Mates, Dates and Chocolate Cheats

by Cathy Hopkins

  ‘To lose weight of course.’

  ‘Pff,’ she said. ‘You don’t need to do that. You’re lovely as you are.’

  Anna of course, like just about every female I know, is thin as a rake. At least she is now. She was a bit chubby for a while after Tom was born, but soon lost it.

  ‘How did you lose the weight you put on when you were pregnant?’ I asked in the hope that she’d reveal some great secret that I had yet to read about.

  ‘Breast feeding, lack of sleep and a small son to chase after all day,’ she replied. ‘No time to think about food.’

  Dad stuck his tummy out the way I had earlier this evening. ‘Diet, huh? If anyone needs to go on a diet around here, it’s me.’

  I wasn’t going to argue. He’s not exactly fat. More round. Cuddly, especially round the middle although it suits him. I remember when he and Mum split up and he lost a lot of weight and looked gaunt for a while. I much prefer him this way, looking chubbier but happy.

  Anna giggled and pulled her honey-coloured hair back into a scrunchy as he strutted round the room with his tummy sticking out.

  ‘All that beer,’ she said as he sat next to her and she gave his tummy a stroke.

  ‘Beer,’ he said. ‘And genes. I’m prone to putting on weight if I’m not careful. So was my dad. So was my granddad. It’s in the family. Genes.’

  ‘Noooooo,’ I groaned. What hope was there for me? Everyone always says that I take after my dad more than my mum.

  ‘Still at least I’ve still got my hair,’ said Dad with a grin, as he ran his fingers through his thick mane of dark hair. ‘Us Foster men never were baldies. So. What’s it to be, girls? Indian or Chinese?’

  ‘Haven’t you got any salad stuff or fruit or something?’ I asked.

  Dad grinned. ‘Er . . . there might be a lemon in the fridge.’

  I should have known better than to ask. He and Anna are hopeless when it comes to stocking up on food. They might both be dead brainy (Dad works as a lecturer in English literature at a university in town and Anna is doing a PhD in medieval poetry) but they haven’t a clue when it comes to eating properly. They live off takeaways. Normally I don’t mind a bit, in fact I enjoy going round there for a curry night but tonight, I wanted to eat something without too many calories. What could I do to keep Mum and Dad happy but not break my diet?

  ‘OK, I’ll have a prawn curry,’ I said. ‘And I’ll scrape the sauce off.’

  ‘Mad.’ Dad sighed as he got up to phone our order through. ‘Totally bonkers.’

  By the time the takeaway arrived an hour later, I thought I was going to pass out with hunger. It smelt divine. Spicy and inviting. When Dad offered me some of his spinach paneer and his naan bread, I gave in. And scrape the sauce of my prawn curry? You must be joking. I wolfed the lot and the bits of Anna’s that she couldn’t finish.

  Hopeless, hopeless, hopeless, I told myself when Dad dropped me home later.

  For a brief second, I thought about going up to the bathroom and putting my fingers down my throat. Loads of girls at our school do it. Bulimia. Kayley Morrison in our year does it. I’ve heard her throwing up in the cloakroom after lunch. It’s weird. She eats a good lunch. I’ve seen her. Big sandwiches and chocolate bars. Milkshakes. Then she goes and vomits it all up. OK, she is slim but she doesn’t look good. Her skin looks powdery and she looks unwell somehow. We had a health adviser come in and talk to us about it once. Apparently all the acid regenerated from your stomach rots your teeth. And I didn’t fancy being slim and toothless. Not a good look in my book.

  I may be desperate but I’m not that desperate, I thought as I went in to say hi to Mum and Angus. I shall just cut back tomorrow. If you add everything up that I’ve eaten so far this week, it must surely be less than I normally eat.

  Upstairs, later, I decided to pick out an outfit for Saturday. There must be something that will look good, I thought as I searched through my wardrobe. A lot of my clothes are black so that’s good as it’s a slimming colour. But everything looked that little bit too tight. T-shirts that had fitted perfectly only months ago stretched unattractively over my boobs, and there was a welt of flab over the top of my jeans.

  Maybe I won’t bother going on Saturday, I thought. Maybe Mum’s right and losing weight is going to be a long term thing.

  My phone bleeped. It was a text message from Dad.

  DIET RELIGIOUSLY, it said. EAT WHAT YOU LIKE AND PRAY THAT IT DOESN’T SHOW.

  Haha. Not.

  Diet religiously: Eat what you like and pray it doesn’t show.

  Chapter 7

  Shopping For Fat Clothes

  Weigh-in. Friday morning: I have dropped two pounds. Bizarre. I don’t get it. Starve and nothing comes off. Eat a big curry and I lose two pounds. Maybe it was all my efforts to eat little during the day. Whatever. Two down, only six to go. V. v. happy.

  ‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous,’ said Lucy when I told the girls that I was having second thoughts about going tomorrow. ‘That’s such a cop-out.’

  ‘I haven’t got anything to wear.’

  ‘Have you got any money left over from the Italian trip?’ asked Nesta. ‘You hardly spent a bean, you were too busy snogging Jay to go shopping.’ She clamped her hand over her mouth. ‘Oh, sorry. Didn’t mean to . . .’

  ‘It’s OK,’ I said. ‘You can say his name.’

  ‘How much have you got?’ asked Lucy.

  I did a quick calculation in my head. With this week’s pocket money and the money left over from Italy, I’d had fifty, but I’d spent some of it on slimming magazines. ‘About forty pounds.’

  ‘Right. So we go shopping after school and sort you out some new clothes,’ said Lucy. ‘I’ll be your personal fashion adviser.’

  ‘No. I have to lose six pounds first.’

  Nesta laughed. ‘Only six? Listen, girl, we’re going to help you lose forty.’

  The mall was heaving when we got there after school. It seemed like half the teen population of North London had had the same idea and the shops were busy, busy, busy. Outside it was wet and windy so it was good to get off the bus and into the dry where we could walk about without getting soaked and our hair wrecked.

  After trawling around for the best part of an hour, I still hadn’t found anything. Nesta, on the other hand, had found a gorgeous little turquoise silk camisole in Monsoon. Lucy had bought a dinky beaded handbag in Accessorize and even TJ had found something she liked, a strappy olive green T-shirt in TopShop that looked great with her brown hair and eyes.

  ‘Why is it that when you go looking for something,’ I asked, ‘you never find it? And when you’re not looking, you see all sorts of things?’

  ‘Same with boys,’ said Nesta. ‘Go looking and all you meet are geeks. Give up and along comes Mr Right.’

  ‘Or Mr Right Now in your case,’ Lucy said, laughing.

  Nesta punched her. ‘Some day my prince will come.’

  ‘That’s what the girl who left a film to be developed at the photo shop said,’ Lucy told us. ‘Some days my prints will come.’

  Nesta patted her on the head. ‘Sad,’ she said. ‘Very sad.’

  I tried all my usual shops but nothing looked right. After an hour, I was ready to give up and become a nun.

  ‘Coffee break,’ said Nesta. ‘We need to regroup and re-energise.’

  ‘Whatever,’ I said. Usually I looked forward to our café breaks but today the prospect didn’t hold the same allure.

  ‘Come on,’ said Nesta and led us up the escalator to the floor where all the cafés were.

  ‘I could always make you something, Iz,’ said Lucy as we stood in the queue to get served.

  ‘By tomorrow? I don’t think so.’

  I felt depressed. And the last shop we’d been into had been the final straw. I had eventually seen an electric blue top that I liked and went to try it on. In the changing room, there were mirrors that showed you from every angle. Front, side and back. It was horrible. I liked the top but my u
sual size (twelve) was way too small. I had definitely gone up a size and the thought of being a fourteen filled me with dismay. When I’d shamefully gone out to ask for the bigger size, the snooty assistant had told me that they hadn’t got it in ‘the larger sizes’.

  ‘Perhaps I should shop in one of the shops for large ladies,’ I said when we’d got our drinks (chocolate milkshakes for TJ, Nesta and Lucy and tea without milk for me) and we sat down.

  ‘Izzie, you have to get over this,’ said Lucy. ‘You are by no means a large lady. It’s getting boring.’

  ‘Pff,’ I said. ‘Nesta is the only one of you honest enough to say that I’m fat.’

  Nesta almost spat her milkshake out. ‘I never did. I never said fat.’

  ‘Did.’

  ‘Didn’t.’

  ‘Did.’

  ‘Did not.’

  ‘Rivetting conversation,’ said TJ. ‘Remind me to hang out with you guys again.’

  Nesta ignored her. ‘Did not. Did not. Did not a million times. I said that you had gained a little weight in Italy. You did. A little. But you can carry it. You’re five foot eight or whatever.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said TJ. ‘You’re probably exactly the right weight for your height.’

  ‘The only way I’d be the right weight for my height is if I was eight foot seven. I don’t want to carry it. I want to be sylphlike. Tall and willowy. I won’t be happy until I am.’

  ‘Then you’ll never be happy,’ said Nesta. ‘You are not a sylphlike build. Or willowy. You are, as we’ve said before, curvy. I really don’t know what your problem is. Boys like curves.’

  ‘Not as much as they like skinny girls,’ I protested. ‘Little girly girls.’

  ‘Not what Lal and Steve say,’ said Lucy. ‘They say that they like girls that look female, that is, curvy. You’re lucky you look the way you do.’

  ‘You’re just saying that.’

  ‘No, I’m not,’ said Nesta. ‘I mean, why would you want to be Olive Oyle when you could look like Jessica Rabbit?’

  ‘I saw this programme about body image on telly the other night,’ said TJ. ‘It was the top ten things that make a naked body attractive and sexy. Want to know what number one was?’

  ‘Flat stomach,’ I said.

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Great boobs,’ said Nesta.

  ‘Nope,’ said TJ. ‘And it was something for men and women. Great boobs wouldn’t look so great on a bloke.’

  ‘Three nipples,’ said Lucy. ‘And the ability to lick your eyebrows as a party trick?’

  ‘Yeah, right,’ TJ said, laughing. ‘No. It was confidence. All the experts said the same. Whatever shape or size, if you’re confident, it is a million times more attractive than trying to hide your body or make excuses for some of it.’

  ‘That’s what Lal says,’ said Lucy. ‘He said he can’t stand these girls who are always going on about the size of their bum. He said that what girls don’t realise is that most boys are happy that girls have got bums, whatever the shape.’

  ‘He would,’ said Nesta. ‘But it makes sense. Confidence. Yeah. Strut your stuff and if you’ve got it, flaunt it.’

  Easier said than done, I thought. I can’t imagine strutting my stuff, naked or clothed.

  ‘So, Iz. You’ve got to chill,’ said Nesta. ‘You look great. So you’ve gone up a size. Big deal. We’re teenagers. We’re bound to be growing.’

  ‘But not in every direction.’

  ‘Nobody’s totally happy about the way they look,’ said Lucy. ‘Even some of the top models hate certain aspects of their bodies.’

  ‘Yeah. Get off this trip, Izzie. We all have hang-ups,’ said Nesta. ‘Like me and my stupid big feet. Size nine. I hate them. But I can’t do anything about it unless I chop my toes off. And this stupid brace I have to wear. Do you think I like that? No way. Some days I think that all people see when they look at me is a metalmouth.’

  ‘And I hate being mini me,’ said Lucy. ‘Don’t you think I’d like to be taller? And have boobs. How do you think I feel hanging out with you three? Sometimes I think I look like I’m traipsing after my big sisters.’

  ‘And I hate my shape,’ said TJ. ‘Straight, up down. No waist. At least you have a waist, Izzie.’

  ‘And boobs,’ said Lucy.

  ‘And nice feet and great teeth,’ said Nesta.

  ‘And beautiful eyes,’ said TJ. ‘Bella ochi.’

  I could see I wasn’t going to get any sympathy here as they all went into a mock sobbing act.

  ‘Oh, I’m so ugly,’ wailed Nesta.

  ‘And I’m uglier,’ TJ joined in.

  ‘And I’m the ugliest of all,’ cried Lucy.

  A couple of boys went past and looked at us as though we were all barking mad and that set us off laughing.

  ‘Seriously though, Iz,’ said TJ. ‘If you’re really worried about having gained a few pounds, we’re here to help. Aren’t we guys?’ She looked at Nesta and Lucy.

  ‘Yeah. We’ll give you advice,’ said Lucy then grinned mischievously. ‘Like want to diet? Go to the paint store – you can get thinner there.’

  I laughed then punched her. ‘Oh, very funny. Not.’

  ‘And I know a great way to lose weight,’ said Nesta. ‘Eat naked in front of a mirror. Restaurants will almost always throw you out before you can eat too much.’

  I rolled my eyes. ‘You lot aren’t taking me seriously.’

  ‘We would if you had a genuine problem,’ said TJ. ‘But you don’t, you really don’t. OK, so you don’t look like a stick-thin model out of a magazine but neither do they half the time. Did you know that they can airbrush them to look that way?’

  ‘Be great if you could do that in real life,’ I said. ‘Someone would make a fortune.’

  ‘It’s all about dressing for your particular body shape,’ said Lucy. ‘I can help with that.’

  ‘What? By advising me to cover up in a baggy top?’

  ‘Most definitely not,’ said Lucy. ‘Baggy clothes can make people look bigger. You need to show off your shape, not hide it.’

  ‘And if you want to lose a few pounds,’ said TJ, ‘exercise. That will burn off a few calories.’

  ‘And in the meantime, let’s talk about something more interesting,’ said Nesta. ‘Like that group of lads at the table over there. They’ve been eyeing us up since we sat down. Now, can we be bothered with them or shall we resume our shopping?’

  We all did the room scan the way that Nesta had taught us, i.e.: don’t look directly at boys in question, instead look around the whole room in a general sweep taking in the boys as you do. That way, you appear to be cool and not desperate and on the look out.

  ‘No thanks,’ I said when I’d done the ‘sweep’. There was no one there I fancied. They looked about our age. Too young. And short.

  As we finished our drinks, I made a mental note to lighten up. Even though I felt that the girls were only saying that I looked OK to make me feel better, I could see that I was in danger of becoming a real bore about being big. I resolved to be more fun in future so on the escalator going back down into the mall, I treated them to my impersonation of a cross-eyed robot.

  For some reason, they all decided to join in. It was then that I spotted a boy I dated last year. Mark. I quickly darted behind a pillar at the bottom of the escalator. He was the last person I wanted to see. And he was holding hands with a girl. A willowy, thin girl wearing a tiny tank top, which revealed a midriff as flat as a pancake.

  So boys prefer curvy girls do they? Yeah right. I felt more determined than ever to drop some weight. I just wouldn’t go on about it any more to the girls.

  Number One secret to being attractive: Confidence.

  Chapter 8

  Knock Out

  I started my exercise regime first thing the next morning.

  Up down, up down, up down. And now the other eyelid.

  After I’d got out of bed, I went into my preparations for the run-through of Teen Talk. The girls wouldn’
t hear of me not going so I’d decided to be positive about it. Today, I wanted to make an impression on Studio Boy and I was determined not to let my weight problem get in the way.

  I made a big effort blow-drying my hair, then ran my ceramic irons through it so that it was dead straight. Then I tried on some of the clothes in my wardrobe. First, my black jeans and I found that they were a tad looser than they had been on Monday. Hurrah. If I held my breath, I could get away with wearing them. I could wear a little camisole on top and a jacket over it. If I kept the jacket on, then no one would notice the wodge of splodge hanging over my waistband. Final touches were my amethyst earrings, purple bead choker, a slick of lip-gloss, a squirt of the Jo Malone Tuberose perfume that my stepsister Amelia had given me for my last birthday and I was ready to go.

  After dressing, I went downstairs and had a piece of dry toast for breakfast (as the last thing I wanted was my stomach to start rumbling when we were in the audience). Mum was in a really good mood and happy to see me eating, if only toast. I asked her if I could join the local gym and miracle of miracles, she said it was a great idea and asked me to drop in and check out the joining fees. She said that she had been thinking about getting fitter and that her and Angus might join as well, though Angus went as white as his hair and didn’t look too happy about the suggestion at all.

  Nesta and Lucy were meeting up in Highgate and going on the Tube down to Camden but I had taken on board what TJ had said yesterday about exercise and decided to walk there. It was the new, upbeat, ‘I can do this, I shall exercise myself thin’ me. It would take about half an hour if I went at a good pace.

  Big mistake.

  When I set off, the sky was clear but as I reached Highgate Hill, clouds began to appear. And then more clouds. By the time I reached Kentish Town, the heavens opened and it poured down. I hadn’t thought to take an umbrella so I ran as fast as I could and by the time I reached the studio, I was red in the face, my lovely straightened hair was plastered to my cheeks, my mascara had run and I was soaked through.