As her shroud of sleep lifted, Tina realised with horror that she was in Guy’s bed with Guy asleep next to her.
“Guy…” she wailed. “Guy… wake up! It’s morning and I’m late for work!”
Guy opened one eye, scrunching his face up as he did so.
“S’not light enough,” he murmured, slackening his features and rolling over onto his side.
Tina, now almost fully awake, could see that it was indeed rather dusky through the window. They’d not pulled the curtains because Guy lived on the third floor. They hadn’t done anything since they got in, other than that which they shouldn’t.
After, they had both fallen asleep on the bed exhausted, entwined around each other like ivy. Mikey’s existence certainly hadn’t registered with either of them.
“Oh my god – Mikey!” shrieked Tina. “What are we going to do?”
Guy pulled himself up on the pillows.
“It’s early evening,” he said, waking slowly. “You don’t need to worry sweetheart. Come here and snuggle up. It’s ages till work. Plenty of time for you to get home yet.”
“You don’t understand,” Tina shouted fiercely. “Mikey’s on a ten till six shift. He’ll be frantic that I’ve not come home. He needs to leave for work at half past nine tonight. I’m usually home by about half past four in the afternoon. Where’s my bloody phone?”
“I don’t remember you bringing it in with you. You only had your car keys in your hand.”
“Oh this just gets worse and worse. It must be in the car and it’s probably got dozens of missed calls on it.” Tina put her head in her hands and started crying. “Guy… I don’t know what to do. What am I going to tell him?”
Guy got out of bed and pulled his pants on. He, too, was now fully awake and Tina could see that he was thinking hard about their predicament.
A sharp rapping on the front door startled them both.
“What if that’s him!” Tina whispered.
“It won’t be,” said Guy, “this isn’t the theatre. We don’t talk about someone then have them magically appear onstage. It’s probably Mr Staniland from downstairs come up to borrow some milk. He’s getting a bit forgetful these days and thinks he’s bought it when he hasn’t.”
As Guy spoke he climbed into his jeans and moved towards the front door.
Tina wrapped a sheet around her small frame and peered out of the window. She gulped and broke out in an immediate sweat as she clocked Mikey’s silver Honda parked up behind her battered blue Fiesta.
It was if someone had put the brakes on Time.
Tina spun round in slow motion… her long hair flying out behind her like a girl in a shampoo advertisement… she reached out one hand… she began to run towards the door, one leg naked through the gap in the wrapped sheet… she cried out to Guy… but the front door was opening… Mikey’s face showed confusion, then realisation… his fist connected with Guy’s jaw… the sheet caught around Tina’s other foot… Guy was falling towards the settee… Tina was flying through the bedroom door… he was rolling off the settee and smashing into the coffee table… she was thumping down onto her front, then skidding to a halt at her husband’s feet.
“Get dressed.”
He stated, rather than commanded it, but Tina couldn’t move.
Eventually, she opened her mouth and sucked in air, as though she had been drowning.
Mikey bent down to her and, seeing the blood race across the white sheet like spilled wine, he yelled at Guy to phone an ambulance.
Tina was aware of being cradled; of soft, familiar lips repeating her name against her forehead. She felt tears meshing with her own; tears of pain, of sorrow, of loss. There was a strange comfort too, comfort that comes from being in the arms of the person you love most of all in the whole world.
Then, nothing…
20
Wednesday
CLARA
Clara sat in her armchair the following day reflecting on her family and their problems. Trying to discern which situations were real, and which were not, was proving difficult. The fantasy of becoming Starla yesterday was already starting to fade but the emotions she had experienced during the day had held fast.
One of the morning television shows blared out; the presenters being their usual perky selves. Clinton Montague-Scott was sharing flirty banter over his ‘Recipe of the Week’ with a couple of long-haired lovelies in their late thirties/early forties, making them giggle beguilingly. Clara couldn’t help but wonder if any of them had a pregnant teenage daughter, a philandering partner or a delusional mind to worry about. Probably not. Their only concern would be whether they could find the right shade of lipstick to match their outfits or whether there was enough room on their bank statement for all the zeros.
Jakey had not returned from the Jubilee Arms before bedtime so it was Billie who had helped Clara to bed – something she’d done many times before. The sleep apnoea machine was a much quieter version of the noisy one Clara used to have but, even so, she didn’t hear Jakey come home.
He had marched into the living room this morning to help her out of bed but had said very little. As soon as Yasha had arrived (on her own this time), he had mumbled something about an extra shift down at the hotel and left the house hurriedly.
Later, Billie had sat at the table spreading toast with butter and lime marmalade. Over a glass of milk, she asked what she should do about school. Clara could tell that the answer Billie hoped for was not the answer she received. Clara told her to go back to school for the time being and Billie had agreed reluctantly. She understood that they all needed time to consider the best course of action. It wasn’t that long until half term anyhow.
Clara was now left alone. Billie had gone to school in loose trousers, her blouse out and a baggy cardigan done up at the bottom only, to hide the telltale bump. She was clearly upset that her short skirt was no longer a wardrobe option but eventually resigned herself to this being the first of many consequences. Clara had written Billie a note to excuse her from PE stating that she had pulled a muscle. It was true after all! According to Jakey, all women wanted to do, it seemed, was pull muscle! She would have laughed at her own wit if she didn’t feel so damned miserable.
It was quiet without Jakey rattling around in the kitchen and Clara found herself wishing she’d had more than her usual six thick slices of toast and butter this morning. He hadn’t left her any Jakey-bakes on the dining board and although Billie had remembered to make a flask of tea and leave out a two litre bottle of cherry soda, she had forgotten the cake tins.
Clara wondered if she should phone Marnie to talk about Guy and Tina, although Marnie might still be angry with her about the article in Femme Fanfare and the photo of Skye. Oddly enough, Billie hadn’t mentioned the magazine article but then it was Starla who had seen the biro scribblings upstairs, not Clara. Starla might not even exist.
Clara’s heart leapt!
If that were the case… then Guy was not kissing Tina after all!
If that were also the case… then Marnie was not going on holiday with another man!
If that were the case… then surely everything was back to being perfectly normal?
Clara sighed heavily and shook her head. Things were not perfect or normal. The student nurse had recognised Jakey as the man who visited her ex-model mother and Billie’s bump, once pointed out, was easy to see. So it was all real. All of it? Clara wasn’t sure now where she ended and where Starla began. If only Star would come back and explain things. But then… if Starla didn’t exist, Star didn’t exist either.
Clara closed her eyes and was tempted to rub the amulet again.
She clenched her fists and resisted the urge. No good had come from any amulet rubbing! No good had come from anything just recently it seemed.
Clara’s hands relaxed and one of them brushed the hospital letter she had thrust down the side of her chair yesterday. Another reality check: being stuffed into an oversized ambulance in front of all her neigh
bours! Brilliant! Just what she needed.
Clara cast her eyes down the letter to check the date of her MRI. As she did so, the words Spinney-Joy Theme Park and Zoo leapt out at her. She smiled, remembering Billie’s excitement about going on a trip with the school to ‘celebrate success’ several years ago, and her young, happy face when she chattered for days after, reliving every single moment. But what did it have to do with Clara’s appointment at the Royal?
Clara’s hands shook as soon as she realised, and her throat released a strangled cry. Due to her size and weight, it was impossible for the staff to scan her at the RYI. She was therefore going to be taken to the zoo. The words began to wobble before her eyes, as tears began to bubble over her vision.
‘Special facilities are provided for tests, such as MRI and CAT scans.’
They were going to scan her alongside the elephants!
Moreover, they wanted to do it as soon as possible and she was to ring her doctor to make arrangements.
Would she hell as like? Clara trembled with rage and another anguished sob burst forth.
Must… escape…
Clara grabbed the amulet in both hands and rubbed it until she felt punched, lifted, stretched, scattered. Star appeared briefly, as if in a dream. Clara’s body slumped back in the chair. Starla unfurled her lovely lean body and shook her hair.
STARLA
Starla turned the television off and went into the kitchen. She helped herself to a glass of water, turning her back on the tins of Jakey-bakes stacked along the worktop.
She decided to go for a walk, hoping to smooth out her jumbled thoughts. It looked warm enough not to have to bother with a coat again but she rummaged through the junk in the cupboard under the stairs to find a telescopic umbrella that she knew was lurking in there somewhere. She shoved it into a black drawstring shoulder bag that had probably once belonged to Marnie judging by the things already in it. She also found some sunglasses and a purse in an old ice cream tub on the shelf above the pegs and grabbed some tissues on the way out.
She navigated her way through the junk outside the back door, leaving it unlocked as she had previously. People up on Jubilee Terrace didn’t have much to steal and most folk trusted their own. Besides, interfering old bags like Edna Unwin and Theresa Mortimer were forever hanging over their front gates, keeping their eye on everyone else’s business. She was surprised that George Unwin and his son, Phillip, were such decent blokes. She seemed to recall that Phillip was married with a couple of lads himself. She vaguely remembered Billie mentioning that one of them was in the same year as her at St Jude’s. Gregory Unwin – his name flew into Starla’s mind but she couldn’t remember the name of the younger brother.
Starla walked quickly now and with confidence. She was terribly upset by the hospital’s suggestion that she get scanned on the giant mammalian MRI machine at the zoo and, even as she strode along as Starla, slim, supple and strong, she felt the shame crushing upon her like one of the elephants for whom the machine was designed.
In next to no time, she was down at the bottom of Church Street, taking a left turn onto Station Road. The sun had come out and, although it was still only April, Starla felt quite warm. She took some sunglasses from the bag that was draped freely across her shoulder, and put them on to save squinting against the brightness.
Station Road meandered down towards the town of Hawpeak and, like the road in front of her, Starla began to slowly unwind as she walked along it.
Before long, she was standing on the bridge over the train tracks. Hawpeak Station was situated down a bit to her left and the Muncaster Hotel across the road to her right. The traffic had increased and there were a number of vehicles pulling in and out of the station car park. Starla stood on tiptoes to look over the high wall of the bridge and realised that she’d not been on a train since she was a very young teen. She had often caught the train around South Yorkshire with Vic when they were first courting. They didn’t do much when they arrived anywhere but it had been exciting at the time.
Starla once more felt the stabbing pang of having missed out. Had she really never taken her children on a train? There were so many simple things that she hadn’t done with them. It was amazing that the five of them had done as well as they had… although Billie’s pregnancy, and Marnie and Guy’s sense of loyalty were leaving nothing to be desired. Still, Gav and Mikey were good men. According to all accounts, Gav had a successful career, fantastic relationship and beautiful home. Mikey had managed to secure a lovely house for Tina too – and a baby was on the way to put in it.
Starla suddenly faltered. What if Mikey wasn’t the father? What if it were Guy? Either way, of course, the child would still be her grandchild – but that didn’t make the situation right. Besides, if Tina could split her love in half, then who was to say she wasn’t splitting it three, four or five different ways! Too much holiday time on their hands, these bloody teachers, thought Starla.
Her thoughts turned back to Gav. She’d not heard from him for quite some time. Perhaps it was time to pay him a visit. Starla closed her eyes and swayed with pleasure at the thought of seeing Gavin’s plush home in Bilberrymoor. Marnie, Mikey and Guy had all seen it and said it was something very special. She’d seen some photographs and although it looked gorgeous, it was hard to picture the overall layout.
Furthermore, Gav had never brought his girlfriend, Morgan, over to meet her, although she knew that Tina, Morgan and Marnie were quite a close knit gang when it came to shopping and weekends away. Perhaps this could be an opportunity to kill two birds with one stone – see the house and take a look at ‘Morgs’, as they all seemed to call her! Starla started to perk up a little.
She looked over at the Muncaster. Should she check to see if Jakey was actually there? She was pretty sure he wouldn’t be. No doubt he’d be on one of those trains headed for Leicester, that’s if he wasn’t there already of course.
Starla didn’t really have a clue about catching the train but she found her way to the platform. Secured to the platform roof, an electronic sign hung down with the names of different places. Most seemed familiar to her but none flashed up with Bilberrymoor.
Starla moved to a different platform and this time she saw that the next train, due in less than five minutes, was passing through Bilberrymoor.
Like a giant mechanical snake, the train slid beside the platform hissing. Starla hopped on feeling both frightened and excited in equal measure. There were plenty of passengers but a good many of the seats were empty. Some people preferred to stand by the doors but Starla avoided this area, lest she become squashed or stood on.
She sat by the window and marvelled at the countryside. Although she could not see her house on Jubilee Terrace, she could see the hill upon which it stood and she felt another tremor of excitement course through her as the enormity of what she was doing sunk in. Six years, nearer seven probably, since she had last left the confines of her home and here she was riding on a train to Bilberrymoor, a place she’d never even heard of before Gav bought a house there. She remembered the street name – Picton Place – but could not recall the house number, although she must have written it a dozen times or more on birthday and Christmas cards.
With a jolt the train set off. A voice over the train’s PA system told Starla which stations they would be visiting on their journey into the city and out the other side. Starla marvelled at the ease with which she was able to do all this. Of course, not having to buy a ticket helped and not having to haul around an extra twenty-five stone or so was also a bonus.
The fields and embankments surrounding Hawpeak soon gave way to housing and industry and, as they neared the city, this became denser with factories and yards joining the dots between stations. Starla felt a strange buzz as they reached the central station. She had to hold back the desire to get off and explore; to recapture her youth and see for herself some of the changes that she knew had been made to the city.
As the train pulled off again, the PA voice
informed her that she was nearing Bilberrymoor. Starla felt hot and wondered if she should stand near the doors. She chose not to just yet, since there were a couple of small stations in between. The majority of people had got off in the city and only one or two had boarded for the next leg.
Finally, it was time for Starla to make a move. She jumped onto the platform at Bilberrymoor behind a heavily pregnant woman carrying a toddler in one arm and a folded pushchair in the other. Once on the platform, Starla moved to overtake the woman but nearly banged into her when she stopped to erect the pushchair. Immediately the toddler wrenched free and ran giggling towards the back end of the train. The mother screamed, physically unable to run, but Starla sprinted after him.
She chased the little boy up the platform and lunged towards him as he was about to make another bid for freedom – this time onto the track behind the train. Starla secured a grip on his hood and pulled him back, half-choking him in the process. She swung him around and stood between him and the track, holding tightly as he thrashed his arms and wailed his violent indignation. One of the station porters charged up and grabbed the child from her, not even realising the boy was in anyone’s grasp.
The mother broke down in tears of thanks as she strapped the boy into his pushchair safely. The porter ushered her into the café on the platform, no doubt for a cup of tea, although the poor woman looked as though she could do with something a bit stronger.
Starla took herself off into the ladies toilets on the platform and splashed water onto her hands and face. Shaken from the incident, she felt slightly sick so she looked in the mirror to see if she was pale.
There was no reflection. Of course.
21
Wednesday
MARNIE
Marnie was running late. She drove a little faster than the speed limit suggested, checking her mirrors constantly in case cameras or cops caught her out.
She’d read through her emails upon waking and discovered that Max had booked her on an early flight this Saturday. That gave her three days to get her act together.
Dying to Be Slim Page 13