Читать книгу Echoes - Laura Dockrill - Страница 10

Caitlyn was fat. Not plump, not chubby, or curvy, or voluptuous, or bubbly, or broad, or chunky or big boned. According to her GP, her sister and her sister-in-law, her ex-boss and herself, she was fat. She stood in the mirror and pulled at her flabby rolls, she dragged her tummy forward and inspected the pimply, neglected hunks of fat, she turned around and felt her squashy arse, the magnificent flap that swung in front of her pelvis. The skin was so taut it had gone almost transparent, blue and purple in patches, covered in silvery lines that travelled like silk worms up the shiny rivers of her stomach, her thighs and the two sandbags that hung so effortlessly in that hammock she called a bra.

She had had enough. She plugged in the tea stained, yellowed computer wire into the plug socket and waited in silence for the twelve minutes it took to come to life. The computer finally churned on and the screen lit up the dingy sitting room. After finding her bearings she managed to source the Internet button, her left hand sifting through a sharing bag of cheesy crisps, sprinkling orange fairy dust all over the mouse and keyboard. She licked her fingers wet and typed into the search bar:

too fat to think help

The list of results grew, diet options reloading one after another. Caitlyn recognized the ones she had tried, recommended, gone back to–the ones that nearly killed her, that drove her mad, the ones she hadn’t even heard about. And then it appeared:

THE CREAM CAKE DIET

You can eat and look great at the same time! For more information, please call specialist Dr Ellie Sage on 07834 25590.

‘Not on your nelly!’ she giggled and reached for the phone. She began to dial, her chest puffing in excitement.

Two days later, she drove her chubby finger on the buzzer of a tall, Victorian building, the brickwork of a once elegant home now littered with graffiti and the papery residue of club night posters. The nearby windows boarded up or punctured with gaping holes, split rubbish bins splattered their insides over the pavement.

‘Hello,’ she said into the dirty intercom, ‘I’m here to see Doctor Ellie Sage.’

The door released and Caitlyn, vulnerable, nervous, stepped inside. The hallway was a dismal cave of a place, taken over by mops, brooms and buckets. The carpet on the stairs was boot trodden and spoiled, blotches of blackened gum and brown coca-cola stains had seeped into the fibres. But the most overwhelmingly disturbing aspect was the smell; a brassy smell that was brutal on the nostrils and the back of the throat. As soon as Caitlyn became aware of the stench, it only got worse and she began to imagine all the vile scenarios that might have produced such an odour. Caitlyn was wary about going further; she put her hand on the banister for support and peeked her head round to get a better look upstairs.

‘Hello?’ she called up.

No answer.

‘Hel-lo?’ she tried again.

Nothing.

She walked up the staircase further, her face red and puffy, tears of perspiration dribbling from her forehead and upper lip. She thought about turning around and going home but what would she tell her sister? That she had failed again? Besides, this diet did let you eat cream cakes.

She went up another flight of stairs.

‘Hello, I called yesterday,’ she said into the darkness. ‘I’m looking for Doctor Ellie Sage. My name is Caitlyn Anderson…?’

She had got to the top of the stairs. She huffed and looked ahead of her. She had reached the landing of what seemed to be a family home, however there was an odd sense of an unsettling sickness that resonated throughout the atmosphere, like a bad taste in the mouth. The air here was clearer but dust particles still danced like puffs of spilt talcum powder and the air was still foggy with the awkward stench of discomfort. If senses were a dial on a compass, all arrows would point to ‘YOU HAVE GONE THE WRONG WAY.’

At the top of the landing there was a very small, insignificant door made of cheap wood. The door handle had broken off so a screwdriver hung out of a hole as a makeshift handle. Caitlyn read the lettering:

DR E. SAGE

Caitlyn knocked on the door with her grapefruit-sized fist and awaited a response.

‘Hello,’ she said. ‘Is anybody there?’

The smell was quite unbearable as she stood waiting for the door to open, the cocktail of awfulness included sewage, blocked drains, burning hair, chalk and that same overriding smell of metal. Caitlyn decided to leave and started to make her way back down the staircase.

‘Miss Anderson?’ a northern voice called after her.

Caitlyn froze.

‘Miss Anderson, are you here for your appointment?’

Caitlyn was a bit embarrassed. ‘Sorry, I thought you weren’t…perhaps…in. I knocked but…yes…here I am,’ she warbled nervously as blood sneaked up her neck, flooding her large face.

Dr E. Sage was small and mousey; she had long, dark hair and her parting was owned by a set of orange roots. Her pale, almost vampyric skin lit up the dark corridor like a beacon.

‘Would you like to come upstairs?’

The office was just as grim as the rest of the building. Caitlyn felt disturbed slightly by the yellow-tinged wallpaper, the damp circles that swamped the ceiling and the spiders’ webs that joined the curtains to the beaten-up bookcase.

‘Take a seat, Miss Anderson.’ Doctor Sage directed Caitlyn to a battered swivel chair, the cushion was moth eaten, yellow sponge bled out of the holes. ‘I believe you’re here for the diet. Where did you hear about us?’ the doctor asked whilst filling in a form. The biro she wrote with was so badly chewed the end had come off exposing the refill cylinder.

‘Erm…on the Internet.’

The doctor continued to scribble.

‘Now for the measuring. Please stand.’

The doctor was instructive and forward; she pushed back her chair and made her way over to Caitlyn.

‘Arms up.’ With a tape measure she began measuring Caitlyn’s clumpy arms. ‘Very good,’ she muttered under her breath. ‘Part your legs now please, Miss Anderson.’ She got onto her knees and measured Caitlyn’s ankles, calves and thighs. ‘They’ve been under a lot of stress, Miss Anderson. Looks like you have come just in time. Your chest please.’ The doctor began behind Caitlyn, vulnerable, sick with embarrassment, and moved round, her left hand still behind Caitlyn’s back and then brought both hands to the front, over Caitlyn’s breasts to measure.

Caitlyn knew it wasn’t a good idea, but she looked down to check the measurement–she no longer knew what was big and what was gigantic. Her eyes chased the inches until she became distracted by the doctor’s fingernails; rooted in each nail lay a thick heavy slug of grime and dirt, and perfectly embedded in each nail was a frame of what looked like dried blood. Caitlyn swallowed hard and, not wanting to make her discomfort obvious, looked forwards again and locked eyes, accidentally, with Doctor Sage.

‘Satisfactory for you, Miss Anderson?’ Doctor Sage asked.

‘I think so…yes, quite, thank you.’ Caitlyn forced a smile that made her want to scream. The doctor must have eaten something messy, chocolate cake perhaps? It happened.

‘Step onto the scales please, Miss Anderson,’ the doctor demanded.

‘I’d rather wait till next time if that’s okay, it’s just that I…’

‘Do you take weight loss seriously, Miss Anderson?’ Doctor Sage tensed her square jaw and shook the head of the scales. ‘We must weigh you otherwise we cannot test our progress, and that’s what we want isn’t it? Progress?’ The doctor’s lips pulled in like the opening of a drawstring purse.

Caitlyn nodded and slid off her flip-flops before stepping onto the scales. She had not been on a set of scales in over a year and knew by the feel of the clothes she could still just about squash in to that she was at her biggest ever. Doctor Sage wrote down some numbers and nodded. Caitlyn watched a moth obsess over a light bulb.

‘You must also take these every day, twice a day.’ The doctor handed Caitlyn a box of beautifully made cupcakes, they were like something out of a magazine. They sat proud, oversized, with cake sponge pouring over the paper casing. Each had a shiny, ruby red cherry sitting perfectly on the top of the finely iced topping. They were the most wonderful, delightful cupcakes Caitlyn had ever come across.

‘You having a laugh?’ Caitlyn giggled.

‘Twice a day, every day,’ Doctor Sage confirmed.

‘They are so beautiful, I don’t want to ruin them by eating them,’ Caitlyn laughed.

‘Do you take weight loss seriously, Miss Anderson?’ Doctor Sage growled.

‘Yes Doctor,’ Caitlyn nodded.

‘Then please sign this contract, here and then here.’ Doctor Sage handed Caitlyn the contract and a second mauled biro. ‘Do you have the cash?’

‘Yes.’ Caitlyn anxiously handed over the purple wad and signed the contract; it was only a signature, wasn’t it?

‘See you next week then Caitlyn.’ The doctor snatched back the contract, opened up the door by the sharp end of the screwdriver and let Caitlyn, who could not quite digest what she had just experienced, go.

When Caitlyn arrived home that day, she opened up the box of cakes and marvelled at their beauty. They looked even better in her own home than the stomach turning office of Doctor Ellie Sage. She took a picture of them on her camera phone and sent it to her niece and nephew. She picked up the first cake; the weight of it was perfect, and she could feel just by holding it that it was baked to perfection. With her sausage-shaped finger she scooped a load of the sugary icing onto the tip and carried it to her mouth like a truck offloading at a barge. It tasted like angel dust as it dissolved onto her slippery tongue leaving just granules of delightful sugar. She peeled back the edge of the paper and sunk her wardrobe-sized mouth into the fluffy cake. It tasted like a Sunday afternoon, like vanilla bean taken straight from the pod, like sleeping in new pyjamas and ironed bed sheets. It tasted like falling in love, like jumping on a trampoline, like laughing so hard your belly aches, like almond and sugar and sweetness beyond anything you have ever known. It was divine. Each bite was swallowed gorgeously, the mixture sat in her belly, pregnating her beaming body with a placebo of energy and happiness; this was the best day ever.

Caitlyn ate normally throughout the rest of the day. She watched television, put the washing out and brought it back in a few hours later before deciding to have her second cake. This time she sat down to eat it–she knew how to enjoy this one properly. She had read an article once, where this hot guy only liked sleeping with big women, they don’t get it often enough so when they do, they really go for it, was his reasoning. Git, she thought. She slowly unwrapped the casing, as if undressing the man from the article, she imagined unbuttoning his smarmy shirt, pulling it off his chunky self-righteous shoulders as she plunged, for a second time, into the cupcake. Her nose tingled with the sugar rush. Fabulous. That taste rippling on her tongue made her see herself jumping into the sea in a bikini she looked great in, she could taste the cinnamon on the roof of her mouth swallowing her, tippling her upside down, she saw herself sipping a cocktail on a balcony of an expensive hotel, the sun on her hair, laughing hysterically as the exotic flavours exploded in her mouth; mango fruit, pineapple, coconut, saffron and love and love and love. She flipped her head back onto the sofa and indulged. The phone rang, but Caitlyn let it ring out.

That night, whilst in bed, Caitlyn dreamt of the woods, she pictured herself being chased by rabid wolves. The wolves were angry and frantic, they snarled and they spat. Their ears darted back in fury as they nipped at the back of Caitlyn’s heels, snapping at the back of her dress; she ran to the trees and tried to climb but she was too unfit, too big, too bulky, too heavy to pull herself up. She tried with more effort but it was no good, she kept falling further and further, as each finger came away from the branch she had gripped onto, she started to fall into the open dribbling mouths of the wolves and then…she woke sweating, breathing heavily, panicking. And then the most awful pain struck in her stomach, it was a sharp stabbing pain that made her sit up in surprise. In agony, doubled over, she made her way to the bathroom and sat down on the toilet. She hadn’t even sat for more than a moment when she realized she was going to vomit. Still sitting on the toilet she leant over the sink and allowed herself to throw up. Within moments she began to be violently sick, her food came up but then so did a vast amount of blood. All she could do was vomit. As it continued to come up, the blood became almost blue, it spiralled down the plughole and splattered onto the taps and the tiles like the evidence of toothpaste a parent looks for to check that their messy child has brushed their teeth. The spots like freckles, no like chocolate chips, disgusting, food was disgusting wasn’t it? The thought of the food made her throw up even harder, furiously, she didn’t want to be fat, she didn’t want to be like this. She was sick of herself and that made her more sick, she was sick of the sly comments of passers-by and that made her even more sick, she was sick of the way people pulled their chairs in at restaurants when she walked past them, when people always felt the urge to tell her she had lost weight when she hadn’t, she was sick, sick, sick. Caitlyn’s eyes filled with water, she spat out the last metallic taste from her mouth and was glad it was over. With bleach, she scrubbed the sink white again, brushed her teeth and went back to bed, exhausted. The pain had gone.

When she woke up, Caitlyn put the previous night’s occurrence down to stress. She made herself a cup of tea and ate her first daily cupcake; the first bite was even better than she had remembered. Like a drug this time she bit, hard, aching for it, and how did it feel and taste so good? She saw herself at the bottom of a candyfloss machine spinning, pink and frothy like the head on a cappuccino and lovely and light, she was so lovely and light, like the shoe of a slight ballerina. She saw herself smart and smug like the red heart on a jam tart on a picnic blanket. And then as though she were a cage of doves, the door was unlocked and how she flew freely, innocent and gone, away, and out and into ecstasy.

However, that night again the same thing happened. Caitlyn woke to a sharp stabbing pain. Already familiar with the symptoms, she ran to the bathroom and allowed herself to throw up. Blood came out again, but this time followed by what appeared to be chunks of meat. When Caitlyn had finished throwing up she looked closer at the meat. She hadn’t eaten anything meaty in the last couple of days; she picked a piece up and held it in her hand, wiping the stringy snot off, inspecting it closer. Must be from a while ago, she decided. Meat can carry in a human’s body for up to seven years, and this was a big old body. She picked up the cleaning cloth and, as before, scrubbed the sink, the taps, and the bathroom mirror. The sockets of her eyes were leathery with smoky brown patches underneath and her mouth was encrusted in a reddish residue, she looked like a monster, she splashed her face with water.

The next morning Caitlyn invited herself to visit Doctor Ellie Sage. She pressed on the buzzer and asked, as before, to see the doctor. The door released and Caitlyn let herself into the dingy hallway. As well as the junk that was there before, some other odd bits of crap had moved into the rotten hall: a bicycle and a number of different sized suitcases, spilling over with clothes that looked dirty and stained. The same disturbing smell haunted the shabby corridor. Caitlyn bumbled up the staircase as fast as she could and then she knocked on the door with the screwdriver.

‘Hello, Doctor Sage, it’s me, Caitlyn…’

Caitlyn waited outside the door. She could still taste the blood in her gums. Her stomach still panged with a chalky acidic ache. Eventually the door opened.

‘Good morning Miss Anderson. Please, come in.’

Doctor Ellie Sage’s professionalism seemed strange in comparison to the squat that the office was laid in. Caitlyn followed the doctor in.

‘How is the medication working for you, Miss Anderson?’ the doctor asked, sizing Caitlyn up.

‘Well, that’s just it, the cakes are lovely, really they are, but I keep getting these pains, I’m not sure if I’m allergic to something in the ingre—’

‘Yes, that’s normal. Anything else?’ the doctor asked.

‘Well, yes, actually. I’ve been vomiting,’ Caitlyn said shyly.

‘Yes, and anything else?’ Dr Sage looked vacant.

‘Vomiting blood.’ Caitlyn shuddered at the memory of the chunks of meat that had come up. Flashbacks of meat, separating slow and gloopy in long sticky hunks, she pictured the body of the dead rat that kid in her primary school had dissected and stapled to the notice board. The insides were so grey, why were they so grey?

‘Good.’ The doctor began fishing through a filing cabinet.

‘Good?’ Caitlyn asked. ‘How is that good? That’s not normal.’

‘It means the medication is working. Are you eating normally?’ the doctor asked and made some notes.

‘Yes, it’s just the vomit, it’s terrible and then yesterday…last night, some meat…it looked like meat anyway, came up and…’

‘That would have been your kidney, Miss Anderson.’

‘Pardon me?’ Caitlyn’s face bleached, her knees jellied.

‘Onto the scales please, Miss Anderson.’

‘No, excuse me, kidney? I’m sorry?’

‘It’s all part of the medication.’

‘But that’s my kidney. I’m sorry, I’m not quite sure I know what’s going on, excuse me, I need to get out of here.’ Caitlyn pushed past the doctor who gripped her chubby arm.

‘Do you take weight loss seriously, Miss Anderson?’ she said staring her cold eyes into Caitlyn’s, the whites of the doctor’s fingers began to show.

Caitlyn searched for an answer and nodded, stepping calmly onto the scales as if somewhere in those rounded folds of flab, a bone had been struck and it hurt.

‘Very good. You have lost six pounds since the first time you met me. Do you understand that that is nearly half a stone?’

‘Of course I understand. That’s incredible, a miracle, but I’ve eaten the same…how can that be?’ Caitlyn’s colour came back to her cheeks.

‘You see, keep this up and you could be losing up to two stone per week. That’s eight stone in a month!’