Oh God. I have to get off this treadmill. Now!
I’m just about to plead with him when my guts decide that along with the cabbage soup this sudden bout of exercise is really taking the mickey. My stomach clenches violently and I double up with a groan. Unfortunately, my brain decides it can’t drive both my legs and my stomach, so my legs stop moving but the treadmill keeps turning, pinging me off the back, past the other gym users and slap into the surprised Kevin.
And then my body decides to tell me and everyone else very, very loudly that it cannot handle the cabbage soup diet a second longer. Thunderclaps would be quiet in comparison.
I want to die. Right here and now. Everyone is staring and Kevin looks close to despair.
“Cabbage soup is the devil,” I say weakly, and then, mustering what few scraps of dignity I have left, scurry away with a speed the other treadmill users would envy. Somehow I don’t think I’ll be coming back to the gym again.
Exercise is clearly very bad for me.
Chapter 7
“Open the door, Ellie!” There’s a hammering of fists followed by another blast of the doorbell. “There’s no point hiding. I know you’re in.”
I put my hands over my ears and sing ‘la la la’
under my breath. Maybe if I stay still and quiet Sam will think I’ve already left and go away?
There’s another round of thudding on the door. If he keeps this up the Neighbourhood Watch
crew will get really overexcited. I don’t think Ambleside Walk’s had this much activity since Steve next door forgot his keys and had to break into his own porch. Mr Singh and Mrs Phillips practically had him in a headlock before they realized who it was. Maybe they’ll frog march Sam away for me? Then I won’t have to go to Diet World
with him.
“Don’t think I’ll believe you’ve already left and will go away,” Sam says through the letterbox of my flat. “I’m here with the car and I’m waiting. I’ve called in on your mum and she’s fine about it. So putting your hands over your ears and singing ‘la la la’
isn’t going to work.”
Don’t you just hate it when your friends know you inside out and upside down?
“Come on,” Sam cajoles. “You know you want to go to Diet World
.
It’ll be fun.”
“No it bloody won’t,” I grumble, letting him in because I know that Sam really won’t give up. I wouldn’t put it past him to fetch his tool box, take the door off its hinges and drag me out by my pony tail, that’s how determined he can be. Since my nightmare gym induction he’s decided to take matters into his own hands by dragging me to a slimming club. I tried to argue that I always see Mum in the evenings but it seems he’s even got around that by popping in and seeing her. Mum, weirdly, is all for it. She even phoned and told me that she was out on Friday with her neighbours. I’m so pleased she’s starting to get out and about again. Now, I guess it’s my turn?
“Ready for Chub Club?” Sam teases with a grin. “Come on, Ellie! Look at it this way. It can’t be worse than the gym, can it?”
While Sam creases up with laughter, I glare at him. I’m
so
glad my unfortunate stomach problem on the treadmill has given my friend hours of entertainment.
“What on earth possessed me to tell you about that?” I wonder.
“You were pissed,” he reminds me cheerfully.
I
knew
I should have given up drinking. Feeling mutinous, I pull on my coat and scarf and follow Sam out of my cosy flat and into the bitter cold of a November night. The urge to bolt back to the gas fire and
Eastenders
is so strong that only his hand placed firmly in the small of my back propelling me to the car stops me making a run for it. Moments later I am belted into the front seat of Sam’s van and being driven through the dark streets towards Ickenham’s church hall, scene of Brownies, birthday parties and now yet another humiliating episode in my quest to lose weight by Christmas.
After my nightmare experience at the gym, I’d hotfooted it straight back to the Coach and Horses where I’d eaten my own body weight in cheesy chips and got very, very drunk. So drunk in fact that I’d ended up pouring out the entire sorry story to just about any one who’d listen. Rick and Nick were still chortling the next morning, Vicky had thoughtfully left her copy of the Atkins
on my desk but Sam had to go one better: he’d signed us both up for a diet club.
“Right, now listen to me,” he’d said when I’d finally calmed down. “You can either throw in the towel, grab a MacDonald’s and then feel even worse or you can try something else.”
I’d glowered at him. Maccy D’s for lunch
had
been on my agenda actually. Anything but cabbage flipping soup. I was never trying that again.
“I still need to lose a few pounds,” Sam had continued, patting his stomach and shrugging ruefully. “Lucy went mental when she found Burger King wrappers in my van.”
I’d opened my mouth to remark that when Lucy gained a personality maybe Sam could lose some weight, but had shut it quickly. Although I thought Lucy was a total cow Sam liked her. Besides, Sam wasn’t chubby. He was solid and real, which was much better than being like a string bean. I’d seen the muscles in his arms when he lifted parts around in the workshop. And anyway, he had the kindest crinkliest eyed smile in the world so what did it matter if his tummy was a bit squidgy?
“Let’s buddy up,” Sam had continued enthusiastically. “We can support each other and both lose a bit of weight for the big Christmas party. I know we’ve said we’ll do it before but we if we’re honest we’ve never really put our minds to it properly, have we? If we are on the same healthy eating plan and encourage each other we won’t be tempted to cheat.”
This made sense. I’d nodded slowly and he’d beamed from ear to ear that I hadn’t dismissed the idea out of hand.
“Brilliant! Maybe we can run in the park too?”
“Steady!” I’d laughed.
Still, Sam’s enthusiasm has been contagious and yesterday we went for a run in the park. OK, I say run which might be something of an exaggeration, it’s more like a bit of a fast walk with a few joggy bits thrown in, followed by a lot of getting our breath back. It’s strange, I’ve actually quite enjoyed it and at least it keeps me out of Costas and away from all the gingerbread lattes. This diet club is another matter entirely. I really wish I hadn’t agreed to go. What seemed like a good idea in the office isn’t quite so funny at 7 p.m. on a winter’s evening…
Sam pulls up outside the church hall. Groups of women swarm towards it and warm light spills out into the street every time the door opens.
“Ready?” he says.
I’m about as ready as I would be to have my teeth removed with pliers but it’s too late to back out now. Reluctantly I leave the car and venture out into the chilly night. Already frost is icing the verges, frozen blades of grass sparkle in the light of the street lamps, and my breath clouds in front of me. The windows of the church hall are twinkling with fairy lights and as we enter I see that the Christmas tree is already up in the foyer. Granted it has a nasty dose of tinsel and is suffering from alopecia, but it is without doubt a big reminder that the festive season is only weeks away and, even more importantly, it’s not long until the firm’s big Christmas party. No matter that every cell in my body is screaming to escape; I need to get into that meeting, step on those scales, treat my diet sheets like the Bible and lose enough weight to wow Drake Owen.
“Welcome to Diet World! Are you guys new?” An earnest looking girl pounces on us the second we walk through the door.
Stella!
declares her name badge excitedly.
“If we’re not then this diet doesn’t work!” Sam jokes, but although Stella might possess an exclamation mark she doesn’t possess a sense of humour and shakes her head vehemently.
“Oh no! It works! It really works! I was eighteen stone and now I’m just under eleven! I’m going to hit my golden certificate very soon!”
I’m impressed. That’s some weight loss. In spite of my misgivings I start to perk up. Maybe this isn’t quite so impossible after all?
“Brilliant,” says Sam warmly, clearly thinking along the same lines. “How long did that take?”
Stella beams. “Not long at all. Only about eighteen months.”
Eighteen months? I haven’t got eighteen months. I’m just on the brink of asking her whether there’s any kind of fast track system (short of an emergency gastric band) when another woman with purple hair and funky glasses charges over and makes a bee line for Sam.
“Hi! I’m Lou, group leader! Welcome to Diet World!
You are taking the first step towards changing your life for the healthy better!”
My goodness, there had better not be a world shortage of exclamation marks. These guys have nicked the lot.
Lou is pumping Sam’s hand now and leading him towards a queue of middle-aged women and one huge man.
“We have the highest success levels of weight loss and keeping weight at target of any British slimming club!” she continues, her eyes bright with zeal. “Your weight loss journey starts today!”
Am I possessed of special invisibility powers or something? Why isn’t she talking to me? I trail after Lou and Sam and try to look interested when actually all I can think about is the enormous pile of fruit and cereal bars stacked up on a trestle table. I’m ravenous. It’s hours since my last slice of cardboard, sorry I mean
Ryvita
. Maybe we get to eat these?
I’m still figuring this out when I come to the front of the queue where I part with my joining fee (twenty quid? I know I want to lose pounds but this wasn’t quite what I had in mind) and am then swiftly weighed. This time I’m eleven stone, which cheers me up no end until I discover that according to these guys I have over a stone to lose in order to reach my target weight. Oh dear. That sounds an awful lot. Clutching armfuls of pamphlets and my starter pack I help myself to a diet hot chocolate (hot brown water and not a squirt of cream in sight) and join Sam, who is still accompanied by Lou. Is it my imagination or does she touch his arm just a little too often? And does she really need to flip her hair about quite so much?
Then it dawns on me: she fancies Sam! Blimey.
OK, that came out wrong. Why shouldn’t she fancy Sam? Lots of women find him very attractive in a big bear of a guy kind of way. There’s something about him that makes you feel really safe and he’s really good fun to be around too. His jokes are brilliant. There’s the one he always tells about the piece of string that goes into a bar and … well, anyway never mind. I find it hilarious, but Lou hasn’t heard any of Sam’s jokes yet, and neither does she know he can belch God Save the Queen or cook a mean Thai green curry. No, Lou is totally superficial and just going on the fact that with his curly blonde hair, sleepy green eyes and ready smile he looks like a chunky Owen Wilson. Lucy’s bad enough, the last thing my friend needs is the attention of yet another diet Nazi.
Time for me to rescue him.
“There you are darling!” I say brightly, joining them and threading my arm through Sam’s. “All weighed in and signed up!”
Sam stares at me as though I’ve gone mad. He’ll appreciate this soon enough. Beaming at Lou I stretch out my hand.
“I don’t think we’ve met? I’m Ellie, Sam’s fiancée.”
Lou looks as though she’s swallowed an acid drop. Muttering something about having to get the meeting started she scuttles away, leaving Sam and I to take our seats.
“What on earth was all that about?” Sam asks. He looks at me and there’s an expression in his eyes I can’t quite fathom. “Since when did we get engaged?”
“Sorry about that,” I say. “I thought you needed rescuing. Some diet club this is. She looked as though she was about to eat you alive.”
He looks gutted. Crikey. Surely he didn’t fancy her?
“Oh, right. Thanks, Ellie.”
“No probs. I was only thinking of you. What would Lucy think?”
Sam sighs wearily. “To be honest, Ellie, I think she—”
But what Sam thinks I don’t find out because at this point Lou claps her hands and the meeting begins. Everyone has weighed in, discovered whether or not they have gained or lost weight and now we are all sitting in a circle in the style of an AA meeting. Any minute now I’ll have to say, ‘My name is Ellie and I am a food aholic’.
As it turns out I’m not far wrong. Each person in turn is told his or her weight loss for the week while the rest of us clap or commiserate as appropriate. Then we are invited to talk about out successes or failures. I stitch a riveted expression onto my face as one woman talks about how bananas may have caused her to gain a pound while another confesses that she has eaten two squares of Dairy Milk. Only two squares? I nearly clap at her restraint but stop myself in time when I realize that this is a cause for deep sadness. I catch Sam’s eye and he looks as panic-stricken as I feel. I’m surprised Kevin doesn’t materialize, like some diet genie, to announce ‘chocolate is the devil’. Perhaps he’s still recovering from the cabbage soup episode?
One by one the stories are recounted and I start to panic as my turn gets closer. Is it just me, or is this a seriously weird thing to be doing? Surely food is one of life’s great pleasures, not something to confess like a Big Brother contestant in the Diary Room?
Oh crap. It’s the turn of the woman next to me now. There’s nothing of her at all, she’s all bird like bones and tiny wrists. Why on earth is she here? Someone needs to get her to Greggs fast and stuff an emergency sausage roll or six down her neck.
“I’ve had such a good week!” She exclaims while the rest of us cheer/seethe. “I went to MacDonald’s.”
There’s a gasp of horror but our speaker bravely presses on. “I went to MacDonald’s and I only had a Diet Coke!”
I can’t help myself. It’s as though my brain and my mouth have been separated.
“That’s not a good week!” I cry. “That’s a terrible week! You can’t go in Maccy D’s and just have a coke. Have you all gone mad?”
Oops
. Now the whole room is staring at me and Lou looks especially unimpressed. I expect she’s thinking that its no wonder I’m overweight and she’s probably right but at least I know how to enjoy myself.