Losing It (9 page)

Dear Mr Morrison,

I am sorry to report that your daughter isn’t making the progress we’d hoped. Unfortunately, there has been no
significant
weight gain and we feel there is more to Johanna’s problems than we are currently aware. We understand that you are keen to visit but she refuses to see you. This must be difficult.

To make an appointment to discuss your daughter, please contact me at the phone number below.

Yours sincerely,

Neville Fraser (Dr)

Dear Jo,

This is new. It’s called chocolate filled red
liquorice
. It’s really yummy and cost a whole week’s pocket money so please don’t be sick after you eat it.

Love from,

Matt

P.S. I am doing a project on your thing at school and I got some stuff off the Internet about it. Did you know that some famous people like Mary-Kate Olsen have had anorexia nervosa? And there are loads of other movie stars and models and singers too.

The things you get are – losing weight quickly, knowing how many calories are in everything, exercising all the time and always talking about how fat you are. (I hope Mrs Jordan hasn’t got it because she’s always talking about how fat she is!!)

The things to help are – throwing out the scales, writing down ten things you like about yourself, going for a walk, seeing a movie,
wearing
clothes that are comfortable and accepting compliments.

Well, that’s what the magazine said. P.P.S. You are looking really nice today, Jo.

P.P.P.S. Oh, and this was in the magazine too.

Mary-Kate and Anorexia

While we, like many of you, are upset that we didn’t get the chance to see Mary-Kate and Ashley here in New Zealand this July, we’re very happy that Mary-Kate is now getting help and is on the road to recovery…

Ashley says, ‘I am very proud of my sister Mary-Kate for dealing with her problem. She is in a safe and nurturing environment and getting well. We have been incredibly touched by the tremendous outpouring of support and understanding from our friends, colleagues and fans around the world…

‘Mary-Kate did a very brave thing by
admitting
there was something wrong with her and she needed help. It can be very difficult to admit you need help, so we admire her for that. We hope other girls who might also be suffering from this illness will be inspired to take Mary-Kate’s lead and reach out for help.’

Dear Matt,

Thanks for all the information and also for the chocolate, which was totally delicious and I promise I wasn’t sick after it because you’re right, that would be a waste. Did you get that Martin Wainwright guy sorted out yet? I don’t think it’s fair that someone should have first dibs on the cheese and paper towels in your cooking (whoops, I mean food technology!) class. Does he have some secret deal going with the teacher?

How are the kittens doing? Do they have names yet and do they still look like rats? I miss Sushi a lot but I do have a spider in my room, which is nice. Her name is Charlotte. Not quite as much fun as Sushi but she’s interesting to watch.

Hope you are well.

Luv,

Jo

P.S. Why don’t you do a project on spiders? That’d be far more interesting. For example, did you know that spiders have lived on this earth for more than three hundred million years?

Dear Issy,

I feel like I’m stuck in some weird movie. Some days don’t feel real. Like, I’m trapped and I don’t know how to get out of my own way. When I feel like this it’s comforting to know that you are out there carrying on with your normal life – going to Science, getting fed up with Meredith, doing Pilates, eating sausage rolls and stuff. I know it sounds barmy but I would give anything to be normal again. I just don’t know where to start.

D,

Post-natal depression. That’s what Mum had. That was her label. Post-natal depression? It sounded like something off the weather forecast to me.

It’s funny how your memory works. I mean, there must be a hundred million moments stored inside your head but you remember only a few. That’s the weird part – like, which bits do you remember and why? And how can two people from the same family have completely different memories of the same event? Like, Matt doesn’t remember any of the yucky things about Mum at all. Why is that? Maybe he’s just a nicer person than I am.

The question is: is it because you’re a happy person to start with that you only remember the happy things or is it because you focus on the happy things that you become happy? Huh??!!

I was five when Matt was born and nine when Mum left home, which means she must have been sick for about four years. But there were good times as well.

Like when we borrowed Mrs Jordan’s caravan and went camping, for example. It was during the Christmas holidays and Dad had time off work and the weather was brilliant – hot and sunny every day. We parked the caravan near a river and set up camp by these willow trees. Dad strung
some rope between the trees to dry the clothes and we had this real dinky bath that he made using the chilly bin and a plastic bag. And it didn’t rain once during the whole week except for a tiny little bit at night. I only remember that because Dad kept skiting about it afterwards. There was no one else around, except for us and a couple of fishermen on the other side of the river, and I wanted that holiday to go on forever and ever.

Mum read magazines in her deckchair with sun cream on her nose while Matt slept in his cot in the awning. And Dad took me fishing with the rod I got for Christmas. He caught a rainbow trout one day, but it didn’t look that colourful to me. (There I go again – expecting too much as usual.) One day he took me down the river on our Lilo. We went for miles and miles just drifting along until we got to the bridge and then the current got too strong so we had to walk back. But it took ages walking and I lost my jandal and …

Anyway, when we got back Mum had all the washing done. She was proud of that – having all the washing done and the potatoes peeled.

We cooked all our food on the barbeque and Dad made these cute ring things to cook the eggs in by cutting the ends off a fish tin. I remember Mum saying she could live there full-time if she had to and Dad laughing and kissing the top of her head.

One night, after tea, Dad took me eeling. We waded through the long grass, over to the bridge. Then we found
a good spot, dropped the bait in and watched. But the water was so dark and deep that I couldn’t wait to get back to the caravan. I held Dad’s hand tight and was glad we didn’t catch any eels. I really don’t think I could’ve swum there again if we had. In fact, I still shiver when I think about that water.

Dear Jo,

The senior formal is tomorrow night. Mum has just taken up the hem on my dress. This is what the finished product looks like. Wish me luck,

Issy

Dear Issy,

Your posh frock looks stunning. You will look gorgeous and the formal will be utterly fabulously fantastic. Don’t forget I want ALL the gory details!!! Every single one.

Good luck.

Luv,

Jo

Dear Mum,

Do you remember that holiday we had in Mrs Jordan’s caravan?

D,

Do you know what it’s like to be nine years old? All you want is to be the same as everyone else. So, when you bring your friends home you don’t want your mum carked out, red-eyed, on the couch, do you? And you don’t want her arriving at the school cake stall with burnt muffins, either. Well, I didn’t.

Yesterday Leon and I were talking about mothers. He reckons I should be grateful that Mum even bothered to try because his Mum was always at work – too busy for
anything. I felt bad after that. He’s right, you know. I really am an ungrateful cow.

D,

One day last year Aunty Kay came down again from Timaru with Uncle Brian and baby Zak. This time we all went to McDonald’s for lunch. Zak sat in his high chair chucking chips everywhere, which, for some reason, everyone thought was hilarious. I tried to ignore how happy they all were. I tried to ignore the way Dad looked at Aunty Kay too, like he was thinking about someone else. I tried to ignore everything and concentrate on food.

That day I ate two double cheeseburgers and then asked Dad for a giant ice cream sundae with double chocolate sauce. That day Aunty Kay said, ‘You’ve got a real sweet tooth, Jo, just like your mum.’ I remember her saying it ‘just like your mum’. She probably meant it as a compliment.

But that night, after everyone went to bed, I nicked a packet of TimTams from the cupboard and a
family-sized
block of Caramellow chocolate that Dad got for his birthday and half a packet of corn chips we were saving for nachos. Then I shut myself in my bedroom and ate the lot.

Then I spewed it all up again.

Dear Jo,

You asked for all the gory details so here they are.

I am lying in bed and the Cameron College Formal is now officially over. The digital clock says 4:37 but I haven’t been to sleep yet because I keep going over the night in my mind, trying to figure out what happened. You were right about the blind date thing, Jo, and I should have listened. I mean, what was I thinking? Going to a dance with some complete stranger. What kind of a nutso idea was that?

This is what happened: Mike Maxwell arrived to pick me up at 6:30, and guess what – he was totally drop dead gorgeous. I’m not kidding, Jo – when he walked in I nearly died. Olive skin, jet-black hair – the works! Meredith’s eyes were on stalks, Kate was grinning like a moron and even Mum was tipped off balance a little.

Of course Dad had to go and make some embarrassing comment about me being the Belle of the Ball. ‘Is-a-belle of the ball – ha, ha, ha.’

I almost chickened out there and then, Jo. Because suddenly I realised what a bad idea this blind date thing was and what the heck was I going to say to him and well, you know. Major nerve attack in progress.

Anyway, he had a flower to pin on my dress and when he leaned forward my heart was going bang-bang-bang and if he couldn’t hear it then he must be deaf. But I knew exactly what he was thinking. Like, ‘Hmmnnn … this is
different from what I expected … fat, with freckles and glasses, eh. Wonder if it’s too late to swap?’ He didn’t say that of course. Oh no, he was the model of cool, charming the pants off everyone in sight.

His friend Rodney was waiting outside, with the car engine running, so there was no time for idle chitchat. Unfortunately, this didn’t stop Mum delivering her usual lecture on the evils of drink-driving and the reasons why I was the only chick in school who had to be home by twelve-thirty. (I’ve told her a thousand times that no one else gets home before daylight but she can’t seem to grasp it.)

So then we were off to Kathy’s. Her Mum turns out to be really cool with a nose stud and long red hair like Nicole Kidman. Her partner is a sculptor and there were all these incredible carvings everywhere. Like, in the corner of the lounge, there was a statue of a naked woman with ginormous breasts. Of course the guys couldn’t stop gawping.

And Kathy’s boobs aren’t exactly pint-sized, either. She had on a skin-tight halter-neck top with no bra. I felt like a bit of a drongo in my purple number and if I could have ripped those silly bells off, honest to God, I would have.

Luckily there was a heap of food and I managed to plough my way through a whole slab of brie cheese single-handedly because no one else seemed interested. The boys skulled a can of beer each while Kathy and I had a glass of sparkling grape juice in a fancy wine-glass.
The conversation wasn’t exactly riveting but thankfully Kathy’s mum stayed and we managed to waffle on about what we did in the holidays or something.

So, it was a relief to get to the hall, which looked fantastic, by the way. The whole ceiling was covered in streamers – orange, blues and reds – with a huge mirror ball in the centre and yucca plants everywhere. The theme was Mexican and Mr Tafea had one of those big sombrero hats. I felt more comfortable in familiar territory.

Mike got us a glass of punch and we sat at a table near the stage. When Gemma and Zoe arrived you could tell something was wrong as soon as they walked in because instead of making their usual grand entrance they were huddled together and it looked like Gemma was crying because Zoe had her arm around her – all drama-queen like.

Anyway, Kathy went to the loo and came back with the goss. Apparently, Luke McAnally (Gemma’s partner) had been refused entry on account of not being able to stand up properly and getting stroppy with Mr Hopkins, after drinking a whole bottle of wine at the Japanese restaurant that Gemma’s Dad shouted them to. Ha! Served him right. I couldn’t help having a grin about it, but everyone else was rushing round making a fuss and finding Gemma a seat (at the table next to us!) and looking all serious and concerned. You can imagine.

The music finally started and I had the first dance with Mike before he rushed off to the loo. It wasn’t easy getting
the steps right, especially in the dress, and I was starting to wish I’d paid a bit more attention to Miss Rainer during PE. Mark wasn’t back in time for the next dance so I decided to take some photographs for the paper while I was waiting. (Nice shot of the drummer and also one of Mr and Mrs Hopkins who looked really sweet in matching tuxedos.) Anyway, I must have been away too long because when I got back guess who’d nicked my seat?

Little Miss feel-sorry-for-me-because-my-boyfriend-
got-drunk
-and-wasn’t-allowed-in Scott was moving into my blind date. No prizes for guessing what happened next.

I’ll spare you the gory details because it was all too humiliating. But, to cut a long story short, Gemma Scott and Mike Maxwell practically danced the night away with him all over her like a rash and her being only too happy to oblige. So embarrassing! And when it came time for the last dance I was so hanging out to leave. I don’t know what Mike’s intentions were about giving me a lift home but if I was going to have any dignity I needed to get in first. So I made up some story about getting a ride with a friend and, surprise, surprise, he didn’t argue.

So there I was, walking home by myself. Everyone else off to the after-party at Jessie Hilton’s and me walking home in the rain on my lonesome. Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that bit. It was pissing down! Can you imagine a sadder sight in the world than that?!

Well, I was heading along Ralston Street when a car slowed down beside me. At first I thought it was a stalker
and my heart was going like the clappers trying to remember that stuff we learned in self-defence last year. (Is it the eyeballs or the other balls you’re supposed to go for?) Anyway, I started to take off my shoes so I could make a run for it.

But then a voice said, ‘Hey, what’s a nice girl like you doing walking home in the rain by herself?’ And I recognised the voice so I stopped – and it was Tim, that Year Twelve guy from the newspaper. He asked would I like a ride and I said where to and he said wherever I want and I said oh, yes please, that’d be great (but I hope not sounding too desperate or anything). Turned out his partner went home early because she didn’t feel well and apparently, she’s not exactly his partner but just a cousin and … well, I won’t bore you with ALL the details, except for the last bit.

Which is this – Tim pulled up outside my house and we talked for a bit about the newspaper story and stuff. Then I said thanks for the ride and he said that’s okay and, well, when he looked at me, Jo, I went all soggy inside. Hard to explain. Sort of squirmy: my stomach felt like it was going up ten flights in the elevator or something. And I had this feeling that he wanted to kiss me but I didn’t know if I was imagining it or not. It all seemed a bit surreal, especially after the fiasco with Mike Maxwell. And that’s why I can’t go to sleep. Because I keep seeing his face and feeling my stomach go up like in an elevator.

Hmmnnnnn…

Missing you heaps,

Issy