by Anita Notaro
She had a text message. It was from Toni, who used predictive text and whose messages were always like letters. All that was missing was the Dear Ellie.
In Merrion Hotel. They ran out of water. Reluctantly switched to G & T cause it’s the same color! How did you get on? Come in and tell all.
Forty minutes later she joined her friends in their luxurious surroundings opposite Government Buildings. The place was full of yummy mummies and political types.
“What are you doing in here?” Ellie said as she collapsed in beside them. “It’s not one of our usual haunts.”
“It’s comfortable and we’re getting old,” Pam said, stretching out her legs.
“Speak for yourself, darling.” Toni was having none of it. “It’s just that, since the Shelbourne closed, we’re lost. It always felt just right for afternoon drinkies.”
“And you could stroll around the Green first and pretend you’d had some exercise.” Maggie was the realistic one.
“Well, I’ll have a large version of whatever you’re having.” Ellie was suddenly gasping.
Pam was relieved that she wasn’t going to lecture them, so she sprang up with alacrity. “Coming up, ma’am.”
“Well, do tell all.” Toni wanted the details.
“Don’t start without me,” Pam warned, so they made small talk for a moment but she was back in a jif. “I forgot it’s all waiter service here.” She made a face. “Bit posh for me, I think. They called me ‘madam.’”
“Well, let’s hope they hurry up. Anyway, I start on Monday week.” Ellie waited for their reaction, there was no point in delaying.
“Ha, I knew it.”
“Good for you.”
“Well done, but are you sure?”
“Yes. No. Well, kind of. I want out of the other place and the kids are great and it’s a fantastic house, although Howth is a fair journey. Still, I can go over the toll bridge. He’s a bit grim, but then he smiles and I sort of like him. Also, his sister is nice and I feel I’ll be able to talk to her if I have any problems. Anyway, I think he deserves a break.”
“Well, he’s got one if you’ve agreed to work for him. Until he samples your cooking, that is.” Pam elbowed her friend. They’d all had their share of Ellie’s attempts to be adventurous in the kitchen. “Remember the famous Indian food night. It was after midnight by the time we sat down. We were all plastered.”
“Stop it. Poor Ellie really tried that night.” Maggie knew what they were like.
“She nearly poisoned us.” Pam was enjoying herself. “Ugh, I can still taste that chicken.”
“It wasn’t my fault the chicken was a bit off. I couldn’t smell it because of all the spices.”
“It wasn’t a bit off, it was mingin’.” Toni gave her an apologetic look as she wrinkled her nose. “I couldn’t face poultry of any description for six months.”
“And then there was your attempt at Peking Duck, remember?” Drink had loosened Pam’s tongue. “It was charred, and when you sliced it a liter of fat spurted out.”
“And all that soy sauce made it way too salty.” Maggie wasn’t about to be left out of the slagging completely.
“Well, he said he doesn’t expect me to cook for him at all.” Ellie made a face. “So a trip to A & E won’t be on his agenda.”
“Pity the kids, though. They’ll get to know the Crumlin area quite well, I’d say.” Pam was referring to Dublin’s major children’s hospital, well known to parents the length of the country.
“Very funny. I can cook perfectly well and you all know it. I just get carried away every now and then. Now, can we please change the subject?”
“So, what’s he really like?”
“OK. A bit odd, as I said. Aloof. Preoccupied, sort of.”
“Attractive?”
“No, well maybe … no, not really. Tall, dark, disheveled. Broody eyes. Needs looking after.”
“No better woman, I’d say.” Pam was bruising Ellie’s ribs again and it was beginning to irritate her.
“Sounds a bit like Gabriel Byrne from that description.”
“Yeah, maybe. But he’s taller. He does have that intense look, though.” Ellie couldn’t remember who he’d reminded her of on that first day. “The kids have christened me Nora, despite my protestations.” That set off a chorus of name jokes. They all knew Ellie hated her name and thought it was a riot that she now had another nickname to add to the list.
“Well, you certainly don’t live up to your quaint, old-fashioned name, that’s for sure,” Maggie teased. “Would you like a sweet sherry, Nora?” she inquired and they spent the next ten minutes telling her how she should dress and behave to suit her new image. None of it was flattering.
Nine
The first real meeting—the last one had only been a dry run—of the WWW Club was not off to a good start. Ellie arrived at Toni’s stylish apartment in the IFSC—the ultracool financial services building in the center of Dublin—early and crotchety. “Don’t talk to me. I’ve just had a run-in with a mother because I scolded her darling son who peed into another child’s rice pudding.”
“Ah sure God love him, babies do that. All this macho stuff about getting their willies out and admiring their aim starts in nappies, you know.” Toni had had a flirtation with a rather attractive doctor in the lift that evening so she was feeling generous.
“He’s nearly five.”
“Ah, right.”
“And while I was arguing with the mother the other child started to eat the pudding and her father came in and threw a wobbly and while I was dealing with the two of them the child with the rice thing emptied it into a cot on top of one of the sleeping babies.
“You need a cup of tea, so …” Toni was sympathetic. She’d had problems of her own with patients and food that day and hers were definitely old enough to know better. Still, even crotchety geriatrics were better than children most days, she consoled herself. She went to put the kettle on.
“I’d love a place like this, Toni.” Ellie always liked coming here. “You’ve got so much light, and the rooms are huge.”
“Well, I couldn’t afford it without the allowance from my father, you know that.”
“You deserve it. After all, you never really had a base when you were a child.”
“That’s true, I suppose …” The buzzer went and she trailed off as she saw Pam’s face pressed against the video screen. Laughing, she went to let her in.
“I don’t care … I need a drink.” Pam fell in, clutching wildly at a bottle in a brown-paper bag like a wino, and brandishing her umbrella at Toni.
“Don’t be a baby,” Toni scolded playfully as she headed for the kitchen again. “Poor Ellie’s been peed on and had rice pudding thrown at her,” she called over her shoulder.
“Not quite,” Ellie whispered to Pam. They both knew Toni liked to embroider stories. “But it definitely wasn’t pleasant.”
“A tall glass of organic carrot juice will revive you. We’re being good.” Toni reappeared and commandeered the offending bottle. “Anyway, it’s Chardonnay—with a screw top. Where’s your sense of style?” she teased her friend.
“It was the only cold bottle and besides, who are you to complain?” Pam practically spat at the lurid orange glass. “Your mother drank it from a teat, as far as I can recall.” It was said with a smile, but Ellie sensed a row and rowed in to calm things down.
“Actually, I could do with one myself. It’s our first week and we’ve all been good, so let’s reward ourselves.” Toni was still smarting, so Ellie whipped off the cap and poured a glass each.
“No, I’m sticking to peppermint tea.” Toni was definitely in a snot and Pam stuck her tongue out behind her back. The buzzer went again.
“That was a bit mean,” Ellie admonished Pam. “You know she’s sensitive about her mother.”
“I know, I don’t know what’s got into me today. I’m like a bag of cats.”
Maggie appeared like a ray of sunshine. “Evening, cam
pers,” she said with a grin, hair and make-up immaculate. “I brought us a treat in case we’ve lost loads.” She produced another bottle and a couple of cellophane bags of Bombay mix. “They’re very low in calories, I checked,” she said to no one in particular as Pam pounced on them. “My arse, they’re mostly nuts, but I adore them.” She had ripped open one of the bags and was shoveling a handful into her mouth as Toni produced a couple of delicate little Chinese bowls.
“Oh, you’ve already started.” Maggie glanced at the wine glasses. “Well, I’ll have a glass of my very snazzy sauvignon blanc, so.” She eyed the Chardonnay warily. “Much more classy, I think.”
“Bullshit, you should have bought a Riesling if you’re trying to appear sophisticated.” Ellie stuck out her tongue playfully at Maggie. She didn’t want Pam upset any further. Obviously the other two were coping better.
“Sorry, Toni, I didn’t mean what I said earlier.” Pam was feeling guilty.
“No worries, you were spot-on about my mum.” Toni shrugged. “But Chardonnay’s still for chavs.” She got in a last dig. “Right. Weigh-in before we do anything, that way we have until next week to burn off this little lot.” She decided to take control, sensing that no one else was about to. “Then, a spot of floor exercises, followed by our best and worst moments of the week. Later I’ve two tips to share and then I’m cooking Potassium Broth. How does that sound?”
“Right up there with having dinner in the Simon soup kitchen if I’m honest, not that I’m knocking it.” Pam had been a volunteer for ages and was a veteran of their soup-run for homeless people along the east coast as far as Wicklow. She swallowed her wine and got up quickly, before her courage deserted her. “OK, I’ll go first, I think I’ve had a good week, mostly. I’m on the four-week ‘bikini fit and flat’ plan and it seems to be working.”
“I thought we said no more mad diets?” Toni sniffed.
“Are you intending to wear a bikini?” Ellie asked what everyone else was thinking. Pam was sexy, voluptuous, gorgeous, but picturing her in a bikini was similar to imagining Roseanne in a lacy thong: it required a slight stretch of the imagination.
“Yep, I’m determined to do it this year. It helps release your inner child, according to the book.”
“But you never wore a cossie as a child, you were always covering up in your knickers and a T-shirt. You told us.” Maggie was puzzled.
“No, idiot, it’s not to be taken literally. It’s the whole freedom thing. Children don’t care how they look, they’re completely unselfconscious.”
“Right.” Toni was intrigued. “Hop up and inspire the rest of us.”
She did and Toni looked puzzled. She consulted her notes and squinted at the scales again. “Eh, you won’t be releasing your inner child just yet, I’m afraid, because at the moment it’s a teenager. You’re twelve stone eleven, up four pounds. Sorry. Who’s next?”
There was silence. Pam, for once, said nothing, merely scuttled down off the scales, mortified. Ellie and Maggie nearly lost a foot each trying to get on to the wretched thing to cover her embarrassment. Ellie just about made it ahead of her friend, yelling as Maggie stood on her toe.
“Never mind, Pam. I don’t think I’ll be much better.” She felt guilty. It was one of those peculiarly girly lies intended to comfort. Actually, she was secretly quite pleased with herself.
Again Toni looked puzzled for a second, then shrugged. She was getting used to this. “You’re up three pounds.”
“But I can’t be, I mean, that makes me …” She trailed off, not wanting to tell.
“Eleven stone, exactly.” Toni grinned.
“Bitch,” Pam mumbled, still smarting. Ellie was too confused to be upset.
Maggie was beginning to feel uneasy. “I still have my period,” she announced proudly, like a two-year-old who’d just done her first wee in a potty.
“So, how much do tampons weigh, then?” Ellie tried to laugh it off. “Anyway, that period’s lasted for weeks. I think you’re fibbing.”
“I am not, you cow … Just you wait.”
“Nine stone seven pounds.” Toni sounded almost disappointed. “Same as last week.”
“Oh.” Maggie would have been upset had she not heard the other disastrous results. Now all she felt was guilt, as if she’d let the side down. “I took a laxative this morning,” she whispered to a still smoldering Pam. “Spent the whole afternoon on the loo.” But Pam hardly heard her, she was leaping into action. “OK, your turn, St. Antonia.” She wore a saccharine smile, showing enough teeth to make Esther Rantzen seem gummy. “Hop up.”
Toni was feeling confident. “I only had an OK week, although this skirt is definitely looser at the waist,” she said conspiratorially, looking at Pam with a wide-eyed “didn’t I do well” gaze.
“Well, the fat’s dropped to your bum so, I’d say, because you’re up two pounds.” Toni stared at the scales and turned beetroot. After all her lecturing. Pam sat down with a flourish, threw her head back and shoved a handful of nuts into her mouth triumphantly. Half of them fell down her front and she knew she’d be squirming about uncomfortably for the rest of the night picking them out, although it did at least mean she’d have a secret supply.
Maggie refilled the glasses hastily.
“So, what went wrong?” Ellie plowed straight in, as usual.
No one answered for a second. “Fucking life, I suppose,” Pam admitted reluctantly. “Listen, my husband spent years trying to convince me to shed a few pounds. We split up. So what chance do you lot have, then?”
“We’ll get there, it’s OK.” They’d heard all her doubts before. That Stephen had a lot to answer for; Maggie hoped he was leading a miserable life in abject poverty, but she doubted it. “So, tell us more about the ‘bikini fit and flat’ plan? What do you have to do?” she asked hopefully.
“Not much to gain four pounds, I’d say.” Toni was still smarting from Pam’s put-down.
“Very funny. Well, it is a four-week approach so I’ve started cutting down my portions, not drinking alcohol, except occasionally.” She gestured guiltily toward the glass in her hand. “I’m also doing some body brushing, detoxing, skin peeling and some gentle exercise—an hour or so a day—oh, and drinking two liters of water and eating five portions of fruit and veg.”
“That all? Sure that’s hardly any different to my normal day.” Ellie grinned uncomfortably, unable to believe her ears.
“And that’s only week one?” Toni was horrified.
“Anyone else got any better ideas?”
“I’m going to try the ‘Say Yes to S and No to O’ routine, it’s subtitled ‘bottle your fat and fling it behind you.’” That got their attention, Toni was pleased to see.
“What’s that? I haven’t heard of it.”
“You can eat a list of things beginning with S …”
“Such as?”
“Em, let me see …”
“Sugar?” Ellie looked hopeful.
“No, it’s quite complicated, if there’s a U or a W after the S then they’re banned, as far I can make out. But, em, soya’s allowed, that’s definitely OK and—”
“Oh yummy.”
“And spaghetti, although only whole wheat, I think.”
“Mmmm, my favorite.”
“Oh and Solpadeine’s in there, I think, ‘cause you get awful headaches.’”
“And the Os?”
“Oh yes, they’re quite easy, you can’t have okra or, let’s see, oh yeah, oxtail and … oh, oregano is out too.” Toni was warming to her theme.
“Shame, I particularly like an oxtail and okra pizza with lots of oregano. Still, whole wheat spaghetti with soy sauce and a sprinkling of Solpadeine sounds so yummy that I think it should be next week’s dinner.” Ellie needed a large helping of Ss herself, the sweet, banned kind.
“Now, now, don’t be nasty, Ellie. It worked really well for Russell Crowe, according to some magazine I read.”
“OK, babe, why don’t you try it and tell u
s next week? No, even better, prove it to us next week.” Maggie had had enough. She opened the second bottle of wine and the third packet of Bombay mix. “Look, we all know why this isn’t working.”
“Why?” Three pairs of eyes innocently asked.
“Because we’re eating too much, drinking too much and not getting up off our arses. What about meeting in the morning for a jog at six thirty, followed by a quick smoothie in that juice bar in Ranelagh? Then home for showers and we’ll be feeling so virtuous, so ahead of the posse, that we will not, I repeat not, overindulge for the rest of the day.”
“OK, you’re right, let’s just take it a day at a time.”
“One day at a time, Sweet Jesus …” Pam did her best Daniel O’Donnell impersonation, dropped to her knees and folded her hands in prayer. They all corpsed.
“I’ll agree on one condition,” Ellie was adamant.
“What?”
“That we abandon today—it was sooooo not pleasant—and order in Indian.” The smiles told her that no one was going to argue.
“Order through that crowd Restaurant Express, that way we can top up on wine or beer with our order. They deliver from the Chilli Club, don’t they? Or there’s that lovely Chinese in town, what’s it called?” They were happy again, for the moment.
Ten
The week wasn’t going well for Pam. Tuesday had been another disaster. Jogging had never been her forte, and jogging with a hangover and a belly full of lamb chilli masala was tantamount to tying your arteries together and wondering why you suddenly got chest pains.
The girls had been kind, but she knew she was the most unfit of the group and her boobs were bobbing up and down so hard under her lacy bra that they practically dislodged her double chin—the only positive—and the tops of her legs rubbed together for most of the ten miles she imagined they’d covered. They were red raw by the time she’d managed to yank away her leggings, which had stuck firmly to the chaffed mess that was her thighs.
She struggled to behave till about three o’clock, then she wolfed down a packet of Tayto salt-and-vinegar crisps and a Twix and felt horribly guilty for the rest of the afternoon.