CHAPTER
FIFTEEN

Observation #45:
Guys work out to get bigger. Girls work out to be smaller. Go figure.

With that, she’s off again with me trailing after her like a weak puppy. Fortunately, we’re home soon so my poor legs can finally buckle. Cat is in the kitchen and beginning to chop things like a girl possessed.

“Okay, Jess, you really don’t have the hang of cutting back on eating. You’ve made a rookie error. You’ve gone right to starvation mode, and your body can’t take it.” She’s slicing something green like it has personally offended her.

“Oh, I think I can take a few days of eating less, thank you very much.”

She turns to me, knife in hand. “I don’t think so.”

“Can you put that down, Cat? You’re starting to scare me. Are you making me a snack?”

She sniffs but at least she lowers the knife. I was beginning to think Jess kebabs were on the menu tonight (but, then again, I don’t think Cat would eat anything with such a high fat content).

“You look like you need a smoothie.”

Hallelujah. My taste buds are singing. I can almost feel the sugar starting to rush through me, bringing me back to life. “Can you put mango in?” I start to gibber. “Or banana. I love bananas. If we had some raspberries, that would be perfect, but I think I used them all yesterday. I find that if you add a touch of icing sugar and lime …”

“Jess. Stop.” She’s got that dangerous look in her eye again. “No mangoes. No bananas. No raspberries.”

What madness is this? “Then what kind of smoothie are you making?” I stare in horror at what she’s getting from the fridge. “Everything’s green.”

“Like I said, rookie errors. You can eat. Only a fool would not eat. But you need to think very carefully about everything you put in your mouth.” She steps in. “Like now, Jess. Step away from the nuts.”

I look down. My hand has crept out and found the bowl of almonds that Mum leaves on the table to encourage healthy snacking. I’m just about to eat one. I didn’t even know I was doing it. “Just one nut, Cat. It’s not even got salt on it.”

She slaps my hand down. “Are you serious about this or not?”

I think of the dress. I think of Matt looking on adoringly as I walk toward him, how the sun bounces off the tiny gold highlights in his hair. I think about how close his face was to mine only yesterday and how badly I wanted him to kiss me. I think of Zara’s face if she saw us together.

“I am serious.” I make a big deal of putting the nut in the bin. “See, I’ve passed the test.” I’m not prepared to tell Cat the whole truth yet, but I’ll give her enough to put her off the scent. “So, Mum bought me this dress but it’s a bit tight. I just want to fit into it.”

Cat seems to accept this.

“So, tell me again, what’s going into this smoothie and will I like it?”

“Firstly, it’s a kale, broccoli, cucumber and coconut water smoothie. Secondly, it’s irrelevant whether you like it. It just needs to give you energy.”

This is not okay. “Food should be enjoyed.” This seems to annoy her, as she’s now chopping the kale into tiny pieces. “Is that fun?” I ask. “Or does cutting them this fine make them less calorific?”

I get a raised eyebrow but at least that’s better than a glare. “Very funny. I just like to do things properly.”

“Why don’t I chop and you get the blender out?”

Cat thinks over my proposition. “Can I trust you? I mean without constant supervision, you were about to eat a nut.”

“I was. I’m a bad person.” I make what I hope is a suitably sorrowful face. I channel what Lauren does when she’s caught out eating chocolate for breakfast. “I’ve learned my lesson and will not try to sneak in anything that’s not green.”

“Okay, you chop and I’ll get the broccoli.” Ha, now who’s made a rookie error? I grab a very ripe, very delicious avocado. While Cat is rummaging through the salad drawer, I split it open and cover the flesh with kale leaves. Which is a bit tricky as Cat has cut them so small.

Thing is, she’s so light, I don’t hear her creep up behind me. “I don’t think so.” I spin round and she’s right behind me, flourishing a head of broccoli like it’s a weapon. “And you promised.”

“I didn’t lie. Avocados are green. And very good for you. Even Mum eats them. Every celebrity who Instagrams their breakfast eats avocados.” I wiggle one in her face. “It’s only little.” I grab a pen and draw a face on it. “Look at his little cute face. It’s Anthony the Avocado. Don’t make him cry.”

There is a hint of a smile. “You are ridiculous, you know.”

I shrug. “It’s the lack of food.”

Cat puts all the veg in the blender. “You really want Anthony to go in? I mean, you say you don’t want to upset him, but you’re the one who wants to blend him.” She dangles a bit of avocado over the blades and then lifts it to her ear as if listening to it. “What’s that, Anthony? You’re too young to die?”

I stare at her. “Cat. You’re talking to an avocado. Have you gone mad?”

“Like you say, lack of food can do that to a girl.”

“I have a thought. How about we save Anthony and add just a drizzle of manuka honey. Even a date or two? That’s natural sugar, right? No harm there.” Now, I know there is very little nutritional difference between a date and a spoon of sugar, but it’s amazing the number of people who don’t. Will she fall for it?

“Okay. A very small drizzle of honey.”

Hurray — flavor wins. I mean, this smoothie may still be an abomination but at least it stands a chance now. Before Cat can change her mind, I grab the honey from the cupboard and put a dollop in the green gloop that she has created. After mixing, I pour it into two glasses, handing one to her.

“Bottoms up.” I clink glasses with her. “Here’s to all the poor green things that have been slaughtered just for us.”

“Cheers.” Cat clinks back. She takes a sip. I take a sip. She makes a face. I spit my sip back out into the glass.

“Hey,” she protests. “I made that for you. It’s full of nutrients.”

“I am eternally grateful. I will try it again, but you have to look me in the eye and say that you’re really enjoying it.”

She purses her lips.

“Go on. Look me straight in the eye and say that this is the most delicious smoothie you’ve ever had.”

She can’t even look at me.

“I’ll drink it all. I swear I will. Every last semi-blended broccoli floret. But you have to say you love it.”

Cat’s mouth is beginning to twitch.

I won’t give up. “Come on, you can do this.”

She takes a small sip, then looks at me. “This is the most —” Then she breaks. “Oh, I give in. It’s hideous.” Then she starts to laugh. “It’s like drinking compost.”

“Compost that a cat has weed on.” Then we both explode.

At this point, Dad shuffles in looking bemused. I don’t think he’s seen his daughters laughing together for some time. “Are you okay?” he asks.

Despite the fact that I’m still starving, I manage to reply, “Yes, Dad. We’re fine. Never better. Now, I’m going to whip up something light and delicious for Cat and me, and I can make you an espresso at the same time if you like.”

“Sounds good.” He slumps down, humming to himself. Cat sends me a small smile. And that is really rather tickety-boo.