The Food of Love

by Amanda Prowse

  Lockie smiled. ‘Sounds like an adventure . . . and if you are sure it won’t impact your exams, of course you should go. And I must admit, I love your use of the word “jam”. I’m thinking “musical symposium” might be more appropriate; “jam” in my mind conjures a dingy basement with a couple of guitars, a honky-tonk piano and bearded men taking drugs of a non-medicinal nature.’

  ‘Lockie!’ Freya tutted. ‘Ignore him, Charlotte.’

  ‘I usually do.’ She smiled at her dad, clearly relieved and happy that this trip was happening.

  ‘Charming!’ Lockie finished up his cereal and popped the bowl in the sink. ‘I shall write you a cheque, darling. Just let me know who to make it out to.’

  Freya narrowed her eyes at him affectionately; they would find the money somehow.

  ‘All set?’ Freya turned to Lexi as they headed out of the front door.

  ‘Yep.’ She smiled.

  She tried not to stare at her child’s discoloured teeth, which looked huge inside her petite mouth, now that her face was so thin. In the bright light of day she had to admit the unpalatable truth that Lexi had lost some of her ‘pretty’. She looked haggard. The dilemma was how to keep this fact from her already delicate self-esteem.

  ‘We can just take it slowly, a quick once-around-the-block. Who knows, we could even stop at the corner shop if there was anything you fancied – like a magazine?’

  ‘Thanks, Mum, but they now have this thing called the “internet”, which means I have all the magazines I want at the touch of a button.’

  ‘The “internet”, you say? Sounds intriguing.’ She pulled back her hand to tap her daughter’s bottom lightly, in jest, but stopped when she remembered her words: The bones in my bottom feel like they are cutting through my skin if I sit in a bath; it hurts . . .

  ‘Are you okay, Mum?’ Lexi had noted the collapse of her face.

  ‘Yes! Goodness, yes! I’m fine, really looking forward to our stroll.’

  Looping her arm through Lexi’s, they stepped out on to the pavement.

  ‘Was it nice to see Toby?’ Freya asked as they walked, happy to feel the sun on her face and be in the fresh air with her daughter.

  ‘Yes. He’s smart. I know he’s a bit odd, but he just says it how it is and I quite like that.’

  ‘I agree. Friends like that are the best kind. Marcia has never sugar-coated anything, not sure she knows how. I know when she says “This is not good enough, go back to the drawing board” or “God, look at the state of you, have you gained weight?” I need to take notice.’

  Freya had been lulled into a false state of security by their activity, forgotten that the subject of weight was taboo, and in truth it had felt like sweet relief to be able to talk without censorship. She stiffened and decided not to pause, but to change the topic, trying to gloss over the fact as if it had not happened.

  ‘I think Charlotte will have a lovely time in Switzerland, don’t you? It’s quite a thing, isn’t it? I always think it’s amazing how kids get to go on these lovely trips with school. The world must feel much smaller to you guys than it ever did for me.’

  ‘I think the world feels massive.’

  Freya could only imagine that this must be the case when your world consisted of the four walls of your bedroom and the odd trip to the kitchen.

  ‘Well, when you are feeling better, you will rediscover your lust for travel and exploration and you can go anywhere! Gosh, Lexi, it was hard holding you back when you were little. You were the one who wanted to jump feet first, quite literally, into whatever came your way. Daddy used to say your motto should be “Leap before you look!” as that’s what you did most of the time.’

  ‘That feels like a different person.’ She looked up, taking a deep lungful of fresh air.

  ‘She’s still in there, Lex. Maybe she’s hibernating? Waiting to burst into action. And when she does? Oh boy – watch out, world! You were scarily fearless!’

  ‘Now I’m just scared.’ She gave a small smile as they navigated the narrowing path, Freya treading slightly ahead.

  ‘That won’t always be the case, darling. I promise.’ She patted the bony fingers that gripped her forearm, resisting the urge to wrap her arms around her daughter and hold her tight.

  ‘Good morning!’

  Freya looked up and into the face of Mr Rendleton, who was coming in the opposite direction, pulling a shopping cart behind him.

  ‘Morning, Mr Rendleton, how are you today?’ She smiled.

  ‘Good, enjoying the break in the weather.’ He turned his face to the sun like a recumbent daisy.

  ‘Mrs Rendleton not with you today?’ It felt odd, seeing him without her.

  ‘No, getting her hair done. She does like to look her best.’

  ‘She always looks lovely.’ Freya spoke the truth.

  He turned to Lexi. ‘And goodness me, Lexi! Look at you!’ He took a deep breath, as if seeing her properly for the first time. ‘You have lost weight!’ He narrowed his gaze. ‘I expect it’s the fashion nowadays, but you could do a lot worse than popping by for a slice of Mrs Rendleton’s fruit cake. Looks like you want feeding up, to me!’

  Freya felt at a loss for words, struck by how casually he felt able to comment on Lexi’s size and shape, as if they were still discussing the weather.

  He smiled, and continued to offer the words that must have gone through her thin skin like knives, lodging in the brittle ribs and bones that hovered so dangerously close to the surface.

  ‘Looks like it would only take one big puff of wind to carry you off over the abbey!’ He chortled.

  Freya felt her daughter shrink by her side, convinced that if she could have jumped under her coat and hidden, she would have.

  ‘I . . . I want to go home,’ Lexi whispered. ‘I want to go home now!’ A little louder now, her eyes fixed downwards.

  Freya patted her hand. ‘Okay, let’s turn you around.’

  She avoided Mr Rendleton’s gaze, worried about saying the wrong thing, reminding herself that he was old and didn’t mean any offence. This mantra was easy to repeat, but Freya still had to concentrate on keeping a lid on the torrent of anger and upset that cued up on her tongue, knowing that it would only be to vent her frustration, serving no purpose other than upsetting their old neighbour, whom she knew meant no malice, and further upsetting Lexi.

  ‘I hope I haven’t said the wrong thing?’

  Mr Rendleton stood on the pavement, watching as they swapped sides on the pavement, Lexi’s arm still linked through her mother’s.

  Freya lifted her hand in a wave of goodbye and whispered soft words of reassurance to her child as they carefully trod the fifty yards back to the safety of their front door. She tried to blot out the numerous times she had commented on the skinniness of someone – new mums who had lost baby weight, women who had got in shape. To point out someone’s fatness was taboo, frowned upon, but if you were thin, it was fair game, almost as if, in some warped way, it was a compliment, a measure of success.

  Immediately after arriving home, Lexi went back to bed.

  Freya, exhausted by the effort of their stroll and interaction with Mr Rendleton, lay on the sofa in her study and let her eyes close. She wished, just for an hour or so, to be able to run away, thinking as she often did of her brother, Hugh, and envying the fact he had that wide, long Florida beach at his disposal. What wouldn’t she give now for half an hour alone to lie on that sand and watch the water?

  ‘Here you are!’

  She opened her eyes to find Lockie kneeling on the thin Persian rug by her side.

  ‘I was looking all over for you, thought you’d run away with a sailor!’ He kissed her nose.

  ‘I don’t know any sailors.’ She smiled. ‘Apart from Hugh, and I don’t want to run away with him – lived with him for a big chunk of my life already and he has some gross habits. Funny actually, I was just thinking about the beach in Naples.’

  ‘Ah, bliss, but I’m afraid Hugh’s flashy gin palace
doesn’t count. That’s not proper sailing.’ He kissed her again. ‘Did you see the lovely letter he sent? We email, of course, but for him to sit down and handwrite . . . That meant a lot. He suggested we send Lexi to go and stay with him and Melissa.’

  ‘I know. It was kind,’ she acknowledged. ‘He’s a good man.’

  ‘But we don’t want her on the other side of the Atlantic, do we?’ He smiled.

  ‘No, we don’t. I love you, Lockie.’

  She sat up, resting her head on his shoulder while he held her. Her tears flowed steadily.

  ‘Hey! What’s this all about?’ He pulled her away and ran his thumb over her cheek, scooting the tears away.

  ‘Lexi fancied a walk, as you know,’ she whispered, wary that her little girl was only across the hallway. ‘We bumped into Mr Rendleton and he was only being sweet and unaware, but he told her how thin she looked, said she needed some cake.’ She closed her eyes briefly. ‘Lexi folded, couldn’t wait to get home. I felt terrible, but I’ve been lying here feeling a bit cheated, fed up with how it feels to live in a house with anorexia inside it. I hate the way it has taken over our lives . . . We can’t even go for a walk! It’s like being battered by waves against rocks, and just when you think you have found your footing, the next one rolls in and you are knocked down again, and I’m sick of it, Lockie. I do feel like running away sometimes. And that makes me feel like a bad person. She’s my daughter!’

  Lockie shook his head and cupped the side of her face. ‘My beautiful Freya, it doesn’t make you a bad person, it makes you a human one. No one would choose to live like this, and in a sense you are grieving for the life you used to have. I know I do. I long for the easy chats, the laughter, the holidays, even going out for supper; food was one of the things we looked forward to the most. But now? It’s like something rotten that stinks and we all make out we can’t smell it, yet we breathe it in, day and night.’

  She nodded. He was right; that was exactly what it was like.

  ‘And for the record . . .’ He sighed. ‘I feel like running away more than sometimes.’

  As she opened her mouth to tell him how much that thought scared her, and that without him the situation would be unbearable, the front doorbell rang.

  ‘I’ll go.’ He kissed her lightly and trod the stairs.

  Freya stretched from the sofa and shook off the mohair blanket that had found its way from Lexi’s room back to her study.

  She heard male voices, and after checking her blotchy face in the mirror, she made her way down to the kitchen.

  Lockie was filling the kettle and Mr and Mrs Rendleton were taking seats at the table.

  ‘Oh, how lovely! Hello!’ She smiled. ‘Your hair looks lovely, Mrs Rendleton.’

  The woman beamed at her, nodding silently, as if happy to be introduced to the pretty lady.

  ‘Freya, I’ve been worried all afternoon about saying the wrong thing,’ her husband said. ‘I would not want to upset Lexi for the world!’

  Freya took a seat opposite him. ‘I know that, and you aren’t to worry. She is very sensitive about her weight, but certainly nothing you have said or done will change that.’ She smiled.

  ‘Tea or coffee?’ Lockie asked, as he reached into the cupboard for mugs.

  ‘Ooh, tea for us both, Earl Grey if you have it, and no milk.’ He patted his wife’s hand.

  Lockie reached for the Earl Grey teabags. ‘Oh, well, that’s easy.’

  ‘Do you know, we love our house—’ Mr Rendleton began.

  ‘How long have you lived there?’ She was curious, interrupting him.

  ‘It will be sixty years this Christmas . . .’

  ‘Goodness me! A long time.’ She nodded.

  ‘Yes, a long time, and the best times for us have been in the last twenty years, having you and the girls living behind us. It’s been wonderful. This house used to be quite soulless, quiet, we never heard or saw a peep. And then you moved in, with a bang! The noise, the shouts, the cat! The light that streams over our garden!’

  She looked at Lockie and held her breath, wondering if he was complaining subtly about the chaos and energy they had brought into the street. What came next calmed her.

  ‘We weren’t blessed with children, or of course grandchildren, but we have been listening and watching the girls since they were babies. Their laughter, tears, tantrums, we’ve heard it all!’ He smiled. ‘They brought a new dimension to our lives. Like, whenever we got snow . . .’ He shook his head and chuckled. ‘They’d be out there in the back garden, morning, noon and night! Packing little snowballs in their hands until their skin was red and numb, but they didn’t care . . . They have always had such joy of life, and that in turn gave us such joy. It’s been a privilege to be part of their lives in this way. A little part, but a part nonetheless, and when I saw Lexi today, looking so very frail . . . well, I don’t mind telling you that it quite upset me. Is there anything we can do?’ He looked from Lockie to Freya earnestly. Both stared at him, transfixed by his beautiful words of recollection.

  Freya turned to look at Lockie, wondering if he too felt the full force of despair at hearing how their child was viewed: so very frail . . . The irony was not lost on her that the words came from a robust man in his mid-eighties.

  The kitchen door creaked open and Lexi walked in.

  Freya wondered how long she had been standing there listening. She walked over and took the seat next to her mum, opposite their guests.

  ‘I like living backing on to you too.’ Lexi smiled. ‘I have always thought that if we needed anything, like in an emergency, we could call out the window and you’d come and help us.’

  ‘And indeed we would!’ He nodded, happy, smiling at his wife as if this were quite a thing. Lexi nodded, as if happy too that this was the arrangement. She continued.

  ‘And I love the smell of the lilac that grows over the back of your house. When I start to smell it, I know that winter is over and summer is on the way, and that means good things – a new season, a new start.’

  ‘Me too!’ Mrs Rendleton called out.

  The neighbours let out a slow chuckle of delight as her husband held her hand. The room was calm and quiet.

  ‘I have anorexia, Mr Rendleton.’

  Freya stared at her child. This was the first time she had heard her own it in this way and use this phrase out loud.

  ‘Oh, Lexi!’ He paused. ‘I have to confess, much to my shame, that I don’t really know what it is . . . I know it’s about dieting, isn’t it?’

  Her response, when it came, was considered. ‘It was a bit about dieting in the beginning, but not anymore.’

  She tried to explain. With her index finger tapping out a rhythm on the tabletop, she stared at it and began to speak.

  ‘It’s horrible. It has taken my sunniness and it controls every part of my life. Even being here right now in the kitchen, I am worried that there might be calories from food in the air and that I might be breathing them in, and I know that’s nuts, but it still scares me. I have a headache all the time. I live with it and try to ignore it. It’s worse when I wake up in the middle of the night and it’s the first thing I remember, that I have this horrible headache.’ She touched her temple, as if feeling the pain right there and then. ‘I can feel my heartbeats here, and here’ – she touched her fingertips to her sternum and the side of her neck – ‘and they feel odd a lot of the time and that makes me feel scared. I feel like I’m not really here, like I’m floating, like my body and my mind aren’t properly connected anymore. But nothing, nothing, matters to me more than keeping control of the food that goes into my system. I am frightened that if I eat, if I put on weight, bad things will happen and I will fall apart, even more than I’m falling apart now. I’m trapped.’

  Freya, Lockie and their guests were transfixed and fascinated by her brutal admission. Freya resisted the temptation to wrap her in her arms, wary of halting her flow and wanting her to continue talking, which she did.

  ‘I’m s
o aware of food, all food, that if someone unwraps a salad pot or a sandwich I can smell it. I can smell it across the room, I can smell it on the back of the bus and I can smell it through the floorboards.’ She shuddered. ‘Everywhere I look – in magazines, on car journeys, TV programmes, newspapers – I see the pictures of food over and above everything else. They could be talking about anything, showing anything, but all I see is the hot dog or the ice cream, and even the idea of putting that stuff in my body makes me feel so sick, so afraid, that I nearly pass out. It has got worse; I used to be able to cook, and I enjoyed giving it to other people, and it made me feel normal, touching food. And I feel I can tell you this, Mr Rendleton, because you know me – but you don’t know me; you have always listened more than you talked, and Toby says I need to tell people – he said that sometimes saying things out loud helps you make sense of it a bit, and so I decided to tell you.’

  Lexi looked up as Freya’s sob filled the air. She covered her mouth, embarrassed.

  ‘And even though I am starving, and I know I am starving, I would rather that than put food inside my body. I would rather die.’ She dashed the tears that trickled slowly down her cheeks. ‘I can only think about being thin and getting thinner, smaller, and I know that if I get small enough I will disappear, and that’s kind of like winning.’

  Lockie made his way to the table and placed one hand on Lexi’s shoulder and the other on his wife’s back. He didn’t seem to know what to say. Freya was silent, numbed, saddened, and feeling quite useless, still processing her daughter’s eloquent explanation, whilst reeling from the fact that Lexi had expressed how she herself often felt, overly obsessed with food.

  Mrs Rendleton placed her palms on the table and pushed herself up into a standing position. With her slow walk, she made her way to the other side of the table and stopped by Lexi. Lockie stood back as she tilted the girl’s face up towards her own. With her gnarled, liver-spotted hands either side of Lexi’s pale face, she smiled, speaking clearly. Hers was the voice of someone who was coherent and present.