The Desperate Bride’s Diet Club (7 page)

The television blared out from the corner of the lounge. There was nothing else for her to do. The house was immaculate and it was too early to attack the garden. Not that there was much weeding to be done there either. She had hoovered every room the previous day. There wasn’t an inch of dust anywhere in the house. Except in her brain.

Maggie felt like a prisoner in her own home.
Gordon had never wanted her to go back to work when Lucy was growing up and Maggie had enjoyed spending
the
time with her daughter. But long gone were the days of gossiping with other mums outside the school gates. Lucy was all grown up and had left school two years ago. Whilst she was moving on with her life, Maggie’s had ground to a halt. She didn’t know what she wanted to do and so did nothing,
day after day.

Not that Gordon had complained at all. As long as his dinner was on the table every night, he didn’t care. It wasn’t as if Maggie could even talk to him about it. They barely spoke at all about themselves these days. The topics of conversation rarely ventured beyond Gordon’s business and Lucy. Then, as soon as dinner was over, the television was switched back on and they settled
down in front of the soaps with the biscuit tin.

Maggie crumpled up the cake packet and flicked channels. At least the
Jeremy Kyle Show
made her feel better. The day’s topic was, ‘He slept with my mother and now she’s pregnant!’

Those people had real problems, Maggie told herself as she reached for another packet of biscuits.

The classroom was quiet. Everyone was concentrating on their fashion
designs.

The lecturer bent down to talk to Lucy. ‘Hi,’ she said in a low voice. ‘How’s it going?’

Lucy crumpled up her piece of paper. ‘Crap. I can’t get the sleeves right.’

She had been starving hungry after that ridiculous shake for breakfast and consequently pigged out on burger and chips at lunchtime in the college canteen. Now riddled with guilt, she couldn’t concentrate at all.

The lecturer
smoothed out the paper. ‘Let’s have a look.’

Lucy shrugged her shoulders. The military jacket she had drawn was different but wearable. The design could grace any number of Top Shop stores.

‘It’s great,’ the lecturer told Lucy.

‘It’s not good enough,’ snapped Lucy, angry with herself.

‘For who?’

‘For me.’

The lecturer smiled. ‘You’re a perfectionist, Lucy. And that’s good. But you’ve also
got to start believing in your work.’

Lucy shrugged her shoulders. What was the point?

‘Why else would I suggest you apply for Central Saint Martins?’

Lucy stared up at her, her blue eyes wide with shock. ‘You’re kidding, right?’

The lecturer shook her head. ‘You’re gonna walk your A levels in a month’s time. You’ll get top grades. Listen to me, you’ve got real potential. And I’m telling you
to go for it.’

Lucy sat back in her chair. She couldn’t imagine it. Her at Central Saint Martins College of Art and Design? The same London design college where Stella McCartney went. And Matthew Williamson.

But she’d be like a baby elephant crashing around in such a trendy college where everyone was going to be thin and gorgeous.

‘It’s time to start believing in yourself,’ the lecturer told
her.

Lucy sighed. If only it were that easy.

Wednesday night was practice night in the cricket nets. A two-hour session to get ready for the season ahead. Truth be told, practice night consisted of half an hour
of
bowling practice and two hours getting drunk in the clubhouse afterwards.

Edward was trying to nurse his pint through the evening to stop himself having more than one but the lads
kept buying him one round after another.

There hadn’t been time to cook dinner between leaving work and heading out, so he had grabbed a cheeseburger, fries and onion rings on the way. But now that the baskets of chicken and chips had arrived at the table, he still couldn’t stop himself tucking into the food.

The practice session hadn’t been great. His energy levels had slumped and he had been
barely able to make the run-up when bowling. Which was hardly surprising when he was so tired these days he drove everywhere, unable to walk any distance at all.

‘Come on, big guy,’ said Mike. ‘What’s wrong with you?’

‘Yeah, you big miserable bastard,’ said Pete, replacing the empty glass with a full one. ‘You been given six months to live?’

Edward rubbed his chest but smiled back at his friends.
If only they knew.

VIOLET WAS QUAKING
as she got dressed into the same black trouser suit as the previous day. She hadn’t worn a skirt since school. And there were no high heels in her closet. No skinny stiletto was going to support her tree-trunk legs. Just sensible black shoes.

She paired her suit with yet another black top. All her tops were black. Apparently, black was slimming. But nothing hid
her double chin. Or her nerves.

She’d scoffed half a loaf of bread that morning, just to steady herself. The diet would have to wait for another day. Friday would be diet day. Thursday was going to be stressful enough without having to worry about food.

Sebastian had stayed over the previous night but had left before seven o’clock. He liked to hit the gym before starting work at some investment
bank in the town. She’d never quite understood what his job entailed. His work parties were a complete nightmare, full of braying men and skinny women all talking about their iPads and flash cars.

Violet lived only a couple of miles from the office but hadn’t contemplated walking. She never walked anywhere. It was far too exhausting. So she inched her way into town in the rush-hour traffic. Car-parking
spaces were a duel to the death at ten to nine in the morning but she finally found one and headed towards Mason & Mason.

She was quaking at the thought of the new job. New people to talk to. New people to stare at her and think she was some kind of fat freak. And as for Mark Harris … her stomach churned just thinking about seeing him every day.

She took a deep breath and went in. She was just
about to step up to the receptionist when a familiar voice spoke behind her.

‘So you decided to come back, I see.’

She turned round to face her new manager. He was grinning at her. Violet felt her cheeks grow warm as she flushed pink.

‘Come on then,’ he said.

She followed him as he walked towards the lift with a swagger in his step. She stayed silent in the lift, not wanting to say anything
wrong.

Once on the third floor, she followed Mark to the department. This was her new workplace. There was a group of four desks, one of which was empty. The desks were divided with a low partition.

Mark gestured at the only empty desk. ‘This is you. Feel welcome to get rid of anything personal that Felicity left behind. Rest assured, she took all her Peter Andre photos with her.’

Violet looked
down at the desk. There was a huge sheaf of papers pinned to the two walls of the partition. Most of them seemed to be photos of cute cats
wearing
bows. And naked firemen with strategically placed helmets.

‘Right,’ hollered Mark above the hubbub of conversation. ‘This is Violet. She’s taking over from Felicity. All right?’

A few nods in reply but everyone stayed silent.

Violet was embarrassed
at the attention. She glanced at the three people who were seated around her. One of them was the grumpy woman whom she had met the previous day.

‘This is Julie,’ said Mark. ‘She’s our database manager. Don’t ask her about her kids ’cos she’ll tell you. And don’t try to take any of her Maltesers if she’s having a bad morning. You two should get on famously.’

His eyes twinkled at her and Violet
found herself blushing even more at his hint of chocolate theft. She looked at Julie and tried to smile, but Julie didn’t smile back.

‘This is Wendy,’ Mark carried on, indicating the dark-haired girl sitting next to her. ‘She’s good at emails and all things to do with the internet. Just back after giving birth to her very own Messiah six months ago.’

Wendy gave them a weary smile. ‘I’ve also
got a toddler. I haven’t had a full night’s sleep for two years.’

‘And this is Anthony,’ Mark said, pointing at the young guy who had been playing on his BlackBerry until that point. ‘Fresh out of university, thought he’d gain valuable experience in IT before hitting the big time in the City of London. Poor sod is only now finding out what he’s let himself in for. He covers all the hardware stuff.’

Anthony nodded in greeting before hiding back behind his screen.

‘So?’ carried on Mark. ‘Everything OK this morning?’

‘Corum is up and running again,’ said Julie.

‘Corum is the sales reps’ database,’ Mark told Violet. ‘So no more problems?’

Julie shrugged her shoulders. ‘Probably but that’s what you get for buying a piece of shit software.’

Mark seemed to shrug off her rudeness. Perhaps she
was always bolshy.

‘Much as I’d love to take full credit for Corum, it wasn’t my decision to buy it. Because I’m not that stupid, contrary to what you’re all thinking. Wendy?’

‘Email crashed again overnight but it seems to be OK. The server went down but hopefully we’re all OK now.’

Mark nodded and looked at Anthony. ‘What about you?’

Anthony gave a dramatic sigh. ‘Six laptops to fix. Two
have broken screens, one had Cherry Coke poured on to the keyboard, two have broken power sockets and one was dropped down the stairs.’

‘Accidentally, we presume?’ said Mark, turning to look at Violet. ‘So, that’s it. Any questions?’

She tried to figure it all out. ‘How many sales reps are there?’

His eyebrows shot up. ‘Good question. About five hundred in total. They’re all field-based around
the country so you never get to meet them. Some will ring twenty times a day. Some you’ll never hear from. Most of the younger reps seem pretty clued up about computers but the older reps resent having to use anything modern.’

‘So everyone’s got a laptop?’

‘And a printer.’

Violet thought hard once more. ‘And we answer questions on everything?’

Mark nodded. ‘Absolutely. They’ll call if something’s
not working or they don’t know how to use or find a certain function on the laptop. But don’t worry. Just pick up the phone and then pass it on to one of the other guys. If they’re busy, take a message and tell them we’ll get back to them. OK?’

She nodded.

He pointed at the black telephone on her desk. ‘That’s the hotline. It’ll always ring at your desk first, although anyone can pick it up.’

Violet jumped as the phone suddenly rang and looked up at Mark. ‘What do I say?’ she asked, feeling panic stricken.

‘“Good morning, Hotline” is normally a good start,’ he said, grinning at her. ‘Go on. Off you go.’

Oh God. She wasn’t ready for this. But he was watching so she picked up the ringing telephone and spoke into the handset.

‘Good morning, Hotline,’ stuttered Violet.

‘Thank God!
You’ve got to help me!’ screamed a woman down the line. ‘I can’t believe what’s happening! My screen has gone mad! It’s swirling around and around. I think it’s going to explode! There’s something wrong with it. It’s a brand-new laptop – it shouldn’t be doing this. You’ve got to sort it out!’

How was she supposed to handle this? Thankfully, the woman took a breath in which Violet managed to interrupt
with, ‘Could you hold for one moment, please?’

She covered the mouthpiece with her hand and looked up at Mark. ‘She says her screen has gone mad. It’s swirling around and it’s brand new.’

He took the phone from her and spoke.

‘Hello? Who’s this? Hi, Mary. OK, what happened?’ Mark suddenly broke into a smile. ‘That’s your screen-saver. If you nudge the mouse slightly it will disappear. You see?
Well, it’s for security so nobody can see what’s on your screen. It’ll appear when you leave the computer for a long time. That’s OK. You’re welcome.’

He put the phone down and shook his head. ‘Welcome to the department. You’ve just had your first hopeless case. If you need confirmation, look at Anthony’s mouse mat.’

He gave her a quick smile that lit up his face before going into his office
and closing the door.

This left Violet alone with the other three members of the department. Her desk was opposite Anthony’s. She could just see his eyes above the low partition between them.

‘You wanna see?’ he said, holding up his mouse mat high above the partition.

It read, ‘BANG HEAD HERE’.

She smiled at the joke.

‘You wait,’ said Wendy, from the desk next to Anthony’s. ‘I had someone
ask me how to play the other side of a CD yesterday.’

‘Do you know anything about computers?’ barked Julie.

‘I’ve used Windows and Microsoft Office,’ Violet told her.

She sniffed. ‘That won’t get us far.’

‘That’s a wealth of knowledge compared to Felicity,’ said Wendy. ‘She couldn’t even switch her own computer on, let alone help anyone else with theirs.’

‘We’ll see,’ sniffed Julie.

Violet
shrank back in her chair and stared at the
phone
as it rang out once more. With a deep breath, she picked it up and said, ‘Good morning, Hotline.’

‘Hi,’ said the male voice at the other end of the line. ‘I’m trying to print but the computer says it can’t find the printer. I need someone to fix it now!’

‘Could you please hold,’ said Violet and covered the mouthpiece once more.

She thought back
to Mark’s descriptions and guessed that Anthony was probably the most likely recipient for the phone call.

Wendy leant across her desk. ‘Do you want me to show you how to transfer a call?’

Violet sighed with relief. ‘Yes, please.’

Wendy showed her how and Violet transferred the call to Anthony’s desk.

‘What?’ he said, looking at Violet as he picked up the phone.

‘This customer has a problem
with his printer,’ she told him.

He sighed and pressed a button on his handset.

‘Can I help you?’ he said, his tone no different to the snappy one he had used on Violet.