Mates, Dates and Chocolate Cheats

by Cathy Hopkins

  ‘I thought you were off those this week,’ she said as she filled the kettle with water.

  ‘I’m on a new diet,’ I said as I pushed a chocolate chip cookie into my mouth. ‘The seafood diet.’

  ‘What? Fish?’

  ‘No, I see food and I eat it.’

  Mum laughed. ‘Well, at least you haven’t lost your sense of humour.’

  Suddenly, I felt my eyes fill with tears and the cookie felt dry in my mouth.

  ‘What is it, love?’ Mum asked.

  ‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘Just . . . I hate myself.’

  Mum looked aghast. ‘But why?’

  ‘Look at me,’ I groaned. ‘I’m supposed to be on a diet and yet here I am stuffing my face. I’m soooo pathetic. No wonder . . .’

  ‘No, love. No. Here, sit down. I’ll make us a nice cup of tea and you can tell me all about it. What is it? No wonder what?’

  I’d been about to say no wonder boys don’t stay with me. How could I tell her what a fool Jay had made of me?

  ‘Don’t know . . .’ I sighed. ‘Just . . . why do I always pick the wrong boys? Like, do I have a sign on my forehead that reads “sucker”? I must be doing something wrong or putting out the wrong signals or maybe it’s because I’m a great ugly lump and can only attract boys who mess girls’ heads up.’

  Mum took a deep breath. ‘You’re not an ugly lump, Izzie. You’re a very pretty girl.’

  ‘You have to say that. You’re my mum. It comes in the contract you signed at my birth.’

  I indicated the biscuit and cake wrappers on the table. ‘But look at me. I don’t know what’s come over me this week. I wanted to lose some weight but I have no will-power.’

  ‘Yes you have,’ said Mum. ‘What have you eaten today?’

  ‘Before now, two grapefruit and a boiled egg.’

  ‘Oh, Izzie,’ Mum said with a sigh. ‘You’ve just been going about losing weight the wrong way. You don’t put weight on overnight, although sometimes it appears that way. It creeps on . . .’

  ‘Tell me about it.’

  ‘And in the same way, it’s not going to come off overnight or in three days. It has to be a more long term process. You still need to eat. That’s why you’re here stuffing yourself. Not because you’re pathetic but because you’re hungry and it’s perfectly natural.’

  ‘So what can I do Mum? I really am serious about wanting to lose a bit. Half a stone, at least.’

  ‘OK,’ said Mum. ‘OK. I’ll help. I just want you to promise me one thing and that is that you do it slowly and sensibly with no more thoughts about crash diets. A programme of healthy eating and the weight will be off in a few months.’

  A few months? I didn’t have that kind of time to waste with the TV pilot coming up. I knew she was probably right. Eat the right kind of foods, etc., etc. but there had to be a quicker way. I still thought I needed to do something drastic at the beginning.

  ‘And do you want to tell me why you think you attract the wrong boys?’ she asked. ‘What’s been going on?’

  I shook my head. ‘Nothing,’ I said. I felt tired and had done enough caring sharing for one night. Sometimes with parents, you give them an inch and they want a mile. You tell them a little about what’s going on in your head and they want the whole package. I could see that Mum was settling in for a heart to heart. And what I needed was a head-to-pillow.

  ‘Night, Mum,’ I said as I got up. ‘And thanks.’

  Mum looked slightly bewildered. ‘Anytime, Izzie. You do know that, don’t you? You can talk to me about anything, anytime.’

  I nodded. I knew I could. But I couldn’t. Not yet. It was all too raw. Maybe later when I’d come through the other side. When I was slim and gorgeous and the boys were queuing up to date me. Maybe then.

  Late night weigh-in: the same, the same, the same. Makes no sense to me. I starve, nothing changes. I stuff my face with biscuits, nothing changes.

  The seafood diet: See food and you eat it.

  Chapter 5

  Auditions

  ‘Quite clearly all those stupid diet magazines that say that you can lose ten pounds in a week or two are wrong,’ I said to Lucy as I came out of the bathroom at her house after school the next day. I’d just been on their scales in there and my weight still hadn’t shifted an ounce. And that was after four days of starvation (apart from the odd choc/cookie binge). ‘The only way to lose ten pounds in a week is to chop one of your legs off.’

  ‘I’m sure Lal will help you with that,’ said Lucy as we went into her room to join Nesta and TJ. ‘Just go and lie on the kitchen table and I’ll get him to get the electric saw from the shed.’

  I lay back on her bed and pushed my stomach out so that she could see how bad things were. ‘You don’t think I’m serious do you?’ I asked.

  ‘Looking like that? No,’ she replied. ‘I mean, who goes round deliberately pushing their stomach out? And I’ve told you before, I think you’re mad and I don’t want to talk about it any more.’

  ‘Ooh, get you,’ I said. ‘Don’t want to discuss it.’

  TJ lay on the floor and like me, tried to push her stomach out as far as it would go. ‘See,’ she said, ‘anyone has a stomach if they push it out far enough.’

  Nesta looked down at us with disdain from the bed. ‘Much as I would like to join in the fat turn competition, we have better things to do. Come on. We have to be at the studio in Camden at six.’

  I was in two minds as to whether to go, even though Mum had finally given me permission as long as I didn’t fall behind with my homework. I was still worried about the camera putting another ten pounds on me and felt like I wanted to get myself in shape before I went public again. They’re not filming tonight so maybe I’ll just go along to check it out then back out later, I thought.

  Nesta pulled a couple of outfits out of her rucksack. ‘Now. The question is, what look should I go for?’ she asked. ‘Intellectual with a wonderbra or slut bitch with a brain?’

  TJ laughed. ‘Sounds like the same thing to me. Just go as you are. You’re only going to be in the audience and they probably don’t want anyone who attracts too much attention.’

  ‘Ah, but you’ve forgotten, they’re going to pick a few people for the panel.’

  ‘In that case, Nesta,’ I said, ‘don’t wear anything too revealing. You look good as you are and going with your chesty bits on display might give the wrong impression for the show. Are you sure you’re not going to come, TJ?’

  TJ shook her head. ‘Nope. I am here merely in the role of slave and dresser. When you’ve gone, I’m going to go home, walk Mojo, then get down to some work on the magazine. Now, who needs zipping up?’

  In the end, Nesta settled for a black mini, black polo neck and black knee-high boots. She looked fab. Lucy wore one of the little halter-necks she’d made herself and her black jeans. She looked fab too. I wore a baggy T-shirt and my baggy jeans as those are the only clothes that fit me at the moment. I looked like an old sack.

  When we got to the studio, I instantly wished I’d made more of an effort.

  ‘Ohmygod,’ I said as I took in the crowd shivering in the cold outside the reception building at the studio where the auditions were to be held. There were some really cute boys there and most of the girls were dressed up to the nines and in skimpy outfits despite the weather. In my oversized padded jacket, gloves and scarf, I felt like a frump compared to those who were in tiny tops and miniskirts and were made up to the eye balls. It was lip-gloss city.

  At six on the dot, a blonde girl in glasses opened the door and directed us all into a room where we all had to sign in, give our details and be given a number and a visitor’s pass. Some people were turned away right there and then.

  ‘Too old or too young,’ said Lucy as one tiny girl who looked about eleven burst into tears as she was asked to leave.

  When the remaining teens had signed in, we were ushered down a maze of corridors and into a small cosy studio that smelled of new carpets. In
fact, everywhere was carpeted (even the walls!) and there was no natural light. It was like walking into a softly-lit cocoon and it was warm so I could take off my jacket. At the front was a stage, on the ceiling were endless wires and lights and dotted around the sides were a few cameras. It was my first time in a real studio and I felt really excited to be there. There was a buzz of anticipation in the air as everyone talked and eyed each other up.

  ‘Eyes left, over in the corner,’ said Lucy as a tall boy with dark spiky hair came in from behind the stage and began to fiddle with a microphone in the centre. He was very good looking but more than that, he had a nice face, open and friendly.

  ‘Ding dong. Well fit,’ I said as we stood in the aisle and looked for the best place to sit. ‘Now there’s a way to get over Jay. I wonder if he’s attached? Oh . . . but you saw him first, Lucy.’

  ‘All yours,’ she said. ‘I’m having a break from boys for a while.’

  ‘Yeah, right,’ said Nesta. ‘Tony’s a boy?’

  ‘Yeah. And I told you. We’re going to be friends. I said I’d hang out with him every now and then. You know, see a movie . . .’

  Nesta laughed. ‘I have to hand it to him. His technique is fauldess.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Lucy.

  ‘I told you before. He’s wheedling his way back in. I don’t think you can be just friends with a boy. Not one you fancy, anyway.’

  Lucy stuck her bottom lip out. ‘Well I’m not going to cut him out of my life. Why should I when we still like each other?’

  ‘See! I knew this would happen,’ said Nesta. ‘Your resistance is weakening day by day. Just friends! Hah. I smell trouble. It will be fine until one of you gets involved with someone else and then . . .’

  ‘But I’m not going to get involved with someone else. Not at the moment. As I said, I’m taking a break.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Nesta. ‘Sounds like it.’

  As they chatted away, I watched the boy with spiky hair working on the stage. There was something about him that was different from the majority of boys in the studio. Maybe it was because he seemed older, maybe about eighteen, whereas the other boys looked about the same age as me. That’s it, I thought. That’s what I need. Someone more mature. And someone tall so that I don’t tower over him like I do most of the boys my age who only come up to my shoulders. Yes. I want someone who’s lived a bit and had a few relationships. Maybe they’ll be a bit clearer about what they want. Then I thought about Tony and Lucy. He was eighteen and had made it very clear what he wanted. Sex. At that moment, the boy on the stage looked over to where I was standing and we made eye contact. I quickly looked down. I didn’t want him to notice me when I was dressed so drably. If we got picked to be in the audience for the run-through on Saturday, I would make more of an effort and turn up in something more attractive.

  At the front, a group of boys were shoving each other to get seats directly in front of the stage. I made my way straight for the back row. I knew exactly where I wanted to sit, and that was nowhere near the cameras, even though I knew they weren’t filming this time. Not until I was slimmer. Lucy came with me but Nesta went straight down to the stage and found a place on the front row.

  After a short while, a couple of men came in and the room grew quiet. One of them looked old, at least fifty, with short grey hair and the other had a shaven head and protruding belly and looked more like a bricklayer than a TV producer. The older one looked round then took a seat at the back near me. The other one went to the microphone that Spiky-Haired Boy had set up.

  ‘Hi,’ he said. ‘My name’s John Maclean. And I’m one of the producers on the show which, as you probably all know, is going to be called Teen Talk. So that we’re all on the same page and you know what to expect, I’d like to tell you what the format is going to be. Half an hour with a break for commercials, so we’ll run to about twenty-three minutes. First part, topic, nine-minute discussion, guest band. Second part, new topic, nine-minute discussion, then if we have time, we’ll have the guest band again and wrap up. So you see, it’s going to be tight with not a lot of time for messing around, for people who hog the microphone, for people with a chip on their shoulder or an axe to grind. If the pilot’s a goer, we’ll do six shows back to back in the autumn so we’ll need commitment from you and permission from your parents for you to take part. Consent forms will be given out on the way out. Any questions?’

  Nesta was straight in. ‘What sort of topics will be up for discussion?’

  ‘Our writers are working on that now but any suggestions from the audience will make their job easier. That’s why you guys are here. To give us input.’

  A pretty redhead in the second row put her hand up. ‘What time will we need to be here?’

  ‘Saturday morning, an hour before kick-off so that will be ten o’clock for you. We want everyone in their place, settled, sorted.’

  ‘Will it be live this Saturday?’ asked the redhead.

  John shook his head. ‘There will be cameras here but no, it will be a run-through so that we can iron out any hiccups in the early stages.’

  ‘Do we get paid?’ asked a boy at the back.

  ‘No,’ John replied. ‘You won’t get paid. You do it for the street cred. Right?’

  A few boys from the front groaned then got up and sloped towards the door.

  ‘Street cred?’ said one. ‘You must be joking.’

  ‘Yeah. Street cred don’t buy yer fags,’ another called as they went out.

  John watched them go with a look of indifference. ‘Anyone else want to leave?’

  ‘Have you picked the people for the panel yet?’ asked a blond boy from the front.

  ‘We’ll do that this Saturday. Tonight’s just a short meet. Let us meet you, let you know what will be happening. So. Any ideas for topics?’

  ‘Is there a God?’ someone called from the back.

  ‘Terrorism,’ suggested another.

  ‘Politics.’

  Ideas began flying about. After a while, John put his hand up. ‘OK, good. All good ideas but what about stuff that’s relevant to you as teenagers?’

  ‘Sex,’ said one of the boys at the front and everyone laughed.

  ‘Not having sex,’ said a girl behind him and everyone laughed again.

  ‘What do girls want?’ suggested another boy.

  ‘What do boys want?’ said a girl.

  I could see that the programme was going to be great fun. I wanted to be part of it, so when we were all invited to come back on the Saturday, I decided that I didn’t want to use my weight gain as an excuse to hide away. I’d miss out on what was happening. There’s only one thing for it, I resolved for the umpteenth time that week. I have to lose weight so I have to be really strict with myself and no stupid weak moments where I stuff my face with chocolate or anything else.

  The only way to lose ten pounds in two weeks, and keep it off, is to chop off your leg.

  Chapter 6

  Conspiracy

  Channel One: Superchef Delia concocting something delicious with raspberries, ricotta cheese and cream. Argh.

  Change channels.

  Channel Two: Nigella, the Domestic Goddess making ice cream out of Mars bars. Mmmmm. I felt my mouth water.

  Change channels.

  Channel Three: Jamie Oliver and some other celeb chef making lasagne with garlic and herbs in record time. It looked so good, I could almost smell it.

  Change channels.

  Channel Four: a movie. Phew . . . Safe. A movie about an Italian family. I let it run for ten minutes. Oh no, all they do in this film is eat. Pasta, pizza, tiramisu. My stomach is rumbling like crazy.

  Change channels.

  Channel Five: Commercials. For Maltesers. Thai food. Mexican food like Mama used to make. Cheeseburgers. Slaver, slaver. I’m so hungry, I could lick the screen. Then up comes a commercial for toothpaste. I’m so starving I could even eat some of that. All I’ve had today was a bowl of cereal (on Mum’s insistence), and cou
ple of rice cakes and an orange at lunch-time. No, relax, Izzie, I told myself, think about something else besides food. Another movie is starting. Must be safer than the Italian one. The credits start to roll. A French scene. A street. The title of the movie: Chocolat.

  !!!

  I give up, I thought as I flicked the TV off.

  I’d popped into see Dad on my way home from the studio and while he and Anna put Tom to bed, I’d decided to watch TV. (Anna is Dad’s wife, my stepmum and Tom is my stepbrother. He’s four and absolutely gorgeous.) Big mistake, I thought as I flopped back on their sofa and waited for them to come down. It’s hard trying not to eat. It’s not the same as giving up cigarettes or alcohol (not that I do either). You need food to live and if you don’t give your body any, it objects. And everywhere there are wonderful smells to tempt you. I don’t think I’d ever noticed before this week how great food smells: toast wafting in the kitchen in the morning, freshly baked bread coming out of the bakery on the way to school, spices and garlic from Indian and Thai restaurants on the high street when I walked home from school. All calling, beckoning, Izzie, Izzie, eat, eat . . .

  ‘Iz,’ Anna called from the hall. ‘I’m ordering takeaway. What would you like? Your usual? Veg curry, rice, chapati?’

  I was tempted. Very tempted. But then I thought about the boy with spiky hair at the studio. I wanted to make a good impression and that meant getting back into my old jeans. By Saturday (which meant near starvation).

  ‘Nothing for me,’ I called back. ‘I am on a diet.’

  ‘Oh no you’re not,’ Dad said, grinning as he came into the living room. ‘Your mum phoned. Told me all about this latest nonsense and gave me instructions that Izzie must eat. Oh ja. Or else ve make her eat.’

  The world is conspiring against me, I thought. First the smells, then the TV, then my mother, then my father. It’s no wonder I’m as fat as a pig.

  Anna came in to join us and sat on the sofa next to me. ‘What on earth are you dieting for?’