Read the book: «The Curvy Girls Club»

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

The Curvy Girls Club Book Club Questions

Keep Reading: Match me if you Can

Read on for an exclusive extract from Match me if you Can

Acknowledgements

About the Author

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

Pixie rejoined our little group, muttering as she shot dirty looks at Pam, our Slimming Zone consultant and weekly bearer of bad news.

‘I’ve had it,’ she said. ‘Do you know how much weight I’ve lost in the last four years? Do you? I worked it out over Christmas. Seventy-six pounds. That’s two hundred and sixty thousand calories I haven’t enjoyed,’ she continued, saving us calculating that depressing equation. ‘And do you know how much weight I’ve gained back?’ Her hazel eyes glinted.

Glances bounced between Ellie and Jane and me. I wouldn’t answer that question if water-boarded.

‘All but seven pounds. It’s taken me years to lose what I could have flushed down the loo with a minor bout of dysentery. I’d have been better off drinking the water on holiday in Morocco.’

‘You’ve just hit a wall, that’s all,’ said Ellie. ‘It happens to everyone. You’ll feel better next week.’

‘It feels like the Great Wall of China, love.’ She shook her head. ‘Why should next week be any better, or the week after that?’

Ellie was flummoxed by such blasphemy. ‘It just will be. You’ve got to stick with it. Pam says—’

‘I know what Pam says, Ellie. I’ve been coming here for four years. Four years. I’ve lost seven pounds. I’m sick of it. Why do we keep doing this to ourselves?’ She gestured around the room, to the crowd of new faces. Post-Christmas optimists. By Easter they’d be as bitter as Pixie.

‘Because we love each other and get to see each other every week here,’ said Ellie. ‘You’re my best friends. Katie and I wouldn’t have met you if it wasn’t for Slimming Zone.’

We’d joined not long after Pixie did, and I couldn’t have been more grateful to have Ellie at my side. I’d looked forward to that first meeting about as much as my family’s annual visit to Great Aunt Bernardine, who smelled of cats and liked to explain to me why I was single.

We’d entered the church hall fearing the worst. Would they announce our weight in booming voices tinged with judgement? Would everyone laugh? Was the rest of the group only there to lose those stubborn last five pounds, making us the elephants in the room?

We needn’t have worried. Everyone was friendly and supportive. Nobody announced pounds gained, only pounds lost. And as Ellie just pointed out, that’s how we met Jane and Pixie. They were already friends, Jane having joined about a year before Pixie. They might seem like opposites but Slimming Zone had brought them together, as it had us all.

I scanned the packed hall, thinking about Pixie’s question. ‘We could be anywhere together,’ I said.

‘But we have fun here,’ Ellie said.

‘No we don’t,’ Pixie scoffed. ‘We have fun at dinner after we leave here.’

‘I like these meetings,’ Jane said, staring at the growing pile of knitting in her lap. ‘I feel like they help me. And we’re … amongst friends here.’

‘I’m with Jane,’ Ellie said. ‘I feel better for coming.’

‘And it has worked for you, Ellie.’ As her flatmate, work colleague and best friend I knew how hard she tried. She was only twenty-five, with all the lovely elasticity that brings, so hers was puppy fat rather than the established fat of us older dogs. She’d lost a fair amount of weight but still saw no beauty in her size sixteen frame.

‘I love you girls,’ I said. ‘But Pixie’s right. Our friendship is built mostly around how many Maltesers we’ve eaten.’

Being overweight does tend to preoccupy one. Like having a hangnail, it’s always there to irritate you. Sometimes it’s painful but usually it’s just tedious.

‘I think we need more than this.’

‘I gained a pound,’ said Jane at the next meeting. ‘And I’ve eaten nothing but Special K for a week.’ She glared at her thighs. ‘My wee stinks of wheat.’

Jane was no stranger to unpleasant side effects. When she was on the cabbage soup diet none of us could be in the car with her unless the windows were down.

‘That’s not healthy, Jane,’ I said.

‘Neither is being two stone overweight,’ she snapped back. ‘I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.’

Ellie bounded over to Jane for a hug. She reminded me of a half-grown sheepdog when she moved, with her blondish-brown flyaway curls that always found their way over her eyes. She was just as friendly and gawky and I often had the urge to pet her.

‘How much Special K are you eating?’ she gently enquired.

Jane shrugged her off. ‘So shoot me, I get hungry! Those serving sizes are for children.’ Tears sprang to her eyes.

‘Oh Jane, I didn’t mean to upset you. I only asked. Maybe something a bit more well-balanced than cereal might work better?’

‘It’s just till I get started,’ she said. She always said that.

Dieting was an extreme sport for Jane – the more outrageous, the bigger the potential payoff. There wasn’t a fad, plan, pill or potion that she hadn’t tried since having her children, but nothing shifted the baby weight. Those babies were now nine and seven. Her house was full of photos of her pre-child days, when she wore wispy dresses and wasn’t afraid of shorts. Her friendly, heart-shaped face beamed at the camera, wide blue eyes sparkling and long, thick blonde hair cascading over her shoulders. She didn’t pose for the camera any more.

‘But those adverts!’ she said as she pressed her double chin with the back of her hand. She hated that chin. Last year she spent hours making kissy fish faces in a bid to tone it. Pixie threatened to demonstrate her Kegel exercises if she didn’t stop doing it with us in public. ‘They couldn’t run the adverts if they weren’t true. Trading Standards wouldn’t let them. Would they?’

Our expressions answered her.

‘I knew it. Poxy adverts.’

‘It’s not the adverts,’ Pixie said. ‘It’s just human nature. If we stuck to exactly what they told us to eat we’d lose weight. We’d also lose the will to live.’ She shook her head. ‘A woman can’t live on no-fat, no-fun food alone … which is why I’ve made a decision. Ladies, this is my last meeting.’

‘No!’ Jane and Ellie said together.

‘You can’t quit!’ Jane said.

Pixie shrugged. ‘Of course I can. I’m sick to death of letting my entire life revolve around every calorie I put into my gob. I told you last week it wasn’t worth it for me.’ She crossed her arms. There was no budging her when she did that. ‘I say bollocks to weekly weigh-ins.’

‘But what about us?’ Ellie’s voice hitched in her throat.

‘You could always quit too. Then we can do something fun together instead.’

‘I’m not ready to quit,’ said Jane.

‘Me neither,’ Ellie said.

Was I ready to quit? As veteran slimmers on the scale of World War soldiers, we’d all seen several tours of duty. Heads of state should lay wreaths before the scales each November to honour our bravery in fighting the 100 Pounds War. I was battle-hardened.

But as I thought about what Pixie had said I realised I was finally ready to resign my commission.

‘She’s right,’ I said. ‘I’d rather spend the evening with you doing something fun than be judged by the calories I’ve eaten. But there’s no reason you couldn’t do both for a while if that makes you feel better. Let’s plan something in addition to Slimming Zone.’

‘I’m in!’ Jane said, her hands flying over her knitting. ‘What shall we do?’

In London, the options were endless. Film, theatre, comedy, music? A night stuffing fivers down male strippers’ G-strings? No, none of us was rich. They’d have to settle for pound coins.

‘I’ve been dying to see Thriller Live,’ Ellie finally said.

‘I thought you were going with Thomas?’ I asked.

She reddened. ‘I thought he was going to surprise me with tickets a few weeks ago, but he hasn’t yet.’ She smiled, no doubt thinking about lovely Thomas. They’d snogged at our company Christmas party and, unusually, didn’t spend the next month avoiding each other in the kitchen.

‘I wouldn’t wait around for him,’ Pixie said. ‘Why don’t you book them?’

‘Well, if we want to go together,’ she said, ‘then let’s book tickets for us.’

Pixie grinned. ‘We’ll have a girls’ night out. Jane, could Andy watch my two on the night as well?’

‘Of course, I’m sure he won’t mind.’

‘Thanks, love. It’s bad enough that Trevor’s got to mind them tonight.’

Ellie, Jane and I bounced our usual looks between us. Trevor was a waste of space. Unfortunately he was wasting space in Pixie’s house, as the father of her children.

‘Are things any better at home?’ Ellie asked as we collected our coats and bags.

Pixie nodded at first, then shook her head. ‘Darts have started again so he’s out after tea most nights.’ She sighed. ‘A point to the temple is probably too much to hope for.’ We smiled at her lame joke, recognising the honesty in it. ‘At least by the time he gets home, the children and I are in bed.’

They’d had separate bedrooms for years on account of Pixie’s sleep apnoea. Trevor claimed to need a good night’s sleep since he worked. Given how sporadic that work was, he should have been okay with sporadic sleep as well.

Pixie had a new plan to leave him at least twice a year. Her list of reasons was endless, and totally justified. Not that he physically abused her. She’d knock his teeth out if he laid a finger on her or the children. But his constant complaints and insults were a slow form of torture.

The problem was, since she hadn’t worked in years, she was a bit stuck. So she stayed with him, hoping things would get better. As her friends, we added our hopes to hers.

CHAPTER TWO

Ellie and I splurged on takeaway sushi on our way home from the meeting. Eating tiny bits of fish and rice made us feel virtuous on a par with the Buddha. Which justified the ice cream we bought for dessert. Life was a balancing act, after all.

Ellie got the good wine glasses from the kitchen and threw herself beside me on the ancient sofa. Mum and Dad had brought it from home when I bought the flat. Lucky for me, as I was so skint by the end of the process that even Ikea was out of my reach.

I loved our sofa. It was old and worn but its scarlet velvet cushions held countless memories. It was where I was sitting when Mum announced she’d been appointed headmistress of her school. I threw myself on it when opening my university acceptance letter. And it was where I first had sex … a detail I’d skipped when reminiscing with my parents on moving day.

How I’d loved Rory McAdams, ever since Year Nine when he offered to help me with maths. He wasn’t the most popular boy, or the sportiest or smartest or funniest. He was a bit on the short side, and failed to grow the peach fuzz that our classmates managed. But he was incredibly nice, and he became one of my only friends at school.

It would be generous to say that I went through an awkward phase at school. It was more like a pariah phase. I slowly outgrew it at uni, away from the bullies who’d tormented me, but it was a slow process and I never did gain a big group of friends. Since meeting Ellie, Jane and Pixie, I hadn’t felt I needed any more.

But Rory wasn’t put off by my leper-like status at school. We became such good mates that our parents started referring to us in the plural. We were Katie-and-Rory. Naturally this convinced me that we were as good as going out, in a non-kissing, non-hand-holding, one-sided way.

But while I pined for my friend, he pined for a tall girl on the hockey team who didn’t know he was alive. Sometimes I wondered if anyone got to go out with the person they liked.

One night, just before leaving sixth form, we went to the pub. We’d both had too much cider and before I knew what was happening, Rory kissed me. Or I kissed him. The details were fuzzy but the fact was, we kissed. I was snogging the boy I loved. We left the pub holding hands, and he kissed me again when we got to my door.

Mum and Dad didn’t usually leave me alone overnight but as I was now eighteen (I reminded them of this every chance I got), they’d taken a rare trip without me to visit my cat-wee auntie. When I invited Rory inside I knew exactly what I was doing and wasn’t at all nervous about having sex for the first time. I was, however, self-conscious, aware that my body wasn’t slim like the girls in the magazines. I was probably around the same size as Ellie is now, with the same puppy fat coating my five-foot-five frame. Rory switched the light on. I switched it off. He laughed and said I was being silly, but left us in the dark.

The sex mostly involved fumbling with the condom he optimistically carried in his wallet for Miss Jolly Hockeysticks. We both tried to hide our surprise that he was using it with me. The velvet cushions weren’t great for traction and we slid to the floor more than once.

My head was too full of our new relationship to sleep after kissing Rory good-bye. By morning my imagination had us nearly engaged. Unfortunately Rory’s sleep hadn’t been disturbed by similar fantasies, and when he said he wanted to talk the next day, I knew he wouldn’t be proposing. I managed to hide my dismay when he apologised for taking advantage of me, and he managed to hide most of his awkwardness. I was his best girl mate, he said, and a right laugh, and he didn’t want to lose me as a friend. I pretended not to mind and we did stay friends as we went off to university. I saw him in London a few years ago and finally told him of the torch I’d carried all those years. He swore he’d had no idea of my feelings. He was, of course, just being kind. He’d have had to be blind not to notice. Infatuation isn’t a subtle emotion.

Now, at thirty, I wasn’t yet consigned to spinsterhood, despite Great Aunt Bernardine’s theories. But I had to be realistic as I looked in the mirror. Sure, my face was okay. A teacher once even likened me to Elizabeth Taylor (presumably in her early years), probably because we had the same colour eyes and dark wavy hair. My nose and lips were about the right size and I wasn’t too spotty. But not everyone wanted to go out with a woman who carried the equivalent of a seven-year-old under her dress.

‘I feel ill,’ Ellie said, chucking the spoon into her empty bowl with satisfaction. ‘I can’t believe we ate the whole thing.’

‘It was light ice cream,’ I pointed out, patting my own tummy. ‘And we did only have sushi.’

‘We should definitely go for a walk.’

‘Are you sure? It’s kind of cold out there.’

‘Shivering burns calories.’ She went for her trainers. ‘Come on. Get off your arse.’

I made a face, which she ignored. Ellie was one of those annoying women who enjoyed exercise. She had a gym membership that she actually used, whereas I spent thirty quid a month to feel guilty that my gym shoes sat in the wardrobe most of the time.

Ellie’s phone rang just as I locked our front door. ‘It’s Thomas,’ she said. ‘Hi, Thomas. I’m fine, thank you. Katie and I are just going for a walk. Can I call you back in about an hour?’

‘An hour?’ I mouthed. She nodded sadistically as she hung up.

‘Will lovely Thomas survive that long without you?’

‘He’ll manage.’ She scrunched her face up in a smile.

‘He really is lovely, isn’t he?’

‘I think he is. I know it’s early days—’

‘Not such early days, Ell, when you consider that you’ve known him, non-biblically, for years. You’d have a pretty good idea by now if he was a knob.’

‘Who’d have thought I’d get together with someone from work?’ she said. ‘At the Christmas party no less?’

‘You’re a walking cliché.’ I stuck my arm over her shoulder and hugged. ‘In the best possible way. I really am so happy for you.’ Ellie was the kind of woman you wanted nice things to happen to.

‘Mmm, I suppose,’ she said, glancing sideways.

‘Ellie, I’ve warned you. Don’t overthink things. You know how he feels about you. He’s told you. And he shows it all the time. You’ve got to forget about her.’

‘That’s easy for you to say. Your boyfriend doesn’t have a crush on his colleague.’

‘Christ, Ellie, he never should have told you. It was a crush. Was. All the way back when they were in school together. You’ve got nothing to worry about. It’s not a big deal but you’re going to make it one if you keep dwelling.’ I stopped, and made her stop too. ‘You know I’m right. You’ve got to relax about this. Don’t make problems where there aren’t any.’

She nodded. ‘I know, but I can’t help how I feel. I hate her.’

‘You can’t hate someone who’s never done anything to you. That’s silly. She doesn’t even know that he liked her, does she? They’re just mates.’

‘No, but what if she finds out about his feelings and decides she likes him too? Then what’ll happen?’

‘Well, let’s see. Maybe he’ll shag her on the desk during his lunch break. And while we’re in the world of “maybes”, maybe the Queen will abdicate in favour of Prince Charles, and the bee population will recover and Wayne Rooney will grow an afro. All of those things are possible, but are you really going to worry about the possibility that they might happen at some point in the future?’

‘I’m not going out with Prince Charles or Wayne Rooney, and I’m allergic to bees.’

‘You’re being purposely obtuse. Honeybun, lovely Thomas is nuts about you. He’s going out with you and you’re happy together. If you don’t dial up the crazy, that’ll continue to be the case. Believe me, I know about crazy.’

‘You don’t still blame yourself for Alex, do you? Anybody would have misunderstood the situation. That was totally not your fault.’

Maybe not, but my face burned just thinking about the Christmas party.

Everyone had looked forward to it. Our company, Nutritious, always put on a fantastic party whether it was a record year or a terrible one. Ostensibly it started after work at the pub on the corner, but most of us went out for a very long lunch beforehand. By the time I saw Alex sitting alone at the table, it was latish and the room was a bit spinny.

He looked amazing. But then he always looked amazing to me. An unbiased observer might have noted that his shirt was untucked and he was wearing that fixed smile he got when trying to look sober. I’d seen it enough over the years. It never put me off. He’d have to soil himself unrepentantly to fall in my estimation. And even then I’m sure I’d find an excuse to love him again.

I’d had Rory-like feelings for Alex for years. They started nearly the first time we spoke, a few weeks after Nutritious hired me. When he asked me out to lunch I could barely eat (proof of my feelings if ever there was any). But I sussed pretty quickly that it wasn’t a date. As the company’s finance director, he was also on the board of directors. They took it in turns to welcome the new recruits with lunch. It was simply the luck of the draw that I got Alex instead of our balding middle-aged CEO.

Alex wasn’t balding or middle aged. He was thirty-six (birthday November 4th), from a middle-class family in Surrey (only child), and had a two-bedroom flat in Pimlico where he lived alone (the address of which I knew by heart). To me he was perfection on legs. Tall, but not too tall, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist. His strong jawline suited the stubble he usually wore. He had swoon-making thick dark eyelashes that framed his vivid blue eyes. His skin was sun-kissed even in February thanks to his skiing obsession, and his big straight teeth were practically American. I fantasised about getting my hands into his thick, straight, flaxen hair. I’d never tire of looking at him.

So when I noticed him sitting in that booth, alone as the rest of our colleagues danced and drank, naturally I went over to say hello.

He smiled when he saw me, and patted the bench beside him. ‘Katie. Katie Katie Katie. Happy Christmas,’ he slurred. ‘It’s not been a bad year, eh, considering? Still a lot of work to do though, tough nuts to crack and all that.’

I laughed, thinking of my problem client, Jenny. ‘I will get Philips Pharmacy on board next year,’ I declared. ‘In fact I called Jenny before lunch.’ I didn’t need to tell him who Jenny was. She was a company legend.

‘Hoping for some last-minute Christmas cheer?’ he said.

‘False hope. She told me not to stuff my face full of mince pies because the extra pounds would be hard to shift come January.’ In other words, a typical conversation with Jenny.

‘Ouch. Still, at least you know it’s not personal. She’s never met any of us.’ He leaned forward. ‘So all you want for Christmas is a deal with Jenny. I wonder what else Father Christmas will put in your stocking this year, eh? Have you been a good girl?’

Was he actually flirting with me? I could barely breathe. Maybe my support pants were too tight. We sat awkwardly facing each other in the booth.

‘I’ve been pretty good,’ I said, leaving room for interpretation.

‘Oh? Have you been a little bit bad, too?’ He leaned closer.

I wasn’t sure where he was going with his line of questioning, but tonight, I was going to find out. I took a deep breath and raised the stakes. ‘I’m so bad that I’m sometimes very good.’

He smiled. It was a filthy smile, full of the kind of promises I dreamed about. He leaned still closer. He closed his eyes. I closed mine too, leaning in to meet him. Our lips met. His were warm, soft and as perfect as I imagined. We stayed like that for a second, two, three … five, six … ten. He didn’t move. I peeked. His eyes were still closed. Slowly I broke our kiss. He remained motionless. Then, slowly, he leaned forward until his head rested on the edge of the table.

Frantically I looked around to see if anyone had spotted us. But they were too drunk. As was Alex, apparently. He slept peacefully on the table. With humiliation flaming my cheeks, I fled the party. I could only hope he really had been too drunk to remember anything.

CHAPTER THREE

‘Do I look okay?’ asked Ellie, making a face at her electric blue jersey dress.

‘You look lovely. Now please hurry, we’re late as it is!’ We had less than an hour to get to the theatre to meet Pixie and Jane.

‘Don’t the leggings look funny with these shoes?’

‘How about boots then?’

‘Ah, of course!’ She rushed off to find her boots.

It was useless trying to rush Ellie when she got like this. She approached dressing like Sir Edmund Hillary approached Everest. I was her Tenzing Norgay, there for critical support.

Eventually we emerged from Piccadilly Circus Tube into a swirling throng of people. Girls in various states of undress despite the frigid January air teetered in shoes that would keep chiropodists in business for years. The boys swaggered with bravado and lager. Excitement coursed through me at the thought of the night ahead.

‘There’s Pixie and Jane,’ Ellie said, quickening her step as we approached the red-brick-fronted theatre on Shaftesbury Avenue. It was mobbed.

‘You look pretty!’ I said, admiring Pixie’s striking eye makeup and sheer lips. I was glad to see her making an effort. She rarely bothered any more.

‘Well, it’s not every night we get to go out on the town. Will you look at this? It’s a proper Saturday night out! I’m well excited.’

We joined the buzzing crowd to make our way inside, where the usher directed us to the stalls.

‘Wow,’ whispered Jane as we walked down the side aisle toward our seats. ‘This is grand.’

‘I’m glad we’re not up there,’ Ellie said, nodding to the three ornately painted gold and burgundy balconies above us. ‘It looks cramped.’

‘I’m not sure this is much better,’ I said as I realised where our seats were. It was pretty clear that four large ladies weren’t going to be able to squeeze past the theatregoers already in their seats. ‘Erm, excuse me,’ I said to the couple on the end. ‘It might be easier if you …’

The older woman took a split second to take in the situation before her eyes slid away and she shifted into the aisle with her husband.

‘Oh,’ said Pixie behind me, a look of uncertainty flashing across her face.

The next couple realised they’d need to come out into the aisle too. Apologetic murmurs escaped us as we shuffled along. Then, again, we were at an impasse.

‘What should we do?’ Ellie asked with dismay.

‘Should we see if there are seats at the back?’ Jane wondered. She hated making a scene.

‘At the back?’ Pixie said. ‘We paid sixty bloody pounds for these tickets! I’m not sitting at the back.’

She was right. Of course she was right. That didn’t make the situation any easier.

‘I’m really sorry,’ I said to the couple who were shuffling along the row towards us. ‘Could you possibly ask the people next to you to come out too? And maybe ask them to tell the people next to them? We’re seats eleven, twelve, thirteen and fourteen.’ In other words, directly in the middle of the blooming row.

I felt my face go hot. Of course everyone around us noticed the commotion. How could they not? Some avoided eye contact. A few whispered. Others smiled in commiseration. Those embarrassed looks of sympathy were the worst.

Perhaps we should have turned at the first hurdle and cut our losses. But how were we to know that the theatre’s seats couldn’t accommodate a sixteen-stone woman with curves like Pixie’s?

She called them her saddlebags, and joked that she liked to keep her weekly food shopping in them. But it was no joke when she lowered herself into her seat.

‘Bloody hell, I don’t fit!’ she whispered. She tried angling in sideways. There just wasn’t enough room. Or, to be precise, there was just too much Pixie. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m going to have to see if they’ve got another seat at the back. This is going to be too uncomfortable.’

‘You can’t leave!’ Ellie whispered.

‘I’m not leaving, love. I’ll just find a more comfortable seat.’

‘We’ll go with you,’ Jane said.

‘You’ll do nothing of the sort, you lovely daft cow,’ Pixie smiled, shaking her head. ‘There’s no need for all of us to go. I’ll meet you in the bar at the interval, okay?’

She smiled brightly, but I wasn’t fooled. I saw the flush creeping across her cheeks before she turned away.

‘’Scuse me, love,’ she said to the man next to her. ‘I hate to disturb you again but I just got a call from George Clooney. He’s dying to take me to dinner. That man just will not take no for an answer. ’Fraid I’ve got to go. Can you maybe ask the others to scoot out again? For George’s sake?’ That raised a chuckle from the man as he passed the message down the line.

A few minutes later the lights went down and Jackson’s best-loved hits washed over us. But I kept thinking about Pixie. I wasn’t sure we would see her at the interval. If it had been me I probably would have sneaked away.

But Pixie wasn’t about to let a little thing like mortal embarrassment get her down. She was there by the bar during the break, chatting amiably with an old couple wearing matching purple jumpers that made them look Starburst.

‘Isn’t it fantastic?’ she said as we approached. ‘Though I couldn’t see if he actually looks like Michael. You lot are closer. Does he?’

‘Not really,’ I said. ‘Where are you sitting?’

‘Oh, just at the back. One of the box office ladies found me a chair. We just drag it out into the aisle after everyone has sat down. I’ve got VIP seating … Will you stop looking at me like that?’

‘Like what, sweetheart?’ Jane asked.

‘Like I’ve got terminal cancer and don’t know it. Like you feel sorry for me.’

‘Sorry!’ we all said at once, knowing how that look can undermine a poorly constructed façade.

‘Drink?’ I said, pulling out my purse.

By the time the bells rang for us to sit again, we’d nearly forgotten the seating difficulties. Pixie had been right – it felt wonderful to be out like normal people instead of confessing our chocolate transgressions to one another.

We were all in high spirits when the theatre doors disgorged us into the cold night. There was no question of us heading for the Tube yet. None of us wanted the evening to end.

The bar we settled on, close to the theatre, was heaving with noisy drinkers.

‘So what should we see next?’ Pixie shouted when we found a spot to huddle with our drinks near the men’s loos. Every time the door opened, our night was perfumed by the whiff of urinal cake.

‘Or do? We could do something next time,’ I said. ‘Maybe go somewhere nice like Kew Gardens? Or Windsor or Bath on a weekend?’

Ellie nodded. ‘I’d love to go to Windsor. Could we do a tour of the palace?’

‘I’m not sure in the winter, but we can check,’ Jane said. ‘As long as we don’t go back to that theatre.’ I knew that Jane would hold a grudge on Pixie’s behalf for a long time. She was a good friend like that.

‘There should be a way to know beforehand whether seats will be comfortable,’ Ellie said. ‘A nice easy rating system like they do with the food in restaurants.’

‘Maybe we should make one.’

‘No way,’ said Pixie, laughing. ‘I don’t fancy jamming my arse into seats all over London.’

‘Okay, so we don’t jam our arses into that theatre’s seats,’ I said. ‘We just need to find some that are more accommodating for the larger lady.’

‘That would be useful information to have,’ Jane said. ‘Not just for us – for lots of people.’

‘I guess we could ask when we book the tickets,’ I said. ‘Send someone down from the box office with a measuring tape. Get him to bounce on the seats, assess springiness, see if his knees hit the seat in front.’

Jane wasn’t laughing with the rest of us. ‘Jane?’

‘That’s a really good idea,’ she said. ‘Seriously, why don’t we ask these things before we book again? After all, we want to have fun, and it’s not fun when one of us has to sit on an office chair at the back.’

This reminder sobered us. ‘So we’ll ask next time,’ said Pixie. ‘Cheers, ladies. To us.’

‘Here’s to many more nights like this!’ Ellie said. ‘With comfortable seats.’ We all clinked to that.

Later we walked towards the Tube feeling very merry. I offered to find the next performance with roomy seating and I knew I’d book it as soon as possible. I hadn’t felt this good in ages. It was so much better than stepping on the scales every week.

‘Hang on,’ Ellie said, steering us towards the cash machine. ‘I need to get some money for tomorrow morning. It’s my turn to buy the office treats.’

Jane was getting her groove on while we waited, singing one of Jackson’s hits while she danced in place.

Two young men passing by glanced over. Then one of them started singing, ‘I’m fat, you’re fat, come on, you know, woo!’ They laughed as they carried on up the road.

‘Beat it!’ Pixie shouted, catching my eye.

‘You don’t wanna be starting something!’ I said.

‘That’s all right, it doesn’t matter,’ Jane said. ‘They’re out of my life anyway.’ But she slouched into her coat with her hands in her pockets and we didn’t talk much on the walk to the Tube.

CHAPTER FOUR

I wasn’t about to lose momentum with our girls’ nights out, and spent most of the next morning between work phone calls googling theatres with roomier seats. I was quickly able to whittle down my list. To my surprise, people did take the time to gripe about their bad experiences online. Unfortunately there was no centralised whingers’ repository, which made the process a bit slow.

I kept watch for Cressida. She had a knack for popping up over the cubicle wall like a censorious jack-in-the-box whenever I faffed around. As my boss, I suppose she had the right to do this but given that most people didn’t even want to do my job, she should really have been grateful that I was there at all. Calling up strangers with money-saving offers put me just above a Jehovah’s Witness in the social acceptability stakes. Sure, I called pharmacies, nutritionists and health food shops, not people in the middle of dinner. But that still meant I got hung up on. A lot.

Even so, I liked my work, though I’d had my doubts when they first hired me. They sent us on a week-long training course to learn the science behind the nutritional supplements we were selling. Men in white lab coats explained everything in mind-numbing detail. Luckily I had a head for mind-numbing detail. It didn’t take long to start managing my own client list, but it wasn’t always easy. Oversharing clients sometimes admitted to heinous bodily irregularities before I could remind them that I wasn’t a trained professional in that sense. Then I spent weeks worrying about their health.

Eventually I got used to being tethered to my desk by the sleek headset that made us all look like Justin Bieber’s backup singers. It took some practice to learn to ignore the other sales reps’ patter, to concentrate only on my own call. But now it was completely normal. What a funny word that was: normal. It was all a matter of perspective.

I spotted Alex before he reached my desk, and used those few milliseconds to remember I hadn’t plucked the chin hair I noticed in the mirror that morning.

‘Hiya!’ he said, oblivious to my chin. ‘Want to try that new Japanese place for lunch?’

‘That depends. Are you buying?’

‘I’ll spring for the green tea if you’ll consult on the sushi. I never know what to get besides California rolls.’

‘Well, I do know my way around a bento box.’ What was I saying? There’s no sushi in a bento box.

‘One o’clock?’

‘Make it twelve-thirty.’

That still gave me enough time to nip to Boots for tweezers.

It wasn’t unusual to go to lunch with Alex, which meant I’d had ample opportunity over the past month to feel awkward about the Christmas Kiss. He never let on that he remembered, but he could be cagey like that and I was constantly alert for clues. If we were proper friends I’d have just asked him, but as things stood I didn’t want to spook him. It had taken me six years to get to the friendly acquaintanceship stage with him. Given enough time and luck, we might just become something more exciting one day. I lived in hope.

The restaurant was packed. We wedged onto a cramped table in one corner. The large plate-glass window at the front ran with condensation and the menus were already spotted with soy sauce. The prices were good and if the food was even mediocre, it was the kind of place that’d do a brisk lunchtime trade amidst the sea of sandwich shops in the area.

Alex closed his menu. ‘I won’t pretend to know what I’m looking at,’ he said with a grin that loosened my insides.

‘You just asked me here to order for you.’

‘I did warn you. And I’m paying you handsomely in tea, don’t forget.’

I sighed dramatically. ‘I’m not just brains you know. I’m also a pretty face.’

‘Of that,’ he said, raising his tiny tea cup, ‘there’s no doubt. Now order quick, I’m starving.’

There seemed to be just one waitress in the restaurant, a gangly young woman with long blonde hair tied haphazardly into a loose bun so that tendrils escaped to frame her pretty face. When I tried to do that I looked like I’d been in bed with ’flu for three days. Finally she approached our table.

‘Are you ready to order?’ she asked, looking at Alex, who nodded to me.

‘Yes, please may we have two orders of spicy tuna roll, one California roll …’ I stopped talking when I noticed she wasn’t looking at me. ‘One soft-shell crab roll and one salmon nigiri … did you get all that?’

She nodded, finally looking my way before heading for the kitchen.

‘Thanks for ordering,’ Alex said, oblivious to the waitress’s rudeness. ‘Everything sounds great.’

‘Now you know what to order for next time.’

‘Nah, I won’t remember,’ he said.

‘Will I have to come with you every time you want sushi? That might be awkward on a date.’ Even as I joked my heart skidded at the thought of Alex on a date. Steady on, girl, I told myself. You’d think I’d be able to look at the man without wanting to lunge over the table. Not even Rory had this much hold over me. And that was at least based on a solid friendship.

I glared at the waitress for the rest of the meal but she remained unaware of my loathing, not even once glancing in my direction. She was all smiles for Alex though. She must have thought he was paying. Or else she had a crush on him. Or … as I suspected, I was Invisible Katie.

The worst part about being a fat woman isn’t that people look at you with judgement in their eyes. It’s that most don’t look at you at all. You cease to be a person for whom they need to account. They look over your shoulder, or at the ground in front of you, or they glaze their eyes and look directly through you. It’s like being a ghost, but with none of the fun of haunting. That waitress wasn’t ignoring me. I was simply inconsequential.

Alex and I went back to the office and straight into our meeting together, as if lunch hadn’t just happened.

I made it sound nonchalant, didn’t I? Our meeting together. Like I had them all the time and hadn’t taken nearly an hour to dress this morning.

Our company was always on the lookout for ways to get more work out of us without breaking EU employment law. So instead of just asking, they liked to make it look like overworking was our idea. We’d had personality tests that told us it was okay to be a workaholic. We’d been given motivational tee shirts and posters. There was a weekly prize for Awesomeness. We were on a slippery slope, one group hug away from going on retreats together to chant affirmations and weave everlasting friendship lanyards.

When Alex asked for a volunteer last month to help implement their latest improvement (vision boards stuck with aspirational magazine images to help us reach our goals), I had to fight the urge to shout Pick me, Pick me with my hand in the air.

Of course it was a stupid idea. But it was our boss Clive’s stupid idea, so everyone had to show willing, at least to his face. My face didn’t garner the same respect. I was now known as Karma Katie around the office.

In the conference room, I tried to shake off that henchman feeling as I double-checked my notes. Yes, Herr Commandant, everything was carried out as you instructed.

Alex pointed to his steaming cup. ‘No coffee for you?’ The very idea baffled him.

It smelled delicious. ‘I’d love to but I’m off coffee at the moment. My heart’s been doing something funny lately.’ As I hadn’t dropped dead from it I wasn’t overly worried about a heart attack. It was more of an unusual rhythm – da-da-da-da-da-da-kerthunk! Sometimes it made me out of breath.

‘It’s not dangerous, is it? You should get it checked.’

‘Oh, I’m sure there’s nothing really wrong.’ I tried not to get carried away with fantasies of him kneeling at my bedside, holding my hand to declare his love.

He nodded, unaware of the role he was playing in my imagination. ‘Let’s try to make this quick. I’ve got another meeting at two.’ He rolled his eyes.

This was his way of letting me know that he might be on the board, but he wasn’t one of The Establishment. He was far too cool for that. He windsurfed, for goodness sake. Just imagine him emerging from the sea, streaming with water, sun glistening …

The vision popped as he opened his notebook to get down to work.

‘Yep, agreed,’ I said. ‘Let’s make it a quickie. I mean … well, I didn’t mean that.’ Well done, Katie. Cool as usual. I pushed a thick lock of hair out of my face, accidently sticking myself in the eye as I did so. ‘Ouch.’

‘Are you all right?’ he asked. I waved away his concern, squinting attractively. ‘So, tell me then. Have you made your vision board? Are all your darkest desires pasted on cardboard for the universe to fulfil? It only accepts paper requests you know.’

‘Every single one is documented for the Fates to act on,’ I said. ‘I even stuck the Philips Pharmacy logo on there. If I could find a photo of Jenny, I’d add it. Maybe with a lock of hair and a voodoo doll.’ Jenny’s latest objection was that we tested the products on animals. We didn’t, but once she was on a roll it was hard stopping her. ‘And I used staples on the really important ones … calorie-free cupcakes and world domination.’

‘Lofty goals. I’m glad you didn’t waste time on trivial things like cancer cures or filthy riches.’

‘Without calorie-free cupcakes, what’s the point of the rest of it?’

His throaty laugh gave me bedroom visions. ‘You always brighten my day, Katie Winterbottom. ’

That’s me, the day-brightener. If I’d had a quid for every time I’d heard that from someone I fancied, the calorie-free cupcake research fund would be nearly full. I suppose being appreciated for my conversations was all right, if he wasn’t going to love me for my body.

‘I’m sorry that I wasn’t able to make our last meeting,’ he said. ‘A good mate got us last-minute tickets to the rugby. Promise not to breathe a word of it to the higher-ups. They think my mother needed a ride to her chiropractor.’

I held up my hand in oath.

‘Your email was very thorough though. I didn’t expect graphics.’

I knew I’d gone overboard when I found myself in the office after eight p.m. trying to animate tiny pencils to march across the presentation.

‘You must let me take you out for a drink,’ he continued. ‘You’ve saved my arse once again. And I suppose you’ll have to save it today too. We need something to show the board. We can’t really monitor progress, can we? I mean without violating HR policy. The damn things are probably supposed to be confidential.’

‘I suppose I could ask everyone if they’ve done it. That’d give you something to report back on. Maybe a few people would be willing to show theirs to the board.’

‘Would you be willing to show me yours?’ he asked.

I’d show him mine right there on the conference table. ‘I, erm.’

‘That sounded rude, didn’t it?’ He smiled, not making any effort to correct it. Did he mean what he’d said?

Then he laughed a deep, rich chuckle that made my reproductive system wobble with glee.

‘Don’t you need to get to your next meeting?’

He ran his hand through his gorgeous hair, blowing out his cheeks. ‘In my next life please remind me to study architecture or film-making, not finance. Honestly, Katie, I don’t know what I did in my past life to deserve this.’

‘You must have been very naughty,’ I said before I could stop myself. Oh. My. God. I sounded like a MILF from some nineties porn movie. ‘Karma, I mean. Bad karma transformed into a career in finance. You should watch yourself or you’ll come back as something even worse next time. Maybe an ambulance-chasing solicitor. Har har.’

‘My parents are both solicitors,’ he said. ‘Personal injury.’

‘Oh, I didn’t mean it! I’m sure they’re very nice people and they probably didn’t do anything horrible in a previous life to deserve to be solicitors. I mean, it was just—’

‘Katie, relax, I was only joking. My parents are doctors. Shall we get on with this?’

I left the meeting in a muddle. He didn’t mention anything about the Christmas party. Still no hints that he might remember more than he was letting on. No lovely innuendos. I’d carried a torch for this man for six years, which hadn’t dimmed one iota. I must have used extra-long life batteries. It couldn’t go on like this.