‘But it’s my wedding day too,’ Violet said in small voice.
‘You’re being totally unreasonable,’ he snapped. ‘I don’t know what’s up with you today. After all, it’s not like there’s anyone on your side to help, is there?’
Violet clenched her fists on her lap but didn’t reply. She was probably wrong about her desires for the wedding. She was usually wrong about everything else.
But he had brought her parents into the argument so she sulked as well. The remainder of the journey was spent in sullen silence, with Sebastian continuing to ignore her once they were outside the church.
It was quite a smart occasion, despite being held in a tiny church. Violet felt dowdy in her normal black batwing top and trousers. Even her sparkly jewellery did little to liven up the outfit. Everyone else was in lovely, bright dresses and fascinators.
The bride and groom had also been blessed by glorious end of May sunshine. It was like a mini heatwave and Violet could feel the sweat beginning to form under her arms and around her waist. She prayed it didn’t show through the top.
Sebastian’s colleagues stood around, braying at each other. The men were all going on about their jobs. She had no idea what they were talking about. But worse were the looks from the women: a mixture of envy and pity. She shuffled from foot to foot and wished she had called off sick so she could hide at home.
Thankfully, it was soon time to sit down and concentrate on the service.
Sebastian was still making a point of ignoring her so Violet stared down at the Order of Service. It was a thick, cream card with gold embossed swirls for the edging. It looked and felt expensive. But Violet preferred the home-made ones she had seen in a bridal magazine. She wasn’t certain how Sebastian or his parents would cope with home-made.
Everyone stood up for the bride as she appeared. As well as the posh stationery, it appeared she hadn’t skimped on her dress either. It was a beautiful but elaborate gown, embroidered with sparkling beads. The strapless bodice clinched in her tiny waist before cascading into a massive, full skirt with an extra-long train. It swamped her tiny frame but she looked beautiful.
Violet felt a stab of panic as everyone murmured their approval. They were all saying how wonderful the bride looked. What on earth would they say about her in seven months’ time?
She took a deep breath. It was OK. It would be fine.
Sebastian kept his eyes on the altar and didn’t turn to look at her, even though she knew he could feel her watching him.
The service was lovely, everyone remembered their lines and the only slight hitch came as the vicar declared them husband and wife. The handsome groom stepped forward to kiss his beautiful bride. But he never got the chance.
She hissed at him, ‘You’re standing on my bloody dress!’
Hardly a serene bride but Violet put it down to nerves.
Afterwards, everyone stopped for photographs outside the church. Again, as she hid at the back of the group, she was filled with panic at the idea of being the focus of everyone’s attention.
They made their way back to the hotel and everyone got stuck into the booze. Violet sipped nervously at her non-alcoholic drink whilst everyone else downed their alcohol at an alarming rate. Especially the father of the bride, who told everyone in his speech exactly how much the wedding had cost him, including having to pay for his daughter’s new silicon breasts.
Violet thought that she would have wanted the ground to swallow her up if that had been her. But the bride, also a little drunk by now, didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she roared with laughter and jiggled her new chest up and down to show everyone that it was money well spent.
By the time the disco started, the bride was so drunk that she screamed across to her husband, ‘Maaarrttttiiiinnn! It’s our first dance! Come on!’ Then they proceeded almost to consummate their marriage on the dance floor while Westlife crooned over the speakers.
It was hideous and Violet was desperate to get out of there. But Sebastian was in his element, knocking back the wine and laughing uproariously with his posse, most of whom were from his office. She knew he was still making a point of ignoring her and she kept being elbowed out of the way until she was moved to the outside of the group.
She tried to nod and smile along but found herself unable to fake laughter at their inane jokes. Perhaps it would have helped if she were drunk too but she was driving so she was sober. And miserable.
A couple of the girls started asking about her wedding dress. Violet shook her head, saying she hadn’t decided yet. But she knew what they were thinking. Where is she going to get a dress that fits?
A secretary who worked with Sebastian said there was an outsize bridal dress shop near her. Great. Violet’s cheeks burned as she smiled politely. The woman was trying to be helpful but Violet was beginning to feel ill.
In the end, she couldn’t bear the scrutiny so she went to the ladies’ toilets and locked herself away in a cubicle. There, she tried to take deep breaths to compose herself.
It must be wonderful to have self-assurance, thought Violet. To be confident amongst people. She had never had that luxury. Violet had spent her whole adult life trying to hide in a corner, trying to be invisible.
She heard the door sweep open and the clink-clink of high heels on tiles.
‘This is so bloody dull,’ crowed one of the girls.
Violet recognised her voice as one of Sebastian’s work colleagues. She couldn’t remember her name.
‘Why don’t we just leave?’ whined her friend. ‘That bitch Samantha won’t notice. She’s out of her head on Bacardi Breezers.’
‘Very classy for a bride. Look, just give me another half-hour.’
‘Is that how long it will take you to get a snog off Sebastian?’
They both giggled.
Violet gaped at them from behind the door.
‘He’s all right, I suppose,’ said one of the women.
‘All right? He hit the ugly tree on every branch, I reckon.’
They both giggled.
‘But his body’s quite fit.’
‘Yeah and you owe me five pounds if you don’t get to kiss him.’
‘You’re mean. Fancy making me a bet when I was drunk.’
There was a short silence whilst they fiddled around in their handbags, presumably to find and renew their make-up.
Violet stared at the closed door in front of her. Her Sebastian? Her saviour? Ugly? No, he wasn’t. Was he? No, she was sure of it. Why else would she be with him?
She shocked herself with a sudden thought. Perhaps she could do better? OK, so maybe her fiancé wasn’t a handsome man like, say, Mark from work. He was drop dead gorgeous. All the girls said so.
But Sebastian wasn’t a hobbit, even if he was a bit shorter than she was. Yes, he could be childish on occasion but that was only because his mum had smothered him when he was growing up. And yes, he did cheat on her. But that was because he and Violet had had a row and he had gone off and got drunk. Besides, he always hated it when she disagreed with him about something.
Sebastian was lovely, she told herself. He was everything. And he was the only man who had ever wanted her.
‘What about his fiancée?’ came a voice from outside of the cubicle.
The other girl gave a snort of derision. ‘Did you see the state of her? What does she look like?’
‘Why is he marrying her?’ asked the friend.
‘Out of pity, I expect. Or maybe she’s loaded with money. It certainly isn’t for her looks.’
They giggled once more.
‘What will she look like as a bride?’
‘She’ll probably need to hire a marquee. To wear, I mean!’
They both hooted with laughter and were still giggling when they left.
Violet stood up, trying to take it all in. She held on to the wall for support, her head reeling. Then she turned around and retched into the toilet.
Thankfully there wasn’t much to come up as she had pic
ked at her dinner. But she retched over and over again. Finally, she flushed the toilet, put down the lid and sank down.
Violet felt the tears roll down her cheeks. Those two bitchy girls had been right. What had she been thinking of, going around looking like she did and not doing anything about it?
And what was Sebastian doing with her? Violet found herself getting angry. How had she let her self get so gross? Her weight was overshadowing any happiness she might feel. Getting married was supposed to be the happiest time of her life. She could spend a fortune on a beautiful dress and make-up but she still wouldn’t look her best. Or anywhere near it. She’d look a right royal mess.
Everyone was thinner than she was. Except for the others at the diet club, Violet reminded herself. But even there she had failed. She hadn’t attended the class that week. They would all get thin and Violet would stay the same. Forever fat. Forever miserable.
She didn’t know how long she sat in that toilet. Presumably someone would notice that she was missing eventually. But no one came looking for her.
As she sat in that cubicle, many girls came and went. Some were drunk. Others just wanted to reapply their lipstick. But all seemed happy and confident.
Violet stood up, smoothed down her clothes and stepped out of the cubicle. Alone in the ladies’, she stared at her reflection. She had two choices. She could be a fat bride whom everyone laughed at. Or she could be slim and happy on her wedding day.
Violet knew at that moment there was no choice. She didn’t want to feel this way any more. She had had enough.
She gave herself a deadline. She vowed to change her body by Christmas. Before Sebastian gave up on her and before her body gave up under the strain and stress of living like this.
It was time.
Chapter Fourteen
KATHY WORKED THE Saturday shift in the shop to make up for being absent on Tuesday. It was a little busier at the weekend but the time still dragged.
Thankfully, Mavis didn’t work on Saturdays. Unfortunately, she was replaced by a different pensioner called Cheryl, whose conversation skills were the complete opposite of Mavis’s restraint.
‘I said to the ladies,’ she was saying as another exciting story from the WI emerged, ‘if you want to have buns as light as mine, you’ve got to sift. There’s no other way.’
Kathy smiled and nodded but said nothing.
She was still feeling very low after the anniversary of her mother’s birthday and nothing seemed to budge her out of her fog of grief. The shakes and cereal bars didn’t help. In fact, she was ignoring them altogether and overcompensating in the evenings.
Today she had woken up with the intention to be positive. To try to eat healthily. And her resolve lasted until Cheryl unearthed the box she had carried into the shop that morning.
‘Ta-dah!’ she said, whipping off the lid with a flourish.
Kathy’s mouth dropped open. There they were, about a dozen of them. A sort of doughnut-looking cake, with some kind of cream in the middle, glistening with shiny icing.
‘They’re whoopie pies,’ Cheryl told her. ‘I’ve been practising all week for the bazaar and I need to try them out on someone.’
Kathy wanted to say no. But that would have caused offence and she didn’t want to upset Cheryl. Plus she could smell the sugar.
‘Cupcakes are so over,’ said Cheryl, shoving the box under Kathy’s nose.
Kathy selected her choice and took a bite. It was extremely sweet. Extremely fattening too, no doubt. But what the hell.
She nodded at Cheryl who, she noticed, wasn’t eating. Cheryl was the shape of a lamppost but seemed happy to let Kathy pig out in front of her.
‘It’s wonderful,’ mumbled Kathy in between bites. ‘Aren’t you having one?’
‘Oh no,’ said Cheryl. ‘I only do gluten-free.’
Unfortunately, the whoopie pies seemed to trigger a sugar craving of extreme ferocity. For the rest of the weekend, Kathy scoffed cakes, biscuits and chocolate in vast amounts. Living alone, she could binge in glorious solitude. She had totally fallen off the slimming wagon. Not that she had ever really got started.
It all came to a head on Monday night. Kathy was trying to finish up the last of the bad stuff in her fridge. She had already decided to head back to the slimming class the following evening but the fridge needed to be clear of anything fattening if she were to start afresh. So she used extreme amounts of cheese and cream in her pasta supper and then finished off the three tubs of ice-cream she had bought the previous week.
Clutching her distended stomach, she went into the bathroom with the intention of running a nice bubble bath to relax in. But then she remembered the weigh-in which was only twenty-four hours away. What was the point of spending all this money just to be told that she was still huge?
Then Kathy had a thought. What if the food could disappear? What if she could eat without putting any weight on?
So Kathy made herself sick for the first time. And swore it would be the last time as well.
Afterwards, she sat in the bath and sobbed. What was wrong with her? Was she now making herself ill just so she could carry on eating fattening foods? Was she mentally ill as well? She knew Alzheimer’s could be hereditary. Perhaps she was beginning to show the early signs?
But she knew that dementia wasn’t the reason. She was just being a total pig. What would her mother have said if she were alive? Probably that she was developing an eating disorder and needed to sort herself out.
Kathy kept crying until there were no tears left to come. But from the misery came determination.
It was time for her to take action.
Edward had been in the queue at the fish and chip shop on Friday night when he had begun to feel strange and unwell. His skin suddenly felt clammy and his pulse was racing. Perhaps it was food poisoning from the burger at lunchtime. He changed his mind about the fish and began to walk out of the shop.
Then the chest pain began. It started in the middle of his rib cage but quickly began to spread out around his body. He could feel his heart thumping, hard and loud.
Oh God. He was having a heart attack. And then everything went black.
He woke up in the ambulance with an oxygen mask on. He tried to take it off but the paramedic shook her head.
‘Leave it on,’ she told him. ‘You need the air.’
He closed his eyes and tried not to panic.
Many hours later, the doctor stood by his bed in the A and E cubicle and told him what was wrong. ‘It was an angina attack.’
Edward breathed a sigh of relief. It hadn’t been a heart attack. He was fine.
But the doctor’s face told him otherwise. ‘Your blood pressure is sky high. We’re going to give you some beta-blockers to slow down your heart.’
Edward nodded.
‘You were lucky,’ the doctor told him. ‘It was angina and not that big an attack. If you don’t change your lifestyle, next time you might not be so lucky.’
Edward stared at him.
‘If you don’t change your way of life, there might not even be a next time.’
Left alone in the cubicle, Edward mulled over the shocking words. It was just an angina attack. Well, not just. He had thought he was going to die. And he hadn’t yet lived.
But if he didn’t start taking his health seriously, he was going to end up back in hospital. And he didn’t want it to be in the mortuary. He’d been given a warning. A flashing-bells, screaming-siren warning.
It was time to be a man and face up to his future. Otherwise he might not have one.
Lucy was feeling uncomfortable. She had squeezed herself into a black denim skirt that was a size fourteen but it was far too tight. She couldn’t be bothered to change it once she’d left the house so she carried on to the bus stop.
God, but she was hot. It was almost June and she was in black tights so that her legs wouldn’t look too fat in the skirt. Plus the waistband was digging in so hard that it was making her stomach hurt. She ha
d hidden her lack of waist with a large black top with long sleeves.
She waited in the morning sun, willing the bus to arrive soon. Especially once Nicola Bowles’ gang appeared around the corner. Thankfully the bus was trundling down the road and Lucy stuck her hand out, desperate to get the hell out of there.
But there was a little old lady taking her time to get down the steps and once it was Lucy’s turn to get on board, the other girls were nearly there.
Lucy quickly stuck her leg up to climb the steps and heard a loud rip. Her skirt suddenly felt much looser. She glanced down and saw that the side seam had split all the way up to her thigh. Mortified, she had no choice but to swiftly cover her exposed leg with her big college bag. She showed the bus driver her student pass and went to the back of the bus. Getting off would have meant facing the other girls and they would have seen her burst skirt.
So Lucy sat on the bus, tears trickling down her face, her skirt open all the way up to her knickers. She had no choice but to wait on the bus when it reached the town centre and return back home. The journey took over an hour, during which Lucy finally admitted to herself that something had to change. That she couldn’t and wouldn’t carry on like this. She would rather die than be this miserable. And she really did want to live.
Maggie sank on to the sofa, still wearing her raincoat. For once, she didn’t feel like reaching for the biscuit tin for comfort. She was in too much shock for that.
She had booked an appointment with her doctor, figuring that the tiredness and increased need to go to the loo in the middle of the night were all symptoms of the menopause.
But when Maggie had asked for a prescription for HRT, the doctor had shaken her head.
‘It’s not the menopause I’m worried about,’ she had told Maggie. ‘It’s your diabetes.’
‘My what?’
‘You’ve got type two diabetes,’ the doctor said.
Maggie was aghast. ‘Are you sure?’
The doctor gave her a small smile. ‘I ran a few extra tests with your blood sample.’
Maggie tried to rally. ‘But that’s the mild form of diabetes, isn’t it?’
The doctor’s smile dropped. ‘There is no such thing as mild diabetes. All diabetes is serious and, if not properly controlled, can lead to serious complications.’
The Desperate Bride’s Diet Club Page 9