She felt her shoulders sag and briefly dropped her grin.
‘Let’s just get on with the workout, shall we?’
Just think of the money, Trudie told herself. No job satisfaction to be had here.
These people weren’t going to achieve anything.
Chapter Five
OH MY GOD, thought Kathy. I’m going to die.
Her pulse couldn’t possibly maintain this high rate. Her lungs were going to explode. And she must have strained every muscle in her body. This was it. Kathy Baker RIP.
She was attempting to jog on the spot but the hall was going blotchy in front of her eyes. Just work to your own pace, that Trudie woman had said. What pace? Kathy’s body hadn’t seen this kind of movement since PE at school.
She wasn’t normal, that Trudie. That manic smile of hers. And as for that body? No one was that trim and perfect in real life. Perhaps she’d been nipped and tucked. Anyway, she was the devil. And nobody over the age of twelve should wear a pink tracksuit.
Not that Kathy was particularly proud of her own workout outfit. It was a man’s T-shirt and baggy tracksuit bottoms She wasn’t sure when she’d started preferring men’s clothes to her own. But what did she expect at seventeen stone?
Seventeen stone! Hell’s bleeding bells! She was enormous. No wonder she couldn’t jump around. There were probably seismic shakes going off all over town as she attempted to leap up and down. She must have been fooling herself all this time. At 5 feet 7 inches, perhaps she had thought she could carry a bit of extra weight. But this wasn’t just a bit extra. This was a whole six stone of flab.
What the hell was she doing here? Kathy tried to copy Trudie’s complicated routine. She was on the stage at the front of the hall. They could all see her clearly enough but everyone kept crashing into each other. Perhaps it was all the sweat obscuring their view. Kathy felt she was dripping buckets. It didn’t help that she had no coordination either.
Finally the agony stopped and Trudie told everyone to lie on the ground to do some stretches. Kathy wasn’t sure if she was going to be able to get up again. Maybe they would bring in one of the cranes that littered the town centre to hoist her up and out of the roof before gently depositing her back home. Or into the nearby cemetery.
As instructed, Kathy took a deep breath in and out and attempted to stretch her leg out at a 90-degree angle. Her heart was still pounding. Her head was thumping. And she wasn’t sure if she had just dislocated her hip joint.
They all struggled to stand up before Trudie finally released them from the jaws of hell.
‘Well, that was great! Really well done, everyone. Give yourselves a round of applause!’
A few looks were exchanged amongst the victims before a few half-hearted claps could be heard.
‘That’s the spirit!’ continued Trudie.
You had to admire her, thought Kathy. Perhaps the world was a happier place when you could slip into Lycra leggings and not look like a large sack of potatoes.
On the way out, everyone was given three carrier bags full to capacity with cereal bars and milkshakes.
‘Have a good week, everyone!’ said Trudie. ‘You’ve taken your first step to a New You!’
Kathy left as quickly as her aching body would allow. She savoured the sweet, fresh night air for a moment before realising someone was standing next to her.
‘God, that was grim,’ said Kathy, giving the other woman a grin. They were both around the same age. ‘Hi, I’m Kathy.’
‘I’m Violet,’ muttered the dark-haired woman, going bright pink. She was very pretty, thought Kathy.
‘I thought we were gonna have to call for an ambulance when she started doing that jogging on the spot,’ Kathy went on. ‘I swear my heart stopped beating at one stage.’
Violet gave her a small smile but didn’t say anything.
‘You going towards town?’ asked Kathy.
Violet shook her head. ‘Sorry.’
‘No worries. I’ll see you back here next week, then. If we can put up with the torture again! Good night.’
Kathy gave a hearty laugh but it wasn’t returned. The girl had scurried away.
Probably couldn’t wait to get away. Sometimes Kathy really hated herself. Why couldn’t she just be natural instead of Peter Kay on speed?
Kathy turned and slowly walked home, dreading the lonesome flat that was waiting for her.
*
Violet headed in the opposite direction to her car, wishing she was naturally chatty like Kathy. Why was everyone else able to be so natural and engage in conversation, when she couldn’t string two words together?
She got inside and dumped the bags on the passenger seat before trying to calm her racing pulse. Fifteen stone! She blew out a long sigh. She was probably the fattest one there, apart from that one man in the class.
She placed her hands on the steering wheel, noticing how her engagement ring glinted in the light from the streetlamp. It was a nice ring. Not quite the diamond solitaire that she had always dreamed of but an emerald was still a good sign that Sebastian loved her. Even if he didn’t realise that she had never really liked emeralds.
Fifteen stone! She was going to be the fattest bride the world had ever seen. Deep in misery, Violet drove home, desperate for something to eat to take away the pain and humiliation of the evening.
Home always made her feel better. It was an end-of-terrace Victorian cottage. There were only two bedrooms and the kitchen was tiny but the lounge had been knocked through into the dining room and it was a lovely, sunny space with patio doors leading on to a small garden.
She had managed to get the deposit with an inheritance from her uncle who had passed away four years previously. It had been her sanctuary from the outside world ever since. There were some lovely authentic features, like the real fireplaces. They were tiny but then it only needed a few logs to keep the room warm.
She wished Sebastian was waiting for her with a hug but he was working late that evening and would head back to his own flat to sleep. So she trudged up the small path to the front door before letting herself in.
‘Hello!’ she called, ever hopeful that Sebastian had changed his mind.
But only darkness and silence greeted her.
Violet dumped the carrier bags full of shakes and cereal bars on the kitchen counter and felt her stomach rumble loudly. She had gone to the club without having dinner first. And she still weighed fifteen stone.
The first two weeks of the diet sounded horrendous. Two shakes or cereal bars and then a healthy, nutritious dinner. But a quick flick through the diet booklet confirmed her suspicions that the dinner should be made up of lots of vegetables, fish and brown rice. No cheese, chocolate or anything else that tasted nice.
In despair, Violet threw open the fridge door, grabbed the unhealthiest things she could find and ate them all. Cheese, butter, cream, chocolate and even a frozen cheesecake that hadn’t quite defrosted by the time she got round to devouring it. She ate until she felt sick.
And she cried the whole time she was eating. She was never going to lose weight, she told herself. She just wasn’t strong enough.
Edward nodded goodbye to the ghastly Trudie before leaving. He had made it. He had got through the aerobic session alive.
The weigh-in didn’t hold any humiliation for him, after being weighed by the doctor a few days previously. He had taken her advice and looked up the class. OK, so it was all a bit girly but he was prepared to give it a month. He tried not to think about the doctor’s words to him the other evening. He was fine. He wasn’t ill, after all. He tried not to remind himself how massive he felt in his tracksuit bottoms and how far his stomach was hanging over the waistband.
Edward was impressed that the class included a workout. He just hadn’t realised quite how unfit he really was. OK, so fielding the boundary at cricket wasn’t exactly aerobic but he considered himself in a reasonable physical state even if he couldn’t run between the wickets.
But
he couldn’t fool himself any longer. Not having seen that psychotic bimbo Trudie bouncing around. She had barely broken out into a sweat while Edward felt as if he was having a mild coronary. He must have lost about half a stone already in sweat. At least, it felt like it. His T-shirt was clinging to him, dripping wet. He felt revolting.
He strode to his car, his head held high. He was fine. Nothing at all the matter with him. He could cope with this every week. It was only a workout for women, after all.
He only briefly clutched his pounding chest before he let his hand drop. He glanced up and down the road to check nobody was nearby. And then he threw up.
As Maggie drove home, she tried to lift Lucy’s low spirits.
‘It wasn’t that bad,’ said Maggie, trying to put some life into her voice.
‘It was crap,’ muttered Lucy.
Maggie steered the car around the roundabout. She was nearly seventeen stone. She was enormous. No wonder she felt so unwell most of the time.
‘I thought Trudie was nice,’ she added.
‘I thought she was a right bitch,’ replied Lucy.
So did I, agreed Maggie. But she didn’t say so.
She was still in shock that Lucy had wanted to go with her. She had tried sneaking out of the house whilst Gordon was in the garden, saying something about a quick trip to an evening sale at Debenhams.
But Lucy had picked up that she was lying and had begun to raise her voice while asking endless questions about where her mother was going.
‘Keep your voice down,’ Maggie had said, in a low tone. ‘I don’t want your father knowing.’
‘What?’
‘There’s a new diet club,’ said Maggie, trying to ignore Lucy’s groan. ‘I know, I know. Been there, done that. But I need to lose weight. So for God’s sake, don’t tell your dad where I’ve gone.’
‘Why?’
‘Because he’ll say it’s a waste of time and money.’
‘Is it?’
Maggie looked at her daughter. ‘Possibly, but I’m desperate, love.’
Lucy looked at her for a while before saying, ‘OK. I won’t tell Dad – if you let me come with you.’
Maggie’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Really? Why?’
‘Look at me, Mum. I don’t think Cheryl Cole’s quaking in her shoes, is she?’
‘Cheryl Cole needs a bloody good meal inside her.’
‘Please, Mum. I want to lose weight too.’
Maggie knew her daughter needed to lose a few pounds. Nothing like her own massive excess, but perhaps it would help. So they went together.
‘You never know,’ said Maggie, turning the car into their road. ‘This might be a whole new beginning for us both.’
Maggie hoped her words were true. But she knew deep down that this new diet club probably wouldn’t make any difference.
When they got home, Gordon looked up from the sofa with a smile. ‘How was the shopping?’ he asked, keeping one eye on the football match on the television.
As Lucy stomped upstairs, Maggie smiled back at her husband. ‘It wasn’t great,’ she said as she sat down next to him.
‘Have one of these to cheer yourself up,’ said Gordon, handing her the biscuit barrel.
Maggie sighed and helped herself to a chocolate digestive.
Lucy shut her bedroom door and threw herself on the bed.
She had spotted Nicola Bowles and her gang on the drive home and had slumped down in her seat to avoid being seen, though she didn’t know how they could miss her at over twelve stone. No wonder they took the mickey out of her. She was the size of an elephant.
How the hell was she going to lose three stone? She glanced down at her stomach, straining against the T-shirt and leggings. It would take years to get rid of all the fat she was suffocating under.
Her mum had been surprised that she had wanted to go to the stupid weight-loss class. But Lucy was getting increasingly desperate. She wanted so much to be the lively teenager that she knew was buried deep inside somewhere. She didn’t tell her mum how unhappy she really was. How one day last summer she had sat down in the bathroom with a packet of Nurofen and had stared at the pills, wondering what would happen if she swallowed them all. In the end, she put the packet back in the bathroom cabinet and felt even more miserable. If she didn’t have the strength to attempt suicide, what hope was there for her to lose three stone?
She grabbed her sketchpad and skipped through all the fashion designs until she found the page she had scribbled on a few days ago.
Lucy had drawn a silhouette of herself as she was at present. And then had drawn her dream silhouette inside it. That was her goal. The dream body shape. The kind of person who could wear skinny jeans and cropped tops. Who could wear any fashion they liked.
But Lucy knew it was just a dream and would never come true. It was too hard to achieve on her own and there was nobody else to help her.
Chapter Six
THE MORNING AFTER the weigh-in, Violet had a job interview. She had six pieces of toast with butter and marmalade in deference to the horror ahead. The diet would start later. Now she had to worry about what to wear.
Glancing at the kitchen clock, she realised it was nearly half past nine. Only an hour until the interview. She hurtled upstairs in a panic about her outfit and then had to spend ten minutes sitting on the bed, trying to get her breath back before opening the wardrobe door.
First things first. She needed to put on the control pants. She had bought a pair for the Christmas party at work but had bottled out of going, saying that she had the flu. Violet had never been a party kind of person, especially since she had put on so much weight in the past couple of years.
She got the knickers out of the packet. Great big ugly beige things that looked like bicycle shorts. She heaved and toiled and eventually got them over her fat knees, but there was no way they were going to make it past her thighs. She lay on the bed, yanking at the knickers but only succeeded in breaking a couple of nails.
It was no use. She was too fat. She gave up and spent the next five minutes trying to get the damn things off.
Still huffing and puffing from the exertion with the underwear, she squeezed into her black trousers. The waist button was straining but if she didn’t breathe too deeply it should stay put. She regretted not getting a bigger size of the magic knickers but even they were a size twenty. Her stomach bulged through the trouser material. She would have covered up the rolls of fat by doing up the matching jacket but the buttons wouldn’t meet in the middle so she gave up.
Heading downstairs, she glanced in the hall mirror and sighed with self-pity. (It was only a small one. She had no need for full-length mirrors.) Her long, black hair had gone impossibly fluffy from a quick wash and blast with the hairdryer. As normal, she’d only bothered with a sweep of mascara. Her cheeks were rosy from the heat and Violet could feel the beginning of sweat patches appearing under the jacket.
So she had the window down in the car on the way into town to cool down, even though it was only the beginning of May and the temperature wasn’t that high yet.
She hovered outside the office, trying to pluck up the courage to go in. In the end, apathy won over her desire to run away. What was the point in fretting? She wasn’t going to get the job. So she went inside, not caring either way.
Mason & Mason was a large company, which appeared to be doing rather well, if the office decor was anything to go by. It was all glass and mirrors. Violet had to keep averting her eyes to avoid seeing her own reflection.
She was given a visitor’s pass by the receptionist and told to wait. The interview was with Mark Harris and someone would come down to collect her.
A fierce-looking blond woman appeared. ‘You here for the interview?’ she barked.
Violet nodded, a bit scared.
‘You’d better come with me.’
They both stepped into the lift.
‘You’re the fifth one he’s seen today,’ the woman snapped.
‘So
rry,’ muttered Violet.
‘Not your fault,’ she said. ‘But I’ve got better things to do than show people in and out of the building all morning.’
On the third floor, the doors opened and they went through the office. It was bright and modern, full of smoked-glass panels, streamlined beech desks and brightly coloured chairs, all fighting for space amongst the exotic plants. The walls were adorned by fake Monet prints and motivational photographs of a man running up a steep mountain towards his goal and a possible heart attack.
They entered a messy department, which seemed at total odds with the rest of the building. The desks were strewn with paper; computer magazines were piled high on top of filing cabinets; and boxes filled with the insides of various computers were littered all over the floor.
Amongst the debris were the staff, all with their heads down and looking very busy. The woman showed Violet into an office.
‘He’ll be here in a minute,’ she informed her and then left.
Violet stood inside Mark Harris’s office, trying to compose some witty answers to the normal interview questions. Where did she herself in five years’ time? What assets could she bring to this secretarial role? But her mind drew a blank.
‘Right,’ came a male voice from the doorway. ‘Let’s get this over with.’
Violet spun round and stared. It took her a moment before she realised where she had seen him before. She couldn’t believe it. It was the handsome man from Marks & Spencer. The man whose cake she had snatched.
Mark Harris’s eyes had widened as well. ‘It’s you!’ he said, pointing. ‘The phantom cake thief!’
Violet gulped, the tears filling her eyes. She was so embarrassed. Of all the dumb luck, this was the worst. She waited for him to start shouting at her to get out. But he didn’t. He stared at her for a beat and then handed over a plastic cup.
‘I took a guess at white coffee. Hope that’s OK.’
She watched him walk around to the other side of the desk and sit down. Normally good-looking people flustered her. And Mark Harris was definitely a man to fluster women.
The Desperate Bride’s Diet Club Page 4