by Tracy Bloom
Michelle grinned. As she gulped down the cool, gold liquid she wondered what she would be drinking on a night out in London with her colleagues after a hard shift in the kitchen. Definitely not lager, she thought.
Suddenly someone boomed into her ear and she was aware of a sweaty arm around her shoulder.
‘Brilliant news,’ she heard.
She turned to discover who the voice belonged to and found Rob, fortunately fully clothed, standing beside her, grinning his head off.
‘Your mum rang this afternoon to tell us,’ he said. ‘It’s amazing. I bet you can’t believe it.’
‘Actually, I can’t,’ she said excitedly. ‘I really daren’t in case it turns out they made a mistake. It wasn’t me they wanted, it was someone else.’
‘Oh, don’t be silly,’ said Rob. ‘Of course it’s you they want. You’re a brilliant cook.’
Michelle glowed. She liked Rob. Ever since Jane had started seeing him during sixth form at school and he’d talked to her like an equal and not just some stupid kid sister, she’d known that Jane had found a keeper. They also shared a love of The Fast Show and endlessly quoted it at each other, much to Jane’s annoyance, who thought it was a bit stupid.
‘I’m going to work at the Savoy!’ she said, clutching his arm and starting to bounce up and down in excitement. ‘In London!’
‘I know!’ cried Rob. ‘Let me buy you a drink.’
She looked round for the chef but he had deserted her for his cronies, who stagnated at the end of the bar every night. She downed the last of her pint and put the empty glass down on the bar.
‘Let’s do it,’ she said, suddenly in the mood to party.
‘Give me one good reason why you would want to leave Malton?’ Jamie, a rugby pal of Rob’s, slurred at Michelle. Having convinced the reluctant landlord to sell them an entire bottle of wine, something he clearly hadn’t done before, they’d settled themselves at the bar. Jamie had wandered over to find out what the fit bird was talking to Rob about.
‘Well,’ Michelle began, ‘I’ve lived here all my life. I just want to get out, see different stuff, do different stuff, have a life.’
‘But everyone you know is here.’ Jamie looked perplexed, swaying slightly and grabbing hold of the back of Rob’s stool to steady himself.
‘Exactly. I know everyone and everyone knows me,’ sighed Michelle. ‘In London I can be me rather than someone’s daughter or sister or cousin or whatever.’
‘You’ll be back,’ declared Jamie. ‘Mark my words. Look at Rob here. He came back. Went away to uni then you couldn’t wait to get back, could you, fella?’
‘Well, it’s where Jane wants to be,’ Rob shrugged. ‘And that’s fine by me.’
‘Come on,’ said Jamie, hoisting his huge, muscly arm around Rob’s shoulders and squeezing tight. ‘You came back for us, didn’t you, mate? Don’t be shy. You just couldn’t live without us.’
‘Yeah, that’s right,’ Rob nodded. ‘ I just couldn’t live without you, Jamie. You are the love of my life.’
‘Come back a right southern wuss, though,’ said Jamie, swaying precariously towards Michelle. ‘Just can’t take his alcohol any more. You watch this.’ He winked at Michelle. She giggled. Jamie had been a few years above her in school and had never so much as said a word to her. She wasn’t sure if she could take any more good fortune. New job, new city and a gorgeous rugby player actually taking notice of her. She couldn’t wait to tell Gina.
Jamie beckoned the landlord over.
‘Three tequila shots, please,’ he requested. ‘Make that two rounds.’
‘Not for me,’ said Rob. ‘Jane’s studying for her accountancy exams. I can’t roll in drunk and disturb her.’
‘Come on, you big wuss,’ cried Jamie. ‘We’re celebrating Michelle’s new life in London. Get ’em down yer. Can’t let her leave without a proper Malton send-off, can we?’
‘To London,’ said Michelle, grabbing a shot and raising it in the air. The thrill ran through her again. She was going to live in London. It was real. She chinked glasses with Jamie as he flung his arm around her. Life didn’t really get any better than this.
*
‘You going to let me walk you home, then?’ Jamie asked Michelle, several shots later. He had his arm draped heavily over her shoulder and he was virtually drooling. ‘Then when you’re a famous chef down London I can tell all me mates that I once escorted you home.’
Michelle giggled. She wasn’t drunk, she was sure. She was too high on life to be bothered with anything more artificial. But she could tell a bloke that couldn’t really be trusted to walk you home, and as much as she fancied the idea of pulling Jamie, she actually would prefer him at least to be able to remember her name for future reference.
‘Come on,’ he said, gallantly offering his arm. ‘It would be a genuine honour.’
‘You’re in no fit state to take anyone home,’ Rob stepped in. ‘Besides, Jane would never forgive me if I let her sister out of my sight when you’re on the prowl.’
‘On the prowl!’ Jamie protested. ‘I don’t prowl. How dare she!’
‘Come on, Michelle,’ said Rob. ‘I’ll take you home. You got your coat?’
It took her some time to work out that her coat was still down in the kitchen where she’d left it at the beginning of her shift. She ran down the long corridor and grabbed it, then did a quick victory run around the steel work counter, breathing in the familiar smell of the greasy kitchen. As she skipped back to the bar, she was mentally trying to work out exactly how many more shifts she had to endure.
She was still skipping as she and Rob made their way through the park on their way home. Totally hyped up, she was in full throttle mode, sharing all her hopes and dreams with Rob. All the things she was going to see and do in London, how hard she was going to work, how desperate she was to learn, how one day she hoped to perhaps have her own restaurant somewhere. She knew it was a pipe dream, but she could dream, couldn’t she?
‘So what would it be like?’ Rob asked her patiently as he watched her swing way too high on a swing in the playground in the middle of the park. She’d insisted they stop for a play. Swinging always made her happy, and today she couldn’t get enough of happy.
‘Well,’ she said, slamming her feet down on the concrete, ‘I can tell you exactly what it would be like.’ Her eyes were shining in the pitch black.
‘Go on, then,’ he laughed. ‘See if you can excite my taste buds.’
‘It would be a pleasure,’ she declared, getting up and standing in front of him. ‘Now please take a seat whilst I get you the wine menu.’ She indicated the toddler-sized toadstool carved out of wood next to a small wooden table.
‘Are you serious?’ he asked.
‘Oh yes,’ she grinned. ‘Deadly serious.’
Rob sighed, pulling his coat around him and squatting down. The toadstool felt a little damp. He tucked his coat under his bottom and pulled his woolly hat down over his cold ears. Michelle looked so delighted he didn’t dare complain at the uncomfortable ambiance in her makeshift restaurant. Taking a scarf from around her neck, giggling, she laid it over Rob’s lap to act as a napkin, then from inside her enormous ski jacket she pulled out a bottle of MD 20/20 fortified wine, displaying the bottle for Rob to inspect.
‘An excellent vintage if I do say so myself,’ she said.
‘Where the hell did that come from?’ he asked.
‘Chef gave it to me as I left,’ Michelle grinned. ‘One for the road, he said. Would you like to try the wine, sir?’ She unscrewed the top and offered it to him.
He took a sip and found he was grateful for the warm sensation that spread through his body.
‘It’ll do,’ he announced, taking a bigger swig before putting it down and blowing on his chilly hands.
‘So, for an appetiser I’d like to offer you crayfish in a light sauce served on brioche.’ Michelle laid an imaginary dish in front of Rob.
‘Crayfish?’
&nb
sp; ‘Crayfish are the new prawn,’ she assured him.
‘Looks a bit black,’ he said, poking around in the dark. ‘Are you sure you’ve not burnt it?’
‘Idiot!’ laughed Michelle, knocking him playfully on the head. ‘Come on, eat up, or your entrée will be burnt.’
‘It’s quite the best crayfish I have ever eaten,’ he declared after smacking his lips a few times.
‘Is it the only crayfish you’ve ever eaten, Rob?’
‘Yes.’
‘Moving on, then. Here in the Mediterranean the abundant sunshine ripens our fresh ingredients to a taste that you’ve only ever dreamed of.’
‘Don’t mention sunshine when we’re sat here in the dark and cold.’ Rob took another swig of the wine to warm his blood. ‘You never said your restaurant was going to be abroad.’
‘Well, as I say, it’s just a dream.’
‘You’d live abroad, then, learn a language?’
‘God, yes,’ said Michelle. ‘Live and work in the sunshine. Who wouldn’t?’
‘The brewery offered me a job in San Francisco,’ he told her, almost absent-mindedly.
‘Really!’ she exclaimed. ‘But Rob, that’s amazing!’
‘We turned it down.’ Rob shrugged. ‘Jane needs to finish her accountancy exams.’ He reached forward and took another slug of his wine before digging his hands deep in his pockets. ‘I’d like a hot main course,’ he said, looking up. ‘I’m bloody cold.’
Michelle was rooted to the spot.
‘But . . . but San Francisco?’
Rob shrugged again.
‘Maybe I’ll be able to convince Jane when she’s qualified, if there are still opportunities out there.’
‘You must be gutted,’ she said.
‘I’ll live,’ he said dismissively. ‘When there’s two of you, you’ve got to do what’s best for both of you. You’ve only got yourself to worry about.’
Michelle was grateful she didn’t have a boyfriend who might get in the way of her grand escape to London. ‘If you asked me to move to San Francisco I’d be there like a shot.’
Rob hesitated for a moment, holding her gaze.
‘Yeah, well, you’re not Jane, are you?’ he said finally.
‘Thank God,’ Michelle gasped. ‘Mum’s got to have at least one daughter in the family she’s proud of.’
‘What are you talking about?’ said Rob. ‘Your mum’s very proud of you. You should have heard her on the phone this afternoon about this job you’ve got.’
‘Rubbish! If I told her I was giving up cooking to train to be an accountant like Jane it would be the proudest day of my mum’s life.’
Rob stared at her as he drained the last of the wine. ‘You’ve got her all wrong, you know. Mind you, if I told her, or your sister, for that matter, that you’d taken to serving imaginary food in the dark, they might both insist you take up a more sensible profession.’
‘I think if I told either of them that you sat on a toadstool whilst I served you your first ever dish of imaginary crayfish, they’d demand we were both certified.’
‘Shall we keep this, albeit fantastic, imaginary meal between the two of us?’ he suggested.
‘It’d probably be best.’ She laughed. ‘Can you imagine if I told my mum I’d served crayfish? She’d be horrified. No meat? But he’s a growing lad!’
Rob started to laugh. His shoulders shuddered and the bobble on his woolly hat bounced up and down. Michelle creased up, the ludicrousness of the situation along with the adrenaline racing round her blood surging into such an explosion of happiness that she could barely contain herself.
Mesmerised by Rob’s stupid hat bobbing about in the moonlight, she made a grab for it and darted away, pulling it over her head.
‘Race you home,’ she cried as she sprinted off into the darkness.
‘Oi, come back here!’ shouted Rob. ‘My head’s cold.’
She pounded across one of the football pitches, breathless from laughter and her desire to outrun Rob. She could hear him gaining on her and she tried to speed up but she was running out of steam. Suddenly she felt herself drop like a stone to the grass. Rob had successfully halted her progress with a rugby tackle. She rolled over, laughing uncontrollably as he tried to grab his hat. She was fighting back, trying to keep his arm at a distance, then the fight between them dissipated and they were somehow left holding each other, then kissing each other, then feeling each other, then . . .
It must have been only a matter of minutes before he was tugging up his trousers and she was pushing her bra back into position. When clothes were back where they should be they lay together, face up on the cold grass, staring up into the darkness in silence, not touching.
‘I have no idea how that just happened,’ said Rob eventually.
‘Me neither,’ breathed Michelle.
‘Did it really happen?’ he asked.
‘I’m not sure what exactly happened,’ she replied, unable to extract any sense out of the last few minutes. She could feel herself start to shake, either from the cold or from shock.
‘Let’s pretend it didn’t happen,’ she said, sitting up quickly. ‘It didn’t happen,’ she repeated, shaking her head fiercely and turning round to look at Rob.
Their eyes met. Rob’s were wide with the fearful realisation of what they’d done.
‘Okay,’ he said slowly. ‘As long as that’s okay with you?’ he asked, his brow furrowing in concern.
‘Yes,’ she said quickly. ‘Of course. It’s the only answer. It never happened.’
‘It never happened,’ he agreed, getting up and holding out a hand to help her up. They walked home in silence.
Chapter Thirteen
‘So, we’re going to play a little game,’ said Gina, passing Michelle a Post-it note and a pen. ‘I’ve always wanted to do this, because I reckon I’m right ninety percent of the time.’
Michelle was slouching in her chair at the back of the Town Hall. Gina had advised that they arrive early to get a decent seat and enjoy the complete Slimmers United experience. As if she didn’t have enough on her mind, the leader of the meeting, Lizzy, had already assumed that she was a new recruit and thrust a membership form in her hand. Mortified beyond belief that she was clearly such an obvious candidate, she’d had to explain that she was there to talk to the group about her charity event, not to sign up for weight loss.
‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like to give it a go whilst you’re here?’ enthused Lizzy. ‘It’s such a friendly group and we have such fun.’
‘No, thank you,’ said Michelle, tight-lipped. She didn’t agree with Lizzy. No-one looked friendly. Lining up to face the gallows, otherwise known as weighing scales, they all looked terrified at what terrible secrets the little machine on the floor might reveal.
Michelle turned to walk to the back of the hall and sat down next to Gina. She felt sick to the stomach with nerves at the thought of standing up and talking in front of people about the event. Public speaking had put the fear of God in her ever since she’d dared to improvise as the innkeeper in a school nativity play when she was seven. Bravely she’d declared there were no bunk beds at the inn and the restaurant was already closed. Kathleen had shouted at her afterwards for ruining it for everyone whilst Ray had smirked in the background, trying not to laugh. Ever since then Michelle had successfully avoided any similar situations for fear of blurting out something she shouldn’t. That was until now.
‘Why on earth do you still keep coming to this?’ she asked Gina as she watched a variety of shapes and sizes start to awkwardly shed layers of clothing in preparation for being weighed.
‘Everyone gets fat as soon as they get married. A wife should not look like a whale,’ Gina said firmly. ‘Besides, I enjoy it. I love watching the weigh-in and trying to guess if someone’s had a good or a bad week. That’s what the piece of paper is for. I call it Slimmers Bingo. We both have to write down how much we think each person has lost or gained when they get on the scales.’
‘So here we go, first up on the scales,’ Gina whispered, as if the poor woman currently removing her shoes on the other side of the room might hear them.
‘Now it’s crucial to read the signals,’ she continued. ‘This is a classic move by someone who has had a bad week and probably gained at least three pounds.’ ‘How can you tell that?’ asked Michelle.
‘She’s taking her socks off.’
‘So?’
‘Socks off is a sign of sheer desperation for the scales to tip in your favour. She’s gorged on chocs all week and probably been drunk every night, but now she’s praying that sock removal will make up for it. Definitely marking her as a plus three.’
Michelle wrote plus two on her paper to show that she was willing to take part, before letting her gaze wander half-heartedly to the next victim. A spotty young lad in his twenties, who had clearly been spoilt by his mother in the food department, took off his shoes but left his socks on.
‘Definitely a loser,’ declared Gina, still in hushed tones.
‘Because he kept his socks on?’
‘No,’ said Gina. ‘Jason is the easiest person to guess. Every time he gets off the scales and he’s lost weight he smiles and gazes over at Lucy – see her at the front, in the lumpy leggings. Jason is a classic male slimmer in his twenties.’
‘In what way?’
‘He’s here for the sex.’
‘What? Here?’
‘No,’ replied Gina, carefully marking a minus two on her sheet. ‘He’s bound to be a virgin and reckons if he loses weight he’ll get sex from someone, anyone really, he’s not bothered, he just wants sex. It’ll probably end up being Lucy because she’ll be more sympathetic and will have sex with him before he hits his target weight for having sex with a normal person.’