Fat Chance Read Free Page B

that. I first realised it two years ago on the day we met, when she told me my highlights made me look like a tart.
    ‘I don’t want to parade the fact that I’m overweight in front of thousands of people, though!’ I point out to her.
    ‘It’s on the radio, Zoe.’
    ‘You know what I mean. There’ll be stuff on the website, at the road shows . . . it’ll be horrible.’
    Then Elise reminds me of the one thing that counterbalances my argument. ‘It’s for fifty grand , Zoe. Fifty bloody grand!’
    I stir the hideous skinny latte with a spoon, staring down into its bland beige contents. ‘That is a lot of money.’
    ‘It is! And how many times have you said you need an incentive to lose weight?’
    ‘Greg will never go for it.’
    ‘He will if you make him. He dotes on you.’ Elise flashes me one of her copyright dazzling DJ smiles. ‘He’ll do anything you tell him to . . . within reason.’
    ‘You really think you could get us in?’ I can’t believe I’m even contemplating this, but fifty grand is an awful lot of money. I also don’t want to find myself trapped in a dress again anytime soon. These two things are combining to make Elise’s madcap idea seem almost sensible.
    ‘Oh yes! Me, Will, and Danny will be making the final decision on who’s picked. I’ve already spoken to them, and they think you’d make a great contestant as well.’
    Well, that sews it up then. Will does whatever Elise tells him to, as he knows damn well that he’s part of the most successful breakfast show in local radio history thanks to her, and Dan, the station controller, would cheerfully cut off one of his legs for a chance to have sex with her.
    ‘I’ll have to speak to Greg about it,’ I say.
    ‘Yeah, no problem.’ Elise waves this off like it’s inconsequential. She may think I have my husband wrapped around my little finger, but I’m not so sure. ‘So you’ll do it, then?’ she asks expectantly.
    ‘Er . . . if Greg’s up for it, I suppose so.’
    Elise gleefully claps her hands together. ‘Brilliant!’ Her excitement is palpable.
    I, however, am not excited.
    What I am is a combination of terrified and deeply apprehensive. This may be the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.
    But . . . is that a faint glimmer of hope I sense under all that negativity?
    Why yes, Zoe, I do believe it is.
    This might just be the kick up the arse I need to finally drop some of this weight and start living life again.
    If only I can convince my husband to do it with me.

GREG’S WEIGHT LOSS DIARY
    Friday, March 7th
    20 stone, 2 pounds
    T his is the single dumbest idea in history. I can’t believe I’m sitting here at 7.30 on a Friday evening writing this.
    I would get up and turn the laptop off, but Zoe is sitting on the couch watching ‘EastEnders’ and if I stop typing I’ll never hear the end of it.
    Why the hell does the radio station need us to keep a diary like this anyway? Can’t they just interview us? Or send some menial dogsbody over here to write down everything we say? I spend enough of my day chained to a desk at work; I don’t particularly want to spend my evenings chained to another one writing about how fat I am.
    I know I’m fat.
    I’ve been fat for years.
    Twenty stone looks back at me every time I get on the scales (which isn’t often).
    I can hear how much I wheeze when I walk up the stairs, and the number of extra notches I’ve had to cut into my belt doesn’t bear thinking about.
    My size has stopped me enjoying the things I love like rugby and energetic sex.
    I wish I was thinner . . . but if wishes were horses then beggars would ride them.
    Until they were made into burgers.
    Which I would then eat.
    I don’t feel the need to put all this down on paper, but Zoe and Elise say I have to , so here I am on a Friday night—when I could be down the pub—writing about how fat I am. How colossally, massively , stupendously fat I am.
    Elise says these diaries are supposed to be the