I Won The Battle

She was pale and still thin. Her soft skin looked translucent in the dim lightning and she signed deeply as she bent her head to look at the menu.

“Bruschetta” she said out loud “now that sounds good. It says two pieces and I wonder how big they are? How about the soup? The bowl could be a large one? I don’t have to have a starter. Let’s see what the mains are?”

PASTA jumped out at her from the page. ‘No way’ she thought. ‘I could have the fish, which would be light, with the salad. I’ll ask how big the serves are’.

“Excuse me” she said to a young dark haired waiter walking past with a tray full of drinks, and headed for another table.

“Yes Madame” he answered in what sounded like a genuine French accent.

“How big are the serves please? Well the mains really”

“Oh not very big at all and if I might be presumptuous and say,  I think they will be adequate for Madame”.

“Oh I wasn’t worried if they were small, thank you” said Angela to the retreating young waiter and picked up the menu again to look at the options.

“I wonder if I could fit in a sweet?” she said out loud to herself perusing the bottom of the page with all the sugary delights. She couldn’t make up her mind if she would feel like something sweet or not, but it was always good to see what was on offer.

Angela looked around at some of the other tables hoping to see the size of the meals and what some of them were. At the table to her right sat a middle aged couple.

They seemed a bit bored. He was watching everyone else around about and the lady was rummaging in her handbag for something. As Angela moved from the female at the table to look at him they caught each other staring and smiled.  Then he looked away. They were obviously waiting for their food. The lady had found what she was looking for and was texting on her phone, a bright pink cover which matched the shade of her lipstick.

On the other side of the room but further back an older couple were eating. He seemed to have some sort of fish and the woman just had a salad. Angela watched as the thin, she presumed wife, took some of her salad with a fork and spoon and passed it over on to the man’s plate. She heard him say “Oh Vera, you must eat more than that. You’ve hardly eaten anything love” and the old lady replied “That’s all I can eat Charles. I’m just not hungry.

Just as Angela was about to see what the two young men were getting brought to their table, the waiter appeared as if out of thin air “Has Madame chosen?” he asked,.

Madame hadn’t chosen but she didn’t want to keep him waiting so said “I might just have the bruschetta and then the strawberry tart please”.

“No main course?” he asked and Angela feeling as if it was a cardinal sin not to have a main course replied ”Umm no thank you”.

The thin old lady was passing the remainder of her salad over to her husband. She put her knife and fork together on the plate and seemed to breathe a sigh of relief that she had gotten rid of it. He looked over at her and tenderly took her hand in his and rubbed her fingers before gently letting them go.

The drinks waiter stood next to Angela – he smelt of garlic (she hoped that he hadn’t been eating the bruschetta) and asked what she would like to drink, if anything. “Just water and from the tap thank you”. She always felt like a tightwad asking for tap water but she really didn’t enjoy sparkling water.

As more people came into the restaurant it started to get a bit noisy, a bit of atmosphere. It was filling up fast and she was glad that her mother insisted she book a table. She could see people being turned away or asked if they could come back a little bit later.

Angela’s mother offered to come with her tonight but she had said that if she was going to do this, it had to be on her own. Was she regretting it now sitting feeling slightly awkward, a few little butterflies beginning to flutter in her tummy. “Just breathe” she told herself “you’ll be ok. You’ve won this battle Angela”.

Her self-confidence seemed to be seeping out of her and she looked down at her hands on the table in front of her, taking deep breaths, quietly and secretly.

“Angela! It is you. I can’t believe it. It’s me, Sarah. Do you remember me from high school? I didn’t know you lived in this area. I don’t live here but my parents do. I’ve been overseas for the last fifteen years and I’m just back because Dad passed away. How are you?” the other woman asked, drawing a deep breath ready to start again! “You look fabulous! Where’s the ‘fatty bumba’ gone? Oh it’s amazing to meet you after all this time, but I would have recognised you anywhere with your lovely blonde hair and blue eyes. You’ve grown long and very lean, how fabulous. You must work out a hell of a lot to look like that – I didn’t think it was possible! Are you on your own? Don’t tell me you are! Come and join us at our table. You might know some of the girls or maybe not, they are mostly from where I worked Oh I sorry I haven’t let you speak yet…I haven’t changed in that area have I?” and she laughed a big booming guffaw.

“No, I do recognise you Sarah. It’s really good to see you” offered Angela quietly. “I’m actually waiting for someone but that was a lovely offer” she lied. She just wanted her to go away, leave her alone and stop talking.

“How about I give you my number as I’m here for a couple of weeks and we’ll catch up” she bellowed, scratching a number on a piece of card and passing it to Angela. And as she walked away she called out “You are so slim - I’m envious!”

Just as Angela was wiping her clammy hands on a serviette and thinking that if her food didn’t arrive within the next few minutes she would just walk out, she felt relieved to hear “Madame, your bruschetta”.

The waiter carefully put the two thick pieces of bread that had been as artistically arranged as something so simple could be down in front of her. The tomato looked fresh and little pieces of onion poked their heads out of the bright red pile. The olive oil, drizzled over the top of the mounds glistened.

‘Here goes’ she thought picking up her knife and fork to cut into it. Some of her friends would pick it up with their hands and eat it that way, but Angela was scared she would drop most of it onto her lap, so played it safe.

After cutting a small piece she poked her fork into it and lifted it up…and opening her mouth she popped it in. As she was chewing she looked around and saw that the couple who had been ignoring each other were leaving. The pink lipped woman was checking her phone as they walked out and as the man passed Angela’s table he smiled at her once again, a look on his face of either sadness or boredom – she didn’t know which.

The old couple had left earlier. The man had ordered a sticky date pudding and had been trying to coax his wife to have some of it, but she declined.

As they had walked past her table, Angela had noticed that the old woman was wearing a wig as it had slipped a bit to the side and she thought ‘oh that’s why she’s not eating, she must be sick’.

She had eaten one of the slices but wanted to leave room for the strawberry tart so pushed the plate away from her letting the waiter know she had finished.

After each mouthful Angela had carefully used her napkin to wipe her mouth, taken a sip of water and a couple of breaths. ‘Slowly does it’ she kept thinking ‘you’re doing a great job.

Once or twice she looked way down to the back of the room from where she heard the loud voice of Sarah coming from, and was so grateful to be at the other end of the room and on her own. It wasn’t that she was antisocial, in fact she loved people but tonight she needed to be on her own. ‘I need to do this, to prove that I’m ready. This is my plan of action’ she thought. ‘And I’m eager for my strawberry tart!’

The tart was put down in front of her with the gentleness of an infant being placed in a crib! “Your tart Madame” the French accent said

“Thank you, that looks delicious”.

It wasn’t very big but the strawberries, sitting on the crisp shortbread shone through the glaze. A quenelle of ice cream sat next to it, creamy and soft.

She took her first spoonful and savoured the sweet of the ice cream and the sharp taste of the strawberry together. It was easy to enjoy, but Angela couldn’t eat it all. She wasn’t full but knew she couldn’t finish it.

She finished the water in her glass and had another glass before asking for the bill.

“How was your meal Madame?”

“Oh it was lovely thank you” she replied honestly.

Angela took a last look down towards the back of the room and could see Sarah had left her seat and was walking towards the front so she quickly paid the bill and raced outside.

She felt really pleased with herself. ‘It’s just maintenance now. I’ll beat this demon if it’s the last thing I do’ she thought to herself as she drove home.

As she walked through the front door with a big smile on her face, he mother knew it had been ok. Relief swept over her. She had sat with her phone in her hand for the evening, hoping it didn’t ring. Not wanting to hear her daughter’s voice on the other end saying ‘I can’t do it Mum, I’m coming home”. Instead, Angela had walked into the house with an air of confidence, a face that said ‘I did it’

“How was it love? Her mum asked her.

“It was easier than I thought it would be. I did have a couple of moments but I could eat my food and enjoy it although I couldn’t finish it all”.

“That’s ok love.  It’s part of the process. It’s not going to be easy but it can be done and you proved that tonight. You can order food, sit down and eat it, and that is wonderful. After this long road of misery and pain, this is what we have wanted for so long. I’m proud of you Angela”.

“Honestly Mum, I feel as if I’ve run a marathon. I’m exhausted but I am so looking forward to the future knowing I just have to maintain this.

Back at the restaurant Sarah and her friends were leaving the place after eating and drinking their way to the feeling of total ‘fullness’ and tight pants!

Sarah turned to one of her friends saying “When I catch up with my friend Angela I’ll have to ask her secret of how she stays so slim these days! You should have seen her at high school…her nickname was ‘fatty bumba’ – I wonder how she did it?