Nicole and Tom: Ten Secrets for a Blissful Marriage.

I’m at the dentist, leafing through a prehistoric copy of New Idea. It’s like a magazine museum in here. Probably if I dug deep enough into the pile on that little brown table, Princess Diana would come alive.

I don’t know why Mum bothered to drop me off on time. Dr Geraldine, who I’ve been coming to ever since I can remember, always makes me wait at least half an hour. I’ve got these teeth on each side of my mouth, the pointy ones, that used to stick out like fangs. She’s going to check them to see if I need braces. I’m pretty sure I don’t. That will be a relief for Mum, Dad and Sarah. One less bill to pay. When I was younger I kind of liked the idea of a sparkly smile, but now I’d be happier without a mouth full of metal. I’ve got enough invisible things that set me apart, without adding one people can see.

I’m flicking through the pages without really seeing them when suddenly an ad catches my eye. There’s a skinny woman in a pink leotard, her hand on her hip, smiling like she’s just won Tattslotto. To her left is a small blurry photo of a sour-looking fat woman bursting out of a floral dress. Underneath it is printed, From size twenty-eight to size eight: I lost half my body weight.

She’s advertising Weight Watchers. There’s a coupon which lets you join up and go to a first meeting free.

As I gaze down at the former fatty, I think of Mum. Yesterday she was so upset about turning forty that she took the afternoon off and went out for a long lunch with her friend Margaret. They must have discussed a lot of stuff about me because last night Mum was really nice. She said I could go to Canberra, that she understood why I need to see Alice. She even got on the Internet and booked a flight for March first, because it’s cheaper if you arrange it in advance. Then she called Olivia’s mother and they talked for ages about ‘testing the limits’. It was embarrassing but at least they agreed that we could go to the city by train on Saturday.

The woman in the leotard looks so pleased with herself. It says in the small print that she’s the leader of her own Weight Watchers group. Even though Mum said her lunch with Margaret was really good, she was still sad. I wish I could make her as happy as this grinning woman. Not that Mum needs to lose half her body weight! A quarter would do.

There’s only one other person in the waiting room, an old woman who’s only got about five teeth. Guess they’re so precious she wants to do anything humanly possible to keep them. I tear the coupon out as softly as possible, hoping she’s deaf. Just my luck. She raises her eyes from her own ancient Woman’s Weekly and gives me a disapproving look. But I can stand disapproval from a ninety-year-old. I keep on tearing.