‘My mother says I didn’t open my eyes for eight days after I was born, but when I did, the first thing I saw was an engagement ring. I was hooked’ – Elizabeth Taylor
Julia Crawford was lying in bed with her husband, Nick, his body spooned around hers as they snuggled down beneath the duvet. It was a Sunday morning in early October, and neither of them had anywhere to be or anything to do, so they were snoozing lazily, enjoying the rare lie-in.
Julia sighed contentedly, as she stretched out her legs so that their feet were touching. Her head was nestled in the crook of Nick’s arm, her honey-blonde hair splayed across the cream pillowcases. Nick wrapped his arm around her waist, softly caressing her bare stomach where her T-shirt had ridden up. Then his fingers moved lower, sliding beneath her sleep shorts and over the curve of her hip, suggestively stroking the soft skin of her thigh. Julia giggled as Nick pressed closer, his stubble-peppered chin resting in the hollow of her shoulder, his breath warm against her neck.
‘Mmm, I know what I feel like right now,’ he murmured.
‘What’s that?’ Julia teased, with a pretty good idea of just what exactly he had in mind.
‘See if you can guess. I’ll give you some clues.’
Julia squirmed delightedly as Nick nuzzled her neck, little butterfly kisses running across the top of her back, his teeth gently nibbling her earlobe. Her breath grew quicker, and she wriggled round until she was nose-to-nose with her husband.
‘Morning you,’ she murmured, staring at him lovingly. Nick was undoubtedly an attractive man, in his mid-thirties, with thick, dark hair dotted with occasional strands of grey. His bright blue eyes sparkled as he looked back at his wife, and when he spoke his voice was low and husky.
‘Morning you too.’ He leaned in for a kiss, as Julia slid one leg between his, their bodies moving closer. Nick’s hands began to roam, and Julia let out a sigh of pleasure… before bolting upright so fast she almost elbowed Nick in the face.
‘What was that?’ she asked anxiously.
‘Huh? I didn’t hear anything.’
‘I thought…’ Julia stared hard at the baby monitor, and then the noise came again. This time it was unmistakeable: a hiccoughing cry that turned into a full-on wail within seconds. Julia was instantly up and out of bed, cramming her feet into her slippers and pulling on her dressing gown, as Nick fell back against the pillows with a frustrated sigh.
‘There we are… It’s okay, Jack…’ Julia murmured soothingly, as she dashed across the hall to the baby’s room, reaching into the crib and picking up her crying son. ‘Mummy’s here.’ She held him close, rocking him softly from side to side, but his cries only became louder. ‘Are you hungry, hmm? Is that what it is?’
Cradling his tiny body against her, Julia carefully carried six-month-old Jack out of his nursery and down the stairs, settling herself on the living room sofa where the support cushion was arranged. She slipped open her dressing gown and Jack began to feed, his cries stopping immediately, as Julia sank back against the sofa and watched him.
She didn’t think she’d ever get over the wonder of simply staring at her son; how adorable and perfect he looked, and how incredible it was that she and Nick had created this little person together. Jack had a bundle of dark hair, just like his daddy, and everyone said the two of them looked so much alike; Jack’s strong nose and dimpled chin were the spit of Nick. But Jack definitely had her eyes, Julia mused. They were green and almond-shaped and currently half-closed as he fed contentedly, making little snuffling noises. This tiny bundle had utterly transformed her and Nick’s lives, and it seemed impossible to remember a time before he’d been around, when they’d been an incomplete twosome and not a blissful little family of three.
It was hard to believe that a couple of years ago, Julia had been worried that she might not even be able to have children. She and Nick had been trying for a baby for months, to no avail, and it had taken a serious toll on their relationship. The two of them had stopped communicating, and Julia could freely admit that she’d gone a little bit crazy back then, obsessed with getting pregnant to the exclusion of everything else. Nick had barely been able to walk through the door without Julia jumping on top of him and trying to remove his trousers, and while that sounded great in theory, the reality had left Nick feeling – in his own words – like little more than a sperm donor. He’d been constantly exhausted as he tried to keep up with Julia’s insatiable demands, and for a while all the two of them did was argue, both of them becoming increasingly unhappy.
Things had got so bad that they’d been to see a sex therapist, at Nick’s suggestion. Julia had refused at first, but in the end she’d had to acknowledge that the sessions with their counsellor, Annie, had really helped. Therapy hadn’t been anything like she’d expected and, after a few bumps in the road, Julia and Nick had fallen in love with each other all over again. Ironically, it was when they’d mutually agreed to take the focus off trying for a baby that she’d finally fallen pregnant.
Upstairs, Julia heard Nick stir: the creak of the bed as he climbed out; the heavy footsteps as he padded across the landing; the gush of the shower a few moments later. Outside, a gust of wind whipped up a whirl of rust-coloured leaves from the back lawn, hurling them against the window before they dropped to the ground. The big rowan tree was bent almost double by the force of the breeze, and Julia felt grateful to be warm and cosy inside, protected from the chilly autumn weather.
Yes, she was a very lucky woman, Julia reflected, with her nice house and handsome husband and adorable baby. So why did she feel as though something was missing? A nagging sensation that one piece of the puzzle wasn’t in place yet?
Over the last few weeks, Julia had begun to feel what could best be described as… restless. Of course, she adored being a stay-at-home mum, being with Jack 24/7 and administering to his every need, but recently she’d started to get the sense that she needed to do something for herself again. To rediscover her own identity, and spend time pursuing something that didn’t involve cleaning mashed banana off the walls or singing endless rounds of ‘Old MacDonald’.
Before Jack was born, Julia had been building up her business as an events planner, and her company had been going from strength to strength. She’d started off small, organising birthday parties and weddings for friends at a discounted rate, but word had spread quickly, and her last job before going on maternity leave had been to organise a gala dinner for the Norfolk Chamber of Commerce. It had been a magnificent event, with men in black tie, women in glamorous ballgowns, and a sumptuous meal of poached quail’s eggs followed by roast sirloin of beef, before mingling and dancing to a twenty-piece orchestra. The night had been a triumph, and the Lord Mayor himself had congratulated Julia on what a fantastic job she’d done. After the bustle and excitement of dealing with VIP guests and overseeing a team of fifty, it was quite an adjustment for Julia to spend her days changing dirty nappies and wiping up vomit.
‘I’ll make a start on breakfast,’ Nick called, sticking his head around the living room door and smiling at the tender scene in front of him. He was freshly showered and dressed in jogging bottoms and a long-sleeved top, his dark hair still damp. ‘What do you fancy?’
‘Anything,’ Julia replied, trying to stifle a yawn. ‘Surprise me.’
‘Will do.’ Nick gave a smart salute before disappearing into the kitchen.
Julia peered down at Jack still nestled against her. He seemed to have stopped feeding, fully awake now as he looked up at her, his eyes bright and alert.
Gently, Julia moved him off her breast, covering herself with her dressing gown and draping a muslin over her shoulder as she began to wind him. Noticing her mobile phone on the coffee table in front of her, she reached for it, scrolling through her emails with one hand as she patted Jack on the back with the other. There was the usual spam – a mid-season sale at Debenhams, offers on spa breaks from Groupon – then she noticed one from a woman called Valerie Cunningham, with the subject line: ‘Wedding Planner Required’.
Intrigued, Julia clicked on it and began to read:
Dear Ms Crawford,
My name is Valerie Cunningham, and I am looking for an events planner to assist with the organisation of the forthcoming nuptials of my son, Jonathan, in July of next year. Your name has been recommended to me by Mary Moorhouse, President of the Norfolk Chamber of Commerce and a very dear friend of mine. I hold her opinion in high regard and believe you may be the right person for this very important task.
If you would like to discuss this further, please contact me at your earliest opportunity so that we can arrange a meeting and discuss my requirements. My phone number is below.
Kind regards,
Valerie Cunningham (Mrs)
Julia blinked twice, trying to take in what she’d just read. Baby Jack let out a little hiccough then settled back down, as Julia hastily re-read the email.
Already, she could feel tingles of excitement sweeping through her, a sense of anticipation replacing the usual feeling of exhaustion. Her heart began to beat faster as her eyes swept over the screen once more, picking out the key words: forthcoming nuptials… recommended to me by Mary Moorhouse… please contact me…
Nick strolled through carrying two plates of scrambled egg on toast, and Julia turned to him, her eyes shining.
‘Hey, what’s got into you?’ he asked, immediately sensing the shift in her mood. ‘I’ve never seen you so excited about breakfast before.’
‘I’ve had an email,’ Julia explained, the words tumbling out as she stood up and moved across the room to sit Jack in his bouncer. ‘From a woman called Valerie Cunningham, asking me about organising her son’s wedding next July. Apparently she got my name from Mary Moorhouse – you know, after I did the Chamber of Commerce event.’
‘Fantastic.’ Nick looked genuinely pleased as he attacked his eggs with gusto. ‘It’s a great opportunity for you.’
‘Do you think so?’ Julia wondered, suddenly feeling doubtful. ‘I mean, it’s not definite yet. I’d still have to meet her and go through everything. Discuss her requirements, as she said. But… Well, am I even ready to go back to work? We hadn’t planned for me to start back this early, and…’ She gazed down at her son who was gurgling happily, mesmerised by the blue elephant hanging from his rocker. ‘And what would we do about Jack?’
‘Don’t worry about that for now,’ Nick insisted. ‘We’ll make it work if you want to do it.’
Julia smiled gratefully at him, her mind already scrolling through potential venues and useful contacts. She recalled the excitement and exhilaration she used to get from her job, the satisfaction when everything was finally complete and the client was thrilled with the finished result. She thought about what it would be like to dress up in smart clothes once again – not just the pyjamas and dressing gown she seemed to live in nowadays – and get out of the house and meet new people, dealing with all the challenges her profession could throw at her. She loved Jack absolutely and unconditionally, but perhaps it was time to do something for herself again.
‘At least meet with this Valerie woman,’ Nick suggested. ‘You don’t have to decide anything until then.’
‘And you really wouldn’t mind?’ Julia pressed. ‘I mean, if I was working again, it might make things different around here. I wouldn’t be at home all the time like I am now, and we’d have to work something out with the childcare. It wouldn’t be easy, and I don’t want us to go back to how we were before.’
Julia didn’t have to spell out what she meant – both of them could instantly recall the time before Jack was conceived, when all they seemed to do was bicker and sulk. Back then, Nick had started spending longer at work in an attempt to avoid the strained atmosphere at home, leading to him becoming a little too close to a female colleague, and Julia had struggled to forgive him for the indiscretion. They’d managed to put the incident behind them, but it was a situation neither of them wanted to repeat.
When Nick finally spoke his voice was gentle, his eyes warm as he looked at his wife. Yes, Julia might have dark circles under her eyes, her blonde hair hastily pulled back in a scruffy ponytail, and as far as he could tell she’d been wearing the same T-shirt for a week, but she was still gorgeous; still the woman he married; still his Julia. They’d been through their ups and downs, but come through it stronger than ever. ‘Do whatever makes you happy,’ Nick told her honestly. ‘I’ll support you all the way.’
Julia stared back at him, a smile slowly spreading across her tired features at the prospect of tackling a new venture and getting her business back on track. She leaned over to Nick, kissing him softly. ‘Thank you. I’m a very lucky woman.’
‘And don’t you forget it,’ Nick replied with a wink. ‘Now eat your breakfast,’ he admonished her, as he pulled her down onto his lap and she let out a squeal. ‘It’s getting cold.’
‘Grow old along with me! The best is yet to be’ – Robert Browning
The first strains of Wagner’s ‘Bridal Chorus’ creaked into life on the organ in the old country church, and the expectant congregation turned around in their seats, every eye focused on the ornate door through which the bride would make her entrance.
Outside, on a brilliant, summer, sun-dappled afternoon, a beautiful young woman stood beside her father, aware that these were her final few moments as Miss Deborah Barlow. In approximately thirty minutes’ time, she would be Mrs Stephen Reid, and the happiest woman on earth.
Debbie turned to look at her six bridesmaids, resplendent in peach silk. Her six-year-old niece looked cute as a button as she skipped around excitedly, a basket of flower petals hung over one arm, as Debbie’s best friend, Angela, gave her an enthusiastic thumbs up. Debbie turned back to her father, his face glowing with pride, and the two of them linked arms before stepping forward and walking reverentially into the church.
There were gasps as the assembled friends and relatives caught their first view of the blushing bride, her Auntie Jean hastily tugging a handkerchief from her clutch bag to wipe away a stray tear. And at the far end of the aisle stood Debbie’s beloved fiancé, Stevie. He was gazing at her as though he was the luckiest man alive, and Debbie knew without a doubt that she was marrying the right man for her.
A radiant smile lit up her face as their eyes locked, and the congregation exhaled in a collective ‘aaah’. Debbie looked utterly beautiful, her dark, wavy hair pinned up to reveal her long, elegant neck, and showing off her cheekbones to perfection. Her shimmering dress fitted her slender figure as though she’d been born to wear it, the strapless style highlighting her toned arms and defined collarbone, whilst the corset-style bodice sculpted her tiny waist before dropping to the floor in layer after layer of white organza. Debbie knew that she’d never looked more incredible in her whole life, and she beamed round at her family and friends, taking in their smiles and tears, acknowledging the envious glances at her perfect size ten figure…
Then Debbie opened her eyes and the image faded. The hot summer’s day disappeared and the quaint old church was no more. Instead, Debbie found herself standing in her messy bedroom, with the tatty old curtains and the bed sheets that needed washing. Her dog, Scamp, a scruffy Yorkie-cross she’d got from a rescue centre, was lying on the duvet staring at her curiously.
As Debbie gazed into the wardrobe mirror in front of her, her heart sank. The stunning wedding dress had vanished and, in its place, Debbie was wearing only her saggy old bra and greying knickers; a Cinderella in cheap lingerie after the clock had struck midnight.
Nor was Debbie’s body the goddess-like vision she’d been imagining. Biting her bottom lip unhappily, she took in the way her wobbly stomach hung over the waistband of her panties, the way her thighs were rippled with cellulite and rubbed together when she moved. As she held up her arms to give them an experimental shake, flaps of loose skin – the dreaded bingo wings – quivered like blancmange.
Although she knew it was un-feminist to admit it, Debbie hated her body. Oh, it was fine for all the women’s magazines to say you should be happy whatever size or shape you were – then hypocritically fill their pages with image after image of body-beautiful specimens – but Debbie just couldn’t seem to find the love for her thick ankles or double chin.
Whilst all her friends looked great in strappy little tops and skinny jeans, Debbie covered up in baggy trousers and shapeless jumpers. Fluctuating between a size eighteen and twenty, depending on where she shopped, Debbie was hardly the biggest woman on the planet, but there were days when she felt like an elephant amongst her slim, toned friends, with their neat little bosoms and impossible-to-achieve thigh-gaps.
The front door banged and Debbie jumped, realising Stevie was home from work. Panic-stricken, she lunged for her jogging bottoms and frantically pulled them on, as Scamp leapt off the bed and bolted downstairs, barking in welcome.
‘Hello, Scamp. Hello, boy! Debs, you around?’
‘Upstairs,’ she called back, trying to keep the panic out of her voice, as she yanked open the chest of drawers and grabbed a clean sweater. She knew it was ridiculous, but she suddenly hated the thought of Stevie looking at her body, despite the fact he’d seen it hundreds of times before.
Wrestling frantically with the jumper, she heard Stevie bound up the stairs, and seconds later he was pushing open the bedroom door, the dog following at his heels.
‘Aha, what do we have here?’ he grinned, his eyes lighting up as he took in the sight of his semi-naked fiancée. Stevie was twenty-seven, the same age as Debbie, and worked as a trainee surveyor. He had a shock of red hair that had made him the target of endless teasing in his school days, but which he now embraced, and he was far from skinny himself, with a cute little paunch that Debbie loved to squeeze.
Right now, Debbie looked horrified, her face flaming as she tried to cover herself with the jumper she hadn’t had time to put on. Even though she was exactly the same size as she had been when Stevie left for work that morning, she suddenly felt hugely self-conscious, all too aware of every lump and bump.
‘That’s exactly the sight I want to see when I get home from a long, hard day,’ Stevie continued, reaching out for her.
Debbie flinched and backed away, almost tripping over the corner of the bed in her haste to get away from him.
Stevie frowned. ‘What’s the matter? Where’s my welcome kiss?’
Debbie looked back at him, her dark eyes anxious. Reluctantly, she stepped towards him, holding the jumper tightly against her as she stretched up to peck him on the lips.
‘That’s better.’ Stevie wrapped his arms around her, but as Debbie felt his hands settle on the hated back fat pushing out from underneath her bra, she squirmed away uncomfortably.
‘What?’ Stevie demanded. ‘What’s the matter?’ He looked hurt, and Debbie winced guiltily.
‘It’s nothing.’
‘It must be something! Have I done something wrong?’
‘No, of course not.’
How could Debbie explain what the problem really was? She didn’t want Stevie thinking it was his fault but, equally, she really didn’t want a conversation about how much she loathed her body shape right now. ‘It’s… Oh, it doesn’t matter. It’s fine.’
‘Really?’ Stevie looked doubtful, but Debbie nodded insistently. ‘Good. Come here then.’ He opened up his arms, and Debbie looked at them uncertainly.
‘I’ll just put this on,’ she stalled, holding up the jumper.
‘No, don’t do that,’ Stevie protested. ‘I like you all naked.’
‘Well I don’t.’ The words slipped out before Debbie had a chance to censor them.
Stevie sighed, suddenly understanding why she was being so cold towards him. ‘Is that what this is about, Debs? You know that doesn’t matter to me. I love you, no matter what you look li-… no matter what,’ he finished awkwardly.
Debbie didn’t reply. The two of them stood in silence, the jumper still held protectively over her chest, like a defensive shield.
‘Debs, you know I think you’re gorgeous,’ Stevie tried again, his voice soft. ‘Always have, always will. I just wish you could see that.’ Gently, he took hold of her hands, attempting to prise the sweater from her, but Debbie clung on determinedly.
‘Do you know what I’d really like?’ Stevie murmured, changing tack. Debbie looked back at him questioningly, as he reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out his phone. ‘I’d love to take a photo of you, just like you are now. All sexy in your bra, with your hair curling around your face, and that amazing cleavage…’
Debbie recoiled in shock. ‘Is that a joke?’
‘No! Why wouldn’t I want a photo of my gorgeous fiancée?’ Stevie said honestly, unable to understand Debbie’s outrage. ‘It’d stay private obviously – just for you and me. Something for me to look at when I’m at work, to cheer me up when I think about the wonderful woman who’s waiting at home for me. Who’s going to be my wife next year.’
‘No way. Absolutely no way.’ Debbie was appalled at the suggestion. ‘What if one of your mates saw it? I’d never hear the end of it. Besides, they’d probably wonder why you had a picture of a beached whale on your phone…’
She choked back a sob as she fled from the room. Stevie tried to stop her as she ran past, but she pushed him off.
‘Leave me alone!’
Debbie raced down the stairs and into the living room, finally able to pull on the oversized black sweater she’d been clutching all this time. It felt warm and soft, cosy like a blanket, and she was instantly more relaxed. Throwing herself down on the L-shaped sofa, Debbie listened for a moment, her heart beating fast as she wondered whether Stevie would follow her. She heard the creak of the floorboards as he moved around the bedroom then crossed the landing to the bathroom, and Debbie realised he’d decided not to come after her. She could hardly blame him, she thought, furious at herself. She’d been feeling insecure and taken her mood out on him when it really wasn’t his fault. Even Scamp had stayed upstairs, clearly taking Stevie’s side in the argument.
Almost without thinking, Debbie got up off the sofa and drifted through to the kitchen, automatically opening the cupboard and reaching for the biscuit tin. Suddenly she realised what she was doing and stopped short, dropping the custard cream she’d picked out and slamming the lid back on with a satisfying crash.
For a moment she simply stood there, her breath coming fast, her eyes glazed, as she hung onto the tin like a drowning man to a life raft.
‘You okay, Debs?’
She hadn’t heard Stevie come into the room and she jumped as he spoke, whirling round to face him. Taking in the worried look on his face, she forced a smile then put the biscuit tin back in the cupboard.
‘Fine,’ she assured him, busying herself with taking ingredients out of the fridge for the lasagne she planned to cook tonight. ‘Totally fine. Look, I’m really sorry about earlier. I don’t know what came over me.’
‘Come here, silly,’ Stevie sighed, as Debbie put down a family-sized block of cheese and crossed the kitchen, falling into his arms without hesitation. Stevie stroked the top of her head, smoothing down the silky hair that smelt of fruity conditioner, before planting a kiss on her forehead.
‘I love you, Debbie. You know that, don’t you?’
‘Yeah,’ she nodded, as she nestled against his chest, the size and smell of him reassuringly familiar. At five feet eleven, he was a few inches taller than she was, and his body felt solid and protective. ‘I love you too. Sorry for being a numpty – I was just having a moment.’
Stevie’s chest vibrated as he laughed, her head bouncing against the soft cotton of his T-shirt. ‘Listen, I’ve got an idea.’
‘Oh no, not another one,’ Debbie groaned. ‘Does it involve a camera-phone and me taking my clothes off?’
Stevie chuckled. ‘Not this time. Although I’m still up for it if you are?’
Debbie glared at him, narrowing her eyes.
‘That’ll be a no, then. Seriously though, I was thinking, why don’t we grab a takeaway tonight, save you cooking? My shout. Indian, maybe? I’ve been craving tandoori chicken all afternoon, with a peshwari naan and some onion bhajis. Mmmm,’ Stevie was practically dribbling. Even Scamp was licking his chops, as he stared up at the two of them, a low whine escaping from him. ‘What do you reckon?’
Debbie hesitated. Her mouth was watering at the thought of a creamy korma, accompanied by poppadoms dipped liberally in sweet mango chutney.
‘Yeah, go on th—’ she began, but something stopped her. Suddenly the vision of a takeaway feast was replaced with the daydream she’d had earlier; the perfect size ten wedding dress, and how incredible she’d looked in it.
She wanted it to be more than just a daydream.
She wanted it to be reality.
‘You know what?’ Debbie began slowly. ‘I don’t know if I do feel like ordering out. How about I whip us up a stir-fry instead? I’ve got everything I need in the fridge, and it won’t take long.’
‘Sure,’ Stevie shrugged, a little gutted to be giving up his Indian, but ready to agree to anything if it got his fiancée back in a good mood. ‘Do you need a hand with anything?’
‘No, it’s fine. You go put your feet up,’ Debbie insisted, putting the cheddar and beef back in the fridge and bringing out carrots, peppers, onions and courgettes.
‘If you say so,’ Stevie grinned, stealing another kiss before heading through to the living room and turning on the TV.
Debbie quickly got to work, a growing pile of colourful veggies soon appearing on the chopping board in front of her. As she sliced and diced, she felt a growing sense of excitement, a certainty that she’d never experienced before. She could do this! She could lose weight! Other people did it all the time, so why shouldn't she?
Oh, she’d tried to diet in the past, but never got very far. Debbie’s regimes usually consisted of living on soups and juices for a day or two, becoming increasingly hungry and bad-tempered, before finally cracking in dramatic style. Craving fat and carbs, she would binge on macaroni cheese and chips, litres of fizzy drink and whole tubs of ice cream with chocolate sauce.
Food was used as a reward when she’d done something good; as a treat when she was miserable; as a pick-me-up when she was tired. But now it was time for her to take control, Debbie vowed, thinking once again of her ideal wedding dress. All she needed was a little motivation and a lot of willpower.
Debbie . . .
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