Rob phoned to say that the website was going nuts with hits. Even our less popular events – those with no prospect of food or drinks – were selling out. One-point-four million people had watched me talk about the Curvy Girls Club.
I soon realised that none of them worked in my office. My colleagues hadn’t the faintest idea where I’d been all morning. There, I was just regular old Katie, the fat girl in sales. I was a little deflated as I tucked my hair behind my ears, put on my headset and plugged into my computer. Well, what did I expect? That the world would change because I’d spent five minutes on TV? Really, Katie, get over yourself. You didn’t cure cancer.
Suddenly a giant bouquet of pink and orange gerberas rose above my cubicle divider. As I stood up, Pixie, Jane and Ellie popped up behind it, whisper-shouting Surprise! We were in an open-plan office, after all, where everyone was on the phone.
Pixie rushed around the partition wall to hug me. ‘We are so proud of you, love, congratulations!’
‘You were brilliant!’ said Jane, throwing her arms around Pixie and me. ‘That was fantastic, sweetheart. Honestly, that was good television.’
‘You should know,’ I said. ‘I can’t believe you came all the way over here to see me. You’re the best friends ever.’
‘Tell me everything!’ Ellie said, hugging me. ‘God, your hair is lacquered.’ She patted my wavy dark Elnett helmet. ‘Were you nervous? Did you get to see Peter Andre? What shade of Tango is he? Did he talk to you?!’
‘He went on before me,’ I said. ‘So I only saw him for a few minutes while we waited in the Green Room. And he’s now mahogany.’
She swooned a bit at this delicious titbit. ‘Did you remember to tell them how many unique views we’ve had?’
Rob had texted me the stats that morning. 817 unique views, 233 signups. Break a leg! Rob :-)
‘Oh no, I’m sorry, I was so nervous that I forgot. Next time you do the telly, okay? You could meet people like Peter Andre.’
She seemed to consider this sweetener, then shook her head, her mop whipping around her face. ‘No way, it’s not worth it. I’d die in front of the cameras. You’re the face of the Curvy Girls Club, Katie.’
As Ellie went back to her desk and Jane and Pixie went off to collect their children, her words rang in my ears. I tried not to crave green M&Ms and Evian baths, but I admit it was going to my head, a bit.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
My job had a way of bringing me down to earth, and it did so with a bump the next day, as I had to train the new crop of office newbies. This was part of the company’s more(work)-for-less(money) ethos. Wouldn’t it be fun, they enthused, to help each other?
I stood in front of eight young faces, awkwardly working through a baffling PowerPoint presentation cobbled together by one of the board members. When I got to a page of diagrams that weren’t even recognisable to me after working there for six years, I gave up.
‘Listen,’ I told my charges, some of whom snapped awake. ‘You’re going to be salespeople. Why don’t we talk about that instead of …’ I tried not to make a face. ‘This.’
Their relief was evident. I remembered being in their shoes. They were fresh out of college or uni. They’d just been through the scientific training week. Now they needed to know that their job wasn’t as terrifying as they imagined it to be.
‘I’ve got an idea. You’ve all had the scripts, right?’ We worked to rigorously planned scripts. We had to. Salespeople teetered on a tightrope between truth and fiction. Tying up our words kept us from going ‘rogue’ with the products, ensuring the company got revenue, not lawsuits. ‘Okay. Break into pairs and we’ll role play. Client and Nutritious rep.’
‘It sounds like corporate porn,’ said one young man near the front. He had the dimples and cheeky smile of a natural salesman.
I laughed. ‘That would make for a very boring wank.’ Oops, possibly shouldn’t have said wank to my new colleague. ‘Right, one of you is the client, the other is the rep. Clients, don’t make it easy for the rep, but keep it realistic. How would you honestly answer if cold-called like this? We’ll switch around roles in a little bit.’
I walked between the groups, making suggestions as I listened to each conversation. They soon got the hang of it and within an hour everyone was pitching like seasoned liars.
‘Excellent, very good,’ I said just as the clock struck time-to-go-home. ‘We’re finished. Does anyone have any questions?’
A willowy young woman at the front raised her hand. ‘Given that we’re in the business of selling health products, are there any rules, or guidelines, really, about how we should look? Not that I plan to get fat or anything!’
The boy with the cheeky smile sniggered and I felt the flush creep up my face. My smile froze in position. A few of the others stopped looking at me.
The girl said, ‘No, I didn’t mean … I wasn’t talking about—’
I cut her off. ‘There are no formal guidelines beyond our dress code,’ I said smoothly. ‘You’ll find that in your induction manual. Now, if there are no more questions, we can go. Good luck on the phones tomorrow.’
Eight new hires watched the embarrassed girl lumber from the conference room.
I couldn’t stop my heart from racing, even after sitting on the bench in the square next to our building. It was a tiny oasis of green where I often sat to clear my mind of the phone jabber. Tucked behind a line of evergreens, I was separated from the commuters shuffling along the pavement.
I put my hand on my chest, feeling my heart pound. Da-da-da-da-da-da- kerthunk! Maybe it wasn’t the caffeine, but thoughtless remarks from size eight women. One little comment and suddenly I was no longer Katie Winterbottom, competent salesperson. I was Cakey Katie, the ten-year-old child being teased in the playground. Of course kids were cruel little buggers. I just wished adults would think before they spoke. How many people bled from the cut of a sharp tongue?
Unsteadily I made my way back inside to the loo for a quick makeup triage. I actually felt a bit dizzy as I tried to steady my hand. I hoped I wasn’t coming down with something because there was no way I was going to miss my dinner reservation.
When I arrived, Rob was already in the restaurant’s reception room with around a dozen other Curvy Girls Club members.
‘Hi! Are you excited? I’m excited!’ I said as I kissed his cheek, inhaling his citrusy aftershave. I thought of Rob whenever I smelled lemons.
‘I’m excited, I’m excited!’ He jumped up and down flapping his hands.
‘Is that supposed to be me?’
‘What’s the matter? Not enough height on the leaps?’
‘Well, excuse me for looking forward to tonight.’ How could I not be enthused about eating a mysterious dinner in a pitch-black restaurant?
‘I love your excitement. It reminds me of my parents’ dog when I visit. Sometimes she even wees on the floor.’
‘Lucky for you I’ve just been to the loo.’ The room looked like any normal bar – black-clad staff, black-topped bar, wooden floors and large windows facing out onto Clerkenwell Green. Next door the pub was busy with after-work punters crowding the pavement to enjoy the mild evening.
‘This was an inspired suggestion, if I do say so myself,’ Rob said. ‘I’m looking forward to seeing what happens next. No pun intended. Do the lights go out in here? Or do we go through to another room?’
I shrugged, delighting in the element of surprise. ‘I can’t wait!’
‘Don’t get your hopes up too much, Katie. I don’t know if this will top the £2.65 you won at bingo last week. Nights like that are priceless.’
‘They are not priceless. They’re worth exactly £2.65.’
‘You can’t diss bingo. Potential for riches aside, the beautiful décor—’
‘You see beauty in strip lighting and 1970s panelling?’
‘Glamorous women?’
I grasped the backs of my arms. ‘Now I know where the expression bingo wings came from. Most of us could f
ly across the channel without setting foot in an airport.’
‘Handsome men?’
‘Did you see one with his own hair or teeth?’
‘Excuse me,’ he said, pointing to himself. ‘I’ll have you know this is all me.’ He flashed me a grin. I’d never thought to ask him if he’d had braces. He had a beautiful smile.
‘Present company excluded,’ I acknowledged. ‘As wonderful as it was to spend the night in bingo splendour, I have a feeling this is more my cup of tea.’
‘Because nobody can see you?’
I looked up sharply. ‘What makes you say that?’
‘Uh, because we’re going to be eating in the dark? Are you okay?’ He frowned.
‘Oh, fine. I’m fine. Just getting hungry, that’s all. Is everybody here?’
‘Katie, what’s—’
‘I’ll just go see if they’re ready for us.’ I hurried away before he could ask me again what was wrong.
I was being silly. Oversensitive from the training meeting, that was all. Or else my heart jitters were making me irritable.
I flagged down the manager to let him know we’d all arrived. Back on safe ground. That was better. He gathered us all into a scrum to hand out menus, neatly solving the first mystery of the night. At least we wouldn’t have to point at our menus in the pitch black. Not that choosing our dishes was any more illuminating. There were just four cryptic options: fish, meat, vegetarian and Chef’s Surprise. If the surprise was the chef groping me in the dark, I’d have a few suggestions for their comment card.
A current of excitement ran through the group as the waiters began to assemble us, amidst much nervous giggling.
The blind waiters were probably perfectly at home navigating a room in the dark. After all, they worked in that world twenty-four hours a day. We, however, would break limbs without guidance. We stood in groups of four or five, one behind the other, with our hand on the shoulder in front. Our waiter led us through one curtain, into semi-darkness, and then through another.
It was absolutely pitch black. I felt my eyes widen as my head swivelled, searching for any point of reference. I could hear people in conversation ahead of us. I didn’t want to let go of Rob’s shoulder.
But soon the waiter led him away to the table. I stood still, feeling suddenly exposed. I knew this was a safe experience. Yet I started to feel a little panicky that someone was right in front of me. I felt my heart quicken again. I didn’t like it.
‘Come this way,’ the waiter then said quietly. He put my hand on his shoulder again and we walked a few steps. He placed my hand on the back of a chair. ‘The chair is pulled out. You can sit.’
I did, immediately reaching out to feel the place in front of me. Plate, napkin, cutlery, small tumbler.
‘Thank you,’ I told my invisible guide.
‘I’m glad you’re next to me,’ said Rob. He sounded very close to my side. In fact all of the voices sounded closer, clearer than I was used to. Maybe because there was no background noise to muffle them.
‘Okay, this is officially a weird experience,’ I said. ‘How will we find our food on the plate? We’ll have to stick our hands in everything.’ I hadn’t really believed it would be completely dark in there.
‘All part of the fun,’ he said. I could hear the smile in his voice beneath his gentle Yorkshire accent. It was easy to picture his face. ‘Are you having wine?’
‘Oh no, I ordered red. I’m going to come out of here looking like I’ve murdered someone.’
‘Nah, don’t worry. The food you’re going to spill down your front will camouflage any wine stains.’
‘Thanks very much for your confidence in my ability to feed myself.’
‘I’m just playing the odds.’
Even though I knew the restaurant was full of people, it seemed as if we were alone in our little conversational bubble. We could say anything. It might be the same sense of anonymity that made people overshare on the internet. Thanks to Facebook I knew the sexual, dietary and bathroom habits of virtual strangers. Complete with photos, sometimes.
The waiter returned to tell us our drinks had arrived. He poured the wine (so he said – I had to trust him on that) and said if we wanted more, it was to my right. I found my tumbler and put it to my lips.
‘It smells of fruit, berries maybe,’ I said. ‘But it tastes peppery.’
‘You’re a wine wank, Katie, but I like you anyway.’
I smiled for him though he couldn’t see.
The noise level rose as our little group introduced themselves. Often people came to these things with friends, but some also came on their own. I always worried about that, but a certain ethos had already built up around the club. Everyone was looked after so that nobody was left alone to stand around like a lemon. I guess that’s what happens when a bunch of people who are used to feeling like outsiders get together.
‘You know something, Katie? You’ve got a very nice voice,’ said Rob. ‘All these years together and I never noticed.’
‘Thanks. And I never noticed how much I rely on people’s facial expressions when they talk. Isn’t it funny not to have any visual clues to go by? In here it doesn’t even matter what anyone looks like.’ That makeup I’d reapplied earlier was a complete waste of time.
‘It’s a perfect world then,’ he said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘We don’t have to think about what we look like. We can be happy just the way we are. You said it in the Evening Standard, remember? Did you mean it?’
‘Yes, definitely. I want to be happy with myself, not worry that I’m not perfect. Life is too short.’
Just imagine living in a world where looks didn’t matter. Would it be a better or worse place? My instinct said better. It’d be dead easy for anyone with an appealing personality to find dates. But then … the only way we’d know if we were physically attracted to someone would be to touch them. That seemed a bit forward. Oops, ever so sorry, but now that we’ve had a good grope around I find I don’t fancy you at all. It was one thing never to have a chance with a man. Nobody wanted to be rejected after being felt up.
‘I admire your attitude,’ he said. ‘More people should think like that.’
I didn’t point out that I’d said I wanted to be happy with myself, not that I actually was yet. But I was working on it.
‘Do you think they can see us?’ Rob asked.
‘They? Who? Are you hearing the voices in your head again?’ I asked. ‘Flashing back to ’Nam?’
‘The managers, or a security person at least. You’d think they’d have to be able to see us for health and safety reasons. Night-vision cameras maybe. Otherwise we could get up to who knows what kind of nefarious activities. The cloak of darkness masks everything. Mwah ha ha ha ha!’
‘Is that your hand on my knee?’ I joked.
‘Who says it’s my hand?’
My unladylike guffaw bounced off the walls. ‘I feel freer in the dark.’
‘Me too. We could be sitting here in our pants and nobody would know. I could pick my nose, or make gurny faces.’
I stuck my tongue out as far as I could, just to prove his point.
‘… Or I could, for example, lean in, like this.’
I could feel the heat of his body as he moved closer. I knew his face was inches from mine.
‘And then what would you do?’ I whispered.
‘I’d kiss you.’
His lips met mine, soft and warm. He kissed, and I kissed back. His hand found my cheek, his fingertips stroking my jaw. I wanted to grab his face with both hands. Wow. That was unexpected.
He broke away. ‘This dining in the dark lark is great, isn’t it? I’m definitely writing a five-star review for this place.’
‘Me too. Two thumbs up.’ I wanted more kissing. In the darkness, I wasn’t able to tell him that without saying the words. ‘Rob? What’s this all about?’
He was quiet so long I wondered if he’d gone to the loo.
‘It’s simple, really,’ he finally said. ‘I like you. I’ve liked you for years. I know that makes me a pathetically slow mover. After joking about it the other day, the time just seemed right to tell you that.’
I felt a hand on my shoulder. ‘Here’s your starter, from the Chef’s Surprise menu,’ said the waiter. Oh, right. I wasn’t just there for the kissing. ‘Your cutlery is beside your plate. Do you need anything else?’
Some time to think would be nice. I shook my head, then remembered he couldn’t see me, and thanked him.
‘Are you going to say anything?’ Rob asked when the waiter had left. At least, I thought he’d left. He might have been standing behind me, waiting to hear how this turned out.
I wasn’t sure what to say to Rob. We were mates. Yet I had thought of Rob in that way before. Boyfriend fantasies that popped up every so often. The hand-in-hand walks, the cuddles on the sofa. If I was honest with myself, I did want more with him.
‘Thank you?’ I said.
He laughed. ‘You’re welcome. I’m glad your manners haven’t completely left you. But I meant are you going to say anything about what I said.’
‘I’m not sure what to say. I mean, I’m not sure. This is rather sudden.’
‘Not for me, it isn’t. But I know what you mean. It’s come out of the blue. Or the black, in this case. I don’t want to pressure you into anything. You know how I feel. You can make up your own mind. Have you tried your food yet?’
‘No. Have you?’
‘Uh uh. On three?’
Ah, blessed distraction. Gingerly I edged my finger along my plate until I felt something cold and smooth. ‘They wouldn’t feed us anything gross, right?’
‘It is the surprise menu. It might be Michelin star. It could be turd. Ready?’
I forked a bit into my mouth. Pâté, maybe. That was the consistency. Could also be turd. Tasty turd, if it was.
‘It tastes like—’
‘Shh, don’t tell me.’ He gently touched my leg. I tingled. ‘I’m enjoying having to rely only on my senses. We’ll compare notes later.’
The Curvy Girls Club Page 11