chapter 2: file_06.05.2016_13:29.mp4

Darkness. The sound of fingers tapping on a door. Then sounds of movement: Cotton brushing against velour. Footsteps. Unlocking. The turning of a door handle. A muffled greeting. A deep, male voice, insistent.

'Wait. Wait there...wait there...'

Footsteps again, this time coming closer. Then flashes. Lines of light rolling diagonally across the screen. Someone has picked up the cameraphone. We're in a hotel room. Daytime. Light streams through net curtain onto a purple-covered bed. The man with the voice turns the camera toward the door. A woman, blonde, maybe thirty, is standing just outside the doorway looking uncomfortable. She glances nervously, first at the phone, then at the man holding the phone. She doesn't know what to do.

'You can come in now.' says the man.

The woman enters the hotel bedroom. She is wearing a long, thick coat, not particularly suitable for the time of year. She carries a large leather handbag.

'It's really good to see you again.' the man says. He stands the phone on its edge on the desk. 'Have a seat on the bed, there.'

The woman sits and places her bag beside her. She doesn't remove her coat. More nervous now, her eyes flutter between the man, the floor, the window.

'So' says the man. 'How've you been?'

'Fine.' she replies through an anxious laugh.

'You look well.' he says.

'Thanks.' she replies.

'Can I get you anything? Coffee, or...?'

'No, I'm fine.'

'Are you sure?' he says. 'The coffee here's great.'

His hand and arm cross in front of the camera, reaching for something. An silver watch strap peaks from beneath a blue shirt cuff under the arm of his cream suit jacket.

'Finest Nescafe. Beans picked by finest child labour, freeze dried in the finest, er, freeze drier.' he says. He holds up a small brown sachet.

'Seriously' he says 'I can order something in. Or I can go get something from Pret if you don't mind waiting.'

'No, I'm fine, honestly.' she smiles warmly, her anxiety waning. 'Look, can we...' She hesitates.
There's a moment of awkward silence. Then he speaks.

'Well, yes of course. No point wasting time.'

'It's just...a bit....weird.' she says. 'How do we...?' she tails off.

'The normal way, I would suggest.' he laughs, sounding a little nervous himself.

'Do you have a...'

'Scale? Of course. I wouldn't expect you to bring your own.'

'Good.' she says, her discomfort returning.

'Did you do it?' he asks, after a pause.

'I think so.' she says. 'It's not been easy, if I'm honest.'

'Well you look...'

'I know. You said.' she interrupts, fidgeting with something at the back of her neck.

'How do you feel?' he asks.

She looks at him seriously for a moment.
'I feel fucking huge is how I feel.'
The air rapidly chills and her eyes darken. She crosses her arms defensively across her stomach and turns her face away. There's another pause.

'Just what you wanted.' he says.

She ignores him, still looking away, rocking back and forth on the bed. She looks increasingly upset.

'Are you ok?' he says.

She wipes away an embryonic tear and composes herself. She reaches into her bag and pulls out a tissue.

'I'm fine.' she says. 'Sorry. It's just that, this has been really hard, you know?'

'We have a contract, Rebecca. I can't just...'

'I know.' she barks. 'Be careful what you wish for eh?' She wipes another tear. 'Or ask for, in fact. Fucking pay for.'

'Do you regret this?' he says.

'No.' she replies, shaking her head. 'No. But sometimes...'

'It's understandable.' he says.

'You've no idea what it’s like to wear it every day. The staring, the bitchy comments, the unbearable, continual judgment from my fucking mum. The fucking....”Look, there's Rebecca. Didn't she get really fucking fat!". It's constant. Scrutiny.'

'I'm sorry.' he says, a note of shock in his voice.

She takes a tissue from her pocket, mops a small tear from her left eye and lifts her head.

'No. No, it's not your fault. Sorry. It's just....it just gets to me, you know? It's not even that I'm angry at them, really. They don't know. I just wish, you know, sometimes I just wish they'd fucking leave me alone. Let me be who I am. Especially my mum.'

'Do you want to do this another time?' he says, warmly. 'It's fine. We can just go get a drink, or, you know, we can leave...'

'No' she says. 'I'm sorry. We have a deal.' she says. 'Would you mind if I just had a minute? Can I use the bathroom? Sort my eyes out?'

'No, of course, that's fine. Take as long as you need.'

The woman stands and leaves the camera frame. We hear a door open, shut, lock. The man's hand crosses in front of the lens again. He picks up a television remote. The sound of a newsreader fills the room. He changes channel; sport, music, a commercial selling face cream. Eventually he returns to the news channel. A piece on Syria. He listens for a few minutes.
There's a knock. He turns the audio down.

'Yes?' he says.

The sound of a door opening a little.

'Now?' the woman says.

'I guess so.' he says.

The sound of the door opening further. Then footsteps.

'Well...' he says.

The woman steps into frame. Not fully, but enough that we can see that she has removed most of her clothing. She is standing, nervously, just outside the bathroom door, in bra and panties.

She's fat.

She has round thighs, rippled with cellulite undulations, textured like an oil portrait painted with palette knife. Her belly is full and round and pregnant with indulgence. Her navel forms a deep, wide oval. Vertical burgundy striations confess the sudden, rapid expansion of her abdomen. Her breasts are full. Thick rolls thrust joyfully outward above the waistband of her panties.
The woman looks down at herself. Her movements are awkward. Deeply self concsious.

'What do you think?' she says.

'I think it's time we found out if you've kept your promise.' he says.

'Where's the scale?' she replies.

The man stands, and for the first time we see more than only his arm. Early thirties. Dark hair. Handsome and well groomed. He wears a cream linen suit over a blue shirt, open at the collar. From behind the bed he picks up a small suitcase and places it on top of the covers. He opens the lid a little, cautiously concealing the contents. With his other hand he slides out a bathroom scale. He walks out of frame toward the bathroom. Moments later he reappears, walking toward the camera. He picks it up and points it at the woman.

'Come on then.' he says.

'Are you going to film me doing it?' she says.

'Of course.'

'That's a bit...weird.' she says.

'What part of this isn’t?' he replies. 'But I have to. Regulations.'

'Regulations?&apos ;

'More than my job's worth to forget to film it.' he quips.

She turns and we follow her into the bathroom. The man perches on the lavatory. A scale stands on the floor between the camera and the woman. She looks at him.

'Well?' she says.

'Yes.' he says.

Anxiously, she steps onto the scale.

'You need to turn it on first.' he says.

'Oh...shit.'

&apos ;It's fine, you just...you step on it once and then wait for the numbers to go to zero'.

'I know.' she says. 'I just...I'm a bit nervous.'

'There you are,' he says. 'It's ready.'

She closes her eyes and steps onto the scale. Digits count upward. She's unsteady so the numbers take a while to settle. She opens her eyes, they fix on the display. After a few moments, she puts her face in her hands.

'FUCK'. she shouts. 'Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.'

The man leans forward and holds the camera over the scale. We see the result, upside down.
210.8

'Oh dear.' says the man, sitting back down on the lavatory lid.

'Fuck. I don't fucking believe it.' she says. 'Sorry. Let me do it again. It's wrong. It's got to be.'

'By all means, go ahead.' says the man. 'But it's not wrong. That's an Accupoint. They're accurate, as the name would imply.'

She frantically taps the scale with her foot, waits for the numbers to settle to zero again and then steps on. She covers her eyes while the numbers climb. After a few seconds, she opens her hands to look.

'Fucking hell.' she whimpers. 'I don't believe it.'

The man points the camera at the scale once again. 210.5.

'Well,' says the man, 'that leaves me in a predicament, doesn't it?'

'No.' she says. She raises her hands in front of her. 'No. you can't. Not really, I mean...'

'We had a deal, Rebecca. You didn't do as I told you.'

'But, you can't! You really can't! Please!'

'Rebecca, I have to. I'm sorry.'

'Fuck fuck fuck no! Please!' she begs.

'All I have to do is press send on one draft email and one group Whatsapp message and everyone gets to know Rebecca Bailey a little bit better.'

'No! Please! I'll literally do anything! Please don't!'

'I'm not sure I can believe anything you say anymore.' he says.

'I promise. I will. Please. Please! Just don't send any messages.'

'What are you prepared to do?' he asks, coolly.

'Anything. What do you want me to do?'

'I have an idea.' he says.

The video ends.