Weight Till Christmas (5 page)

“I’ll pop back later.  Maybe he’ll be finished?  Can you tell him I’d love to go for that drink now?  Maybe after work? “ I say hopefully.

But Drake’s colleague isn’t listening.  She’s moved on to another potential customer.  Disheartened, I visit the loo where I freshen up, give myself a pep talk and text Sam quickly to check that Broom! Broom! suburbs style hasn’t crumbled without me.  I’ll go and explore Green Park for a bit, I decide, then I’ll come back and see if Drake’s free.    Cheered by having a plan of action I head back into the foyer, freezing in my tracks when I overhear Drake’s smooth voice deep in conversation with Imogen.

“No, Imogen, don’t feel bad.  It’s a bit awkward but you did the right thing.”

Imogen makes a simpering giggly sound.  “I didn’t think somebody like that would really be a friend of yours.”

I freeze.  Oh Lord.  They’re talking about me.  I shrink back against the wall but they stop only metres away.  I know that people who eavesdrop on conversations never hear any good about themselves but there’s nowhere for me to go.  If I walk past now I’ll run smack into them, and how hideous would that be?

Drake has paused.  I wait for him to say that actually Ellie is a friend of his but there’s just an awkward silence.

“After all she’s hardly in your league,” Imogen continues, her words like poisoned darts into my self-esteem.  “When she said mentioned going for a drink with you I was a bit surprised.”

Drake says nothing.

“The poor girl’s obviously got an enormous crush on you,” Imogen persists.  “So I did my best to stall her.  I mean, as if you’d be interested in her.  She’s at least a size eighteen!”

I almost leap out of the shadows at this to bop her on the nose.  Actually, Imogen, I am a sixteen!  Not that this is any of your business.

“Ellie’s had a tough time,” Drake says quietly.  He sounds awkward and his voice is so low that I have to strain my ears.  “She lost her father recently and it’s been difficult for her.”

“Comfort eating,” says Imogen knowledgeably.  “I get it.  But seriously, Drake, she’s a mess.  I couldn’t imagine the two of you together for a minute.  She doesn’t exactly fit the high end market image you need to go for.”  

Really? Well, Imogen, you are in for a shock!  Go on Drake; tell her just how much you really like me and how you don’t give a monkey’s how much I weigh because I am the best there is when it comes to selling cars.  Then she can sod off back to Norway.

“Ellie’s great fun,” Drake says eventually, “and I’m very fond of her, but I take your point.”  He pauses.  “I’ll text her in a bit and tell her I’m really busy.”

And with this comment he strides back to his office, blissfully unaware that I’m only a few mortified feet away, my eyes swimming with tears.  Imogen’s bitchy comments are replaying in a hideous loop.  I know Drake didn’t join in but I wish he’d stuck up for me just once.  Why didn’t he tell her that we’re friends?  Or that I helped him get the promotion?

Then I realize.  It’s all horribly obvious: Drake is embarrassed of me and, if I am really honest with myself, I can’t really blame him.  All the nights in eating at Mum’s and the food parcels, consumed in the empty spaces of my life that Luke used to fill, have taken their toll.  My uniform is getting tight, I puff when I climb stairs and I know that I need to make some changes.

First of all I got stuck in the Mazda.  Then the old man on the bus thought I was pregnant, and now Drake is being told I’d affect his image as a top of the market sales manager.

The universe could not be sending me a clearer message if it sent One Direction in right now, painted blue and spelling it out in a cheesy pop song.

The time for faffing about is over.  I have
got
to take control again and lose some weight.

Chapter 5

“Seriously?  You don’t want a Hobnob?” Sam looks concerned.  “Are you ill?  They’re your favourite.”

I shake my head.  It’s an odd thing but my appetite is AWOL.   I can’t remember the last time that happened, or even the first time.  If I so much as think about a biscuit I see that kindly old man giving up his seat because he thought I was pregnant and hear Drake’s awkward comments.   Thank goodness he has no idea I was there.  I still feel hot all over with shame.  How have I let it get this bad? 

I have
got
to make a change.   If getting stuck in that Mazda wasn’t enough of a sign already, then this is a really big wake up call…

“All the more for me then,” says Sam cheerfully. “Lucy’s packed me some rabbit food for lunch so I need all the help I can get.”

It’s half past eight on a rainy morning and the Broom! Broom! staff are gathered for the morning meeting.  Rick and Nick are squabbling over the kettle, Vicky is deep in
Grazia
and Sam is eating his body weight in Hobnobs.  All in all it’s a pretty standard start to the day.  If Oxford Street was glittering with Christmas promise, Ickenham High Road is dismal and grey, as though the colour has been leeched out.  I predict another slow day ahead.  This is going to be really tough without the beacon of a latte or a sausage roll to break the monotony.  Maybe I’ll have to take up Sudoku?  Or walk to the duck pond at lunchtime?

“Good morning, team!  Ready to go out there and get ’em?” booms Charlie.   Everyone in the room cringes.  Ever since he went on an American style motivation seminar our boss has been a nightmare.  It just doesn’t translate to the UK.  I mean, look at us all, some of us are still half asleep and the others are checking their Facebook pages or texting.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen a group of people less ready to
 ‘
go out there and get em’
in my life.  If we make it to the coffee jar by 9 a.m, that’ll be good going.

“Right, err, anyway,” stumbles Charlie when none of us start leaping about and clapping one another on the back, or whatever it is Americans do in these situations.   

No, we are British so just regard him silently before being allowed to just get on in surly peace.  He shuffles his papers and clears his throat. “Now, it’s good news this morning.  Quarterly sales figures are in and here in the Middlesex branch we’ve exceeded target!  And that, folks, means a reward for everyone and just in time for the festive season too!”

At the mention of a reward we are instantly all agog.  I could certainly do with some extra cash in time to pay for the damage I did to the Mazda.

Charlie steeples his fingers and stares at us all.  We are hanging on his every word now and he loves it. 

“So, the management here at Broom! Broom! UK has decided you guys all deserve a big thank you.  And what better way to do this than by giving you the biggest and the best Christmas party!”

Oh.  There goes the bonus then.  I hope I don’t look as disappointed as I feel.  Much as I love our Christmas party – it’s always the highlight of the year– a lump sum would have been very welcome.  Still, the parties are always good.  Every year we hire a big restaurant, eat an enormous Christmas dinner, drink endlessly and get on down until dawn.  It’s brilliant fun and I love every minute but I can’t really see how Charlie is going to make it bigger and better.  Lob a few more crackers and mince pies at us?

“This year all branches of the company will come together for a big company party to celebrate our fifth anniversary and a record-breaking year,” Charlie continues excitedly. “We’re hiring Pendleton Manor for the big event and you’ll all be dining on the company.” He pauses for impact. “So team, what do you think about that?”

For a second there’s silence, partly because most of us haven’t had a caffeine injection yet and partly because we are all stunned. Wow, profits must have been good.  Pendleton Manor is a stunning country house hotel, all grey stone, mullioned windows and swathed in russet virginia creeper, set in the beautiful Buckinghamshire countryside right on the banks of the Thames.  The reason I’ve heard of it isn’t because I frequent the place – as if on my salary
– but because it’s the latest celeb haunt of choice, second only to luxurious piles like Cliveden, and features heavily in all the gossip magazines and Sunday papers.  Posh and Becks stayed there recently and One Direction hired the entire place for three days when they shot their latest music video.  Granted, a bonus would have really helped but I can’t help feeling excited about this party.

So while Charlie drones on about sales figures, seasonal promotions and projections for the run up to Christmas, I tune him out and fish my iPhone from my pocket to Google the place.  Seconds later I’m reading all about the sixteenth century manor house and scrolling through beautiful pictures of rolling lawns, four poster beds upholstered in scarlet and golds and the ballroom lit with candles and glittering chandeliers like something from a fairytale.  I can just imagine how beautiful the place will look when it’s decorated for Christmas!  There’ll be fairy lights twinkling, snowflakes drifting down from the midnight sky and a huge tree at the foot of the sweeping staircase.  In the parallel universe I would float down that staircase in my beautiful green dress, slim and graceful, with my hair loose around my shoulders for once rather than yanked back into my boring workday bun.  At the foot of the stairs Drake Owen’s waiting, his back to me as he watches the flames roaring in the log fire, but when he hears my footsteps (light of course, not clomping like they do now) he turns around and when he sees his eyes widen with delighted surprise.

“Ellie,” he breathes, reaching out his hand to take mine.  His eyes glitter with fairy light sparkles and desire. “You look beautiful.”

My eyes are closed.  The scene is so real that I can feel the warmth of the fire, the touch of his skin on mine and the soft folds of the dress swirling around my toes.  There’s a window set half way up the stairs and against the inky midnight sky snowflakes dance and flurry.

“Happy Christmas, Ellie,” Drake whispers as he leans forward and brushes my lips with his...

“Ellie!  Hey!  Ellie Summers?  Are you all right with that?”

I’ve been so engrossed in my day-dream that it’s a horrible shock to be snatched back to the reality of the showroom.  One moment Drake’s sweeping me into his arms and I’m melting like snowflakes in the sunshine, the next I’m at my desk with the eyes of all my colleagues trained on me expectantly.  With cold dread I realize that they are all waiting for my answer, which would be great if I had an inkling what the flipping question was.

I look from face to face just in case somebody’s expression gives me a clue but they all just look curious.  Right, well I can either say yes or no, can’t I?  And if in doubt just agree, I always say.

I paste a bright smile to my face. “Absolutely, Charlie.  Of course!”

There’s a ripple of surprise at this but Charlie seems thrilled and he claps my shoulder.  Once he’s moved back to his office everyone else melts away. Vicky seems delighted about something and Rick and Nick, both of whom always run around her like puppies, hover at her desk hopefully.  Maybe they want a pat?

“Are you mad?” demands Sam.  Gosh he looks upset – his face is the same red as his overalls. “Why on earth did you agree to that?”

I stare at him.  The staircase, the Christmas tree, my green dress, and Drake’s kiss – all these beautiful dreams dissolve like mist in the sunshine.  I am back at my cheap Ikea desk, wearing a too tight and deeply unflattering uniform while my friend is looking like he wants to throttle me.  Oh crap.  What did I just say yes to?

“I wasn’t listening,” I confess.

Sam rolls his eyes.  They are green, flecked with gold. Lion’s eyes, I always think, and at odds with his usually sunny nature, but sometimes the lion does roar and now is one of those times.

“Charlie read out the sales figs for the last quarter and you were top sales person. 
You,
Ellie!”

I’m thrilled. “Wow!  Really?” 

“Yes, really.  But then Charlie said that they needed somebody to be the face of Broom! Broom!
for the Christmas promotions, which should be you seeing as you’re the most successful employee.  That’s bloody obvious.  Yet Charlie goes and suggests Vicky should get the gig.”

I stare at him. Even though I didn’t listen to a word I already know Vicky’s sales figures will be the worst.  They always are.  The girl might be a size eight and make Elle McPherson look like a heifer, but she can’t sell for toffee.  Drake and I have carried her for ages.

“And you went and agreed to it,” Sam finishes despairingly.  “You should be the one who gets the Christmas perks, not her.  It isn’t fair.”

I sigh.  The member of staff who gets to do the Christmas promotions for Broom! Broom! has a lot of fun.  They get to visit all the trade fairs, do all the press bits and pieces, local adverts and last year Drake even got to do an interview for
What Car
magazine.  I would love to have a shot at it.  But I never will.  It wouldn’t be the image the company wants.  Drake was right about that.

“Of course it isn’t fair,” I say sadly. “Life isn’t fair.  Come on, Sam, you’re not stupid.  You know exactly why Charlie wants Vicky to do the promotions.  She’s not fat.  Who would want to look at me when they can look at her?”

“You’re not fat!” Sam says hotly.  “You’re – you’re voluptuous!  And anyway, you’re much prettier than her.”

I fix him with a stern look.  “If you’re about to tell me that I have a lovely face I think I’ll ram your head in the shredder.”

He laughs and holds up his hands. “I won’t say that, I promise.   You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself, Ellie.  You are gorgeous.”

I blush.  I know Sam is just a mate but even so I find it hard to take compliments.  These days I like to get in first with a weight-related wisecrack. That’s probably thanks to Luke’s constant criticisms.  Towards the end I never got changed in front of him, it just wasn’t worth the aggro.  There was also a serious risk I might have found myself up on a murder charge too – the time he’d pointed out I had a lovely face and it was a shame I was spoiling it by putting on weight he’d nearly ended up with a stiletto buried in his skull.