cold water over my face and take a few deep, cleansing breaths. Being sick like this brings back some unpleasant memories that I’d rather not think about.
When I move back into the bedroom, I see something at the window that makes my heart twist in my chest: Scott passing on his way to work. He stops, looks up at the window and waves. Hot tears well up in my eyes and I bite down on my lip to stop myself from crying. I turn away from the window and screw my eyes shut, knowing that he’ll probably walk away a few seconds later. We’ve been in this routine for nearly two months now and it hasn’t got any easier.
He’s tried to tell me how sorry he is for leaving so suddenly. Apparently, he had a job interview to get to and thought I might need some space after our night together to figure things out. I know he wants us to try again, but I can’t let that happen. He’s left me once already, what’s to stop him doing it again?
How on earth did my happily-ever-after go so badly wrong?
*
My mum always says there’s no better cure for a broken heart than throwing yourself into helping other people.
I hold that piece of advice entirely responsible for why I turn up an hour early for my Carb Counters meeting. As group leader, it’s my job to get the space ready, which usually only takes about five minutes at most. There really isn’t an exact science to putting chairs in a circle, after all.
My two best friends, Emma and Zara, have come along on the pretext of giving me a hand, but I know they want the gossip on Scott, and they know that I know. I’ve deliberately not told them anything, preferring to keep the details to myself. I don’t really want them to know that I woke up to an empty bed that morning eight weeks ago, and I’m not sure if that’s out of embarrassment or because I don’t want them to think badly of Scott.
‘So …’ Emma begins, her voice bright and cheerful. ‘Looking forward to tonight’s session? What workout have you got planned?’
I can’t help but smile as I move some chairs to the centre of the room. My best friend definitely wouldn’t make a good actress.
However, I decide to humour her for a minute or two. ‘I’m thinking of doing an aerobics routine. You know, really torch some calories and get everyone’s metabolism going. What do you think?’
Emma’s bright grin becomes a little more pained. She’s absolutely bursting to ask me about Scott, but doesn’t want to dive in right away. The small talk is driving her crazy; she looks like she’ll spontaneously combust any second.
‘Sounds good to me. What do you think, Zara?’
I look up just in time to see Emma shoot Zara a pointed look. There’s clearly been a discussion between them before they arrived to help me tonight.
‘Yeah!’ Her voice is loud and stilted, like she’s acting in an awful straight-to-DVD movie. ‘That sounds brilliant!’
Emma grunts in frustration and throws her hands up in the air. ‘OK, I give up. Cleo, what’s the deal with you and Scott? He came back nearly three months ago, something happened between you two and you haven’t said a word about it. You haven’t had us round to your house to drink wine, eat ice cream and gossip. In fact, you haven’t even told us what happened! Are you OK?’
I feel a lump rise in my throat and my eyes begin to water. One look at the concern on Emma’s face finishes me and I collapse onto one of the chairs, throwing my head into my hands while I sob my heart out.
Emma’s arms are around me in seconds. She pulls me in for a comforting hug as strangled wails burst from my chest.
‘Everything’s ruined,’ I sob ‘It all went so wrong.’
‘I’m sure that’s not true,’ Zara soothes, pulling up a chair next to me. ‘There isn’t much that can’t be fixed. What happened?’
I back away from Emma and wipe my eyes with my sleeve. ‘Guys, it’s really bad. We—’
Before I can tell them the gory details about my night with Scott, the door to the community centre swings open and the rest of my Carb Counters group swarm in.
‘Hiya Cleo, love!’ The group’s administrator Linda gives me a wave as she sits down to set up her moneybox and weighing scales.
‘Sorry guys,’ I murmur. ‘It’ll have to wait till later.’
*
The night is a successful one, with over two stone lost between all the group members since the last weigh-in. I beam with pride, as I get ready to do my exercise routine with them. I had some reservations about becoming a group leader at first, but it’s the best thing I’ve ever done. Each of them has their own reasons for why they want to lose a few pounds and to help them do that is a great feeling.
I step out onto the stage to greet my audience, feeling a rush of excitement as I see them. This reminds me of my days as a ballet dancer: the thrill of coming out of the wings, greeting your audience and starting your performance.
‘OK let’s get going, shall we?’ I head over to the old-fashioned boom box at the left-hand corner of the stage and switch it on. Pounding dance music blasts out and signals that it’s time to get started.
‘Let’s start with some high knees,’ I suggest.
I jog on the spot and bring my knees up as high as I can. The rest of the group follow suit, although with varying degrees of effort. The ones not giving a hundred percent don’t faze me; they’re still participating and that’s the main thing. As I prepare to switch to jumping jacks, I feel my stomach twist itself into knots and a cold sweat wash over me. My skin becomes clammy and the scene in front of me blurs for a split second. I stop for a moment to catch my breath, bending at the knees and putting my hands on my thighs.
I’m going to be sick. There are only a few minutes to go until the end, and I’m going to be sick. Great.
I will the feeling to pass, for my stomach to stop spinning like a tumble dryer, but it doesn’t. If anything, it gets worse.
‘Everything OK?’ Zara asks, shouting to be heard above the blaring music. ‘You look a bit—’
I don’t hear anything that follows. The world around me goes fuzzy then I fall to the floor. Everything goes black.
*
When I wake up, I’m lying on a hospital bed. Fear grips me and I sit bolt upright. How on earth did I get here? My head spins and my vision goes in and out of focus. I feel myself sink back onto the pillow and screw my eyes shut. Something feels wrong; the nausea from earlier today has made a very unwelcome return and I’ve obviously not at the hospital for no reason.
‘Hey, you’re awake!’ Emma pops into view, holding a cup of takeaway coffee in her hands. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘How … how did I get here?’ I ask, slowly pushing myself up. ‘What happened?’
Her face falls and she takes my hand. ‘You fainted, Cleo, right as the workout was getting started. Don’t you remember?’
The memory slowly trickles back into my mind and I can suddenly remember hitting the deck in front of everybody. My cheeks heat up and I cover my face with my hands.
‘Oh god,’ I groan, ‘I remember now. I hope I didn’t frighten everyone too much.’
Emma shakes her head and smiles. ‘Sheila said she felt a bit funny, but that’s about it! Are you feeling better?’
I nod my head. ‘I suppose so. I was sick earlier today and that’s kind of come back now, but I don’t feel like I’m going to pass out again.’
The curtain pulls back a moment later, and a doctor appears holding a clipboard. He has an eager expression on his face and looks like he’s fresh out of medical school.
‘Nice to see you’re awake, Miss Jones,’ he says with a smile. ‘My name’s Doctor