‘It’s no wonder you feel crap,’ she barked at Wendy. ‘You’re not eating properly.’
‘I am.’
‘Of course you’re not. You had a single chicken breast for lunch.’
Wendy gulped down some pills and water. ‘I’ll be fine. As soon as the protein hits the fat in my body then I’ll start losing weight. It’s all very scientific.’
Julie gave a snort and went back behind her computer monitor.
Wendy leant across to whisper at Violet, ‘James told me I have the breath to kill six rhinos this morning.’
Violet gave her a small smile and wondered whether Sebastian would feel her breath was smelly too.
She was starving by the time she reached home. Sebastian suggested another fry-up. Violet nearly wept. She was overdosing on protein. She needed carbohydrates, had to have them. Plus she hadn’t been to the loo properly for days. She felt weird, weak and a bit sick. Her body felt alien. Something had to give.
So she waited patiently until Sebastian went for a shower later on. She stayed still until she heard him step into the bath and switch the water on. Then she ran into the kitchen and wolfed down a huge bowl of cornflakes. It was glorious, even better once she’d added the sugar on top. As she heard him come out of the bathroom, she quickly washed the bowl up and put it back in the cupboard. He was none the wiser.
But the guilt was huge when she saw Wendy the next day. What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she stick to any diet?
‘Hi,’ said Wendy in a small voice. ‘I failed my diet.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Violet, relief flooding through her. ‘What happened?’
‘We had a curry.’
‘I think it’s only the sauce that’s fattening.’
‘What about the large rice and two peshwari naan breads? All to myself.’ She gave a loud sigh. ‘I just couldn’t do it any more. And nor could James. He said he didn’t know what was worse, my breath or my wind. It had to be the constipation that made it so bad.’
Violet noticed Anthony quickly left his desk again.
Later that evening, alone in the house, Violet ate a massive bowl of pasta. She ate and ate until her stomach screamed at her to stop. It was wonderful. Her body was craving carbohydrates like a starved maniac. As she waited for the water to boil, she wolfed down a couple of pieces of bread and butter.
Another diet, another failure. Perhaps it was time to go back to the shakes and cereal bars. And this time they would work. Hopefully.
Chapter Twelve
KATHY STARED AT the tiny figurines.
She had been scrabbling around in the back of one of the kitchen cupboards, trying to find her sieve. Her intention had been to make a healthy banana loaf but all ideas of baking were forgotten once her fingers touched the small tin. She drew it down from the shelf and took it into the lounge.
Kathy sank on to the sofa with a sigh. She knew what was inside. She knew it would upset her to look at them. But she couldn’t stop herself.
She lifted the tin lid and stared down. There was a clay Father Christmas and Snowman both looking a little grubby and well used. The Happy Christmas plastic sign was very worn too.
The decorations had been used on top of her family’s Christmas cake for as long as Kathy could remember. As a child, she remembered being allowed to stir the cake mixture in the big bowl before her mother poured it into the baking tin. She could still imagine that gorgeous smell wafting through the house as the cake firmed up in the oven.
As an adult, Kathy had taken over the mantle of making the Christmas cake after her father had died. Under her mother’s guidance, Kathy would bake and decorate the cake. Some years her mother would remember it was Christmas. Some years she would look at Kathy vaguely for clarification. But Kathy continued baking the cake, year after year, determined that the family tradition wouldn’t die out.
Even the last Christmas, when her mother was in hospital, Kathy had still made the cake and taken it in with her to show her mother. That was the day she found her mother had lost consciousness. The day the doctor had told her that she would probably never get up again. Two days after Boxing Day, she died.
Kathy stared down at the figurines. Who was there for her to bake for now? Who would know about the silly tradition apart from her? Maybe she wouldn’t bother next time. After all, it was only she that would know.
Each special day was hard to get through. The first Mother’s Day. The first Easter. And now it was her mother’s birthday. Kathy had felt so low that she couldn’t even face Mavis and the shop so she phoned in sick. Mavis was so kind and concerned that it made Kathy feel even worse.
Kathy had planned to stay in all day but the figurines had changed all that. Now she knew what she had to do.
She made the long drive in her car back to her old home town. Along the way, she picked up a small posy of flowers. She parked the car and took the short walk to her mother’s grave in the cemetery. She placed the flowers next to the headstone and stared down at the ground for a while before straightening up.
She walked to a nearby bench and sat down, trying not to cry. She was so low, so grief-stricken. And the only person who would have been any help right now was her lovely mum. It felt a very long time since her mother had held her, had hugged her. Since anyone had held her, she realised.
There had been a few low-life boyfriends but nobody special. Initially they were all attracted by the jolly fat woman with the cheeky smile and bright brown hair. But it was exhausting being amusing all the time. Sometimes Kathy just wanted to sit quietly and not have to be on show.
She stayed on the bench in the graveyard for a long time. So long that the time ran away with her and she realised that she probably wouldn’t be home in time to go to the diet club that evening. Not that Kathy cared. Missing one week wouldn’t make any difference.
The way she felt, nothing was going to make any difference to her life. She sat on the bench until darkness fell and then made the long drive home.
Maggie had been trying really hard to stay on the shakes and bars. Honest, she had. The trouble was, by the time she got to the afternoon she felt ill and exhausted, with a hideous headache.
According to the New You! booklet, the first fortnight was supposed to be tough. It was meant to be an extreme detox to cleanse the body of its evils and get it ready for all the healthy stuff ahead. The cereal bars and shakes were full of nutritious goodness to help the body.
‘Rubbish,’ muttered Maggie, clutching her head.
She even lay down on the bed, holding her stomach and willing it to stay calm. This was good. Hunger was good. She had all these extra fat reserves waiting to be used up. Her body could cope with a little starvation. Her stomach howled in fury.
But it was no use. Maggie couldn’t settle. So at four o’clock, she headed back downstairs and wolfed down half a loaf of bread. Then she went into the lounge and sank on to the sofa in carbohydrate-induced delirium.
It had been the same routine nearly every day. Starve then binge. Repeat daily until the next weigh-in.
Trouble was, the next weigh-in was that evening. Maggie couldn’t care less. Not only did she have the headache from hell, she was also bent double with hideous period pains. The last couple of months, her period had been really heavy.
Then, as she was staggering around the supermarket the previous day, Maggie had had her first hot flush. Standing in the bread aisle, she was suddenly aware of a deep heat glowing from her face, neck and chest. She had to fan herself with a magazine to stop herself from passing out. In the end, she went to the freezer section and stood by the open freezer chests to cool herself down.
So that was it. The menopause was on its way. Just the night sweats, mood changes and lack of sex to look forward to. Maggie sighed. Not that she and Gordon had any kind of sex life these days. A quick cuddle at the weekend, if she was lucky. But more often than not they couldn’t be bothered.
At least she had already achieved the maximum weight gain. Sh
e hoped.
*
Lucy had had a terrible day at college. Nothing went right. The lack of calories during the day was making her brain fuzzy. She’d screwed up design after design, nothing being good enough. It was rubbish.
She hadn’t heard from St Martins so the lecturer had obviously been lying to her, trying to make her believe that she was good enough when she really wasn’t.
To top it all, she had run into Nicola Bowles and the gang on the way home. If only she had enough money to buy a car, then she could drive past them and never have to meet them in the street. But no, she had to travel on the bus and the gang were always hanging around the bus stop near the local shops.
They were laughing hysterically at something as Lucy got off the bus. She was certain it was her.
‘Hey, Fatso!’ yelled Nicola. ‘Saw your mum today. Runs in the family, does it? Being fat bitches?’
Lucy felt a sting of hatred shoot through her and tried to carry on walking. But the gang of girls blocked her path.
‘That’s right,’ sneered one of the girls. ‘I heard your momma’s so fat they had to grease a doorframe and hold a Mars bar on the other side to get her through.’
The gang fell about laughing, screaming their glee in Lucy’s face.
‘Yeah,’ said another girl. ‘Your momma’s so fat that when she walked by my TV, I missed the EastEnders omnibus.’
More hysterical laughter followed. Lucy tried to change direction but they blocked her path once more.
‘Your momma’s so fat, even Dora can’t bloody explore her,’ said another girl who was pushing a pram.
The young mum was still thinner than her, Lucy thought.
Then Nicola Bowles stepped right up so her face was close to Lucy’s.
‘Your momma’s so fat, she died. Or she will do if she don’t get her stomach stapled. Or is that you? Are you the one who needs one of them gastric bands, you fat bitch?’
Lucy’s anger boiled over and she gave Nicola a large shove to move her out of the way.
‘Ooooh!’ the gang cooed as she strode away from them.
Lucy half ran up the road, praying that they wouldn’t follow her. That they wouldn’t see the tears streaming down her face.
She slammed the front door shut behind her and stalked into the lounge, where she found her mum sprawled on the sofa. For a second, she thought Nicola’s prediction had come true and her mother had passed away. Then she saw Maggie move and realised she just been asleep.
‘What’s with you?’ Lucy snarled, hating both herself and her mother for being so weak.
‘Don’t feel very well, love.’ Maggie was struggling to sit up.
‘Aren’t you going to that diet club tonight?’
Maggie cleared her throat. ‘Not sure I’ll be up to it. What about you?’
‘Don’t bloody care,’ said Lucy. ‘Stupid bloody diet doesn’t work anyway.’
She stomped upstairs and threw her college bag down on the bedroom floor. Once the door was firmly closed, she drew out a box of doughnuts and bit into one. She had to have calories. She was starving. Besides, it didn’t sound as if her mum was going tonight and there was no way she was going to see that Trudie on her own.
She switched on her TV and pushed in a DVD to watch. She watched Jennifer Aniston bounce around the screen for a while before throwing the remote across the room in despair. Stupid bloody actresses. Why couldn’t she look like them? Eat like them? What was wrong with her?
Lucy hid the empty doughnut box underneath her bed. Later on, she would creep downstairs to hide the evidence in the bottom of the wheelie bin.
Edward’s department had just signed a big deal for a new computer system. The IT sales guys wanted to take them out for a couple of drinks to celebrate. He didn’t mind. His social life started and ended with the cricket club. Apart from that, Edward spent his time on the sofa with his beloved Sky+ box.
He grabbed his briefcase before stopping to rub his chest. It was probably only indigestion from the Cornish pasties at lunchtime. At least, that’s what he told himself.
His mother had fussed over him at the weekend, telling him he looked terrible.
‘You need to start looking after yourself,’ she had told him. ‘You’ve not got any colour.’
‘It’s only May,’ Edward told her. ‘Why would I have a suntan?’
His mother had shook her head. ‘You don’t look well. You’re carrying too much weight.’
‘I’m fine, Mum.’
She had fussed over him ever since his father had passed away four years previously. His dad had suffered numerous minor strokes over the years but the last stroke had been a major event and he had not survived. Now Edward’s mum was convinced he would go the same way as his dad. It was the same every time he popped home to see her, which was why the visits were becoming less frequent.
The celebration with the IT Department was certain to turn into a meal at the local Indian with a lot of booze attached. His mind briefly flickered on to the diet club. But business was business. Besides, he could be humiliated at the diet club by that stick insect Trudie or he could have a laugh with his workmates. No contest.
He didn’t feel too guilty about not attending the diet club. Everyone else would be there, wouldn’t they?
Chapter Thirteen
VIOLET HADN’T GONE to the weigh-in class either. After her disastrous low-carb diet failure, she had been too embarrassed. It would never have worked. Besides, she hated getting weighed in public. It was too stressful.
Anyway, she had enough on her plate that week as they were going to a wedding at the weekend. One of Sebastian’s colleagues was getting married. Violet was hoping to pick up some tips for their own wedding day. But it wasn’t feeling like their wedding any more. Sebastian’s parents had completely taken over.
‘I’m just saying,’ Violet told Sebastian as they drove to the church. ‘It would be nice to have had some consultation before your mother increased the guest list to a hundred and ninety.’
‘Who cares?’ said Sebastian, fiddling with the air-conditioning temperature. ‘The more the merrier.’
‘But I don’t know most of them.’ Violet was trying not to let her voice whine.
‘Nor do I,’ he replied. ‘Look, just let Mum sort everything out. It takes the stress off you, doesn’t it?’
‘But perhaps I want the stress,’ said Violet. ‘Perhaps I’d like some involvement in my own wedding day.’
Sebastian swung around to glare at her for a moment. ‘She’s doing all this for us,’ he snapped. ‘You could be a little more grateful. After all, Mum has a busy life too.’
‘I know,’ said Violet. ‘But how much is this all going to cost?’
‘Your inheritance kicks in next year so we can pay it all back then.’
Sebastian bringing up the subject of money startled her somewhat. It seemed that her inheritance was being spent before Violet had even received it.
Having spent many miserable teenage years with her aunt and uncle, she certainly never expected to receive any inheritance from them. Her uncle had left a small legacy, enough to put a deposit down on her lovely house. But a year afterwards, her aunt had also passed away. With Violet being the only remaining family member, the whole estate passed to her.
It was only when she was summoned to the solicitors that Violet was told she stood to inherit an astounding £120,000. It seemed an extraordinary amount, especially when her aunt had been so cruel in the years following her parents’ accident.
But her aunt had still had the last laugh. The final kick in the teeth was her will. Yes, she’d left Violet her money. But Violet wasn’t able to access it until she was thirty, by which time she would be deemed trustworthy.
Did she want this reminder of her cruel aunt? Of all those awful years? Not really.
Of course, she had daydreamed about what to do with the money. A long trip somewhere, perhaps around the world. She could pay off a large chunk from the mortgage, leav
ing her with a bit more money each month. She had even considered going to university so she could get more meaningful work. But nothing concrete, no definite plans.
‘Maybe we should just give it all to a cats’ home,’ she said, only half joking.
Sebastian looked horrified. ‘You can’t waste it! That’s for our future.’
Violet shrugged her shoulders. ‘We both work. We don’t need it.’
‘If we invest it carefully, we could be millionaires in ten years. Then retire early.’
I don’t care about being a millionaire, thought Violet. Not unless it makes me thin. But then she had an idea.
‘Maybe we could travel round Europe,’ she said, voicing an idea she had long thought buried. ‘We could go to Italy. I saw a programme years ago. It looks wonderful.’
‘Don’t be silly, pumpkin.’
‘But why not?’ she pressed. ‘With that money, we could take a gap year from work and travel around, immerse ourselves in different cultures.’
‘Are you mad?’ he snorted. ‘Why would I want to see how other people live? That doesn’t interest me. Unless they’re pouring my cocktail in a fancy restaurant or hotel.’
Perhaps it was best that the money was going to wards their wedding, thought Violet. After all, it was supposed to be the most important day of their lives. They could work out what to spend the rest on at a later date.
‘About the wedding,’ she began. ‘I am grateful for your mother’s help but we didn’t even have the chance to choose the food for the evening buffet.’
Sebastian suddenly became angry and gripped the steering wheel. ‘If Elizabeth had survived, she would have been able to plan her wedding,’ he said in a steely tone. ‘But, as you know, she didn’t and so my mother only has my wedding to look forward to.’
The subject of Elizabeth was brought up whenever Sebastian needed to defend his mother’s actions. His baby sister had died soon after birth and was the reason that Sebastian was so smothered by his mother.
The Desperate Bride’s Diet Club Page 8