chapter 13

Engrossed in her book, Amy brought the cup of rich, warming hot chocolate to her lips then reached out her plump fingers to grab another pastry. She looked up from her homework to see that the plate was empty of everything but crumbs. She realised that she had done it again: she had absent mindedly munched her way through the whole plate that Ben had left beside her.

She gave a little start as Ben rested his hand on her back and leaned over her shoulder to see the book she had open on the table. He was so close that she could smell his warm, biscuity scent. "What are you reading? Some sort of horror story?"

"It's a book about a artist called Jenny Saville. I'm writing about her paintings Plan and Strategy in an essay about female nudes for my art class," Amy explained.

"And... You like this stuff?"

"Yes! She's an incredible artist. She cuts away the sanitised, polite veneer of female beauty and reveals something raw, unapologetic and uncomfortable to behold."

She wanted to say more. That these monstrously large women that the canvas strained to contain, whose very flesh threatened to leak out of the artwork conveyed how she felt in her own skin: too big, too ungainly, too ugly. Too much. But she said nothing.

Ben made a face at the visceral brutality of the paintings, paint cutting into canvas like a knife into flesh. "I think I prefer that Ruben guy. He had the right idea about women. Some of those girls from the Renaissance period were pretty hot too."

Amy laughed. "I'm not sure that Baroque and Renaissance Women: Hot or Not is going to get me into a good college."

Ben shrugged. "It would if I was reading the entry exams."

He was regarding her with that twinkly eyed fondness that always made her feel embarrassed. For a moment she wondered what he must see when he looked at her and the thought occurred to her that her own self image might be as tragically distorted as Jenny Saville's portraits: ghastly and bloated as the cadaver of a drowned girl on a mortuary slab. But in another moment the thought was subsumed back into the murky depths of her mind almost as quickly as it had emerged.

She avoided his gaze, pretending to be once again absorbed in her book, hoping he might give up and go back to his work.

"I think you're amazing, Amy. You're smart, funny and cynical as all hell. You could do anything you wanted."

He snatched the book from her, trying to catch her eye. She could feel herself blushing furiously.

"Hey! Give it back!" She cried.

Ben held the book a little out of her reach and pretended to be interested in reading it. "Hey, this woman went to the Glasgow School of Art. You could apply for there. Did I ever tell you about the time I went to Scotland?"

"It doesn't have a fashion design course," she corrected him.

"Right, of course. Fashion," he rolled his eyes. "Probably for the best anyway. Glaswegians are the friendliest people but they're crazy: they deep fry candy bars, it doesn't always sound like they're speaking English and some guys wanted to beat me up just because I was wearing a green shirt. Apparently it had something to do with soccer."

"And you never did find out what haggis was."

"And I never found out what haggis was," Ben agreed with a laugh. "I've told you all this before, haven't I?"

"Only three or four times," she teased him.

"Guess I'm turning into a boring old guy." His eyes drifted towards the empty plate beside her. "Hey, I want your opinion on this new breakfast brioche recipe I've been playing around with. It's got blueberries, creme patisserie and a little bit of cinnamon and I think you're going to love it."

It did sound amazing but she had already eaten so much. Before she could protest he had disappeared into the back of the bakery.

Amy looked out the window and froze as she saw Marnie and her friends walking past. It was so childish but she felt like if she didn't even breathe then they might pass by without noticing her. But no, it was almost as if Marnie had a sixth sense for detecting her.

Marnie's head jerked up and her eyes met Amy's. She put her hand to the glass and mouthed "Hi!" with mock friendliness.

Of course Marnie would find her like this: sitting on her blubbery butt and stuffing her fat face. She was suddenly painfully aware of the tell-tale oily sheen on her lips and the flakes of pastry scattered on her lap.

"Wow, piggy, you're always a big blimp but now you look like you're about to burst," Marnie's stared almost accusingly at Amy's taut, round belly resting on her thighs. "I'm amazed that there's anything left for anyone else."

"Geez, no wonder this place is empty with her sitting at the window like the Pilsbury Doughboy," Becki said. "I wouldn't want to buy anything if I thought I would end up like her."

Marnie uttered a nasty little giggle. "Don't worry, Becki. You could stuff your face with a million doughnuts and still not be as huge as piggy."

"I think you girls had better leave."

It was Ben standing by her side. His jaw was clenched and his powerful hands were balled into fists.

Amy pushed past him and waddled to the back of the bakery to escape them, ducking her head so that he could not see the tears in her eyes.

"No wonder you love her. She must be keeping this place in business." Marnie was unfazed but she and her friends left willingly.

He followed her, running his hands through his hair in despair. "Wow. Just... Wow. Why have you never told me about them? Does your mom even know?"

She shook her head.

"You can't just let her keep doing this to you. You need to tell someone."

"What difference would it make?" Amy said quietly. "Everything she said would still be true."

"You're beautiful, Amy. It's those girls who are the ugly ones."

Fresh tears sprang to her eyes at the kindness of his words.

He wiped the tears from her eyes as gently as his big hands would allow and then caressed her round cheek. As he leaned in to kiss her, his stubble rasped against her smooth skin.

"It's OK," he said softly as she pulled away from him. "We can do this."

In that moment he didn't care about Meera or that she was only 18 or about trying to be the good guy all the time. He had resisted her for months and he was so hungry for her. He wanted to finally know what it was like to feel his fingers sinking into her soft loveliness, to kiss every roll and bulge of the beautiful abundance that she tried to hide under baggy clothes.

He pressed his body close to her's, feeling the plushness of her large body against his own muscular firmness. He tried to kiss her again but her lips were unresponsive and her body was tensed, he could almost feel her heart pounding in her chest.

He looked at her uncertainly. "Are you... Frightened of me?"

"Please. I don't want this, Ben."

"Shit!" He cursed and punched the wall beside her, making her flinch. "Shit."

He withdrew from her and covered his face with his hands for a moment, unable to face the hurt and confusion in her eyes. "I'm sorry, Amy, I never wanted to be this guy. I just thought- It doesn't matter what I thought. I'm supposed to be someone you can trust and I f*cked up. I really f*cked up."

"I-I should go."

He nodded. "I understand."

Confused thoughts swirled in her mind as she walked home. She could only see what had happened through the prism of her own self loathing. All this time she had trusted him and saw him as an older brother. Had it all been an act? Was it all a joke crueler than any of the mean tricks that Marnie and her friends had played on her? Did he just see her as some insecure fat girl, some easy prey so desperate that she would give in to his advances no matter what?