Love Is a Thief (15 page)

‘Oooh,’ mouthed Federico, clutching his groin.

‘You became a half version of yourself, a half person, a herson. And what is half a woman, Kate?’

‘A half wo-man is merely a man, Grandma.’ I groaned.

‘Exactly, half a woman is merely a man. You lost the wo of your wo-man in your relationship with Gabriel. I bet his new girlfriend hasn’t given up her ambitions and personal goals in order to be with him.’ See, inflammatory.

‘I bet she hasn’t either,’ whispered Federico.

‘And that’s exactly what young Jenny’s doing as well,’ continued Grandma, rummaging through one of the twenty or so
Liberty’s
bags she’d arrived with. ‘She’s given up a part of herself to make her marriage work. She’s lost her wo.’

‘Jenny hasn’t lost her wo, Grandma,’ I snapped. ‘She embodies wo, she is wo, she’s the wo that every wo-man wants to be. She loves her job. She’s worked incredibly hard to get to where she is. She loves her husband and—’

‘And I bet she has worked incredibly hard to get her marriage to where it is,’ Grandma said, extracting herself from one of the
Liberty’s
bags. ‘Kate, darling, try and imagine the following scenario for me. Can you do that? Imagine you are a brilliant scientist—’ Federico immediately put his lensless specs on and gazed at the ceiling with his index finger on his lips ‘—and you had spent most of your life dedicated to a particular piece of research. Let’s say you are trying to find a cure for testicular cancer.’

‘Oh, you very much should, Kat-kins,’ pleaded Federico.

‘So you have been working on a cure for years and you have
made brilliant progress. At times you’ve felt so close to discovering the cure that you’ve lived and breathed the work. Then one day someone walks in and says, “Your cure is never going to work. You’ve got it wrong. It won’t work.” What would you do?’

‘Well, I wouldn’t believe them, of course. I’m not going to take the word of one person after years of work. I would investigate.’

‘You’d investigate their claims.’

‘Absolutely, and then, assuming that I had proved they were wrong, I’d carry on working on a cure.’

‘But what if their claims looked to be true? You didn’t want them to be true but it looked like they
could
be; a seed of doubt had been planted. Would you just stop work?’

‘No! I would re-look at the problem. Re-look at all my research. I wouldn’t give up straight away; I couldn’t, after all that time, all that work, all
my
time. It would seem like everything I had done had been a total waste. My life’s work, a total waste.’

‘So apply that to marriage. Apply that response to the most significant and intimate relationship a person may experience in their lifetime. Imagine the work Jenny has put in, the commitment, the energy, the devotion. She believes in the cure. And you wonder why she doesn’t walk away just because there are mutterings about her husband. I’m not saying it’s the right decision. I’m just saying it seems obvious to me why she wouldn’t leave. She is still working towards a cure. She still 100% believes in that cure.’

The air in my lungs reduced in volume by 60%. I could feel that nasty childlike lump in my throat, like a large piece of potato that doesn’t want to go down. My tear ducts were
on Code Red. And not out of concern for Jenny. It didn’t matter how long I had watched the slow deterioration of my relationship with Gabriel, it just wouldn’t compute. It didn’t make sense to me that it wasn’t working, that he wasn’t who I thought he was, that we weren’t going to go the distance. It was like someone telling me 2+2 equalled 5 or that black was white. I did not want to accept the end. I did not want to move on. I did not want to let go, because I still believed.

Could some of life’s most painful and protracted breakups be a result of us fighting, not for the real relationship, but because we don’t want to stop believing in the cure? Maybe the relationships we can’t get over are more about the grief of losing the precious dreams we’d created with that person, attached to that person, planned to share with that person than because of the person themselves? Maybe splitting up with Gabriel wasn’t painful because of the sadness of losing Gabriel the man. Maybe I felt consuming sadness for all the dreams I had attached to Gabriel. Maybe it was those dreams I had been fighting so hard to save, trying to resuscitate long after the relationship had so obviously died? I was crying my eyes out, thinking, ‘This can’t be the end. It can’t turn out like this. I want this so much,’ when really what I wanted was the life and dreams I had attached to him.

‘The thing is, darling—’ Grandma was now head first in yet another
Liberty’s
shopping bag ‘—by not admitting that things are as they are, by not seeing the reality of the current situation, Jenny is losing time. That is what love is stealing from her: time, her lifetime. Your grandfather would think it ridiculous the years I spent and continue to spend missing him.’

‘And, darl, I did the same thing,’ Delaware cooed. ‘You know that I didn’t work for years after my divorce. But I haven’t gained a single thing, either from ignoring the deterioration of the marriage when I was in it, or grieving for it for years and years after. And you can’t get that time back.’

‘Here it is!’ Grandma said, putting all but one of the
Liberty’s
bags to one side. ‘For a second I thought I’d forgotten to bring it. Here you go, darling,’ she said, passing me the bag. ‘Peter asked me to give this to you.’

‘Peter did? What is it?’

‘As if I know, darling! I don’t go rummaging through other people’s things.’ She smiled at Delaware, who beamed back. Obviously they
did
go rummaging through other people’s things.

‘Open the card first,’ she said, expertly locating it in the bag.

‘OK …’ I said, looking at her suspiciously then slowly opening the card. They were all watching me on the edge of their seats. Actually Federico was practically on my lap. ‘It says,
Happy Birthday
. That doesn’t make any sense. It’s not my birthday.’

‘No, there’s more, on the other side,’ Grandma said, turning the card over. She could at least pretend she hadn’t read it.

Pirate Kate
I’ve missed fifteen of your birthdays
I can’t get them back, but I can buy you presents
See you Friday, 6:30 a.m.
Now you have no excuses.
Peter x

‘What’s in the mother-fluffing bag?’ screamed Federico, waving his hands around his ears like Dustin Hoffman in
Rain Man
. I opened up the enormous
Liberty’s
bag to find a brand-new pair of running trainers inside, my size, obviously, and an assortment of
Stella McCartney
for
Adidas
running clothes.

‘Well, he’s only gone and bought her bloody
Stella
,’ Federico said, fanning his face with the card. Everyone around the table was beaming at me. And I was kind of beaming myself.

an interval

‘What did I miss out on because love showed up? My Saturday mornings! Waking up in my own bed; making myself a cup of tea; watching Saturday Kitchen. Since meeting my boyfriend I wake up every Saturday in his flat. So that is what I gave up. Saturday solitude, laundry marathon, Saturday Kitchen and crumpet eating.’
(Gemma, 28)

‘I would have accepted a promotion to work on feature films. I’m an art director but only work on adverts and TV shows because films would require me to work away from home. My relationship wouldn’t survive long distance so I never pursue jobs in film. I don’t regret my decision but certainly that is what my love affair stole.’
(Joanna, 42)

‘DIY—a contradiction when in a relationship because you can’t do it yourself. They won’t let you. They have to meddle. They always know best. Heaven forbid I want to
put a shelf up, or try and fit our new washing machine. Should be called Do It Themselves. Love stole DIY.’
(Penelope, 56)

‘I am getting a nose job. My boyfriend always told me only superficial people get cosmetic surgery. My nose makes me bloody unhappy. If it wasn’t for him I would have done something about it years ago. So now I am. My old nose is walking the plank!’
(Ana, 27)

grow punctures and slow punctures

W
hat started out as a tiny idea had grown as big as the women who were now getting small. We had passed the midway point of
Fat Camp
and the female participants had been incredible. They had turned up. They had completed every challenge. They were losing weight and they were gaining happy. Some of the women had been so inspired by the change in their own lives that they’d set up mini
Fat Camps
back in their local areas; they were out championing other women to follow suit, taking back what love had stolen, being pirates of their own lives. The BBC had even done two reports on their progress and they’d been given special invites to judge an episode of
Britain’s Got Talent
. Things were already looking a lot lighter and brighter for the women of
True Love
’s
Fat Camp
. Today I joined them at Peter Parker’s Hyde Park Boot Camp.

hyde park | 06:15

I arrived to find a ten-man camera crew standing around drinking coffee, twenty
Fat Campers
in matching tracksuits,
and Federico massaging people’s shoulders, handing out protein shakes and jumping on the spot before air punching like a non-Asian Jackie Chan on Red Bull.

‘Could everyone please start their warm-ups? Thank you very much, you pretty pieces of lard, you ever-reducing land masses, ever lightening the island that is England, becoming physical and emotional beacons of hope and empowerment for other really really really fat people.’

I stood on the edge of the group and tried to copy the elaborate warm-up. They sat on the floor and started stretching. I did the same. I attempted leg stretches while listening to their laughter-infused chat, trying my hardest not to get mud or grass stains on my new Stella (tracksuit, not beer can).

‘Honestly! Look at us all!’ one said, bursting out laughing. ‘We actually do look like beached whales. That’s where the expression came from. It came from us!’

‘I was skinny before I met my husband and now look at me!’ another one said, struggling to get to her feet.

‘You were
never
skinny!’ someone else joked.

‘I was! I’ll bring photos tomorrow. I was a size 10. I played centre forward for the local women’s football team until I was 25.’

‘Can I ask what happened?’ I asked. ‘Why you think you started to gain weight?’

‘As if I know! I met a great guy then I just kept getting bigger, like that girl in Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory.’

‘You mean Violet Beauregarde?’ I asked, somewhat alarmed. Because Violet Beauregarde didn’t just get big. She got big
and
she got purple. It was terrifying to watch as an 8-year-old.

‘Yes, just like Violet Beauregarde,’ she confirmed, ‘but slower.’

‘And hopefully not purple,’ I muttered, to myself.

‘I’ll tell you what you were,’ interrupted Federico, correcting her stretch. ‘You were like a Slow Puncture, but in reverse. You were a Grow Puncture.’ They all burst out laughing.

‘But something must have happened for your shape to have changed,’ I persisted. ‘You fell in love and then what?’

‘Well, for me,’ offered the eldest, ‘I always wanted to treat my husband, still do. I love making him nice things to eat, I love spoiling him and I probably have loads of food in the house that I just wouldn’t buy otherwise.’

‘Me too,’ confirmed another. ‘I would not make a dessert just for myself. I probably wouldn’t even eat meat. But my husband thinks any meal without meat is a side salad. That just wasn’t how I ate before.’

‘And portion sizes. My portion sizes have got bigger. Before
Fat Camp
they were very similar to his. And women don’t need the same calories as men.’

‘But,’ whispered the youngest of the
Fat Campers
, a pretty brunette with quite extraordinary boobs, ‘there are some benefits of our current fat status …’

‘Oh, my God, there are benefits!’ they all agreed enthusiastically.

‘You know, he touched my arm the other day, during the warm-down. I actually got tingles.’ They all laughed.

‘Well, I can’t believe he hasn’t got a girlfriend,’ whispered a different camper.

‘I heard he did have,’ said another.

‘I heard he was married.’ Who were they talking about? They must realise Federico was gay? He was standing behind them applying Touche éclat to a pimple.

‘I don’t care if he’s married, divorced, gay or straight,’ said the fattest of the lot of them. ‘I’d happily spend the rest of my life lying under that Peter Parker.’ They all shrieked with laughter.

‘I’d get on him!’ screamed another.

‘We should all get on him!’

‘Yeah! Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!’ they all panted.

‘NOOOOO!!!!!’ I yelled, hands over my ears, rocking backwards and forwards. ‘No! No! No! No! No! No!’

Federico grabbed my hand and dragged me away from the startled-looking group.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ he snapped at me. ‘Lying around screaming like that? Rocking backwards and forwards like the lone survivor from a bomb blast, sat in the debris of a shopping mall, all your friends lying around blown to pieces by a disillusioned youth bomber. Have you lost your tiny mind?’

‘I don’t know. I don’t know what happened. It’s just, well, did you hear how they talk about Peter Parker?’ Little tears pricked in the corners of my eyes.

‘Get a grip, Kate Winters! Since when did you become Penelope Prudey Pants?
Fat Camp
is allowed to have sexual feelings, for God’s sake! If they want to talk dirty about your precious Peter Parker then they can. They are slimming ladies and they can do as they ruddy well please. How dare you come to my Boot Camp and start yelping in the middle of a warm-up?’