Love In The Spotlight

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Love In The Spotlight - book excerpt

Chapter One

It was Monday morning again, the start of a new week with new possibilities. A chance to cast off the mistakes of yesterday. A fresh beginning, where new goals were made and bad habits were resolved to be broken. This particular week Elizabeth Ryan was determined to eat more healthily. Some might view this as foolish given it was the season of indulgence and greed, but she was desperate to lose weight and gain control of her expanding waistline. As the number six bus jolted over a road full of pot holes, Elizabeth tried unsuccessfully to balance her journal in a static position. She scrawled Day one of healthy eating plan in swirly red letters, underneath the entry for Christmas Eve, trying not to think about the impending crisp roast potatoes, cute little pigs in blankets and steaming bowl of Christmas pudding with lashings of brandy butter which would boost her day’s calorific value into the thousands. As the bus swerved around a corner, her stomach grumbled. This morning’s muesli and yoghurt had been a pitiful sight; she was ravenous and there was still four hours to wait until lunchtime.

Elizabeth closed her diary and peered out of the window. The outskirts of the city were covered in dense fog and ice particles were clinging to the window of the bus. Last night, she’d dug out her long faux fur coat and was thankful for its warmth. It was like being cocooned in a 10.5 tog duvet, she could almost pretend she was snuggled up in bed. Elizabeth glanced at the young man sitting next to her who, quite rebelliously, was wearing shorts. She felt like giving him a motherly poke and reminding him that it was winter and temperatures in Cornwall had fallen to the teeth-chattering stage. There was a Royal Mail post bag at his feet and she was comforted by the thought that brisk walking would probably keep him warm. But still, Elizabeth couldn’t stop looking at those shorts and the pasty white legs protruding from them. An involuntary shiver swept through her and the bottom of her coat flapped open, revealing a ladder running the whole length of her left leg. How was this possible in a pair of one hundred denier ribbed tights?

A sigh erupted from her mouth; this was not a promising start to another long working day. Before leaving home, she had spilt orange juice all over her freshly ironed blouse, then she had bumped her head on a cupboard door. Now her tights were ruined. It was, in fact, disastrous. Elizabeth pulled the hem of her skirt down to modest knee level. Normally so organised, she felt ill prepared for the busiest shopping day of the year. What else could happen on a dreary Monday morning, she wondered?

A blare of a horn and the bus came to a sudden jolt, flinging all of the passengers forwards in their seats. The pen Elizabeth was holding slipped from her fingertips. It rolled at the feet of the young man sitting next to her. Elizabeth bent over. There was a crack as she bumped foreheads with her travelling companion. She winced as her eyes filled with tears.

‘Sorry!’ She rubbed her brow, her mouth curving into a wobbly smile.

‘No problem,’ the young man passed her the pen, ‘probably black ice.’ He pushed his plugs back in his ears and turned away from her to stare out of the window.

Elizabeth reopened her diary and resolutely scribbled out her new week goal. Boxing Day would be a better day to start her diet, she decided and reached inside her handbag for a bottle of water. She could feel her neck and cheeks flushing and furtively unzipped her coat then began fanning herself with her notebook. The hot flushes were happening more frequently. As well as keeping her awake at night, they were now creeping upon her in the daytime. Elizabeth shrugged off her coat, taking care not to elbow her travelling companion. A middle-aged man on the opposite row looked at her with raised bushy eyebrows. Yes, I know it’s December, she was tempted to stand up and yell, but I’m perimenopausal and my body temperature gauge is broken.

With a sigh, Elizabeth delved in her pocket, searching for something to make the morning more bearable – a fluffy mint, perhaps, or a half chewed toffee? Anything sugary would do. Then, with a feeling of delight, her hand curled around what felt like a bar of chocolate and her spirits pinged upwards. For a moment, she wondered where it had come from. The food fairies must have slipped it inside when she was preparing today’s lunch. A quick peep down revealed a Bounty. Elizabeth quickly tore off the wrapper and bit into the dark, coconut infused chocolate. The delectable sweetness made her taste buds shiver and she closed her eyes as a feeling of pure bliss catapulted her out of her physical body and took her to another realm.

There was a sudden squeal of brakes as the bus ground to a halt and a stream of people boarded. One of the passengers was chuntering that the bus was already full and he wouldn’t be giving up his seat for anyone. Elizabeth was too focused on her snack to pay much attention. Then suddenly, someone was prodding her shoulder. Elizabeth opened one eye and flinched at the sight of Betty Smith peering inquisitively at her. Of all the people to catch her eating chocolate at eight in the morning, it had to be the manager of the local weight-loss group that Elizabeth attended.

‘Good morning,’ Betty crowed. ‘Are you all ready for Christmas?’

Elizabeth blinked. Of course, today was Christmas Eve, so it was perfectly acceptable to be snacking on confectionary.

Betty perched on the vacant seat in front of her and, turning to face Elizabeth, she gave her a beaming megawatt smile.

‘I’m not ready in the slightest,’ Elizabeth replied honestly. ‘I have so much to do.’

She stuffed the chocolate bar in her pocket and politely echoed the question back to Betty. The older lady launched into a spiel about how organised she was at this time of year and how much she loved Christmas. Pondering on her own feelings towards the festive season, Elizabeth quietly disagreed. To her, Christmas was a time for gluttony, of overspending, of fuss and tension. It was also a time when she was acutely aware of loss and the lingering effects of heartbreak.

Betty had moved on from Christmas now and was talking about the weight loss group which she ran. Fatbusters had opened three years ago. It was held in St-Leonards-By-Sea’s only library and consisted of around thirty middle-aged women of varying sizes. Elizabeth had been cajoled into attending by her friend Gloria. For two months she had suffered the embarrassment of being publicly weighed and, to make matters worse, her statistics yo-yoed from one week to the next; she currently weighed more than when she’d started. Elizabeth had decided to stop going, she’d resigned herself to the fact that she would always be plump or, as Martin used to say, ‘cuddly like a perfect teddy bear’.

‘Did you receive my message?’ Betty asked, her head cocked to one side and her mouth slightly open.

‘I haven’t,’ Elizabeth replied.

‘Oh, of course, you’re not in the Fatbusters group chat, are you? Have you got WhatsApp? If you give me your number, I’ll add you and then you’ll be able to receive all the up-to-date exciting group news.’

‘Okay, great.’ Elizabeth forced a smile, inwardly baulking at the idea of being bombarded with motivational messages from Betty Smith.

‘Well then…’ Betty looked at her expectantly.

‘Oh yes, right, you need my phone number.’ Elizabeth blushed.

‘That would be helpful.’

After they had exchanged numbers, Betty chattered away, leaving Elizabeth no alternative but to listen politely.

‘Although I do love this time of year, the shops are far so full of temptation, don’t you agree?’

‘Um, I suppose so.’

‘My husband insists on indulging on sweet treats: Chocolate Oranges, Matchmakers, giant Toblerone, Maltesers…’ Betty ticked off the offending items on her fingers. ‘He seems to forget that I religiously watch my weight and having all those sugary temptations in the house and knowing I can’t have them can be most disheartening.’

A noise escaped from Elizabeth’s throat. It was meant to be a sympathetic clucking but it sounded more like a cross between a snigger and a snort.

Betty gave her a sharp look. ‘Is your husband the same? Does he have a sweet tooth?’

Elizabeth swallowed as a stabbing pain twisted in her stomach. Don’t ask me about Martin, she thought desperately, especially not at this time of year. But Betty was staring at her and expecting an answer.

Elizabeth cleared her throat. ‘I live on my own. I’m a widow.’

‘Oh, my dear.’ Betty had the grace to look remorseful. ‘I’m so sorry, I had no idea.’

‘It’s okay.’ Elizabeth managed a weak smile. ‘It’s been two years now…’

‘When I lost my dog, Bruno, I grieved for months. I dropped two dress sizes.’

Elizabeth’s smile was rueful. ‘I put a stone on, I guess through comfort eating.’

Betty patted her hand. ‘Well, I hope that you’ll keep coming to the weight loss group. I can give you some recipes and vouchers for low fat foods. I’m sure you’ll shift the pounds if you really try.’ Betty glanced out of the window. ‘Oh, here’s my stop, it’s been lovely seeing you… er…’

‘Elizabeth.’

‘Have a very merry Christmas, and I’ll see you at Fatbusters in the New Year!’ Betty’s wide smile revealed a set of sparkling white dentures.

Elizabeth returned the festive sentiments. She watched as Betty alighted from the bus, then, with a sigh, rooted in her pocket and extracted the remainder of the melting chocolate.

Half an hour later, the bus pulled into the station. With a loud hiss, the doors opened and passengers flooded off. At this time in the morning, the town centre was a hive of activity; people rushing to work, impatient delivery van drivers honking their horns, shoppers waiting for the stores to open. As it was the last shopping day before Christmas, it was even busier. Elizabeth’s knees cracked as she rose to her feet. A queue had formed by the exit door and didn’t seem to be moving, so she peered above the head of a bent-over elderly woman. Some sort of altercation was transpiring between a man carrying a shiny briefcase and a young lady with a pram.

‘Will you wait a moment!’ The young lady looked tired and harassed. The businessman jostled past her, banging the side of the pram with his case. A wail emanated from it. Elizabeth could see the baby, she guessed it was no older than one. Its body had gone rigid and the face of the child was screwed up in temper. Elizabeth felt a jolt of a memory. Her own eldest son did this when he was teetering on a tantrum. Harry’s face would turn almost purple, just like this child’s. One, two, three… Elizabeth silently counted just as the baby began to scream.

People were chuntering now as the young mother tried to push the pram forwards. It seemed to be stuck on something. As the woman grappled with the frame, the polka-dot changing bag slipped off the bars and fell to the floor with a thud. Nappies and bottles were catapulted in all directions. A full bottle of formula rolled against Elizabeth’s feet. She was overwhelmed with sympathy and the urge to help.

‘Excuse me!’ She pushed past the other passengers. ‘Are you all right? Let me help you.’

Elizabeth crouched on the floor. It felt hard and scratchy and as she bent to retrieve the woman’s belongings she heard a rip and the ladder in her hosiery stretched further up her thigh.

‘What’s the hold-up?’ the bus driver grumbled. ‘Hurry up now, I have a schedule to stick to.’

Elizabeth stuffed the items back in the changing bag, zipping it up securely.

‘I can’t seem to move it.’ The young mum looked at her with tears in her eyes.

‘We can lift it,’ Elizabeth suggested. ‘You grab the front and I’ll hold the back.’

Together, they managed to carry the crying baby off the bus and set the pram down on the pavement. Elizabeth stared down at the front wheels.

‘I can see the problem,’ she said. Reaching into a pocket for a tissue, she leant down and wiped a big ball of chewing gum off the wheel. ‘How disgusting.’

‘Thank you so much.’ Tears were running down the woman’s cheeks. ‘I’m a useless mother.’

Elizabeth tutted. ‘Don’t be so disparaging about yourself. I remember when my children were babies. It’s hard. For every woman.’

‘No, it’s not,’ the young lady sobbed. ‘I haven’t slept properly in months, I’m so tired and snappy all the time and my baby seems to prefer my husband and my mother-in-law, anyone but me.’

Elizabeth dithered. She had two choices. She could make her excuses and leave this woman to sort herself out – if she left now she’d be early for work, which meant she’d be able to make herself a coffee and read a few magazines. The alternative was to offer this stranger in distress a kind, non-judgemental, listening ear. Elizabeth thought back to her own child-rearing days; the exhaustion and the feelings of inadequacy, the pressure to be the ‘perfect mother’. With hindsight, she knew this mythical being did not exist, but at the time it had felt very real, yet unattainable. Elizabeth looked at the emotional mum and was overwhelmed with compassion and empathy.

‘Are you in a rush?’ she asked. ‘We could grab a coffee and have a chat? I’m Elizabeth, by the way, Elizabeth Ryan and I don’t know about you but I’m dreading Christmas.’