The Fat And The Thin Of It

by Julie Croft

odd pizza, but you wouldn’t have thought it. I was still a size eighteen, probably seventeen and a half if I sucked what I could of my tummy in. Jill came to my mind and how she found it so easy to keep slim and gorgeous, and a frustrated sigh slipped out.

  Oh, well: concentrate on the face and hide the rest as best you can, girl.

  My face had always been my blessing; I had to agree with that. I had great skin, large, clear green eyes that stood out thanks to the rich chestnut tone of my hair, although now it was thanks to rich chestnut tone 37, bought from the chemist. My teeth were still in good shape and I’d always been complimented on my smile. With no false modesty, I knew I was pretty, and if I’d ever attracted men it was because of my face and, also with no false modesty, a bubbly personality, so I suppose for the odd night of raucous fun I’d served the purpose.

  I pulled on my underwear – my sexy black lace set that Bob had bought me, which was a mystery as to where he’d found some my size – and sat at the dressing table and flicked on the neon light of my make-up mirror. Even under the harshness of the magnified mirror, I still looked pretty good for fifty-two. There were fine laugh-lines round the eyes and there was a little slack around the jaw, but apart from that, the face was definitely in better shape than the rest of me. I set about applying my make-up.

  The sudden, thumping boom of Mark’s music told me he’d woken up. It was twelve-fifteen, earlier than usual for him to be awake, and I would have shrieked at him as it was Sunday and he knew he had to keep the volume down over the weekend. The Garrisons were home and didn’t need M&M or Fifty Cent accompanying their roast. Today though, I was in a good mood and let him be for a few minutes until I’d finished getting ready.

  Bob’s plane was landing at Gatwick and I had to leave by two to give myself enough leeway in case of traffic. I needed to get the pork in the oven and parboil the potatoes before leaving, prepare the vegetables and check the cheesecake had set before spreading on the blackberry compote. Bob loved his roast pork and it was something he expected on his arrival, regardless of what day it was. I’d tried different dishes, but he was disappointed if it wasn’t pork, so it’s what I did.

  I finished dressing and rapped on Mark’s bedroom door before heading downstairs to start the preparations, and he dropped the volume to an acceptable buzz. As I tied an apron over my dress, the butterflies started to flap in my stomach as they always did when Bob was due home. He’d had to spend more time away than usual these past few months as work was a little harder than usual, he’d said, due to the recession. I marvelled that after all these years together, we still felt like honeymooners, and I think the distance between us helped keep the flame alive. In fact, I would joke that I felt like a mistress waiting for her lover to visit, and he’d smile cheekily and say, ‘you’re the best lover ever, sweetheart’.

  I smiled as I greased the pork.

  Bob’s plane arrived smack on time, and I craned my neck to spot his sandy cropped head among the passengers filing out of the exit. When I saw him, I shouted and waved, but he didn’t see me at first. He was in a deep conversation on his mobile and it looked pretty intense to me. He eventually saw me and his expression changed to one of delight, and he snapped his phone shut.

  “Hello, gorgeous!” he called out and hurried round the barrier to give me a huge hug. “Oh, I’ve missed you!” he mumbled into my hair.

  “I’ve missed you, too.” I responded. “The pork’s in the oven.”

  “And my pork’s ready for a roasting as well.” He whispered lasciviously, and I giggled.

  On the drive back home, however, Bob’s mobile rang several times, and although I didn’t understand Spanish, I did notice that the conversations seemed pretty serious.

  “Is everything alright, sweetheart?” I asked.

  “Ah, fine!” he didn’t sound too convincing, though. “Just work stuff: a deal that’s proving difficult to clinch.”

  We got home and his phone continued to ring while I finished preparing the meal. When we sat to eat, he did something that was a little out of character: he insisted that Mark sat at the table with us, which provoked admonitions and sulks from father and son respectively.

  “Mark! For the last time, come and eat with us or I’ll come up there and drag you down!” Bob shouted from the bottom of the stairs.

  It was totally out of character for him. He usually let Mark do what he wanted and rarely reprimanded him. His argument was that the few days he spent at home, he wanted peace and quiet. It was me who had to impose what authority I could on a seventeen-year-old with distorted hormones, and when Mark didn’t come down, Bob stormed upstairs and I heard an almighty row take place in Mark’s room.

  When Bob came down, he had Mark by his collar. Both were red-faced when Bob pushed Mark into a chair at the table, and the latter looked on the verge of tears. I decided not to interfere and limited myself to serving dinner, which we ate in total silence.

  Mark ate little and after ten minutes, he whined, “Can I like leave the table now?”

  “No, you can’t.” Bob said stiffly. “Your mother and I haven’t finished.”

  I saw Mark mouth ‘wanker’, but unfortunately Bob did, too.

  Bob completely lost it. He got up so quickly that his chair fell backwards with a thump on the carpet. He then grabbed Mark by the hair and slapped his face so hard that I thought I heard his teeth rattle. I couldn’t avoid letting a scream escape as I raced over and pulled Bob off my son.

  “For heaven’s sake, Bob! What the hell’s got into you?” my heart was racing as I cradled Mark’s head to my chest. Bob was literally purple, and for a moment he looked as if he was going to lunge at both of us. I pulled Mark’s head closer to my chest and planted myself between the two men, my feet firmly on the carpeted floor, bracing myself for Bob to rush at us. I felt fear, but the feeling of outrage was stronger and I glared at Bob over my shoulder, daring him to attack. Bob met my glare with the same fierce intensity that I hoped I was transmitting through my eyes, and he suddenly relaxed and ran his fingers over his cropped head and tried to say something, but the words wouldn’t come out.

  “Just… just get out!” I shouted with as much authority as I could muster, and he gave a rather bear-like grunt and stormed out of the room.

  Mark was obviously stunned, so much so that he allowed me to cradle him and rock him gently as I soothed his face with my hand. We stayed like that until we heard the front door slam and the car whip up the gravel on the drive as it sped away with a screech.

  “Are you alright, baby?” I asked him.

  Mark then reacted as his normal self. He wriggled free and got up, muttering, “God! This is like such a madhouse! He’s such a knob!” and stomped up to his room.

  His music blasted at an eardrum-shattering level, but I didn’t have the heart to tell him to turn it down. Bob had never, ever hit his children; absolutely never. I picked up the chair with shaky hands and mopped up the wine that had spilt in the scuffle, completely dumbfounded by Bob’s behaviour. What on earth had got into him? I could see he was stressed when he landed, and all those phone calls on the way home… it didn’t make much sense. He usually switched his mobile off for his first day back home, and tended to messages and what-not the morning after before heading for Richard’s office.

  I was glad he’d left the house, but it occurred to me that he’d probably head to his brother’s house, so I stopped clearing the table and went to call Richard. He lived twenty minutes away, and I thought it best to tell him that Bob was in an agitated state in case he went over to see him. Also, if Bob did go to see him, I wanted him to let me know.

  “Hi, Richard?” I asked when the phone was answered.

  “Yes… oh! Hi, Jackie!” he sounded surprised to hear my voice. “How’re you, darlin’?”

  “Not good, to be quite honest.” My voice was shaky, but I couldn’t avoid it. “Bob’s home and he’s not in a good mood. He’s raced out the house and I reckon he could be heading your way, so if h
e comes to see you, could you let me know?”

  “Are you alright, Jackie?” there was concern in his voice. “What happened, hon?”

  “Um… um…” the whole situation, the anger and the tension, suddenly hit me and I started to cry. “He hit Mark!”

  “Bloody hell.” Richard said softly. “He didn’t touch you, did he?”

  “No, no, no,” I said hastily. “But there’s something very wrong, Richard. He was talking on his phone in Spanish all the way home from the airport and he looked worried about something.” I managed to say, but it was hard to talk as my throat had constricted.

  Richard was silent for a few seconds. “Shit,” he finally mumbled. “Look, love. Let me try and find him, okay? As soon as I find out anything, I’ll call you.” He was about to hang up when he added, “Jackie, do you want me to send Kathy over? Will you be alright on your own?”

  “I’m fine, thanks.” I sniffed. “Just find him, please.” And I hung up to cry into my glass of Rioja.

  I’d fallen asleep on the sofa, watching Sky News. Why a news channel, I wasn’t really sure. I probably thought I’d hear something about an enraged man roaming the streets of Surrey creating havoc.

  The sound of a key in the door roused me, and I jumped up, still with a wine glass in my hand, and I spilt the red liquid on the coffee-coloured carpet and on my