The Curvy Girls Club Read online

  At that, she burst into messy snot-bubble tears.

  ‘What’s the matter? Ellie, what’s wrong?’ I reached for her hand. ‘Talk to me, honey.’

  ‘I’ve ruined my relationship,’ she announced. ‘It’s over between Thomas and me. I was going to tell you at home tonight but it couldn’t w-w-w-waiiiitt!’

  I peered at Ellie. Much as I hated to see her upset, we had been down this road before. ‘Are you sure? Is it really over, or just in-your-head over? Have you actually broken up? Out loud?’ One had to ask these things with Ellie. She ran about six miles ahead of any given situation.

  ‘It’s as good as over. I talked to him about Colleen this morning.’

  Ah yes, Colleen, Thomas’s colleague and one-time crush. ‘When you say talked?’

  ‘All right, I shouted. But he deserved it!’ She started crying again. ‘They’ve been out together, Katie. They’ve been out and he didn’t tell me.’

  ‘Well, they are friends, Ellie. Friends do go out sometimes. Where did they go? Was it a romantic dinner? Dancing into the night? A weekend away?’

  ‘Don’t make fun of my heartbreak. They went to Pizza Express.’

  ‘Did they …’ Gasp. ‘Share a pizza?! Oh, Ellie, why do you do this to yourself? So they went out for a meal. That’s not a big deal.’

  ‘First it’s pizza, Katie. Then it’s a cosy French bistro with candles and those accordion players who sell roses, then who knows what? The important thing is, he didn’t tell me about it. I had to find out myself.’

  ‘What do you mean you had to find out yourself?’

  Her eyes slid away. ‘I might have checked the calendar on his iPhone.’

  ‘Ellie, you didn’t!’

  ‘Well, he should have a password if he doesn’t want people seeing it! Besides, I knew he wasn’t telling me something. What was I supposed to do?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. How about trusting your boyfriend instead of hacking into his phone?’ I sighed. ‘All right. So what did you say to him? Did you accuse him of sharing his mozzarella with another woman?’

  ‘No, of course not. I asked him what he did last night.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And he told me.’

  ‘That jerk, how could he? So you teed off on him?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say I – yes, I did.’ She looked contrite. Finally. ‘He should have told me beforehand.’

  Awkwardly, I put my arm around her. Conference rooms weren’t configured for comforting friends. She sank into me. ‘Ellie, honey, I’m sure he didn’t think to tell you because he wasn’t doing anything wrong. How did he react?’

  ‘He was confused. He apologised and asked if we could talk tonight.’

  ‘You will talk to him, won’t you? Believe me, if I thought you had anything to worry about I’d tell you. I’ll always take your side over a boyfriend’s. But, from an objective, outsider’s perspective, I don’t think you have anything to worry about. Talk to him tonight. Okay?’

  She promised she would and we got ready to leave for the day. I’d kill to have just one of the chances at love that she seemed so intent on throwing away.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Ellie was trying to torture me. She’d talked to Thomas days ago but wouldn’t tell me a thing unless I went with her to the gym. I’d tried prising information out of her over lunch, on our coffee breaks, every chance I got. She wouldn’t budge. She was an exercise extortionist.

  I knew I’d cave in to her demands. I wasn’t against exercise per se. I just didn’t like it to seem like exercise. Walking on Hampstead Heath or along the Thames towards Hampton Court Palace was delightful. There were interesting things to see, excellent conversations to be had, and glasses of wine to enjoy at the end. Working out in a gym was like eating a bar of chocolate with the wrapper still on. Technically the same chocolate but quite a different experience.

  Plus, it was bad enough as a fit person trying to survive a treadmill session or hyperactive aerobics instructor. It was completely disheartening trying to do it as an overweight one. Imagine jogging. Then strap five sacks of potatoes into a rucksack. Not so much fun now, is it?

  That’s why I admired Ellie’s devotion to fitness. I knew it wasn’t easy for her and yet she still did it.

  We were halfway through the much-begrudged spin class when our instructor yelled at me for the hundredth time. He’d taken to calling my name every five seconds in an attempt to encourage me. He was just pissing me off.

  ‘Come on, Katie,’ he said again, his thighs straining against Lycra. ‘We’re on the hill now. Are you joining us?’

  ‘No, thanks,’ I said, pedalling on the lightest setting on the bike. ‘I’m taking the A road around the hill. It’s flat down here. You go on though, I’ll meet you on the other side. Maybe we can stop for an ice cream.’

  Ellie shot me a dirty look from beneath her mop, which had gone completely mental between the heat and constant standing up, sitting down, standing up, sitting down. She made me tired just watching her.

  ‘You could try,’ she panted.

  ‘I didn’t agree to try. I agreed to come with you. Are you going to make me wait until after class to find out how your talk went?’

  ‘Yes, because I can’t … talk right now … and because I know … you’d leave as soon as I told you.’

  I tried to look offended, but she was right. I’d be in the café with a strawberry smoothie five seconds after she finished her story.

  The class ended with the instructor telling us that we were uh-maaz-ing and deserved a nice dinner. It was finally something we agreed on.

  ‘So tell me everything,’ I said when we got to the café. ‘It must have gone well or you wouldn’t have spent every night this week at his place.’

  Her smile was full of joy. And sex. There was a lot of sex in that smile.

  ‘Sun Tzu says to keep your friends close and your enemies closer.’

  ‘I see. And are you sleeping with the enemy?’

  She blushed. ‘None of your business.’

  ‘I’ll take that as a yes then. So things are better?’

  ‘It’s complicated.’

  ‘It’s really not, Ellie.’ I was always torn when she said things like this. We’d been here before. Of course I wanted to support her but sometimes she needed protecting from herself. She wrecked her last relationship with unfounded suspicions. We did tell her that a man writing a woman’s name in his diary wasn’t conclusive proof of an affair. We also told her that she really ought not to be looking at his diary, but that advice clearly hadn’t stuck either. Her jealousy could be all-consuming. I wasn’t about to let it consume her relationship with Thomas when he might very well be The One. ‘Did you tell him how you felt? Do you feel better now?’

  ‘I’d feel better if they weren’t friends. But they are, and that doesn’t seem likely to change. You should hear him talk about her. Like she’s Beyoncé and Jesus all wrapped in one.’

  I tried to conjure that mental image.

  ‘And of course I didn’t tell him. He’d think I was insane. As it was I had to convince him I hadn’t lost my mind the other day when I shouted at him.’

  ‘Did you …?’

  ‘Blamed it on PMT, yes. I know you’re right, Katie. I just get a little crazy sometimes because I like him so much. This feels like it might be it, you know? The real thing. I’m petrified it’s all going to turn out to be a big mistake. What if this whole relationship is just a misunderstanding and he doesn’t really like me at all?’

  ‘As in, oh I’m terribly sorry. I meant to pour you a coffee and accidentally had sex with you for several months?’

  ‘Well, not when you put it like that. But I may have misinterpreted his intentions, longer-term. If I did then he’ll feel terrible for leading me on and I’ll want to curl up and die. I mean, look at him. He’s perfect. And look at me.’ She made a face at her reflection in the wall of mirrors. Why did gyms think we wanted three-hundred-and-sixty degree reminders of why w
e were there?

  ‘He is not perfect! And believe me, I’ll be here to point out every single flaw, physical, mental and emotional, if he ever hurts you. But I don’t think he will.’

  ‘At what point do I get to actually enjoy this without being terrified it’s going to end?’

  ‘I don’t know, honeybun, I wish I did.’

  Ellie and I parted with the question hanging between us. Was anyone actually comfortable in their relationship when they were in love? Or did they sleep with one eye open, alert to the possibility that fate would snatch away their happiness? Like I had any idea. Unrequited love had its own problems.

  ‘Hey, I was just going to phone in case you’d forgotten,’ Jane said when I arrived at our new offices. Rob had had keys cut for us all, and his cousin, taxidermy David, really was fine with us using the space as often as we liked. So far we hadn’t met our benevolent landlord, possibly because he avoided daylight (and garlic, I suspected).

  ‘Why are you all red?’ Jane asked. ‘Are you having an allergic reaction?’

  ‘I’ve come from the gym.’

  The look on her face almost made the sweaty humiliation in workout gear worthwhile.

  ‘It was under duress.’

  ‘You do look like you’ve lost more weight,’ she said suspiciously.

  As it happened, I had. Ellie made me step on the scale twice at the gym, just to be sure. Six pounds altogether, and I had no idea how. I’d never had a dainty appetite (quelle surprise) but I’d been ravenous lately. Maybe my metabolism was speeding up. Maybe that’s why my heart raced all the time.

  ‘Oh no,’ I lied, not wanting to make Jane feel bad. ‘I don’t think so. In fact I’m starving.’ That part was true. I dove into my bag for the open packet of Snack a Jacks there.

  ‘You don’t know starving until you’ve been fasting,’ she said, sweeping her lustrous blonde locks up off her face and deftly twisting them into a bun. ‘Day two. I can eat two hundred more calories today. Woo hoo. But my colleague swears it works. She’s lost over a stone.’

  ‘But Jane, at what cost? It can’t be good to starve yourself. You promised no more crazy diets.’

  ‘It’s not a crazy diet. It’s a different way of eating. It’s medically proven to work. And it’s safe. We agreed to eat healthily and try not to worry about our weight. I’m following orders.’ She smiled. ‘I’m working on the not worrying part, but this way of eating retrains your body to crave healthy food instead of junk and speeds up your metabolism by, well, I can’t remember all the details.’

  ‘That’s because you’re starving your brain. Have you got enough energy to work on the pitch? If I put the pen in your hand, could you scratch out a few words?’

  She moved the mouse orchestra aside and even managed a smile in her depleted state. ‘I’ve been thinking a lot about the idea and I really do think Channel 4 might go for it if it’s pitched correctly. That means hitting the right angle, and I think we’re on to something with Love Your Body month. The fact that we’re the Curvy Girls Club is almost incidental, although not for us, obviously. If we can pitch it on a huge scale it’ll make them sit up and take notice. The important thing is the message. You can be beautiful at any shape or size. It’s not about being thin. It’s about showing off what you’ve got.’

  Jane saw no irony in saying this as she anticipated her next two hundred calories …

  ‘You’re right,’ I said. ‘The pitch has to be huge. Ideally we’d all be involved. I know you don’t want to get naked for the cameras. That’s fine. But would you do the makeover part? Whether you like it or not, you’re a minor celebrity.’

  ‘I am not!’

  ‘You were on telly for years, and you are a bit famous. So if you were on the programme, it’d add to our likelihood of getting it commissioned. Right?’

  She stared at me. ‘You’re right. I dread the very idea. Oh god. Being on camera again.’ She shook her head.

  ‘You make yourself sound like a grotesque monster.’

  ‘Not a monster, Katie, but I don’t like what I see in the mirror. And before you tell me I’m beautiful, you lovely lovely friend, it doesn’t matter what you see. Andy tells me I’m beautiful every day. It doesn’t matter. It’s what I see that matters.’

  ‘You need to be on the programme, Jane.’ I didn’t elaborate on my reasons. Let her think it was for the good of the Curvy Girls Club.

  We sat quietly together, surrounded by David’s taxidermied animals. Pete the bear seemed to approve of our idea but the angry Pekingese didn’t look so sure.

  My phone pinged. 770 unique views, 211 signups. Next update in a week. Rob

  That translated into another four hundred quid into the club account. I showed Jane, and explained about unique views. ‘Almost eight hundred people went on the website last week because there’s finally somewhere for them to feel included. Think how many more people would love to have that chance, if they knew about it.’

  ‘All right. I’ll do it,’ she finally said. ‘Let’s write the pitch with us as definite participants. We should pitch it as The Great British Makeover. They can run makeover segments in London, Manchester, Edinburgh, Cardiff, all the big cities in the UK. We could even suggest using volunteers for the styling if they’re concerned about budget. I’m sure if they offered the right publicity to everyone they’d be able to source them. It would get huge viewership between the live event and the catch-ups on More4. Plus they’d get highlighted on their website. They might even do a separate references page so people could have contact details for their area handy.’ She nodded happily. ‘Yes, I can see the producers getting very excited about this.’

  ‘I’m excited about it!’ I said. Watching Jane so animated about the idea, I could almost forget the demons she fought every time she looked in the mirror. There had to be a way to help her. I knew just how hard the past decade had been.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Jane’s crazy diets started long before we met, soon after her daughter Abigail was born. By that time, Jane had said many times, she couldn’t imagine ever seeing a flat tummy again. It seemed like an impossibly long road. Part of the problem was that after years of roominess, her body was quite used to the larger accommodation. It wasn’t giving up that extra space easily.

  Besides, Jane was absurdly happy with her life, and sorting out her expanding waistline just wasn’t at the top of her priority list. Enjoying her expanding family was.

  Now more than five years into her BBC career and co-presenting a well-loved morning breakfast show, she couldn’t take off much time when Abigail was born. Since her show was broadcast live in the early mornings, Andy handled the children’s waking up routine, but she was back in her warm kitchen with her babies by nine a.m. Then Andy went off to develop IT systems for his company’s clients across London. Between the children and preparing for the next morning’s show, the days flowed smoothly into one another.

  After having Abigail, Jane even started loosening her grip on the children. She still wanted to seal them into a bubble, safely away from the world, and wouldn’t dream of leaving the house without a month’s supply of anti-bacterial wipes. But Andy’s gentle persuasion eventually convinced her that children were actually quite tough little creatures who needed lots of outside play and friends. Even when that meant catching colds and scraping knees.

  So Jane’s life was pretty great when the show’s producers called her in for a meeting just before Abigail’s six-month birthday.

  ‘We just wanted to talk about the show, Jane,’ said Karen, the executive producer who’d recruited her. ‘As you know, when we ran our focus groups a few years back, everyone absolutely loved you.’

  Jane glowed with pleasure. Her on-air job wasn’t quite as important as her work as a mum, but it was a very close second. She was constantly grateful that she got to do both.

  ‘It’s just that ratings have been flat for the past several months,’ Karen continued. ‘So we need to look at every aspect of the show.�
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  ‘Am I doing something wrong?’ Jane asked.

  ‘No no, not at all! Like I said, you’ve tested well with viewers in the past … Jane, this isn’t an easy thing to say, and it’s nothing personal at all. But you know that we’re presenting a certain image on the show. Of course we understand that you’ve had a baby, and we hope you’re getting back on track now. If there’s anything we can do to help, just let us know, okay?’

  Jane thanked her producers and left the meeting on shaking legs. Her weight, up till then the only cloud on her horizon, had just grown more menacing.

  She knew her dress size shouldn’t matter. She was an excellent presenter, warm and friendly enough to put her guests at ease while not shying away from probing questions (as long as they were entertaining, as per the show’s brief). And the audience liked her.

  But Karen’s message was loud and clear. Jane needed to lose weight or risk losing her job. She couldn’t wait to whinge to Andy about it. The injustice!

  ‘They can’t tell you that,’ he said, perfectly affronted on his wife’s behalf, just as she knew he’d be. ‘It’s one thing if you wanted to lose weight, but they can’t force you, or threaten you if you don’t.’

  ‘But I do want to lose weight! That’s the irony. They’re suggesting that I do what I’ve been saying I would for years. I guess I’ll really have to try now.’ She stared at the gooey slab of brie that they’d been sharing before they started cooking dinner together.

  ‘I’ll support you in any way I possibly can,’ Andy said, putting his arms around her. ‘Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it. We’ll do it together.’

  Jane smiled into his shoulder. Andy was one in a million.

  ‘If you lost fifty pounds you’d blow away, sweetheart. No, it’s up to me to do this.’

  But Jane had already tried shedding the weight by watching what she ate. Knowing that that hadn’t worked meant more drastic action was needed. Luckily there were as many insane diets as there were desperate slimmers.