Hope's Vengeance by Ricki Thomas Page B

yes.”
    “He was found guilty this week, his prison sentence has increased five years, and the house is to be transferred into her name solely. I’m really pleased for her, it means she can sell it and move up here as soon as possible.”
    “That’s really good news, Hope, it’ll be good for you to have a friend close by.” Silence hung lamely, Dawn waiting for Hope, Hope waiting for Dawn. Eventually Dawn rooted for some words. “You’re very smart today, have you got an interview?”
    “Cosmopolitan. We’re having lunch at the Italia Nostra, you know, the Italian on St Giles.”
    “Very nice, I like it there, the oven-baked crestelle is my favourite, it’s delicious.”
    Hope chuckled. “I don’t like Italian food, none of it, pasta, pizza, gives me an excuse just to have a side salad so I won’t put on weight.” Dawn’s smile faded rapidly, Hope patted her stomach, noticing the dulling expression, needing to explain. “Dawn, I have to eat out a lot, meeting agents, publishers, journos, all sorts. If I ate what I really wanted to eat I’d be the size of a house.”
    Dawn washed various sentences through her mind, deciding which one to spring on Hope. “Two weeks ago, the run in with Pat.” The name caught in Dawn’s throat and she coughed lightly. “How much was true, about hating food, anorexia, all of that.”
    Hope appeared guilty, Dawn wondered whether it was for the way she’d treated her mentor, or because of a poor relationship with food. “In answer to your question, no, I don’t feel remorse about the set-to with Miss Hinds. She was in the wrong, and my privacy was violated.” Dawn recoiled, she’d only thought the question, or had she actually voiced it by accident? How else would Hope know? She felt deeply uncomfortable, an experience she’d had several times in Hope’s presence, but it only served to intrigue her more.
    “I do have a poor relationship with food. I make myself sick after eating, the physical bloat makes me feel disgusting. I try to avoid food if possible, situations where I have to eat. I tell the kids I’ll eat later, or I’ve already eaten. The act of masticating, swallowing, shitting, I try to avoid it all.”
    Did she challenge Hope’s knowledge of her inner thoughts? No, of course not, she shouldn’t be so silly, it was just a logical coincidence. “Do you want to discuss it, try and work out why you feel that way?” She must have said it out loud without realising.
    Hope’s light tinkle lit the room. “Dawn, I know why, and I told you and Miss Hinds. Eileen. My mother. All the other fatties of this world. You know, Mum had a fine figure when she was with my father. I don’t remember, but I’ve seen the photos. She’s taller than me, just a couple of inches, or so, I’m the runt of the family.” Hope found the comparison amusing, but Dawn balked at the diffidence. “Before she had Honesty she just drank all day, ate nothing but junk, always sweet things. Her weight went up and up, she just sat on the sofa, day in, day out, scoffing, getting pissed, dragging us kids up purely by presence rather than interaction. I hated it, the wobbling flesh, the smell of sweat and sores, leaked urine. Her body was covered in boils, pus filled acne everywhere, her face, neck, back. I mean, she pulled herself together eventually, and gradually slimmed down, but her worst was during my impressionable years. I was well and truly anorexic by the time she began dieting.”
    “Were you hospitalised?” The metallic blue nail-varnish glistened as her fingers drummed her mauve stained lips.
    Hope’s eyes caught Dawn’s, holding the stare. “Dawn, I’m way too clever for that. When they diagnosed me as anorexic, the school watching to make sure I ate lunch, my sisters watching to make sure I ate dinner, weekly weigh-ins, fuss, fuss, fuss, I hated that. I knew I had to get them off my back somehow. I went to jumble sales, got baggy clothes, wore layers and put stones in