Storm in a B Cup

by Lindy Dale

  “He said you were fat? He’s not exactly George Clooney.”

  I knew Maggie was trying to make me feel better but it wasn’t working. “I know.”

  “Little bugger. You’re well shot of him, love. He always was a terrible flirt, even when he was seven. Last week, I caught him chatting up Shannon over the organic bananas in I.G.A. Terrible things he was saying to make her blush, poor child.”

  “You mean Shannon-down-from-Perth, Shannon?”

  It was funny how everyone called her that. Shannon had lived in Merrifield for over three years now. Been here as long as I’d been back from the city.

  “The very same. I thought she was going to have a seizure when he asked if she’d squeeze his banana to see if it was too firm.”

  I felt the blood drain from my face. Connor had used that exact line on me. Which wasn’t that bad if you ignored the fact that Shannon-down-from-Perth looked like Ten Tonne Tessie. Not that I meant to think such rude thoughts —Shannon was a lovely girl — but she looked so much like an over-ripe mango, I dreamt of smoothies every time we crossed paths.

  So what the hell was Connor’s deal? Did he chat up every woman he met in the fresh produce aisle? Had there been nothing special about me at all?

  “I don’t think he’s ever had a girlfriend for more than a week,” Maggie added. “So you may have broken a record.”

  I snorted and took a twenty-dollar note from my wallet, thumping it onto the glass top display case. “That’s not the only thing of Connor Bishop’s I’d like to break.”

  *****

  By the time I got back to Doggie Divas, I’d eaten two of the peppermint slices and the rush of endorphins had been usurped by the angry pang of guilt at my own weakness. I yanked my key from my pocket and turned it in the lock. Then, I kicked the door open with my toe, shut it with my heel and headed straight for the counter where I dumped the nearly empty bag on the counter. I stared at it for a long while, forcing myself not to eat but it didn’t make me feel any better. In fact, all it did was clarify in my mind a fact I’d known for ages but was refusing to admit.

  I was a relationship loser. And I was possibly destined to be that way for the rest of my life.

  Connor wasn’t the only man to dump me in recent history, you see. In fact, I’d been the victim of quite a few ugly dumping episodes over the last two years. It began with Jacob — I’d found him in bed with a girl who looked like me but had far perkier breasts (obviously fake). Then there was Nigel. He seemed so right until he asked if I minded whether he wore some of my underwear under his work clothes. I drew the line at that. The worst was Michael. I’d had a bit of a crush on him at University and jumped at the chance to offer him a place to stay after his return from an extended overseas trip. I didn’t mind at all. He bought me flowers and wondered how it was that we’d never found each other sooner. He cooked and cleaned. Plus, he looked absolutely adorable in an apron. Unfortunately, I came home from work to find dinner was not the only thing he’d been cooking. My house was in the process of being raided by a team of black-clad special operations police. Turned out Michael’s overseas trip had, in fact, been a stint in jail for possession of a trafficable quantity and he was on the run from the Mafia or a bikie gang or something.

  Since then, I’d understandably become a little gun-shy. It was easier to have no man than to risk involving myself with another player.

  Until Connor, that was. I’d thought he was different. How wrong could a girl be?

  Undoing the bag, I picked at a corner of the last slice and popped it in my mouth. The sweet taste overtook my tongue and I felt the stress begin to melt away. With the chocolate base and icing sending happy hormones rushing to my brain, I blinked away a stubborn tear.

  Why was I rendered instantly stupid when a man flirted with me? How come the only men I seemed to attract were either utter weirdos, players or so totally up themselves they couldn’t see daylight. Did they see me as some sort of easy target? Surely, that couldn’t be the case?

  I pulled the slice from the bag and took a bigger bite. Bugger Connor. This binge was his fault. I’d been having such a lovely week and now I was reduced to downing slices in order to overcome my problems. Again.

  As I swallowed, the door of the shop opened and Mum bounced in. Her hair newly-coiffed, she bounded up to the counter to give me a kiss. My mother was a rather energetic person. I couldn’t remember a time when she’d ever walked.

  “Hello, possum.” As observant as ever, Mum’s eyes dropped to the paper bag on the counter. “Man trouble?”

  It was annoying that my mother knew me so well.

  “Something like that.”

  “Dear, dear. Not that lovely boy you were seeing?”

  “He turned out to be not so lovely.”

  A look of sympathy spread over Mum’s face. “And how many pieces have you had?”

  “One.”

  Eyebrows rose in disbelief.

  “All right, two and a bit. But in my defence, I needed the sugar. I’m very tired. I was up most of the night.”

  And if I’d known what the result of that would be, I’d never have wasted the sleep time.

  Mum reached into her gym bag and pulled out a hanky. Spitting onto the corner, she proceeded to wipe a few stray crumbs from the side of my chin, clucking like a mother hen.

  I swiped her hand away. “Mum, please.”

  My day had been pretty ordinary so far, without her trying to improve the way I looked with a soggy hanky.

  “You’ll never get a man looking like a washerwoman, you know.”

  “And I won’t get one with my mother treating me like a two year old, either. Can you leave it, please?”

  “I was only trying to help.”

  “Thank you , but it’s not the sort of help I need.”

  “There’s no need to get snippy. People will think you’re having your period. Or taking drugs.”

  I groaned. On most occasions, it was pointless attempting to have a sensible conversation with my mother. She had the ability to go off on a tangent that even a person on LSD wouldn’t be able to follow.

  “So what’re you up to today?” I asked, not that I needed to. Mum’s outfit of purple Lycra leggings, a fluorescent pink ballet wrap and an Olivia Newton John — circa 1981 — headband spoke volumes. Teamed with her new 80’s retro haircut, she looked like an extra in a Flashdance remake.

  “I’ve just finished the Advanced Tums & Bums class. That Alice certainly knows how to make me sweat. I thought my bottom was going to drop off.” She turned, giving her bottom, which was indeed looking quite pert for a woman her age, a wiggle. “You could do with a little Tums & Bums. Sitting around is making you frumpy.”

  “Gee, thanks, Mum. I’ll keep that in mind. Is there anything else or did you only come in to tell me that?”

  “No. Nothing else. Have you seen that new shop going in over the road?”

  I had indeed. I’d spent many an hour, when I should have been getting my tax in order, imagining what was behind the rough hessian covering and scaffolding that hid the façade.

  “Whatever it is, they’re putting an awful lot of work into it. Maybe it’s a boutique,” I said.

  “Speaking of clothes, I bought these for you from the home shopping channel. With all that talk of exercise, I completely forgot.” Mum bent and pulled a shiny red carrier from her gym bag, handing it to me. “They were having a clearance.”

  My hand delved into the bag. I felt a pile of soft fabric. I peered inside, afraid of what I was going to find because… Well, let’s just say Mum’s taste in clothes and mine don’t exactly see eye to eye. “Are these Spanx, Mum?”

  Having never seen a pair in real life, I could only surmise.

  “Yes. Every girl of a certain age needs a little help in the support department. They’re wonderful for smoothing lumps and bumps.”

  “Do you wear them?”

  “No. I pay eight hundred dollars a year to have my body toned at the gym. I d
on’t need to wear them. But I’ve heard they’re very good.”

  “So why do I need to wear them?” I took the underwear from the bag, eyeing it in dismay. “Do you think I’m fat?”

  “I’m not saying that. I’m merely saying the Spanx could help enhance the look of what God gave you. Tonnes of celebs wear them. You’re going to need every scrap of help you can get if you want to nab a husband now that you’ve exhausted the supply of under forties in town.”

  My mother was nothing if not honest. Sometimes to the detriment of others’ feelings.

  “There’s no need to remind me.”

  Shoving the underwear back into the bag, I hid it behind the counter. The way I felt was beyond description. I was twenty-seven years old. A push-up bra and some tummy toning jeans were one thing but I wasn’t about to start wearing some suck-me-in-pull-me-up business to impress a man. It wouldn’t work anyway. Connor was living proof of that.

  Mum gathered the rest of her things. “So, what happened? You know, with the young man?”

  “He said my bum look like orange peel. Apparently, he doesn’t like girls who look normal.”

  “Oh well, those undies will come in handy sooner than you think then.” With a kiss and a wave, she opened the door to leave. “Toodle-oo. See you later in the week.”

  “Aren’t we having dinner tonight?”

  “Um, ah…no. I’ve uh, double booked myself. I must learn how to use that calendar thingy on my smartphone.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Go-Karting. So exhilarating.”

  Exhilarating and driving little cars around a track were not concepts I’d use in the same sentence but Mum seemed to be into anything and everything lately. Last week it had been naked hang gliding from Mount Seymour, the big hill that overlooked Merrifield. “Well, have fun.”

  “I fully intend to. I bought this great new racing suit to wear. It’s pink with a lavender stripe. I’m thinking it might be good for the charity calendar shoot at the end of the year. It could be quite a sexy look if I was leaning over the bonnet of a car, don’t you think?”

  Oh Lord.

  Glumly, I watched my mother leave. I kicked the bag of Spanx further under the counter. I felt like crying again. She hadn’t said it in so many words but it was fairly clear that even she thought I was fat. Fat and single.

  My life sucked.

  *****

  My fit of depression growing, I finished off the last of the peppermint slice before heading into the grooming room to tidy up for the day. Usually, I liked to sweep up between clients and give the hydro bath a bit of a whizz over with disinfectant, but the morning had been such a disaster I’d let it slide in favour of feeling sorry for myself.

  As I tidied and swept, I considered how my life was shaping up. Not well, by all accounts. Buying Doggie Divas three years earlier was the one bright spot. It had been a godsend at a time when I’d found myself directionless.

  I’d graduated from university with a Masters Degree in Journalism five years previously and thrown myself into my job as weather girl at Channel Seven News, buying TV appropriate outfits and getting highlights that cost more than the rent on my tiny flat. I was skinny back then. Having finally sprouted into my body after years of teenage gawkiness, I could wear whatever I wanted. I didn’t have to think about exercising or eating rabbit food, I was confident I looked good — but not overconfident, you’ve only got to share the makeup room with some stunning model to have that knocked out of you pretty quickly. Still, it was such a stark contrast after being teased every day at school because I wore glasses and had the body shape of a gangly giraffe.

  The first twelve months of working life sped past in a blur. I was happy, challenged and fulfilled. The producers noticed me and were talking about promoting me to ‘feel good’ segments on The Breakfast Show, starting after Christmas. I’d also scored a lovely boyfriend in journalist and news anchor Richard Abbott. We’d been set to buy matching Boxer puppies and a townhouse in Mount Lawley when my world came crashing down.

  Right, in fact, between having the side of my lovely little Fiat defaced by a woman who turned out to be Richard’s disgruntled wife and a dose of something nasty. Of the things I got from Richard, that last one was the one I least expected.

  Richard had neglected to tell me about the wife who spent her winters in the north of Western Australia. She appeared on a plane from Broome one Wednesday afternoon and popped by his office to announce her arrival for Telethon — she came every year — which in hindsight must have made me look like a bit of a simpleton. How had I not known this? Richard was the most well known journalist in Western Australia. Everyone — well, except me — knew he was married.

  The worst part, though, was when she discovered Richard and I enjoying an afternoon delight on the couch under the window in his office. Richard had a thing about sex in public places, and being young and foolish, I was keen to try anything as long as the door was locked. This time it hadn’t been.

  All hell had broken loose and because Richard held far more professional clout than me, I found myself shoved unceremoniously out the double glass doors of the station the next afternoon. My name in the journalism world was mud. I didn’t even get a leaving present. I arrived back in Merrifield unemployed, single and feeling like a failure. Yes, I had my family and friends but my life hadn’t exactly been fun city over the past couple of years.

  Dragged away from my thoughts by the sound of the bell out in the shop, I left the back room to find a cute little West Highland Terrier with a pink diamante studded collar walking towards me, tugging a girl I’d never seen before along behind. The girl was slim and pretty. Her hair — long, straight and chestnut — was held back by a pair of expensive looking sunglasses and her clothes had the look of hanging hung just so. The dog, though in need of a good clip, suited her to a tee. She was cute and cuddly and very intelligent looking. They looked as if they belong on a TV commercial for up-market dog food.

  “Hi.” The girl picked up the dog, cuddling it to her. “I was wondering if you’d be able to groom Lulu today? I’ve been so busy, I haven’t had time to scratch myself, let alone see to her. She’s been swimming in the dam and looks an utter nightmare.”

  I reached over, tickling Lulu under the chin. “Sure. Do you want a traditional West Highland cut and a bath and blow dry?”

  “Trim her head to toe and take about a couple of centimetres off her feathers. I don’t think they were designed for foot long grass out in the paddock. Do you put bows in dogs’ hair?”

  “Sure do.” I pointed to a selection of ribbons behind the counter. “I also have a doggie massage built into the service. The dogs love it. And if you’d like any of the add-ons, I’d have time for those too.”

  The girl looked up at the menu style board above offering fur dying, nail painting, bowls of gourmet doggie treats to consume while pampered pooches waited for their owners as well as custom-made doggie coats.

  “Could you paint her nails pink?” The girl asked, picking out a pink spotted ribbon that matched Lulu’s collar.

  “Of course.” I took the spool of ribbon and placed it on the counter to remind myself. Then I opened a new file on the computer and took down Lulu’s particulars. “That ribbon will look adorable with her collar.”

  The girl nodded in agreement. “Oh, I’m Adelaide, by the way. Adelaide Anderson.”

  I reached over and shook her hand. “Olivia Merrifield. It’s nice to meet you, Adelaide. Hopefully, we’ll see each other around town.”

  “Merrifield? Wow. You’ve got a whole town named after you.”

  I guessed that was one way of looking at it.

  “My family were founders of the town. It has its good points and bad points.”

  “I can imagine. Listen, I can’t thank you enough for doing this at short notice. I want her looking nice for the photo shoot tomorrow and you have to wait for, like, six weeks for an appointment in Perth.”

  “Is Lulu a doggy mode
l?”

  “No. It’s family photos. And she’s a part of the family. You know how it is.”

  Walking around the counter, I took the lead from Adelaide and stepped back as Lulu leapt into my arms. Friendly as well as cute.

  “Come back around five. We should be done by then.”

  Continue reading Thin Girls Don’t Eat Cake here.

  Amazon US

  Amazon UK

  Amazon AU

  Amazon CA

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Epilogue