A stabbing pain in her stomach woke Sophie at six a.m. She rushed to the en suite, grateful it was only a few steps away from the bed. She winced as the laxatives did their work.
Last night, after James had dropped her home and she had heard the door to his apartment close, Sophie had gone out. At one o’clock in the morning, the only place open was a petrol station. She could remember buying potato chips and chocolate peanuts. The thought caused a swell of nausea to rise in her throat. She didn’t try to remember anything else.
She sipped on a cup of green tea while she waited for her stomach to settle. From experience she knew she needed to stay close to the bathroom for at least an hour and to keep her fluids up. She had heard about girls dying from dehydration and electrolyte imbalances from using laxatives. Sophie didn’t think she was in any danger, but it was sensible to take precautions.
She went to the toilet three more times before she felt confident enough to put on leggings and a singlet. Carrying only her iPod and her room key, she took the lift to the sixth floor. As was to be expected on a Sunday morning, the gym was deserted.
She had to stop twice during her run to go to the toilet. Her legs trembled when she stepped back onto the black belt of the treadmill. By the end of an hour, all she could manage was a slow walk. Tears of frustration mixed with the sweat on her cheeks.
Back in her apartment, Sophie sat on the balcony, letting the breeze dry the perspiration on her skin. In the street below, cars full of people on the way to church, to the markets, or to their family for Sunday lunch, drove past. A taxi pulled up outside reception and tooted its horn. She burst into tears.
The work it took to stay thin seemed too much. She wished she had been born with different genes, created slender with a flat chest and narrow hips. Or perhaps if she had been born in another historical period, where her curves would be considered beautiful rather than the result of neglect. If only she were one of those women with unflagging determination and self-control. In all other areas of her life she had no trouble being disciplined and committed — why did she struggle so much with something so simple as food?
She was forced to admit that alternating between restricting and binging was unpleasant and unhealthy. She could no longer endure the hunger, the lack of energy, the feeling of emptiness when she was dieting, or the bloated, swollen, lack of physical control in the aftermath of a binge. She no longer knew any kind of pleasure without guilt snapping at her heels. She seemed to always deserve some kind of punishment, which she administered at the gym, through the pills, by the voice of judgement in her head. She loathed herself when she was dieting — wanting to slice away at slabs of flesh to make herself thinner, and she loathed herself when she gave in — knowing she was weak, selfish and undeserving of respect.
Her entire life had become a bloody skirmish between her mind and her body — and no matter whether she was on the attack or the defence, she felt miserable. If her future promised her more of the same, she wasn’t sure she could bear it. It no longer mattered if her situation was a result of misfortune or a lack of character, the time had come to end the war, to call a truce, to pack up her weapons and go home. She knew she couldn’t stop binging — she had already tried and failed many times. There was only one thing left under her control — she could stop dieting.
The thought made her heart feel as though it were being squeezed by a giant hand. What would happen if she stopped chasing the goal of physical perfection? She had no idea but she needed to find out.
For a moment she imagined all her darkest fears coming true. She saw her body, lying on a couch, her creased and dimpled flesh exploding from a baggy tracksuit. She watched as the woman she might become shove chocolate and ice cream and lollies into her mouth. If that ever happened, she had an escape plan. She was an expert at losing weight. But right now, while that exaggerated projection remained only a possibility in the future, Sophie decided to stop dieting. She would no longer weigh her food, count calories or worry about the carbohydrate content of what she ate. Like an alcoholic swearing off drinking, she vowed to stop restricting her food. No more. Enough.
In the kitchen Sophie went through the cupboards. She threw away the tub of protein powder, the bottle of fat burners, the six-pack of fat-free yogurt, the creatine powder, the fish oil tablets, the packet of rice cakes and the remaining laxatives. She put the kitchen scales and measuring cups at the back of the cupboard and screwed up the sheet of paper that listed all the food she had scheduled to eat that day.
She dialled Pip’s number.
‘I’m a mess,’ Sophie said. Her voice cracked and tears filled her eyes. ‘I’ve been binging again and I can’t do this anymore.’
‘I know what that’s like,’ said Pip. ‘For me it was wine. For weeks after comp I was plastered every night.’
‘How did you stop?’
‘I gave up being so hard on myself. I started listening to my body instead of beating it into submission. I stopped dieting.’
‘But I’m so afraid I’ll end up fat …’
‘Like me?’
‘Of course not,’ said Sophie. ‘You’re not fat. You look great. But I’m not like you. When I let myself eat whatever I want I lose control. What if I can’t stop eating?’
‘You will, sweetheart. I can promise you that. Now go and put on something other than gym clothes or work clothes and catch a tram to the city. Go to a bookshop and pick up a book by Shirley Reynolds called the Blessed Body.
‘Isn’t she some New Age weirdo?’ said Sophie. ‘You know I’m not into that stuff.’
‘Give it a try. You might be surprised.’
‘At this point I’m willing to try anything.’
‘You’ll be fine, sweetie. You can do this.’
‘I hope so,’ said Sophie. ‘I don’t have any other choice.’
Sophie took the small blue book out of the paper bag and sprawled out across the king-sized bed. She inhaled the vanilla baby-powder scent of fresh pages. She opened the book, cracked the spine, made it hers. On the first page she read:
You are responsible for your own life.
Every thought you believe to be true becomes your reality.
The only space where change can happen is in this moment.
Everyone suffers from self-hatred and guilt.
Everyone believes they are not good enough.
It’s a lie. You can choose not to believe it.
You have the divine power of the Universe inhabiting every cell of your body.
You are perfect, whole and complete.
When you truly love yourself and forgive yourself, every breath brings you joy.
After three chapters, Sophie fell asleep. In her dream, she was walking through a forest in an ankle-length floral dress, her hair long and loose around her shoulders. Cold, furry moss tickled the bottoms of her bare feet. Just out of sight, behind the trees, she thought she heard the sound of wings.
She woke up an hour and a half later, hot and thirsty. When she took a can of Diet Coke out of the fridge, she noticed the clock on the microwave said 18:06. She dialled Michael’s number, needing to hear his voice. There was no answer.
She stood outside Apartment 36 and knocked on the door. She waited for a few minutes and knocked again. The door remained closed.
A dull ache spread across her chest and settled in her throat. For the first time she paid attention to the sensation. It was familiar. At first she thought it might be disappointment, or boredom, or perhaps the beginning of anxiety. She shook her head — none of those were right. Back in her apartment the ache grew more persistent. Then she recognised it. Loneliness. She needed soothing, comforting, loving. She thought of her father, taking her swimming at the beach every afternoon when she was a child. Water would make her feel better. She grabbed her swimmers from the drawer, put them on and wrapped a towel around her hips. The door clicked closed behind her as she padded barefoot down the corridor towards the lift.
The pool was on the seventh floor, at the end of a maze of tiled passageways and glass doors. There was another person swimming lengths in the pool. His lean arms sliced through the water with barely a splash. When he reached the end of the pool, he stopped and pulled off his goggles.
‘I didn’t know you swam,’ said James. Water dripped from his nose. Sophie sat on a bench and drew the towel around her legs.
‘I didn’t know you did either,’ said Sophie. ‘Is it warm?’
‘Like a bath,’ he said. ‘Come in. I have a few more laps to go before I’m finished.’
He put his goggles back on and continued swimming, tumble-turning at each end. He didn’t seem to be taking any notice of Sophie so it seemed safe to take off the towel and get into the water.
Although it had been years since she’d been in a pool, her body remembered the rhythm of her stroke and the timing of her breathing. After two laps she felt her mind stop. All she was aware of was the water, her breath and the beating of her heart. She felt as if she were swimming in some primordial ooze, at a time before she was born, before she formed any opinions, when everything existed in the moment, outside of time and space. The water in her veins hummed in harmony with the water surrounding her.
James sat on the edge of the pool.
‘Like fishing,’ he said. ‘Empties my mind.’
Sophie pushed her hair out of her eyes. ‘I’ve decided to cheat.’ James raised his eyebrows. ‘Well, more than that,’ she said, ‘I’ve decided to take the rest of the week off dieting. And if all goes well, maybe I won’t ever go back.’
‘More like a divorce than cheating.’
Sophie laughed. ‘Exactly.’
‘What are we doing here then? I’ll meet you in the lobby in twenty minutes. I don’t know if you know this, but Sunday night is burger night.’
‘Not MacDonalds—’
‘—God, no. Blue Train.’
Sophie realised she hadn’t eaten all day. The thought of a burger and chips made her mouth water.
‘Fifteen minutes,’ she said. ‘I’m starving.’
Sophie woke the next morning at five a.m. even though she hadn’t set the alarm. She ran her hand over her stomach, feeling a bulge underneath her hand. It seemed as though the chicken burger and chips were still sitting there from the night before. Her brain told her she should get dressed and go the gym. Work up a sweat, burn some calories and get rid of the energy her body was laying down as fat. But she couldn’t do it. Instead, she made herself a cup of Earl Grey tea from the hotel supplies and put in a teaspoon of sugar. She cradled the hot mug in her hand and sat on the balcony. The tea tasted sweet and special, soothing and calming.
In the bathroom, she looked at the digital scales sitting underneath the vanity unit. She hadn’t stood on them since Saturday morning, prior to her most recent binge. She contemplated weighing herself, but she didn’t want to know how heavy she was getting. One day, when she was stronger, when she no longer worried about a stupid number on a machine, she would find out — but not today. She wasn’t ready yet to face her disappointment.
What she couldn’t escape or ignore was how she looked in the mirror. She could no longer see the definition of her abdominal muscles, or the separation of the muscles in her thighs. The bones on her chest and her hip bones seemed to be disappearing under a layer of fat. Her rings were tight on her fingers. Some of it was undoubtedly the puffiness and bloating brought about by binging but not all of it. She looked soft. ‘Fat pig,’ said the voice in her head, ‘fat, lazy, pig.’ Sophie was used to the voice so she wasn’t surprised to hear it. ‘Everything is perfect, whole and complete,’ she said to herself. She didn’t believe it.
At the computer, she searched for ‘intuitive eating’, a phrase she had heard mentioned in one of the online fitness forums she often visited. The principle was straightforward — eat when you’re hungry, eat what you want, stop when you’re full. Most people in the fitness industry scoffed at the idea, saying it was an excuse for fat people to eat junk food all day. For Sophie, someone who weighed spinach and added its calorie value to her daily allowance, it was too much of a leap. There had to be another solution.
She found Amelia Anderson’s website after a few clicks. Her profile photo showed a slender blond girl with large blue eyes. In the gallery there were several before and after photos showing Amelia round and overweight in one, and lean and toned in the next. Amelia advocated ‘healthy eating’ without the constraints of calorie counting. Her philosophy was built around yoga and self-love through connecting with one’s body. The ideas Amelia suggested appealed to Sophie. She would continue to make an effort to look after herself rather than abandon all control the intuitive eating way. She could still continue to have oats, salad, vegetables, chicken and fish as her main staples. She would shy away from packaged and healthy food and work on giving up Diet Coke. And she could still exercise.
When she realised the pool was empty, Sophie felt a pang of disappointment. It was just after six thirty a.m. so she wasn’t expecting James to be there, but part of her hoped he would be. As she swam from one end of the pool to the other she thought about the night before. When they had arrived back at the hotel, James had hovered at her door, reluctant to leave. Sophie had wanted to ask him in, but she didn’t trust herself. Loneliness wasn’t a valid excuse for being with another man. Being with another man, the phrase made her laugh — even in her own thoughts she had grown uncharacteristically coy when it came to sex. It was something she never talked about. She had never discussed sex with Michael or mentioned it to Pip. It wasn’t that she was prudish or embarrassed, in fact, before she had met Michael she’d had many lovers and enjoyed all kinds of sex in all different places. But a man who fucks you on the bonnet of a car isn’t the kind of man a woman marries, not if she wants the marriage to last forever. Michael was intelligent, stable and more reserved than her previous boyfriends. He seemed driven by his mind rather than his body. Sophie felt sure Michael had never cheated on her. As he grew older, he didn’t seem interested in sex at all.
As Sophie had grown older, the same thing had happened. She didn’t miss sex with Michael and she didn’t look for it elsewhere. James confused her. She enjoyed his company, she liked the attention he gave her, she felt an attraction to him but she wasn’t sure what any of it meant. It wasn’t as though she longed to have sex with him and was restraining herself out of loyalty to her marriage. All she wanted was to be held tenderly and to be kissed deeply. She wanted those things from Michael more than anyone else, but the thought of James’ lips on hers made her heart beat faster.