Read Fat Girls and Fairy Cakes Online

Authors: Sue Watson

Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Humor, #Women's Fiction, #Contemporary Women, #Contemporary Fiction, #Humor & Satire, #General Humor

Fat Girls and Fairy Cakes

 

 

 

Sue Watson

COPYRIGHT

 

First published in Great Britain in 2011 by Rickshaw Publishing Ltd, 102 Fulham Palace Road, London W6 9PL

 

Copyright © Sue Watson 2011

 

The right of Sue Watson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

 

All characters, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance is purely coincidental.

 

Cover designed by Richard Smith

 

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of Rickshaw Publishing.

 

www.rickshawpublishing.co.uk

Acknowledgements
 

I have lots of lovely family and friends who have supported me on this novel-writing journey and I’m grateful to them all – but I would like to say thank you to those who played a special part in the writing of this book.

To my teacher, friend and fellow writer Sue Johnson, thanks for spotting a tiny spark and encouraging me to light it. Thank you to everyone at Rickshaw for taking a chance on me, in particular my wonderful and talented editor, Jo Doyle, who guided me wisely and killed my ‘darlings’ with kindness – and strong editorial anaesthetic.

I am deeply indebted to Alastair Bell for his absolute fabulousness, overflowing font of TV and celebrity trivia and his profound knowledge of Gay Swimming.

Thanks to my great writing buddy and inspiration Jackie Dietrich and to Vanessa Jackson for her wise counsel and true friendship. Liz Cox also deserves a mention for her divine turn of phrase as does my dearest friend Lesley Mcloughlin who stayed up until 3am to help me with the ending over several bottles of red.

Thanks to Sir Terry Wogan for those Thursday afternoons at Clivedon making work seem like fun and for telling me I could write comedy. Love and thanks to my friends Nadia Sawalha and Sue Robinson for encouraging me to take the plunge on a hot afternoon in Hoxton and to Linda Robson, for sharing hilarious TV tales and wonderful advice.

A special thank you to James Martin for all the ‘cake porn,’ and the best chocolate mousse I ever tasted.
And to Colin Mcallister and Justin Ryan – thanks for all the fun and fabulousness – and yes, you two still blow my frock up!

The ladies of The Bodacious Book Club, The Worcestershire Wags and my friends at the BBC have all in their own special way contributed to this book. I enjoy and appreciate their friendship, encouragement and funny stories (some of which I have stolen shamelessly and included in this book).

Thanks to Nick Watson for his love and support and for making it possible for me to abandon the real world and write every day – I’m so lucky to have him in my life.

Finally, a special kiss for Eve Watson who always makes me feel like a star whatever I do, with those three little words, “well done mum!”

Contents
 

Acknowledgements

PROLOGUE - Sex in the Dark

1 - Chunky Kit Kats and Leafy Lunches

2 - Jam Doughnuts and Jewelled Tiaras

3 - Sex-fuelled Romps and Revolting Vicars

4 - A Rainy Night in Rochdale

5 - Trouble in Paradise

6 - Showtime!

7 - Family Fun Day

8 - Lesbian Lust and Lemon Curd

9 - Perfectly Peachy

10 - Cake Volcanoes and Marital Eruptions

11 - Hawaiian Heaven in Suburban Hell

12 - Mum, Mountains and
Midnight Blue Lace

13 - Lost in Translation

14 - Noisy Cocks and Strappy Nighties

15 - Bowling a Maiden Over

16 - Low Flying Turkey and Twisted Tarts

17 - Pinot and Pole Dancing

18 - Fat Brides and Fairy Cakes

19 - Social Paralysis in an Incomprehensible Universe – or ‘Holiday’

20 - Cocktails and Cannons

21 - Brazilian Boys and Baking Blues

22 - Life Changing Phone Calls

23 - Fatal Attraction

24 - The Doctor, the Damsel and the Date

25 - You’re Never Alone with a
Box of Coffee Creams

26 - Hard Macaroons and Wobbly Handbags

27 - Naked Fairy Cakes and Flouncing Fashion Queens

28 - Nude Espresso and Sizzling Pheromones

29 - Strictly Cupcakes

30 - Barry’s Smokin’ Barbie

31 - Dinner at Nando’s not
Breakfast at Tiffany’s

32 - Panic on the Streets of Worcester

33 - Spangled Salsa and Chocolate Cha-Cha

34 - Love and Worry

35 - Dave’s Dirty Dancing

36 - Starlets, Twiglets and Lizzie’s Revenge

EPILOGUE - Wedding Cake and Wishes

Cake Fairy Recipes!

About the Author

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This is for my Mum, who told me

to look for the lace in the trees

PROLOGUE - Sex in the Dark
 

“I need sex every day, luv,” said Denise, the vicar’s wife. I tried to stay calm and focus on the view of Rochdale by night. Las Vegas it wasn’t, but the little clusters of starry lights peeping through the driving rain were a comfort and made me think of people safe in their homes; I wished I was. “I have a very high sex drive you see,” Denise continued. The ‘high’ and ‘sex’ were mouthed exaggeratedly, almost soundlessly, as if to accentuate the
enormity
of it.

It was July, it was late evening and I was standing under a large umbrella in a vicarage garden in Lancashire with a wife of the cloth who, it seemed, had abandoned scones and sermons for sex. Her breath mingled with steam from the greenish tea she clutched to her bosom as she chatted. Sporting a disturbingly transparent crocheted dress, Denise did nothing to conceal a carnal desire for her fifteen minutes of fame. The phallic jewellery and sparkly heels were bizarre, but the TV-producer part of me knew they’d be great on camera. Not your stereotypical vicar’s wife, Denise wore a shock of pink hair and a vivid storyboard of tattoos telling of a life well-lived – and loved. “My Bernie’s a once-a-month missionary man,” she hissed at me in the darkness, referring to her husband,
the vicar
. “It’s not enough for me. I have a big appetite – and it’s led me to seek pastures new, you see.”

I kept a permanently fixed smile on my face as she continued. “It took me a while to settle down at the vicarage, but I’m happy now I’ve found a group of ‘like-minded’ folk.” She paused and winked elaborately at me. I suddenly felt a bit panicky. Was she looking for some kind of sign? Did she think I was ‘like-minded-folk’? I shivered and looked away as she pulled hard on the herbal tea from her chipped mug, on which was printed, rather reassuringly, ‘God Will Forgive’.
I do hope so Denise
, I thought.

Claiming to be 52 (but I’d add five), Denise filled me in on her colourful past of banning the bomb, piercing her nipples and catching crabs on an apparently ‘long, hot Summer of Love’.

“Mmm, sounds idyllic,” I said, desperately trying to walk away, hoping she wouldn’t feel the need to elaborate (and also hoping that the catching crabs comment referred to the innocent summer pursuit of fishing in rock pools for crustaceans).

 “Don’t be fooled Stella, in remote villages...people get lonely,” she added ominously.

“Oh, surely not
this
lovely village with its friendly community?” I asked, in what I hoped was my grown-up TV producer’s voice. “This place is picturesque
.” It’s on shortbread tins at Christmas, for God’s sake!
I was horrified (if perhaps also a teensy bit intrigued) at the idea that orgiastic activity was nestling in the grey Victorian stonework, tea shops and cobbled streets.

“Oh, this village is very, very friendly Stel. In fact, only last week I was walking through the village and felt a firm hand on my...” she began with a knowing smile.

“Gosh Denise, what a lovely shade of nail varnish!” I tried, desperate to change the subject, grabbing her hand and admiring the witchy, black talons.

“Sex in the dark, Stella...” she was off again.

“Denise, I was talking about the nail varnish.”

“So was I,” she answered, bemused. “It’s the name on the bottle, look, ‘Sex in the Dark’, they do a matching lipstick too. I’ve got it here somewhere…”

As she fumbled around in her tiny sequined bag for ‘Sex in the Dark’, I gathered myself together and took a good sidelong look at her through the steam and hot breath. I found myself mesmerised by the twists and turns of the now-damp crocheted dress. Then suddenly, like one of those Magic Eye pictures we all once loved, the truth emerged. In 3D, I began to see Denise in all her glory and looked away in horror. I was about to put this lady on TV in front of millions of people, and this vicar’s wife wasn’t wearing any knickers.

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