Michele Gorman - The Curvy Girls Club

I wasn’t about to lose momentum with our girls’ nights out, and spent most of the next morning between work phone calls googling theatres with roomier seats. I was quickly able to whittle down my list. To my surprise, people did take the time to gripe about their bad experiences online. Unfortunately there was no centralised whingers’ repository, which made the process a bit slow.

I kept watch for Cressida. She had a knack for popping up over the cubicle wall like a censorious jack-in-the-box whenever I faffed around. As my boss, I suppose she had the right to do this but given that most people didn’t even want to do my job, she should really have been grateful that I was there at all. Calling up strangers with money-saving offers put me just above a Jehovah’s Witness in the social acceptability stakes. Sure, I called pharmacies, nutritionists and health food shops, not people in the middle of dinner. But that still meant I got hung up on. A lot.

Even so, I liked my work, though I’d had my doubts when they first hired me. They sent us on a week-long training course to learn the science behind the nutritional supplements we were selling. Men in white lab coats explained everything in mind-numbing detail. Luckily I had a head for mind-numbing detail. It didn’t take long to start managing my own client list, but it wasn’t always easy. Oversharing clients sometimes admitted to heinous bodily irregularities before I could remind them that I wasn’t a trained professional in that sense. Then I spent weeks worrying about their health.

Eventually I got used to being tethered to my desk by the sleek headset that made us all look like Justin Bieber’s backup singers. It took some practice to learn to ignore the other sales reps’ patter, to concentrate only on my own call. But now it was completely normal. What a funny word that was: normal. It was all a matter of perspective.

I spotted Alex before he reached my desk, and used those few milliseconds to remember I hadn’t plucked the chin hair I noticed in the mirror that morning.

‘Hiya!’ he said, oblivious to my chin. ‘Want to try that new Japanese place for lunch?’

‘That depends. Are you buying?’

‘I’ll spring for the green tea if you’ll consult on the sushi. I never know what to get besides California rolls.’

‘Well, I do know my way around a bento box.’ What was I saying? There’s no sushi in a bento box.

‘One o’clock?’

‘Make it twelve-thirty.’

That still gave me enough time to nip to Boots for tweezers.

It wasn’t unusual to go to lunch with Alex, which meant I’d had ample opportunity over the past month to feel awkward about the Christmas Kiss. He never let on that he remembered, but he could be cagey like that and I was constantly alert for clues. If we were proper friends I’d have just asked him, but as things stood I didn’t want to spook him. It had taken me six years to get to the friendly acquaintanceship stage with him. Given enough time and luck, we might just become something more exciting one day. I lived in hope.

The restaurant was packed. We wedged onto a cramped table in one corner. The large plate-glass window at the front ran with condensation and the menus were already spotted with soy sauce. The prices were good and if the food was even mediocre, it was the kind of place that’d do a brisk lunchtime trade amidst the sea of sandwich shops in the area.

Alex closed his menu. ‘I won’t pretend to know what I’m looking at,’ he said with a grin that loosened my insides.

‘You just asked me here to order for you.’

‘I did warn you. And I’m paying you handsomely in tea, don’t forget.’

I sighed dramatically. ‘I’m not just brains you know. I’m also a pretty face.’

‘Of that,’ he said, raising his tiny tea cup, ‘there’s no doubt. Now order quick, I’m starving.’

There seemed to be just one waitress in the restaurant, a gangly young woman with long blonde hair tied haphazardly into a loose bun so that tendrils escaped to frame her pretty face. When I tried to do that I looked like I’d been in bed with ’flu for three days. Finally she approached our table.

‘Are you ready to order?’ she asked, looking at Alex, who nodded to me.

‘Yes, please may we have two orders of spicy tuna roll, one California roll …’ I stopped talking when I noticed she wasn’t looking at me. ‘One soft-shell crab roll and one salmon nigiri … did you get all that?’

She nodded, finally looking my way before heading for the kitchen.

‘Thanks for ordering,’ Alex said, oblivious to the waitress’s rudeness. ‘Everything sounds great.’

‘Now you know what to order for next time.’

‘Nah, I won’t remember,’ he said.

‘Will I have to come with you every time you want sushi? That might be awkward on a date.’ Even as I joked my heart skidded at the thought of Alex on a date. Steady on, girl, I told myself. You’d think I’d be able to look at the man without wanting to lunge over the table. Not even Rory had this much hold over me. And that was at least based on a solid friendship.

I glared at the waitress for the rest of the meal but she remained unaware of my loathing, not even once glancing in my direction. She was all smiles for Alex though. She must have thought he was paying. Or else she had a crush on him. Or … as I suspected, I was Invisible Katie.

The worst part about being a fat woman isn’t that people look at you with judgement in their eyes. It’s that most don’t look at you at all. You cease to be a person for whom they need to account. They look over your shoulder, or at the ground in front of you, or they glaze their eyes and look directly through you. It’s like being a ghost, but with none of the fun of haunting. That waitress wasn’t ignoring me. I was simply inconsequential.

Alex and I went back to the office and straight into our meeting together, as if lunch hadn’t just happened.

I made it sound nonchalant, didn’t I? Our meeting together . Like I had them all the time and hadn’t taken nearly an hour to dress this morning.

Our company was always on the lookout for ways to get more work out of us without breaking EU employment law. So instead of just asking, they liked to make it look like overworking was our idea. We’d had personality tests that told us it was okay to be a workaholic. We’d been given motivational tee shirts and posters. There was a weekly prize for Awesomeness. We were on a slippery slope, one group hug away from going on retreats together to chant affirmations and weave everlasting friendship lanyards.

When Alex asked for a volunteer last month to help implement their latest improvement (vision boards stuck with aspirational magazine images to help us reach our goals), I had to fight the urge to shout Pick me, Pick me with my hand in the air.

Of course it was a stupid idea. But it was our boss Clive’s stupid idea, so everyone had to show willing, at least to his face. My face didn’t garner the same respect. I was now known as Karma Katie around the office.

In the conference room, I tried to shake off that henchman feeling as I double-checked my notes. Yes, Herr Commandant, everything was carried out as you instructed.

Alex pointed to his steaming cup. ‘No coffee for you?’ The very idea baffled him.

It smelled delicious. ‘I’d love to but I’m off coffee at the moment. My heart’s been doing something funny lately.’ As I hadn’t dropped dead from it I wasn’t overly worried about a heart attack. It was more of an unusual rhythm – da-da-da-da-da-da-kerthunk! Sometimes it made me out of breath.

‘It’s not dangerous, is it? You should get it checked.’

‘Oh, I’m sure there’s nothing really wrong.’ I tried not to get carried away with fantasies of him kneeling at my bedside, holding my hand to declare his love.