It was the tenth of January, one of those dull, dismal days when you thought the sun would never shine again. A day when Tess Templar stared at her less than svelte self in the full-length mirror that she and Orla had positioned with great care in the shop, to ensure it gave the most flattering reflection to the larger ladies who’d be pirouetting in front of it. It certainly wasn’t doing much to flatter her. At this rate she’d be her own best customer.
She took a deep breath as the first customer of the morning squeezed through the door of Curvaceous, Tess’s boutique, specialising in made-to-measure outfits for the larger lady.
‘Good morning, Mrs Byron-Sommers!’ she said brightly.
‘Not a lot good about it,’ muttered Mrs Byron-Sommers. ‘It’s freezing cold and wet out there.’ She glared at Tess as if the weather were her fault.
‘Oh dear,’ said Tess. ‘Well, never mind. Let’s get you measured up then, shall we?’
Orla, her best friend and business partner, rolled her eyes and said, ‘I’m just going to pop out for a couple of minutes.’ And, grabbing her purse, she headed out of the shop.
She’s going to buy buns, thought Tess as she got out her tape measure, and that’s the last thing I need. She was still in shock after weighing herself that very morning for a post-Christmas reality check. And there it was – black on white – fourteen stone! Fourteen stone! One hundred and ninety-six pounds! Tess had even moved the scales around to three other places on the bathroom floor, hoping for a lower reading because fourteen stone just could not be right. But four positions out of four informed her that it was right. The New Year was a time for resolutions. And Tess knew she needed to do something about her weight. But more important than that, she needed to drag herself out of the rut that she’d got herself into. Because since David had died she’d lost the will for self-improvement. She had no one to feel special for. There was no man in her life now. She never met any, of course, because she never went anywhere to meet them. For that matter, where did you meet a man these days? Certainly not in a shop specialising in larger ladies’ outfits.
And now she faced a very long morning with Mrs Byron-Sommers, a demanding woman, to put it mildly, who was finding it impossible to stand still due to sneezing every few seconds.
‘I know you have a nasty cold, Mrs Byron-Sommers,’ Tess said, her patience waning, ‘but I really need you to stay as still as possible for just a minute, while I try once more for an accurate bust measurement.’
Mrs Byron-Sommers sighed noisily. ‘I can’t stand around here all day; I should be in my bed, you know, and I made a special effort to come here.’ She clearly thought she was doing Tess an enormous favour by being here at all, and spraying the place liberally with her germs.
At that moment Orla came back through the door, clutching a paper bag after her morning pilgrimage to the bakery. She deposited the bag on the desk. ‘Here, let me hold one end of that tape,’ she said to Tess, rolling her eyes again. Between them they succeeded in encircling the woman, and Tess finally noted the measurement.
‘Sure you’ll be pleased as punch with the lovely outfit our Tess’ll be making for you,’ Orla said to their voluptuous customer, who was struggling back into her polyester dress.
‘I certainly hope so,’ Mrs Byron-Sommers replied, in a manner that indicated she had her doubts.
‘See you next week then for the fitting,’ Tess called, as the woman strode away without so much as a thank you.
‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ Orla said, disappearing into the back of the shop. ‘You’ll be in need of refreshment. That woman is bloody impossible.’
‘All I need now,’ Tess said wearily, ‘is to catch her damned germs.’
‘You’ll feel better with one of Pastry Parker’s doughnuts inside you,’ Orla said, rustling in the bag. ‘And would you believe they’re still warm!’
So it was doughnuts today.
‘I won’t have a doughnut,’ she said firmly.
‘Ah well, I’ll just have to have them both,’ said Orla. ‘Anyway, I don’t know what you’re worrying about; you’re quite happy as you are, aren’t you?’
No, thought Tess, I’m not. I’ve let myself go, I feel old and unattractive. She hadn’t felt like this when David was alive, but she wasn’t as fat then either. Her years with David had been so special. She’d enjoyed being part of a couple again after five years of being divorced from the father of her children, Gerry. Now, almost three years without David, she felt she was drifting aimlessly into some sort of abyss. Was it too late at sixty-two to contemplate finding happiness once more? Trying something new? Perhaps even having an adventure of some kind? Probably not, with the shape she was in now. But she’d bust a gut before she admitted as much to Orla. Orla, of course, was equally rotund, but far less bothered by it. Her mantra was that large ladies did not want to come into this specialist shop to be served by two waif-like women. Orla was still very much on the lookout for a man again, but didn’t think they were worth dieting for.
‘I trust you’ll still be coming to Boulters for an all-you-can-eat lunch on Wednesday?’ Orla asked, as she tackled the second doughnut.
Tess sighed. Well, perhaps just one last time…
Tess and Orla had been friends for nigh on thirty years, ever since they lived next door to each other on Hawthorn Road; Orla and Gavin Regan from Dublin, and Tess from Scotland with Gerry Templar, her then husband, very Home Counties – Surbiton born and bred. Then, fifteen years after they’d first moved in, Gavin had a massive heart attack and departed Hawthorn Road, and this earth, at only forty-five years old. And Gerry, five years later, at fifty-five, left Hawthorn Road too, but Gerry left for Ursula, twenty years his junior. And Ursula was thin as a wafer.
The Hawthorn Road house was sold, and Tess had moved into a small three-bedroom cottage in Temple Terrace on the far side of Milbury with her two children. The name had tickled her; Tess Templar of Temple Terrace! There appeared to be no trace of any temple in the area, and Tess was to find out later that the builder of these cottages, back in 1834, was one Joshua Temple, who had erected them as two-up-two-downs in the traditional way, with a tiny garden at the front and a long straggling one at the rear. Over the years these semi-detached cottages had all had generous extensions added at the back to provide a larger kitchen downstairs and, in Tess’s case, a tiny extra bedroom and a bathroom upstairs as well. The two original downstairs rooms had been knocked into one, and she’d added French doors to the large kitchen extension to access what remained of the back garden, along with a log burner in the sitting room before her money ran out.
The second bedroom, first occupied by Amber, had become Tess’s workroom, although she did keep a single bed pushed against one wall. The tiny bedroom at the back, which was once Matt’s, had become a general dumping ground, as tiny bedrooms are wont to be. But she kept a single bed in there too, although it was extremely unlikely either of her children would be returning. Recently she’d redecorated this bedroom à la Peppa Pig, because little Ellie sometimes liked a sleepover with her nana. There were times when she longed for a little more space, but then she considered the extra heating bills and the council tax and all the rest, and thought better of it.
About the same time as she moved into Temple Terrace, Tess and Orla had got together and opened the boutique; Tess the designer and dressmaker, Orla the persuasive saleslady. The shop, down a narrow lane just off the High Street, had originally been a greengrocer’s. Because people were reluctant to navigate the cobbles down Penny Lane, and because there was little chance of bumping into Paul McCartney, the old greengrocer was unable to compete with the supermarkets on the main street. Their boutique wasn’t huge but they only displayed a limited stock, most of the outfits being made to measure, and Tess worked mostly from home. They’d felt sure that, once their reputation was established, the ladies would seek them out, cobbles or not. And this was exactly what happened.
They called the shop ‘Curvaceous’, to reflect the shape of the ladies they were catering for. Orla reckoned size and shape should be no obstacle to elegance. And this became their business’s unique selling point. Self-conscious ladies would pay handsomely for large outfits, tailor-made to their hefty measurements, which made them look as if they’d lost at least a stone. Tess had the gift of being able to minimise their girth with clever cutting and tailoring. Word got around and large ladies arrived in large numbers, heading through the door of Curvaceous in their quests for special outfits to wear at special occasions. ‘Don’t you look lovely!’ and ‘Gosh, you’ve lost some weight!’ were, apparently, standard reactions, sending further customers scurrying to Curvaceous. Tess still had to buy her own clothes off the peg, because she was far too busy to make anything for herself. They’d done well, considering Milbury wasn’t a very big place.
Tess and Orla had lunch at Boulters every Wednesday. Boulters was one of the main reasons Tess had ended up at fourteen stone. The building had once been a brewery, and some redundant brass pipework had been left in place to add a sense of authenticity and provenance. It was one of their very favourite places – ‘All you can eat for just six quid!’ You could go back and fill up your plate time and time again. There was a long, long counter loaded with a range of delicious specialities from around the world, from hot, spicy delights to creamy curries and wonderful pasta. Each dish was complete with its own little label telling you what it was. But in case you needed further information, there were a couple of chefs in attendance – mainly to refill the containers, looking discreetly the other way as most customers overloaded their plates and then glanced guiltily around to see if they were being watched. Tess liked the Indian and the Italian, whereas Orla favoured the Chinese and the Mexican. They had become experts at getting through at least £12 worth each, and sometimes they even managed a whole £18 worth. The place was always crowded but, nevertheless, they managed to elbow their way across to the serving counter.
‘It’s a wonder to me how Boulters manage to make any profit at all,’ Tess said.
‘There’ll always be some eejit who only dabbles with their food,’ Orla said dismissively.
On this particular Wednesday, Tess hesitated as she loaded her plate, when a sudden vision of the super-slim Ursula drifted into her head. Ursula, who had usurped Tess’s place as Mrs Templar, would be swanning into the church, no doubt clad in some Victoria Beckham rip-off, on the arm of her ex-husband. And there Tess would be, the poor old ex-wife, in a double-X-sized shift, very overweight and all alone.
So, with this thought in mind, Tess said, ‘I’m not going back for seconds.’
Orla, fork in mid-air, stared at her. ‘Are you ill or something?
‘No,’ said Tess, ‘I’m just bloody fat, and I want to get this weight shifted before Amber’s wedding in July.’ And maybe men will start to look at me again, she thought. And of course it was completely the wrong thing to do, but here she was taking comfort from the creamy chicken masala and seriously considering the gnocchi alla Romana to follow. ‘So this weight has to come off.’
‘You’re always saying that,’ Orla said.
‘Well, I’m saying it again.’
‘Since you’ve just scoffed one heaped plateful of calories you might as well have a few more. Start the diet tomorrow.’
Tess groaned. ‘I’m always starting the diet tomorrow!’
‘Me too,’ Orla said, glancing down at her flabby tummy.
‘Perhaps we should join a slimming club?’ Tess suggested, as they returned to their table with reloaded plates. ‘I just don’t seem to have the willpower to go it alone.’
‘These people make their money by taking a fiver off you every week, just to tell you you’ve lost a whole pound, or gained two,’ Orla said. ‘For sure you know that yourself?’
‘Well, I expect you’re right,’ Tess conceded. ‘But if you’re weighed each week and spending money you expect to see results, right?’
‘It’s all psychological,’ said Orla.
‘Psychology matters because surely that’s where you get your willpower from,’ Tess said. ‘So I’m going to join one anyway.’
‘OK, OK, I’ll come with you.’ Orla sighed as she surveyed her empty plate. ‘Too late to start today though, so shall we just go back for another refill?’
‘I suppose we might as well,’ Tess agreed, thinking of the gnocchi.
The following morning, Tess stared in the mirror at her sixty-two-year-old self, at her fat tummy and chunky thighs, and sighed despondently. Half the clothes in her wardrobe were about four sizes too small. She was going to have to do something about all this flab before her lovely daughter got married in July. She was very proud of Amber, who, by sheer hard work, had become a much sought-after make-up artist, and who often brought back little tubes of this and pots of that for her mother. And Tess badly wanted Amber to be proud of her too. One of the reasons she wanted to find a new man, of course, was so that she’d have a partner to accompany her to the wedding and not look like the sad old ex-wife. But if she had to go alone to face her ex-husband, Gerry, and her smug slim younger replacement, Ursula, then she just had to get this weight off and make some attempt to look really good. And it wasn’t just for Gerry and Ursula, or even for Amber; it was for herself. To restore her confidence, which had taken a bashing over the years. She knew she’d let herself go after David died, when it seemed just too much trouble to bother about her looks. And then there was the chemotherapy for the breast cancer eighteen months ago, which had taken her hair and her remaining confidence with it. Her hair had grown back, but not her confidence. It was high time to do something about it all.
Tomorrow, though; she’d start tomorrow. Tonight she’d just chomp her way through the rest of that packet of Pringles while watching EastEnders. But Tess knew things had to change, because kneeling on the floor, cutting out dresses and skirts and coats, and then sitting at the sewing machine stitching the things together, was not conducive to keeping slim. All you got were sore knees, chunky thighs and a fat bottom. And she was constantly reminded by the quote on the fridge magnet Orla had given her at Christmas, which said: Dear Lord, if you can’t make me thin then please give me fat friends!
And then, just the other day, when Matt and Lisa had visited, her four-year-old granddaughter, Ellie, had cuddled up to her on the settee and said, ‘I love you, Nana, ’cos there’s lots of you!’ Everyone laughed – so cute and hilarious! But when Tess thought about it afterwards, she decided that, cute and hilarious as it might be, it was a timely reminder that there was indeed an awful lot of her.
There were no two ways about it: it was about time she made some changes.
Later that day Tess googled slimming clubs in Milbury and discovered that the nearest, Slim Chance, met every Tuesday morning in the Women’s Institute hall. She decided that she and Orla should join up at the very next session.
It was a grey, damp morning and Orla moaned the entire way there about what a waste of time all this was. She’d been to a slimming club before and, guess what, she’d only lost one stone in the whole damned year! ‘It’ll be a waste of money,’ she informed Tess.
There were times when Tess was sorely tried by her friend. ‘So why are you coming then?’
‘Well, I suppose this one might be miraculous. But I shan’t be sticking around for a year to only lose a stone. Anyway, I thought you’d like my company.’
Tess wasn’t at all sure that she did. Orla could be very negative if she didn’t particularly want to do something, and this was a typical example. They’d left early because Tess wasn’t too sure of the location, and she wanted to get there first to avoid the embarrassment of being weighed in front of a load of people she didn’t know.
‘And we’re far too early,’ Orla moaned. ‘We’ll have to sit around for hours now.’
Tess pulled into the car park of the Women’s Institute hall a mere fifteen minutes early.
‘The door will still be locked,’ said Orla, plainly looking for an escape.
It wasn’t, of course. Tess led the way cautiously inside. It was a long, dark, narrow building, the windows along one wall facing straight onto the brickwork of the storage depot next door. It had a wooden floor with a platform at one end, on which was positioned a desk and, alongside it, the dreaded weighing machine. There was a smell of stale bodies in the air, and a middle-aged woman was busy opening up the windows.
‘Hello!’ she said. ‘You’re nice and early! I’m Judy.’
Tess and Orla introduced themselves and listened with interest as Judy explained that she had to arrive early to cover over any Women’s Institute material referring to jam-making or cake-baking with her large posters of ‘before and after’ slimming successes. Judy was stockily built but not fat, probably in her forties, Tess reckoned. She had blonde hair tied back in a ponytail and a lot of mascara, and wore black leggings with a vivid orange tunic proclaiming, across her ample chest, ‘Slim is Sexy!’ She also had a very loud voice, with a strong Geordie accent.
‘I’ll be with you in a minute. I’ve still got to cover up this poster about the cake-baking competition. And you need to be filling out these forms,’ she said, as she handed out the paperwork to them both. As she spoke, the hall was beginning to fill up with an assortment of women.
‘Right, everyone!’ she bellowed, picking up her clipboard and motioning them all to plonk their overweight bottoms on the plastic chairs arranged in a large semicircle. ‘We’ve got some flesh to move here, have we not!’ Tess looked round at the owners of the aforementioned flesh. There must be at least forty of us women, she thought, and only two men. She’d felt distinctly podgy when she arrived but, as she looked around, she began to feel positively svelte.
‘Judy’s really good,’ the woman beside her said. ‘She cares, you see.’
‘Have you been coming long?’ Tess asked.
‘Oh, just a year. But I’ve managed to lose a stone. Do you know, she’s got some of these people reduced to half their original size! I think it’s her mission in life.’
Orla, on Tess’s other side, snorted and gave Tess an ‘I told you so’ look. ‘A bloody year!’ she muttered.
‘But,’ the woman continued, ‘I feel so much better and I’ve got myself out and about again. My partner had gone off with another woman, you see, and I blamed myself. I was fat and tired all the time, so I suppose I couldn’t blame him. But I’ve met someone else now and it’s given me the incentive to get some more weight off.’
‘Good for you,’ said Tess, wondering where she’d met the ‘someone else’.
The woman sitting directly opposite her, whose name was Mabel, was seriously overlapping her plastic chair with both buttocks.
‘It’s good for the morale to come here,’ Orla muttered, ‘if nothing else.’ She’d taken the opportunity to leave a heap of their business cards on the central table: CURVACEOUS – the best bespoke boutique for larger ladies.
‘I’m not sure you should have done that,’ Tess said. ‘These women are trying to lose weight, not cover it up.’
‘Well, if it’s going to take them a year to lose a stone they’re going to need something to wear in the meantime, aren’t they?’
Judy was scrupulously fair. Anyone who’d lost any weight at all was praised to the skies, and even those who’d gained were encouraged to do better with phrases like: ‘Don’t let this put you off’ and ‘We all get weeks like this, don’t we, girls?’ The ‘girls’ nodded enthusiastically. Recipes were exchanged, sympathy was extended to all those with selfish husbands who continued to demand fry-ups and takeaways, and stars were distributed to everyone who’d hit their target weight. Mabel with the buttocks had lost four whole pounds! Wow! Wild applause all round.
‘There are only two blokes here,’ Orla observed.
‘You’re only looking for one.’
‘Well, neither of these two would fit the bill.’
‘Don’t tell me,’ Tess sighed, ‘that you only came here in the hope of finding a man?’
‘It’s the only place I haven’t tried already,’ Orla replied, grinning.
‘Shh! Shh!’ Everyone was ordered to quieten down so that Judy could commence her lengthy diatribe, the gist of which was that, if you did as Judy told you, by next week everyone should have lost at least two pounds and possibly more.
‘Some of you,’ she added, looking directly at Orla, ‘have more to lose than others. Would you believe that when I started here I weighed twenty stone!’ Everyone gasped. Judy did a little twirl. ‘And just look at me now!’
As they walked away from Slim Chance, Tess said, ‘We are not going to Boulters tomorrow.’
Orla grimaced. ‘Could we not have just one teeny-weeny plateful?’
‘No, we couldn’t. We either do this diet properly or we don’t do it at all.’
‘Oh, all right, all right! But tell me this: how are you going to get through EastEnders without a packet of crisps or something?’
‘I’ll just think about how damned fantastic I’m going to look at Amber’s wedding and the slinky outfit I’m going to be wearing. And, since it’s more than likely you’ll be invited too, you should bear that in mind.’
Tess had thought it would be so much easier if Amber and Peter would just pop into the local registry office and get the deed done in a matter of minutes. Particularly after all the time they’d been living together. But Amber was determined to have a stage-set wedding and Tess had no intention of being the frumpy character in the scene.
But she was cheered after her visit to Slim Chance; there was hope. . .
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