by Betty Balaba
I really could do with a break. It had been a long four months. It had been a long time since I’d had a chance to be spontaneous. I mulled it over, stirring my hot chocolate. I could probably just squeeze it in before going back to work.
“Okay,” I gave in. “I’ll come, but only for the weekend.” God it felt good!
“You know it makes sense!” Jenny loved Only Fools and Horses and always reached for its catchphrases when most needed. I was sure she’d picked up that phone knowing she’d be able to persuade me. After all, I did really need it. We both laughed at her joke, but really she was laughing at getting her way. And me, from grateful relief.
A week later and before I knew it, my final pre-holiday visit to the hospital was coming to an end. I gathered my bag and raincoat. It was 10:00 p.m. and France was happening the very next day. The night staff paid no attention as I hugged my mother goodbye. They’d known fairly early on that I wasn’t going to be following visiting hours. Since then, I ignored the policy and they ignored my time keeping. After four months, we’d reached an uneasy accommodation.
Heading to the lift, I found none other than Dr Duncan waiting for it. Wasn’t it late for a consultant to be at the hospital? If I had known they kept these hours, I’d have been wandering the corridors late at night a bit more often. I had never gone in search of the Plastics department in the end. There was no excuse to as everyone came to my mother’s bedside. One in particular didn’t come often enough for me; but that is how things were done. There would be no excuse for me to wander around like Paddington Bear, and no one would think it was cute. Keeping my pace steady – graceful at best – I approached the lift as if blithely unaware. I was halfway there when he turned and our eyes met for a brief moment. I quickened my pace: against my will to appear mega-casual.
“Hi, Dr Duncan,” I said as calmly as I could muster. Alongside my best mild-flirting ‘fancy-seeing-you-here’ smile.
“Hello, Becca,” he said with his usual calm. He remembered my name! It was one thing to remember who I was at my mother’s bedside and quite another to know my name out of context. First name basis! I wasn’t being entirely logical, I admit. The whole idea of us was really a non-starter, I knew that. Yes, I did say ‘us’. We were a possible ‘us’ in my mind; a very small, slim, possible us. Like the cakes, leave me to my small joys.
“I haven’t seen you for ages,” I said cheerfully. He widened his eyes, looking at me directly. I wondered if I’d spoken too freely.
“Yes, but I’ve seen your mother every day,” he said pointedly. I felt my face go hot. If it wasn’t so embarrassing, I would have burst out laughing. The lift arrived and jolted me back into business mode. “That’s great, really great.”
“Yes,” he nodded thoughtfully, letting me enter the empty lift first. A gentleman.
“Thank you,” I said.
“Which floor?” he asked. I didn’t immediately answer. I heard him but the words that formed in my head wouldn’t come out. So I ended up grinning and leaning forwards to press the button myself. But I somehow lost my footing and bypassed the panel entirely. He threw up his hands and prevented the coming disaster. I must have stopped breathing completely. And the lift still hadn’t moved! He let go of me gently and pressed the ‘G’ for ground floor, deciding for me. The only other logical floor would have been the ‘LG’ where the car park was. I managed a much-too-cheerful ‘thanks’ as the doors slid shut.
“Are you okay?” he asked all politely. But I could see that the corners of his lips were turned up ever so slightly. He knew I was fine, and that the lift wasn’t the problem.
I nodded, a little light-headed. Of course, I was wishing I’d pre-empted this close encounter and was in a better state of mind to handle it. Where was my endearing and witty repartee? Nowhere! Just a leaden silence for three entire floors. There were still five to go but time was moving like treacle. I couldn’t think of anything to say, sensible or otherwise; and tension seemed to be filling the lift like a bathroom filling with steam. I guess he felt something too because he finally spoke up.
“Do you have to come from far to get to the hospital?” Thank God for some small talk. I was usually a master, but now these few drops were like nectar.
“No, not so far…” Then more silence. “Do you have to work at the weekend?” I offered.
We were both facing the doors but I could tell he was smiling ever so slightly again.
“Sometimes, but not this one…” Dr Duncan had a weekend off. A nice thought. I wished at that moment he was not my mother’s surgeon; and I her none-too-sophisticated daughter, busily going in circles.
“Well, have a good one.” He turned lightly towards me as I spoke. “The weekend!” I blurted. For goodness sake Becca! What else? But he smiled.
“Thanks. You too.”
The last thing I remember was a small camera in the corner of the lift. Somebody, somewhere had witnessed the idiocy. Maybe even in full sound. Great.
*
The next morning, a taxi whisked me along the Promenade des Anglais in Nice. The sparkling Mediterranean worked like magic. I thought of the phrase ‘a change is as good as a rest’. It certainly felt like it. The cab stopped outside Jenny’s apartment building. There she was waiting for me, sitting on the steps in a flouncy straw sun hat. When she saw me approach she rushed to the cab, and embraced me with a long, tight hug.
“It’s so good to see you!” She grabbed my luggage and we climbed the echoing stone steps to the door of her flat. “Welcome to my humble abode,” she said, swinging the door open in a grand gesture. I glanced in and saw an elaborate marbled hallway and minimalist chandelier. Not so humble, perhaps!
“Very nice!” I said.
“Well, I’m glad you like it. You deserve some luxury after all that hospital time.”
Jenny worked as a banker in the City and had bought the apartment last year. It was all mainly cream and glass, with little architectural touches that revealed the building’s past. One wall was made up of two sliding glass panels, which looked out onto the beach and the wide blue sea. The dining table was glass with six, high-backed cream chairs neatly placed under it. It all looked very glamorous. And Jenny didn’t look too bad either. She was dressed in white linen, wide-leg trousers and a white linen shirt, with Hermes sandals. She stared at me as if seeing me properly for the first time. I was wearing a maxi dress, of course. Light blue with purple spots, for what it’s worth. She knotted her brow.
“You look tired,” she said. “And you’ve put on weight. A lot of weight, in fact. What happened to you?”
Jenny was like Adam, no filter. She said what was on her mind, which is usually the case when you’ve known each other since you were fourteen years old. But I couldn’t mind. Heck, I was even getting used to these comments. But at least I could be open with Jenny.
“I’ve been caring for my mother.”
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t care for yourself.” She looked concerned and not just about my weight – but about me. She looked me up and down again.
“I’ve never seen you this big. It’s important that you look after yourself.” I shrugged and walked further into the room. I didn’t like being under so much scrutiny, not even from Jenny. Or maybe I was worried I might get emotional. “Are you tired? Do you want to rest before we have lunch?”
“No, I’m okay. We can go and eat.” I had only eaten a croissant for breakfast and honestly it hadn’t touched the sides. I realised I was really hungry now that she had mentioned eating.
“I know a great place with a stunning view,” she said, back in holiday mode. “You’ll love it.”
Soon we were sitting in a pretty courtyard, with overhanging rose bushes and small white metal tables and chairs. It was a wonderful setting and the place was packed; always a good sign when it came to eating. She always knew the right places, and they were usually expensive. The owner was a lovely blonde lady in her fifties, who greeted Jenny by name. I smiled, kno
wing Jenny loved this kind of thing.
“Becca, should I order you something? They have the best sea food.”
“Okay…” I wasn’t a fussy eater when I was this hungry. Anything would be okay. “Please order us some bread though.”
“Bread!” she gasped. Anyone would have thought that I had sworn at her. I am quite sure she hadn’t eaten bread in a decade.
“You don’t have to eat it…” I said, holding my ground. She was about to say something but thought better of it. I obviously looked like I wasn’t ready for a carb lecture. Either this was a holiday, or it wasn’t. Anyway, holiday or not, I liked my bread – especially soft warm bread with real butter. When it arrived I wasn’t disappointed. Soft olive bread with pillow-soft dough served with soft local butter just ready to be melted in the sun. It tasted divine. Jenny watched me as I savoured every mouthful. We were given three rolls. I had finished two while Jenny pretended not to study me whilst talking about what we could do later.
“Still not having bread?” I offered.
“No, but you enjoy it,” she said generously. I certainly would. Picking up the third roll, I caught her widening eyes. “Don’t forget the food is coming.”
“Yes – but not soon enough!” She grinned at me and carried on sipping her champagne. But when I finished the last roll, more bread arrived as if by magic. Jenny almost choked on her champagne and I stifled a laugh. My seafood salad arrived looking very pretty on a small plate, sitting on a bed of salad leaves, all dressed in olive oil. When the waiter left, I looked at Jenny nervously.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Is this a starter?” she laughed.
“No! That, my dear, is lunch!”
“You are joking. Since when were we on a diet?”
She ignored me and began eating.
“Do you like it?”
“It’s delicious,” I agreed. “I just wish there was more of it…”
I finished off my meal in quicker time even than I had finished the bread. Picking up a roll, I could see Jenny was studying me as she put her knife and fork down. I could barely remember ever having eaten such small quantities. But I must have done because I was always thin; thinner even than Jenny.
“You know, you don’t have to finish everything,” she said gently.
“I’m not wasting food,” I said firmly.
“I can see!” she said. “But your body isn’t a human waste bin.”
I stopped chewing and put the bread back on the plate. I felt as if I’d been slapped, complete with a tell-tail sting at the back of my eyes. But I wasn’t going to cry. I really felt sad because she’d hit a nerve.
Why wasn’t I valuing myself more? Even if the questions are complicated, sometimes the answers are very simple. This was neglect. I’d neglected myself in ways I’d never done before. Oh, my hair and nails were done, my clothes were clean. But instead of dressing the way I wanted, I picked my clothes according to which body-part needed hiding. It took several moments to let the thoughts sink in.
Jenny wiped her already-clean mouth with her napkin. I could see she was still watching me, analysing my expressions. I put on my sunglasses.
“Let’s get the bill,” I said quickly.
“Becca…”
“It’s okay.” It was nowhere near okay, of course. But you can’t blame someone for telling you the truth. Anyway, I knew how to put her off. “Let’s go shopping?” Jenny’s face lit up. Jenny liked to shop as much as I like flourless chocolate cake – possibly even more.
Soon I was following her over the threshold of a swanky boutique. Two sales assistants clocked us and one came over, giving Jenny a subtle once-over. They were eyeing up Jenny’s Hermes bag and shoes, all finished off nicely with gold jewellery from Cartier. I got a less-than cursory glance. I knew all they saw was my shape, and I was quite sure they didn’t have much in my new size. They offered Jenny a drink, which meant they had to offer me one too. I declined. I didn’t want their drinks or their fake smiles.
Jenny tried a series of dresses. “Madame, you look stunning.” “Madame, it could have been made for you.” “Madame, you could stop the traffic on the Promenade des Anglais.” Jenny only gave them a mild nod of acknowledgement, instead asking me what I thought.
“This one?” she said inquiringly.
“It fits but the colour isn’t that great. It’s mud brown!” We both laughed, and I was pleased to feel the assistant bridling at being ignored.
“What about this?”
“If you want to look like a fairy princess. Too much netting and too much pink.” We giggled again.
“Do you want to try on anything?”
“No. I’m okay.”
Jenny picked out a crisp white shirt. “I know you love a white shirt.” It was gorgeous. Cotton with pearl buttons.
“Okay, I’ll try it on.” The sales assistant moved closer and pursed her lips in a deadly way.
“I don’t think we have your size, Madame,” she said. “You need to try a different shop.” Honestly, how big could I be? Jenny piped up in my defence.
“What sizes do you have?” she said.
“We go up to an English 12,” said the shop girl resentfully.
“I’ll try that then.” A 12 should fit me, surely. I went into the changing room next to Jenny and put one arm through the sleeve but it was really tight – tight enough to be in danger of tearing, like my silk dress all those weeks before. That would be a humiliation too far, so I took it off as gently as I could. I opened the door and found the sales assistant right outside, her face beaming with an ‘I-told-you-so’ look. I handed her back the shirt. Jenny rescued me by reappearing with the things she wanted to take. Or I thought she was rescuing me.
“You didn’t let me see you in it!” she said, and I had to come out with the awful truth.
“It didn’t fit.” Her brows knitted together.
"Are you sure?"
“Quite sure,” I said, pulling a face.
“Sorry,” she said, as if it were her fault. “I thought it would be okay.”
So had I, of course; but there wasn’t much point in saying anything.
We went shopping for three more hours. I say “we” but really I just accompanied Jenny. She shopped and we caught up. I hadn’t been able to see her for two and a half months, mainly because of the hospital visits. We spoke on the phone but it was great to see her in person, even if I wasn’t brave enough to join in the shopping part. I realised my thighs were rubbing steadily together in the heat. My thighs never used to touch, never mind rub. Now they were actually stinging.
“Are you okay?” said Jenny, sensing my discomfort.
“Yes,” I said. “But let’s stop and get something to drink.”
Of course, that had to be the moment we passed a patisserie. I retraced my steps.
“Eclairs,” I threw out. “What’s not to like?” Here, not the boutiques, was my new domain. Jenny even smiled as we walked in. I ordered a coffee with vanilla-and-coffee éclairs. “Two,” I said firmly. I deserved a treat after all the walking I had done, and enjoyed every bite as Jenny sipped at her skinny cappuccino. She even took a bite out of my éclair. “I can’t afford to eat any more,” she said wistfully. “But I love to see you enjoy your food. Where do you want to have dinner? What do you feel like?” she asked, probably hoping I didn’t say a hamburger or something equally mortifying.
“I don’t mind,” I said. “No actually, I do. I don’t want to go anywhere where they serve more nouvelle cuisine.” Restaurants could keep their dishes that looked like pretty pictures on a plate. I wanted to see more than decoration on my plate!
The next morning, I found myself examining my thighs in front of the large, wood-framed mirror against the stone bathroom wall. What the hell? They had chafed all afternoon and now they felt really sore. I was about to leave the bathroom but paused at the door where a chic glass scale glimmered back. It seemed to be daring me. I stepped on them and had to put my hand ag
ainst the door to steady myself.
I had put on two stone! Two stone! Okay, so I had eaten a bit more – okay, a lot more – but not enough for two stone surely. I stepped off the scale and left the bathroom disgusted. I wasn’t sure with what exactly, me or my weight? But I must have been frowning when I came out because Jenny looked up at me enquiringly from the pages of her magazine.
“What’s wrong?” she said.
“Is your scale working?” I said grumpily.
She started giggling, realising immediately what had happened.
“Yes, Becca,” she said. “I’m afraid it is.”
“I knew I shouldn’t have gone on it, but that would have just been delaying the inevitable. But two stone?”
Jenny stopped giggling.
“Don’t worry, darling. You look… voluptuous.” Now it was my turn to giggle. She knew I didn’t want to look voluptuous. Voluptuous, my eye. But the sight of the scale had burned itself into my memory, and I knew I wouldn’t be stepping on one again soon.
Chapter 10
Burnt Toast
I stepped out of the lift and felt several pairs of eyes on me. An odd thought popped into my head that the lift had reinvented me a supermodel, like Superman stepping out of a phone box. Not likely! It felt strange to be back at work – like the first day back at school after the summer holidays. The place was both familiar and alien; and I knew that what was once normal would take some getting used to again. I couldn’t exactly say I’d missed work. But I did the miss the routine and the togetherness – even if it was only us moaning in unison about how we wanted to be somewhere else.
I did enjoy my job – partly because I proved to be very good at it. Even so – perhaps due to the traumatic upheaval of my mother’s illness, which had blown apart my schedule so – I had a growing feeling that there was something else out there for me. People spent years doing what they’d always done without taking the time to think if that was what they really wanted to do. I knew that day-to-day responsibility and pressure could keep people rooted to something that they should have dropped years ago.