Short story

Terry has lost weight, but he still yearns for pizzas and a Chinese take-away

As Terry stepped off the scales to a round of polite applause, Suzy Wenlock, leader of the slimming club, said: “You’ve lost one point five kilos. That’s three pounds four ounces in old money. Well done!” “It’s not fair – I’ve put a pound on this week,” grumbled Terry’s nextdoor neighbour, Pat, as they walked home (cars being strictly off-limits for journeys under half a mile). “Must be those fish and chips I had last Saturday. I was seduced by the smell of salt and vinegar when I walked past The Golden Fry! Gloria said I’d regret it.” Terry laughed. “Karen wouldn’t let me anywhere near a chippy. Or the Chinese. I’d kill for a number 19, sweetand-sour king prawns.” “Ever eaten a meat-free sausage, Tel?” Terry shook his head. “Can’t say I have.” “I’d keep it that way if I were you,” said Pat with a shudder. The two men stopped at Terry’s front gate. “Textured vegetable protein! Not for the fainthearted.” “Yoo hoo!” They turned to see Karen standing on the front doorstep. “Joining us for lunch, Pat? Chicken with veggie bake!” “Love to, but I’ve got a salad waiting,” called Pat, adding under his breath: “We can always close our eyes and imagine we’re tucking into a steak-and-kidney pud.” Terry chuckled. “Followed by treacle sponge and custard.” “Real men need real food,” muttered Pat. “Not celery sticks. I’ve got a plan. My shed in an hour?” Half an hour later, Karen asked: “How was lunch?” “Lovely,” Terry said, handing her a cup of coffee. In fact, he really had enjoyed it. He’d never even heard of butternut squash twelve months ago, but now it was one of his favourites. Indigestion was a thing of the past and their food bill was going down, too. He had even mastered a bit of low-fat cooking himself. “You’re doing brilliantly, Tel,” Karen said. “Less than a stone to go to your goal weight. I’m so glad you took the doctor’s advice to slim down. You’re so much healthier now.” She put her hand over his. “And I’ve got myself a brandnew man into the bargain. Eat your heart out, George Clooney!” Taking the empty cups into the kitchen, she asked: “Anything planned for this afternoon?” Terry shifted uneasily in his chair. “Pat’s throwing out some old tools. I said I’d go and take a look, see if I want anything.” “Well, don’t let him lead you astray. Gloria thinks he’s falling off the wagon – she found a stash of chocolate wrappers stuffed in the back of his sock drawer yesterday.” Aware that his wife was watching him from the kitchen window, Terry made his way across the lawn and stepped over the low wall that that divided the two gardens. Pat was already in his shed, clutching a sheaf of take-away menus. “The window of opportunity has opened, my friend,” he intoned solemnly. “Gloria is taking your good lady to aqua aerobics next Wednesday evening. All that remains for us to do is to choose our poison.” He waved the menus at Terry. “I was thinking about a kebab, but I must say a curry wouldn’t go amiss. Creamy korma with garlic naan.” “I don’t know, Pat…” Terry frowned. “Or perhaps Papa Romano’s hot meat feast with extra pepperoni?” Terry’s resistance crumbled. “Now

He could smell pepperoni before he even reached the shed

you’re talking my language! Dough balls or garlic bread?” “Both – with wedges thrown in!” cackled Pat. “I’ll phone in the order once the coast is clear.” He took a box of candles from the shelf and blew the dust off. “We can have a candle-lit feast here in the shed. Will you bring the drinks?” “You’re on!” “And remember – cover your tracks!” Pat drew a finger across his throat. “If Gloria and Karen get wind of this we’re in big trouble.” On Wednesday evening, their wives departed for the aqua aerobics class and shortly afterwards Terry heard Pat’s car starting up. He opened the fridge to take out the two cans of lager he’d concealed behind a large Iceberg lettuce. As he did so, something flapping on the fridge door caught his attention. It was an envelope with his name written on it. Terry tore it open to find a photo taken two years ago in Torremolinos. It was of him and Karen standing by the hotel pool. Terry blinked. Was it really him? The man in the picture had a stomach that hung unflatteringly over the top of his shorts, flabby arms and tiny eyes that peered uncertainly from a puffed-up face. He looked shockingly unfit. Terry examined his reflection in the kitchen window. The man who gazed back at him looked much younger than the one in the photo. His face was lean and alert, his stomach trim and his biceps impressively taut, thanks to hours spent at the gym. He put the cans in a plastic bag and set off. He could smell pepperoni before he even reached the shed. Pat was sitting on a camping chair contemplating a pile of food boxes. “Dough balls to start?” he asked. Terry said: “I’ve just seen a photo of myself before I lost weight. It wasn’t a pretty sight.” Pat nodded glumly. “Funny you should say that. When Gloria went out she left me a present on the kitchen worktop. A new pair of jeans. I last wore jeans over twenty years ago, Tel. I haven’t been able to squeeze into a pair since then, but these just slid on. Look great, don’t they?” He stood up so that Terry could see. “They do,” Terry agreed. The two men looked at each other. “My cholesterol is down,” Terry said. “So’s my blood pressure,” Pat replied. “A minute on the lips…” Terry began. “A lifetime on the hips!” finished Pat. “I’ve changed my mind, Tel. I can’t go through with it.” He looked hopelessly at the spread of food on the workbench. “What a criminal waste, though. Maybe just one slice of pizza?” Terry shook his head firmly. “No, let’s get rid of this lot while we’re thinking clearly. If we give in now, who knows where we’ll end up?” When Karen came home, Terry was watching the ten o’clock news. “Good class?” he asked. “Great. Nice evening?” “So-so,” Terry said, giving her a sidelong glance. “I found the photo, by the way.” “What photo?” Karen asked in her sweetest butter-wouldn’t-melt voice. “Oh, that old pic! I thought it might help you to remember how big you were then. And what the consequences might be if you slipped back into your old eating habits – not that I think you ever would, of course.” Terry kept a straight face. “I guarantee that you could put a hot meat feast pizza or a plate of sweet-and-sour king prawns right under my nose and I wouldn’t be tempted. I’m a brand-new man, remember?” “Only on the outside, thank goodness,” his wife replied loyally, her blue eyes twinkling. “Chunky or slim, you’re still the Tel that I married. And I wouldn’t change that for anything.”