Your Roots Are Showing (32 page)

Then there was the issue of Bruno and the bed-and-breakfast. She’d booked them into separate rooms, but each room contained a double bed. She had a horrible fear he was going to jump to conclusions.

There was only one small grain of hope in this veritable desert of dread — the hope that James, seeing her with Bruno again, might be struck down with jealousy and remorse.

It wasn’t a logical or sensible hope. James had given her ample reason by now to assume that he didn’t give two hoots what she was up to. After all, he’d given up their marriage without a fight, he’d forged ahead with divorce plans at a speed of knots, he’d asked her several times to speed things up with the divorce petition, and he’d moved so swiftly into some sort of relationship with Sonja Jenkins that she could only conclude that he’d been just itching to be on the loose again.

The fact was, she really didn’t know if James still retained any residue of affection for her at all. But even if he didn’t, he might still be vulnerable in a dog-in-the-manger sort of way. If she could just make him sting, even a tiny bit, she knew she’d feel better.

The only problem was, by the end of the month she was going to be exploding out of her lilac dress like a pig in a party frock — not at all the sort of figure to inspire jealousy and remorse.

Lizzie had experienced binge eating before. She’d just never experienced it alongside exercise addiction. By now, running had become her daily fix and she simply couldn’t do without it, no matter how much she’d been wolfing down all day.

One evening, when Lizzie and Tessa were scheduled to run laps at the high school track, Tessa dropped out at the last moment. She’d been dropping out quite a bit lately. This time, Greg had apparently decided to come home early from work to take her out to a spontaneous romantic dinner. Lizzie speculated that the change of plan might have something to do with Tessa’s ovulatory cycle.

While she wished the two of them nothing but luck, she also wished she didn’t have to run alone. She’d never felt in greater need of Tessa’s whiplash tongue urging her on over the miles. Since she’d consumed the better part of a large Cadbury slab only moments before she eased her feet into her trainers, she wasn’t surprised to be doubled over with a stitch just twenty minutes into the session. But she was surprised when her stomach began to heave and she had to detour inelegantly into the bushes to throw up.

The nausea and vomiting left her tired and discouraged. Stress eating and stress exercising clearly didn’t mix well. What an idiot she was, trying to juggle two compulsions at the same time.

She could barely meet Sarah’s eyes when she got home, red-eyed, sheepish, and worried that she stank of bile. Yet the moment Sarah walked out of the door, all she wanted to do was run to the freezer, grab the tub of ice cream, and settle down with it in front of the TV. In fact, she had the tub out on the counter and was just rinsing out a spoon when Alex appeared in his pajamas. “Mummy, can I have some water?” he began to say but quickly changed it to, “Mummy, can I have ice cream?”

Lizzie jumped with fright at being caught red-handed. “No, of course you can’t have ice cream,” she said. “It’s past your bedtime and you’ve already brushed your teeth.”

“But you’re havin’ ice cream.”

“No, I’m not,” she said quickly. “I’m just — just rearranging the freezer. Now, go on. Go to bed.”

When he left the room, she picked up the tub of ice cream and threw it directly into the rubbish bin.

That night, Lizzie went through her kitchen cupboards with a fine-tooth comb. Out came all the culprits — the cooking chocolate, the Boudoir biscuits, the honey, the Reddybrek, the sugar, the salt and vinegar crisps, the custard powder, the tins of sticky toffee pudding, the raisins, the cashew nuts, the digestive biscuits. Not one of these things had been consciously bought for herself. Everything was “for the children.” Otherwise, she’d be staring at Belgian chocolate and overripe Camembert, avocados and crème brûlée, pistachios and chocolate mousse.

She piled everything on the cracked Formica counter.

“There,” she said out loud. “That’s all of it out in the open.”

Watching the pile of food as if it might slide off the table and bury her, Lizzie opened her handbag and fumbled around until she found a card. “Ivana Sanader, Emergency Number” was inscribed in the center in a large, plain font.

She picked up the phone and dialed the number.

“Ivana? It’s me, Lizzie. Lizzie Buckley. No, don’t charge it to my credit card. I’ll pay by check. No, it’s not a crisis of the heart. It’s — it’s a crisis of greed. I’ve been binge eating and I have to stop. No, not drinking.
Eating
. Can you talk me down?”

Tessa phoned the next morning to invite Lizzie and the twins to lunch. “Just come straight here after you pick them up from nursery,” she said. “I’ve taken the day off to catch up on some stuff around the house.”

“Right, sounds good. Should I bring something?”

“How about dessert?”

Lizzie paused a moment. “Okay, dessert it is. See you later.”

When Lizzie turned up at Tessa’s door, clutching a bowl of fruit salad in one hand and hanging onto Alex with the other, Tessa gave the fruit one sniff and said, “You call this dessert? I was hoping for cheesecake. Or lemon meringue pie. A hot sponge pud would’ve been good. But
fruit
?”

“Sarcasm does not become you,” Lizzie said, thrusting the bowl at Tessa, who’d never been seen so much as
touching
cheesecake, let alone eating it. A slight scuffle ensued as the children pushed past Lizzie’s legs into the house. “Don’t
break
anything!” Lizzie called as they disappeared around a corner.

Thank goodness it was a clear day, so they were able to go outside. Lizzie was on tenterhooks whenever the children were cooped up in Tessa’s house. People with no children always had so many fascinating breakables lying around within easy reach of grasping little hands.

With the children happily jumping in and out of the sprinklers, Tessa and Lizzie were able to settle down at the patio table in relative tranquillity. “What’s for lunch?” Lizzie asked as casually as she could.

The truth was, she was starving. She’d stayed up late, talking to Ivana long into the night, then spent a heady time in the wee hours throwing more food into the bin on top of the ice cream. The comfort food was all gone now, tightly secured in a black bin bag in the garage. She’d even thrown coffee grounds and old cooking oil over everything, to make sure she didn’t sabotage herself one night by going and scrounging out of the bag.

From now on the children would be snacking on whole wheat bread and Marmite, with the occasional apple thrown in for variety. She’d had one miserable banana for breakfast, washed down with a cup of green tea. The whole experience had drained her, both emotionally and financially, and she sincerely hoped she’d never have to repeat it.

Lunch — thank goodness — would be diet-style food. Tessa tended to think an enormous bowl of field greens seasoned with a squeeze of fresh lemon juice, a dash of ground pepper, and perhaps a thimbleful of pine nuts was a fitting lunch for a grown woman — unless, of course, she happened to be running more than five miles later that same day, in which case she was entitled to a side dish of handmade whole wheat pasta stuffed with spinach.

“Pizza,” said Tessa.

“Well, for the children, obviously.” Using a method of thought control Ivana had taught her, Lizzie directed her mind away from images of oodles of melted cheese on golden crust. “But what about us?”

“Pizza,” Tessa repeated blithely. “Oh, and some garlic and herb sausages.”

“
Sausages
?” Lizzie couldn’t believe her ears.

“Yes, why not? Gosh, was that your stomach growling? I’d better get the starters — crisps and dips sound okay?”

Crisps? And
dips
? High-sodium, high-fat foods, here at Tessa’s house in The Dene? Lizzie groaned. “Oh, Tessa, don’t
do
this to me. I’m trying to get back on the straight and narrow. You see, I’ve been on a bit of a bender with the calories lately. I — to be honest, I had to make some emergency calls to Ivana last night. In the end, I did a deal with Fate about the whole thing. I’m going to lose the roof over my head and the clothes off my children’s backs if I don’t pull myself together and stop binge eating. I didn’t think I’d be in any danger
here
. What’s going on? You’re supposed to be the food police.”

Tessa shrugged. “A girl can let her hair down every now and then, surely? Look, I’ll get the nibbles. You don’t have to overdo it. Just go slow and you’ll be fine.”

She went into the house and came out with a tray of dishes that didn’t include a single vegetable. With a pleased smile, she set the food down and helped herself to several sesame seed crackers dipped in something that seemed to be made entirely of double-thick cream and crushed garlic. Lizzie sat and looked at a mound of guacamole. Tears blurred her vision.

“I’m not going to eat it,” she said in a choked voice. “Not any of it. For God’s sake, Tessa, get me a plate of raw carrots. I’m not going to this bloody wedding looking like a sow in a silk dress.”

Tessa raised her eyebrows but went away and made up a plate of cucumber slices, tomatoes, and broccoli. Lizzie sat and crunched stolidly, trying not to look at the spot of cream on Tessa’s chin, trying to ignore the slurping noises Tessa made when she licked avocado off her fingers.

They chewed steadily for a bit, watching the children play. Then Tessa suddenly jumped up. “Hang on,” she said. “I’ve got to bring on the pièce de résistance.”

She dashed into the house and came back moments later, walking slowly with both hands behind her back. Lizzie leaned forward in her seat, fascinated. Was Tessa going to produce the most fattening dip the world had ever seen?

“Ta-da!” Tessa cried and pulled out something that looked like a digital thermometer. She set it gently on the table and stood back, grinning from ear to ear.

Lizzie stared at the white stick with dawning comprehension. Right in the middle of the stick was a clear window, and running across the window were two thin pink lines, one slightly lighter than the other.

“Is this what I think it is?” she gasped, terrified of jumping to the wrong conclusion.

Tessa simply nodded. Lizzie noticed that her eyes were unnaturally sparkling and she was blinking quite a lot.

Lizzie leaped to her feet, knocking over her chair, and gave Tessa a tight bear-hug. “Oh, you
wicked
thing. You’ve put something soaked in your own urine on the table! Why on earth didn’t you tell me straightaway? When did you find out? Is that why you and Greg went out last night? To celebrate?”

Tessa nodded. “Best celebration of my life, even without the bubbly,” she said. And then she burst into very unTessa-like tears.

Lizzie felt her own lip wobbling and her eyes prickling in sympathy. “Bloody Fate!” she railed. “Just when you were getting all set to train properly for the marathon.”

Tessa gave a snort of laughter through her tears. “Yeah, well, what can you do? Maybe in three or four years’ time, huh? But you know what this means, don’t you?”

Lizzie raised her eyebrows. “Well, it seems to mean you’ve given yourself permission to eat naughty food for the first time since you were twelve.”

“Well, I’m eating for two now, aren’t I? But that’s beside the point. I’m talking about the
marathon
. The marathon’s my lucky talisman. I can’t give up on it completely or something horrendous is bound to happen. So I’ve got to pass the baton on to you.”

Lizzie felt her stomach clench painfully. “To me? I’m no good with batons. Give it to Greg.”

“Idiot, Greg’s not a runner, he has flat feet. Look, I’ve
got
to have someone out there running for me. For this baby.” And she put her hand protectively to her stomach. “Fate demands it,” she added for good measure.

“That, and the roof over my head and the clothes off my children’s backs,” scoffed Lizzie. But something strange was welling up inside her. Something like a full orchestra playing crescendo-type music in her chest. She thought of her new niece, Elizabeth, tiny and powerless and covered in hairy down, barely recognizable as human young, yet more precious than all the combined crown jewels of England, Monaco, and any other European monarchy you cared to mention. In a few short months Tessa would be bringing just such a creature into the world — though, with a bit of luck, hers would look more like a baby and less like E.T.

“Okay,” she said with a small sob. “I’ll do it. I’ll do it for your baby. I’ll run the bloody thing.”

As she spoke, she felt a pair of cold wet arms curl around her knees, and a plaintive voice whined, “Mummy, wassa matter? Why’s evvybody cryin’? Where’s our
lunch
?”

Ellie peered up at her, shivering and soaked, her brow positively bulging with worry.

“We’re crying with happiness, sweetie,” Lizzie said, ruffling her daughter’s wet hair. “Auntie Tess —” she glanced at Tessa, who nodded, “Auntie Tess is going to have a baby. And I — well, I’ve just decided I’m going to run one of the hardest races in the whole world.”

Ellie’s face relaxed. “That’s good, Mummy,” she said. “I like babies. But you better practice lots for the race so you don’t come in last dis time.”

Lizzie met Tessa’s eye. The side of Tessa’s mouth was quivering slightly. Lizzie gave her a quelling look.

“I will, sweetie, I will,” she assured Ellie.

A sudden loud crash put paid to the conversation as Alex plummeted out of a low tree, bringing down the branch he’d been swinging on. Lizzie leaped as if a games mistress had fired a starting gun, and reached his side before Tessa had even moved halfway across the lawn. When she got there, Alex was already standing up and examining his elbows and knees for grazes.

“Alex!” Lizzie cried, her heart in her mouth.

“Don’t shout, Mummy,” he said, his face bright red and very earnest. “I dint
mean
to break the tree. I woll fix it. If you find me some sticky tape, I pwomise I woll fix it.”

From: Lizzie Buckley [email protected]