Sweet Temptation (19 page)

Nah. I’d never get to that stage, I knew it. I would always be the chubster waddling slowly on the corner treadmill, red-faced and panting, checking how much longer I had before my ten minutes was up. But that was fine by me. I knew my limits.

‘Come on,’ he said coaxingly. ‘Just up the speed by a few notches – you’ll barely notice the difference.’

I hesitated, one foot on the belt.

‘Not scared, are you?’ he teased.

I pulled a face at him. Playground tactics or what? ‘Oh, go on, then,’ I said, stepping on. ‘Bully me into it with your emotional manipulation.’

He laughed and pressed the ‘On’ button. ‘If it gets you running on this thing, it’ll all be worth it. Right, let’s see . . . I’ll set the speed at six point five today. If it’s too much for you, just press the down arrow and take it back to six, okay?’

‘Okay,’ I said, striding away as the machine started up. There was no way I wanted to lose face in front of him by dropping the speed, though. I’d have to be on the verge of collapse to do that. I knew he would be nice about it if I did, but I felt like an eager kid wanting to please him, wanting to earn his praise. So I puffed and panted my way doggedly through the ten minutes, not letting on that I had a stitch up my left side and hoping he wouldn’t notice the sweat glistening on my face. I would do it, I would do it, I would bloody well do it.

I could feel an improvement in my fitness already. In just a week of pushing it at the gym every day, I’d noticed a difference. I was able to do ten stomach crunches instead of five, I was moving on to higher weights on the machines, and here I was, striding briskly (for me, anyway) rather than limping lethargically on the treadmill. I could even feel a tightening of my body in some places. Don’t get me wrong – I hadn’t transformed magically into Kelly Holmes or anything; but I did feel different. Lighter, and with more energy. The weird thing was, the more I exercised, the less I felt the need to stuff myself with food. Who would have thought it?

Mum approved too, when I rocked up at hers afterwards and told her how I’d tried out the rowing machine or managed a whole extra minute on the cross-trainer that morning. ‘Good for you, darling,’ she’d say as she lay propped up in bed or on the sofa. ‘You
are
doing well. And as soon as I’m up and about again, I’ll be in there with you. I miss my Pilates. Not to mention my lovely manicures there.’

Her optimism was a killer.
As soon as I’m up and about again . . .
Did she really believe that? As if the cancer was akin to a bad cold that she would throw off after a few days’ bed-rest when, in reality, the specialists had decided that surgery to remove the tumour was too risky because of her age, and that she would have to take steroids and undergo chemotherapy as soon as possible. Reading between the lines, when they spoke about her having chemo, it sounded as if they didn’t think it was worth it. Nobody had actually used the word ‘terminal’ yet, but that was the message I was getting. There was looking on the bright side, and then there was plain old denial.

Still, her words got me thinking.

‘Mum, I think Pilates is probably out of the question, but how about if I arrange for someone to come round and give you a manicure here?’ I asked as I unpacked the pile of DVDs I’d borrowed from the library. (There was only so much daytime television a woman could take, after all.)

She brightened at the question. ‘Ooh, that would be lovely,’ she said. ‘Yes, please. Mind you . . . the lady who always does my nails works at the salon. I don’t know if she’d do home visits.’

‘I can always ask,’ I said, shrugging. ‘What’s her name?’

‘Jessica,’ she said. ‘Lovely girl. Very kind and well-mannered. What’s so funny?’

I was smiling. ‘Nothing,’ I said. I loved a coincidence. ‘I’ll see if I can sort out an appointment.’

‘Hi, Jess? It’s Maddie from FatBusters. Listen, thanks for the other day – it really helped, talking to you.’

‘Pleasure,’ she said. ‘How’s the diet going? Is everything all right?’

‘The diet’s fine,’ I said. Ahhh, of course. She thought I was calling for more Diet Buddy help. If only life was so simple. ‘It’s just . . . Remember I said my mum was ill? Well, it turns out she’s a client of yours. Anna Noble?’

‘Anna’s your
mum
? Oh wow, she’s so lovely,’ Jess said, sounding thrilled. ‘Honestly, she’s one of my favourites. I thought I hadn’t seen her for a while. Is she feeling better?’

A sob caught in my throat and I had to take a deep breath before I could speak. ‘Um . . . No, not really,’ I said baldly. ‘Actually, she’s got cancer. And . . .’ I’d really meant to keep it together, but it was almost impossible to say the words without breaking down.

‘Oh, Maddie,’ Jess said, and the sympathy in her voice was enough to tip me over the edge, tears swimming instantly into my eyes. ‘Oh gosh, I’m so sorry.’

I wiped my wet face with my bare arm, trying valiantly to get a grip. ‘Sorry,’ I managed to get out after a moment. ‘She’s really not very well at all. There’s not a lot anyone can do, but the thing is, she was saying today how much she misses having her nails done, and I just wondered . . .’

‘I’ll do her nails,’ Jess said at once. ‘Any time. Is she well enough to come to the salon, or do you want me to come round one evening?’

‘
Would
you? Come round, I mean? I don’t think she’s up to going out at the moment. But if you don’t mind coming to her house . . .’

‘Of course I don’t mind,’ she said. ‘I can’t really sneak out from the salon during the day – my boss has got it in for me at the moment – but I could be there one evening, or even on Monday. That’s my day off. Just name a time and I’ll be there with my bag of tricks.’

‘Tomorrow? Is that too soon?’

‘That’s fine. I’ll come straight from work. Actually, that’s perfect because Charlie works late on a Wednesday, so I don’t need to—’ She broke off. ‘I’ll be there about six. What’s the address?’

Bless her, she was as good as her word and was there on the dot of six the next day, looking slightly wide-eyed as she entered the hall. ‘Oh my goodness!’ she hissed, gazing around nervously. ‘It’s so big! It’s like one of those stately homes or something!’

I thought she was taking the mickey at first until I realized she was genuinely awestruck, and I looked around, seeing the house through her eyes. You don’t notice the details of a place when you’ve lived there yourself – you take it all for granted, don’t you? – but yes, the hall
was
larger and more cavernous than most, with its original Victorian stained glass inner door and the pristine black and white checked tiles that led the eye dizzyingly along into the body of the house. A huge mirror hung on the left wall, and there was a wide wooden staircase to the right, its carved banister curving down beautifully at the end.

‘Come on in,’ I said, ushering her into the living room, where Mum was still on the sofa. ‘Here she is. Mum?’

My mum had a splayed Maeve Binchy on her chest and her eyelids were lowered as she dozed, but at my words, her eyes snapped open. She blinked, then smiled rapturously at the sight of Jess. ‘Am I glad to see
you
, darling,’ she said. ‘Thank you so much for coming here – after your shift at work as well. I hope you aren’t too tired. Can we get you anything to eat or drink?’

‘Just a glass of water, please,’ Jess said timidly to me. ‘If that’s all right.’

‘Of course,’ I said, and then, seeing her hovering there uncertainly, suddenly came over all emotional and gave her a hug. ‘Thanks for this,’ I said. ‘You’re so kind, we really appreciate it.’

She turned pink as I let her go and I immediately thought I had overdone it, that I’d overstepped the mark. But then she took my hand and gave it a squeeze. ‘Pleasure,’ she said, then beamed at Anna. ‘I’ve missed you, you know. The salon hasn’t been the same. Now – what can I do for you? Maddie said you’d like a manicure, but I’ve brought along some oils too in case you fancy a massage . . .’

My mum’s face lit up at the thought; there was real pleasure in her eyes. I had to hurry to the kitchen to get Jess’s water so that neither of them could see the tears in my own eyes. It felt good to have arranged something nice for Mum when she’d had such a crap time lately. I filled a jug with water and ice cubes, replaying her delighted smile in my mind. For that alone I owed Jess. I owed her big-time.

Paul and the kids came back from Wales, tanned and smiling. I threw my arms around them one after the other. It had been the longest time I’d ever spent away from them, and through my joy at seeing them again I felt a twist of guilt as I realized they’d barely been on my radar all week, I’d been so wrapped up in what Mum was going through.

The following day I was going to have to return to work, worst luck. I’d had to draw up a highly complicated system of childcare arrangements because, in the past, Mum had always looked after Emma and Ben for me during the holidays, and this was obviously out of the question now. All the holiday drama/adventure/sports clubs and classes had been solidly booked for months, I kept being told, so I’d been phoning around mates, calling in every favour I could think of, with some begging thrown in for good measure.

I was worried that I wouldn’t be able to concentrate on actually doing any work, as I was finding it hard to think about anything else but Mum. She was due to start chemo the following week, and I was in bits worrying about it. What if she lost her hair? She was so beautiful, and so shamelessly vain, too. I couldn’t bear the thought of her trying to retain her dignity with wigs and hats. There was only so much stiff upper lip one woman could manage, even an actress like her.

‘I think it’ll be good for you to get back to work,’ Paul said the night before, massaging my shoulders. I’d been Googling frantically to find out everything I could about chemotherapy and was all knotted up and crunchy. ‘It’ll take your mind off things for a while, won’t it?’

‘I suppose so,’ I replied, but it seemed like a betrayal somehow, trying to put poor Mum out of my mind. Surely I should be there, holding her hand through all of this, rather than buggering off to the day job?

Paul seemed to read my thoughts. ‘Come on, Maddie, she’s told you herself that she doesn’t want hand-wringing and moping. She wants everything to be as normal as possible. And if you’re hanging around being anxious, then—’

‘I’m not
hanging around
,’ I said indignantly, tears springing to my eyes. ‘And I’m not moping. I’m her daughter! I’m trying to come to terms with the fact that she’s got cancer!’

His arms went around me and he held me. ‘Oh love, I know, I didn’t mean it to sound like that,’ he said, his face against mine. ‘Sorry. Oh, don’t cry . . .’

He was right, though. I needed to keep up appearances. Much as I wanted to put my head on Mum’s lap and weep into it all day every day, railing at how unfair life was and begging her not to die on me, it wouldn’t do any good. So, feeling woolly-headed after another sleepless night, I went into work.

It was only when I got to my desk that I realized –
Oh, shit
– it was Collette’s fortnightly Make Birmingham Beautiful round-up today. I almost turned on the spot and walked out again in horror as the truth dawned. Aaarrgh. I really couldn’t cope with any snide remarks from Collette, not when I felt so vulnerable and weepy. In fact I wished wholeheartedly that I’d had the forethought to pull a sickie that morning to avoid what would undoubtedly be another humiliating experience.

‘Hi Maddie!’ called Becky as I switched on my PC. ‘Had a lovely break? You had nice weather for it.’

I managed to smile. ‘The weather was pretty good, yeah,’ I replied. That wasn’t an outright lie, at least – of the three days I’d lasted in Wales, we’d had two scorchers; you couldn’t complain about that. ‘Blimey, email-tastic,’ I said as my inbox appeared on screen. ‘I’d better get my head down and work through these before anything else.’

Well, that was one holiday conversation kept succint, I thought, ploughing through my messages. So far so good. And Collette’s head was usually rammed so far up her own bum, she didn’t often remember to ask about other people’s lives – I was probably safe from her, too.

Just as I was thinking about her, she appeared in the office with her usual takeaway coffee and a new pea-green bag on her shoulder. When she saw me she stopped dead, looked me up and down and did a dramatic hand-slapped-to-mouth-in-shock face. ‘Oh. My. God,’ she said. ‘Maddie! You’re shrinking! You are so shrinking!’

For a moment I had an image of myself as Mrs Pepperpot dwindling down to the size of a fairy, but then I realized what she meant.

‘Becky, Em, Cathy, look at Maddie!’ she shrieked before turning back to me. ‘That diet is working, babe. You are looking
slinky
!’

I wrinkled my nose. Slinky? Come off it. I was a million miles from slinky. But all the same, despite Collette’s theatricals, I did feel a brief blush of pleasure as everyone peered at me then nodded and agreed that yes, I had definitely lost a few pounds and my face was the slimmer for it.

‘Pretending to us you’ve been on holiday for the last week – yeah, right,’ Collette joked. ‘We all know you’ve been to Boot Camp or Fat Camp or whatever they call it!’

Ouch.
Just as she was being even slightly nice to me, she had to twist the knife. Fat Camp indeed.
Actually, I probably
have
lost a few pounds, Collette, due to being worried sick about my mother having a massive brain tumour and cancer
, I nearly snapped, but managed to keep the words back. I would probably only burst into tears, and she’d retaliate with a
Whoa, backoff-mad-lady
face of disgust.

I said nothing. If looks could kill, though, she’d have been a goner, zapped instantly by my waves of hatred, writhing on the floor in agony and regret.

‘Can you believe it’s been a fortnight since our last Campaign Catch-up?’ Collette cooed halfway through the show. ‘We’ve had a great response to our Make Birmingham Beautiful Campaign so far – thousands of you have been checking our website for our beauty tips and giveaways, and we’ve had hundreds of emails and texts telling us how you’ve been doing.’