Neither things had happened. Susan remained an overfed and overweight chrysalis and her devoted dad had died of a heart attack before she’d even had her first, tentative kiss.
Back to thatday all those years ago. Her knight in shining armour, or rather jogging bottoms and a fitted black T-shirt that showed off a decent chest and arms, was now scrutinising her big toe. In a concession to the heat of a half-way decent day in May she’d put on a pair of flip flops. And now wished she hadn’t, horribly aware of her plump little feet devoid of manicure and with the injured toe turning pinky purple and swelling alarmingly.
‘Did you drive here? OK, I think the best thing is to go pay for your books and I’ll give you a lift home. No, please, it’s the least I can do.’
He waved away her protests and took her books up to the counter, returning to lend her an arm as she hobbled over to pay. Transaction done, he hoisted up the plastic bag of goodies and helped her outside, gesturing to a dark green Volkswagen Golf parked at the pavement. As he took out his key and unlocked the door, he hesitated. Smiled and shook his head.
‘Here’s me about to drive you home and we haven’t even introduced ourselves. I’m Jonathan, I work as a chartered surveyor at the local council, I normally cycle everywhere but my bike had a flat and I needed to pick up some shopping anyway. I’m not an axe murderer, I’m not married and Ican’t bear to see a damsel in distress. Oh, and I love reading, hence the visit to the bookshop. Your turn!’
Susan felt completely tongue tied. She simply wasn't well versed in the art of small talk. Since starting her own home-based business a few months ago her social interaction was limited to talking to clients on the phone or brief exchanges with shop staff when she was stocking up for the week. It pained her to admit it but her longest chats recently had been with the proprietor of the artisan patisserie in the next town.
‘My name is Susan. Erm … I live alone and run my own business. Keeping accounts for small companies, that kind of thing.’
And I’m enormously fat and hideously lonely and I know you’re just being nice. But I’ll take that for now. Besides, my toe hurts like hell and refusing a lift would be churlish.None of which she said aloud.
Jonathan proved to be every inch the proper gentleman, driving her home and making sure she wrapped a bag of frozen peas around her tender toe. He unloaded her books, lining them up neatly on a shelf on her bookcase. Boiled the kettle and made them both a cup of coffee. Stayed for over an hour, chatting about this and that and urging her to call him if the swelling got worse.
‘I’m pretty sure it’s not broken but I’ll happily take you to A & E tomorrow if you’re at all worried. Here’s my number.’ He scribbled it down on a scrap of paper. Susan gazed at it in awe. When was the last time a man had given her his phone number? Probably not since she was about eighteen and the fellow in question had obviously made it up as she’d never been able to reach him.
In the end she didn’t have to call him. He’d dropped by the next day, bearing a small but exquisite bunch of flowers. He’d insisted on examining her toe which, by then, wasmottled but clearly on the mend. Then he’d suggested they went out for a meal which they did. To a little Italian restaurant where they shared bruschetta and platefuls of carbonara, Susan attempting to nibble rather than gobble it down as if her life depended on it. She was so used to eating alone and giving little thought to the actual process that it was a genuine surprise to dine with someone. To actually punctuate mouthfuls with conversation and even align her cutlery on the plate when some remnants of food remained.
To her even greater surprise, Jonathan asked if he could see her again. She agreed, trying not to show the sheer joy coupled with disbelief that his request created inside her.
‘How about you come round to my place? I’ve got a pretty amazing video collection and I can make us something to eat. Steak and salad? Or I do a very nice chicken curry.’
And so it began. A night of movie watching and a delicious home-made chicken tikka masala lead to their first, hesitant kiss. Susan was petrified as Jonathan moved closer on his squishy two-seater sofa. She hadn’t kissed anyone in almost a decade and wished she had a) swotted up on technique and b) didn’t stink of garlic and spices. As his arms closed around her she wished for the millionth time that she wasn’t all flab and jiggly bits. Breathing in didn’t help one iota. It just made her feel a little dizzy although that could also have been a reaction to his lips tentatively touching hers. As the pressure increased, Susan felt something she hadn’t felt in a very long time. The awakening of her long-dormant libido and something else. The faintest fluttering of butterfly wings that signalled her long-buried self confidence was kicking off the mud and making a bid for freedom. As Jonathan took her by the hand and led her upstairs she raised her eyes to the heavens, blinking away a few unexpected tears.
‘Thanks, dad. Maybe I’ve finally got my wings.’
It had been lovely in the beginning. Jonathan was kind, attentive and thoughtful. He never complained when she locked herself away for hours on end dealing with difficult clients and juggling tricky numbers. He’d roll up on his bike, plonk his helmet on the coat rack by the front door and squeeze her tight.
‘How was your day?’ he’d ask, smoothing his thumbs over her scrunched up brows. They’d make their way to the kitchen, pausing for a prolonged kiss or two. Susan tried so hard on the dietary front, conjuring up healthy but satisfying meals she found in the many cookbooks she’d accumulated over the years. Not that Jonathan ever criticised her size. Not once. When she tried to raise the subject herself he silenced her with a lip caress that rendered her speechless.
‘Susan. Please, don’t. I love you just the way you are. If it would make you happy to lose weight then I’d support you one hundred percent. You know that. But what I see is a beautiful and smart woman who makes me feel great and I don’t calculate your worth to me in pounds and ounces. I think we’re good together. Don’t you?’
Susan had nodded numbly, still unable to speak. Unable to fathom why this lovely man would choose her over all the slim and trim women he could have. Still shamed beyond belief that she retained an illicit stash of chocolate in her handbag. And delved into it when she faced herself in the mirror and loathed what she saw reflected back at her. Fat and unworthy. He said he loved her, but what use was that when she could barely stand the sight of herself?
Six months into their relationship and Susan woke up with a start. She’d had a vivid dream – nightmare – of being confined to a wheelchair. Obese to the point that she could no longer walk unaided. Behind her had been a grim-faced Jonathan, pushing away, the effort ingrained in his twisted features. Drenched in sweat, she rolled over to where heslept, oblivious to her angst. Sweet features arranged in blissful repose.
‘Jonathan.Jonathan!’
She’d nudged him awake, confusion contorting his face as he rubbed at sleepy eyes. He’d gazed at her for an explanation as to why she was rousing him a good two hours ahead of the alarm call.
‘I’m sorry. God, I’m just so sorry. It’s just … I can’t do this anymore. I can’t be with you. It doesn’t feel right anymore. It’s not you, it’s me.’
Susan had cringed at her wording, so trite and cruel for a man who had tried so hard to make her happy. Make them both happy. What was the song again? If you love someone, set them free. That was what she was doing, she persuaded herself. Almost.
‘I don’t understand. Susan, please talk to me. I can change. If there’s something about me that pisses you off, then tell me! I really thought we had something. Tell me what I need to do.’
She’d looked at his broken, uncomprehending face and wished with all her heart she could take it back. Make it right. But Susan knew she had to let him go.
‘Jonathan, you’re lovely. You’ve been such an amazing part of my life. But it’s over. I just don’t see us going any further. I’m sorry. Truly, I am.’
He’d left, gathering his pathetic detritus of belongings –razor, deodorant, a few pairs of underpants – and pedalled off. Susan stood at the front door and began to sob. Her sobs continued for several hours.
Shakingherself out of her reverie, Susan gazed out of the window. It was getting darker outside, the earlier sleetturning to flakes of snow. She got slowly to her feet and began emptying her basket. She lifted out the box of macarons with its cellophane window. Pink ones, green ones, yellow ones. An abundance of sugary heaven. Raising a fist, she brought it down hard on the box, feeling them crumble and disintegrate beneath the force of her blow. Then, the tears began to fall.
Chapter 5
