Sweet Temptation by Lucy Diamond Read Free Book Online Page A

my nose. Sod it. I was stubborn, but I wasn’t that stubborn. I was going to have to make a few changes to my life.
    So there I was on Monday evening, pushing open the doors of the church hall, holding my breath and hoping this wasn’t going to be a terrible mistake. I had a stupid mindset that always took over when I was in a room with lots of other people – the first thing I looked at was how slim everyone else was, and whether or not I was the fattest person there. I knew it was ridiculous, but I’d done this for as long as I could remember, and it was a cast-iron habit.
    Usually, I was the fattest person there – or sometimes the only remotely large person in the whole room, which always meant an instant nosedive of confidence. Nothing else mattered. If I’d found myself in a confined space with a bunch of goose-stepping neo-Nazis, I would still have felt inferior to them if they’d had smaller bums than me.
    I had dreaded being the fattest person at FatBusters. What if the others had already bust away their fat and I was the only one still wobbling? Or what if the place was full of faux-dieters – those annoying Oh help, I’m over nine stone, I’m positively gigantic types who claimed to be really devastated if they couldn’t squeeze into their size ten skinny jeans. That was just showing off, if you asked me. Bad manners.
    So I was relieved – oh God, was I ever relieved – when I discovered I was in a room full of people like me sitting on plastic chairs in a circle. Nobody I recognized on a first sweep of the room – good. I had been expecting to see someone I knew from the school run or the high street who might laugh at me or gossip to others that they’d spotted me, but everyone looked reassuringly anonymous.
    I sat down, feeling shy – Maddie No-Mates on her tod. Most of the other members of the group seemed to know one another and were chatting away. There was a desk with some leaflets on it at the back of the room, a folding screen (maybe the scales were behind there?) and a lifesize cardboard cut-out of a mousy-haired woman who was at least twenty stone. Was that meant to frighten or inspire us? I wondered.
    I sneaked a look at my fellow FatBusters. There were about twenty-five of us, I reckoned: a handful of teenagers with scraped-back ponytails and puffy faces, about five pensioners with matronly bosoms and polyester dresses, two middle-aged blokes, and the rest were women ranged between twenty and fifty. Size-wise, I seemed to be about mid-list, from what I could tell. There were a few seriously overweight people whose bodies spilled over the edges of their chairs, and at the other end of the scale, a couple of younger women who were just a little bit plump around the middle.
    My phone trilled and I almost jumped out of my seat. Caller display: Mum. Huh. I sent it to voicemail and switched off. She could grovel into my message-box; I wasn’t interested in hearing more apologies. I stuffed the phone into the depths of my handbag, scowling at it.
    I was just trying to pluck up the courage to speak to the auburn-haired woman next to me, who also seemed to be on her own, when a trim blonde woman walked in and the room fell silent. Oh no, I thought, my heart sinking at the sight of her. Was this the group leader? She was about fifty, I guessed, and looked great in a deep coral scoop-necked dress that fell just below the knee and strappy wedge sandals. Ri-i-i-ight. What would someone like her know about weight loss?
    ‘Hi, everyone!’ she said in a thick Brummie accent and smiled around the room. ‘How are we doing this evening? Hope you all had a lovely weekend.’ She caught my eye and I found myself smiling back at her. She was personable, at least – you had to give her that. ‘There are a few new faces here tonight – fantastic. For those of you who have come along for the first time, my name’s Alison and I’m your group leader. And believe me, I know what it’s like to be on a