The Desperate Bride’s Diet Club

by Alison Sherlock

  ‘I’m getting married,’ she stammered. ‘And I was wondering if I could try on some dresses? To get an idea of what suits me.’

  The assistant was about to reply when someone else came through a curtain nearby. It was another bride-to-be coming out of the changing room. She was a Gwyneth Paltrow lookalike dressed in a slinky nightgown style. A posse of sales assistants cooed and fussed over her. She really did look sensational.

  The woman behind the desk turned back to Violet.

  ‘You’ll need an appointment,’ she told her. Then she looked Violet up and down and lowered her voice. ‘But I’m not sure we have anything here that would suit you. Might I suggest Madame Pomfrey’s Bridal-wear across town? She caters for brides of larger sizes.’

  Violet recoiled in horror, tears filling her eyes. She quickly fled the shop, renewed in her resolve to lose weight.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  EDWARD WAS STRIDING out on the running machine at a fast walking pace. There was no way he was up to running. He didn’t think his heart could take it. But he was power walking and although his pulse was racing, this time it was in a good way. At least he hoped it was.

  He’d lost half a stone in a week. He couldn’t quite believe it. It had been easy. And cheaper now he wasn’t buying takeaways every night. OK, so the meals weren’t exactly as tasty as a Chicken Dhansak with Bombay Potatoes and a couple of naan breads. But he could cope. For him it was a no-brainer.

  He knew he had made a promise to his mum to get better but he actually needed to do it for himself. He didn’t want to feel ill any longer. He wanted to have energy, a bit of get-up-and-go inside. If he was ever lucky enough to find himself a girlfriend, it would be nice to think that they could do things together, other than sitting on the sofa eating themselves into oblivion.

  Edward found he hadn’t really missed alcohol for the past two weeks. He knew he would have to be careful when he began to drink again but for now he was coping. It hadn’t been as hard as he had imagined.

  Routine helped, he found. He would have cereal for breakfast, then go to work and have a ready-made sandwich for lunch. Some fruit in between meals if he was feeling hungry. Then home via the gym.

  A gym bunny was running on the machine next to him. She was in tight Lycra shorts and a teeny top. He glanced over as her ponytail swung back and forth. Her make-up was still immaculate even though she had been running for ten minutes. Edward considered her to be too high-maintenance. He liked normal women. He wanted somebody with whom he could laugh and whose company he could enjoy without worrying that he wasn’t wearing the latest shirt. Someone he could go for long walks with without having them moan that their high heels were stuck in a muddy field.

  He knew he had a way to go before he was up to any kind of long walk. But since joining, he had been to the gym every night after work. It wasn’t about getting his money’s worth. It was what Violet had said earlier in the week. Something had clicked inside his head.

  Determination had set in. He had had enough of feeling ill. He wanted more from life.

  And this time he had decided he was going to get everything he had dreamed of.

  Lucy was on top of the world. Not only had she lost four pounds in a week but she had also received a letter the previous day telling her that she had been accepted at CSM in the autumn. It was a provisional place but if her A-level results were OK she was on her way. She was thrilled.

  She had looked up the college a thousand times on the internet. Central Saint Martins College of Art and Design had a reputation for being one of the leading design colleges in the world. And it was in London. How cool was that? She would be studying fashion in the fashion capital of the world.

  Unlike this dump, thought Lucy as she stared around the shoe shop where she worked every Thursday evening and all day on Saturday. She didn’t think Manolo Blahnik was quaking at the competition. It was a small shop which sold really cheap shoes. But at least it gave her a bit of extra money each week.

  She spotted Nicola Bowles and her gang hanging about outside and quickly scuttled into the back room. You’re not hiding, Lucy told herself while she tried to control her breathing. You’re just avoiding a confrontation, that’s all.

  She peeked out through the doorway but the gang had moved on. Lucy sighed with relief before telling herself to get a grip. She only had three months left of torture and then she would be free of the shop, of the town but, most of all, free from the bullying.

  She would swagger up and down Bond Street and Oxford Street, in her element because London would become her city.

  And she would be thin. In her mind’s eye, as she imagined herself wandering the corridors of the fashion college and bumping into Stella McCartney, she was thin. Thin and happy.

  Lucy bit down on her apple. No more chocolate bars or crisps to snack on. She had her goal. And she was going to achieve it.

  Maggie was delighted for her daughter.

  ‘I’m so proud of you, love,’ she said after Lucy had bounced into the kitchen with the offer letter from CSM.

  But now it was Friday morning and Maggie was alone once more. On Violet’s advice she had cleaned the house from top to bottom. Once she had done that, Maggie had turned out every drawer and cupboard in her kitchen and organised those too. Anything to stick to her calorie ration and not to binge.

  Lucy had made both of them lunch. Since her mother’s confession at the diet club, Lucy had tried to make some of her determination rub off on Maggie. So, in the fridge for lunch was a ham and salad sandwich. Lucy had placed a banana and an apple next to it and told her mother, ‘That’s all you’re eating until I get back from college.’

  Maggie was determined not to let her daughter down.

  In the end, to fill the next hour, she watched the exercise DVD once more. This time, she joined in. She put on the normal tracksuit bottoms and T-shirt she wore to Trudie’s class and drew the curtains. This was a sight that the neighbours shouldn’t be privy to.

  It was dreadful. Worse than dreadful. Maggie ended up marching on the spot whilst the beautiful people in the DVD bounced around without a drop of sweat on their perfect bodies.

  Maggie tried to keep to the beat of the thumping music but she felt hopelessly uncoordinated and old. Really old. Nevertheless, she stayed with the programme to the very end, if only to use up some of her endless spare time.

  It took another hour for Maggie to recover, lying down on the sofa. Eventually she dragged herself upstairs and changed into her normal clothes.

  As she came back downstairs, Maggie eyed the bags in the hallway. Some were destined for the charity shop. Perhaps she could take them to Kathy’s shop. Others were for the dump.

  She looked at them and sighed. At least it would give her something else to do.

  Kathy was still waiting for her moment of diet revelation. She was wondering whether it would ever come. Everyone else was doing so well, she thought. Well, perhaps not Maggie, but Lucy, Edward and Violet were all losing weight.

  But Lucy had her mother, Edward had a wide social circle and Violet had her fiancé. Kathy was alone. And lonely.

  Even the shop didn’t help. Mavis was beginning to slow down as she approached retirement and now only worked two days a week. Kathy found she even missed Mavis’s chatter during the day. There seemed to be no difference between her lonely flat and the empty shop.

  The bell rang as the door swung open. Kathy looked up and saw Maggie staggering through with a couple of dustbin liners.

  ‘Hi,’ said Maggie. ‘Do you need some more stuff to sell?’

  ‘Always,’ said Kathy, fixing on a grin and heading across the shop to help with the bags.

  Maggie handed over the bulging bin liners.

  ‘It’s all good stuff,’ she told Kathy. ‘Mainly kitchen bits that I’ve never used. You know, those gadgets that are supposed to make your life easier but end up cluttering up the drawers and cupboards.’

  ‘I know,’ said Kathy. ‘That’s gre
at, thanks.’

  Maggie looked around the shop. ‘Pretty quiet today,’ she said.

  Kathy nodded. ‘Afraid so,’ she said. ‘Business isn’t very brisk.’

  ‘Shame really,’ said Maggie. ‘There aren’t any other decent charity shops nearby so you think people would come in.’

  ‘I know,’ replied Kathy.

  ‘It needs a better sign outside,’ said Maggie. ‘And brighter windows too. I thought the place was closed down when I first saw it.’

  Kathy nodded. The whole place needed overhauling.

  ‘Must be difficult when it’s so quiet,’ said Maggie. ‘I find if I’m not busy, I end up eating everything in sight.’

  ‘Me too,’ agreed Kathy.

  ‘Hence the clearout,’ Maggie told her. ‘Once I’ve finished in the lounge this afternoon, I’m moving on to the airing cupboard, our bedroom and then the loft.’

  ‘I find myself dusting shelves just to relieve the boredom,’ said Kathy.

  ‘It’s such a shame you don’t get much business. It’s a good-sized shop,’ said Maggie. ‘Mind you, I didn’t know it was here until you told me.’

  ‘I know,’ said Kathy. ‘We’re stuck down a side street which nobody seems to use. It’s not a great position.’

  ‘Will it have to close if business carries on being so quiet?’

  Kathy nodded. ‘We only just cover the rent at the moment.’ She put on another bright smile. ‘But I’m sure your kitchen gadgets will draw in the crowds.’

  Maggie smiled back but left soon after.

  Kathy didn’t want to think about the future if she didn’t even have the shop to go to. She had enough trouble with the hours in the day as it was. She found herself emailing or texting Violet quite a bit. Misery loves company or safety in numbers, she wasn’t sure which. She knew she was probably being a pain but the contact helped.

  Kathy didn’t want to let the group down but she wasn’t really eating that well and knew the next weigh-in would show it.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  VIOLET WAS ACTUALLY beginning to find work a little more enjoyable.

  With her new laptop on the desk, it meant that, between calls, she was able to learn about the different software packages. It was great to be able to use her brain.

  Unfortunately though, the lunches were becoming monotonous. She stared at her crackers and sighed. She didn’t know what else to do, but something had to give. Otherwise she would go crackers herself.

  ‘I’m just popping out for some lunch,’ she told Anthony.

  There had to be something more appetising to eat than those bloody dry biscuits. She wandered the streets for a short while but didn’t fancy mass-produced sandwiches. The greasy smell of a burger joint hung in the air but she quickly walked in the opposite direction.

  Finding herself in a part of town that she normally didn’t visit, she suddenly breathed in the heady smell of garlic and spices. Something smelt wonderful. She took a left up a small alleyway, following her nose.

  The wonderful aromas were coming from a tiny Italian delicatessen called Gino’s. It must have expanded its trade at some point because it also seemed to serve coffee and food. Gino’s was packed with lunchtime diners. Suited businessmen and -women filled the small number of tables and chairs. Others had spilled on to the tables in the street to bask in the June sunshine.

  Violet felt warm in her black suit and top but her stomach was rumbling too much for her to care. Everything looked so delicious. She stared at the food on display, wondering what was healthy and how everything would taste. She must have stood there for some time until a familiar voice spoke.

  ‘Now this is real food.’

  She turned to find herself face to face Mark Harris, her boss.

  ‘Much tastier than that rubbish you’ve been eating,’ he told her, smiling.

  Violet’s mouth had gone dry. What was he doing here?

  Then came a shriek of ‘Marco!’ from the other side of the counter.

  A wizened, older woman of about eighty years old was carving her way through the crowds towards them.

  ‘Ciao!’ she said, coming to stand next to Mark.

  Violet stared in amazement as he bent double to get his cheek close enough for her to kiss.

  Then Mark began to speak. In Italian. And Violet’s stomach did a backflip. It was as if he were another man. And she realised ‘Marco’ was stressed-out, scary Mark Harris. And that muttering he had been doing under his breath in the unintelligible language was Italian.

  She looked at him properly for the first time and realised that, with his dark hair and green eyes, he could be Italian. And that the summer sunshine was beginning to turn his skin darker.

  He caught her staring and smiled. ‘Come with me,’ he said.

  Feeling she hadn’t much choice if she wanted to keep her job, Violet followed him through the crowd and into the back kitchen. But he carried on walking until they found themselves in a small courtyard.

  It was hemmed in by four walls, covered with plants scrambling up to the sky. Few windows overlooked the garden. The walls were trapping the heat of the midday sun.

  Terracotta pots, in all shapes and sizes, filled every wall, spreading into the middle until they reached a round iron table and chairs. In the middle of the table were a bunch of sweet peas in a jam jar being used as a vase.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ stammered Violet, hardly believing that five minutes previously she had been in an air-conditioned office. Now she had been transported into a beautiful courtyard.

  ‘Nonna likes to have as many pots as she can.’

  ‘Nonna?’

  ‘She’s the lady who greeted me.’ He pursed his lips. ‘Let me get this right. She’s my mother’s cousin’s mother. Is that right? Yes. I think so. Everyone in the family just calls her Nonna.’

  Mark sat down at the iron table and gestured for Violet to do the same.

  ‘Who was Gino?’ she asked.

  ‘Nonna’s husband. Their son, Gino Junior, runs the café. Nonna’s come over from Italy to help out for a while.’

  ‘So you’re Italian?’

  ‘Half. My mother was Italian. My father is English. Hence the Marco. And the Mark, I suppose.’

  ‘And your parents live here in England?’

  His handsome face dropped. ‘My mother passed away a couple of years ago.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Violet.

  ‘Thank you. My father is still alive but he spends most of his time in Italy. As did I when I was growing up.’

  He was so relaxed, so completely different to the man in the office. Violet wanted to ask him more but didn’t want to be too intrusive.

  Nonna came into the courtyard with a tray of drinks. Mark quickly stood up and took them from her. She gave Violet a nod and a smile as she sat down next to Mark.

  ‘Bella signorina,’ she said, before giving Mark a wink.

  She then rattled off a couple of sentences in Italian. She was obviously talking about Violet, who looked at Mark for clarification.

  ‘She thinks you have a beautiful face but very sad eyes.’

  Violet blushed pink and hoped they wouldn’t see in the sunlight.

  Nonna suddenly pointed at Violet’s engagement ring and shook her head.

  Mark raised his eyebrows at her and Nonna explained herself to him in Italian, gesticulating at the ring and shaking her head again.

  They both turned to look at Violet.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Violet.

  ‘It’s nothing,’ he told her with a small shrug. ‘She just doesn’t think emeralds are a good idea for engagement rings. Says they’re bad luck.’

  Violet gulped. Was it true?

  Mark shook his head at her. ‘Don’t worry. It’s just superstitious rubbish, I’m sure.’

  Then he rattled off a few sentences of his own in Italian and Violet found herself trying not to melt in lust. She had always found Italian to be the sexiest language to listen to. Her whole life she had w
anted to go to Italy but had never yet had the opportunity. Or the courage.

  Once he had finished talking, Nonna turned to Violet and smiled. She patted her hand and then slowly stood up and went back into the kitchen.

  Violet looked at Mark. ‘What did you tell her?’

  He stretched out in the warm sun like a cat and she found she couldn’t stop herself staring at his lithe body.

  ‘I told her you were trying to lose weight but that you’ve been eating rubbish and I want her to show you how to eat properly.’

  Violet found herself snapping, ‘Do you think I got to this size by not knowing about food?’

  ‘Not real food, from what I’ve seen. Food should be enjoyable. Rich in colour. Full of flavour. Are you telling me those horrible crackers, milkshakes and all those other things I’ve watched you eat are any of those things?’

  Violet didn’t reply.

  ‘I thought not. Sit. Enjoy. Learn.’

  And then he was silent. And so was Violet. It was mortifying to have been dragged out there like a child, no matter what his intention was. How dare he teach her about food?

  Violet sat and tried to sulk for a few minutes but it was impossible. She could smell the flowers and herbs from the nearby pots. Bumble bees were buzzing about from flower to flower. The sun was beating down and it was just far too glorious a day to be sulking.

  In the end she turned her face to the sun and closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth on her skin.

  Eventually Nonna returned and placed a plate in front of her. It had two pieces of bread in the middle, surrounded by some salad leaves.

  ‘Bruschetta,’ said Nonna and pointed at the bread topped with tomatoes. ‘Classica.’ Then she pointed at the one topped with black goo. ‘Con crema di olive.’

  Violet glanced at Mark’s plate which appeared to be a massive helping of meats and salad.

  ‘Antipasto,’ Mark told her.

  ‘Buon appetito,’ said Nonna and patted Violet on the hand once more before disappearing.

  Violet looked at Mark, not sure what to do.

  ‘You heard the woman,’ he said. ‘Eat.’