by Lucy Diamond
I eyeballed him disbelievingly. ‘Just walking? You’re not going to try and make me do anything horrible like jogging, are you?’
He held up his hands, pretending to be shocked at my question. ‘Maddie Lawson! I never knew you could be so suspicious! What are you like?’
‘You’re not denying it,’ I pointed out, hands on my hips.
He laughed. ‘Come on, you,’ he said, hoicking a thumb towards the exit. ‘Let’s go.’
It was good to get outside, he was right. It was a lukewarm sort of day, cloudy with a slight breeze – perfect for a walk. We went out of the gym and along a quiet residential street. Birds sang. The occasional car purred by. Cats basked in warm front gardens and watched us through sleepy slit eyes. I was a bit too breathless for a long, in-depth conversation as we strode along, but we managed to exchange chit-chat about the weather, the new series of The X Factor, that sort of thing. Nothing too deep and meaningful, just banal stuff. Exactly what I needed – and all I was capable of, more to the point.
We’d walked for … ooh, at least five minutes before he clapped his hands together and grinned. ‘Right – now we’re warmed up, let’s get started on the workout,’ he said.
I pulled a face. ‘I thought this was the workout?’
He laughed. ‘Nice try, Maddie,’ he said. ‘Let’s go just a little bit faster. Halfway between a walk and a run. Like this.’
He broke into a jog and I felt my good mood collapse as his feet slapped the pavement. ‘That’s jogging!’ I shouted petulantly after him. I felt as if he’d cheated me somehow, tricked me into this.
‘Come on,’ he called over his shoulder. ‘Keep up.’
He was so bossy. So infuriatingly bossy. It reminded me of … Oh, no. Now I’d ruined everything by thinking of Mum and how she’d always bossed me around like this. And then – oh, the embarrassment! – I was crying, right there in the middle of the street, tears streaming out of me as if they’d just been waiting for the chance to escape.
Mike jogged back to me and put a hand tentatively on my shoulder. ‘Oh, Maddie,’ he said, his voice thick with concern. ‘Oh, Maddie, I’m sorry, love. I shouldn’t have pushed you. Not so soon.’
I couldn’t manage a reply. I was incoherent with the missing-her feeling that had swamped me once more. And then his arms were around me as I stood there sobbing, overwhelmed by my grief. He held me and stroked my hair and made little shush-shush noises of comfort. ‘Let it all out,’ he said. ‘Let it go.’
Let it all out? We would be there until next week, I felt like wailing. There was so much sadness banked up inside me that I couldn’t see it ever fully making its way out.
Still, life had to go on, eh? That’s what people kept saying, that was the message I kept getting. Down at the primary school, the mums had all been lovely and kind, with even bitchy Vanessa Gray managing a respectful nod of sympathy in my direction, but after a week I was old news, usurped by Caroline Thompson’s fifth pregnancy and Lisa Jackson’s marriage split. I was chip papers now, yesterday’s headline story.
It was the same with work. The first day I went back in, the rest of the team treated me as if I were made of bone china, as if I might shatter if they so much as looked at me the wrong way, but by the third day I was expected to do my job properly, muck in and pull my weight as ever. ‘Have you updated your diet blog yet?’ Andy wanted to know. ‘We’ve had lots of people enquiring after you.’
‘Can we have a brainstorming meeting later?’ Becky asked, looking tired. ‘We’re running thin on ideas this week.’
COFFEE PLS, AM PARCHED IN HERE, Collette emailed. At least I got a ‘please’ for once, I thought, rising miserably from my seat to tend to Her Majesty’s requirements.
Even Paul and the kids seemed to want me to snap out of my mourning period as soon as possible. They were back to their usual selves, Paul singing cheerfully in the shower again, the kids playing loud bouncy pop music in their bedrooms as if they hadn’t a care in the world. I felt I was dragging them down with my sadness, tarnishing them with it as if it were infectious, and tried my hardest to behave normally, putting tea on the table, asking about everyone’s day, helping with homework and ironing shirts. It felt as if I were acting the whole time, though, pretending to be a wife and a mum. My heart wasn’t really in it.
The FatBuster girls, Lauren and Jess, were lovely to me. Jess had come to the funeral and sought me out for a hug, and Lauren had sent me a really nice card via the radio station. I was still plugging away with the diet, crunching away on celery sticks and carrots like Bugs Bunny and cooking my low-fat dinners. To my amazement, I’d lost another half-stone by mid-September, though I was convinced that most of that was dehydration due to constant crying. Still, it meant I could buy myself another charm for my bracelet – I wasn’t about to argue the toss over that. I’d choose an extra beautiful one, I vowed, to remind me of Mum.
When I’d been back at work for a whole week, it was time for the Make Birmingham Beautiful campaign roundup.
‘Remember, girls, keep it professional,’ Collette said as Becky and I went into the studio. ‘Let’s keep it short, sweet and to the point. Okay? Let’s do it. Welcome back, everyone,’ she said as the Leona Lewis track ended, skipping smoothly into presenter mode. ‘I know you’ve all been waiting for this – it’s time for the latest instalment of our Make Birmingham Beautiful campaign! Now, this is the final week of our campaign, so let’s just see how far we’ve come, shall we? Thousands of you have emailed or phoned us with your own self-improvements, and I’ve got to say that, when I walked around town last Saturday, I was convinced that you Brummies were all looking even more gorgeous than ever.’ She chuckled huskily, without her expression actually changing. She was such a faker. ‘And while I’d like to take some of the credit for that, I think you guys out there listening deserve all the praise.’
I glanced at Becky, who did a tiny eye-roll. Collette didn’t half make a meal of her intros.
‘We’ve had people start healthy eating plans, and loads of you are taking up new sports around the city, including a whole posse of listeners who are training for the half-marathon next month,’ she went on. ‘We’re fitter, we’re happier, we’re healthier … and that’s just the Brum FM staff! So if you haven’t already written in with your beautifying story, do drop us a line and let us know. In the meantime, let’s hear from the Brum FM team – our very own Becky, Andy and Maddie. This time around, Becky and I tried out a fabulous new day spa in town, Andy’s been training with the Villa boys over at Bodymoor Heath, and Maddie … well, good old Maddie has been fatbusting away and is looking fabulous as a result.’ She winked at me, but I felt numb. Whatever, I thought. I couldn’t help feeling miffed that I’d been left out of the spa experience, just when I could do with some pampering as well. They probably didn’t want Maddie the misery along, I thought glumly as Becky started talking about her seaweed wrap and rejuvenating facial.
Andy was next with a funny report about how he’d barely been able to get out of bed the morning after his day’s football training, and how he was regretfully going to have to knock his Wembley dreams on the head now, at the ripe old age of forty-six.
Then it was my turn. I didn’t feel remotely prepared, even though I’d assured Becky earlier that morning that, yes, I would be fine to talk on air.
‘And finally, Maddie,’ Collette said warily, as if remembering my outburst last time. ‘How’s the fatbusting been going?’
I took a deep breath. Calm, professional and factual. That was what I wanted to be. ‘The fatbusting is going brilliantly,’ I managed to say. ‘I’m keeping up with my gym attendance and I’ve stuck to my diet. I’ve lost one and a half stone so far, and feel really proud of myself.’
Collette opened her mouth as if she was about to cut me off, but I didn’t give her the chance. ‘My mum died a few weeks ago,’ I went on baldly, avoiding Collette’s gaze. ‘I can’t tell you how hard it’s been – how hard it still is. But one good thing
that has come out of her pain and my grief is the motivation to get as healthy and fit as I can. I don’t want my own children to lose me any earlier than they have to.’
I could see Collette gesturing something or other, but I ignored her. ‘I used to have really low self-esteem, you know,’ I said, getting into my stride now. ‘I used to feel bad about myself, think I wasn’t worth very much. But getting fitter is changing all that for the better. Sure, I’m not a catwalk model or a pin-up girl and I never will be. I’m still not confident enough to go around in a cropped top, and I doubt they make skinny jeans in a size eighteen. But that’s not the point. The point is that, despite all the sadness I feel about my mum and the huge gap she’s left in my life …’ My voice started to crack and I needed another deep breath to keep myself on track. ‘Despite all that sorrow, for the first time since I can remember, I can honestly say I feel good about myself inside. And that, people, is worth every bit of hard work in the gym, I can tell you.’
I stopped abruptly and there was this weird moment of silence. I didn’t dare look across at Collette because I thought she’d be furious with me again for going ‘off-message’, but when I finally looked up, I saw a grudging sort of respect in her eyes. She gave a brief nod, then went on.
‘Thank you, Maddie. And I think I speak for everyone here when I say congratulations on your spectacular results. I know things have been hard lately, so it’s really laudable that you’ve stayed on the straight and narrow and are doing so brilliantly. Well done.’ She cleared her throat gruffly. ‘So that’s it from the campaign. I hope you’ve all enjoyed listening to us trying out our various beautifying doodahs. Remember, do check out our website for further details, and let us know how you’ve got on. Right now, it’s time for a news update with Alastair Barlow. Over to you, Alastair.’
She pressed a button. I felt drained now that my moment was over. It was cathartic, somehow, talking about myself on air like that, and even though I was sure I’d been more in control, more measured this time, I was still braced for a dressing-down from Collette now that the microphones were off.
Becky got in first, though. ‘Wow, Maddie, I don’t know how you do it,’ she said, grabbing my hand and squeezing it. ‘You’re so eloquent and so honest – that was really good radio. Straight from the heart, and beautifully done.’
‘Thank you,’ I said faintly, still waiting for the backlash from Herself.
But Collette actually managed a smile. A grimace, some might call it, but I recognized it as a smile. ‘Great stuff,’ she said. ‘Really. The switchboard’s gone mad already, look.’ She pointed to a row of small lights on her desk, all lit up like a Christmas decoration. ‘Thanks, both of you, I think this segment worked really well.’
Oh my goodness. Could it really be true? Praise from Collette – on air and in private. That I had not been expecting. Nor did I expect what happened soon afterwards – the phone call from Andy. ‘Hi, Maddie, could you come in to see me for a moment? Just for a quick chat.’
His tone of voice gave nothing away, and I wondered whether the quick chat was going to be a good one or a bad one as I walked along the corridor to his office. You could never tell, with Andy, what sort of a mood he would be in. He could be quite explosive and ratty; I’d seen him bawl out his secretary Janette enough times to know to dread his temper. It would be typical, I thought gloomily, if he ripped my piece to shreds just as Collette had said something nice to me for the first time in history.
I knocked tentatively on the door and went in.
Andy’s office was very boy’s-own and quite spartan, with a guitar in the corner, signed photos of The Who and Led Zeppelin in frames on a shelf, and several gold discs up on the wall. A huge cut-out of U2 stood to one side of the filing cabinet, their cardboard faces staring moodily at me.
‘Sit down,’ Andy said. He was smiling, eyes gleaming behind his glasses – surely that was a good sign?
‘Hi,’ I said nervously, folding my hands on my lap as I sat.
‘Maddie,’ he began, ‘I can’t tell you enough how brilliantly natural I think you are on air. Once again you’ve given us just a few sentences about yourself – and the response has already been amazing. People are phoning in, emailing, sending texts about what you said. You’ve struck a chord, my dear – and our listeners want more.’
‘Thank you,’ I said faintly.
He drummed his fingers on his desk. ‘Now, I know Collette has canned her campaign, and fair enough – she did say it was for the summer only,’ he went on. ‘But I’ve been wondering how you would feel about continuing your slot? Maybe a weekly piece about your diet and fitness campaign, maybe a phone-in session, tips, new recipes or gym advice … I was thinking we could call it something like “Weigh to Go”. What do you think?’
I was open-mouthed. I literally couldn’t speak for a moment. Weigh to Go. I loved it. I really loved it. My little slot, my pinch of time in the programme, my space to do my thing. Oh. My. God. Talk about a dream come true. ‘Really?’ I managed to reply eventually. ‘Do you mean it?’
He nodded, grinning. ‘I mean it. So … is that a yes?’
I was grinning too, and, oh, my heart was pounding and a delicious fluttery sensation was rising inside me. ‘Yes!’ I laughed. ‘Definitely. Are you sure? You’re not just winding me up? Or being nice because you feel sorry for me?’
He shook his head. ‘It’s not a wind-up, Maddie. The public love you. I think this could work really well for us all.’ He winked. ‘You’ve done good, girl. Really good.’
Chapter Fourteen
Spice of Life
Lauren
I’ve always loved the autumn. I positively relish the new-start, back-to-school feeling that September brings: it fills me with hope and good intentions every time, far more than January the first, when I’m usually hungover to hell and feeling bad about my godawful mess of a life. Plus there’s always really good stationery in the shops in September. I’m a sucker for a nicely turned pen.
This year was no exception on the optimism front. As August drew to a sticky end and September dawned with its fresh cool mornings and a sprinkling of golden leaves, I felt as if I suddenly had far more energy than usual – a renewed zeal for my job and for life in general. It wasn’t just the fact that I’d lost the best part of a stone over the summer (go, me!), which made me feel lighter, it was something inside, too, as if I’d finally let go of the bitterness I’d held clenched there for so long. I was over Brendan now, I’d come to terms with it. Okay, so my marriage hadn’t worked out, but hey – that didn’t make me a bad person, right? That didn’t mean I had to feel crap about myself.
‘Lauren Malone, have you been having sex with someone and not telling me about it?’ Patrick asked suspiciously one morning, staring at me across the office with narrowed eyes. ‘Only you seem in a bloody good mood today. Quite an annoyingly good mood, actually.’
I looked up blankly, then realized I’d been humming. Worse, I’d been humming ‘I’m in the Mood for Dancing’ by the Nolan Sisters. Oops.
‘I don’t need a shag to be in a good mood,’ I informed him with a certain degree of haughtiness. Then I forgot to keep up the haughtiness as a new wave of enthusiasm overtook me. ‘Actually, I’ve just been plotting a new marketing push for the agency,’ I went on. ‘What do you think of the slogan “Fall into Love this Autumn”?’
‘Fall into love … oh, right, as in the American kind of fall,’ he said, and raised his eyebrows. ‘Like it, centurion. Very nice. But you can’t fool me that easily. Go on, who is he? Is he that Joe bloke you fancied?’
In my dreams, I thought. I didn’t say as much, though, just gave him a withering look. ‘Patrick! Honestly, that’s how rumours get started …’
He jumped up from his seat. ‘Oh my GOD! You have! You dirty mare!’
I pulled a face at him. Let him think what he liked. I went back to my press release knowing that he was still goggling at me, and I hummed even louder.
Maddi
e was true to her word. Within a week she’d called to arrange for me to come into Brum FM to record an interview for Collette’s show. Coincidentally, Collette had just bagged herself a new bloke and was so loved-up that she was completely into the whole idea. ‘We’re running a new feature about Local Heroes and she wants to play up your role as Cupid,’ Maddie had said on the phone. ‘The angle is that you’re a hero because you’ve brought together so many happy couples in the city. And as we all know, love makes the world go round, blah blah.’
I laughed at her impression of Collette’s high-pitched, breathy voice. ‘Cheers, that’s brilliant,’ I told her. ‘I look forward to some blah blahing on Friday, then.’
It was only when I was waiting in the Brum FM reception area surrounded by framed black and white prints of all the DJs and with Gary Barlow warbling from the speakers above my head that I started to feel nervous. Me talking on the radio! I was sure to make a complete tit of myself somehow.
The blonde receptionist smiled at me through her perfect make-up. ‘Maddie’s just about to go on air now, but I’ve left a message that you’re here, and she’ll be out to see you straight afterwards, I’m sure,’ she said. ‘Can I get you a tea or coffee while you’re waiting?’
‘A black coffee, please,’ I said, sitting down on the squashy cream sofa. Maddie was about to go on air? What was all that about?
The song drew to a close, and then I heard Collette’s familiar voice. ‘That was the Take That boys of course, lovely stuff,’ she said. ‘And now we’ve got a brand new feature, which I’m sure will be fascinating.’
My ears pricked up. Collette didn’t sound too happy about this new feature whatever it was.