Weight Till Christmas (8 page)

“I’m so sorry!” Sam is on his feet and pulling me up onto mine. “My fiancée isn’t feeling too well.  It’s all the dieting affecting her internal monologue.  Please excuse us, we need to get home for a granola bar or two.”

He tugs me after him, through the chairs, past the Christmas tree and out into the bitter November night.  Frost has iced the world in earnest now, the Christmas window displays flicker and the ducks by the pond look really chilly, but not half as chilly as the atmosphere in the village hall.

Oh dear.  I think I may have blown my chances with Diet World.

“Sam, I am so sorry,” I say. “I’ll pay you back the joining fee.”

He’s still holding my hand and squeezes it.

“Ells, it was worth every penny to see the look on their faces.  Anyway, you’re right.  Who goes to MacDonald’s just for a diet coke?  That’s bonkers.  In fact the whole thing was bonkers.  Anyway, I’ve got a better idea.  How about you and I just stick to cutting out the crap and doing some exercise?  We’re a good team, aren’t we?  Together, I reckon we can do it.  We’ve still got nearly a month to go to the party.  We might not lose loads of weight by then but we’ve got time to tone up.”

There’s such faith in the way he looks at me that my heart melts.  Besides, he’s right; we are a good team and of course we can do it.  We don’t need Lou, or Kevin or diet clubs.  All we need is each other for encouraging and motivating ourselves.  Together we can do anything – even get me out of a tiny Mazda.

I smile.  He’s still holding my hand so I squeeze his back.

“I know we can,” I say.  “Sam, this is going to be the best Christmas ever!”

Chapter 8

December the first arrives with a blast of arctic weather, which turns the streets into ice rinks, hogs the headlines and makes everyone reach for their hats and gloves.  The pond freezes and when Sam and I run by the ducks eye us resentfully as they huddle up on the ice, feathers puffed up against the chill. It’s not easy to get motivated in this weather but we gee each other up.

Mum has been brilliant too seems all for my fitness drive.  She’s still cooking like a fury but now her elderly neighbours benefit and the church fundraisers are doing very well out of all her cakes.  When I popped over on Saturday morning, she was just heading out, laden down with containers full of cakes.

“I can’t stop, love,” she’d said, busily cramming butterfly buns into a tupperware box. “Angela at The Bun in the Oven tea shop needed a hand.  She’s doing the catering for a birthday party and I said I’d help.  She tried my cakes at the St Giles fair and she was very impressed.  I’m going to do a couple of days in the shop.”

I’d been thrilled. “You’ve got a job?”

“Don’t look so shocked!” Mum had said.  Wiping her hands on her apron, she’d given me a hug. “Ellie, I know I’ve been hard work and I’ve relied far too much on you.  It’s time I started getting out and about again.”  She paused and brushed a curl back from my face. “Goodness knows what Dad would have said.  He’d have been really cross with me.  ‘Ellie’s got her own life to lead,’ is what he’d have said.”

My eyes had filled.  I could just hear him saying that.

“And I know I put pressure on you and Luke,” she’d continued. “I’m sorry if I was a burden.  I blame myself that you split up.  I know you’ve been unhappy since then.”

I’d hugged her back.  “Luke and I were never going to make it.  If he couldn’t be there for me when I’d lost my dad I don’t think there was going to be much of a future for us.”

Maybe not,” Mum had agreed.  Then a thoughtful expression flittered across her face. “Not like that lovely Sam.  Now there’s somebody who’s been there for you through thick and thin.  And me too.  The number of times he’s sat at this table listening to me going on and on.  I’ve had to bake extra biscuits some days.”

I’d stared at her.  “Sam comes here?”

“Of course he does!  Well, you two grew up together, didn’t you?  He was always here when you were small, I thought I had two children.”

I’d smiled.  The days of playing with Lego and making dens might be long gone but the happy memories would never fade.

“He’s a lovely boy and he really cares about you.” She’d fixed me with a stare, the kind of stare that always used to make me spill about detentions, broken curfews and unfinished homework. “Is there something going on between you?”

At this I had laughed out loud. “No!  Of course not!  Sam’s just a mate!  There’s nothing romantic between us.”

“That’s a shame,” Mum had said. “Because—”

“Because?”

But at this she’d clammed up like something Rick Stein would serve and I’d been left to mull over her words before dismissing them as ridiculous.  Sam and I were just friends.  Bless him for keeping an extra eye on Mum, though, and never letting on.  No wonder none of Lucy’s diets had worked.

I think about all this as we run through the park.  Sam had just shrugged off my thanks, saying that he was fond of Mum and that her food was more than enough thanks, but I know I’ll always owe him more than I can say.  Friends like Sam come along once in a lifetime.  I mean, just look at how he is motivating me to keep up with this diet and exercise lark.  Today, although the grass is frozen solid and our breath rises like bonfire smoke, Sam and I are far from cold and instead sweating buckets as we pound the pavements.  I never thought I’d see the day when I’d wear shorts at Christmas time but it’s rare that there’s a lunchtime or an early morning now when I’m not pulling on my trainers and plugging my iPod into my ears.  I wouldn’t say I enjoy it exactly – not half as much as I’d enjoy vegging out on the sofa and watching telly – but there’s something about fitness that’s really
addictive
. 

There’s something I never thought I’d say…

After we did a runner from Diet World, Sam was as good as his word about helping me to be motivated.  The doughnuts, lattes and runs to KFC stopped instantly and were replaced by fruit, cereal bars and runs around the block.  At first it nearly killed me but now I’m able to run from the Broom! Broom! showroom to the park and back without feeling the need to dial 999. Even Sticky Vicky has grudgingly commented that I look ‘less fat’ than I did.  I weighed myself and I have lost three pounds, which is great news.  It even gave me the confidence to call Drake for a chat.  Although I still cringe at the memory of that overheard conversation I can’t blame him.  Imogen was the one bitching and he was trying desperately to be diplomatic and professional.  Besides, if I’m really honest with myself, this was the big shove I needed to make a few changes.  We’ve exchanged a few lighthearted texts since then and he’s said that his offer of a drink still stands.  Maybe, once the madness of Christmas is out of the way, we could do it?  I’ve agreed, of course, and I’ve saved all his texts to my phone. When I’m alone I pour over them and dream…

Just wait until the Christmas party, Drake!  You are going to be so surprised!

Sam’s also lost weight, much more than me, but he doesn’t seem half as excited about it.  It really suits him and now that his face is slimmer I’ve noticed that he has cheekbones to rival Drake’s.  He’s had his hair cut too, which really shows off his bone structure and laughing green eyes.  I’ve seen the glances that other women cast in his direction when we’re out running or trawling the aisles of Waitrose for diet food, and Lucy Body Fascist should be afraid, very afraid.  If she isn’t nicer to Sam I don’t think there’ll be a shortage of girls lining up to take her place.  They’d better be good enough for him though!

Later on that day, exercise over, I am chilling with Sam in Covent Garden’s Starbucks with
a black coffee and skinny muffin, rather than doing another lap of the park while the ducks cheer me on.  Outside the piazza is rammed with Christmas shoppers, all fatly swaddled in winter coats and clutching bulging shopping bags in their gloved hands.  Although it’s only early afternoon, the daylight’s already seeping from the sky and fairy lights twinkle in shop windows.  In the background George Michael is singing about giving his heart away last Christmas, accompanied by the hiss of a coffee machine as the baristas serve up gingerbread lattes.

Our trip to the West End is a reward for all of our hard dieting and exercise.  It’s also time to start thinking about my outfit for the big Christmas party.  Now I’ve lost some weight I may even fit into that beautiful
Emily Rose
dress.  Sam just bought some new jeans because his were falling down and I know that my size sixteen skirts are feeling looser.  Maybe today I’ll be lucky and fit into a fourteen? I have my Spanx on – I’ve just about forgiven them for embarrassing me at Drake’s leaving do – and I’ve only had black coffee today just to help.  Imagine if the dress fits me and I can wear it to the Christmas party.  I know Drake would notice me then!  It would be like a corny
‘
Why Miss Smith, you’re beautiful’ moment, the clothing equivalent of my taking my glasses off.

“You’re at it again,” Sam complains.  “Day-dreaming.  A guy could take offence, you know.  Here I am telling you all about my newly ripped physique and you’re miles away, with not a thought for my wounded pride and pumped pecs.  Feel them! Go on!”

I
was
thinking of toned pecs, but Drake’s not Sam’s.  Tearing myself away from the next bit of the day-dream, where Drake’s sweeping me into his arms beneath a very handily positioned sprig of mistletoe, I give Sam’s tricep a squeeze.  Golly.  He has been working out.  Those dumbbells we found in the charity shop were worth every penny.

He grins. “Don’t look so amazed.  Feel free to tell me how ripped I am.”

“That’s Lucy’s job.”

The smile trickles from his face. “Not any more, Ellie.  She’s resigned.”

“Resigned?”

“From her position as my girlfriend,” Sam explains.  “She’s moved out.”

“Moved out ?  Since when?”

He shrugs and crumbles the remains of a skinny muffin between his fingers. “Since a couple of days ago.  To be honest, Ells, it’s not exactly a huge surprise.  Things haven’t been that great for a long time.  She was always moaning about my weight.”

“So why split up now when you’ve lost so much?” I’m really confused.  “Just look at you, Sam Sutton, you’re practically a racing snake!  Those jeans of yours are constantly falling down.  The Chippendales recruitment office will be calling you any minute!”

He grins. “I don’t know about that!”

“I do! You look amazing!”

His green eyes hold mine. “Do you really think that?”

There’s the oddest frisson of electricity.  Then it’s gone almost as soon as it arrived.

“Of course!”  I say, nodding fervently.

He sighs. “Unfortunately Lucy didn’t feel quite the same way.  She hated me going out running and exercising.  It turns out that she was actually happier when I was festering on the sofa.”

“What?  But that’s crazy!  Why would she feel like that?”

God.  Some people are never happy, are they?  Lucy couldn’t have asked for a nicer guy than Sam.  He’s honest, funny and, apart from when he used to pinch my chocolate, doesn’t have a bad bone in his body.  His eyes are the cool green of rock pools and he has a lovely smile.  Somebody will snap him up, although I hope they don’t do it just yet.  I’d really miss my coffee drinking and running buddy.

Sam looks down at the table. “She didn’t like me spending so much time with you.  I guess she was jealous.”

I goggle at him.  “Lucy was jealous?  Of me?  But Sam, that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.  There’s nothing going on between us!”

Sam says nothing.  Goodness, he must be really upset.

“Look, shall I call her and tell her that she’s being silly?” I offer.  I feel really bad.  I know how much of Sam’s time I have taken up lately, and I also know how funny partners can be when they feel neglected. 

But Sam shakes his head. “No, there’s no need.  To be honest we should have finished a long time ago.  It was a teenage thing that should never have limped on into adulthood.  She’s not the woman for me.” He pauses and looks at me.  I see myself reflected in the depths of his eyes and look away.  Sam can say what he likes, and I know I didn’t think Lucy was right for him, but I still feel bad. 

“But Sam, it’s Christmas!”

“Yep, dumped and alone for Yuletide,” Sam says. “Even my folks are pushing off to the Caribbean for two weeks.  It’ll be pot noodle for me.”

“Come to Mum’s!  There’ll be lots of food.  She’s invited the elderly couple next door and half the street by the sound of it.”

Sam is grinning from ear to ear. “Thanks, Ellie!  That sounds great!  I’ll be able to eat as much Christmas pudding as I like and watch rubbish telly all day long.”

“Not too much Christmas pudding,” I warn but Sam’s not listening, he’s far too busy jumping to his feet and shrugging on his leather jacket.

“Come on, slowcoach!” He chivvies, as I sip the dregs of my coffee. “Talking of Christmas, isn’t time we got on with our shopping?  Somebody said something about a green dress in Selfridges?”

I abandon my drink and follow him out of the warm fug of the coffee shop and into the gloom of a December afternoon.  The scent of roasting chestnuts hangs heavy in the air as we cross the covered market and in the piazza a living statue has dressed as Santa much to the delight and curiosity of the crowds.  We plunge back down into the tube and surface twenty minutes later in the mayhem that is Oxford Street on a December Saturday.  Crowds throng the pavement, buses lumber past and high above us the famous lights shimmer in rainbow hues.  There’s a festive, almost carnival, atmosphere as the shoppers surge towards the stores, eyes firmly trained on the glittering window displays and hands clutching those famous yellow bags.  I pause at the exit of Bond Street tube and drink the atmosphere in.  Oh my goodness.  It really is Christmas time!  Soon I’ll be at Pendleton Manor for the big party and I’ll see Drake in the flesh for the first time in almost two months.  Will he notice a difference in me? 

Will he notice me, full stop?

“Come on, Ellie!  Stick next to me!”

Sam tows me across Oxford Street, through buses and pedestrians alike, and then into Selfridges.  We meander through the perfume department, doused liberally in scent by smiling shop assistants, sniff the candles in Jo Malone and then ride the escalator up to the designer section.  The store has been transformed into a winter wonderland, even the escalators glide through whirling silver and gold mobiles while an opera singer trills carols at us.  By the time we arrive at the
Emily Rose
section Sam and I are feeling very festive.