Читать книгу The Curvy Girls Club - Michele Gorman - Страница 15

Whether they were pity tickets or not, Ellie and I enjoyed the symphony tremendously. By the time the last note faded away I wasn’t thinking about my change in circumstances at all.

But of course, being told you’ve been singled out for partial redundancy does prey on the mind, so after the concert I obsessed about it all weekend. Dress it up any way you like, it hurt to know I’d been singled out. Cressida had said it wasn’t because I Needed Improvement, but if not that, then why?

Alex was at my desk when I got into work on Monday. He whisked me away to the coffee shop, his face creased with concern as we sipped our steaming drinks.

‘Will you fight it?’ he asked.

I shook my head. I’d spent the weekend figuring out what I wanted, and how I might get it. When I told Alex, he smiled.

‘You’re a very sharp woman,’ he said, touching my hand as my tummy cartwheeled.

Back at the office I put on my game face and told Cressida that if they insisted on taking work away from me, then I wanted my days off to be Thursday and Friday. Given that I was the one being underemployed, I reasoned, she should accommodate my wishes. Plus, it would be easier to find part-time work when I didn’t have to split my days. At the mention of another job, Cressida flinched and easily acquiesced. I was glad she felt guilty. She bloody well should, having given me the Judas kiss.

Not that I had any plans to get a part-time job. Ellie worked through my budget with her Worst Case Scenario hat on and I’d still have just enough money with the pay cut. Besides, I had a better idea about what to do on those days. So I called our first official Curvy Girls Club meeting.

A smattering of the regulars sat at stools along the bar in our local, while most of the booths were colonised by the trendsters who’d moved into the area in the past few years. As a quasi-local (four years in the neighbourhood), of course I pretended to commiserate with the pub landlord’s rants about the Uniqlo-clad newbies ruining the character of the place. But given that the estate at the end of my road was raided weekly and the strip club on the corner had to install blue lights outside to keep the addicts from shooting up on the property, I welcomed the fact that our new neighbours raised my property value and didn’t usually carry concealed weapons. And if the owner saw fit to use some of his windfall to replace the burgundy paisley carpet that still stank years after the last fag was puffed in there, all the better.

‘I have news,’ I said as Ellie and I returned to the booth with everyone’s drinks. ‘I’m down to three days a week at Nutritious. They’ve cut my hours again.’

‘Oh no, that’s terrible!’ Jane’s hands paused over her knitting. ‘Both of you?’

Ellie shook her head.

‘Bastards.’ That was Pixie.

‘Well, it’s not completely bad news,’ I said, hoping that was true. ‘Looking on the bright side, it’ll free me up to do other things … like maybe work more on the Curvy Girls Club?’

‘Well of course, sweetheart, you can, but can you afford not to work that day? I mean not getting paid for doing it. I know doing the organising is a lot of work.’

‘Well, that’s the thing. Maybe I could get paid for doing it.’ I took a deep breath. ‘I’ve been thinking and it is a lot of work to put the events together. So maybe it’s reasonable to charge a small booking fee – just a few quid to cover overheads. Rob designed the website and is running it for free. If we had a bit of money coming in then we could afford to pay for the time everyone puts into the club.’

I watched my friends’ faces as they mulled this over. A little smile played around Ellie’s lips. She already knew of my proposal, of course. I’d told her as soon as I’d thought of it.

‘Then it would be a business?’ Jane asked, sounding uncertain.

‘Do we want it to be a business?’ asked Pixie.

I shook my head. ‘I don’t, not really. But it does seem to be getting more popular, and I’m excited about where it could go. It’s been so fun, but I also feel like it’s important. I suppose we could just plan events as and when we’ve got time … It’s just that we’ve started something now. I really want to keep it going.’

‘Me too,’ Pixie said. ‘These past few months have been great. Every time we go out I feel like I find a little piece of myself again. I can’t remember when I was so chuffed with my life. Sometimes I even forget about that bloody man at home. That’s worth more than a couple of quid to me.’

We laughed at her statement, but I recognised the sad honesty in it. ‘Is he still trying to get into your knickers?’

She nodded. ‘I don’t know what’s gotten into him lately. He’s bloody keen for someone who constantly tells me how fat and ugly I am. Last night he called me a … and I quote, a “shit-filled pig”. He was angry that we ate tea without him. As if I’d starve myself or the children just because he’s two hours late back from the pub. But he’s a walking contradiction. One minute he’s saying things like that, pointing out the fat rolls on my tummy or jiggling the backs of my arms, and the next he’s pointing his erection at me and telling me how much he loves me.’

‘Pixie, you can’t let him do that to you!’ Ellie said. ‘I mean making you feel bad about your weight, not the other thing.’

‘He’s not hurting me.’

‘Maybe not physically,’ I said. ‘But mentally he is. Ellie’s right. You can’t let him do that.’

She sighed. ‘I pick my battles, love. He’d never dare lay a hand on me or the children. Believe me, that would be going too far.’ She chuckled. ‘And now I think I’ve got a way to keep him from laying anything on me …’ Her eyes glinted as she dug her mobile phone from her bag and scrolled through a few screens. ‘Look what I’ve just bought!’

‘Oh my god,’ Jane said, as we all looked at the photo. ‘Are you planning to wear that?’

‘I got three of them. They arrived in the post today. I’m going to try one tonight. Sexy, eh?’ She grinned wickedly.

Pixie seemed to be suggesting wearing a puke-green, thick terrycloth onesie around the house as birth control. The one she showed us had a hood and feet and zipped up the front. She was right. I didn’t imagine Trevor would unzip that unless she was going into cardiac arrest.

‘I hope it works,’ Ellie said. ‘But you really should think about leaving, Pixie.’

‘I do, every waking moment, love, but I’d need to find work or the children and I won’t be able to live. Right, thank you for depressing me.’

‘Sorry!’ we all said.

She smiled. ‘That’s all right. I know you’re just watching out for me. Now, where were we, before you convinced me to share my fashion advice with you?’

Pixie often snapped shut as quickly as she opened up, so I wasn’t surprised to hear her change the subject.

‘Charging for events,’ I said. ‘I did the maths. If we’d charged two quid for each event we’ve had so far, we’d have over six hundred quid now.’

‘That is interesting,’ Pixie said. ‘It actually could be a business if we wanted it to be.’

‘Assuming people will pay,’ Jane said.

‘Assuming people will pay,’ echoed Pixie. ‘We could also expand the events.’

‘That’s what we’re saying, sweetheart.’

‘No, I mean we could expand the range of events we host. They don’t all have to be things we want to do ourselves. If it’s an official club now, and a business, shouldn’t we think of things that will be popular even though they may not be our cup of tea?’

I nodded. ‘Like what?’

She thought for a moment. ‘What about speed-dating?’

My face told her my thoughts on that.

‘Why not? A lot of the people coming are single. They might like it. We could call it something fun, like Find a Chubby Hubby.’

‘Wasn’t that a brand of ice cream?’ Jane wondered.

‘Right. Copyright issues. How about Fat Friends?’ she proposed. ‘I don’t know, something fun.’

I definitely didn’t like that idea. ‘That was a TV programme … besides, there’s nothing fun about Fat Friends. It’s insulting.’

‘Oh, get off your high horse. We’re fat. We’re friends. It does what it says on the tin.’

‘All right,’ Ellie said. ‘We don’t have to decide right now. The important thing is that we agree we’ll charge a fee, right? So we can grow the Curvy Girls Club. The sky’s the limit, ladies.’

Everyone nodded and I felt like I’d just watched our child take her first step. How had this become so important to me? Sappy Katie.

We’d just sat down to dinner a week later at Pixie’s favourite pizza place when Jane dropped her bombshell on us.

‘I can’t wait any longer,’ she said. ‘Look!’ She yanked a copy of the Evening Standard from her cavernous bag, dragging out most of her knitting in the process.

London’s ‘biggest’ social club?

There’s a new kid on the block in London’s entertainment industry, and it’s not for everyone. A group of fed-up slimmers have come together to launch the Curvy Girls Club, an entertainment resource for the larger lady.

The long article went on to describe how we’d started and some of the events we’d done so far.

‘Ooh look, we’re named!’ Ellie wriggled. ‘I had no idea we were going to get into the newspaper!’ She said it like our names had appeared written in the night sky. ‘And Katie, you’re quoted!’

I pulled the paper closer.

‘I hope you don’t mind, sweetheart. They wanted a quote and I remembered what you said at Slimming Zone. It seemed perfect so …’

I read the line twice. The point is to learn to be happy the way we are, says co-founder Katie Winterbottom, instead of constantly worrying about how we’d like to look.

‘You sly bugger,’ said Pixie. ‘How did you do this?’

Jane blushed. ‘I hope you don’t mind. It happened by accident, really. One of the mums at Abigail’s school writes for them, and one afternoon last month we got talking when we dropped the children off. Actually I was surprised she spoke to me. She’s part of the immaculate crowd who drive up in their huge sparkling clean SUVs, looking like they’ve just come from the salon. They don’t usually talk to me, just stare like I’m something they’ve accidently stepped in. They probably go off to their gyms afterwards to perfect their already perfect bodies. Meanwhile I turn up in the same tracksuit from the day before, with no makeup and dirty hair, shove the children out the door and go home to eat the remains of their breakfast. Plus all the biscuits I can find in the house. It’s depressing. If we had the money I’d hire a nanny just to do the school runs.’

Ellie squeezed Jane’s hand.

‘Oh, it’s all right, sweetheart. I’m not the only slummy mummy at the school gates. It just feels like that sometimes. So anyway, I’d accidentally boxed her car in and instead of just telling me to move, she mentioned that her daughter loves Abigail and it went from there, really. When she mentioned her work I thought I had nothing to lose by telling her what we were doing. She loved the idea and pitched it to her editor. So then we did a telephone interview about the club. She told me not to get my hopes up, so I didn’t mention anything, but then it came out tonight.’

‘I wonder if anyone went on the website to have a look.’

‘Call Rob!’ Pixie and Ellie said at once.

‘Okay, okay.’ My hand was already on my phone. ‘Though it’s dinnertime. I’ll text him in case he’s eating.’ I tapped the short message about the article and pressed send.

‘We could try getting into other papers,’ I said. ‘If the Evening Standard were interested then maybe the other local papers will be too.’

‘The Evening Standard isn’t local,’ Ellie said. ‘It’s national!’

‘No, Ellie, it’s London’s local paper.’

She shook her head. ‘It’s not national? I just assumed.’

‘Spoken like a true southerner,’ said Pixie. ‘No, my love, it’s just for London. Katie’s right though, we could try other locals like the Ham & High.’

‘And maybe the nationals would be interested too,’ said Ellie. ‘Imagine getting into The Times or The Guardian. Jane, do you think it’s possible?’

She nodded. ‘It’s possible, but probably more likely for the local papers. I’d be happy to write a short PR piece and send it round to the editors. I can get contact details from work.’

‘Then it’s official,’ I teased. ‘You’re our head of PR.’ With Jane’s connections at Channel 4, where she worked as a programme developer, I couldn’t think of a better candidate.

It was funny how we’d slipped naturally into the roles that suited us – Rob on the website, me organising the events and now Jane handling the PR. Pixie and Ellie didn’t have as much free time as we did – Trevor resented any time Pixie wasn’t slavishly looking after him or the children, and Ellie’s time was tied up between her second job and lovely Thomas – but they came to most of the events and had become the de facto hosts.

‘Sure, I’m happy to be our publicist,’ Jane said, looking chuffed with her new role.

‘This is all starting to become official now, isn’t it?’ Ellie said. ‘I mean, the Curvy Girls Club is a going concern.’

‘Do we need to formalise anything?’ I asked. ‘Now that we’re charging a fee, do we need to register somewhere, or tell HMRC?’

Pixie shrugged. ‘We’re not exactly Philip Green yet.’

‘No, but we should probably set up something simple,’ Jane said. ‘When my brother started his business he did have to register with HMRC, even though he wasn’t making any money at first. I can ask him about it. We’d probably just need to nominate ourselves as directors and file some paperwork.’

‘Does that mean we get to be on the board of directors?’ Ellie’s eyes shone. ‘And have a president and everything?’

‘I nominate Katie for president,’ Pixie said. ‘After all, you’re doing most of the work, love.’

‘I second it,’ said Jane and Ellie at the same time. ‘All in favour?’

‘Aye!’

My phone pinged with a text just as the waitress set the results of our first executive decisions before us. (I chose the cheese-less seafood pizza.)

Website is going nuts, Rob’s text read. As Chief Brody once said, You’re gonna need a bigger boat. Let’s talk about upping the bandwidth. Off work tmrw, let’s meet.

I showed everyone the text. ‘I guess that means the article has worked,’ I said, grinning. ‘Maybe it’s time to think about an official launch.’