her an olive branch. ‘Mrs Scone, I bet you’re an expert on carats. Women love them. The bigger the better and all that.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ Roslyn gave me a horrified look. She obviously didn’t read the right magazines.
‘Carats. You know, the big ones. You’ve got to have them if you’re a glamour puss. Film stars can’t get enough of them.’
Roslyn made a high-pitched whistling sound as she sucked air past her dentures.
Mum rattled her Royal Albert teacup in its saucer. ‘That’s enough, Julian! Get outside.’
I grabbed the last Tiffany and slipped off my chair with a crackle. I heard Roslyn whistle-gasp as I made for the door. Outside, I squatted down and waddled like a duck until I was directly below the open dinette window.
‘You want to watch that boy, Colleen.’
‘For goodness’ sake! He’s wearing a sweat suit to lose weight.’
Mum’s statement was followed by the clatter of plates. She was clearing the table and being rough on the Royal Albert. This was out of character for Mum. The tea set was the nicest thing we owned and only made the voyage from the lounge mantelpiece to the table when there were guests to entertain or impress. She’d bought the porcelain with her Golden Microphone prize money.
‘Boys shouldn’t wear sweat suits.’
‘Roslyn! Julian is a good kid and I don’t appreciate you implying otherwise. He’s got a lot of talent and will go places one day.’ More china rattled.
‘I wasn’t finished with that cup of tea.’
‘I think you were.’
‘Well, I know when I’m not wanted!’
‘At least you know that.’
A chair scraped. The door slammed. I watched Roslyn’s rigid back as she marched down our driveway. She turned at the gate and saw me crouched under the window. I thought of Carmel and gave her the fingers.
The family was going out to the King’s Arms and had dressed up for the occasion. I was wearing my new maroon stretch trousers and gingham check shirt. Mum had on her knee-length apricot skirt and cream twin set. I’d spent hours curling and setting her hair and she looked just like Bobbie Gentry. The dinner was Mum’s idea. We were going out to celebrate John’s sixteenth birthday in a grown-up way at the hotel’s new Sunday Family Buffet. Dad didn’t like family outings but had been won over by the pub’s all-you-can-eat deal.
I’d never been to a buffet and wanted to make the most of it. The three Tiffany biscuits I’d eaten in the afternoon had been digested hours ago. I was starving and keen to get going. Dad must’ve felt the same way because he was the first in the car. I followed John and Carmel into the back seat with a crackle. Carmel made a face and slid away from me. John gave me a disgusted look and wound down his window. I leaned over to talk to Dad.
‘Can we really eat as much as we like?’
‘What?’ Dad was occupied with counting the one- and two-dollar notes in his wallet.
‘Can I really eat until I’m full, without stopping and all that?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Can I fill my plate and go back again for seconds? And are the desserts and drinks included?’
‘Yeah.’
‘What if all the food’s gone when we get there?’
‘It won’t be. We’ll be there at opening time. That’s the Corkle way.’
‘But a rugby team might turn up. Or a herd of sheep farmers.’
‘Ulverston’s got fish-and-chip shops for that sort of thing.’
‘Do you think they’ll have chips?’
‘Probably, they’re cheap to make.’
‘That’s all right then.’ If I could eat as much as I like, and if the buffet had chips and dessert, then everything would be fine.
Dad was right. We were the first family to arrive and had to wait ten minutes for the staff to finish laying out the buffet. Trestle tables had been set up in the lounge bar under a banner: ‘Caterers’ Choice Brand. Mouth-watering cuisine made from home-style recipes’. It was like something out of Celebrity Glitter. The stainless steel and porcelain shone under the fluorescent lights and the food steamed inside the bains-marie. There were fancy dishes like beef curry and macaroni and cheese alongside normal Tasmanian food like chips and sausage rolls. Mum led us to a table as Dad paid. He followed us over scowling.
‘Sharks! We should’ve come yesterday when John was fifteen. I had to pay full price.’
John smiled smugly. He was now officially almost an adult.
I got off my chair and stood beside Mum, waiting for the signal. She nodded and I made my move. I’d surveyed the tables and knew exactly where I was going. Avoiding the tasteless stuff like vegetables and salads, I loaded my plate with sausage rolls and chips. I went back and filled another with desserts in case the sheep farmers arrived while I was stuck on mains. We all took more food than we needed.
I worked my way through the first plate of savouries and then went back for another of crumbed chicken pieces and spaghetti. By the third round I was feeling gassy and hot. The SlimQuik was tight inside my clothes. Carmel heard domes pop as I got up a fourth time. She pinched her nose and made a waving motion with her other hand. ‘Ugh, not in the public sphere.’
I filled the fourth plate with beef curry and rice. It was a ridiculous choice. I didn’t like beef curry any more than I liked Irish stew. I ate it anyway.
Little rivers of sweat were running from under my arms when I started in on the apple sponge and chocolate cake. By now the suit had ripped open underneath my clothes. I didn’t care. I just had to make enough room for a chocolate éclair and a helping of pavlova and then I’d be done.
I swallowed the last spoonful of pavlova and put the bowl on top of the stack of empty plates in front of me. I felt bloated and carsick. Complete calm was the only cure. I just wanted it all to end and to go home.
The family was still eating when a man came up to the table and spoke to Dad. ‘I’d like to have a word with you, sir, away from the other paying customers.’
Dad got up and followed him. When he returned, his face was an angry red grimace. He didn’t sit down.
‘What’s the matter, Jim?’ Mum was brushing crumbs off the tablecloth in front of me.
‘We’re going. Some family discount they have here! That idiot just asked me to pay full price for Julian.’
Dad’s eyes fell on me. I tried to sink lower in my chair but the interior of the sweat suit was slick with sweat. The suit and my clothes remained upright on the chair while I slipped down inside them. The suit made a squeaking sound as my skin rubbed against the plastic. Carmel aimed an elbow at my ribs but hit my shoulder.
‘He said Julian ate four plates of mains. I told him to shove his buffet up his bum. Come on, let’s get out of here.’
‘But, Dad, I haven’t had dessert yet and it’s my birthday.’ John’s voice was a sickening whine.
Dad shook his head. We were leaving. John shot me a dangerous look. I knew by the look that I’d get hell later but I was in too much discomfort to care. I burped and tasted pavlova and beef curry in the back of my mouth.
As soon as we got home, I rushed into the bathroom and locked the door. I tore off all my clothes and removed the SlimQuik. It had ripped from the crotch to halfway up the back but I didn’t care. It felt wonderful to be free of it. I pulled out the bathroom scales and stood on them naked, holding my breath. I’d been wearing the damned suit for an entire day and deserved some weight loss as compensation.