A Season of Hopes and Dreams

For a brief moment, I consider reminding her for the millionth time that I’m on a diet and that pasta with rich creamy sauce is a big no-no. But she’s worked so hard on preparing the spaghetti carbonara that I can’t bear to even picture the look of hurt on her face.

‘Nothing, everything’s fine.’

I lick the spoon and my taste buds are hit with the sensation of cream, Parmesan and eggs. I can’t pretend I don’t enjoy it.

‘Wow,’ I say, ‘that tastes incredible!’

Mum’s face lights up and she goes back to stirring the sauce. ‘I knew you’d like it! I wasn’t sure if I’d added too much garlic or not. Anyway, go and sit down, it’ll be ready in a minute.’

I wait for her to ask how last night’s Carb Counters meeting went, but she doesn’t. I don’t know why I’m surprised; Mum isn’t exactly the biggest fan of slimming groups and diets, and I can’t say I blame her.

But that’s another story.

*

After Dad makes his way back from the pub, we sit down to dinner. I stare at the plate in front of me, my brain in a whirl as it tries to add up all the calories. Best not to stick this one down in the food diary, I reckon.

‘Eat up love, it’ll get cold.’ Mum looks up from her own half-empty plate and gestures to my full one. ‘Go on, it’ll be a change from that healthy muck you always eat. Looks like it’s been swept out of a rabbit hutch.’

I feel a little bubble of anger rise within me and grit my teeth. I know Mum means well and just wants to serve me a nice meal to eat, but a little bit of understanding wouldn’t go amiss. I twirl some pasta round my fork and put it into my mouth, loving and hating the taste at the same time. This is laden with calories and not something I should be eating on Carb Counters, yet I can’t deny how amazing it tastes.

Mum looks at me expectantly, waiting to hear my verdict. I manage a weak smile and nod my head.

‘S’good,’ I say through a mouthful of pasta. ‘Really good.’

‘As long as you’re enjoying it,’ she says. ‘I don’t know how you stomach that quinoa stuff you’re always banging on about. Life’s too short to eat rubbish like that and worry about the numbers on a scale.’

One, two, three, four…

Counting to ten doesn’t help this time; the words are out of my mouth before I know it.

‘My Carb Counters meeting went fine, by the way. Thanks for asking.’

A deadly silence falls over the table, replacing the convivial chatter we’d been having before the subject of food had been brought up.

‘That bloody con artist Marjorie Newton still got you hooked, has she?’ Mum purses her lips and folds her arms, looking at me with a sneering expression.

‘She’s hardly a con artist if I’ve lost three stone, Mum!’

‘A bloody slimming group is the last thing you should be going to after all the trouble you’ve had—’

‘Enough!’ Dad’s voice booms out across the room and stops our argument in its tracks. ‘Now let’s change the subject, shall we?’

Mum isn’t in the mood to back down, though. ‘I’m just saying a slimming group isn’t the best place for someone like Cleo, that’s all. Or don’t you remember what happened when she was at school? She was throwing up nearly everything she ate and taking those awful diet pills!’

My blood begins to boil and I dig my nails into my palms. I hate being reminded of the worst time in my life, not least because of how hard I’ve worked to overcome my issues. Yet Mum brings it up at every available opportunity, using it as a weapon to undermine my progress with Carb Counters.

‘I am here, you know? Look, I know I haven’t always had the best relationship with food, but Carb Counters helps me, Mum. I know you’re worried I’ll fall back into my old habits, but I won’t. I’m eating healthily and losing weight safely this time.’

I can tell she’s not convinced, but she chooses not to pursue the matter any further. Instead, she flashes me a look and turns her attention back to her pasta.

In an attempt to clear the air, Dad pipes up, ‘Cleo, did you know Amanda Best’s back in the village?’

Nice subject change, Dad.

‘Yeah, she came into The Pastry Corner earlier today. Apparently she’s hosting a school reunion.’ My brain throws up the memory of me looking her right in the eye and telling her I’d be there. The corners of my lips pull up into a smile.

Mum scoffs. ‘You’re not going, are you?’

‘Actually, I said yes,’ I snap. ‘Surprised?’

I decide not to say that Adam Hartwell is also going to be there. What Mum doesn’t know can’t hurt her.

Her eyes widen and she looks at me. ‘After what she put you through at that school? I was never away from the place because she was calling you names or making your life a misery.’

I think about apologising for being such an inconvenience, but change my mind. Things are tense enough without me making it worse.

‘That was years ago, Mum; things are different now,’ I say without the conviction I was hoping for. Hardly surprising given Amanda’s poisonous P.S. in her invitation email.

She shakes her head, mutters something under her breath and turns her attention back to her carbonara. Dad flashes me a weak smile, but doesn’t say anything. Whenever Mum’s against something, he usually follows suit.

I decide to make a final stab at a civilised conversation. ‘Hey, you’ll never guess what I found! This old bucket list I made when I was fourteen; it’s quite funny to look at it now, actually. I wanted to move to New York, be a dancer and swim with dolphins!’

‘It’s a bit late to do the whole dancer-in-New-York thing now,’ Mum remarks. ‘This is real life, love, not Flashdance.’

I want to point out that Flashdance is set in Pennsylvania, not New York, but decide not to. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about my mum, it’s that you have to pick your battles.

‘Actually, finding the list inspired me to make a whole new one,’ I reply, digging the list out of my bag. ‘Here, take a look.’

I pass it to Dad, who hands it to Mum after a cursory glance. She doesn’t mimic Emma’s wide, beaming grin. Instead, her face contorts into a grimace as she gives it back to me.

‘Cleo, don’t you think some of those things are a bit… well, ambitious? I mean, finding a way to dance again will be really difficult, especially since you’ve been away from it for so long. I just don’t want to see you get disappointed, that’s all. There are people in life who are meant to do big things and people who are meant to do small things. You are meant to do small things and there’s nothing wrong with that. Leave the big things to everyone else,’ Mum advises, passing me some more garlic bread.

I feel as though someone’s punched me in the guts. I’ve always dreamed of doing big things, but even my own mum doesn’t believe in me. While my parents aren’t looking, I take a little glance at my list. A fire lights up inside me as I see my biggest dreams written in front of me.

Prove everyone wrong, the voice in my head whispers, and whatever you do, don’t give up.

*

The first thing I do when I get home is open up the email containing Amanda’s invitation. Although I told her I’d be going when she came into the bakery today, I want to make it more official so I won’t back out. My latest confrontation with Mum has spurred me on to do my bucket list and prove her wrong. I want to show her that I am capable of doing big things, and it starts with this school reunion.

As electricity shoots through my veins, I flex my fingers and begin to type.

Hi, Amanda!

Thanks so much for my invitation. I’d absolutely love to come to the reunion. It’ll be great to catch up on what everyone’s been up to since we left school. It was great seeing you today, by the way.

I sign off by saying I’ll see her at the reunion, then hit Send and sit back to admire my handiwork. It’s official; I’m going now and I couldn’t back out even if I wanted to.