The Dinner Club, page 1
The Dinner Club
Helen Aitchison
Cahill Davis Publishing
Copyright © 2022 Helen Aitchison
The moral right of Helen Aitchison to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
First published in Great Britain in 2022 by Cahill Davis Publishing Limited.
First published in paperback in Great Britain in 2022 by Cahill Davis Publishing Limited.
Printed and bound in Great Britain by Clays Ltd, Elcograf S.p.A
Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licencing Agency.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
ISBN 978-1-8381820-9-0 (eBook)
ISBN 978-1-8381820-8-3 (Paperback)
Cahill Davis Publishing Limited
www.cahilldavispublishing.co.uk
Contents
Dedication
1. Goals Derek
2. TV Dinners Derek
3. The Weekly Shop Derek
4. Experimenting Derek
5. Pie Thursday Derek
6. Dinner with Debbie Derek
7. New Networks Derek
8. Life Before Death Eddie
9. The Three Musketeers Eddie
10. A Fraying Rope Eddie
11. Another Saturday Morning Eddie
12. Bran flakes and Banana Florence
13. New Beginnings Derek
14. Sweet William Florence
15. Dinner Call Florence
16. Dinner Club Conversation Derek
17. Cooking Companions Derek
18. Sofa Surfing Cara
19. Fleeting Love and Further Trauma Cara
20. Practice Makes Perfect Derek
21. Life Is for Living Eddie
22. It’s a New Day, and I’m Feeling Good Derek
23. That Woman Violet
24. Wednesday Dreaming Violet
25. Terrible Teens Cara
26. Penny Dropping Violet
27. Sunday Roast Derek
28. Trapped in a Nebulous Eddie
29. Carpe Diem Florence
30. Breaktime Violet
31. Dinner Club Expectations Derek
32. The Weirdness of New Eddie
33. Help at Hand Florence
34. Focus Cara
35. Peace Meal Derek
36. Monday Morning Memories Violet
37. Winning Wardrobe? Cara
38. Interview Panel Eddie
39. Filters and Fantasies Cara
40. Reflections Eddie
41. Dinner Club Premier Derek
42. Confession Florence
43. Thursday Night Escape Violet
44. Social Butterfly Florence
45. Pre-dinner Nerves Eddie
46. Showtime Derek
47. Hunger Florence
48. Debbie’s Dinner Club Debut Derek
49. Hungry for Company Eddie
50. The First Supper Violet
51. Acceptance Derek
52. New Horizons Cara
53. Food for Thought Violet
54. The Truth Florence
55. Cause for Celebration Derek
56. And It All Came Flooding Out Eddie
57. Perspective Violet
58. Heard Cara
59. Food Glorious Food Eddie
60. Spice Girl Florence
61. Change Is as Good as a Rest Derek
62. The Perfect Evening Violet
63. Canapés Confession Eddie
64. Breaking Point Violet
65. Emotional Evening End Eddie
66. Change Violet
67. Abundant Abuse Eddie
68. Hungover Florence
69. Payday Cara
70. The Fallout Derek
71. Safety Planning Violet
72. New Perspectives Eddie
73. Broken Hearts Heal Cara
74. The Last Lie Violet
75. Distraction Eddie
76. Exposed Violet
77. Borrowed Time Florence
78. Property Value Derek
79. The Great Escape Violet
80. Budgeting Derek
81. Dinner Club Round Three Derek
82. A Friend in Need Eddie
83. Happy Monday Derek
84. Family Festivities Florence
85. Rollercoaster Violet
86. Recipe Legacy Florence
87. Evolution Derek
88. A Hard Goodbye Florence
89. Healing Eddie
90. Greener Grass Violet
91. Finding Florence Derek
92. Missing Dinner Guest Derek
Ten Months Later
93. Happy Ending Cara
94. Home Violet and Eddie
95. Chapter 95: Follow Your Heart
Acknowledgements
About The Author
To my Grandma, who I was lucky enough to be loved by for 38 years. I carry your heart in mine.
1
Goals
Derek
Derek had been a podgy child, then a chubby teenager and now what he liked to refer to as a “robust” adult. Derek saw himself as a role model for larger people, and whilst acknowledging people come in all shapes and sizes, he felt we should all embrace a little extra squidge now and then.
He had, in fact, not always had this attitude. His wife, Brenda, would call him a pig. Even “bloody fat swine” at times of heightened debate. What a vile woman she is, he thought. Derek had tried losing weight, more for Brenda than himself. He’d tried a protein only diet (his whole being had reeked of excrement), a liquid diet (the shakes had made his heart race), a points diet (he’d saved his points up every day and then ate a multipack of crisps) and Slim to Success (he’d replaced half a cheesecake with more pasta than that which would fuel Usain Bolt for a month). No fad diet was ever sustainable or enjoyable in the slightest for Derek.
After a barrage of taunting and belittling him, Brenda would be an ambassador for his latest diet, giving Derek a false sense of support. Then, a few weeks in, when he was struggling or the weight was coming off, she would sabotage with his favourite meals. He would come home to creamy carbonara, cheesy fish pie, homemade minced beef pie smothered in gravy, or rich lasagne and garlic bread. Then, the diet would end, destroyed by a controlling Brenda, petrified he may gain a little more confidence as the pounds dissolved. The bottom line was Derek liked his meals, his treats and snacks. The pleasure of food was one of his life luxuries, and he didn’t feel the need to restrict that. He had enough misery dished up from Brenda most of the time.
Granted, he could eat one more potato than most pigs, but so be it. Life is short, and he’d had friends who had dropped dead a decade ago. Slim friends, at that.
Life was for living, so he embraced his love handles. Derek said no to any more conscious dieting the night he ditched his eleven-stone unloving handle, Brenda. Then, he calmly sat down and wrote his future goals.
Derek had five goals on his list, two of which were the most important to him:
1) Be true to himself.
2) Meet people who will accept him as he is.
Thirteen simple words, but they felt like a big challenge for this big man. He would break the goals into bite-sized pieces. He pondered over what he believed would make him feel genuine, authentic, truly himself. He knew his immediate thoughts on being true to himself, but would that cause turmoil for his second goal? There was a lot to contemplate. He looked over at Des, his ever-loyal Labrador, who returned the glance with everlasting love. At least Derek knew good old Des would always accept him.
Derek went to bed that night, his head full of questions, scenarios, solutions and actions. Brenda had left that evening for what he knew would be the final time, the explosive showdown leaving him with a mixture of emotions. It had been a long time coming, no doubt, but there was something bittersweet in this final argument and ultimate resigned acceptance between them that the marriage was over. He surprised himself, thoughts ruminating more about a future of feeling free to do what he wanted rather than grieving for the end of decades of marriage. In his exhaustion, he felt some positivity.
At work the next day, it wasn’t hard to see that Derek wasn’t being himself.
“What’s up, bud?” asked his closest colleague, Jeff.
“Ah, nothing really, just a bit tired,” he lied. His life had taken a significant direction change of late, his split from Brenda being something he had considered for years. Executing it was a very different thing.
Derek was still processing the situation from the night before—the erupting reaction of him expressing his needs more assertively over the last month or so. Their marriage hadn’t been working for a long time. Both of them knew that. Brenda had turned nasty and critical. Derek would refer to her secretly as “the witch” or “poisonous bitch” on occasions of intensified emotion. He could never do anything right, and affection was fleeting. Brenda was no longer his comfy pair of slippers. Prior to this, she’d never accepted him for who he was. Derek could never be his true self in front of Brenda. It felt suffocating and increasingly toxic over time. Enough was enough; Derek had muted himself for far too long.
“I won’t have people thinking I married a pervert, Derek.” “You can’t do this to me.” “Just be a man, for Christ’s sake.” She could be excruciatingly vile at times. But in the early days, Derek had been reluctant, even a little frightened, and there had still been some love for Brenda.
They were childhood sweethearts. Derek had been in the same year at school as her big brother, Clarence, and they’d lived a few streets apart. Brenda was beautiful, with her long, silky blonde hair and blue eyes that sparkled like diamonds. He was tall and plump but “with a warm face”, as his mother always said. Derek’s mother was his world, and he thanked her for his respect of women, even Brenda.
He had tried. God, had he tried. All his married life, until the last six months of it, Brenda had come first. Holidays, cars, furniture, everything. She’d always get her own way. The décor in their house, the food each day, when and where they would go out. Was he a doormat? Bri, his closest childhood friend, and Jeff had made the odd comment. His late friend Arthur, on the other hand, used to just speak his mind directly. Derek chuckled, recalling some of the comments Arthur had made.
“She’s a mad cow, Derek, get her culled.” “Stop letting the old hag dictate who you are.” “To me, you are a perfect character.” What he would give to see Arthur now.
Derek saw himself as being passive; anything for an easy life. But he definitely had a backbone. Hadn’t the break-up proven that? Twenty-seven years of marriage. It was all he knew, and it hadn’t all been bad. But resentment had crept in. It’s a funny thing, resentment. An insidious poison going through the cells of the body, building, gaining strength, bubbling away. It would never have been Derek wanting to be himself that broke the marriage. No, it was always going to be resentment, harboured from Brenda’s vicious ways, her control, the need to present a perfect marriage to the world. For God’s sake, no one was even interested in their lives. That summed Brenda up—the bloody front and keeping up with the Joneses. But no one gave a hoot. They were too bloody interested in what they were having for tea. It was only Brenda who cared, and possibly some of her cronies, who had nothing better to moan about.
The relentless lines and sneers that poured from her had intensified over that last month. The name-calling and put-downs. At first, Derek had tried to resist, but he’d become increasingly depressed and suppressed. Suffocated by pretence and false smiles. Enough was enough, and it really was enough. Then, last night happened.
Today was the start of his new life. He would tell people in time. Tell them the whole story. He wasn’t ashamed. It just needed to be a reality in his head before others knew. It had been such a secret for so long. They would struggle to understand—folk are judgemental parasites at times. He had to get it right; digest it in his own mind before he explained to others. Did he owe people explanations? No, quite frankly. But he did want people to understand, and that took planning and patience. In the meantime, what went on behind closed doors was his business. He rubbed his hands together and smiled. There was relief, delight and, dare he say, happiness running through his veins where resentment had so recently flowed.
Derek spent his week at work like he usually did, with no great deviation to his routine. He did, however, have time for a lot of thinking and reflection. After years of ranting and moaning from Brenda, he truly relished that time. Cartington’s had been Derek’s place of work for over fifteen years. Laid-back, easy, and the team were a nice bunch. Cartington’s was a transport and trip firm, providing minibuses, limos, coaches and organised trips for the public of Newcastle upon Tyne, North East England, to enjoy. Derek was a good all-rounder and had taken on extra responsibilities over the years. It suited Derek to do his job around nice folk and then leave it at work. No stress, no worries and always plenty of cakes and homemade pies going around the office.
Each evening that week, Derek arrived home, popped his wellies on and took Des for a walk. Des would come bounding towards him, tongue hanging out, almost grinning, delighted to see his dad. Des knew the walking route well after eight years and led the way as Derek trundled along, deep in thought. Much of his previous dog walking mindfulness had been dreaming of a future where he didn’t feel constrained. Or he had used the time as an opportunity to cool down from another verbal attack or incessant lecture from Brenda. Thinking about it, he loathed her. But now she was gone. The walks would become symbolic of Derek’s future; the “new me”. An opportunity to breathe in the fresh—well, slightly polluted—air and dream about what could actually become a reality.
Derek didn’t aim big: health, happiness and comfort in his own skin were his M.O. Acceptance, of course, was important, but that came after his own agenda: to be his true self. With Des by his side, who loved him unconditionally, and fire in his belly, he knew he could do it. So, where to start?
