Page 24 of A Clean Sweep

S usan had contemplated cancelling book club.

She’d started her cancer treatment two weeks ago and it had left her tired, irritable and in considerable discomfort.

The only thing that had prevented her doing so was the knowledge that it was the social highlight of her month.

Terribly sad but true. She envied the other members and their busy and fulfilling lives, or at least the impression they gave of filling their days with work, hobbies or just relaxing with family and friends.

Her days and nights never varied: juggling numbers for her clients and drowning out her loneliness with a combination of TV dramas and food.

A leaflet had dropped on to her doormat a couple of months earlier, advertising a new gym and offering a free trial session.

She’d tossed it in the bin, only to fish it out a few hours later.

Maybe it was worth a go, she’d thought in a rare moment of positivity.

Before her courage deserted her, she’d picked up the phone and booked herself in for the following day.

Arriving at the gym, she’d felt shaky and sick.

She’d watched a couple of women in their forties make their way through the revolving door, immaculate in their tight-fitting leggings and fluorescent tops.

Both wore make-up, their hair tied back in high ponytails.

Susan had glanced down at her own gym wear – a saggy T-shirt with an indeterminate stain on the hem and jogging bottoms she only ever used when gardening – and fought the urge to turn and run.

Inside she was greeted by a young trainer named Joseph who exuded good health and exuberance.

He practically bounced on the spot as he waited for Susan to fill out a health questionnaire.

She fudged a few of the questions: How many times a week do you exercise?

(Real answer: none); What is your current weight?

(No idea, the thought of stepping on scales was too awful to contemplate), and What are your long-term gym objectives?

She’d wanted to write: To stop being either invisible or the source of people’s amusement but settled for: To lose weight and get fitter .

Which was probably the expected answer, after all.

In the gym, Joseph had started her off on the treadmill at a gentle walking pace.

Within ten minutes she felt hot and sweaty, the well-worn elastic of her jogging bottoms chafing at her skin.

Relief when Joseph returned and switched it off was replaced with horror when he guided her to a corner lined with floor mats and proceeded to demonstrate a series of exercises.

She’d tried her best to copy his moves, painfully aware of every aching muscle and her inability to manage the ten to fifteen repetitions he urged her to do.

‘You’re doing great, Susan, keep going!’ he’d said in an almost-convincing tone.

In the changing room Susan had tip-toed around the women who were totally naked and chattering away as they smoothed in various body creams or towelled themselves dry.

She found a curtained cubicle and slunk inside, desperate to change into her day clothes and make a hasty exit.

She’d decided to shower at home, making do with a quick wipe around with a damp flannel she’d stuffed in her toilet bag.

As she’d pulled on her underwear she heard laughter outside, followed by a muffled ‘Shush!’

‘Did you see the state of that one? Honestly, I’m amazed people let themselves get in that state then expect a miracle in the gym. Personally, I wouldn’t set foot in one if I was that size.’

Susan had struggled to do up her bra, her cheeks still warm from the exercise now red-hot with shame and embarrassment. Fumbling in her bag for her jumper she heard a second voice, fainter this time, but the words seared her as surely as if the speaker had yelled them in her face.

‘I know! She reminded me of that Star Wars character. You know, Jabba the Hutt!’ And with another peal of laughter they were gone. Susan left minutes later, never to return.

It was now a quarter to eight, the book club ladies due to arrive in the next fifteen minutes or so.

Some – like Emily – were always on time whereas others drifted in late or sent last-minute texts apologising for not being able to make it.

Although, so far, it looked like everyone was going to turn up.

Susan had laid out the customary nibbles on her tiny dining table.

She’d tried her best in the last few days to cut down on her eating, spurred on by the appalling realisation that her clothes were becoming increasingly tight.

Size twenty would soon become size twenty-two.

Nowadays most of the major stores stocked large sizes but Susan always felt mortified rifling through the rails, pushing aside the tens and twelves and gazing in awe at the sixes and eights.

Surely women who wore those sizes must be missing an internal organ or two ?

Despite her good intentions, she found herself slathering several crackers with home-made hummus.

A bit too much garlic and not enough lemon juice.

Gulping down a glass of water she eyed the Greek semolina cake she’d picked up at the patisserie.

Revani, to give it its proper name. Susan was quite sure book club would give a resounding thumbs-down to her choice – Beyond the Blindfold – but she thought some Greek-themed food might make up for its shortcomings.

Even by her standards it had been pretty atrocious.

The writer clearly thought she was reworking Shirley Valentine , when the truth was she would struggle to make the cut in one of the teen-romance stories Susan had devoured in her bedroom when she wasn’t doing her homework.

Usually whilst she worked her way through a packet of biscuits.

Just a small slice of cake, just to try.

It was delicious. Of course it was. Everything always tasted good until the revulsion kicked in.

Checking she had enough wine glasses laid out and opening a couple of bottles of red and white, Susan thought about what she’d seen – or rather, who she thought she’d seen – as she’d left the patisserie.

It was just the briefest glimpse of a man speeding past on a bicycle, a blur of colour before he disappeared around the corner.

But it had been enough to quicken her heartbeat momentarily and she’d stood on the pavement for at least a minute in case he came back.

Looking back now she berated herself for her foolishness.

Jonathan was long gone, probably happily married with an adoring wife and adorable children.

No less than he deserved. A man like him deserved so much more than a woman like her.

She’d made the right decision – of course she had – and lived with it every day since.

‘Fabulous cake, Susan, did you make it yourself?’ Nancy Edwards was uncharacteristically chatty this evening, perhaps because of the third glass of wine she’d knocked back in under half an hour.

Normally she drove to book club but apparently her son, home on a rare visit from Canada, had dropped her off along with Esther who lived a few doors away.

‘No, it’s shop-bought but I did make the hummus although I’m not too impressed with it. And I have to confess I wasn’t too impressed with the book either, sorry.’ Susan looked apologetically at the ladies who were all occupied with filling their plates and glasses.

‘Oh, it wasn’t that bad, although I thought the sex scenes were a bit tame to be honest. I’d expected a bit more detail , if you know what I mean.

In my experience …’ Celeste had stopped suddenly, a look of what could be construed as embarrassment on her face.

Strange, thought Susan. Had she been about to reveal intimate revelations about her sex life with Michael?

She barely knew him but he always struck her as a bit old-fashioned and stuffy; not the kind to get experimental in the bedroom, anyway.

Still, there was no telling what people got up to in their private lives, was there?

Just because her own was relentlessly dull didn’t mean others might not be more adventurous than surface appearances suggested.

Emily was peering at her Kindle, her face screwed up in concentration.

Despite only really knowing her through book club, Susan liked her and wished they could become friends but didn’t know how to make that happen.

Why would someone as pretty and popular want to be friends with her ?

She tried her best to fit in at these meetings but always felt like the mongrel in a gathering of pure breeds.

The fat kid sitting on the sidelines while the cool kids sashayed on by, barely acknowledging her existence .

‘I quite liked the bit when Martha and Demetrios went on the picnic and got bitten alive by ants just as they were getting on with it!’ said Emily brightly.

Both Nancy and Celeste nodded in agreement, whereas Esther – who hadn’t even pretended to read the book – looked blank.

Susan sighed and cut herself another slice of cake.

Maybe it was time to boost the book club numbers, not that she had a bulging contacts list to draw upon.

Before she’d joined there’d been around eight or nine members but several had dropped out for varying reasons.

Before she could make the suggestion, Celeste had taken centre stage, any further discussion of the book replaced by potentially far more entertaining gossip.

‘Believe me, those two’ll be in the divorce courts before the month’s out,’ she decreed to her captive audience.