Fat Girl Slim, page 11
Job done, I clear the search history for today and log out and close the laptop down. I lean back in the chair and stretch my arms above my head and link my fingers together to pull the tension out of my shoulders. It took even less time than I planned and I sit for a moment and stare at the blank screen as I allow myself to imagine the events unfurling if everything goes according to plan.
Okay, enough daydreaming. Now for the next stage; I rummage in my tabard pocket and realise that I didn’t bring the screwdriver upstairs with me. I jump up from the chair and run down the stairs into the hallway. I quickly look out of the side window by the door to check that no one has come home while I’ve been upstairs; only my car sits on the drive. Good. I bend down and am opening my cleaning kit when a sudden burst of anxiety hits and my heart starts to hammer as I root around the bag. What if he comes back now and catches me? The clutter in my cleaning kit merges and black spots dance before my eyes. I feel light headed and for a horrible moment I think I’m going to faint. I slowly stand up and lean my head against the cold glass of the door and take a deep breath.
Why would Justin or Bella come home? And if they did what would they find? They’d find a cleaner, cleaning their house just like she always does. I’m being stupid, panicking for nothing. Don’t ruin it now when you’re so close, I tell myself, calm down and get a grip, you’re nearly there. I take a deep, calming breath.
After a few minutes my breathing is under control and I check the window again; all clear. I bend down to the cleaning kit and force myself to slowly look through the contents until I spot the screwdriver nestling underneath a pack of dusters. I pull it out and go back upstairs and into the study. I trace the charger from the side of the laptop down to the electric socket underneath the desk. I unplug the charger from the socket and pull it out and crawl backwards from underneath the desk being careful not to bang my head. I get up from the floor and sit down in the chair and place the plug on the desk. I turn it over in my hand and study it for a moment and then push the end of the screwdriver into the back of the plug and flick the fuse out of it. I place the fuse on the desk; I need to stop it from working but I don’t want it to be too obvious. I pull a duster out of my pocket, place it on the desk and put the fuse in the middle and then wrap the duster over it. Using the plastic handle of the screwdriver I gently bash the fuse through the duster. Even though I’m doing it gently the noise is horrifically loud so I pick it up and place it on the carpeted floor and bash it again.
Much better, no noise at all. I hit it a few more times and then take the fuse out of the duster and put it back in the plug. I scramble back under the desk and push the plug back into the wall socket and turn it on; the red light on the charger flickers red and then goes out. I turn it off and pull the plug out of the socket and then push it back in again and turn it on; nothing, the light doesn’t come on this time. Satisfied that it’s not working I push the flex back into the position it was, being careful not to leave it dangling, and then arrange everything back on the desk just as it was when I arrived.
Once the laptop has run out of charge it won’t charge up again and I’m taking an educated guess that Justin isn’t the sort to dismantle a plug to see what’s gone wrong. For my plan to work he needs to take his laptop into work and get IT to fix it. I’ve made it pretty easy for them to find out why it’s not working and any self-respecting IT geek will be onto Justin in no time at all. I smile to myself as I think of the password to the account I’ve created for him: strangefruit.
That’ll learn him, as Doris would say .
I get up and push the chair back under the desk and have a last look around the room to make sure I haven’t left anything behind. I go back downstairs and pull the cotton gloves off and bury them and the screwdriver at the bottom of my cleaning kit, no tempting fate by meaning to do it later and then forgetting and leaving them here. I look at my watch; it’s taken me just over an hour, pretty good going.
I go into the kitchen and begin unloading the dishwasher and putting away the cutlery and dishes. The kitchen is the usual bombsite of dirty dishes piled haphazardly around the room; for well off people they live like pigs.
For someone who has everything that a girl could possibly want – good looks, a career, a lovely home and a catch of a boyfriend (well, for now, anyway), I can’t help thinking that Bella doesn’t seem to appreciate it. She has wardrobes full of beautiful clothes, clothes that cost a fortune, and she just drops them on the floor or scuffs them into a corner as if they’re nothing. If they were mine I’d look after them, take care of them.
Bella doesn’t deserve everything she’s got.
I stop, mid scrape, plate and knife hovering over the bin and realise that I’ve criticised Bella; that I’m feeling disappointed in her.
I put the plate and knife down on the worktop with a sorry feeling that Bella’s let me down. Everything I’ve done, I’ve done for her. The weight loss, the running, the job, the hair and clothes. I’ve done it all for her. If it wasn’t for Bella I’d still be a big fat Nelly whose daily highlight is binge eating in front of the television. I’ve put Bella on a pedestal but she’s falling off it. Or teetering a bit.
But I haven’t done it for her, have I? I’ve done it because of her and there’s a difference. I put her on a pedestal, no one else, and I know she’s not perfect because I’ve seen her emails, her chaotic finances and the way she’s got promotion.
And no one’s perfect, are they? I’m certainly not, a little voice pipes up, because what about what you’re doing to Justin? I’m not doing that for Bella, I’m doing that for me and no one else. Revenge, pure and simple that’s what that is, revenge for insulting me, for laughing at me. But everything else was because of Bella not for her, my whole focus has been on being like her and now I’m starting to realise that she’s not perfect, because nobody’s perfect. If I really thought Bella was perfect and I wanted to be like her I wouldn’t have done what I’ve done, would I?
While I clean the kitchen, I reflect on the changes since I first saw Bella; she’s helped me, there’s no doubt about that, but maybe I could take her off the pedestal and bring her down to my level, make us more equal.
But I still feel a bit adrift; what do I want? I wanted to be just like Bella, be Bella. I look much better than I used to; I’m slim and pretty in my own way, although not in Bella’s league. But I don’t have her life, her house, her job, her boyfriend.
I sigh, what do I want?
I’ve cleaned the whole kitchen without being aware of what I’m doing so I stomp upstairs and go into their bedroom; bed unmade, clothes on the floor, the usual squalor. I walk through the bedroom to the dressing room and survey the mess in there; wardrobe doors open, clothes half hanging off the hangers, discarded clothes on the floor that were obviously dragged out to wear but weren’t quite right so were flung aside and are now crumpled and un-wearable.
I walk over to the wardrobe and pull a couple of dresses back onto the hangers and force them back in between all of the clothes packed tightly together.
Too many. Far, far too many clothes for one person.
The wardrobes run the length of the room and I walk to the far end and open the doors of the furthest wardrobe; this must be the wardrobe for the clothes that Bella seldom wears. Tightly packed hangers of dresses and jeans, blouses and jackets. I pull out a couple of dresses; one is knee length and made of green silky material, the other a light knitted dress in a mink colour.
I swing around to full length mirror behind me and hold the green dress up in front of me.
It’s gorgeous.
Absolutely gorgeous. Why would she not wear this? Because she has too many, that’s why. One person can’t possibly wear these many clothes, especially when they keep buying more.
I rip off my t-shirt and leggings. I step into the dress and pull it up and push my arms into the sleeves. I reach behind me and after several minutes of wriggling around I manage to zip it up.
It’s snug. But it’s a size ten.
I study my reflection in the mirror and I hardly recognise myself; the green dress clings to every inch of me, but in a good way. I marvel at the toned woman looking back at me; she is unrecognisable from the sad, fat creature of five months ago. I move closer to the mirror, admiring myself, turning this way and that.
It’s the colour; the green makes my eyes come alive and they seem huge and mesmerising. I can’t pull my gaze away from my reflection. I feel good in my new clothes from Next but this, this is a whole new level.
A feeling of hopelessness swamps me. You will never have this, that doubting voice pipes up, you’ll never be able to afford clothes like this or a life like this.
You’ll never really be like Bella.
I turn from the mirror and reach behind me and pull down the zip and step out of the dress. I put my leggings on and pull my t-shirt over my head.
Know your place , that nasty little voice pipes up again. Don’t fool yourself.
I zip the dress up and hang it carefully back on the hanger and attempt to push it back into the wardrobe. I get it in but it crumples and catches on the dress next to it. It deserves more than this, it deserves space to hang.
Would Bella even notice if it wasn’t here?
Of course she wouldn’t. She has so much she won’t remember one dress. Besides, we could almost be sisters and one day we’ll be friends, won’t we? Decision made, I pull the hanger back out and slip the dress off it and carefully roll it up into a neat, silky package. I run down the stairs and open my cleaning kit and carefully wrap it in a bin bag and then nestle it on top of the dusters.
I am a thief .
Yes, I know I use Mother’s bank card but that hardly counts; that’s not theft it’s compensation for the years of unpaid drudgery.
I should feel bad, I know; for what I did on Justin’s laptop and for stealing from Bella.
But I don’t.
I feel great.
Chapter 13
I knew everything was going too well. I also knew that when one thing went wrong that wouldn’t be the end of it; bad things always come in threes.
The day started well enough, Friday is a good day, normally. Into the office to hand in my timesheet and then to the café with Doris. I’d made sandwiches for Mother’s lunch so I didn’t have to hurry back. I told her I’d be back in time to make dinner. Probably. It’s not like she’s going to starve is it?
As I came out of the house and unlocked my car a movement caught my eye and I turned to the side and sitting on the brick wall running around our garden was a magpie; calm as anything. It didn’t even move when it saw me, just stared back at me with those malevolent eyes. A little part of me knew then; call it an old wives’ tale if you like but there must be something in it or how do these sayings start? One for sorrow.
I shook it off and told myself to stop being so stupid but it did put a dampener on the day for me, it was there at the back of my mind. Fridays are my favourite day of the week and I cursed myself for turning around and seeing it; maybe everything would have been alright if I hadn’t seen it. I prayed for a black cat to cross my path on the way to Moppers to counteract it, but of course it didn’t .
The usual crowd are squeezed into Moppers when I arrive and I have a job to get through the door; most people drop their timesheets and run so I wonder why everyone is hanging around. I’d just handed over my timesheet to a miserable Moira when Doris pushed her way through the throng.
‘Fuck me, what’s everyone doing here?’ Doris thrust her timesheet in front of Moira’s nose.
Moira sniffed disapprovingly and took the paper from her.
‘I don’t know.’ I looked down at Moira. ‘Do you?’
Moira doesn’t answer immediately, just to make sure we know she’s superior, then says, ‘Veronica wants to talk to you all.’
The malevolent magpie pops straight into my head and I know bad news is coming; Are we all getting the sack? Is Moppers closing down?
The manager’s office door opens and Veronica stands silently like a Roman emperor in the doorway while she waits for the babble of chatter to stop.
‘Ladies,’ she announces when everyone’s quiet, ‘a quick announcement, if you please.’
‘Get on wiv it for fucks sake.’ Doris hisses under her breath.
Veronica glares in our direction; ears like a bat.
‘I’m pleased to tell you that Rita, one of our longest serving employees, is coming back next week.’
My heart plummets; much worse than I feared, I hadn’t even thought about Rita coming back. A few people murmur good and nice to hear but not, I notice, the cleaners who have taken over her shifts.
‘Now I know that some of you have been doing Rita’s shifts in her absence but I don’t want you to worry, I have several new clients to replace those shifts if you want the hours.’
A few worried faces look happier at this news, even the pearl and twinset twosome who had to be persuaded to take Rita’s shifts in the first place but wouldn’t let Doris have any.
‘Would those involved stay behind and everyone else can go.’
Doris taps my arm. ‘I’ll wait outside.’
‘Why don’t you stay? You could get one of the new clients.’
‘Can’t be arsed, Charlie’s got another job now anyway.’
She joins the bottleneck of people and pushes her way out of the office.
‘Ladies,’ Veronica is speaking again. ‘Rita will be taking all of her shifts back straight away so if you want hours to replace them please let me know now.’
She looks at us expectantly.
‘Can’t Rita have the new clients and we keep the old ones,’ I say as I mentally cross my fingers.
Veronica looks shocked.
‘I’m afraid not, they’re Rita’s clients.’
Yeah, and she’s been off for two months, I want to say, but don’t.
‘So.’ Veronica poises her pen over her clipboard. ‘As from next week you’re no longer cleaning at the Willoughbys’ but I can offer you another shift at the same time on the other side of town. Is that okay?’
‘No,’ I say ungratefully. ‘Leave it for now, I’ll have a think about it.’
‘Oh.’ Veronica makes a show of crossing my name out on her clipboard. ‘I can’t promise you another shift if you don’t take it now.’
I pick my bag up from Moira’s desk and shrug.
‘Whatever.’
✽✽✽
I pull up in front of our house, kill the engine and sit for a moment. I met Doris for our usual catch up at Joey’s Café but my heart wasn’t in it. All I could think about was not going back to Bella’s again. Was it my own fault? The last time I cleaned there had been strange; apart from the laptop shenanigans and stealing the dress. I’d started to feel a bit disgruntled with Bella, I was in a bad mood with her, thinking that she didn’t deserve all that she had because she didn’t take care of the house or her lovely possessions. Had those negative thoughts somehow whirled around and made Rita come back to work?
Ridiculous! Screams the rational part of me, complete nonsense! But I can’t shift the feeling that somehow I made it happen. Yes, I do feel differently about Bella but that’s only to be expected because I’ve changed; our relationship has moved on from hero worship to a more equal footing.
I still have online access to Bella’s emails and accounts but I can no longer get into her house; not legally, anyway.
Although I do have a key. I had one cut, just in case.
It won’t be the same, though, I won’t be able to go there legitimately. I won’t have a reason to be there and there’ll always be the fear of getting caught.
Doris kept asking me if I was alright when we were at the café, that’s when she wasn’t prattling on about Charlie. Talk about a loser; what does she see in him? I try to make hints that he’s a waste of time and she should get rid but she’s so loyal it’s unbelievable. Love is blind in her case, that’s for sure.
I obviously couldn’t tell Doris what was really bothering me so I made up a story about Mother, about how she’s got a lot worse and I might have to think about putting her in a home as she’s acting strangely and keeps forgetting who I am. I got a bit carried away and Doris was so sympathetic; I even squeezed a few tears out.
I should be on the stage, really.
It was only a temporary diversion though; I feel deflated and adrift, and also annoyed with myself for making it happen by thinking bad thoughts about Bella.
I get out of the car and walk despondently up the path to the front door. I notice Dolph out of the corner of my eye but deliberately don’t turn my head so I can pretend I haven’t seen him. I hope he hasn’t seen me, I don’t want to talk to anyone else today. I’m just about to put my key in the lock when I hear him call out.
‘Alison!’
I turn my head to see Dolph striding up the path towards me, all long rangy steps and flamboyant arms flying everywhere. He has a new hairstyle; the sides shaved close to his scalp with the top sculpted into perfect curls.
‘Alison, darling, how are you?’ he catches hold of my hand and spins me around so he can look at me. ‘You look fabulous, darling! Fab-u-lous!’
I smile half-heartedly. ‘Thank you.’
‘You’re positively tiny! You must tell me your secret so I can get rid of all this blubber.’ He pats his non-existent stomach and I consider telling him the truth – near starvation and running around Frogham for hours and hours until I’m fit to drop.
‘But sweetheart,’ he steps closer and peers into my face. ‘What’s the matter? Have you been crying?’
