The Desperate Bride’s Diet Club

by Alison Sherlock

  Sebastian was away at a conference for the week so each night Violet held her own private fashion show. Just her and the mirror.

  By the time she was cooking Sunday roast for Sebastian and his parents, Violet felt different somehow. A little younger. A little more modern.

  ‘Are those jeans new?’ said Sebastian, glaring at her legs as she placed the chicken on the table.

  ‘Only Primark,’ she lied, even though they were from Debenhams.

  Miriam sniffed at the food in front of her. ‘What have you done to the chicken?’

  ‘Oh, I added a touch of garlic and rosemary,’ said Violet. ‘Just to make it a bit different.’

  It had smelt divine whilst cooking. She had even roasted the vegetables in the same pan, using olive oil and fresh herbs to give them flavour.

  ‘It’s certainly unusual,’ said Miriam, wrinkling her nose.

  ‘It’s low fat,’ said Violet in a dull tone.

  ‘Pass the gravy,’ said Donald.

  Violet watched as he drowned out the lovely flavours with the packet sauce that Sebastian had insisted she make.

  ‘It would be nice to have some normal bloody food around here,’ snapped Sebastian, scowling at the roasted vegetables.

  ‘Poor darling. You mustn’t go without all the time,’ cooed Miriam, before glancing across at Violet. ‘An eating disorder isn’t attractive.’

  ‘I don’t have an eating disorder. I’m trying to eat more healthily,’ said Violet, suddenly feeling a bit brave. ‘After all, I need to lose weight for the wedding, don’t I?’

  She met Miriam’s eyes and felt a little thrill as Sebastian’s mother was the first one to look away.

  It was a small victory that she would pay for later as Sebastian was still going on about the new jeans that evening.

  ‘I had to get something new,’ Violet told him. ‘Everything was so baggy. You don’t want me greeting your parents in tracksuit bottoms, do you?’

  ‘It wouldn’t bother me, pumpkin,’ he replied with a shrug of the shoulders.

  But it was really starting to bother Violet. As was being called pumpkin.

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  LUCY WAS HUNCHED over her drawing pad as she worked at the dining-room table. It was a little odd being at home on her own, as her mum was working in the shop. But she didn’t mind.

  It was quite a tough assignment that she had given herself. Violet’s ghastly wedding dress was hanging up over the door and Lucy was desperate to tear it apart. But that was the problem. What to do with the pieces that remained? Violet was a hard one to figure out and certainly to design for.

  Lucy had a feeling that Violet was secretly a classic dresser. She could just imagine her in crop trousers, ballet shoes and a plain top. Perhaps with a sleek, black bob. Not that Violet would ever get rid of that long curtain of hair that she hid behind.

  Lucy wondered whether the bride could be persuaded to have her hair up in a classy chignon on her wedding day. And she was thinking that a simple but slightly sparkly sheath dress would be perfect. She was already over halfway to her weight-loss goal and Lucy had no doubts that she would reach her target.

  So nothing fancy, nothing too frilly. But the lace on the great meringue of a dress hanging in front of her was quite pretty. Perhaps that could go over the top in a fine layer.

  Lucy leant back in her chair. She considered adding a few beads to up the glamour factor. Her favourite shop in town was a small haberdashery that stocked hundreds of beads, buttons and trimmings.

  She glanced out of the window. It was a nice autumn day and she really had nothing to do until university started in ten days so Lucy decided to head to one of the local bridal shops and have a nose around for inspiration. Then perhaps she could go to the haberdashery and buy a few bits and bobs.

  She stepped out of the front door, putting the earpiece in as she went down the front path. Her parents had bought her an iPod to celebrate her good exam results and she had downloaded the Gym Bunny workout music from iTunes almost immediately. It was great to walk to, the beat causing her feet to pound the pavements at a fast pace.

  She turned the corner at the end of the road and carried on striding out, her mind occupied with designs for Violet’s wedding dress. With the music on and her head down, her feet led the way into town.

  Before she reached the shops, Lucy’s eyes suddenly caught sight of a pair of pink trainers on the pavement. She didn’t need to look up to know whom they belonged to. She recognised the graffiti and grubbiness. It was Nicola Bowles.

  But Lucy found the fear that had long haunted her had evaporated. It must have disappeared along with all those pounds. She found she was a different person now, both inside and out. She had always been scared to go out, to socialise with other people. Now she couldn’t wait to get to London and all it offered. She would talk to anybody and everybody if given the chance.

  She was dressed in new skinny jeans and boots, only half a stone away from her target. She was on her way to a fantastically trendy university in London to study design. She was happy with herself and excited about the future. What did she care what Nicola Bowles thought of her? And did it really matter anyway?

  She, Lucy Walsh, had nothing to worry about. She could hold her head high. She was OK. She was better than OK. She was loved by family and friends. She was talented. She was young. She was fine.

  She stole a quick glance at Nicola. Why had she never noticed that muffin top over the waistband of her jeans before now? The hair with its split ends and bad roots? What was so special about her?

  Out of curiosity, she glanced up into Nicola’s face. Her face was screwed up in animosity and she was obviously saying something to her. But Lucy couldn’t hear her above the iPod. And why should she listen? Nicola Bowles had nothing to say that could ever interest Lucy.

  So she sidestepped Nicola and carried on walking into town, away from her past and into her future.

  Maggie and Kathy were covered in paint.

  ‘At least I’m not ruining any of my nice new clothes,’ said Maggie, gazing down at the large T-shirt she was wearing. ‘This was the only one of my large clothes that I kept. Time to start again, I reckon. Another dress size, another new wardrobe.’

  They had decided to give the shop a complete overhaul. So they had put up signs saying it would be closed for a fortnight.

  ‘Not that there are any customers anyway,’ Kathy had said.

  But Maggie was hopeful. A lick of paint, some modern lighting and a new layout in the window might do the trick.

  ‘This pale yellow is absolutely right,’ Maggie declared, stepping back to look at the wall she had just painted.

  ‘Very cheerful,’ said Kathy, who sounded anything but.

  She had been in a funny mood all week, thought Maggie.

  ‘How are you getting on with the bike?’ she asked.

  ‘Fine,’ replied Kathy.

  Maggie had found Lucy’s bicycle in the garage and offered it to Kathy.

  ‘My legs aren’t long enough,’ Maggie told her. ‘You should take a ride down the river path. Gordon and I went for a walk along there last night. It was gorgeous.’

  It really was, thought Maggie, allowing herself a smile. She and Gordon had walked along hand in hand until it was nearly dark. It was lovely to be able to talk about their work days as they strolled along. The weight loss had not only given her a boost, it had given their marriage one as well.

  ‘Gordon’s already lost half a stone and he’s only been on the diet a week,’ said Maggie.

  Kathy didn’t reply so Maggie continued chatting to fill the silence.

  ‘As Gordon says, it’s not really a diet. It’s a long-term healthy-eating plan. Maybe that’s why it’s worked. I’ve already lost nearly four stone. OK, so I’ve got another three to go but I feel so much better.’

  Maggie’s palpitations were a thing of the past and she had increased her weight loss back up to five pounds that week by jogging each day. She was
up to ten minutes’ solid running at a time and the weight was dropping off her.

  She and Gordon were joining a dance class and Maggie couldn’t wait. Lucy was going to sew some sequins on her new skirt so that Maggie’s sparkle count was high enough.

  ‘Did I tell you I can see my feet again?’ said Maggie with a chuckle. ‘I’ve lost so much off my chest and stomach I can finally see the ground. Which also means I have to start painting my toenails again.’

  When there was no reply from Kathy, Maggie bent down to pick up the paint tin and carried it over to where she was painting the opposite wall.

  ‘Right,’ said Maggie. ‘You can either tell me what’s going on or you get this lot down your bra. It’s your choice.’

  Kathy gave her a small smile. ‘Why are you picking on me?’

  ‘Because Lucy’s not here.’ Maggie put down the tin of paint. ‘How about a nice cup of tea?’

  She went and put the kettle on. She returned with two mugs of tea and a packet of pink wafers under her arm.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Maggie, as Kathy relieved her of the biscuits. ‘They’re a godsend these wafer things. Especially when you want something sweet but don’t want to ruin your diet.’

  Kathy took a sip of her tea but remained quiet.

  ‘Are you watching the cricket again this weekend?’

  Kathy shook her head. ‘Season’s finished.’

  ‘Right. Is Edward still coming over to fix your flat?’

  Kathy shrugged her shoulders. ‘Don’t think there’s anything left to fix.’

  Maggie took a bite of the wafer biscuit, thinking that Miss Marple could rest easy. Her detective skills were in no danger from this line of questioning.

  ‘I was thinking that we could go back to that army workout on the common,’ she continued. ‘Now that we’re thinner and fitter. Maybe you could ensnare one of them with those lovely brown eyes and your new figure.’

  Kathy shook her head. ‘Not really interested in men at the minute,’ she said, staring into the distance.

  ‘Apart from our lovely Edward,’ said Maggie, slyly.

  ‘Apart from him,’ said Kathy, before coming out of her trance. ‘No, wait a minute! Don’t keep saying he’s lovely, it distracts me. Besides, we only see each other now on a Tuesday night at the weigh-in. Hardly the start of a romantic relationship, is it?’

  ‘Aha!’ said Maggie in a triumphant tone. ‘So you do want a romantic relationship with him!’

  ‘Tell anyone and I’ll cut your heart out,’ snarled Kathy, but then she sighed. ‘It’s no use. He’s not interested in me. Not like that, I mean.’

  ‘Then we’ll have to find you someone that is,’ said Maggie, giving her friend a quick hug.

  A dark gloom had come over Kathy since the cricket season had finished. There was no excuse to see Edward outside of the weight-loss club now. No cosy chats over dinner on a Sunday night. It was all at an end.

  The only time she would see Edward now was with the other girls. Kathy found it wasn’t enough for her.

  She mulled over Maggie’s words as she headed home on the bike. She found she was really enjoying the cycle ride to work. It was lovely to have some fresh air and clear her head. She tried to avoid the busy main roads and stuck to the pretty side roads and avenues.

  She glanced at the cricket ground as she cycled past. She had gone there on Thursday evening to watch the last match of the cricket season. She had got off the bike but left the helmet on, worried about helmet hair.

  She watched the game for about five minutes. Until Edward strode out of the pavilion to bat, that was. Then she got back on the bike and cycled away before he saw her. He probably wanted her to stop bothering him. After all, that flirting with the barmaid had been very cosy. Perhaps he wanted to get rid of the fat friend and go with the busty barmaid.

  Kathy cycled for a long time that evening and had actually gone along the river path that Maggie had suggested. She worked out on the map when she got home that she had cycled around six miles that afternoon. The raspberry sunset streaked the sky. It was very romantic. But she had no tall blond man with kind eyes to share it with.

  Edward had spotted Kathy cycling away just as he reached the cricket stumps. He had gone to wave at her before realising she was leaving the cricket ground.

  She was probably bored with him; he understood that. He had been far too pushy, inviting himself over every Sunday and then having dinner with her. She might have thought he was just going over there for the food rather than to enjoy her company.

  Maybe he should leave her alone, he told himself. But he knew he really didn’t want to.

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  ON MONDAY MORNING, Violet left her car outside the house and walked to the bus stop. She was a little breathless by the time she arrived but felt OK.

  The bus turned up, she paid her fare and sat down. It was quite nice to let someone else do the driving. Plus she could people watch to her heart’s content. Or rather fashion watch. A woman got on with such a fabulous handbag that Violet almost asked her where she had got it from. And those shoes were nice. What about those bangles? Earrings? Her lipstick?

  Everyone else must have thought that Violet was one of those nutters you often got on the bus, staring wildly at everyone. But she was just clocking their fashion choices. And wondering if she should flash her credit cards again that lunchtime.

  But the small amount of exercise was good for her. She had flicked through Isabella’s book the previous evening and realised she was now on Rule Number Four. Exercise.

  ‘For una bella figura’ – a fine figure, Violet translated – ‘you must do a little walking each day. We Italians take the evening passeggiata’ – walk – ‘before dinner. It is good for both the digestion and the soul.’

  Violet wondered whether her bus journey and short walk would impress Isabella. Probably not.

  ‘You must do a little activity each day that makes you breathless. You may include l’amore, if you wish.’

  Breathless? Sex? What it made Violet, to be honest, was a bit stressed. All that revealing of naked flesh and for what? The only time recently that Sebastian had made her breathless was with anger.

  It was time to send out the wedding invitations. She had the invites for her work colleagues in her handbag. But the invitations had brought up the subject of which wedding list to choose.

  It turned out that Violet’s dreams of a few choice presents of candlesticks and other keepsakes didn’t correspond with Sebastian’s ideas. He wanted to ask for money instead.

  ‘We can’t,’ Violet told him, aghast.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘It’s not right,’ she told him. ‘We don’t need it with the inheritance coming next year.’ She had a sudden thought. ‘We could always ask people to give to charity instead, on our behalf.’

  ‘You must be bloody joking,’ said Sebastian. ‘Some goat given to some loser in Africa? What’s the point? And since when did you start disagreeing with everything I say?’

  ‘I don’t.’

  ‘Yes, you do. Since you’ve lost weight, you’ve changed.’ He bit his lip. ‘I suppose you don’t even want to marry me any more.’

  Violet flung herself at his knees and stared up at him. ‘Of course I do,’ she stammered. Her heart was thumping at the thought of not marrying Sebastian, of being alone.

  ‘I just don’t think it’s polite,’ she told him. ‘Asking for money like that when we already have so much of our own.’

  He rubbed her hair. ‘Let me do the thinking, pumpkin. It’ll be fine.’

  In the end, they had compromised on registering for gifts at John Lewis. Violet had spent a wretched couple of hours wandering around the home section with Sebastian, trying to choose cutlery and crockery that they both liked. He appeared as uninterested in the choices as she was so they had ended up choosing a set that neither of them really liked. Sebastian quickly got bored and wandered off, zapping the barcodes of ridiculous items such as cocktail
shakers, a wine thermo meter and a cricket bat.

  Violet had glanced longily at the garden section. There were some raised herb gardens in grey that she would have loved. But Sebastian had begun to yawn and get restless so she didn’t bother.

  Violet dragged her mind back to the present and found that the bus hadn’t moved very far. It was barely quicker than the car journey that she had been struggling with every day. The bus lanes made a bit of a difference but the whole town came to standstill at quarter to nine.

  She glanced at her watch. She daren’t be late again. She might get the sack. She realised in that instant that she really enjoyed her job. She liked using her brain and the responsibility.

  She made a decision and stood up. It was only a short distance to the office. So she got off the bus and began to walk. There was something about walking past everyone in their cars that made her feel quite smug. She wasn’t sure if the fumes were doing her lungs any good but she could feel her face glowing by the time she got to work.

  She had just pressed the button in the lift to go up to her floor when Mark slipped his way through the gap, a little breathless. ‘Good morning,’ he said, panting slightly. ‘Traffic’s a nightmare this morning.’

  ‘Good morning,’ replied Violet, also still out of breath from her walk.

  Her mind suddenly flashed to Isabella’s words on what could make you breathless. Thankfully her blushes were hidden as her cheeks were already red.

  ‘What have you been up to?’ asked Mark, studying her rosy face.

  ‘I got off the bus early to walk,’ Violet told him as the lift doors slid open.

  They walked down the corridor together until they reached the department. It was only just after nine o’clock.

  Violet glanced over to Anthony, who was just finishing a phone call and rolling his eyes as he put down the receiver.

  ‘What?’ she asked him.

  ‘Pbkc,’ he told her.

  Violet’s mind panicked. Was this some new kind of technology that she hadn’t yet grasped? Or even thought of?

  But Anthony’s face split into a grin. ‘Problem between keyboard and chair,’ he told her.