Eight Inches to make Johnny Smile by Claire Davis, Al Stewart Page A

centre, every Wednesday night at seven. He’d chosen the lightest clothes he could and found some old canvas slip-on shoes that couldn’t possibly weigh much.
    People started to appear and go in. Ladies mostly, and none of them anywhere near as large as him. He couldn’t do this. He should just go home and try the milkshakes again like he had before. He shifted uncomfortably under the seatbelt, and felt sweat sliding off his face onto his top. It wouldn’t be much longer before he would have to send off for an extra-long seatbelt, because he was so fucking greedy.
    He pushed the door open and clambered out. Lately his breathing had been worse again when he walked or got upset. But he wasn’t upset today, because he was going in there and joining Weight Fighters. He didn’t have to decide today; he was only going to look. One filthy remark and he would be off.
    Most people seemed to be chatting in a queue, so he joined the end and tried to still his heart. There was a large dial at the front that said:
     
    … inches to make Johnny smile.
    You can go the extra mile.
     
    As people got off the weighing scale, they added how many inches they wanted to lose on the dial. The woman in front of him smiled and asked, “Are you new, love? You have to fill in two forms. Mary? Mary?” To Mat’s horror, she shouted across the room, and everyone looked right at him. Suddenly, he was six again, eating that ice cream, then thirteen wearing jeans that were two sizes too small, and finally fifteen, being chased home by a pack of jeering boys, all gorgeous, thin and horrible.
    Mortified, he turned to leave, but Mary cut him off at the door, half running past him with tight elbows and a determined set to her face.
    “Hello, nice to meet you. Come over here and I’ll show you how it works.” She smiled at him so kindly – why couldn’t his own mum do that? – so he followed her. He walked tightly across that room with little steps, knowing that everyone was likely noting the over-sized trousers and his stomach wobbling. Everyone seeing him. Any minute she’d ask him how much he weighed and tell him he was too fat for this group, and it was all his own fault anyway.
    She handed him a pen and said, “Don’t worry, love. Everyone’s really nice here. You’ll get all the support you need, plus a few friends and some dirty laughs.”
    He felt his cheeks going red, but then he giggled with the sheer relief of having got through the door.
    The forms were easy, as Mary said, asking for personal details. He gave his work address like he always did because post went missing from the pigeon holes at the flats. Then it was the weigh-in. Even though it was only July, he noticed that there were Valentine’s Day posters everywhere, but he was too flustered to ask about them. By the time he got to the front of the queue he’d chewed his lip to a mess and it was all stupid. Why was he even bothering? Everyone knew Fat Mat couldn’t stick to a diet. Then he was next. The dial said ‘Eight inches to make Johnny smile. You can go the extra mile.’ He read this, and then met the eyes of the person taking weights.
    No, no, no, no, no. A man doing the weigh-in. Taking the weights and writing them down. A man, a man, a bloody fucking man , wearing an enormous Valentine’s Day badge. A thin man with pretty eyes and a kind face that lit up when he saw Mat.
    “Hello. Haven’t seen you before. Welcome to the group. I’m Johnny. Just ask me anything you want to know. I’m the active leader, so I’ll give you my number before you go. Hop on the joystick, love.”
    Words failed him. He clambered on the scales and stared at Johnny, holding his eye and daring him to snigger. But Johnny smiled brightly, made a scribble on Mat’s red ‘Success Booklet’, and then helped him off. With his hand; an actual man’s hand on Mat’s wrist.
    Touched him.
    “Lovely. Here you go, Mat. You are staying for ‘Fess Up’, aren’t you?”
    Mat raised his