Sweet Temptation

by Lucy Diamond

  She brightened at the question. ‘Ooh, that would be lovely,’ she said. ‘Yes, please. Mind you … the lady who always does my nails works at the salon. I don’t know if she’d do home visits.’

  ‘I can always ask,’ I said, shrugging. ‘What’s her name?’

  ‘Jessica,’ she said. ‘Lovely girl. Very kind and well-mannered. What’s so funny?’

  I was smiling. ‘Nothing,’ I said. I loved a coincidence. ‘I’ll see if I can sort out an appointment.’

  ‘Hi, Jess? It’s Maddie from FatBusters. Listen, thanks for the other day – it really helped, talking to you.’

  ‘Pleasure,’ she said. ‘How’s the diet going? Is everything all right?’

  ‘The diet’s fine,’ I said. Ahhh, of course. She thought I was calling for more Diet Buddy help. If only life was so simple. ‘It’s just … Remember I said my mum was ill? Well, it turns out she’s a client of yours. Anna Noble?’

  ‘Anna’s your mum? Oh wow, she’s so lovely,’ Jess said, sounding thrilled. ‘Honestly, she’s one of my favourites. I thought I hadn’t seen her for a while. Is she feeling better?’

  A sob caught in my throat and I had to take a deep breath before I could speak. ‘Um … No, not really,’ I said baldly. ‘Actually, she’s got cancer. And …’ I’d really meant to keep it together, but it was almost impossible to say the words without breaking down.

  ‘Oh, Maddie,’ Jess said, and the sympathy in her voice was enough to tip me over the edge, tears swimming instantly into my eyes. ‘Oh gosh, I’m so sorry.’

  I wiped my wet face with my bare arm, trying valiantly to get a grip. ‘Sorry,’ I managed to get out after a moment. ‘She’s really not very well at all. There’s not a lot anyone can do, but the thing is, she was saying today how much she misses having her nails done, and I just wondered …’

  ‘I’ll do her nails,’ Jess said at once. ‘Any time. Is she well enough to come to the salon, or do you want me to come round one evening?’

  ‘Would you? Come round, I mean? I don’t think she’s up to going out at the moment. But if you don’t mind coming to her house …’

  ‘Of course I don’t mind,’ she said. ‘I can’t really sneak out from the salon during the day – my boss has got it in for me at the moment – but I could be there one evening, or even on Monday. That’s my day off. Just name a time and I’ll be there with my bag of tricks.’

  ‘Tomorrow? Is that too soon?’

  ‘That’s fine. I’ll come straight from work. Actually, that’s perfect because Charlie works late on a Wednesday, so I don’t need to—’ She broke off. ‘I’ll be there about six. What’s the address?’

  Bless her, she was as good as her word and was there on the dot of six the next day, looking slightly wide-eyed as she entered the hall. ‘Oh my goodness!’ she hissed, gazing around nervously. ‘It’s so big! It’s like one of those stately homes or something!’

  I thought she was taking the mickey at first until I realized she was genuinely awestruck, and I looked around, seeing the house through her eyes. You don’t notice the details of a place when you’ve lived there yourself – you take it all for granted, don’t you? – but yes, the hall was larger and more cavernous than most, with its original Victorian stained glass inner door and the pristine black and white checked tiles that led the eye dizzyingly along into the body of the house. A huge mirror hung on the left wall, and there was a wide wooden staircase to the right, its carved banister curving down beautifully at the end.

  ‘Come on in,’ I said, ushering her into the living room, where Mum was still on the sofa. ‘Here she is. Mum?’

  My mum had a splayed Maeve Binchy on her chest and her eyelids were lowered as she dozed, but at my words, her eyes snapped open. She blinked, then smiled rapturously at the sight of Jess. ‘Am I glad to see you, darling,’ she said. ‘Thank you so much for coming here – after your shift at work as well. I hope you aren’t too tired. Can we get you anything to eat or drink?’

  ‘Just a glass of water, please,’ Jess said timidly to me. ‘If that’s all right.’

  ‘Of course,’ I said, and then, seeing her hovering there uncertainly, suddenly came over all emotional and gave her a hug. ‘Thanks for this,’ I said. ‘You’re so kind, we really appreciate it.’

  She turned pink as I let her go and I immediately thought I had overdone it, that I’d overstepped the mark. But then she took my hand and gave it a squeeze. ‘Pleasure,’ she said, then beamed at Anna. ‘I’ve missed you, you know. The salon hasn’t been the same. Now – what can I do for you? Maddie said you’d like a manicure, but I’ve brought along some oils too in case you fancy a massage …’

  My mum’s face lit up at the thought; there was real pleasure in her eyes. I had to hurry to the kitchen to get Jess’s water so that neither of them could see the tears in my own eyes. It felt good to have arranged something nice for Mum when she’d had such a crap time lately. I filled a jug with water and ice cubes, replaying her delighted smile in my mind. For that alone I owed Jess. I owed her big-time.

  Paul and the kids came back from Wales, tanned and smiling. I threw my arms around them one after the other. It had been the longest time I’d ever spent away from them, and through my joy at seeing them again I felt a twist of guilt as I realized they’d barely been on my radar all week, I’d been so wrapped up in what Mum was going through.

  The following day I was going to have to return to work, worst luck. I’d had to draw up a highly complicated system of childcare arrangements because, in the past, Mum had always looked after Emma and Ben for me during the holidays, and this was obviously out of the question now. All the holiday drama/adventure/sports clubs and classes had been solidly booked for months, I kept being told, so I’d been phoning around mates, calling in every favour I could think of, with some begging thrown in for good measure.

  I was worried that I wouldn’t be able to concentrate on actually doing any work, as I was finding it hard to think about anything else but Mum. She was due to start chemo the following week, and I was in bits worrying about it. What if she lost her hair? She was so beautiful, and so shamelessly vain, too. I couldn’t bear the thought of her trying to retain her dignity with wigs and hats. There was only so much stiff upper lip one woman could manage, even an actress like her.

  ‘I think it’ll be good for you to get back to work,’ Paul said the night before, massaging my shoulders. I’d been Googling frantically to find out everything I could about chemotherapy and was all knotted up and crunchy. ‘It’ll take your mind off things for a while, won’t it?’

  ‘I suppose so,’ I replied, but it seemed like a betrayal somehow, trying to put poor Mum out of my mind. Surely I should be there, holding her hand through all of this, rather than buggering off to the day job?

  Paul seemed to read my thoughts. ‘Come on, Maddie, she’s told you herself that she doesn’t want hand-wringing and moping. She wants everything to be as normal as possible. And if you’re hanging around being anxious, then—’

  ‘I’m not hanging around,’ I said indignantly, tears springing to my eyes. ‘And I’m not moping. I’m her daughter! I’m trying to come to terms with the fact that she’s got cancer!’

  His arms went around me and he held me. ‘Oh love, I know, I didn’t mean it to sound like that,’ he said, his face against mine. ‘Sorry. Oh, don’t cry …’

  He was right, though. I needed to keep up appearances. Much as I wanted to put my head on Mum’s lap and weep into it all day every day, railing at how unfair life was and begging her not to die on me, it wouldn’t do any good. So, feeling woolly-headed after another sleepless night, I went into work.

  It was only when I got to my desk that I realized – Oh, shit – it was Collette’s fortnightly Make Birmingham Beautiful roundup today. I almost turned on the spot and walked out again in horror as the truth dawned. Aaarrgh. I really couldn’t cope with any snide remarks from Collette, not when I felt so vulnerable and weepy. In fact I wished wholehearted
ly that I’d had the forethought to pull a sickie that morning to avoid what would undoubtedly be another humiliating experience.

  ‘Hi Maddie!’ called Becky as I switched on my PC. ‘Had a lovely break? You had nice weather for it.’

  I managed to smile. ‘The weather was pretty good, yeah,’ I replied. That wasn’t an outright lie, at least – of the three days I’d lasted in Wales, we’d had two scorchers; you couldn’t complain about that. ‘Blimey, email-tastic,’ I said as my inbox appeared on screen. ‘I’d better get my head down and work through these before anything else.’

  Well, that was one holiday conversation kept succint, I thought, ploughing through my messages. So far so good. And Collette’s head was usually rammed so far up her own bum, she didn’t often remember to ask about other people’s lives – I was probably safe from her, too.

  Just as I was thinking about her, she appeared in the office with her usual takeaway coffee and a new pea-green bag on her shoulder. When she saw me she stopped dead, looked me up and down and did a dramatic hand-slapped-to-mouth-in-shock face. ‘Oh. My. God,’ she said. ‘Maddie! You’re shrinking! You are so shrinking!’

  For a moment I had an image of myself as Mrs Pepperpot dwindling down to the size of a fairy, but then I realized what she meant.

  ‘Becky, Em, Cathy, look at Maddie!’ she shrieked before turning back to me. ‘That diet is working, babe. You are looking slinky!’

  I wrinkled my nose. Slinky? Come off it. I was a million miles from slinky. But all the same, despite Collette’s theatricals, I did feel a brief blush of pleasure as everyone peered at me then nodded and agreed that yes, I had definitely lost a few pounds and my face was the slimmer for it.

  ‘Pretending to us you’ve been on holiday for the last week – yeah, right,’ Collette joked. ‘We all know you’ve been to Boot Camp or Fat Camp or whatever they call it!’

  Ouch. Just as she was being even slightly nice to me, she had to twist the knife. Fat Camp indeed. Actually, I probably have lost a few pounds, Collette, due to being worried sick about my mother having a massive brain tumour and cancer, I nearly snapped, but managed to keep the words back. I would probably only burst into tears, and she’d retaliate with a Whoa, backoff-mad-lady face of disgust.

  I said nothing. If looks could kill, though, she’d have been a goner, zapped instantly by my waves of hatred, writhing on the floor in agony and regret.

  ‘Can you believe it’s been a fortnight since our last Campaign Catch-up?’ Collette cooed halfway through the show. ‘We’ve had a great response to our Make Birmingham Beautiful Campaign so far – thousands of you have been checking our website for our beauty tips and giveaways, and we’ve had hundreds of emails and texts telling us how you’ve been doing.’

  I pulled a face at Becky. Hundreds of emails? That was rather an overstatement. Still, Collette liked to play up her importance, we both knew that. If you believed her claims, she was up there with Chris Moyles in the listener ratings.

  ‘I bet you’re dying to know how we’ve all been getting along over the last two weeks, aren’t you?’ she went on. ‘Well, don’t you worry, the wait will be over very soon. We’ll give you a full report right after this fab new song from Lily Allen. Take it away, girlfriend.’ She pressed a button to start the song, then gestured to Becky and me to go into the studio for our piece. Oh God. I really didn’t feel like doing this today – talking about myself live on air. Forget all my past ambitions, forget my stupid dreams of being a presenter, today I just wanted to be quiet and anonymous, keep my head down and get through the day until I could clock off and check on Mum.

  It was rather a squeeze in the studio, and I felt conscious of my bulk as Becky and I perched across from Collette on her desk where the large ‘guest’ microphone hung down from the ceiling. Behind her bank of monitors and computer equipment, she fiddled around cueing up the adverts before looking up at us.

  ‘All set?’ she asked. ‘Excellent. So I’ll intro the piece, then we’ll do you, Bex, then link in to Andy, and finally you, Maddie. Remember to smile for the webcam, okay?’

  I glanced warily up at the camera pointing right at us. Oh no. I’d completely forgotten about that little bonus. So not only would I be talking live on air, but footage of us in the studio would be beamed onto thousands of computers at the same time. Help. I wished I’d worn something more flattering and bothered to do my hair properly that morning. It hung lank and uncared-for over my shoulders, and the baggy top I was wearing hadn’t seen an iron for a while. Frankly, my personal appearance had been the least of my concerns recently.

  Collette ran the adverts, then winked at us. ‘You’re listening to Brum FM, and this is Collette McMahon, with you until two o’clock. And, as promised, we’re going to be catching up on the team’s progress with our campaign to Make Birmingham Beautiful. Even more beautiful than it already is, of course – we all know the Mailbox is the most gorgeous sight in the world if you’re a shopper like me, ha-ha. So, if you can cast your minds back to two weeks ago, I’d given us each a challenge. Mine was to trial a Colour Consultation, Becky was having a make-up lesson, Andy was booked in with a personal shopper for an image makeover, and good old Maddie was continuing her fatbusting mission. Phew! Don’t say we do nothing for you lot!’

  Indeed. How incredibly self-sacrificing Collette was, I thought waspishly as I listened to her yap on about how she’d dared wear a green top for the first time after her consultation, and how she was now passionately in love with her divine new green bag. This never would have happened while Chip was running the show.

  Becky was next, and she falteringly described her makeup lesson. She kept going blank, I could tell from her grimaces at Collette, who finally put her out of her misery. ‘Check out Becky’s handiwork on our website, guys,’ she said. ‘We’ve posted some before and after shots there. I must say, her skin is looking particularly flawless these days. Now, let’s hear from Andy, our boss, about his little makeover. Obviously, Andy, you always look fabulous to me, honey, but did you learn any new summer style tips from the personal shopper?’

  Andy, who was in another studio, chatted briefly about his experience of trying to wear bright blue board shorts and deck shoes without looking like a complete pillock. ‘I did get a few comments walking round the Pallasades,’ he said. ‘Not in a good way, unfortunately. And my wife took one look at me and burst out laughing. I guess I’m just a jeans and T-shirt kind of guy, Collette.’

  ‘Well, we’ll see what our listeners have to say about that,’ Collette replied. ‘You’ll find photographic evidence of Andy’s trendy summer look on our website, and a poll where you can vote on whether you think he looks hot … or not! And don’t forget, we’ll be giving you the chance to win vouchers for all these experiences – a colour consultation, a make-up lesson at Selfridges or a personal shopper for two hours – so stay tuned! Before that, though, we’ve got one more member of the team left. She’s been counting the calories and fighting the fat … it’s Maddie.’

  I gulped as she turned in my direction.

  ‘Before we hear from her, I must say, I do recommend that you all have a look on the webcam to see how Maddie’s losing the pounds,’ she said, smirking across the desk at me. ‘She’s totally shaping up, and she’s right here to tell us all about it. Over to you, Maddie.’

  I took a deep breath, horribly aware of the camera pointing straight at me, and terrified at the thought of my fat, frightened face pixellated on all those computer screens.

  ‘Well, I’ve had quite a tough time of it lately,’ I blurted out, and then shut my mouth in surprise. Where had that come from? But before I could stop myself, the words were pouring out.

  ‘My mum’s been taken ill suddenly, and I’ve been really worried about her,’ I said. I clenched my fingers to try and stop them trembling. Adrenaline spiked through me as my mouth kept working all of its own accord. ‘As well as scaring me half to death, it’s made me have a good think about my own health. I haven’t
done a lot of exercise over the last … well, over the last thirty years, if I’m honest. And seeing my mum so unwell has brought it home to me just how important your health and fitness are. So I’ve been going to the gym quite a lot and …’

  Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Collette making get-on-with-it motions, but I ignored her. I was on a roll.

  ‘And it’s funny, because being a large person, I always thought I’d be laughed at in a gym. Sneered at. “What’s she doing in here?” sort of thing. But everyone’s been really supportive there. Everyone’s encouraged me, praised me, made me feel good about trying to change myself and get fit. And with all the stress and worry about my mum, the gym’s become the one place that makes me feel strong, like I can cope and I’m taking back some control of my life. I’m doing it for my mum and my husband and my kids, because I want to have the energy and strength to love them and look after them, but most of all, I’m doing it for me. Yes, I’m doing this for me – and it feels great.’

  I stopped abruptly, slightly shaken at the torrent of words that had burst from me. Oh my God. What had I just said? Had it made any sense? It had been as if someone else was speaking, not me. Becky’s arm was around my shoulders, and I hadn’t even noticed her putting it there.

  There was a brief pause before Collette leaped in to fill it. She looked rather taken aback, as if she hadn’t expected me to speak for so long. Mind you, I hadn’t expected it either.

  ‘Thank you, Maddie,’ she said. ‘Well! That was certainly straight from the heart. Any suggestions for our next beautifying missions are welcome – I’ll keep you posted about our new challenges on my blog. Coming up – details of how you could win some treats to make yourself more gorgeous, but first, let’s hear from Nita, who’s got our travel roundup.’

  She flicked a switch and we heard Nita’s voice telling tales of torment on the M42. Becky gave me a squeeze. ‘You okay?’ she asked in a low voice.