Thin Girls Don't Eat Cake (3 page)

Which made it sound so much better.

“My sincere apologies, Olivia. I’m so embarrassed.”

Deciding the conversation was going to end nowhere but in tears — probably mine — I picked up Snuffle.

“The usual?” I asked, already halfway through the door to the grooming room.

“Yes, please.”

“We’ll be done in about an hour and a half.”

Mrs Sotheby headed for the door. “I do apologise, Olivia.”

“Apology accepted.”

As I was clipping Snuffle, tears of realisation welling up and threatening to plop onto his coat, I had something of an epiphany. If everyone kept telling me I was fat, then clearly the image I saw when I looked in the mirror every morning was wrong. Clearly, I was operating under some sort of delusion that made me think I was thinner than I was, like when people take selfies from above their heads to make their faces look thinner. I’d managed, somehow, to convince myself that my clothes were tighter because they’d shrunk or the sizes were being made smaller than they used to be. I was such a fool.

I took Snuffle to the hydrobath and turned on the taps. A warm gush of water flooded through the nozzle and I tested it to ensure it wasn’t too hot before I commenced spraying it over the dog’s body. Then I began to lather him with medicated shampoo.

I’d be damned if I was going to be the fat chick with the lovely personality. I wanted to be thin Olivia, the sexy girl with the lovely personality. And if drastic measures had to be taken to achieve that aim, then that’s what I’d have to do. When I got home that night, I was going to research diets until I found something that would work for me. I was going to throw out the crap in my pantry and take up jogging or something and get thin again. Maybe even a new hairdo.

Basically I was going to makeover my life.

Starting tomorrow.

‘Cause I should probably finish those éclairs in fridge first. And the lamingtons, too. Couldn’t have them going to waste.

Later in the evening, I sat at the kitchen table my fingers sliding across the screen of my iPad as I scoured page after page of diet links — in between gulps of chardonnay and bites of éclair. The number of diets in the world claiming to give amazing results in short spaces of time was absolutely astounding. I had so many tabs open it was a wonder I wasn’t clogging up cyberspace, but I’d no idea what diet to choose or what was best. They sounded either too easy to possibly work, or too healthy or too quick.

Who’d pay seventy dollars for a diet plan where the only thing you ate was green things? A lot of people judging by the number of people on that Facebook page I saw. And how would you survive only by drinking lemonade with pepper in it? Not only did it sound disgusting but also I hated pepper. I wasn’t going to be swayed because Beyoncé supposedly lost her baby weight on it.

As I flicked through a few more links, I came across something unusual, Virtual gastric banding. I leant closer to the page, studying the words. Surely not. It had to be some sort of hoax. Still, I clicked on the link to the homepage and began to read. It didn’t sound like one of those buy-these-two-pills-and-watch-fat-melt-away gimmicks. People in the UK were claiming to have lost untold amounts of weight by using the system of hypnosis described. There were testimonials and videos of people who looked so normal there was no way it could be a hoax. They’d done trials that had had a ninety-five percent success rate. And if ninety-five percent of people could be happy, then when couldn’t I? I could hypnotise myself into being thin and I’d never even have to give up a thing. Because everyone on the planet knew as soon as you denied yourself something, all you wanted to do was to have it. Sometimes I even dreamt about cake if I hadn’t had a piece during the day.

The more I read the more I liked the idea. I mean it wasn’t as if I ate badly — apart from my obvious problems with cake — I just ate too much. This promised to cure me of both those issues. In fact, virtual gastric banding sounded like the best idea I’d had in ages, despite the fact that it was the ‘easy option’. Because the whole world knew the only way to lose weight was by giving things up and exercising. It wasn’t meant to be as easy as putting the weight on had been.

Picking up the phone, I dialled my friend, Alice. If anyone was guaranteed to know what sort of diet was good, it would be her. Being a personal trainer, Alice was into nutrition and fitness. She knew the latest trends.

“Hey.”

“Hi. What’s up?”

“I’m fat, that’s what’s up.”

Alice let out a sigh. “When did you decide this?”

“After Connor dumped me and Mum bought me slimming underwear. I mean, who gives a person a pair of Spanx as a gift? Oh, and Mrs Sotheby thought I was pregnant. That was the nail in the coffin.”

“Hmm.”

Alice was being very non-committal. She was a good friend.

“Do you think I’m fat?” I continued.

“You are a little plumper than you used to be and you do eat an awful lot of cake.”

“Do I?”

“Yes.”

This was dreadful. I’d been walking around town with everyone knowing how fat I was looking and how much crap I was eating and none of them had said a thing — not to my face, anyway. Honestly, I’d never paid that much attention to what went into my mouth. But it was like lots of things, I suppose. It crept up on you without you realising until one day, bingo! There you were. The fat girl.

“I don’t want to be the fat friend, Alice.” I wailed. “I want to be hot like you, like I used to be when I was on TV. I need to go on a diet. Like now. What do you think about Jenny Craig?”

“We don’t have one in town. And you have to go to the centre every week.”

“Oh. I didn’t read that on the website. What about the one with that man that guarantees you’ll lose five kilos in the first week or you get your money back?”

“Not sustainable, but good if you want to be a body builder. It’s high protein. You’ll never poo again.”

“Shakes? I saw some on the home shopping network. There was a special where you buy in bulk.”

“They do work but you need a lifestyle change, Livvy, not a quick fix. Besides, how boring would it be drinking some yucky milkshake for weeks on end?
Eww
.”

Fair point. I loved food. A shake was an accompaniment in my book, not a meal.

“What about hypnosis?”

I couldn’t bring myself to utter the words ‘gastric band’ out loud. People would think I really was obese. Or completely off my rocker. Because no matter how you dressed it up, hypnosis remained one of those alternative treatments that regular people refused to believe in.

“You’re kidding, right?”

I rest my case.

“Um. No.”

“For heaven’s sake. You won’t get thin by hypnosis. That’s utterly ridiculous. You need to stop eating so much cake and take a trip to the gym every now and then, not get caught up in some fan-dangled mumbo jumbo. Next you’ll be telling me you’re channelling Elvis.”

Imagine if you could. How awesome would that be?

I pulled myself back to the topic at hand. “It sounded very good. The success rate is high.”

“Which is how those companies make their money. They make everything sound easy and good.”

I groaned. “I don’t know what to do. Choosing the diet is harder than being fat.”

“I highly doubt that. Why don’t you give Weight Watchers a go? There’s a meeting in town and they let you eat cake.”

“Thin girls don’t eat cake, Alice. I’ll have to give it up.”

“Not necessarily. Have a look at the website. Find out when the next meeting is. I could come with you to the first one, if you want a bit of support.”

Because Alice certainly didn’t need to go on a diet or make a single lifestyle change. Even after having a baby, she had the perfect body. And the perfect life to match.

“That’d be nice. Thanks.”

“Don’t worry. Once you make a decision to do something, you stick to it. I’ve never seen you give up. You’ll be back to the weight you want in no time.”

I hung up the phone feeling better. Now that I’d made the commitment and voiced it to my best friend, there was no backing out. And let’s face it, I couldn’t reverse. My bum was so big; I’d never have room to manoeuvre.

However…

After hanging up from the conversation with Alice and finishing the rest of the lamingtons from the pantry, I began to have second thoughts. There was this niggling doubt. I don’t know if it was fear of failure or that I still didn’t believe I had to do something about my weight, but I started to second guess myself. Giving up stuff and changing lifestyles required a lot of effort and I didn’t know if I was ready for that sort of commitment.

Yes, I know I’d made a decision but, seriously, I only had a few kilos to lose. If I went to Weight Watchers I’d be as out of place as a nun in a pole-dancing club. It was better to sort this out in the privacy of my own home where nobody was any the wiser.

Picking up my iPad, I clicked on the link with information about virtual gastric bands again. The reviews, mostly five star ones, said the process was easy and relatively successful. Nobody would even know I was on a diet because I’d still eat the things I loved, simply in smaller quantities.

I decided it was worth a shot. If it failed, I could always go back to my original idea. Which was, basically, starve until I got thin again.

A far more stressful option…

Finger on the ‘buy now’ button, I eagerly pressed and waited for the app to download. Then I went in search of my earphones.

*****

I almost skipped around the shop over the next few days. After listening to the first four sessions of the gastric band app, I’d found I couldn’t eat even half my usual bowl of cereal at breakfast each morning. I felt so full; it was like I’d gorged a five-course feast in five minutes rather than a quarter full bowl of Nutrigrain. Lunch seemed to become a thing of the past too. Four bites saw me wrapping my chilli chicken roll back in the plastic and putting it in the fridge for the next day.

Unheard of.

Ever.

But it was as I attempted an apple at afternoon tea and ended up throwing most of it in the bin, that I had this fabulous idea. Things were going far better than expected. I’d been listening every morning and my clothes were feeling a little looser, so if I listened to the app three times a day, I’d have to get three times the result, right? I’d have to be more hypnotised and less susceptible to temptation.

I didn’t know why I hadn’t thought of it before. Not giving my mind a chance to register the possible consequences I locked the door of the shop, turned over the sign to ‘back in 30 minutes’ and plugged my earphones into my ears. My next appointment wasn’t until two. Plenty of time.

*****

“Olivia, Olivia.”

BANG. BANG-BANG.

“Olivia!”

Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I sat up in the chair and pulled the earphones from my ears, placing them on the table next to my phone. Even though my head felt fuzzy and I was somewhat disoriented, I could have sworn someone was calling me. I sat up straighter and stretched. I glanced at my watch.

BANG. THUMP.

“OLIVIA!”

Crap.

It was 2.20pm. I’d fallen asleep listening to the app and slept straight through my afternoon appointment.

Leaping from the chair and tripping over the cord to the heater in the process, I missed landing in the hydrobath by millimetres. I didn’t, however, miss the shelf filled with grooming products. In my fall, I managed to tip the thing over. Shampoo bottles rolled across the floor. Brushes and clippers went flying.

BANG, BANG. BANG.

A shatter of breaking glass… more loud thumping.

What on earth was going on out there? It sounded as if a herd of elephants had been let loose in the shop.

With a curse, I raced from the grooming room and into the shop where I stopped, took a breath and tried to adopt a face that was way more alert than I was feeling. The door was open. Shards of glass lay strewn across my new timber look floor. The shop was filled with concerned looking people — Jane from the kitchen shop, Bill, the local police constable, two ambulance officers, two men in complete fire fighting garb and Mrs Tanner, my 2pm appointment, with her dog Growler.

“Thank the Lord.” Mrs Tanner exhaled.

I frowned, confused by the unnatural amount of activity in my shop. “What’s going on? Why are you here and…” I looked over to the front door, which I noticed had a spectacularly large hole in the glass. “What happened to my door?”

“We thought you were ill,” Mrs Tanner explained. “Growler and I arrived for our appointment and I knocked on the door. I could see you out the back there, slumped in the chair. I called out but you didn’t stir.”

“I was, er, um, having a nap.”

The ambulance officer appeared disbelieving, as well she might but I had no intention of sharing that I’d secretly been hypnotising myself. I’d be the laughingstock of town by dinner. Especially if Mrs Tanner was involved. She could spread gossip faster than I could spread butter on my toast.

“We’ll need to examine you, Olivia. Could you sit down?”

“No, I could not,” I replied, suddenly feeling quite indignant at having my privacy invaded. The embarrassment factor was also beginning to grow. What on earth was I thinking, hypnotising myself during the lunch hour? Or even thinking that if I listened to the app more frequently I’d get faster results. Sometimes I even worried myself.

“But I thought you were dead.” Mrs Tanner said. “You were so still.”

“And when Mrs Tanner discovered she didn’t have her mobile on her, she ran across the road to use my phone to call the ambulance,” Jane added.

At least that explained why Jane was here.

“So how did my door get broken?”

“By the time Bill and the ambos arrived, I still couldn’t rouse you, so we decided we should break the lock on the door. You were back there in the chair, love. Unconscious.”

“Or dead.”

“Gravely injured at the very least. Are you sure you didn’t hurt yourself in the fall? I can arrange for the air ambulance to come if we need it.”

Lord. There were one or two people in this room who’d benefit from a bonk on the head, and I wasn’t one of them.

“I wasn’t unconscious. I’m not hurt or injured. I was hypnotising myself.”

A look of bemusement came over the faces of the little group. Clearly, they would have preferred if I’d fallen and knocked myself senseless on the doggy hydrobath or something.

“It’s true,” I went on. “I downloaded this app to hypnotise myself and I was trying it out. I didn’t think it’d send me to sleep. I had it set to wake me at the end.”

“So you haven’t taken any illicit drugs?”

“Of course not.”

“Why were you hypnotising yourself?”

I looked at the gathering. I couldn’t tell them. How ridiculous would it sound to admit I was attempting to lose weight using an iPhone app? It was utter madness. They’d have me locked up before I could say ‘you’re so sleepy’. A little white lie was a far better option.