The Fat And The Thin Of It

by Julie Croft

me?

  Christ, I didn’t think I could stand it. I’d go round the bloody bend, I knew I would. I’d not been at home for longer than a bank holiday since I couldn’t remember when, and a week’s holiday abroad didn’t count.

  I tapped my foot as I flicked channels, trying to find something interesting, but there was nothing I fancied watching. It was only eleven thirty, and Terry wouldn’t be home till half past five at the earliest. I got up and rummaged in the freezer for dinner, but then I thought it would be nice if I did a ‘Jackie dinner’.

  Okay, cool; but what the hell was a ‘Jackie dinner’? It would be overflowing with calories, that’s for sure, and I couldn’t afford to do that right now.

  Ah, I know; find a recipe.

  Now, where was that recipe book hiding?

  It wasn’t in the kitchen and it wasn’t on the bookshelf in the conservatory. I couldn’t find it in the living room, so I searched in the office.

  Bugger; had I lent it to someone? It was the only recipe book I had, as someone with a sense of humour had given it to me when I got married, but I couldn’t for the life of me remember who. The title was something like Easy Recipes for the Ambitious Beginner or whatever, but there were some good meals in there. If only I could remember one of them off the top of my head…

  I know; I’ll look something up on the internet.

  I typed in ‘recipes’ and was blown away by all the possible websites: were there honestly that many people out there interested in this stuff? I clicked on the top three or four, but it was all so confusing. There were loads and loads of recipes but I couldn’t get my head round any of them. There were lists of ingredients as long as your arm and the instructions as complicated as those for building a dirty bomb, dammit. I needed something simple, tasty and sexy, so I tried typing in ‘sexy recipes’, but the websites that came up were not exactly for food.

  I resisted the urge to call Jackie, and tried to think of someone else to call.

  I didn’t want to call Kathy, as we didn’t get on that well. I had a sneaky feeling she thought something was going on between me and Richard., because whenever we got together at parties or dinners at Jackie’s we were always talking and joking. Mum wouldn’t be any good, either, as she had trouble remembering where the kitchen was, let alone be able to give me a recipe. Dad had no idea how to open a pull-ring can, so I’d hired a cleaner who also cooked for them both, apart from the two full-time nurses who took shifts to care for them…

  Oh, good God; how were we going to pay for them now I’d lost my job? I’d have to talk to Terry about that this evening.

  ‘Now girl, think about what you’re going to have for dinner.’

  Right. Dinner.

  There was nothing to do but go out to Sainsbury’s and shop.

  I pulled my coat on and jumped in the car with the full intention of shopping for something delicious and different. What I’d do with it, though, was another kettle of fish.

  On a whim, though, I decided to stop off at the local community centre and see if there was a space for me at Jackie’s pottery class before doing the shop. It would give me something to do and I could spend some time with Jackie. I pulled into the parking lot and went up to reception.

  There was a lone receptionist talking on the phone when I walked in. I couldn’t actually see her as the desk was quite high, but I could hear her voice.

  “No, love; you can’t go out if you’ve got a cold… if you feel that much better, then tell Nan to take you to school… ah, so you don’t feel well enough to go to school, but you’re well enough to want to go skating with Grandpa… Lorraine, stop whining… Lorraine, put Grandpa on the phone, will you? Are you listening, Lorraine?”

  I wasn’t in a hurry, so I wandered over to a bill board covered with advertisements for classes of all kinds to see what other classes they had while the receptionist finished her call.

  “Can I help you?” the receptionist had finally realised I was there.

  She had stood up and was smiling at me. She still had the phone in her hand, probably giving Grandpa an earful for suggesting skating to a sick child.

  “Ah, well… I was looking for a class of some kind, but I don’t know what I fancy.”

  The receptionist rummaged under the counter and pulled out a pamphlet. “Here is a list of all the classes we do here, with the days and times and the monthly price for each class. Would that be a help?”

  She looked like she hoped it would, then she could get back to Grandpa.

  “Thank you.” I smiled as I took the pamphlet, and left her to her ear-bending, which I could hear as I left reception.

  “Dad, I know she’s bored! But she had a fever of a hundred and one this morning and you can’t suggest skating just to keep her out of Mum’s hair!... then give her the TV control and leave her to it….then record Doctors and let Mum watch it later!”

  I ended up buying some Dover sole, new potatoes, salad stuff and a tartar sauce. I bought a couple of bottles of Sauvignon for a change, as it was slightly stronger in taste and would go well with fish. Or, so I thought. I didn’t have a fucking clue, but at least I was making the effort.

  By the time I got home, it was only two o’clock. There was still more than three hours to kill before Terry came home and I could start dinner. It was too early for a glass of wine, so I made a coffee after putting the shopping away, grabbed my packet of fags and glasses and the pamphlet and headed for the conservatory.

  Christ! It was so bloody cold in here! I put my hand on the radiator and noticed that it still wasn’t working properly. We’d bled the air out of it, had a guy come and fix it but it still played up. I’d have to ask Terry where the heater was when he came home.

  Maybe I should make a list of things I had to ask Terry. So far, we had to talk about my parents and the heater… nah; I think I can remember that on my own.

  Okay… what can I do with myself?

  I wrapped myself in the snuggie and settled on the wicker sofa, put on my glasses, lit a cigarette and studied the pamphlet.

  There wasn’t a lot to choose from, to be honest. I had trouble drawing a straight line, so art classes were not an option. I hated needlecraft; it made me think of ugly young girls embroidering sheets and pillow-cases for their bottom draw in the hope of enticing a suitor thanks to their handiwork. Cookery classes… ugh, I’d rather find my recipe book and work it out for myself. I didn’t need aerobic… I could tie myself in knots in a Pilate’s class if I wanted… not. I didn’t need IT… heck; all that was left was sculpture or pottery, and that only interested me because Jackie’d be there.

  Well, I suppose that was all there was. Actually, I’d love to see Jackie’s face when I turned up at her class. I didn’t think she’d class me as a potter – potty, but not a potter.

  I stubbed out my cigarette and checked the time. It was only a quarter to three, for fuck’s sake. Oh well, I’ll go and see what’s on TV at this time of the day. Once Terry came home, I’d do dinner, and then I’d entice him upstairs for sex. It was one way to stem the boredom, and good exercise for losing weight.

  On Tuesday, I went to see Mum and Dad. I hadn’t been to see them since the weekend before I got fired, and although Mum would be none the wiser, Dad must have been wondering where I’d got to. I still hadn’t spoken to Terry, as we’d got sidetracked in the nicest way, so in the morning after my exercise regime I’d written a note to myself and stuck it on the fridge door.

  The nurse let me in with a cordial smile. I think her name was Maria, but I couldn’t be sure. I knew that the nurses’ names were Maria and Pilar but which was which eluded me, because they looked like twins, to be honest. They both were tiny, their hair was always scraped back into efficient-looking buns, and they wore the same pink uniforms with dainty little white aprons.

  Mum and Dad were sitting in the living room watching TV. The news was on, but both seemed oblivious to it, especially Mum. It was absolutely boiling in there, as the heating was on full blast and an
inferno was raging in the fireplace. I walked in with a breezy ‘hi’ and gave them both a hug, then shrugged off my coat and wished I’d only worn a blouse, as I was still putting on the baggy jeans and a sweatshirt until I’d lost weight. I sat down in an armchair and asked them how they were. Mum stared at the fire and didn’t look as if she even realised I’d come in, let alone spoken to her, but Dad’s green eyes sparkled as he looked at me, obviously happy to have someone to talk to. Maria – or Pilar – took up her post in an armchair beside the bay window and picked up her book.

  “Not bad, love. Can’t grumble,” was Dad’s response. “But I didn’t sleep too well last night, though. I had to get up four times for a wee, and your mother here,” he jerked a deformed thumb towards her. “Kept mumbling all night.” He leaned over to me. “I had prunes for breakfast, love. I haven’t poohed for three days,” he wrinkled his nose in a conspiring way. “You know.”

  I nodded, also wrinkling my nose. I didn’t know, but hey… it kept him happy. “How’re you, Mum?” I shouted to her.

  She took her time, but she finally reacted and squinted in my direction. “Is that you, Dorothy?” Dorothy was her sister who’d died in a car accident thirty years ago.

  “No, Mum. It’s me, Jill.” I shouted with a smile.

  “Who?”

  “Jill!” I didn’t know if she was going deaf, but somehow you always thought they’d understand