enough?’
‘I … I’m sorry,’ grimaced Miss Thinne.
Fifth Month
The 25th of August Miss Fatt and Miss Thinne spent at home, for it was a Sunday.
Ordinarily, Miss Thinne would have gone out to play the oboe with the Catholic Women’s Sinfonia, but she’d had to resign from the group because she no longer had the lung-power to inspirate the instrument.
Miss Fatt would probably still have been working on Lethal Weapon VI , if she hadn’t been disqualified. Mind you, by now she was no longer even what her actor ex-friend had described as ‘a bit gross’. She was rather gross. Her cheekswere filling out and merging with the new fullness of her neck and chin; on the rest of her body a number of bones had disappeared, in the sense that they could be found only by determined palpation. A long crease trapped sweat and talcum powder under her belly, and her breasts sagged under their own weight. Her usual attire was no longer a Wonderbra and fashionable gear; it was floral dresses and a sarong which Miss Thinne had given her for her birthday some weeks before. All the clothes that no longer fitted her they’d already given away to charity shops, thus revealing their unspoken shared assumption that she would never be a size 12 – or even 16, for that matter – again. Giving away the twenty-one pairs of unwearable shoes was, well, almost unbearable, but what hurt most was having to put away all her rings (no, she would not sell them – not yet) for fear that they would strangle her fingers.
As far as her work went, she played only fat women now, usually in humorous contexts. She had sworn off drama since she had landed the role, in a TV movie, of the fat older sister of a beautiful young girl. The part had required of her a Poisonous Jealousy which took advantage of the younger sister’s low self-esteem to make the girl feel unattractive, unloved and ungrateful. It had seemed a good enough role, but the director’s method in coaching Miss Fatt had consisted of exhortations like:
‘Come on, Suzie. Remember you’re fat and revolting. You want her to feel as repulsive as you are – it makes you feel better. See the psychology?’
Miss Fatt was determined to stick to roles in commercials in which she could smile in floral dresses and be invited afterwards to have a cup of tea with the other extras.
She might have considered giving up work altogether, as the amount of exercise she had to do in order to maintain her fitness for it was torture, but, more than ever, the twowomen needed the income from their jobs. Not only did their grocery bill continue to increase almost daily; but they’d had to buy a whole set of larger furniture for Miss Fatt to sit in, and a number of giant soft cushions for Miss Thinne, to protect her protruding bones from bruising.
One day Miss Fatt came home to find Miss Thinne still lying in bed, too weak to get up.
Shrouded by the sheet, her body looked like a skeleton, but once uncovered by Miss Fatt it didn’t look too bad: no thinner, surely, than that of a healthy seventy-year-old. As for Miss Thinne’s weakness, she’d merely left the bowl of celery slivers too far out of reach. A nibble or two and she was on her corrugated feet again, ready and able to prepare Miss Fatt’s mid-afternoon roast.
Sixth Month
On the 25th of September Miss Fatt visited Miss Thinne in hospital.
She came by public transport, having some time ago sold the car, partly to raise money for food, and partly because she’d been having trouble squeezing herself into the driver’s seat.
‘Hello, Eleanor,’ she said at the foot of the hospital bed where Miss Thinne lay naked, her bedclothes thrown aside because of their weight on the starved white limbs. ‘How’s the leg?’
Miss Thinne had fractured her tibia in a fall, easily. The plaster cast resembled one of those white thigh-length boots Miss Fatt had once sported in an ice-cream commercial.
‘Home in a week or two.’
Looking up at her visitor,
‘I … I’m sorry,’ grimaced Miss Thinne.
Fifth Month
The 25th of August Miss Fatt and Miss Thinne spent at home, for it was a Sunday.
Ordinarily, Miss Thinne would have gone out to play the oboe with the Catholic Women’s Sinfonia, but she’d had to resign from the group because she no longer had the lung-power to inspirate the instrument.
Miss Fatt would probably still have been working on Lethal Weapon VI , if she hadn’t been disqualified. Mind you, by now she was no longer even what her actor ex-friend had described as ‘a bit gross’. She was rather gross. Her cheekswere filling out and merging with the new fullness of her neck and chin; on the rest of her body a number of bones had disappeared, in the sense that they could be found only by determined palpation. A long crease trapped sweat and talcum powder under her belly, and her breasts sagged under their own weight. Her usual attire was no longer a Wonderbra and fashionable gear; it was floral dresses and a sarong which Miss Thinne had given her for her birthday some weeks before. All the clothes that no longer fitted her they’d already given away to charity shops, thus revealing their unspoken shared assumption that she would never be a size 12 – or even 16, for that matter – again. Giving away the twenty-one pairs of unwearable shoes was, well, almost unbearable, but what hurt most was having to put away all her rings (no, she would not sell them – not yet) for fear that they would strangle her fingers.
As far as her work went, she played only fat women now, usually in humorous contexts. She had sworn off drama since she had landed the role, in a TV movie, of the fat older sister of a beautiful young girl. The part had required of her a Poisonous Jealousy which took advantage of the younger sister’s low self-esteem to make the girl feel unattractive, unloved and ungrateful. It had seemed a good enough role, but the director’s method in coaching Miss Fatt had consisted of exhortations like:
‘Come on, Suzie. Remember you’re fat and revolting. You want her to feel as repulsive as you are – it makes you feel better. See the psychology?’
Miss Fatt was determined to stick to roles in commercials in which she could smile in floral dresses and be invited afterwards to have a cup of tea with the other extras.
She might have considered giving up work altogether, as the amount of exercise she had to do in order to maintain her fitness for it was torture, but, more than ever, the twowomen needed the income from their jobs. Not only did their grocery bill continue to increase almost daily; but they’d had to buy a whole set of larger furniture for Miss Fatt to sit in, and a number of giant soft cushions for Miss Thinne, to protect her protruding bones from bruising.
One day Miss Fatt came home to find Miss Thinne still lying in bed, too weak to get up.
Shrouded by the sheet, her body looked like a skeleton, but once uncovered by Miss Fatt it didn’t look too bad: no thinner, surely, than that of a healthy seventy-year-old. As for Miss Thinne’s weakness, she’d merely left the bowl of celery slivers too far out of reach. A nibble or two and she was on her corrugated feet again, ready and able to prepare Miss Fatt’s mid-afternoon roast.
Sixth Month
On the 25th of September Miss Fatt visited Miss Thinne in hospital.
She came by public transport, having some time ago sold the car, partly to raise money for food, and partly because she’d been having trouble squeezing herself into the driver’s seat.
‘Hello, Eleanor,’ she said at the foot of the hospital bed where Miss Thinne lay naked, her bedclothes thrown aside because of their weight on the starved white limbs. ‘How’s the leg?’
Miss Thinne had fractured her tibia in a fall, easily. The plaster cast resembled one of those white thigh-length boots Miss Fatt had once sported in an ice-cream commercial.
‘Home in a week or two.’
Looking up at her visitor,
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