The Serial Dieter

by Rachel Cavanagh

  My mum’s still out when I get home; needlework, and possibly Charles thereafter – I can’t see him as a needleworker, so I leave her a note. I could text her but think she may not check. She’s old fashioned in that she loves to receive letters – I’m under strict instructions to send postcards if I go anywhere. I don’t suppose she meant Hemel. Had a good evening. Hope you did too. :) See you in the morning? D x

  Duncan and I have a catch-up. It’s horrible to think I won’t see him for another ten days but when I do, that’ll be it. No more coming to Hemel, no more staying at my mum’s.

  “Love you,” he says with a smile as he knows what I’m going to say next.

  “Ditto,” I say for a change, all Patrick Swayze-like from Ghost.

  Duncan pouts.

  “Love you more,” I say and his smile returns.

  “Not possible.”

  And all is right with the world.

  Chapter 80 – More Than A Hint Of Recognition

  Thursday 24th May

  In the middle of a very ordinary day at the ‘office’, giving only a hint of recognition to James as I walk past his desk, I pop out to Asda for a chicken and bacon tubbed salad, with the mayonnaise scraped off, in case I need to use it as an article. I decide it wouldn’t actually be a bad idea anyway as I can include a recipe for homemade mayo. Not my homemade but that courtesy of Gordon Ramsey’s Cookalong Life on YouTube. I remember last time I watched it, I ended up on the site for over an hour, making spurious notes and clicking on so many different recipes then sidetracked by ‘I bet you didn’t know that…’-type videos. I didn’t in most cases: celebrities dying before their time and other cheery stuff.

  It’s a treat later when I return to Ristorante Alberto but with a somewhat subdued Billy.

  “Cassandra’s nephew’s come off his bike again… when he shouldn’t have been back on it as his bones hadn’t healed but ‘there’s no telling the young’.” Billy does air quotes then perks up when the head chef, Giuseppe Morello, comes over for a chat. It turns out it’s not just Charles who knows everyone who’s anyone in the area, but being the editor of the local paper, Billy has all the right connections. Especially when you’re writing a column about food.

  “I recommend the red snapper,” Giuseppe says to me. I’ve never had it before so why not. “Served with a rice alternative which only has twelve calories per serving.”

  I look at Billy and he smiles as if they’ve already had a conversation about who I am and why I’m there. I hadn’t thought for a moment that Giuseppe would think it was because I needed to lose weight, although…

  “Red snapper for two please,” Billy says.

  Giuseppe clicks his fingers, does a part twirl and returns to his kitchen.

  We’re at a table by the window and had we been in a relationship, it would have been the most romantic setting with the restaurant’s red centrepiece candles, a yellow glow outside leading the eye to cream-painted picturesque buildings opposite. Duncan would love it so a venue for when we come to my mum’s sometime but then Billy drops a minor bombshell.

  “Alberto retired last month so they’re closing.”

  “Oh no.”

  “It’s been a long time coming because he loves the place but his health isn’t so good these days and with no family to take over…”

  “What a shame.” I point to the kitchen. “What about Giuseppe?”

  “Moving to London. He’s been made an offer he can’t resist.”

  “Oh?”

  “Michelin-starred. I don’t know any more than that.”

  By the look on Billy’s face, he does, but like with my mum and Charles, it’s a state secret. Except, although despite knowing Billy for only a short while, I already know it would take a lot, possibly Charles, to make him crack.

  “Well, I shall wish him all the best then if he comes out.”

  Unfortunately that doesn’t happen. It’s as if word’s spread and a coach load of people pile in. An old man, Alberto presumably, hobbles from a back room and seems to know each one.

  “This isn’t the last night is it?” I ask Billy.

  He nods and takes a mouthful of red snapper so he doesn’t have to answer.

  I feel honoured. The whole month, albeit with its downs and ups, has humbled me somewhat. I certainly feel more relaxed than when I arrived… twenty-five days ago, twenty-six if you include my mum’s on the Sunday night.

  And as Billy drops me back to collect my car, I tell him how grateful I am.

  “My very pleasure,” he says, the grammar slip I know to be intentional, as if the first thing that sprang to mind.

  I blush, do a short curtsey, and click open my car.

  It’s an enjoyable drive back. Another day is almost over and I’ve got the red snapper to write up about in the morning, or afternoon, should I fancy the morning off.

  Chapter 81 – As Prepared As A Girl Guide

  Friday 25th May

  I do indeed indulge in a morning off and Elliott gets to chase anything that moves over at Tring reservoir followed by Christmas tea and carrot cake at the Bluebells Tearooms. I’m one of these people who doesn’t mind repeating anything nice. Despite knowing the outcome, I almost prefer watching a film the second time because I know the plot so can spot little details missed.

  When I drop Elliott back, I collect my aunt’s horse painting and go straight to work, taking as much care with the gift as if it were the crown jewels.

  Frank is, needless to say, delighted beyond words, although I did get a very heartfelt ‘wow’ and ‘please tell your aunt thank you so much’. She probably gave him a ‘friends’ discount but I’m sure he would have paid full price. That’s between them, and I’m happy to have the involvement I did.

  As prepared as a girl guide, not that she ever was one, Izzy comes down straight after work today and gets to my mum’s just after I do from work. I’m getting out of my car when I see headlights pull up, foolishly thinking that it’s my mum but recognise the VW Polo.

  “Hi!” I say, going round to Izzy’s driver’s side as she zips down the window. “Block me in, it’s fine. You can always move if we need to take my car.” I wait while she does as suggested.

  I go back to her side but give her enough room to get out. “Do you need a hand?”

  “I’m good, thanks, only an overnight and handbag.”

  Having both flitted between our homes and boyfriends’ for the past few months, we’ve learned to pack lightly. “I’ll put the kettle on then show you to your room.”

  Izzy’s visited before, travelling down with me when I’ve come for the day, but never stayed for the weekend. It’s so exciting. We’ve not discussed what we fancy doing and some of it will depend upon what my mum’s up to (no, not that image again!), how much she’s around. She’s promised to be so I hope she hasn’t forgotten. I’ll send her a text to remind her.

  “Can I use the loo?” Izzy asks as soon as we get in the house and shut the door. “Bit of a slow journey, what with the whole of the country going away for the weekend.”

  “Absolutely. You know where it is.” She does.

  I take the pause in proceedings to check Izzy’s room, tempted to take her overnight bag with me but I resist as I’m unsure whether she’ll need it before going upstairs. Her (the guest) room’s not been used for a while but it seems fine. I know there’s fresh bedding as my mum did that as soon as I asked if Izzy could stay – my mum’s face (of happiness) was a picture; like having two daughters come home.

  Then when I’m back downstairs, I send my mum a message.

  Hi, Mum. Izzy’s here for the weekend. I know you won’t have forgotten but would be useful… I remove the ‘would be useful’… let me know if there’s anything you fancy doing.

  I’ve not even reached the kettle when there’s a quack.

  “What’s that?” Izzy asks, looking around the room as she returns.

  “My phone. WhatsApp. It quacks when the screen’s locked, pings when the app’s
open.”

  “Sweet. I’ll have to see if mine does that.”

  “What does it say? Can you check for me please, Izz.”

  Izzy has an iPhone so knows to tap the round bottom home button. It needs my fingerprint to unlock it to open the app to read the whole message but it shows the first couple of lines.

  “Hi, darling. Thank you for the remindr. Only one e. Charles and I didn’t get to… That’s all I can see. No punctuation. I’ve added that in when reading it back to you.”

  I laugh as I make our drinks. “Yep, that’s Mum. Okay, I’ll take a look in a second. We can plan the weekend and change it if we need to. Is there anything you fancy?”

  “I’d like to do the charity shops.”

  “Goes without saying.” I know we’d still get on if one loved charity shops and the other didn’t but it helps enormously that we do.

  “You went to the museum with Duncan, didn’t you.”

  “We did but be more than happy to go again. There’s an amazing craft exhibition. The frogs and foxes are amazing. Said amazing twice. Three times.”

  “Then that’s a definite. Big fan of foxes.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “As much as anyone else.”

  “Oh, okay.” That’s why I didn’t know, I suppose.

  “Anything else?”

  “Can we get a dog to walk?” Neither William nor Izzy has a dog so it seems a strange request but she continues. “The weather’s supposed to be nice.”

  “We can, absolutely. Elliott’s always up for a stroll, or manic rabbit, squirrel, anything he can chase.”

  Izzy laughs. “That sounds like my kind of walk. Are there any official ones?”

  “You mean like a walking group?”

  “Not necessarily. Is there a tourist office?”

  “On the same road as the museum.”

  “Great. Let’s pick up some maps on the way. Does the museum have a café?”

  “It does.”

  “Perfect. We’ll get the maps, do the museum, then sit have a drink while we think about where we’re going to go. How fit are you feeling?”

  “I don’t feel too bad actually, not unless you’re talking a half marathon or something.”

  Izzy laughs again. “Let’s just leave it at the maps, I’m sure they’re not that epic, and see what your mum wants to do.”

  “Oh yes, I didn’t check.” I thumbprint the home button so my phone unlocks. I hit the green and white icon with the red one attached to it. WhatsApp duly opens. “Hi, darling. Thank you for the remindr. You’re right, only one e. Charles and I didn’t get to the museum so we could do that but not sure if you want him to come along…” I look at Izzy who shrugs non-committally. I wait so she has to say something.

  “I am quite curious to meet him.”

  And I’d like to spend some time with him. Apart from passing ships, the only quantity has been an evening but that was ‘the’ evening where things were a bit weird. “Okay. I’ll say that’s fine. If she doesn’t come home tonight though, she may not be that early tomorrow. And if Charles is going too then it’s unlikely she’ll be back in between.”

  “Then we get a girlie evening. Movie and ice cream?”

  “Ooh… like your thinking.”

  So we settle in for the evening with The Hitman’s Bodyguard, one of a selection of DVDs Izzy had brought with her, not knowing what we had – very little; we tend to rely on Sky and Freeview. My mum’s sneakily stocked up since I last went to the freezer so we get a choice of Halo Top Birthday Cake (rainbow sprinkles and beetroot juice in the ingredients list, and it being 280 calories per pot, seals the deal), Mint Chip (320), Cinnamon Roll (a vast 360) or Red Velvet (also 360).

  Rather than pick a couple, we decide to grab two glass dishes and have a spoonful of each. My mum’s dessert spoons are bigger than the average but hey, it’s all low calorie. Even if we ate all four pots it would still be 1,320 calories. Okay, that would be too much but who could eat two tubs’ worth on their own? Even Izzy, the bigger ice cream lover of the two of us would struggle. I’d have no chance.

  We wash it all down with white wine, a New Zealand Tesco Finest North Row Vineyard Sauvignon. It’s my mum’s but I don’t think she’s been saving it for a special occasion (the engagement’s already official) and it’s Tesco. I can always pop out and get another.

  With not a bubble in sight, there’s no fizz so no bloating stomachs. Plus, we’re very good and don’t go back for seconds… but we couldn’t see any of the dishes when they were so heavily laden the first time. I couldn’t count ice cream and white wine as a ‘meal’ which is just as well as, apart from being over the five hundred limit, I’m ahead and the project finishes next Thursday. Bring it on!

  After the movie, we decide we’re pooped. There’s no sign of Mum as expected so once I’ve checked all the doors and windows… I had forgotten to lock the porch door when Izzy and I came in, but the front door’s a Yale so ‘they’, whoever they are, would have to break it down, or pick it, to get in.

  Our rooms are at right angles so we can hear each other but have to raise our voices which is why we don’t chat for long. I’ve started another book since ‘Elizabeth’ (which was brilliant), Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine, a recommended read apparently; I wouldn’t mind doing another chapter or two before lights out but my brain has other ideas and I’m only a couple of pages in when the book hits me on the nose.

  “Night, Izzy!” I call but get no reply so she’s either listening to her iPod or fallen asleep.

  It’s lovely having her here. William’s very lucky, but he knows that. I do feel she’s like the sister I never had. I’m one very lucky girl.

  Chapter 82 – Some Inexplicable Reason

  Saturday 26th May

  I wake up quite early and almost scream as I come out of my bedroom. Mum’s back. Mum’s not only back but she’s sitting on the edge of her bed. And Charles is coming out of her en-suite. Naked. I know I said I wanted ‘to see more of him’ but…

  Mum looks up, squeaks, and closes her bedroom door but it’s too late. We all know I’ve seen what can never be taken back. I’m not sure whether that makes us even or if it’s two nil. I’m just grateful I wasn’t Izzy, but would it have been better? Now I can see though why my mum wants to marry Charles… not just for his money. And because she loves him of course, no question.

  I’ve lost my appetite. I fancied a bagel but no, not even a cinnamon and raisin one would lift my spirits. Would raise… Donna, stop.

  I go downstairs and open the back door. For some inexplicable reason, I’m boiling. It’s not even that warm a day. I put the television on low and half-watch the national then local news. It’s all quite depressing other than a delightful story of a hundred and seven-year-old woman who’s doing an abseil. She looks about eighty and I can only hope I’m as sprightly as her even at that age.

  Izzy’s first to come down, dressed and raring to go. We have some toast and cereal, and there’s still no sign of my mum and Charles. With the breakfast things in the dishwasher, there’s nothing else keeping us so I call up the stairs. “Shall we see you there? At the museum?”

  I get a distant, probably because her door’s shut, ‘okay’ back. I won’t hold my breath. They’ve had plenty of time to get ready and the alternative doesn’t bear thinking about so I don’t.

  “Ready?” Izzy asks, shrugging on her jacket and slinging her bag diagonally across her shoulders.

  “More than you’ll know.”

  Izzy laughs. “Okay.”

  We resist the lure of the charity shops we walk past (Save the Children and Emmaus), because we plan to do them on the way back, if we can still walk after our post-museum trek, and we pop into the Tourist Information Office for the maps. The lovely lady behind the desk can’t be more helpful and we come out with what feels like half the display. We’ll decide while having a drink at the museum’s café, and can leave the other leaflets at my aunt and uncle’s when we colle
ct Elliott, but have been recommended Tring Parish Walk number three: ‘Tring Park and beyond’.

  There’s no sign of Mum and Charles when we get to the museum, and I don’t know why but I do keep an eye out for them. I check my phone occasionally but there’s nothing there. “Should I text her?” I ask Izzy.

  “Do you think you need to?”

  I shake my head.

  Izzy gives me one of her sympathy looks. I put my phone back in my bag, ensuring the volume’s on full, just in case.

  We’ve both been here before but are still in awe. I think if we came here every day we’d still spot things we’d missed on previous visits, there’s so much surrounding us. We marvel at the polar bear, smirk at the baboon, swap sides several times at the dressed fleas.

  “How do they do that?” Izzy asks, not for the first time when we’ve been where we are.

  “I don’t know.” My standard reply.

  My second visit to the exhibition and I spot things I missed with Duncan. I’d not noticed a parade of ants made from bent paperclips. It’s quite astounding. “How young minds work,” I say to myself, not realising Izzy’s standing behind me.

  “What’s that?”

  I point at the ants.

  “Amazing isn’t it. What do you mean about young minds?”

  I look around the room. “These have all been created by children. Fourteen max.”

  “No way.”

  “Yes way. With help from their parents though I’m sure.”

  “Do you think?”

  “Have to be.”

  “Amazing,” Izzy repeats and after another glance around, we move to the whales.

  We’re both standing looking above us when we hear a voice.

  “Aren’t they beautiful?”

  We look to where the words have come from.