Fat Chance (31 page)

‘Thanks,’ I tell her.

Zoe is still staring at fat cardboard Zoe with a glowing hatred you could toast marshmallows on. I grab her hand to pull her away and walk us both in the direction of the changing rooms. ‘Come on, woman. Let’s get these stupid tomato costumes on for the last time.’

She reluctantly follows, flashing Hayley a brief smile before we both hurry up the stairs and disappear around the corner.

We split up, making our way through the building, and I eventually find myself in the calm, relaxing environs of the men’s
changing
room.

In here with me is Shane—who must have lost a good six stone, but still sadly looks pretty fat—and Benny, who looks like he’s about to enter three marathons at once.

My heart sinks. He’s obviously lost more weight than I have. Beating him and Frankie is going to be nigh on impossible.

We just have to hope that Zoe’s lost more weight than the other half of the FrankieBen team.

‘Hello, Greg,’ Shane beams at me from where he’s getting changed. The man-boobs he’s sported all his life are definitely smaller, but Shane is still a man who looks like he’s no stranger to a cream cake. I’m startled to realise that he looks about as big as I was when this competition started.

‘Good morning, Greg,’ Benny also says, as he drops into a warm-up lunge. This is clearly some kind of psychological warfare, but I’m not having any of it.

‘Morning, Benny,’ I say cheerfully. ‘You want to watch you don’t strain anything before the big show.’ This is greeted with an arch of the eyebrow and a dismissive grunt.

I reluctantly drag out my hideous red Fitness4All kit and put it on. Thanks to all the weight loss, this is in fact the
fourth
kit I’ve been through in the past six months, and even this one is looking a little baggy these days.

‘I will be very glad to never wear this idiotic outfit again,’ I say to Shane and Benny.

‘Agreed,’ Benny says, managing a smile.

‘Mum says I look like the number ten bus,’ Shane adds, which indicates his mother has a sense of humour, if not a lot of
compassion
.

I heave a sigh and pluck at the front of my t-shirt in disgust. ‘Well, let’s go entertain the masses one more time, shall we?’ I say to my fellow contestants.

And with that, Greg, Shane, and Benny—the three tomato-red gladiators—step through the changing room doors and out onto the gym floor.

Not that you can see much of the floor, thanks to the number of people crammed into the hall.

We’re used to fairly large crowds at these events, but this one is at least twice the size and three times as vocal as any that has come before.

After all, this is the finale of the most popular local radio competition this area has ever seen. Elise even told Zoe last night on the phone that the
Daily Mail
and Sky News might be in attendance, provided no members of the royal family had been seen anywhere with their clothes off in the interim few hours.

It’s no wonder they had to change the venue from the Stream FM offices to Adam Edgemont’s gym. If they’d tried to cram this many people into that building, there would have been some serious health and safety issues. I wouldn’t have been pleased to have lost all this weight, only to get crushed to death by a horde of marauding Stream FM listeners.

The set-up for the weigh-in has been brought over from Stream FM lock, stock, and barrel. There sits the dreaded metal scales, with the flashy LCD scoreboard hung above them. Off to the left is the desk from where the live radio broadcast will be made. I can pick out at least four video cameras that will broadcast the event on Stream FM’s website.

Everything is set to give the baying crowd exactly what it wants to see—a bunch of people who are now less fat than they used to be, embarrassed for their delight and entertainment.

Just remember the fifty grand, Gregory
, I say to myself, and
follow
Shane and Benny over to the row of chairs at the back of the hall.

I see Zoe coming towards me with Angela and Dominica. All three look like deer caught in the headlights. When they reach us and sit down, the full complement of performing monkeys is assembled.

The organ grinders arrive a few seconds later.

Will is dressed in a dapper grey suit, but no-one’s really looking at him, as Elise appears to have turned into a movie star. Her hair’s up, her make-up is thick, her black dress clings like a second skin, and her heels are pointy and high. It’s completely
inappropriate
dress for wearing around a fitness centre, but who cares? She looks like a million dollars.

My threesome fantasy rears its ugly head again as I watch her wave to the crowd and make her way to the broadcast desk.

The sharp dig in the ribs from my left brings me out of my reverie.

‘It’s never happening, Gregory,’ Zoe says in a flat voice. ‘Never in a million years.’

Life is full of little disappointments.

The production assistant standing by the desk gives Will and Elise the ten second countdown to air. Elise adjusts her headphones and lifts the microphone to her mouth.

I take a deep breath.

Six months of effort are—hopefully—about to pay off.

‘Good afternoon, everyone!’ Elise cries into her microphone. The crowd goes fucking mental.

‘Yeah, hi guys and welcome to the grand finale of Fat Chance!’ Will bellows into his own microphone and waves his arm around to whip the crowd into an even bigger frenzy.

Love them or loathe them, Will and Elise know what they’re doing in front of an audience. All that road show experience is
obviously
paying off.

‘For a whole six months our couples have been losing a huge amount of weight,’ Elise carries on. ‘We’ve heard every week about how their diets are going. We’ve also read their weight loss
diaries
online, and got to know each and every one of them.
I d
on’t know about you, but I feel like every one of them is a friend of m
ine n
ow.’

More cheers from the crowd. They obviously agree. I hear Zoe groan from beside me. ‘I’m the only one who has to listen to her complaining about her love life, though,’ she says.

‘That’s right, Elise,’ Will takes over. ‘We’ve watched these guys exercise and diet their way to a better life. We’ve seen them tackle two extreme challenges, and have marvelled at the way they’ve supported one another through thick and thin.’

Really? Supported through thick and thin? I barely know any of these buggers beyond being on first name terms, even after all this time.

‘And now, after six months, thousands of miles run, hundreds of sit-ups, and countless low-calorie meals—’ Elise is now strutting up and down in front of the crowd, her hand held high, ‘—we’ve come to the final weigh-in. One couple among our six will walk away today as Fat Chance champions, and will be fifty thousand pounds richer!’

Hoot. Holler. Cheer. Roar. Clap. Etc.

Will takes over again, crossing right in front of Elise’s path as he does so. There’s some not-so-subtle one-upmanship going on here. ‘This has been Stream FM’s most successful competition ever! And we couldn’t have done any of it without you!’ he says.

Technically, you couldn’t have done any of it without us fat bastards over here, mate, but I’ll let you off as you’re obviously
over-excited
.

‘Yes!’ Elise agrees enthusiastically. ‘And of course we also couldn’t have done any of it without the help, support, and sponsorship of Adam Edgemont and his company, Fitness4All!’

. . . and his cock, Elise. Don’t forget his cock.

Edgemont joins the two DJs to what I’m happy to hear is rather muted applause.

‘So how about we stop talking and get on with the show?’ Elise shouts to the crowd. The applause is a hell of a lot louder this time.

Good. Time to get this over with.

Sadly, I’ll have to wait a while longer, as we now have to sit through an interminable twenty minutes of recap. This consists of a sizzle reel cut together from interviews, weigh-ins, and challenges across the six months of the competition—all with a load of asinine pop tunes of the past decade running behind it. There’s some Boyzone in there, along with Lady Gaga, Chipmunk, that skinny woman whose name I can never remember, and Thirty Seconds to Mars. It’s all uplifting, tub-thumping rubbish, but it’s also perfect for a cheesy sum-up of all that we’ve been through.

I confidently expect the package to end with Queen’s ‘We Are the Champions.’

‘I hate the sound of my own voice,’ Zoe points out as we relive her talking to Elise about the cabbage soup diet. ‘Especially when I’m talking about having the farts.’

I have to say I’m not that much happier about listening to myself moan about blisters, but I grit my teeth and bear it.

Eventually, the recap climaxes in an orgy of bombastic music and I breathe a sigh of relief as I hear Freddie Mercury start singing.

Time to get on with the weigh-in and see if we’re mildly rich or not.

But first there are adverts.

Many, many,
many
adverts.

Stream FM is wringing every last brass farthing out of this little venture. I can’t say I blame them much. All this must have cost them a fortune.

Finally though . . .

‘Okay guys, it’s time to start the weigh-in!’ Elise shrieks,
threatening
to shatter everyone’s eardrums.

The crowd goes mental as Will introduces couple number one—Valerie and George.

My heart rate increases.

There’s every chance these two old codgers could pip us at the post. Both of them look like they’ve dropped a huge amount of weight.

To be honest, I don’t really think they look better for it. Rosy-cheeked chubbiness suited them and this new trimmer look has eradicated much of their combined homely charm.

Val’s up first on the scales. The numbers tumble into place, and we see she’s lost an impressive three and a half stone. George has done much the same with the three stone and nine pounds he’s managed to shift. The couple’s weight loss percentage therefore comes in at sixteen percent.

I think Zoe and I are alright here, though. I’m sure our combined percentage is better.

Next up is Angela and Dominica. Their combined loss is a rather anaemic four stone one pound, or eleven percent of their total body mass. They look quite happy about it, though, as they hug and kiss each other in a way any nearby members of the
Christian
church probably wouldn’t approve of.

Lea and Pete are the surprise package of the day so far. She’s shifted four stone six pounds and he’s dropped five stone five pounds. My heart starts to race again as we see that their efforts have given them a weight loss percentage of twenty-three.

‘I think they’ve had us,’ I say to Zoe.

‘It’s not over yet,’ she tells me and squeezes my hand.

Shane and Theresa take the stage next. Shane’s lost five stone eight pounds, but Theresa’s not been so lucky with just two stone eleven pounds. This puts them in fourth place with nine percent total loss.

And here come the big guns. The FrankieBen.

Frankie is up first, to the roar of the crowd. They know that she and her husband are the favourites to win here today.

It doesn’t surprise me in the slightest when Frankie registers five stone one pound of weight loss.

Zoe groans.

‘Don’t worry,’ I tell her. ‘She was bigger than you to start with. It’s all about the percentages, remember.’

I sound quite convincing, but even I have to put my head in my hands when a triumphant Benny registers six stone five pounds. That’s as much as me, if not more. He’s easily lost the most weight of anyone so far.

This gives the Jamaican couple a combined percentage of thirty-two percent, and a very healthy lead.

I hold Zoe’s hand, expecting to hear her name called next, but am surprised when Elise calls out mine. She’s obviously decided that her friend is going to be the last one to take the stage today. The nails digging deep into the back of my hand tell me that Zoe is less than happy about this turn of events.

I stand on slightly watery legs and make my way over to the scales. From the crowd I can hear my name being chanted, over and over. I look for the source of the chant and see my friend Ali jumping up and down on the spot right in front of me. He’s got his iPhone out and proceeds to take about eighty pictures of my stunned expression as he continues to scream my name at the top of his voice.

I stand up on the scales and steady myself. I know roughly how much weight I’ve lost, but the scales at home are old and deeply inaccurate. This is when I find out if Benny’s beaten me or not.

The scales do their thing and I can hear a collective intake of breath from everyone in the room.

The electronic scoreboard digits settle down and come to a halt. It shows my weight as thirteen stone ten pounds, and my weight loss of six stone six pounds.