The Curvy Girls Club Page 5

Amanda’s words were echoed by the others as they said their good-byes and rushed off for the rest of their Sunday afternoons.

  ‘I’d say your club is a success,’ said Rob.

  ‘It’s not a club!’ Jane and Ellie said together.

  ‘Maybe it could be though?’ I mused. ‘Why not? I mean, if we want others to join us anyway, then why not make it a club?’

  ‘That sounds very formal,’ Pixie said.

  ‘Well, I guess there’d be some organising to do, but I could do that … of course, we could all do it too.’

  ‘You did such a great job with this,’ Ellie said. ‘I’m happy to go along with whatever you plan. Unless you want me to help?’

  ‘Only if you want to,’ I said, realising how quickly the conversation was descending into ridiculously polite territory. ‘I could look into something for the next night out and we can decide who wants to plan after that.’

  ‘We could set up a Facebook page to tell the others,’ Jane said. ‘At the meeting next week we’d just need to tell them to like the page.’

  ‘What about people who don’t use Facebook?’ Rob asked, raising his hand. For an IT programmer he was remarkably unconnected in cyberspace. Even I used Facebook and my computer skills peaked before Jedward could drive.

  ‘We could make a simple website,’ he proposed. ‘We could even do one on Blogger. It’s free.’

  ‘When you say we,’ I began.

  ‘I mean me,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry. I wouldn’t make you step out of your comfort zone. I know you only use your computer to read celebrity gossip. I can knock up a website at work in just a few minutes. I’d be happy to.’

  ‘It would be good, right, to make it official?’ Jane said. ‘I have felt like I’ve been part of something these past few months. Like we’re stronger together when we go out.’

  ‘I feel normal,’ said Pixie quietly. ‘For the first time in years I’m not the freak with the elastic waistband. We’re all the freaks with the elastic waistbands. There’s safety in numbers.’

  ‘Exactly.’ Ellie nodded, her hair flying over her eyes. ‘I don’t feel self-conscious. Just … normal. That feels so good.’

  ‘That’s because we are the norm here,’ Pixie said. ‘Actually we’re the norm out there too. You’ve seen the news; most people are overweight. It just doesn’t seem like it, looking around. Maybe it’s time to be loud and proud.’

  ‘The Loud and Proud Club,’ Rob said, raising his glass. ‘You’ll need a name for the website.’

  ‘The Loud and Proud Club sounds like a gay band,’ Pixie said. ‘What about the Loud Proud Social Club? Then you know what we are.’

  ‘Now it sounds like a gay social club,’ I said.

  ‘The Big Girls Social Club?’ Jane proposed.

  Ooh, I liked that very much.

  ‘What about big boys?’ Rob said. ‘Don’t be sexist.’

  ‘But you’re like a girl,’ Ellie said.

  ‘Thank you for emasculating me.’

  ‘I just mean that you’re a friend, like us girls,’ she clarified. ‘What about the Big Boned Social Club?’

  ‘God, no,’ Pixie winced. ‘That’s what people call you when they think they’re being nice. It makes me think of women shot-putters. Besides, not everyone who’s fat is big-boned. Some of us are just curvy.’

  ‘The Curvy Girls Club?’ Jane proposed.

  A tremor of enthusiasm coursed through me. The Curvy Girls Club. That was it. ‘I love it!’

  ‘Me too!’

  ‘But it’s not just for women, right?’ Ellie asked, glancing quickly at Rob.

  ‘No way, everyone is welcome,’ Jane said. ‘That’s the whole point.’

  ‘Do we need to account for that in the title, then?’ I asked.

  Pixie laughed. ‘Katie, you’re in sales. Since when are you worried about a little thing like accuracy?’ She thought for a moment. ‘We can put a little asterisk in the title and add a disclaimer in tiny writing at the bottom, like they do with payday loans and volumising mascara.’

  ‘Problem solved then,’ I said. ‘We’re the Wonga of social clubs. Rob, you’ll join us, right?’

  He grinned. ‘Sure. Only I probably won’t tell people I’m a member of the Curvy Girls Club. Maybe the CGC. That sounds much manlier.’

  Jane lifted her drink. ‘To the Curvy Girls Club.’

  ‘Asterisk … and men!’ said Rob.

  We all raised our glasses to our new club. I hadn’t been so excited since my Rory days, and this didn’t even involve the potential for sex.

  My friends placed great trust in me and once we were officially a club, the planning seemed doubly important. Besides, Rob made good on his threat and created a website that would feature our nights out. Plus, everyone who’d gone to the salsa lesson wanted to know what was next. So no pressure then.

  Luckily I talked on the phone for a living, so nobody noticed the dozens of calls I made to help figure out whether events and venues would be suitable for our members. It took a lot longer than I imagined but by the end of the week we’d added half a dozen events to the website and Facebook page.

  Funny how quickly perspectives can change. It was probably a similar feeling to that experienced by the newly engaged or pregnant, who suddenly notice things like bridal shops and stretch-mark creams for the first time. Those were still off my radar but every theatre marquee, restaurant review and band poster sparked my interest. I went to bed each night thinking about possible events. And I awoke every morning with excitement gently fizzing in my tummy.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The next few weeks flew by in a whirlwind of activity. One minute we were dancing salsa with friends, the next we were organising nights out for more than fifty people, and getting bollocked for not doing enough. Speaking for myself, anyway.

  ‘I did try to book,’ said the woman with her arms crossed over her ample bosom as we waited for Pam to start the Slimming Zone meeting. She was acting like I’d purposely kept her from seeing Jersey Boys with us. ‘I got an error message saying that it was sold out.’

  I could tell from the consternation lining her over-tanned face that she wasn’t going to let it go. I tried again. ‘I’m really sorry. We’ve been getting a lot of interest in the theatre. If you try booking a bit earlier next time …’

  ‘I know some people are bringing their friends. That’s why there wasn’t room for me. That’s not right when I’m a member here.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said again. ‘But the events aren’t just for Slimming Zone members. In fact we don’t have members. They’re for anyone who wants to come.’

  Her sense of entitlement really pissed me off. The Curvy Girls Club was ours. She was lucky we’d opened it up to other people at all.

  I looked across the room at Jane and Ellie as they laughed with a group of women who’d come with us to Kew Gardens last weekend. Jane was awkwardly accepting a compliment on the club’s behalf. So how did I end up as head of the Complaints Department?

  ‘Excuse me a minute,’ I said to the whinger, cutting her off mid-indignation. ‘I think Jane wants a word with me.’

  ‘Fiona was just telling us about a Thames river cruise,’ she said when I approached. ‘Some of the boats have Dixieland jazz bands. Doesn’t that sound fun?’ I hadn’t seen Jane so animated in a long time. She’d even abandoned her needles and yarn for this conversation.

  I nodded, already thinking about the questions I’d ask the organisers – how big are the life jackets? Are there many steps? Will people be helped onto/off the boat? I could make a few calls tomorrow morning before my review.

  Finally Pam rapped her hand on the table, dragging our attention away from boats and bands. ‘I know everyone is excited, but can we please start the meeting? Who’d like to come up and pop on the scales?’

  A few of the women made their way to the front. Ellie and I hung about at the back as usual.

  ‘Jane, I figured you’d run up there tonight,’ I said when she made no move. �
��Aren’t you curious to know how much you’ve crapped out this week?’

  She shook her head. ‘I know the answer. It’s zero pounds. I stopped the pills.’

  ‘Good!’ Ellie and I said together.

  ‘You don’t need them. Tell her, Rob,’ Ellie said as he joined us.

  ‘Tell her what?’ He shrugged out of his heavy wool coat.

  ‘Tell Jane she doesn’t need diet pills.’

  ‘But I do need them,’ she said. ‘I just can’t stand the side effects any more. I’ll think of something else. What?’ she demanded when I rolled my eyes.

  I did love her but sometimes I wanted to shake her. ‘Why don’t you try changing your mind set instead of your waistline? That seems healthier to me.’

  ‘What should I do, Katie? Tell me, please. Should I just give up and grow into a huge blob that Andy will eventually have to winch out of bed?’

  ‘God, you can be dramatic sometimes. You know you could stop starving yourself and going on these crazy diets without turning into a blob. You eat healthily most of the time. You do exercise. I just think we should all stop beating ourselves up because we’re not models.’

  ‘Katie’s right,’ said Ellie. ‘I’ve been thinking about what Pixie said. If I’m honest I’m tired of always worrying about my weight. These last couple of months have … I don’t know, they’ve made me see things a little differently.’

  ‘Me too,’ I said. ‘Isn’t it more important to be happy with ourselves than to constantly think we should be doing better? Every time I promise myself to do better, eat less, cut carbs, exercise more, that’s saying that I’m not good enough as I am. I don’t want to do that to myself any more.’

  ‘So you’re just going to give up, slob out and embrace your inner fattie?’ Jane asked, jutting out her chin. ‘That’s irresponsible. You have to take responsibility for your size, Katie … it’s lazy.’

  Her judgement hurt. It wasn’t a surprising message – I’d heard it my whole life in one form or another, often as friendly advice, sometimes as a hostile declaration – but it still hurt. As if I hadn’t sadly wondered myself how it had come to this. A pound here, an extra few inches there. Over the years, gradual changes became the new norm. Who amongst us hadn’t grabbed handfuls of tummy just to feel its squidgy bulk? Or shimmied naked in the mirror to watch the seismic shifts happening below her waistline? I just didn’t want to let that define me any more.

  ‘I’m not saying I’m going to totally slob out, Jane. I’m just saying that while we may not be perfect, none of us is getting bigger, right? We packed these pounds on years ago, and we’re still punishing ourselves for them. You wouldn’t still blame Andy or the children for something they did years ago, would you?’

  ‘Of course not,’ Jane said.

  ‘Then why do you keep blaming yourself? We do eat a balanced diet and exercise and do all the things we’re supposed to. Our lifestyles are healthy now. We should respect ourselves as much as we do other people.’

  The fight left Jane. ‘I do try.’

  Ellie hugged her. ‘I know you do. But cutting three and a half thousand calories out of our diets just to lose a pound is hard! Katie is right. We need to stop beating ourselves up for what we aren’t doing and be happy with what we are.’

  I drew myself up in my chair. ‘I’m quitting Slimming Zone. I joined to learn how to be healthier and to find support. Well, now I know how to be healthy, and you give me all the support I could ever want. And lately when we’re out together, I have so much fun that I don’t even think about my weight. I feel … well, not pretty, exactly. But normal. I don’t need to come to these meetings any more … and if you think about it, you might realise that you don’t either.’

  I watched their faces for a reaction. Jane was the first to speak. ‘I can’t promise that I’ll ever love my fat, but I’m willing to try.’ Her hands reached for her knitting. ‘On one condition. The Curvy Girls Club has to continue. I’ve been happier these last few months than I have been for years.’

  ‘Me too,’ Ellie said. ‘And I do think we’re ready to go it alone. Together, I mean, but not here. What do you think, Jane?’

  She smiled. ‘Well, it’ll be no fun coming here without you lot. And what Katie says is true … so yes, I’m ready. Besides, it’s not like we don’t all have scales at home.’

  ‘You’re missing the point a bit though, Jane,’ I said. ‘We’ve got to learn to be happy as we are instead of constantly worrying about how we’d like to be. That’s what I’m going to do from now on.’

  Rob grinned at me. ‘Promise?’

  ‘I promise,’ I said. ‘What about you? Want to quit with us?’

  He shrugged. ‘I only come here for the women anyway. And I think it’s safe to say that the club will keep going, Jane, at least if demand is any factor. Take a guess at how many unique views you’ve had on the website and blog.’

  We all shrugged. I had no idea what a good number might be.

  ‘You’re averaging nearly three hundred a week.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘It means you’d better get some more events lined up. Your club is starting to get very popular.’

  Two years earlier, when Nutritious pared back the whole company’s hours to four days a week, there was very little silver lining in that ominous thundercloud. But the company needed to save a lot of money or we wouldn’t have had any chance of keeping our jobs, and in the middle of a recession nobody felt much like arguing above a disgruntled whisper.

  It didn’t actually have much of an impact on us salespeople, since most of our pay cheques came from commissions. So we just squeezed a bit more work into the remaining four days to keep the clients happy, and once again the company got more work out of us for less money.

  Ellie survived a month of Jeremy Kyle before getting herself work at the café around the corner on her day off. She preferred getting paid to serve the down-and-outs to watching them for free on TV. Besides, she didn’t have sales commissions like the rest of us, so the cut in hours hurt.

  I shared neither her urge to work nor her aversion to daytime telly, which, as the club business accelerated, was turning out to be a good thing. I started splitting my Tuesdays between the equally important tasks of napping, watching old films and club business. Invariably, though, I still had to make some calls from the office.

  I’d just hung up with the river cruise people when Alex appeared beside my desk. ‘I’ve got something for you. Want to grab a coffee before my next meeting?’

  Of course I did. Despite all my unsubtle hints, we hadn’t been to lunch again. Still, there was no doubt we were on more familiar terrain now.

  ‘I’ll need some caffeine,’ I said. ‘I’ve got my appraisal this afternoon.’

  I was willing to make an exception to my no-caffeine rule to get me through that meeting.

  When it came to my comfort and enjoyment, reviews were on par with smear tests. True, no tears had been shed during them in the entire six years I’d worked at Nutritious. Yet no matter how hard I worked, I’d never been more than Adequate. Five grades to choose from and my boss always put me in the middle. What kind of motivation was that? Adequate was a nice way of saying meh. It was so-so, a verbal shrug. They claimed it meant I was doing everything I was supposed to. It meant they had no complaints. Was it any wonder I always walked away with a sense of disappointment?

  But today I was going to make my stand (not my normal modus operandi). I knew I was better than adequate. I just had to grow the meatballs to tell Cressida why.

  Alex made me wait until our steaming takeaway cups were in hand before pulling a small white envelope from his jacket pocket.

  Inside were two tickets for the orchestra at the weekend. ‘Wow, thank you!’

  ‘You mentioned that you like classical music, and there were some extra tickets going, so I thought …’ He grinned, watching my expression.

  ‘I’d love to, thanks!’ I nearly dropped my coffee as I lunged
to hug him. It was an unusual feeling, and, being honest, slightly awkward. ‘I had no idea you liked the symphony. You never said.’ I added that to the list of his perfect man credentials.

  ‘That’s because I can’t stand it. I’d lose the will to live halfway through the performance. I thought you and Ellie could go. Like I said, we’ve got the extra tickets so someone may as well use them.’

  Then this wasn’t a date. It was a nice gesture from a work colleague. ‘Well, thanks very much, I’m sure she’d love to. Really, this is very kind of you.’ I kept my voice bright to hide the disappointment that suddenly hit me.

  How much longer was I prepared to let this stupid crush go on? Snap out of it, Katie. Perhaps it was time to heed six years of evidence that he’s not into you.

  I’d got some perspective again by the time we reached the office. Alex had, after all, remembered that I liked classical music. And he had thought to give me the tickets. Those were the actions of a friend. So he wasn’t interested in me romantically. I could live with that. I had lived with that for over half a decade. And we were friends, of a sort. No, I wouldn’t call him to discuss weekend plans (although this was mainly because I didn’t have his phone number, not because I exercised any restraint), but we were friendly. It was time I let that be enough.

  The office kitchen was abuzz an hour later when I went in to microwave my cooling coffee. A large dark chocolate cake sat on the table. Next to it was an envelope, scrawled with the invitation to Help yourselves you greedy sods. A few people had hacked into it, revealing layers of chocolate sponge held together with creamy cocoa icing. My mouth watered.

  ‘That looks delicious!’ I said to my colleagues. ‘Have you tried any?’

  Mark and Matt both nodded.

  ‘I’m having seconds!’ said Stacy, our HR bod. Everyone called her Racy Stacy behind her back, thanks to her talent for seducing most of the men in the office. She stuck her finger into the slice she’d just cut, licking the icing off while Mark and Matt tried to calm their erections. ‘Mmm, I could swallow the whole thing.’

  I had no doubt about that.

  ‘Are you having any?’ she asked me.