Honey’s face fell.
‘Sorry, chicken. But what we do have is one of the most iconic Hollywood musicals ever made.’
Honey’s expression brightened considerably. ‘Frozen?’ she asked, with hushed reverence.
‘Top Hat,’ I corrected her firmly. ‘The songs are way better.’
The look of disbelief Honey gave me could only have come from a princess-in-training who spent hours each week in her bedroom in the midst of a swirling, imaginary snowstorm, perfecting the dramatic high notes of ‘Let It Go’.
Okay, maybe I wasn’t going to win this argument, even if I was clearly in the right. However, I had another ace up my sleeve. ‘The dresses are just as pretty,’ I added. ‘You wait and see.’
Honey looked sceptical, but she always loved the idea of doing ‘grown-up stuff’ with her mum and Auntie Pippa, so she wedged herself between Candy and I, folded her arms and stared at the blank television set, ready to be proved wrong.
When Ginger Rogers first appeared, I leaned across and gave Honey a nudge. ‘See? Told you there’d be pretty dresses. And that’s only her nightie. Wait until you see what she wears for an evening out!’
Honey stared at the screen, duly impressed. ‘Mummy? Can I have a bedroom like that?’ she asked, eyeing up the improbably large and improbably white movie-set hotel room Ginger was sleeping in, complete with a sumptuous bed with a padded satin headboard.
‘Oh, Lord …’ Candy muttered. ‘It’d be like having Vegas come to Islington! I’d keep getting worried that Liberace would pop out from behind the furnishings and flash me his perfect gnashers.’
I chuckled to myself. No, all that glistening white definitely wouldn’t merge well with the Laura-Ashley-meets-Habitat vibe she had going on in her house.
When it got to the bit I’d been waiting for, I hugged the cushion tighter to myself. This was it. The famous rendition of ‘Cheek to Cheek’, where Fred and Ginger glided across a vast dance space. They flowed through the beats of the music, moving together like one person. When the routine came to an end and they stared into each other’s eyes, I couldn’t help letting out a sigh. I knew it was all make-believe, but just for a moment I let myself forget that and imagine what it would be like to dance with a man like that, someone who looked at me as if I was the most captivating creature on the planet. It would be like being in heaven …
‘You’ve always loved Fred and Ginger, haven’t you?’ Candy asked, jerking me out of my little fantasy, which was probably for the best.
‘Always,’ I echoed, my eyes still glued to the screen. ‘Although, I have to confess, while everyone goes wild about Fred and what a genius he was, it’s Ginger I like the best.’
‘Really?’
I turned to look at her. ‘Really. Not just the dancing. There’s something about her. She’s so … confident, self-contained, always ready with a quick line and a sassy look. I wish I could be that way.’
Candy gave me a warm smile. ‘You are!’
I nodded, because I didn’t know how else to respond, but I knew it was a lie. I wasn’t that way, not really. I’m capable and organised, which often gets mistaken for confidence, but it wasn’t the same thing. Not by a long shot.
‘Anyway,’ I added, crossing my arms and deciding to deflect the conversation on to something safer. ‘I think I’m getting a little fed up with Ginger nowadays.’
‘Oh? Why’s that?’
I stared hard at the screen. ‘Well, just look at her. Parading around like that, looking gorgeous and thin as a twig. It’s more than a little sickening.’
‘That’s just the post-Christmas remorse talking,’ Candy said matter-of-factly. ‘You’ll be fine once you’ve been down the gym a few times, dropped a few pounds.’
I waited a full ten seconds before answering. ‘It’s not just a few pounds, Cand …’ I said, casting her a sideways glance.
Candy must have sensed something in my tone, because she picked up the remote, paused the film and shuffled round to face me.
‘I’m the heaviest I’ve ever been, by a long way.’
There. I’d said it. Out loud and not just inside my head. I looked at Candy, feeling my heart skip lightly and unevenly inside my chest and waited for her to say or do something to make me feel better. Candy had always been good at that.
‘I think you look lovely whatever your size. You’ve got amazing eyes and when you smile your whole face lights up. No amount of extra weight is going to spoil those things. Anyway, it’s what’s on the inside that counts, and that’s where you’re most beautiful.’
I leaned over and gave my sister a hug. ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘And you’re right. I shouldn’t worry about my size. I should just feel confident whatever my weight.’
That’s what New Year, new-improved Pippa would do, wasn’t it? She was the sort of girl who’d dress to emphasise her assets, rather than hide them in a dark tent of a top. She’d walk confidently down the street, knowing she looked good, even while she carefully overhauled her eating habits and improved her lifestyle in the way the January magazine features suggested. Time to get with the programme, Pippa. No more moaning about your wobbly bits while wolfing down custard creams …
‘It’s not just about the weight, though. I feel like crap because I’m eating crap. I want to be fit and healthy too, feel good about myself.’
‘You’ve still got that gym membership, haven’t you?’ Candy asked.
I nodded reluctantly. I’d transferred it to a branch of the same club in Swanham, the nearest big town, even though I couldn’t really afford it, knowing I had to do something, but the card had been gathering dust in my purse since the autumn.
‘I know I should use it, but every time I get dressed in a T-shirt and jogging bottoms, I take one look at myself in the mirror and then strip it all off again.’
Candy gave me the once-over. ‘You look fine,’ she said in the same tone of voice she used when trying to convince Noah that broccoli was nice. ‘Who hasn’t put on a little extra over Christmas?’
I searched her frame for even the hint of a bulge, but couldn’t detect one. I shook my head. ‘It’s the women at my gym,’ I confessed. ‘Half of them look like Barbie dolls, even the ones older than me! They’ve got tiny little grape-like bum cheeks inside their skin-tight yoga bottoms, and they all wear those strappy little crop tops that show off their taut abs … And then I waddle in wearing my size eighteen Marks and Sparks trackie bottoms and one of Ed’s old Pink Floyd T-shirts that I didn’t give back …’
It’s the biggest and baggiest thing I’ve been able to find. I hadn’t kept it because it smelt of him or anything. In reality it had been mine for years. I’d nicked it to sleep in when it had been like a tent on me, but now it was the only T-shirt I had that fit.
‘I know gyms are supposed to make you feel better about yourself,’ I said, reaching for a Quality Street. ‘But mine makes me want to slit my wrists.’
‘Time for a new gym, then,’ Candy said, ever practical.
I nodded, even though I was pretty sure the same cookie-cutter gym bunnies would populate the next one too.
Candy must