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you can walk, right?’
    ‘Well, duh.’
    ‘Then come on. I’m so bored of walking by
myself. Please?’
    ‘Will you leave me alone if I say yes?’
    ‘For today,’ she said.
    I put my shoes on and started a new
routine.
    At first I thought I was having a heart
attack. I huffed. I puffed. I wheezed and whined. But Laura really
wouldn’t take no for an answer and eventually we were able to walk
a few miles together. We had excellent talks on those walks, and I
discovered that exercise didn’t have to involve crushing
humiliation.
    I also realized that the world wasn’t
actually made up of bullies and victims. It was made up of normal
people who just wanted to get along and be happy. I met a lot of
those people at university, like Laura, and finally I was enjoying
myself. I wasn’t scared. I wasn’t lonely. I was just me.
    Maybe dietetics wasn’t the obvious choice of
study for a person of larger proportions. But I no longer felt like
that person. My demons were exercised along with my body. And I had
a plan.
    Physician, heal thyself.
    The move into the science of nutrition was a
natural one for a geek like me. I spent three years learning the
mechanics of healthy living. I didn’t need any courses to learn to
empathize with my patients’ difficulties.
    Doing the course was no magic bullet. I
didn’t suddenly see the light, repent my sins and transform into
Kate Moss’s twin by the end of the first term. Slowly, slowly, with
my friends’ support and the right information, my habits changed
for the better. Eventually I was a happy, healthy size ten, and I
learned perhaps the most important lesson in the process. I wasn’t
happy because I lost weight. I lost weight when I was finally
happy.

     
    Jack rang a few days after the reunion, just
as I was beginning to develop OCD from checking for missed calls.
Not only did he ring, he asked me out on a proper date. So I spent
the next twenty-seven hours trying not to explode from
excitement.
    I knew as soon as I walked into the French
Belle Époque restaurant in Soho that he’d booked it in my
(Christy’s) honor. Warm light glinted off the gilded mirrors and
the heavy bronze chandeliers suspended from the ornately corniced
ceiling. My heels clicked across the polished parquet floor, the
sound muffled by the buzz of conversation.
    Even if I hadn’t lusted after Jack during my
formative years, he’d have caught my eye as he waited at the bar
among the trendy media crowd. Lots of men wear smart jackets with
jeans, but not many look as comfortable as he did. ‘Hi!’ As he
kissed each cheek I inhaled the citrusy, spicy scent he was
wearing. He’d come a long way since his AXE days.
    When the waiter showed us to our table, Jack
put his hand gently on the small of my back. I felt like the
luckiest woman in the room. He pulled my chair out for me and said,
‘May I just say that you look gorgeous tonight? You really are so
pretty... I’m sorry, I’ve embarrassed you.’
    ‘No, no, I’m always beet red like this.’ I
grinned through my blush. ‘It’s just that I’m not very used to
hearing that. Thank you.’
    ‘Well you should hear it every day because
it’s true. There aren’t enough compliments in the world in my
opinion. We deserve more.’
    ‘You look nice too.’
    ‘I wasn’t fishing, but thanks. I made an
effort.’ He rubbed his designer stubble. ‘I thought you’d like it
here. A little slice of home. Or do you think of England as
home?’
    ‘Definitely England.’ I grabbed a menu,
which was in French but luckily had subtitles. ‘The food looks
delicious.’ Hopefully it wasn’t one of those restaurants that
served its food as if on rations.
    ‘It is delicious. I’ve been here a lot with
my colleagues. It’s a payday indulgence. Champagne, wine or beer?’
he asked me when the waiter appeared.
    ‘Wine please. Is white okay?’
    ‘Of course it is.’ He glanced at the list
and ordered a bottle.
    It was his confidence that was so sexy.