Chapter 24

I look down at the plate and the tears sting my eyes. Three lettuce leaves and a tomato cut in half. I can see the rip marks at the edge of the lettuce where the brown bits have been torn away. The skin of the tomato looks soft and saggy, no longer firm and fresh. My stomach grumbles in protest. It's fiveo'clock and I've eaten nothing since a single Weetabix smashed with thin, watery milk for breakfast.

‘Don't even think about complaining. You've put on a pound since last week's weigh-in. Just a few days and you'll be back to normal or even thinner, if possible. We all have to make sacrifices. It's just a BLT without the bacon or bread. It's that or nothing.'

‘Okay, Mommy,' I say, knowing it'll do me no good to complain.

‘Come on. Eat up,' she says, tapping her watch. ‘Back to practise in three minutes.'

She watches me as I eat what tastes like a plate of water. All too soon it's gone and I feel like I've eaten nothing.

‘Okay, get dressed and come to the lounge,' she says before heading out of the room to fix herself a drink.

I remove my clothes and slip the new pink dress over my head. I'm willing and praying for it to feel looser so that I can have something to eat, but as I slide it over my body, I know it's still pulling at the seams. If Mom sees this, I might not even get a Weetabix in the morning.

The sequins around the neckline scratch at my face as I lower the dress and put my arms through the sleeves. As it comes to rest, it's as though each sequin finds the exact spot it rubbed earlier.

I pull on the shoes. They're new and stiff. The hard leather made the skin on my heel look like a prune before the skin disappeared altogether and left behind a raw circle. Each time I put them back on, the soreness is worse than before, but I know that I have to wear them.

I make my way into the lounge, trying to walk as normally as possible. I know what she'll say if I show the pain.

I see the books and the oranges and know it's going to be a long night. The fuzzy feeling comes into my tummy.

‘Mommy, I have homework,' I breathe. I have to draw and name all seven continents.

‘Don't be ridiculous. What important homework could a seven-year-old have? Teachers are just trying to palm off their jobs. I'll send a note.'

I recognise the steel in her voice. There's no point protesting. She'll ignore me. If I tell her that I don't like the look of disapproval Miss Hichins gives me, she'll laugh. If I explain that I get funny looks from my classmates because I never hand in anything to be marked, she'll sneer.

‘We'll do your walk first,' she says, putting a book on my head.

I know to stand perfectly still until she has returned to her chair to observe me. She sits and nods.

I move slowly at first. If I move too quickly straight away, the book will fall down my back. I see the frustration in her eyes at my speed, but I've learned that the irritation comes much quicker if she has to keep getting up to replace the book.

‘Ten lengths and we'll move on to the oranges.'

I don't let the panic show on my face. Ten lengths of the living room is much further than the distance I walk on the stage. If I drop the book once, we start again from the beginning. I've only ever managed ten lengths once before, and I didn't have new shoes then. I want to point this out, but I know better. If I argue, she'll increase the lengths to twelve.

‘And speed up. I'm not going to start counting until you're moving faster than that.'

I feel my bottom lip begin to tremble, but I bite down to force the tears away. They have no effect on my mom and normally just enrage her more.

I speed up and before I've completed two lengths, the book has fallen. Every step is agony on my heels, and now I have to start all over again. All those steps wasted. The extra rubbing on my flesh for nothing.

I start again – four lengths.

And again – seven lengths.

And again – five lengths.

As I walk, I know I'm wincing with the pain. I can't stop myself. Every time the new leather moves against it, it feels like it's rubbing straight through to the bone.

‘Come on – try again,' my mom says. ‘No pain no gain.'

I feel sick. My legs ache, and I can feel blood running from the back of my heels into my new shoes.

I reach down to pick up the book to start again, and the motion of bending brings flashes of light darting across my eyes. The room starts to spin around me. The sickness rises up to my throat. The world tilts and then turns black.

My eyes open.

What happened?

Why am I on the floor?

Why is she standing above me?

‘Mommy?' I ask.

‘Do you have any idea how useless you are? All you have to do is walk nicely and throw a few oranges in the air. You can't even do that. You have no skill, no talent and now you're a little porker as well. Look, you're bursting out of your dress.'

My eyes are stinging, but I try not to cry.

‘Get out of my sight. You're so disgusting I can't even look at you.'

I hobble to the bathroom and wipe the blood from my feet.

However hard I try to stop them, now that I'm alone, the tears roll over my cheeks.