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Betty Bollingbrooke


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Chapter 30

 

The Betty Project – part 1

 

Betty chastised her self for her lack of will-power. Not with eating. That particular branch of will-powerlessness was one she took absolute pride in. Nor drinking. She found her drinking habits as something worth celebrating – and what better way was there to celebrate than with a drink. Her smoking, the same. These days she smoked like a Victorian chimney, like an unraked California forest. With every chew, quaff or drag, she felt herself drift away from virtue and worthiness. From that haloed mental self-image. But there was one lack of will-power that she wasn’t proud of. She missed Ebba. She had to wait just one week to see the Swede and she was struggling. Flaking. Over Ebba. A girl she had been only seeing for a week. Albeit the most spectacular week of her life.

And it wasn’t as if she didn’t have a social net to catch her. She had us. And we were there to catch her when she fell. Just needed to push her first.

 

It’s really important to state that this wasn’t us fattening Betty. No, that would be untoward. It would be ungentlepersonly. No, Betty was fattening Betty. But if she was the fire, we were to be the gasoline. And it would take all of us. All of The Musketeers. And just hope she would never find out.

I was running point on this. Leona Clefton-Brown – aka The Chief. This was my op and I was calling the shots. She was my best friend and I was hers. And for this to work, for us to actually pull off what we needed to do, I was going to have to get every call right. Use every bit of knowledge I had about Betz and use it. Draw on every resource, press every emotional button. There was a clock on this and there was no time for fuck ups. We needed to get Betty up to size, and get her there fast.

I started straight on Betty. That first Monday back, and I used my influence. All of our time together, there had been a sense of insecurity between us. Betty always anxious about her weight gain and how I would respond to it. When she first started gaining, the look on her face as she saw me seeing her. Guilty and worried, fearing that she’d overdone it. And that was back near the start, when her legs were still snappable like kindling, her stomach not an organ but the connective tissue between her jarring ribs and jutting hips. God, she was so small back then, but she seemed so un-Betty-like in her size. How things change. So when I met up with her that Monday, the first port of call was to rid her of any closet eating. She didn’t need to hide anything any more. It could all be up front and out in the public arena. And the second thing was to justify her furthering her indulgence. And that’s when Rutherford came in.

Rutherford Stones – aka The Distraction. All good cons require misdirection, and Rutherford was a fairly unmissable distraction of chart-topping enormity. Her part was like her stomach; two-fold. First part, the marriage. Her upcoming nuptials with Minnie Charnwood were the perfect excuse for a lot of what we had planned. Starting with celebratory gorging but ending up with something more involved. But there was a second part to Rutherford’s distraction. But we’ll come to that, when we talk about my deputy in all this.

My number two? Oh, that was Wiktoria – aka The Cook. Her role would be vital. Superficially, she was the one who would be a-rustling up the grub, as she was wont to do. Her breakfasts were notorious, but her culinary skill-set would prove to be a weapon throughout the day. But that was only part of it. The real attribute that Wicky brought to proceedings is that she was the group’s unofficial voice of reason. This would be imperative. For this to work, for us to actually pull this off, we wouldn’t just have to get her to eat and drink like she had never before. We had to normalise it. Sure, her current standards were obscene and, in the social vacuum that she was so often in, the extent of her eating was lost on her. But there’s always that nagging acknowledgement in the back of her mind that what she is doing in ridiculously OTT. If we were to ramp things up properly, we had to change that. We had to eliminate those thoughts. So Betty had to loose all perspective, all sense of right and normal. This was where Wicky and Rutherford came in. When there’s a 690lb whale upstairs, it’s hard to keep track of normal. And I can testify to that myself. And when the voice of reason is 550lbs, then what chance does Betty even have?

Then there was Shay. Aka The Antagonist. Every plot needs one. And Shay could play this part in her sleep. Ostensibly, she was just the runner. The gopher. The one who would populate the place with food. After all, this is what she did anyway. But we also let her play to her strengths. Villainy. Which, in turn, would exploit Betty’s greatest weakness. Her kindness. Though it pains me to admit this but without Shay, we had no plan.

After her was Minnie – Aka The Wrecking Ball. Because the best laid plans of mice and men often go awry. And this was why having a Minnie in reserve was always useful. The ace in our sleeve. Our hail-mary. If things went wrong, you could always trust Minnie to make things turn wrong-er. It was her super-power.

And finally. Well, almost finally but you’ll find out about that later, was Ebba. Aka – The Bait. Because, if love is blind, then lust is blind, dumb and deaf. And Ebba would be the carrot that we’d dangle to Betty to get her to do what we wanted. She was our Macguffin. And she worked best in small doses. But, if used correctly, she’d cloud Betty to everything we planned on wreaking on her.

 

God, this is good” I exclaimed as we dig into our customary Monday lunch together. “You know what, I’m kinda tempted to order a third. Just because we should. To celebrate. It’s not every day my housemates get engaged”.

Can you manage a third Betty meal?” she asked with nervous hesitation, little mouse that she still is.

Probably not. But I feel like I owe it to Rutherford to try. How about you? Would you give it a go? For Rutherford?” I ask. Cynically I know. But we really didn’t have time for fun and games.

Go on then. For Rutherford”

Bingo.

Our third Betty Meals arrived and we looked at them in horror. But I feigned a smile and we started eating.

Now, you might have been wondering why I keep going on about this ticking clock. Why I keep alluding to this unspecified deadline. Well, as I gorged on my third Betty meal, now is probably as apropos a time as any for me to explain. Simply put, it was doing things like eating a third Betty meal that was, in fact, the problem.

So after our chat last week, when we decided to help Betty with her weight gain and push her up to our level, a quite terrifying point was made that’s been niggling at the back of my mind. This time 11 months ago I was 115lbs. I’d never been skinnier. It wasn’t the healthiest diet I’d ever been on, but rather the emotional breakdown and self-imposed starvation diet, and it was this diet that has probably irredeemably screwed up my metabolism, but I was remarkably skinny. I was light on my feet, I could slip into clothes effortlessly. Everything, in fact, felt effortless to do. And now look at me, just 11 months later. Nothing is effortless. Even just sitting down takes planning.

Rutherford laughed at the thought, when I measured my weight in “time it will take for me to get to Rutherford’s size”. She laughed at my acceptance of it. The inevitability of it. And when you’ve sworn off dieting and live in the fattest household in probably the world, it is inevitable. But I have 6 to 9 months before I am in Rutherford’s state unless my weight, for the first time, tapers off. That means I have 6 to 9 months before I am in Rutherford’s boat of immobility. If we were going to super-size Betty, we needed to have done it by then. Because, in 9 months time, and god it pains me to admit this, I might be verging on being immobile myself.

However, this my have been the ticking clock, but it was also part of the plan.

You’ve finished already?” I asked, in genuine surprise at Betty dusting off the third one. I knew she was a warrior when it came to eating, but was she already this excessive?

Yeah, you look like your struggling” Betty replied sympathetically, before her face contorted in horror. “Oh my god, am I able to eat more than you these days?”

No chance. No, I could normally dust this one off no problem it’s just...” and here we go, here’s where we start to reel her in. “It’s just that I had the most ridiculous breakfast you’ve ever seen. Even by Wicky’s standards. We were celebrating the proposal and she went a bit overboard and… I was still kinda full from the night before”.

Wow!”

Yeah, look… you know what I said about Shay?”

That she’s been fattening Rutherford up to make her immobile out of revenge? And that’s why Minnie’s marrying her, to get out of her being deported?” Betty checked.

Yeah. Well, it’s not just her she’s been doing it to” I lied, enticing her.

What?” Betty’s eyes bulged as she exclaimed it.

Yeah. Truth is she’s been doing it all of us. The bitch. And, long story short, I can’t eat another thing. Could you finish it off for me?” I pushed the box towards her, still half-full. And though some of that was a lie to hook her in, some of it was true. I was genuinely stuffed, even at my size. The terrifying flash of being immobile sheet-lightninged through my head. But I couldn’t be distracted, I had to stick to the plan.

I don’t know if I can” Betty said nervously, cradling her gut.

Oh, just try your best. You’re doing me a favour either way. You are the anti-Shay. The anti-bitch” I smile warmly, laying seeds that I’d reap later.

Aww, that’s really nice Leona. Thanks” Betty said, not even realising she was accepting the box and eating from it. “So is Shay really that evil?”

God, she’s ruined everything. And sure, the wedding will buy us time. But it doesn’t buy us anything else. Rutherford’s lost her funding and is now drowning in debt. I’m trying to chip in but...”

I can help” Betty’s eyes widened. The little lamb that she is.

No. No, I can’t ask you to help”

Oh, it’s fine. That’s very kind but you don’t...”

No, I want to help” Betty protested, falling right into the plan. “I have savings. How much do you need?”

I don’t need your money...” I paused, pretending to have a flash of epiphanic brilliance. “I mean, there’s one thing you could do. I mean, it’s a bit of a big deal so I don’t expect you to say yes but...”

What is it?” she asked, impatiently.

Well, we have a spare room you see. Rutherford, Minnie and Shay – the kinky fucks – have one bedroom, me and Wicky have another. It’s a three-bedroom place. If you wanted a reason to give us money, but in a way that I don’t feel guilty about taking it...” I looked at her to see her face light up. Gotcha! Step one, completed.

Oh, that would be brilliant! I’d love that more than anything! Can I… can I be a musketeer?” Betty asked with childish wonder.

I mean, the sixth musketeer doesn’t feel canonical but I’m sure Dumas won’t mind and anyway… I’d love you to be a musketeer” I smile, noticing her so distracted by the good news that she doesn’t realise that she’s finished.

 

 

*-*-*-*-*-*-*

 

 

By Wednesday, we’d cleared the room out for Betty to move in, and by Thursday her stuff was in. And step one was completed. Sure, that was the easy bit; it was only going to get more difficult from that point onwards, but it was great to clear the first hurdle of the Betty Project. She was here, where we needed her. And it was time to enact stage two; challenge her norms. So, enter stage left – Rutherford.

Hey, so nice to have a neighbour. Don’t worry if you hear creaking bedposts at any point. It’s probably just me having a threesome” Rutherford teased, simultaneously unnerving and putting Betty at ease, as she lounged about in her bed, thriving in her own enormity.

Cool. I guess. I mean, good for you” Betty couldn’t take her eyes off her, even if it was just her arms above the duvet that she could see.

It is. It is sooo good for me. Speaking of which, I hear you’ve put on a few?” Rutherford smiled that rosy smile of hers. “You look good Betz. It suits you. Curves. What are you… 180 now?”

200 actually” Betty nearly let slip that she was slightly affronted by the underestimation.

God, 200. Yeah, that takes me back. I remember hitting the big 2-0-0. Skinny little thing that I was.” Rutherford continued, subtly needling Betty.

200 isn’t that small” she protested politely.

Oh, you poor little thing. Of course not. Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s just… I mean… look at me. I’m hoping to quadruple that in the next couple of weeks” Rutherford spun her first lie.

What? How? I thought you were on 680 last time we spoke?” Betty’s eyebrows angled down like divebombing birds of prey. Falling hook, line and sinker for the trap just laid.

Oh my god, did you not hear? Our scales were broken in the flat. Apparently we had to re-set the 0 value or something geeky. I don’t know. Anyway, the new ones tell us that we were underestimating out weight by 100lbs. All of us” Rutherford lied with a candy smile.

What? Really?” Betty exclaimed, her caterpillar eyebrows now rising up her forehead.

Yeah. So I’m nearly 800” Rutherford lied again.

And Leona? Wicky?”

Yeah, all of them. I mean, it makes sense, if you think about it. Leona’s nearly 600. Wicky 654” Rutherford continued her deceit, adding 100lbs onto each of our weights. Making heavier seem not as heavy. “We only realised yesterday when it said that Minnie was 82lbs and we were like, I know she’s lost some weight recently, but c’mon!”

And the lie seemed to be working. Betty stood back in shock, being told that she was positively tiny compared to me and Wicky. And, in a way, she was. But the shifting of these goalposts all served to undermine her sense of normal. Disrupt her balance. Make bigger not sound as bad.

I blame Shay. She’s amazing Betty. You’re gonna love her. She’s positively evil, it’s so good” Rutherford cooed, and Betty could see Rutherford begin to convulse pleasurably at just the thought of it. “Anyway, how do you fancy having a bite to eat with me? We’ll see how long you can keep up. I mean, I’ve just eaten but, this is me we’re talking about” Rutherford said, signalling for Betty to lift the trays of food by her bed up.

And, while this was happening, I was waiting downstairs for the text. The text from Rutherford saying that everything was oll korrect, and everything was going to plan. After half an hour of no contact, I was impressed. It seems Betty had managed to hold her own against the human Kraken that was Rutherford for longer than a girl her comparative size might be expected to. After an hour, that sense of respect turned to concern. Still no text. After 1hr30, I was checking my phone nervously, waiting for confirmation. Surely, even Betty, would be wilting after that long. Something must be wrong. Another ten minutes and I noticed that I was twitching nervously, my leg bouncing up and down on the spot like it used to back in the days when my leg didn’t weight as much as a normal person. Another 10 minutes and I was contemplating interrupting to see what was up. And then my phone lit up.

 

Done

But fk me, Betz gave me a run for my money

Srsly, another hour and I’d have been struggling

ruthers x

 

This was going to be more difficult than we thought.

 

 

*-*-*-*-*-*-*

 

 

Fortunately, Ebba was up next, for the weekend shift. And I began to realise I’d need to expand my pool of provisions and backstops. Betty had developed quite an astonishing appetite in isolation. For us to ramp it up, we would need more support. I rang a number and began involving another member into the plan. That means a two-person backstop should the shit hit the fan. And you know, I was beginning to suspect that it would.

You see, being an amateur linguist such as myself involves consuming media like it’s chocolate bourbons. And there’s no better way to familiarise yourself with a language than listening to that language being used. Podcasts are great, films are great, but TV shows are best. The great thing about TV shows is you get to spend more time than in a film, picking up the beats and rhythms of a language. And you can see their faces, which you can’t in a podcast. So, I’ve been watching La Casa De Papel. Or Money Heist as Netflix deemed it to be translated as. It’s a heist show, in Spanish, and it’s an ode to the idea that plans are only as good as their back-up plans.

Betty being handled – so to speak – by Ebba meant that I had time to recuperate. And I needed it. Project Betty had been all-consuming and, as a result, so had I. It stressed me out. It reminded me of the bad old days, near the end of first year, when Rutherford and Minnie took things up a gear and introduced us to a whole new level of gormandising. Which worried me more than I cared to let on.

Hello my girlfriend” Wiktora smiled as she sat on the couch opposite, not really paying attention to the creak that it makes. It’s the little things like that, that I’ve begun to notice.

Hi Wik, sorry, I was in my own head” I said, snapping out of my thoughts. “How are you?”

I am very good. I ate a big meal and now I am eating a big dessert. Big coffee cake. I will leave half of the cake for you” Wiktoria offered, and I smiled meekly, again thinking of my ballooning weight and the long-term potential consequences. Wiktoria’s contentment at her own eating put me a little at ease. Seeing Wiktoria just eating an entire coffee cake with a tablespoon, no care in the world.

You know, I was thinking, when Betz gets back, we step up to phase 3”

Really, Leona? But we are still not finishing phase 2. We have to make her think this is new normal” Wiktoria said sternly, between abnormally large mouthfuls of abnormally decadent cake. No wonder she was a quarter ton.

I just want to keep our foot on the accelerator. Press our advantage” I explained.

Fine. They’re your rules that you are breaking” she said, chewing dismissively.

Yeah, they are”

Are you sure you don’t want any cake?” Wiktoria offered once more.

I’m good” I declined. But I wasn’t. None of us were. We were so busy discussing skewing Betty’s sense of normal that we didn’t think to look to deep at our own. We needed to pick up the pace. Regardless of the cost.

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Chapter 31

 

The Betty Project – Part 2

 

 

Look, in three weeks’ time. Everything goes tits up. In three weeks’ time, it all goes wrong, and Betty finds herself drinking in Kebabland and asking her old friend Ahmed for advice. She does this after realising that every single one of us betrayed her. But that was in three weeks. Let’s not worry about that now. Let’s just enjoy the here and now.

 

 

*-*-*-*-*-*-**-

 

 

I know it gets said a lot, but Betty was always a thin girl. Painfully thin. Arrogantly thin, as I’d seen it then through my own, biased lens. I’d always mistook her virtue and innocence for piety. The girl who blushed when her mouth stumbled across a profanity and giggled at the thought of a girl’s night out. It gets said a lot, but it is always worth remembering this. That the girl before us, stumbling buzzed back to Chez Musketeer on a Monday, early afternoon, buzzed, bloated and barely fitting in her clothes, was once Little Miss Perfect. Only the Miss part of that was true now.

Her quest to gain weight 6 months ago had clearly been fruitful, which might explain why she was so apple-shaped. So much of my weight gain was dragged down by gravity to my lower half, but Betty’s stomach was a much more effective trap for it, retaining it resiliently. I noticed all of this as we stumbled back to our place.

Day-time drinking is never a good idea” I lamented, squeezing through the front door with a shuffle.

Correct. It is not a good idea. It is a great idea!” Betty giggled, far more buzzed than I was. The girl drank like the she smoked. And she smoked like she ate. The only difficulty she had getting through the door was brought upon by her own crapulence.

She plopped herself down on one of the sofas, still giggling cheerily. The distinctive sound of her skirt ripping at the side could be heard as she folded herself over. It hadn’t been a surprise, given the damage her body had taken over the past week. Even just today, she’d been given the full force of our feeding. Ebba feeding her until the early hours of this morning, then Wiktoria breakfasting her with all of her quite considerable might. And then Betz and I continued our new weekly constitutional of ordering three Betty meals each for lunch. Like last time, I ate as much as two and a half and wholly regretted the over-indulgence. Like last time, Betty ate three and a half, and didn’t allow her thoughts to travel as far as frivolous things like regret.

Sitting down, the changes over just the past week were clear. Her stomach stuck out sorely, bristling with contempt for tummy norms. It bulged sidewards as well, a swollen sack of stomach filled seemingly with more than it could feasibly contain. Though, this theory was about to be tested, as Wiktoria walked into the room.

Hello my wonderful girlfriend” she smiled at me, bending down as best she could to give me a kiss, before walking to the remaining free sofa. “And hello Betty Bollingbrooke. The New Musketeer!”

Hey Wicky” Betty smiled courteously. “Like your top”.

Oh, thank you. It is made for me, specially. I buy it online” Wiktoria replied with a smile, looking down at it. It was De Stijl inspired, with whites and yellows and reds and thick black lines in sharp geometric forms. I loved how much effort Wiktoria still put into her appearance, despite having so much appearance to tend to these days. She seemed colossal, in every direction. But always beautiful. Betty, on the other hand, seemed to lose lustre with every gained pound. Her hair was a cobweb of split ends, so much longer than it used to be too. Her clothing wrestled with her body, struggling to contain it, like trying to wrangle an eel. At this moment, Betty took the time to light up another cigarette, as if trying to highlight the contrast in self-care all the more.

I like the colours” Betty confirmed, before the room drifted into slightly uneasy silence. Fortunately, Wiktoria interrupted it before it could spiral any longer, like an out of control telephone pause.

I am sure Shay will be here very soon. She has brought us many cakes. Lots for Rutherford, but some for us too” she explained, and I tried to hide my wince at the prospect of another cake.

I love the sound of a cake, Wicky, I really do. But I am so full. You wouldn’t believe how much I ate, isn’t that right Leona?” she directed the question to me. I floundered, not really knowing how to answer. So Wicky stepped in again. I loved that woman.

Sorry, I don’t realise you eaten already dessert. Well, that is more for us, which is good” Wiktoria smiled.

Oh, no… I… it wasn’t a dessert. It was just… well, Betty meals. Plural. And you know how they are. I mean, I haven’t… I guess… had a pudding, it’s just...” Betty stammered, the cunning of Wicky’s comment throwing her out for a second.

Well, you should have something sweet then. It is normal to do this” Wiktoria said, almost spelling out Stage 2 of our plan. Normal. It is normal to do this. After all, who doesn’t follow 25000 calories with something sweet to finish it off?

I guess...” Betty shrugged, letting her hand drift down her stomach. In tenderness? In arousal? In doubt? Knowing Betty as I do, it was probably some combination of all three.

And it wasn’t long before Shay arrived, with the ‘weekly’ shopping that she tended to do once or twice a day. Re-usable bags (just because we’re fat, doesn’t mean we don’t care about the amount of plastic in our oceans) laden with Lord knows what. Nothing healthy, I daresay. Most of it was shuttled up to Rutherford’s room to enable her continuation in Jabba-ing up. But a rather substantial number of trips to the kitchen with multiple bags in each of her arms were made in our honour. And in our laps, she placed a chocolate sachentorte. Rich, dense, gloopy chocolate sachentorte. One each. And a spoon. No questions asked. To be fair, though they were dumped on his like hand-me-downs, Shay had gone to the effort of removing the health (%) breakdown pie chart on the one she handed to Betty. I had no such look, and could see the harrowing circle of red, with accompanying data. Each slice was 441 calories somehow. And somehow, they’d decided that this measly cake could stretch to 14 slices. It is times like this that I’m glad I’m a Doctor of linguistics and not a Doctor of mathematics. Otherwise I’d be able to multiply those two numbers in my head and work out how much damage this post-dinner aperitif would be. Least Betty was eating one as well. I guess that was the important thing.

I love sachentorte” Wiktoria beamed, already digging her spoon into its boggy peat of chocolate. “My grandfather was from Germany. When I was a girl, I would go to my grandparents and eat lots of cake as a big, special treat. Now I have lots of big, special treats. It is very nice”.

And it was very nice. Especially if you like chocolate. Or diabetes. It felt luxurious and indulgent, and frustratingly moreish. That’s one of the things that I’d come to notice over the past year or so. My victimhood towards moreishness. That will-power is a muscle and that it required exercise. And mine had atrophied beyond recognition. I’d simply gotten out of the habit of not giving in, like I couldn’t find the off switch and had lost interest in looking. That was one of the main differences between me and Betty. Betty used will-power to gain weight. She worked at it. And she worked hard. I gained weight by not working at it. By not working hard. Hers was still a self-conscious decision; a deliberate deviation from her norm. On the other hand, this was my norm. And any attempt at will-power was like trying to put a plaster over the hull breach of the Titanic. Which was why I was looking particularly titanic myself.

God, that was good” Betty said, suddenly interrupting my thoughts.

What was good? Wait, you’ve finished it already?” I asked, before cursing myself for letting my mask slip. So much for normalising this behaviour.

Yeah, Wicky was right about it being delicious” Betty giggled girlishly.

Well, in that case… could you finish mine?” I asked, tentatively, offering her my half eaten cake. This was it. Stage 3. Earlier than planned. Much earlier. But this was it. Batten down the hatches, ladies and gentlemen. We were entering the next stage of The Betty Project before the last one had really begun.

Why?” Betty asked suspiciously, and I girded my loins and made my play.

Because I’ve got to arrange for a GP check-up. Wicky’s been nagging me about sorting it out for weeks now. And… look, I’m not going on a diet per se, but I’m not immune to self-consciousness. I’d like to minimise the amount I’m gaining so that when I have my check-up, I don’t get such a pummelling” I half-lie, half-confess. The truth of the matter is that Wiktoria had been pushing for me to arrange a GP’s appointment for a while now. Since we got back from France over the Summer, actually. And, foolishly, I kept putting it off. I knew what they were going to say, and how horrified they were going to be, and I kept putting it off and putting it off. Afraid of their criticism. And all I’ve done in the meantime is gain even more, and now they’re going to criticise me even more, which makes me want to put it off even more. I’m a proud woman and I don’t need that negativity in my life.

Except, I probably do. But that’s besides the point.

So, instead, we have Stage 3.

Oh, I didn’t realise” Betty sounded sympathetic as she said it. It was a knack she had.

Yeah, and with Shay on the rampage, I need a hand going forwards. When she tries to over-feed me and push me towards even more balloon-like sizes, could you help out?” The insecurity in my voice wasn’t intentional. It just rose up out of me anyway.

I mean, sure. Anything for you Leona. How?”

If Shay tries to dump food on me… could you eat it for me?”

And that was Stage 3. It was the weakest part of the plan. We’d set it up earlier, establishing Shay as the antagonist, showing how she was. And now this. The bombshell.

On top of everything else I’ve been eating?” Betty asked nervously.

I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. Wicky told me not to. That we shouldn’t impose. It’ll be fine. Pretend I never said anything. I’ve got thick skin. Heck, I’ve got rolls and rolls of thick skin. It’ll be fine” I reassured her, and slowly began eating my sachertorte again.

No, I’ll help Leona. Pass it over, I’ll finish it off” Betty relented, quite quickly. A little too quickly. Perhaps. Or maybe not.

No, it’s fine Betz. I’ll finish this up. You’re already bailing us out on rent, I honestly shouldn’t have asked” I protested, and began eating quicker.

No, really” she argued, a bit more keenly.

Really Betz. I’ll eat it, it’s fine” I countered, raising my voice a little. I saw in the corner of my eye, Wiktoria raise an eyebrow. I pretended not to notice. I pretended I knew what I was doing. I did know what I was doing. I think.

Okay...” Betty finally relented, and Wiktoria cocked her head at me in confusion.

But, I tell you what you can do” I finally added, spooning in the last few mouthfuls. “Go up and see Rutherford. You know, she really does enjoy your company up there”

Oh, I dunno. I could maybe have finished off the cake, but I don’t know if I could cope with a Rutherford session after all I’ve eaten”

Oh purleeaaase. You love it, stop playing hard to get. Go up there and enjoy yourself. And when you do come down, I want you smiling as widely as she smiles” I ordered, and Betty smiled to me and to herself as she climbed up the stairs. And watching her go, I noticed that even Betty’s arse had grown. I’d never really noticed that about her before, but Betty was even getting a fat arse.

I turned back around and saw my girlfriend staring at me.

What?”

You know what” she said to me, with an accusatory index finger being jabbed towards me.

I changed my mind. You were right. It was too soon for Stage 3. She needs another week to acclimatise. And, at least this way, we’ve planted the seed, so when we do it, she’ll be more readily amenable” I explained.

Hmmm” she replied, suspiciously.

By the time we roll our Stage 3, she’ll be practically begging to help me out. She needs to believe it was her suggestion to help me out for her to truly buy into it. Trust me, I know what I’m doing” I explained, trying to placate her.

If you say so” she squinted her eyes at me, not convinced. “And you’ll still book the doctor appointment?”

Yeah, I’ll still book it” I said, in thought.

And Wiktoria was right to be suspicious. Of course, there was an element of truth to what I was saying. If we wanted to up Betty’s eating, by getting her to eat my food too, it made sense that we establish the norm first, so we can then add to it. But there was another truth, one that I was a little in denial over. One lurking beneath the surface.

I didn’t want her to eat my sachentorte, because I wanted to eat it. No will-power, see?

Fuck, no will-power. I’m in real trouble, aren’t I?

 

 

 

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

 

 

Thursday saw Minnie take Betty clothes shopping. It was not a day too soon.

It was, however, not the smartest play. You know how Minnie is, we all know how Minnie is. But she’s not one for following the rules. Unless, that is, one of the rules is Break The Rules. In which case, she’d follow that one to the letter. She was only interested in fun.

So, or the first time in only a few months but the first time in many dress sizes, Betty went clothes shopping. She went with Minnie because Minnie was the only girl comfortable being on her feet for an extended period of time. That much walking and standing just wasn’t very good on the feet and back of girls like me and Wiktoria these days. Why walk and stand when you can eat and eat? So Minnie and Betty ventured into clothing stores for the first time since the incident in the changing rooms.

Last time I came here with you, if I recall, you were fretting over possibly going up to – heaven forbid – a size 16. I mean, can you imagine, Betty Bollingbrooke as a size 16?” Minnie teased, as Betty flicked through the clothing racks of the plus-size store.

Yeah, times change. And so do waistlines, it seems” she said, pulling out a size 24 and putting it against her body to judge whether it would suit her. The look on Minnie’s face suggested yes.

Excuse me ma’am, do you need a hand. We here at LoveU want to ensure you have the best fitting clothes, so how about we get you sized up?” some cheery soul announced itself to Betty.

Honestly, I think I’m okay. Don’t really see the point in buying clothes to fit exactly what I look like now. What if I change? Then it’ll all be for nothing” Betty mused, sensing the potential for fun.

Ohhh, I totally get it. You thinking about going on a diet? Believe me sister, I get it” the kind saleswoman said with a genial roll of the eyes.

I mean, everyone’s on a diet. A diet is just what you eat over a day” Betty semanticised back at her.

Haha, yeah sure” the saleswoman’s eyeroll was a little less endearing this time. “So, lemme guess ma’am, you’re looking at clothing sizes that don’t quite fit, you’re talking about going on a diet and – no offence – but you’re acting kinda bitchy and tired. I’m guessing you’re a new mum” the saleswoman cheerfully own-goaled.

Yes! How did you guess?” Betty lied with a voracious grin on her face. “Triplets actually”.

Oh my god! That sounds like such trauma” the saleswoman replied, buying the lie wholeheartedly.

I know. And it’s ruined my figure. I used to be really fit, used to run marathons can you believe. But people say eating for two is bad, you should try eating for four” Betty hammed it up and Minnie just watched with pride.

I can’t even believe what that must be like, babe” the saleswoman said sincerely. And Minnie decided she wanted to join into this game, herself.

I know right! Mum’s a trooper” Minnie said, holding onto Betty’s arm kindly.

M...mum? Wait, how old are you?” the salesperson seemed slightly put out by that comment, though not as put out as Betty would have liked her to have been.

She’s 45. Isn’t that right mum?” Minnie said, leaning affectionately on Betty’s shoulder, who could only smile.

Yeah, well… 46 next week” Betty ad-libbed, catching on quickly.

46? You look good Ma’am. Honestly, I’d have have said 38 or 39, maybe 40 absolute maximum. You look good for your age, seriously” the saleswoman complimented, and the 27 year old teacher blushed.

Well… thanks. I put a lot of effort into my appearance” Betty replied, not technically lying. “Anyway, since you’re hear… I’m actually thinking about maybe having more kids, while my body still lets me. Tick-tock and all that. So, do you have maternity wear or the really large size? I might need them to grow into” Betty smiled and the kind saleswoman showed her the way.

 

 

*-*-*-*-*-*-*

 

 

I can’t believe you pretended to be in your forties, Betz! That’s mad” I chuckled.

To think, this time 9 months ago, I used to get mistaken for a teenager” Betty giggled too, at the thought of it. “It’s been one hell of a 9 months”.

I looked at her and tried to work out how that could have possibly happened. Betty Bollingbrooke. Face like a Grange Hill character. Being able to convince somebody that they were in their forties? I mean, the greying of her hair did her no favours, I guess. At first, it had been the odd stray one. Even before the gaining, I remember her naming her first one Edith and finding it very amusing. But now, they seemed to have spread like a wildfire, leaving a path of colourless destruction in its week. She was still predominantly dark-haired, but she was fast drawing towards 50:50 these days.

And yes, her eyes had lost that youthful spark. Crows feet that stood out when her eyes crinkled to accompany a smile. Weary bags from a girl who didn’t care much for sleep patterns or healthy life choices. And I guess smoking doesn’t help. She could barely go ten minutes now without the feeling of something between her fingers. She claimed she was on 40 a day, but I think 60 was closer. And obviously the weight gain influenced this dramatic aging. Her figure had been borderline girlish before, now it had flown well past womanly, sailed over matronly, and plumped itself down past plump. The change of posture, the waddle that came with the gain. All of it detracted from the former buoyancy of youth. Even her growing sluggishness played its part. But still, no person should be deceived into thinking a person gained 25 years in 9 months, without The Irishman’s technology.

So, when’s the appointment?” Betty asked, putting Chinese food in her mouth. Thursday night was known informally as Takeout Thursday. Though, it should be acknowledged, that the Takeout prefix could have been applied to most of the days of the week.

What appointment?” I asked, genuinely forgetting.

Your doctor’s, silly” Betty giggled, looking smart in clothes that actually fit her. Shame about the trickle of chow mein down the front. It was impressive how much she’d continue to gain, considering how much inevitably ended up down her top.

Oh, that. Four weeks” I said glumly, well aware that the sweet and sour pork balls probably weren’t going to help with this impending verdict.

You know, if you wanna, I can...” she gestured that she could take my portion off me. I paused and thought, before politely declining. To Wiktoria, it would have looked like I was just stretching it out, amping up the pressure. To Betty, it would have looked like a genuine pause for thought. The truth was that it was sorta both of those things.

So… how’s things with Ebba?” I asked, feeling uncomfortable in this room with just Wicky and Betty. Betty’s reply was just a guilty blush that told a wild untold story that I didn’t really want to hear about. And the room again slipped into silence.

So when did you last go to the doctor’s?” Betty asked, with warmth and concern.

I don’t really wanna talk about...”

Last February” Wiktoria interrupted.

And how much did she weigh back then?” Betty asked Wiktoria, a slender smile appearing again at the thought.

Please, can we change the topic of this conv...”

170lbs” Wiktoria answered, again on my behalf. I just looked down guiltily.

Wow...” Betty exclaimed.

Yeah, and she gave me shit for it back then. Said I was overweight and that my rate of gain was alarming. And that was a quarter ton ago” I sulked, arms folded.

Well, when you put it like that… look, I’ll help you Leona. I’ll eat anything you need. Honestly. For you, I’ll do it” Betty smiled such a sweet smile it could have turned a rabid dog placid.

And this is what I had been planning for, wasn’t it? This is what I wanted. For Betty to ask me to help. For her to volunteer to eat my food. Stage 3 in a nutshell, just as I’d devised. And yet…

And yet, I wanted to say no. I wanted to refuse help. Because I wanted to eat. I wanted to eat with abandon. I wanted to throw caution to the wind and over-indulge, like I was used to doing. This is what I wanted, goddammit! I wanted this takeaway. I wanted the prawn crackers and the BBQ ribs and the egg fried rice and the spicy kung po. And after all that. After all the ungodly eating. I wanted more. I wanted dessert. I wanted cakes. Not singular, plural. I wanted it all. Not to share a drop with Betty fucking Bollingbrooke. But all for myself.

Thanks” I smiled with a reluctant smile, handing over my plate. I can’t be sure, but I think I looked at the floor sulkily as I did it. Stage 3 was still on track, but as I watched her wolf down all the food that I was planning on eating, on top of all the food she had eaten, I began to feel a sharp pinch of jealousy. I was beginning to feel like the weak link in this plan.

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