Mates, Dates and Chocolate Cheats

by Cathy Hopkins

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake, girls,’ he said with a sigh as he went past. ‘When are you going to grow up?’

  ‘Just testing to see if we have the X factor, sir,’ said Nesta.

  ‘More like the Y factor,’ he said. ‘Why? Why? Why?’

  When I got home later, my stepsister, Amelia was over visiting her dad. Angus was making tea in the kitchen and Amelia was curled up on the sofa watching TV so I went in to join her. We get on OK now but it took some time when Mum first married Angus and I found myself with two stepsisters, Amelia and Claudia, that I didn’t particularly want. I was wary of them (I used to call them the wicked stepsisters) and I think that they were worried that I was going to usurp their position in their dad’s heart but no chance of that – I really didn’t like him for ages. I didn’t give him a chance really; I even called him the lodger to help me deal with it. I thought he was boring and the girls were too good to be true, like a pair of little blonde Miss Perfects who had never done a thing wrong. Then one day Angus showed me photos of them in their punk phase. What a pair of maniacs. I almost felt sorry for Angus. We all get on great now. Almost like real family.

  Amelia was watching a programme about a group of women on a weight loss trial. Just my thing so I settled in with her.

  ‘Why are you watching this?’ I asked as Amelia has always been skinny.

  ‘I love makeover programmes,’ she replied as we gazed at the telly. ‘I love the before and afters. Like that woman there on the left of the screen with the short hair. She used to be massive and now look at her. Slimmed right down. She was saying that she was so unhappy before but no one realised as she used to play the joker so that everyone would like her and not realise how unhappy she was inside.’

  Sounds familiar, I thought. That’s just what I was doing up in Muswell Hill doing my duck faces. Playing the fool, so that no one would realise how desperate I really feel inside.

  ‘I want to lose weight,’ I said. ‘But it’s soooo difficult. Especially hanging out with mates who are always eating and it doesn’t help having a mum who insists on meals three times a day. And I have no will-power. It’s as if I have no ‘stop’ button when I smell or taste food. Before I can help myself, it’s off the plate or out of the cupboard and in my mouth. If only someone could do my meals for me like for those women on the telly, then I wouldn’t have to think about it.’

  ‘Best way is not to even think about diets,’ said Amelia. ‘You have to change the way you eat. Make healthy eating part of your life.’

  ‘I know, I know,’ I said with a sigh. ‘I’ve heard it all from Mum. The sensible approach blah de blah de blah . . . I’ve been cutting down this past week and it’s felt like eternity. See, the thing is, I want to lose weight fast for a special occasion. I haven’t got months to do it the sensible way.’

  ‘So what’s the big occasion? I bet there’s some boy you’re trying to impress isn’t there?’

  ‘Yes and no,’ I said and told her a bit about Gabriel and all about Teen Talk and the fact that the TV puts ten pounds on you.

  ‘Ah,’ said Amelia. ‘So you want a quick fix sort of thing?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘In that case, try what I did when I wanted to shift a few pounds for my wedding. Slim shakes.’

  ‘What are they?’

  ‘Meal replacement drinks. You don’t have to think about food at all, just have your slim shakes. They work a treat and they have all the stuff in them that you need to stay healthy.’

  Brilliant, I thought. Something new to try. I had ten pounds left from my Italian trip and Mum would give me next week’s pocket money tomorrow. I could easily afford them, I decided. It was way too complicated trying to work out what was low fat, high fat, protein, carb and what size portion I could or couldn’t have. Anyway, I didn’t have weeks left before the pilot show to do it the sensible way. This sounded perfect for a quick result. Just have a shake three times a day and then there was nothing else to think about. I knew Mum would never agree to it but I got the details from Amelia and decided to buy some the next day.

  At last I had the way forward. Exercise and slim shakes. I was going to be a skinny minnie in no time.

  I’m in shape. Round is a shape.

  Chapter 11

  Doing the Camel

  ‘We have so many different classes on offer,’ said the gym instructor when Mum went to sign us up the next day, ‘I suggest that you try a few of them and see what suits you best. It’s important to enjoy what you do.’

  I couldn’t wait. I’d try them all. I was fired up with enthusiasm, slim shakes hidden in my bag and ready to do a different class every day after school to see which suited me best. Outside, the weather was still cold but the sun was shining for the first time in weeks. At last it was March, the winter months were behind us and spring was on its way. It felt symbolic of a new start. A new me.

  Monday: I went for my first session in the gym. Karl, who is a total hunk (but not my type, too er . . . bulgy in the lycra shorts department and legs like tree trunks), showed me how to use all the machines then stood there watching while I did my circuit. I was ready for a lie down after the first machine. It was called a cross trainer and, according to Karl, good for burning off calories. I thought I was going to die of a heart attack after about ten minutes. I carried on because Karl was watching and I didn’t want to appear a total wimp, plus there were a couple of older guys there who had been going for ages and hadn’t even broken into a sweat. After the cross trainer was the rowing machine. I gave it my all and pulled and pulled with all my might. By now, Karl was starting to annoy me as he said that if it had been a real boat, it would have sunk at the pace I was rowing. Very funny, not, I thought as I puffed and panted away.

  Then there were machines for abs, machines for triceps, biceps, machines for muscles I didn’t even know I had.

  By the end of forty-five minutes, I realised that all these machines aren’t new at all. They were used in the Middle Ages to torture people in dungeons.

  ‘No pain, no gain,’ Karl said, grinning, as I staggered out.

  I decided the machines weren’t for me. I’m more of the no pain, no pain school of philosophy and I had the rest of the week to find something I enjoyed and that didn’t feel like punishment.

  After my session, I went to treat myself to a little relaxation in the sauna. It was lovely and smelt fab because someone had put some eucalyptus oil on the burner. And then a bald old man came in and contributed his own aromatherapy. He did an SBD (silent but deadly). You’ve never seen a room clear so fast.

  Slim shake report: two shakes, one vanilla for lunch, one chocolate for dinner. Not bad. Not great but they are drinkable. The trick, I realised, was to keep busy, busy, busy and then I didn’t think about my stomach growling.

  Tuesday: Pilates class. I thought the Pilates class would be good after yesterday, as when I woke up this morning, every muscle in my body was aching. TJ recommended Pilates as she said it is gentle, stretches you out and is very effective. It sounded better than the pain of the machines so I decided to give it a try and was there bright and enthusiastic at four-thirty after school.

  Ten minutes later, I was on a mat on the floor gasping with agony. Olga, the teacher was clearly a sadist, as she seemed to take great pleasure in seeing others suffer.

  ‘Breathe in, zip, breathe out,’ she’d cry as we lay on our backs with our legs suspended at ninety degrees, our heads up and our arms pumping at our sides. It was so complicated. You breathe in, you breathe out, you zip (which means pulling your tummy up and in as though zipping your jeans up only with Pilates you zip your flabby tummy in). I got totally confused as I didn’t know when I was supposed to move, when to breathe in, when to zip, when to breathe out and I almost passed out through lack of oxygen. Still, it’s early days, I told myself. Maybe I’ll get the hang of it in the end.

  Shake report: only managed one today at lunch because Mum was around at breakfast and supper. Strawberry. Didn’
t like it so only had half and my tummy did the rumble turn song again in afternoon classes. When people started giggling, I just called out, ‘It’s sing along with Izzie’s turn time, come along everyone, ah – one, two, three . . .’

  I think some of the girls think I’m mad.

  Wednesday: at school, TJ suggested I do a class at the gym that I really enjoyed, so I decided to go for one of the dance options. Salsa. Lucy came with me since you can pay to go to the dance classes without being a member of the gym. We both hoped that there would be loads of cute boys ready to groove on the dancefloor. Sadly, the only males at the class looked like they lived with their mothers which would have been OK if they were in their teens but they all looked about forty. My partner had two left feet and kept standing on my toes plus his shirt smelt like it hadn’t been washed for days.

  Shake report: a chocolate one at lunch-time and just for a change, hurrah, a slim a soup in the evening.

  Discovered a side-effect that wasn’t mentioned on the packet. Wind. Stormy weather à la lower regions. Awful and I was in danger of being as bad as the man in the sauna on Monday doing SBDs all over the place. Eeeww.

  * * *

  Thursday: flamenco. Fab. This time Nesta came with me after school and we stomped our feet off. The teacher was a total babe with wild, dark, curly hair and black eyes like a gypsy and his class was full of women who were all clearly in love with him. Nesta took to it straight away but I found the footwork hard to do. Toe, heel, stomp, toe, heel, stomp. Stompity, stompity, stomp. Wave your arms gracefully in the air. It was going all right until I heel, toed then stomped on the foot of the lady who was dancing next to me. Then I almost whacked another lady’s eye out with my arm movements. Maybe flamenco isn’t my thing, I thought as the woman rubbed her eye then looked at me like she was going to produce a dagger from under her skirt and stab me with it.

  Shake report: stormy weather à la turn is in danger of becoming a hurricane. Good God. Amelia didn’t warn me about this. I spent all day with a strange expression on my face and couldn’t concentrate much in classes. Partly because I was beginning to feel light-headed through lack of proper food and partly because I had to walk round with my buttocks clenched in case my lower half let rip and blew down one of the school walls. Not my best day.

  Friday: Egyptian dance. Yes! At last I have found where I belong. Again, the class was all women but of all ages, shapes and sizes. And by shapes, I mean round, pear shape, apple. And by size, I mean from eight to eighteen. When the teacher said, ‘If you have a belly, all the better for the dance,’ I knew I had found my place. I loved the music and the time whizzed by as we wibbled, wobbled, and gyrated round the studio like a bunch of psychotic hippies. I didn’t check my watch once to see how much longer we had to go and felt like I could have danced for hours.

  Shake report: just one at lunch-time. Banana. Am beginning to think I could be a danger to the environment. This wind business is no joke. Lucy asked why I’d looked so worried all week and I was way too embarrassed to tell her. I decided to catch up on homework in the library at lunch-time, partly so that I didn’t have to watch my mates eat but also to protect them from any windy pops I couldn’t keep in.

  On the way home from the Egyptian dance class I felt energised and enthusiastic. As there was no one around, I carried on practising the camel (a move from the class). You put your arm and a foot out in front of you, take a step forward as you push your chest out, then curve back in as if pulling your tummy in, take a step back then step forward again while pushing forward with your belly so that your torso makes a sort of S-shape if seen from the side. It was hard to do gracefully so I was determined to get it right.

  ‘Yo, move over Michael Jackson,’ said a voice behind me after I’d been going for a while.

  I almost jumped out of my skin. ‘Who’s that?’ I said as I turned and came face to face with Josh, the local bad boy and one of my exes from last year.

  ‘Where did you come from?’

  ‘Ah. One of the great mysteries of the universe,’ he replied. ‘Where did I come from? Where am I going? Why am I here? Who knows?’

  Same old Josh, I thought. He never could give a straight answer. He always had to be clever or evasive.

  ‘So what were you doing?’ he asked.

  ‘Um, the camel,’ I said, then thought: if he can be evasive, so can I. ‘We’re studying wildlife at school.’

  ‘Wildlife, huh? Well you can study me as part of your project any time.’

  I laughed. He was so flirty but I knew better than to respond. He was trouble with a capital T. My last encounter with him had led to me being out in the park in the middle of the night, throwing up all over him. A novel way to get a boy to remember you, Nesta had said at the time.

  Still, it was good to see him and he accompanied me home and we chatted about what we’d been up to. I told him all about Teen Talk and being part of the audience.

  ‘They’re picking a panel,’ I told him, ‘but they’ll probably pick all the skinny girls so that the show has babe appeal.’

  ‘Why should that give the show babe appeal?’

  ‘You know, boys like thin girls.’

  ‘Says who?’

  ‘Everyone knows that.’

  ‘No way. Most boys are just grateful if a girl likes them but most of all they want to hang out with someone who is fun. Course it helps if the girl is decent-looking like you . . .’

  ‘Like me?’

  ‘Yeah. You but then you probably know that.’

  ‘Nah, I’m a frump.’

  Josh looked me up and down slowly and I felt myself begin to blush.

  ‘You? A frump. No way. I’ve seen frump and you are the opposite end of the scale.’

  By the time we got to my house, I was beginning to feel a lot better about my shape. Josh felt it was his duty to give me a lecture on what boys found attractive and skinny didn’t even come into it. When we reached my gate, I could tell he wanted to come in but I didn’t want to risk it. I knew Josh. He’d want to smoke in my bedroom and probably had a bottle of vodka tucked in one of his pockets. He was one of the mad mistakes from my past that I didn’t want to repeat.

  Philosophy of exercise

  Karl: No pain, no gain.

  Izzie: No pain . . . no pain.

  Chapter 12

  Clenched and Crimson

  ‘Want to come to the gym, Angus?’ I asked as I put on my coat on Saturday morning.

  Angus grimaced and picked up the paper that was lying on the hall mat. ‘Er . . . think I’ll give it a miss. Things to do.’

  ‘You should do something. Anything. Even if it’s only walking.’

  ‘Hmph,’ he said. ‘Yes. Walking. I like long walks, preferably taken by people who annoy me, like you and your mother. Now off you go and leave me in peace.’

  I laughed. Angus could be quite funny when he wanted to be and I did feel for him. Mum had been as gung ho about trying the gym as I had and had been doing the classes after she’d finished work. Every supper time, she’d been nagging at Angus to go with her but he wasn’t very enthusiastic preferring to stay at home with a gin and tonic and watch the history channel on cable.

  It had worked out well for me though, because Mum was out every evening so she hadn’t been able to keep her beady eye on what I had or hadn’t been eating. I’d been able to stick to my slim shakes and bin what she’d cooked for supper. I’d lost three pounds and was feeling very virtuous and pleased with myself, if not a bit achy from all the classes and a tiny bit guilty about deceiving Mum. I’d been on the shakes for five days with only the occasional meal when Mum was around and I was definitely feeling thinner.

  Our yoga instructor was a small wiry girl called Angie, and she started the class with a salute to the sun – a series of postures all put together in one fluid movement. I’d practised it loads of times before at home as I have a book and a DVD showing how it’s done but it felt good to be in a class and learn how to do it properly. However,
as soon as I got to the part where you have to bend over, I felt my lower tummy rumble ominously. Oh hell, I thought as I squeezed my buttocks tight. Please no, please don’t let me do an SBD and alienate myself from the group. Everybody would be bound to know that it was me. Luckily, as we carried on the feeling went and I began to relax and enjoy the class.

  As the class progressed, we went into a shoulder stand, then Angie told us to roll further back and put our knees over our shoulders. Not the most elegant of positions as my stomach flopped forward over my trackie bottoms but everyone was in the same boat, so it didn’t matter. But once again, came the feeling that a windy pop was on its way. Oh God, oh God, I thought as I clenched my buttocks again, this is just horrendous. How can you relax and breathe when the lower part of your body is about to play a trumpet fanfare? I clenched even harder determined not to let it happen. Clearly I wasn’t the only one as an elderly lady in the corner of the room, let one rip. She didn’t seem fazed by it at all.

  ‘Oops,’ she said, then laughed. ‘Sorry, everyone.’

  For a moment, I felt like I was going to get the giggles as I had an image of everyone having the same problem and that we were all lying there, pretending to be all serene and yoga-like when actually we were all clenching our buttocks for Britain.

  As I lay there, clenched and crimson, I heard the studio door open, and footsteps.

  ‘Sorry I’m so late,’ a male voice said to the teacher. ‘My bike got a puncture.’

  I strained to turn my neck so that I could see who had come in. Oh nooooo, I thought when I saw who it was and that he was laying out his mat behind me.

  ‘Oh hi, Izzie.’ Gabriel grinned down at me. ‘We meet again.’

  ‘Umph . . . Gabriel! Hi,’ I smiled back trying to act as if being red in the face, my bum in the air and knees over my shoulders was a perfectly normal position to be in when greeting someone. I lost my balance and fell over onto my side. ‘Oof.’