Weight Till Christmas by Ruth Saberton Page A

to the ball!
    This is my dream dress, it really, really is!  If I can only lose the last few pounds to fit into it then I know all my Christmas dreams will come true.
    “Are you OK in there?” Sam calls.
    Am I?  I’m not sure?  My vision is a bit blurry.  Pulling the curtain back, I step forward with skirts swirling around my ankles.  Sam’s mouth literally falls open.
    “Bloody Hell, Ellie!  You look absolutely amazing!” he gasps.
    And this, coming just from a mate, tells me all I need to know.  I have to lose my last few pounds and buy this dress.  Christmas party and mistletoe kisses here I come.
     

Chapter 9
     
     
    The following week catapults us into late December.  Work is fairly slow – most people aren’t thinking about buying cars in the run up to Christmas – but I do manage to sell a pink Micra and the dreaded Mazda.  This time when I slip into the driver’s seat to demonstrate I’m amazed to discover that my bum fits the seat neatly and that the mechanisms glide forwards and backwards with ease.  I was almost more delighted by this than I was with my sale.  I fit in that teeny tiny car!  Me, Ellie Phant!  There were only two explanations for this: either Sam had reinforced it with steel girders, or I had lost weight.
    “You’ve lost weight,” Vicky says accusingly on Wednesday evening.  She’s still draped in her Broom!  Broom!sash from the latest promotion and glammed up like a skinny, aged version of Honey Boo Boo.  She’s hardly been in the office for the past couple of weeks, being far too busy with her promotions, and has hardly seen me.  She looks me up and down critically and doesn’t look exactly thrilled.  On the other hand, I am over the moon. I wish I’d done this ages ago.  Stepping back from Mum has done her the world of good too.  She’s hardly ever in these days.  The last time I dropped by she was on her way out to a fitness class with one of her new friends from work.
    “She looks amazing, doesn’t she?” pipes up Rick from behind his computer, where I know for a fact he’s playing Warcraftrather than updating his accounts.     
    “Watch out, Vicky! Ellie’s a fox!  Fancy a drink after work, Ellie?”
    “Don’t be daft,” I say.  Rick must be all of twenty one.  I’m almost thirty, it would be like baby-sitting.  Still, even though he’s messing around, it’s quite flattering.
    “How much have you lost?” asks Nick.  At least, I think it’s Nick.  He’s all wrapped up in his hat and scarf, ready to leave, so it’s pretty hard to tell.
    “Almost a stone,” I tell him proudly.
    “Wow, that’s brilliant!” says Rick warmly.  “Isn’t it, Vicky?”
    I wait for her to agree and congratulate me.  I’ll have a long wait though because instead of telling me how fantastic this is and blooming well done, she just looks miffed.
    “Keeping it off is the hard bit, you know,” she points out.
    Actually I do know.  I’m the expert now in avoiding mince pies, mulled wine and choosing the healthy option at all the Christmas dos.   It’s bloody hard, and yesterday the smell of gingerbread latte wafting from Starbuckswas nearly enough to send me over the edge.  I resisted because I’m only days away from seeing Drake again and showing him the real me.  Sam and I are popping up to Oxford Street after work to buy my dress and I can hardly wait.  I’m not going risk spoiling everything just for the sake of a slice cake or a few roast potatoes.
    “I exercise everyday and I never eat carbs after 5 p.m.,” Vicky adds piously.
    “Carbs are the devil,” Sam says cheerfully, joining us.  He winks at me and deadpans, “Right, Ellie?”
    I roll my eyes. 
    “They certainly are!” Vicky says fervently.  Turning to Sam and fixing him with the kind of adoring stare a religious fanatic might give an icon, she adds. “You so think the same way as I do!”
    He does?  I’m amazed.  Sam should be afraid: Vicky has a brain