City Girl

by Patricia Scanlan

  A glance at her watch told her it was already five thirty and, slipping out of bed, she tiptoed slowly to the window and lifted the blind. Dawn was just breaking, a pale rose-tinted glow in the east, lightening the dark shadows of the night. Devlin watched as the glow slowly increased in strength, streaks of gold and pink exploding through the dark cloud until finally, the sun silently, majestically, rose over the horizon exploding into a brightness that encompassed the whole of the sky. Watching the magnificent orb pouring its rays like molten gold over the earth she knew she would have to make her decision. What right did she have to deprive the child within her of the chance of ever witnessing a sunrise as beautiful and miraculous such as she had just seen?

  A sense of calm and peace descended on Devlin. In the distance she could hear bird-song. Her body relaxed as the tension that had been her companion for so long ebbed away and she stood looking out over the now tranquil grounds, the grass below her like a luxurious emerald carpet. The hibiscus and roses created a voluptuous profusion of colour as they drank in the sun’s life-giving rays. As she stood quietly watching day’s triumph over night Devlin knew that no matter what happened in the future, she would have her baby. No matter what Lydia, Colin, and the neighbours thought.

  After a while Devlin got back into bed, leaving her blinds open and listened to the dawn chorus. Idly she picked up the health and beauty magazine she had taken from the TV room. She flicked through the pages, reading whatever caught her interest until an item near the back of the periodical caught her eye. Sitting bolt upright, she read carefully and then neatly tore the section from the page.

  Devlin smiled. Her mind was bright and clear, she felt strong and purposeful. Washing and dressing rapidly she packed away her overnight things. Already she could hear the noise of the tea trolleys as breakfasts were pushed along the corridors to the faceless ones behind closed doors. Quietly, she opened her door and walked towards the nurse’s station. The nurse, relaxing after her night shift, looked up in surprise. Before she could speak, Devlin said with authority, ‘I’m not having an abortion. Please give my apologies to the gynaecologist and Mrs Harrison for any inconvenience I may have caused. The bill for my stay has already been taken care of. Good morning.’ She didn’t wait for a response but walked swiftly down the stairs and out the front door into the sunlight.

  Breathing deeply she stood on the steps for a few moments before striding briskly down the flower-edged drive, her long blond hair lifting behind her in the early morning breeze. Her aches and pains were gone, her nausea had disappeared, she was ravenously hungry and ready for a hearty breakfast. Rashers, sausages, eggs, pudding, fried bread. She could almost taste it.

  Without looking back she walked rapidly and purposefully through the large gates hoping she wouldn’t have difficulty finding a taxi. Already there was plenty of traffic on the road to the city and it wasn’t long until she was sitting in the comfort of a roomy cab. ‘The London Tara please,’ Devlin instructed crisply, giving the driver the address of the Aer Lingus-owned hotel where she always stayed when she was in London. The Tara did the best breakfasts in England and she would shortly be tucking into one of them. Her stomach gurgled, reminding her how hungry she was. Of course she was eating for two now. Sitting back, she smiled and stretched. Her decision was made; it was time to think of the future and the first thing on her agenda was breakfast.

  Caroline’s Story – I

  Six

  Caroline Stacey stepped gingerly on the weighing scales in the corner of her bedroom, took a deep breath and looked down. She did a double take. Nine stone five! She’d lost almost four pounds this week so far. She hugged herself with delight. Just wait until Martin O’Brien saw her in her jeans, the smart alec creep.

  She hated Martin O’Brien with a deep and burning hatred. Were the gates of heaven to be closed in her face she could never forgive him for the pain, hurt and awful humiliation he had caused her.

  Her face burned at the memory of the contemptuously cruel words he had spoken to his friend, almost a year ago, not knowing that Caroline could hear. ‘A big lump of lard,’ he had called her. And worse, he had stood her up on the night of her Debs Ball, leaving her sobbing in an enormous sack of a dress which the dressmaker, lying in her teeth, had told her ‘flattered her curves.’ Caroline, whose self-esteem was almost non-existent, had pathetically believed her, trying not to see the ungainly bulky figure that filled the mirror. She had pretended she was losing weight; her waist had certainly gone in.

  Nine o’clock arrived. Martin should have been there at eight and she knew in her heart that he was not going to come. She avoided the pitying yet ashamed looks her two brothers were giving her. Thank God her father was teaching a night class in the local comprehensive. At least she didn’t have to listen to him. It had been bad enough having to get Declan, her brother, to ask one of his friends to go to her Debs with her.

  ‘Aw feckin hell, Caroline! Do I have to? All me mates’ll give me an awful slaggin,’ he had growled in irritation.

  ‘Please Declan,’ she pleaded, in despair at the thought of being the only girl in her class not to have someone to go to her Debs with. Why couldn’t she be like the other girls, so confident and self-assured, never tongue-tied with boys. Some of them had even slept with their boyfriends. Caroline had envied them so badly . . . she had never even been kissed. But the worst of the whole affair had been the week after the Debs she had not attended. She had been shopping in town, getting some of the weekly groceries. Hot, tired, she had lugged her parcels up the stairs of the bus, in the hopes of finding a seat on the upper deck. There was just one, near the front and she sank wearily into it, only to discover in horror that Martin O’Brien, stander up of fat debs, was in the seat in front. He was chatting to a friend and did not see her.

  Even now, nearly a year later on, stones lighter and no longer a schoolgirl but a third level student, Caroline felt a rush of blood to her cheeks as she remembered Martin’s jeering comment to his friend who had accused him of chickening out of bringing her to the dance.

  ‘Christ, would you be seen dead with that big lump of lard?’

  Caroline would never ever forget the cringing sickening moment that she had heard herself being so cruelly described. Beetroot red, she had got off the bus a stop before the terminus, so she wouldn’t have to face them, and taken the long way to her house. Heavy-hearted, lard-laden, she had trudged home, locked herself in the bedroom, stripped naked and looked at herself in the mirror.

  Oh Divine Mother, what a sight she had been! Wads of fat bulging everywhere like great rolls of suet, white and yes, lardy looking. Pulling on her large passion-killer of a flannelette nightdress she had gotten into bed at five o’ clock in the evening, much to the dismay of her father and two brothers who arrived home shortly afterwards for their evening meal.

  Caroline smiled at the memory. Putting on her robe she slipped quietly out of the bedroom, noting with satisfaction that her friend Devlin was still asleep in the other bed. She would bring her up her breakfast in bed for a treat. If it wasn’t for Devlin, she’d never have come this far.

  Briskly, she placed strips of bacon, sausages, and tomatoes on the grill, enough for one. In times gone by, she too would have indulged in a large fry-up for breakfast. Now she settled for grapefruit and a slice of brown bread. Those cruel words and her friendship with Devlin had been a turning point of sorts, she mused, as she sat waiting for the breakfast to cook. Over the last year her life had certainly changed for the better. Her hands slid down over the outline of her figure. God, she had been so fat! Ever since her mother died four years before, she’d been fat.

  Caroline’s mother had died when she was fourteen and it was since then that she had slowly, steadily and unrelentingly eaten her way through her grief. The youngest child and only girl in the family, she was dominated by the three males in the house, her father Tony, a maths lecturer, and Declan and Damien, her two brothers. Until her mother died she had been happy enough. S
hy and quiet, Caroline adored her vivacious good-natured mother who was always there for her, who always made a fuss of her little achievements and who made her feel important and cherished. When Caroline had got her first period, she had been so proud because her mother had said encouragingly, ‘Now you’re a woman, honey, and we have even more in common.’ Caroline had felt ten foot tall. Her mother was treating her almost like an adult and they were starting to have such fun. The day she had gone to have her first bra fitted they had had such a laugh. Eva Stacey was a big woman and the fitting cubicle was a rather delicate hardboard affair. As Caroline struggled with unfamiliar hooks and straps, Eva had leaned against the cubicle, causing it to sway unsteadily. Horror-stricken, Eva and Caroline stared at each other before succumbing to a fit of the giggles that could be heard throughout the lingerie department. The saleswoman had not been amused. Eva loved town and shopping and each Saturday, mother and daughter would sally forth to hit the shops. On Sundays they’d go to the open-air markets.

  Her mother was Caroline’s best friend and when she died suddenly of a heart attack at the age of fifty-one, Caroline had been devastated. Her rock, her pillar of strength, was gone and she had never felt so alone in her life. Her father, grief-stricken, had just given up on life as his world collapsed around him. He was so caught up in his own grief that he hadn’t seen what her mother’s death had done to Caroline. He hadn’t seen her increasing unhappiness, her total lack of self-confidence. All he knew was that he had a good daughter who took care of the house, fed himself and the boys and didn’t go out dancing and boozing like some of the young rossies he taught. It never occurred to him that maybe his daughter might have liked to go out dancing now and again, that she might have liked some life of her own like her brothers. As long as his dinner was put in front of him and he could go for his pint at nine and then come back home and do his crossword, he was content.

  Her brothers, unwittingly taking their cue from their father, treated Caroline as though she was a surrogate mother, expecting their meals when they were hungry and their clothes to be washed and ironed for them. They would give her the odd fiver and think they were great. It wasn’t that they didn’t love her; in their own way they were protective of her. It was simply that they just didn’t think of her as a person. To them she was their sister Caroline who was shy and fat and could be a bit of an embarrassment when their mates were around. And so, quietly, uncomplainingly, Caroline took care of the three men in her family and kept their shabby but homely dormer bungalow in Marino as clean and tidy as possible, as well as attending school and trying to study for her exams.

  To compensate for everything that was lacking in her life, Caroline ate. For the loss of her mother, for the demands made upon her, for her lack of self-esteem, for the miserable time she had at school, for everything that was wrong with her life, the list was endless. The only joy in her life was food. She ate huge breakfasts, she made herself double-decker sandwiches for lunch, she would supplement this with crisps and chocolate during school breaks, and then when she got home she would have a big dinner. The more unhappy she became the more she ate and the stones piled on. Until Martin O’Brien’s unforgettable insults she had been the fattest and unhappiest teenager in the world. Then Devlin Delaney had come to her rescue and taken her in tow.

  The smell of sizzling bacon brought Caroline out of her reverie and quickly and efficiently she dished up the grill, placed it on a tray already loaded with cereal and juice and set off for the bedroom. A sleepy tousled Devlin greeted her.

  Caroline looked with supreme envy upon her friend, her blond hair tumbling sensually around her tanned shoulders, small perfectly formed breasts holding up a pretty negligee. To be as slim and as self-assured as Devlin, who was after all two years younger than her, was her secret dream. It had never ceased to amaze her that Devlin, who was Declan’s girlfriend, should have been the slightest bit interested in being friends with the fat dowdy person she had been. It was thanks to Devlin that she had got so far and lost so much weight.

  Declan had met her at a rugby club dance. He came home raving about this beautiful blonde he had ‘got off with’ and Caroline had listened to his delighted ravings with envy. Oh to be the object of someone’s desire! This blond bombshell obviously had everything that Caroline lacked: good looks, good figure, dazzling personality. She felt an uncharacteristic dislike for this unknown paragon. When Declan brought Devlin home Caroline’s heart sank. She was beautiful! No doubt she was stand-offish as well. After all wasn’t her father a bank manager, and didn’t they live in Foxrock?

  Nothing could have been further from the truth. There wasn’t an ounce of stand-offishness about Devlin. It was impossible for Caroline to be shy with the bubbling chatty younger girl.

  Declan and Devlin had been going to a local dance themselves the night Caroline had overheard Martin’s hurtful remarks. Devlin had been staying the night and had overheard Caroline sobbing into her pillow. Horrified at the other girl’s misery, she had kindly but firmly got to the bottom of it and decided, as Caroline, pathetically red-eyed and embarrassed at her behaviour, tried to pretend that she didn’t really care, that she was going to do something about Caroline Stacey and the way her family treated her.

  The first thing she had done was to persuade Caroline to enrol in Unislim. ‘Let’s do it, Caroline, I’ve heard some of the girls in my class talking about it, it’s just what we need to keep us fit,’ she had said tactfully. It had been a turning point in Caroline’s life. Never would she forget her first class when, dressed in a grey and pink tracksuit, selected by Devlin, and looking like a baby elephant, she had with the utmost reluctance climbed on the scales. Scarlet, she had heard Maureen, the attractive good-humoured woman who ran the class say kindly but firmly as the needle shot up to fourteen and a half stone: ‘Now Caroline, all this . . .’ she took a wad of fat and gave it a little pinch, ‘is not good for you. You’re an intelligent attractive girl with your whole life ahead of you. Starting now. Together we can do it.’

  Caroline was full of resolve as she accepted her ‘Quik-Loss’ Diet Plan, her Recipe for Successful Slimming book and her attendance card which stated her disgusting present weight of fourteen and a half stones. Her target weight was eight and a half stone and Caroline decided grimly that if it was the only thing she ever did in her life she was going to reach it. After Maureen’s humorous but commonsense talk – ‘bread is a time bomb, girls’ and ‘let’s put years of mindless eating behind us and re-educate ourselves,’ had come the exercise class that Caroline had been dreading. Puffing and panting and bending and twisting her ungainly body this way and that she was convinced that all eyes were upon her. Her heart sank lower and lower in mortification and she vowed she was not going to stay for the exercises any more. Lots of people just weighed in, left after the talk and did the exercises at home.

  ‘You’ll do no such thing, Caroline Stacey,’ exclaimed Devlin when Caroline informed her of her plan after their class.

  ‘Believe me, Caro, no-one is even thinking about you. Everybody is too concerned about doing the exercises themselves and anyway there are some girls there who are much heavier than you, so stop that nonsense!’

  It was true of course, she saw herself, the next class she took. It had been marvellous – she had stuck firmly to her ‘Quik-Loss’ plan for the week, as instructed, despite ravenous hunger pains, headaches and a constantly gurgling stomach. She went to bed early so she wouldn’t be tempted in the kitchen and had the most satisfying dreams about cream cakes and chips and homemade scones dripping with butter, jam and cream. But she kept to her diet for the whole week and consequently floated along to her class a whole eight pounds lighter.

  Maureen had been delighted for her. ‘An excellent start, Caroline; you’re well on the way,’ she beamed at her as Caroline stood on the scales and proudly saw her weight-loss noted.

  Devlin had come with her. ‘I might as well. I need the exercise,’ she said gaily when Caroline had asked
diffidently whether she was going to go every week or not. She had been delighted at the younger girl’s response; it was much easier to have company than to go alone. As she and Devlin sat waiting for the huge queue to be weighed in and listened to Maureen’s witticisms, Caroline had viewed her fellow classmates – housewives, working girls, elderly women, teenagers, and yes, some of them heavier than her, she realized that Devlin had spoken the truth. Everyone was too concerned about their own weight loss or gain to be staring at her, but nevertheless there was a kind of comradeship about the class that warmed her and made her feel part of a group in a way she never had before. As the weeks flew by and she steadily lost weight by eating properly for the first time in years, she began to talk to people in the group, making conversation spontaneously and not sitting shyly until someone else spoke first. It had been great and she really came to enjoy her weekly class.

  Devlin smiled with pleasure at the sight and smell of her breakfast. ‘You pet! What a treat. Did you weigh yourself this morning?’ her friend enquired sleepily, interrupting Caroline’s musings.

  ‘Four pounds gone!’ Caroline said, doing a little twirl of delight. Usually she was quite restrained but she couldn’t help looking in the mirror and seeing the new delightful curve of her waist, the firmness of a much-reduced bosom. Energetically she started her exercises, pushing herself to the limit. When she first started she had been breathless after two minutes. Now she could exercise for an hour and just be pleasantly puffed. Thoughts of the look on the Unmentionable One’s face when she next met him, spurred her on, even though she hadn’t seen him for ages.

  For the next six months she slimmed and exercised, concealing her increasing slenderness under the old bulky clothes. Devlin and Declan stopped dating by mutual agreement, although they remained friends, but the younger girl kept in contact with Caroline, encouraging her on the path of self-improvement. In return Caroline coached Devlin, who was studying for her Leaving Certificate, in the intricacies of sine, cosine and tan, although it was a hard struggle, Devlin being deeply unimpressed by the delights of elementary trigonometry.