘You wouldn’t!’

  ‘Oh, I would. I will strike you off and I will warn all the other personal trainers in north London not to work with you. I have contacts,’ Gustav added grimly and normally Neve would have laughed and told him that he was sounding a little too ’Allo ’Allo to be taken seriously, but she was so busy glaring, and hating Gustav and Max and her metabolism and yes, herself, that she got up, snatched her stinky trainers from the floor and stalked out of the room.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  ‘Max, it’s over. William will be back in two and a half weeks and we both knew that this was going to end sooner or later. Besides which, you’ve set my health and fitness regime back by months, and even if William wasn’t coming back, I’d have to finish with you,’ Neve said sternly.

  She looked at Celia. ‘How do you think that sounds?’

  ‘Bloody terrible!’ Celia exclaimed, scrunching up her face in disapproval. ‘Christ, Neevy, let the bloke down gently.’

  ‘Breaking up with someone is really hard,’ Neve muttered, sinking down on her ancient swivel chair, which creaked in protest, because she was five pounds heavier and it couldn’t take the strain. ‘Could I write a letter instead?’

  ‘No! What is wrong with you?’

  ‘You know what’s wrong with me.’

  Celia knew because five minutes after leaving the gym, Neve had phoned her close to tears and spitting with fury until Celia had promised that she’d come round to the Archive in her lunch-hour even though she always said that she didn’t like being surrounded by dead people’s things.

  Now she was perched uncomfortably on a hard-backed chair trying not to breathe in too deeply because she also insisted that the basement reeked of mildew, which wasn’t true, and if Mr Freemont had overheard her, he’d have washed her mouth out with liquid hand soap. Mildew was every archivist’s worst nightmare.

  ‘Look, I know you’re upset about the weight thing,’ Celia mouthed the last two words, ‘but you can’t dump Max when you’re like this. You have to calm down. And stop being so mean! We’re talking about Max.’

  ‘I know exactly who we’re talking about and don’t say his name like that, all reproachfully as if I’m being completely unreasonable.’ But now that the shock of the unexpected weight gain was levelling off, the petulant tone of her voice was starting to sound a little unreasonable to Neve’s ears.

  ‘It hasn’t been all bad. You’ve seemed really happy and he’s been sexing you up 24/7 and also, not to make this all about me, but he’s one of my superiors at Skirt. You go all psycho on him, then one word in Grace’s ear and she’ll have me colour-coding hair slides for the next six months. Do you have any idea just how many hair slides there are in the fashion cupboard? I don’t deserve that.’

  ‘Well, I suppose not,’ Neve agreed slowly. ‘He did make me happy, but I think he made me too happy so I let my guard down and now look at me.’ She opened her arms wide so Celia could get a good look at the spread of her hips. ‘Getting a pretend boyfriend was hard enough and now I don’t have a clue how to get shot of one.’

  Celia had been surveying the stacks of yellowing paper on Neve’s desk with a moue of distaste, but now she turned her full attention back to her sister. ‘He knew Willy McWordy was coming back, so lead with that, then bang on for a bit about how great it was but you both knew it couldn’t last and you hope you can still be friends, blah, blah, blah. Lather, rinse, repeat. How does that sound?’

  ‘I don’t actually do the “blah blah blah” bit, I take it?’ Neve asked, as she scribbled down what Celia had just said. Celia didn’t reply, but gave Neve a long-suffering look. ‘OK, so I’ll let Max down gently – but what am I going to do about this?’ She pointed at her thighs, encased in denim and straining the seams way more than they had yesterday.

  ‘How do you feel about colonic irrigation?’

  ‘Er, I don’t really have an opinion one way or the other,’ Neve replied, though she was already considering it. Having a rubber hose up her bottom was a small price to pay if she could lose five pounds in one sitting. Not that she would be sitting if she had a rubber hose up her bum.

  ‘And you love all those raw juice drinks, don’t you?’ Celia continued. ‘Like, with wheatgrass and wheatgerm and little Japanese berries.’

  ‘Well, I suppose …’

  ‘Then I can help you with the weight loss,’ Celia said proudly. ‘You can go on the Hardcore Cleanse for our Health Editor.’

  Neve could feel the tiny flame of hope begin to flicker; it was either that or her tummy rumbling because she’d done a full workout on an empty stomach. ‘What’s a Hardcore Cleanse?’

  The Hardcore Cleanse was the latest New York diet craze being trialled in London. Cleansees signed up to have fresh juice delivered by courier every three days so they could drink juice for breakfast, lunch and dinner, along with herbal tea, raw vegetables and a medicine chest full of vitamin supplements. ‘The publicist says it’s great for weight loss, detox and also you’ll feel more energised and mentally alert,’ Celia explained. ‘Everyone in the office wanted to try it, even though you have to have a colo
nic the day before you start and sign a medical waiver.’

  Signing a medical waiver wasn’t the deterrent it should have been. These were desperate times. ‘Why doesn’t anyone in your office want to do it?’

  ‘No one could actually get the juice down without heaving,’ Celia admitted ruefully. ‘All three drinks taste pretty rancid. Even smelling the orange lunch juice made me retch.’

  ‘I’ll do it!’ Neve said eagerly, because she’d always had a cast-iron constitution. Their mother had once made a casserole with some diced chicken two days past its use-by date and Neve had been the only Slater who hadn’t spent the next twenty-four hours either puking or pooing. ‘Sign me up, sister!’

  ‘It would only be to reboot your metabolism,’ Celia warned. ‘Even the publicist said you should only do it for two weeks maximum, then you have to start reintroducing solids.’

  ‘Fine! Call your Health Editor right now and book me in for the colonic. This afternoon, if possible.’

  Celia already had her phone held aloft. ‘And you promise you’ll be nice to Max when you tell him he’s history?’

  Neve flushed guiltily. ‘That stuff I said before? I didn’t really mean it. I was just lashing out. He’s been so sweet to me and I … I still want him to be part of my life. I mean, we weren’t so emotionally attached that his heart’s going to be broken. We’ll still be able to be friends, won’t we?’

  ‘Yeah, sure, course you will,’ Celia said soothingly. ‘Being pals with your ex, what’s the harm in that?’

  It was easy to remember Max’s favourite things. Neve wore a green dress that Max said made her eyes change colour. She roasted a chicken, even though she wouldn’t be eating it because the Hardcore Cleanse publicist had told her she could only eat raw vegetables until she started her Cleanse. There were four bottles of fancy imported lager chilling in the fridge, and as Max and Keith walked through the door, Neve was just sliding the Clash’s Greatest Hits into her CD player.

  ‘There you are,’ she said shrilly as she walked into the hall.

  ‘There I am,’ Max agreed with a smile and he leaned forward to give her a kiss. Neve ducked awkwardly so his lips just grazed her cheek, because it felt wrong to get all smoochy when she knew what was coming. ‘You OK? You seem a bit twitchy.’

  The twitchiness wasn’t just nerves. Neve hadn’t eaten anything all day except two carrots, and the smell of the chicken was making all the moisture in her body migrate to her mouth. She knew exactly how Keith felt as he sat there, his tongue lolling as two slobbery lines of drool hung from his slavering mouth.

  ‘I’m fine,’ Neve assured him with a tight smile. She stared at the toes of his Converses because dumping Max wasn’t something she could rehearse any more. Not when he was taking up her narrow hall with his long, lean limbs and the clean, sweet smell of hair gloop and his grapefruit-scented bodywash and looking adoringly rumpled in his saggiest jeans and a faded red T-shirt. ‘I made roast chicken and there’s lager in the fridge.’

  ‘God, I could get used to this kind of treatment,’ Max said, as she turned to walk into the kitchen. Then his arms were around her waist so he could nuzzle her ear. ‘So, we’re going to have a proper evening meal at a proper time for once?’

  Max was. Neve was going to chew on some rocket leaves and try not to look resentful. As it was, she could feel herself stiffening in his embrace. ‘Please, Max … I need to check on the chicken.’

  ‘You’re so tense. I’ll give you a back rub later,’ Max promised, still with his arms around her so they had to shuffle to the kitchen. ‘Oh, I spoke to Mandy, she says hi.’

  Stop being so nice to me, Neve thought despairingly, as Max finally let her go so she could open the oven door. The ordeal that lay ahead would have been so much easier if he’d been in a filthy mood when he’d come in and had been short and snappy with her. Or if she was still in a filthy mood about the five pounds that he’d helped her to gain, but … no, she wasn’t going to go there.

  Maybe it had been a stupid idea to feed Max before she gave him the ‘let’s be friends’ speech. It smacked a little too much of the condemned man eating a hearty breakfast, but it wasn’t as if he was going to be absolutely devastated. Though Neve hoped that he’d be a little bit devastated because what had started out as awkward and artificial had become something real, something precious – to her, at least.

  ‘Why are you only eating leaves?’ Max suddenly asked, and Neve looked up from her bowl of rocket and radicchio leaves to see that Max had devoured half a chicken and was now giving her his full attention.

  ‘I’m really not that hungry,’ she muttered, and it was true. Her stomach had spent most of the day loudly protesting the new regime but now it felt as if there was a huge knot clogging up her intestines. ‘And I’ve decided to go on a detox.’

  Max sighed. ‘Please don’t start that crap all over again. Do you think that deciding to detox counts as self-deprecation, because if it is, I know just the cure.’ He stared at the palm of his hand meaningfully and Neve began to wonder if, as well as a good meal, she should treat the condemned man to one last romp. ‘A chicken leg or a spanking. Your choice.’

  Food or sex; that was what it really came down to. She could stuff her fat little face with Max and never, ever get to have sex with William – though she never really thought about William in a purely physical sense …

  ‘Neevy, what’s it to be?’ Max asked playfully, nudging her foot with his toe. ‘You digging in or bending over?’

  ‘No! Max, I don’t want any chicken and well, if you want to do that … we need to talk first.’

  ‘That sounds ominous.’ Max put down his lager and folded his arms. ‘Is this about me leaving the loo seat up again?’

  Neve shook her head. ‘Max,’ she said. ‘Max …’

  ‘I’ve done something really bad, haven’t I? Did I pee on the seat, then not put it down? Is that why you keep saying my name in a really forlorn way, like I haven’t just let myself down, I’ve let you down too?’

  ‘No. Max …’ Neve looked up at the ceiling in supplication because she just couldn’t seem to get past repeating his name. She was really starting to reconsider the whole letter scenario. ‘I want you to know that I really care for you and I consider you to be one of my closest friends.’

  That was better. It was a whole sentence, even if the words were all sticking together, and Max wasn’t grinning quite so widely now; he was listening intently, which was good. Sort of.

  ‘And I hope that you’ll always be one of my closest friends.’ Neve came to a grinding halt now that she’d got the friend part of her speech out of the way. Another swift look at the ceiling and a deep breath. ‘William called me the other day and he’ll be back in London, um, in just over two weeks’ time, so, you know, I think we should just be friends now.’

  Max didn’t say anything at first. He was too busy peeling the label off his lager bottle. ‘So when exactly did he call you?’ he asked in a mild voice. ‘What day?’

  ‘Um, Friday, I think.’

  ‘The Friday before the weekend we just spent together?’

  Neve looked at the top of Max’s head, which was still bent over his lager. ‘Yes. I was going to tell you then but I wasn’t—’

  ‘So you and Mr California are all ready to rock and roll?’

  It was hard to get a handle on how Max felt about this new development. He wouldn’t look at Neve and his voice was devoid of any real expression. Neve looked at her half-eaten bowl of leaves, then at Max and wondered if the two of them were really mutually exclusive. How would she react if Max flung himself at her feet and begged her to stay with him?

  ‘Well, he says he has something really important to ask me but I’m not sure what it is,’ Neve said carefully. ‘So where does this leave us? What do you want to do?’

  ‘The rabbit food is for his benefit, then? Have to be perfect for Mr California?’ Max enquired with an edge to his voice.

  ‘I’ve put on a lot of w
eight over the last month,’ Neve explained, trying hard not to sound accusing. ‘So, even if William wasn’t coming back, I need to concentrate on my health and fitness programme again.’

  ‘Well, that’s that then,’ Max said, standing up and putting his lager bottle down on the table with more force than was strictly necessary.

  ‘That’s what?’ Neve stood up too. ‘How do you feel about this?’

  ‘I don’t feel anything either way.’ Max was already marching out of the kitchen and up the half flight of stairs to the bedroom, so he could start scooping up the little pile of socks and shorts that had become a permanent fixture. ‘Can you go and get my toothbrush and my razor?’

  For the first time in a long time, Neve was scared to touch him. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘What does it look like I’m doing?’ Max demanded as he shoved his clothes into his bag. ‘You can keep those Salinger books, by the way. I’m never going to read them.’

  ‘But they were a present,’ protested Neve. In all the possible outcomes she’d imagined, this hadn’t been one of them. At the very worst, she’d thought Max would storm out in a huff to walk Keith. Then he’d come back half an hour later and they’d talk it out and agree to be friends. In fact, all the possible outcomes that Neve had envisaged had ended up with them remaining buddies. But Max stuffing his goods and chattels into his Vivienne Westwood duffel bag was horribly, irrevocably final. ‘Please, Max. Can we sit down and talk about this?’

  ‘There’s nothing to talk about.’ Max shouldered past Neve on his way to the bathroom. ‘It was a pancake relationship. Like you keep constantly reminding me, the first pancake gets thrown away. I’ll be out of your hair in less than ten minutes.’