Drive Me Crazy

‘What’s wrong with my dress? It’s not that bad,’ I protest, glancing down at the black pencil dress I wore to work.

‘Yeah, not that bad if you’re going to a funeral,’ my friend (who is wearing a white cheesecloth gypsy top as a dress, might I add) says harshly, ‘or you’re still trying to turn yourself into a weird clone of your boss’s wife.’

I stare at my friend for a moment. She hasn’t been back to the flat for a while, and she’s been so busy with wedding stuff that we haven’t spent much time together – not to have a proper chat – but it’s clear that she still doesn’t approve of my situation with Will. She can’t even say his name.

‘This isn’t for anyone’s benefit, I just like dressing a bit smarter,’ I lie. ‘And maybe I have made this place a bit more neutral, but if Will is going to move in here with me eventually then it needs to be less girly.’

‘Ergh, listen to yourself.’ Amy rolls her eyes theatrically. ‘All you go on about is him. You dress for him. You decorate for him. What does he do for you? He won’t even be with you publicly.’

I feel my face fall, and my friend reacts.

‘Candice, I’m sorry, it just upsets me to see him treat you like this. You deserve better.’

Amy carelessly places the dirty spoon down on the chest of drawers next to her and grabs me for a hug.

‘I know I deserve better,’ I tell her honestly. ‘But that’s what this week away is all about. It’s going to be our first anniversary so we’re just going to concentrate on being normal together, seeing how it goes and then working out what we’re going to do about our future.’

‘Remind me again how we’re spinning this little holiday-slash-business trip?’ Amy asks, pulling a face.

‘As managing director, Will needs to visit all branches of the company. He’ll make sure things are running smoothly and put in a bit of face time with the other employees. It’s good for his image.’

‘It’s good for an excuse to nail you in a hotel bed instead of a supply cupboard,’ she tells me.

‘That was one time.’ I laugh.

‘And this explains why you’re away for the weekend too, because…’

‘There’s always someone working day and night, seven days a week, to keep things moving,’ I tell her. ‘Haulage never sleeps.’

‘That might be the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.’ Amy laughs.

Before I met Amy, I was so so shy. Somehow, she brought me out of myself and for that brief moment between meeting Aims and meeting Will, I felt like a whole new person, like a normal girl in her early twenties. I will admit that since I started seeing Will, I have gone back into my shell a little. I worry about keeping in shape. I worry about coming across as the scrappy, foul-mouthed, party girl I turned into when it was just Amy and me against the world. I know that Will wouldn’t be into that kind of girl, and I hid her from him well until I got out of those bad habits. Will is a smart, educated, well-respected man. He comes from a good family. He’s so well-spoken his accent is almost neutral, despite being born and raised in Manchester. Guys like that don’t wind up with girls like the one I had become, so I cleaned up my act. I know that Amy holds Will responsible for this regression in personality (that’s what she calls it) but I do feel like a better person for being with him.

‘Right, go get your comfies on,’ Amy insists. ‘Dinner will be ready in ten. I’ve made steaks, chips and my own special secret sauce,’ she sings. ‘I know you’ve been missing it so you better be off your silly diet.’

As I head for the bathroom, a sick feeling washes over me. I don’t know what exactly is in Amy’s special sauce, but I know that it’s full of calories. As are steaks and chips. The thing about being on a diet is that as soon as you have a little slip-up, it undoes your progress for the past few days and it feels like it was all for nothing. And if that bagel yesterday made my tummy blow up like a balloon today, then tomorrow, after Amy’s cooking, I’ll look like I’m expecting one hell of a food baby, and that will have Will worried.

I close the bathroom door behind me, slip off my dress (and my underwear, because an underwired bra will easily add one pound to my weight), pull out the scales from behind the sink as quietly as possible and place them on the bathroom floor. As I am about to step on them, a bang on the bathroom door causes me to jump out of my skin.

‘Bitch, are you weighing yourself?’ my friend yells through the closed door. ‘Seriously, you’ve gotta stop with this shit. You are a perfectly normal and healthy weight. Stop trying to be a stick for a man and come and get some chips into you.’

‘I’m not weighing myself,’ I lie, although it’s pointless. Amy knows I’m on a quest to lose a bit more weight, but I’m just trying to get healthier with Will, that’s all. I don’t have a problem or anything – actually, I do have a problem, it’s that I want to eat brownies near-constantly, but I try my hardest not to. The urge never goes away though. ‘I’ll be out in a minute.’

I flush the toilet before returning the scales as quietly as possible. I slip on a pair of joggers and a vest top and open the door to find Amy waiting for me.

‘Stop weighing yourself,’ she ticks me off, hitting me on the nose with a CD.

‘Stop leaving the pans unattended,’ I tell her off in return.

‘OK, I was just bringing you this.’

Amy presents me with a CD called ‘Anything you want is yours’.

‘Cool, what genre do they play?’ I ask, knowing full well it isn’t music.

‘Very funny. It’s that cosmic ordering I was telling you about. This one teams it with meditation; it’s bound to sort your life out.’

‘Oh, thanks,’ I reply, unsure what to say to that. ‘I’ll put it in my room.’

As Amy heads back to the kitchen, which hopefully isn’t on fire, I frisbee the CD into my bedroom. I’ll need to be pretty desperate before I resort to asking thin air to fix my problems for me.

Chapter 3 (#ulink_2e519043-ec72-5fab-8d7f-781f7c40dd9e)

I tap the step counter on my wrist to check my progress for the day. After inputting my calories consumed into my health app, I can see that my usual target of a calorie deficit is unsurprisingly a calorie surplus after my epic dinner (and too much wine) with Amy, but after her catching me out with the scales, I felt like I had to clear my plate to prove a point. At least, that’s what I’m telling myself, because it’s a more flattering excuse than me being a piggy.

With just ten minutes to go until midnight, I walk laps around my bedroom to try and get my steps up for the day, because more steps equals more calories burned. The fact that I am tipsy from all the wine is only making this more difficult, but that’s all the more reason for me to do it. I don’t have much floor space in my room, which makes this even trickier, but Amy had decided to stay the night and she just doesn’t get why I want to lose weight. That’s because she’s so happy in her skin. If she caught me exercising at this time, she’d flip.

I pace back and forth a few more times before stumbling over nothing – possible the thick fumes of alcohol in the air – and hit the deck. Unhurt (or just too tipsy to feel it) I laugh at myself. That’s when I notice the CD Amy gave me and curiosity gets the better of me. I pop it in my CD player before hitting play (making sure the volume is low enough not to be heard) and getting in bed.

As I listen to what the voice on the CD has to say, I frown. This is silly. I’m supposed to just repeat a few chants and tell the universe what I want and it will just hand it over? If only life were that simple.

The voice talks about deciding what you want, and asserting yourself.

‘Repeat after me,’ the voice instructs. ‘I am in charge of my own destiny, and I deserve a better life.’

‘I am in charge of my own destiny, and I deserve a better life,’ I replying, mockingly.

‘It doesn’t work if you take the piss,’ I hear a voice say softly from behind the door. ‘Can I come in?’

‘Sure,’ I reply, embarrassed, although I’m not sure why – at first because she caught me listening to it, but then because I was taking the piss just a bit. The thing is, after the shitty cards life has dealt me, it annoys me that the voice on the CD is implying that all I had to do was ask it not to.

Amy turns off the CD player before climbing in my bed next to me.

‘So, what are you asking for?’ Amy enquires.

‘Hmm, let’s see… How about that I fall in love with Mr Right, ASAP?’

‘Beats the Mr Wrong you’re with now,’ she teases, before changing her tone to a more serious, concerned one. ‘You’re not yourself, babe.’

‘I’m fine, just a bad day,’ I tell her and leave it at that. I won’t tell her about Will pushing me underneath a desk because she’d hit the ceiling.

‘Not just today – generally. You’re like a different person. He quashes your spirit.’

I laugh it off. ‘Just a bad day,’ I tell her again, but I feel my eyes filling up. Stupid alcohol, letting my emotions get the better of me. Suddenly, it’s all flowing out.

‘My life is passing me by,’ I admit. ‘With each second that ticks by, my death gets that little bit closer. I watch the seconds turn into minutes, then hours, days, weeks, months and eventually years. I see the so-called “best years of my life” vanishing before my eyes. And I hate my job so frigging much.’

‘So quit,’ Amy suggests.