for me, it’s also a necessary one. I’ve lost three stone in a year and, even though I still have a long way to go before I’m at my ideal size, it’s helped me achieve things I couldn’t have done on my own. I started coming to meetings about a year ago, after finally deciding to get fit and healthy instead of just talking about it. Joining and losing weight is what prompted me to start applying for trainee dance teacher positions too, although that hasn’t exactly turned out as planned.
I get to the community centre with just moments to spare before the group starts. The centre is just down the street from the bakery, and is also right next to a café that does the best red velvet cake in the world. The temptation to sneak in for a pre- or post-slimming-group treat is very hard to resist.
The first person I see is Marjorie’s assistant, Linda. She’s more of a minion and general dogsbody than an assistant, carrying out whatever orders Marjorie barks at her. Currently, she’s sitting at a foldout table, surrounded by boxes of overpriced snack bars, and waiting to take any remaining membership fees.
‘Hiya, Cleo love,’ she says, throwing a quick, warm smile my way as she finishes counting some money. It shrinks a little when she takes a proper look at me. ‘Oh dear, you look like you’ve been in the wars today! Everything all right?’
‘Oh this?’ I feel a blush creep onto my cheeks as I tug at my frizzy dark curls. ‘Ended up having a fight with a rowing machine!’ I watch her brow furrow in confusion. ‘Long story… Hang on, I’ll get my card out.’
I delve into my purse and slide out a little pink card with CARB COUNTERS emblazoned on the front. Linda scans it and takes the crumpled tenner I offer her.
‘Better watch out,’ she says in a low voice, ‘Her Ladyship’s on the prowl.’
Before I can answer, I hear some very distinctive footsteps approaching me. High heels clicking on wood – it can only be Marjorie.
‘Well, hello there, Cleopatra!’ Her voice is dripping with sugar and her mouth is stretched into a bright pink smile. ‘Cutting it a bit fine today, aren’t you?’
I grit my teeth at hearing my full name; she’s the only one who uses it. Everyone else, including my own mum, calls me Cleo. I plaster a bright grin of my own on my face and meet the group leader’s gaze.
‘How are you, Marjorie?’ I ask, injecting as much enthusiasm into my voice as possible. ‘Sorry I’m late; I was at the gym and lost track of time.’
She puts a bony hand on my shoulder, which slightly unsettles me. I try to back away, but her grip is pretty firm for someone so skinny. Instead, I decide to show as little fear as possible and widen my smile even further. People like Marjorie can smell fear, I’m sure of it.
‘No, no, how are you?’ She sounds like a cross between Barbie and Regina George from Mean Girls: syrupy sweet with a slightly menacing edge. ‘I remember how devastated you were after that little gain last week. I hope you remembered the Carb Counters motto: eat right and the jeans won’t be tight!’
‘I’ve been reciting it to myself all week,’ I lie. When it comes to who’s lost and gained what in the Silverdale branch of Carb Counters, Marjorie is an expert.
‘Well, off you trot to the scales! I hope we don’t have to announce two gains in a row for you. That really would be tragic.’
A quick smile and Marjorie’s off in search of her next victim. I exchange withering glances with Linda and join the queue for the scales. Up ahead, I spot my best friend, Emma. At least there’s a friendly face here, I say to myself. I reach out and tap her shoulder. Her face breaks into a smile when she sees me.
‘You made it!’ She wriggles out of the tightly packed queue and comes to join me. ‘I thought you might’ve been in the café having a cheeky slice of cake after last week!’
A quick flashback to Marjorie announcing to the whole group that I’d gained two pounds zings its way into my thoughts. For a brief moment, I remember the feeling of humiliation that washed over me, along with the little voice that whispered you’ve failed.
‘Cleo?’ Emma’s voice goes from a distorted murmur to clear and crisp in a matter of seconds, pulling me out of my thoughts.
Quick, figure out what she was saying!
‘Oh, er… I dunno, a couple of pounds hopefully,’ I say, hoping it sounds right. Judging by the look on my best friend’s face, I’ve missed the mark.
‘I was asking if you were still coming down the pub tonight!’ She giggles and shakes her head. ‘You really are in Cloud Cuckoo Land today, aren’t you? Is it because you got the invite too?’
I frown. ‘What invite?’
Before Emma can answer, it’s her turn to face the dreaded scales. She flashes me a smile, crosses her fingers and hops on. As I watch her, I feel a stab of envy I haven’t felt for a while. She truly doesn’t care about the number she sees in front of her; the only reason she joined Carb Counters was to support me. Blessed with a naturally slender figure, she’s never had to worry about her weight like I have. Never had to wonder if people are looking at her with twisted humour or utter revulsion, or if any man who approaches her is doing it for a joke or to win a bet with his friends.
Sometimes, just sometimes, I’d really like to be Emma Wallis instead of Cleopatra Jones.
My time on the scales is a successful one: three pounds off. As soon as I see it, I feel a little knot of worry unclench in my chest. Sometimes, it feels pathetic that my life hinges on a digital scale’s reading, but every pound I manage to lose brings me closer to the person I want to be. And, more importantly, takes me further away from who I used to be.
Talking in a circle is easily my favourite part of Carb Counters. Although it’s a nightmare if you’ve had a bad week, it’s really inspiring to hear everyone’s stories and see their progress throughout the sessions.
First up is Sheila and, although I can’t hear it, I know everyone is groaning inwardly. She’s joined, left and rejoined multiple times and, despite openly admitting she doesn’t follow the plan and eats her body weight in sausage rolls, can’t understand why she isn’t losing weight. We’ve all tried to give her friendly advice, but it falls on deaf ears every time.
This week, she’s lamenting her two-pound weight gain. ‘I just don’t understand what I’m doing wrong,’ she says with a sigh. ‘OK, I went out for my sister’s birthday and had spaghetti and tiramisu. That’s not a crime, is it? And I might’ve had a huge pizza all to myself… and some brownies. But I’ve always had a high metabolism, so it shouldn’t be a problem.’
I purse my lips to stop myself saying something, and see a couple of other members rolling their eyes.
‘Remember what we said last week about sticking to the Treat Points allowance,’ Marjorie says, sounding like she’s about to explode. ‘Pizza and brownies are big no-nos on the Carb Counters plan, as well you know!’
I can tell from the look on Sheila’s face she’s not listening. If she were a cartoon, there’d be a flock of bluebirds circling her head. Some people just aren’t meant to be Carb Counters and she’s definitely one of them.
