A Piece Of Cake

Coffee Break Tale

Cake?” the café assistant enquired, pointing to the tantalising display under the glass as I reached for my coffee. I pulled in my tum. Did I look like the kind of person who couldn’t resist temptation?

I must have said “Yes”, though, because there, taunting me on the tray as I sat down, was a treat I wanted to deny.

But I’d promised myself no more cakes. Ever since I’d overheard Simon from accounts saying how he liked skinny women.

Simon. We’d been getting on so well. I’d thought maybe…

I ignored the tormenting tasty and took a deep breath. I didn’t have to eat it. Simon had reminded me of how much carrying a little extra weight could cost.

I’d been so foolish. Making it my business to nip across to his section when anybody asked a question relating to office finances, just to see the way his eyes lit up when he saw me.

But I’d received several funny stares when someone absent-mindedly queried how many pounds there were in a stone and I was up and off across the office saying, “I’ll check with Simon.”

Realising how obvious I was being, I’d stopped feet away from his desk.

“She’s got to be built for speed for me,” he was saying down the phone, “sleek and toned to catch my eye. It’s no use if she’s carrying unnecessary weight.”

I did a funny backwards shuffle all the way back to my desk. Suddenly aware of how much wobble there was in my walk.

I’d never been slim. Mum was always pointing out to me, as I struggled with diets during my growing-up years, that we weren’t a family of skinnies.

But the way Simon had talked about women on the phone not only hurt – dashing my silly romantic ideas – but made my old self-doubts surface again. I wasn’t just “a bit cuddly” as Mum tried to make me believe. I was fat. I had to change.

So I’d been taking a hike every lunchtime. Sitting on a park bench for the few minutes it took me to eat a plastic container of salad before washing it down with a bottle of water, promising I’d stay away from cafés with all their temptations. But today the heavens had opened, driving me inside for comfort and shelter.

My eyes fixed on the perfect pastry in front of me. Comfort, I thought. That’sallitis.Surelyitcouldn’thurt. Or maybe it could? Maybe what I thought of as an occasional treat could mean no one would ever love me.

I could almost taste the creamy custard, the indecent icing; crumbly mouth-watering layers in front of me. But I stilled my hand; turned away. “Janice.” I looked up. “Simon,” I said. “Mind if I join you?” He placed his coffee on the table, followed by a plate containing not one, but three portions of chocolate gateau. He saw my gaze.

“I bought one extra when I saw you sitting here,” he said. “Hope that wasn’t presumptuous of me, I…” “Presumptuous?” I said. “It’s just we’ve hardly spoken for ages. Since you started, well… blanking me, I suppose, then vanishing every day at lunchtime. Thought maybe I’d got the wrong idea, thinking we liked each other. Maybe said or done something wrong… But when I saw you coming in here when I was over in the bike shop, I…”

“Bike shop?” I queried.

“Cycling’s my hobby. I’ve just bought a new set of wheels. Sleek and lightweight – built for speed. I do racing for charity. Maybe you’d like to cheer me on one weekend?”

He smiled the lopsided smile I’d become so fond of.

“Racing?” I echoed, while my heart did the same.

“Or maybe we could go for a drink together, see a band, have a meal, whatever you’d like to do,” he said with a flash of his lovely eyes, as he shifted a piece of chocolate gateau from his plate to join the custard slice on mine.

“I’d like that,” I said. Delightedly I reached for my fork, realising that maybe I was just a bit cuddly, and could have my cake and eat it, after all!