Chapter 1 – Early Days

Thursday 1st October 2015

Glasgow

The nurse in the doctors’ surgery was a big woman, and she wasn’t old, maybe in her thirties. I was pleased that she was curvy because she’d be less likely to look down on me when she checked the figures for my personal details chart.

I didn’t need a nurse or a set of scales to tell me that at eighteen years old and five foot nine, I was overweight—I saw it every time I got undressed or looked at myself in a mirror. I wasn’t morbidly obese, but I was bigger than the average guy of my age. I pulled on my training shoes and waited for my appointment with the doctor, a new face in the surgery.

“Hi, Nicky, I’m Dr Ramsay.” He shook my hand and indicated for me to sit beside his desk. “You’ll be under my care now because I’ve replaced your previous doctor. If you give me two minutes, I’ll just acquaint myself with your file.” He flicked up and down the screen and murmured to himself, occasionally squinting and shaking his head.

As he was looking at the official medical version of me, I was sitting gazing at him. I’d seen when I walked in that he was about my height, so not too tall. He was no more than mid-thirties, and apart from being a decent-looking guy, the one thing that hit me was that he was like me, carrying extra weight. 

Dr Ramsay turned. “It looks like your previous doctor was fixated with dieting. You’ll be pleased to hear that I’m not, and if you look at me, you’ll see that I like my food, but I do enough exercise to keep me from having heart and other weight-related problems.” He grinned. “I see from the notes that you’ve had confidence issues in the past—is that still the case?” 

“Yes, my confidence was destroyed throughout my time at school. I was called all sorts of things, but I kept to myself and took comfort in snacking, which I now know caused my weight problem in the first place.”

“I tend to go against the train of thought of some of my colleagues, so if you’re happy to be in my hands, I think we’ll try something radical.” He grinned. “I’ll tell you what I think you could do and let you get on with it in your own way. It’s not my job to change your life, only to help you maintain your health.”

I said, “I’ve tried different diets, and it just leaves me feeling low, and then, of course, I eat, so it exacerbates the problem.”

“You’ve been measured and weighed, but I’d like to have a look at your physique. Strip off to your underwear for me, please, Nicky.”

I pulled off my tracksuit, T-shirt, and socks, draping it all on the back of the chair. I stood up straight as if that might help my general appearance when almost naked.

“I know you don’t care for diets but do you exercise regularly?”

“I walk a lot, and I cycle but really just to stop the extra weight becoming flabby.”

“Turn around for me … good … and face me again … good. In my opinion, if you keep up what you’re doing, it will help, even if you don’t diet. You’ve carrying extra, but you’re what some people call thick. Your skin is in good condition, and there is no sagging or creases. I’ll give you a leaflet which lists some foods you can eat without a care.”

I got dressed, and it may have just been me, but I was sure he glanced at my almost empty-looking briefs. When I saw him look there during my nude pose, I wished I’d worn boxer shorts, so at least it might look like I had a proper cock.

“Nicky, the three things which can have a dramatic effect on your weight are having a healthy diet, exercising regularly, and having a positive attitude. Don’t try to starve yourself and spend your life being something you’re not. You can carry your extra weight but do continue the exercise.”

“Thank you.” I left his surgery feeling better than I thought I might.

* * *

It had only been two weeks since I’d moved into a house to share with two other students. Peter was a twenty-year-old art student. At five foot nine, we were the same height, but the similarity ended there. He had an athletic build and short brown hair, whereas I was chubby and had long fair hair, which I thought improved my overall appearance.

At a glance, I probably had more in common with our other housemate, Harriet. She was slightly taller than both of us, had a curvy fuller figure and long light brown hair. Harriet was studying health and beauty, and though she might be classed as plus-size, her body was toned and she knew how to apply makeup.

We’d arrived separately at the house for viewing with the landlady and found that there were seven of us interested in the accommodation. It was a detached house just off Woodlands Road in the west end of the city. This meant that the rent was a bit more expensive than a flat in a tenement block, but it was a lovely house and not far from the city centre. The three of us had given our names straight away and were signed up for a six-month rental.

Two days later, we were moving our few belongings into our rooms and getting organised. All three bedrooms were upstairs, and downstairs were a large kitchen/diner, a living room, a toilet, and a utility room.

I recall that we were all dealing with our unpacking when Harriet called out that she was putting on the kettle. She’d brought along tea, coffee, milk, and sweeteners. We agreed that we’d have a simple register of funds, and we’d take turns accounting for any money spent. The shopping was to be a joint effort, either picking up a few items or dealing with a weekly shop.

In essence, we all probably felt the same way—we wanted to get settled in quickly.

* * *

I turned from Woodlands Road into Ashley Lane and smiled as I looked towards the house. Not only had I ended up in a place with two friendly fellow students, but we’d also landed ourselves a lovely house in a quiet residential area. The icing on the cake for me, of course, was that I already had a part-time job in the city. My family home was only a few miles away, just outside Clydebank. When I was accepted into one of the Glasgow universities, my boss said she’d be happy to amend my hours to fit around my studies.

I was on a high after the visit to the doctor at the nearby surgery, which was not how I had expected to feel. Knowing that I had a free morning, I’d suggested that I go to the supermarket, and Harriet had given me plenty of funds to get all that we needed. I had a cup of tea while I made a quick check of the shopping list against what we had in the kitchen. Five minutes later, armed with two large plastic bags, I was off to the supermarket.

The head tutor for my creative writing course had told us on one of our first days to always be on the lookout for a story idea. He’d said, “It could, for example, be something you see, or a snippet of conversation you overhear. If you have a notebook and pen handy, you’ll always be ready to make a quick note for later.”

From the day we’d been given the advice, I’d carried a notebook and pen. I found myself taking in everything around me, and I already had scenarios scribbled on several pages. He’d given us the brief that apart from other studies, we had until 2nd November to produce three short stories. They had to be at least 3,000 words each and in different genres.

The first two weeks had flown by, but I did at least have the early ideas of two stories written. One was a sci-fi tale about a young man who walks into a dark tunnel under a railway. When he walks out of the other side, he finds himself in the exact location but in medieval times. My second idea was a spy thriller story. It needed a lot of work because I enjoyed reading thrillers, but I found it challenging to write a short story. I still hadn’t decided what my third story would be about.

Instead of having a meal at lunchtime, I had fruit and a cup of tea, so I felt pretty virtuous as I cycled into the city for a three-hour stint at the uni.

* * *

I was sitting in the living room with Peter watching a quiz programme on TV while Harriet fixed dinner for all three of us. Another of our house rules was that we wouldn’t keep a strict rota, but we’d each try to deal with making a communal evening meal. It sounded illogical to all of us to be preparing individual meals except occasionally. Peter was honest from the start and said he’d had minimal experience in a kitchen, so he’d be happy to accept any tips.

Harriet called, “If you two have finished offering all the wrong answers to that TV screen, it’s time to eat.”

We both laughed but quietly agreed that we’d not been doing exceptionally well at the quiz.

For a while, the only sounds were related to the consumption of the meal.

Peter finished, put down his knife and fork and looked up. “Harriet, that was delicious.”

“Thank you, and because you’ve been a good boy and eaten up all your dinner, you can have ice cream.”

We all laughed.

Harriet nodded to me. “Nicky did the shopping for us earlier today and remembered if he bought ice cream to get the low-fat variety, so we can all have some.”

Peter said, “You two are not dieting, are you?”

“No,” I said. “We had a chat one morning last week, and we’re going to support each other by eating as healthily as possible.”

“Well, to be honest, I’ve enjoyed every meal that’s been cooked,” Peter said. “Just make sure if I’m doing the shopping that you give me clear guidance.”

We all laughed again, and I exchanged a knowing look with Harriet. Neither of us had any intention of dieting. We enjoyed our food, so we both wanted to cut out snacks and working on sensible eating together would help.

After our meal, Peter stood. “Is coffee okay for you guys, or would you like tea?”

“Coffee,” we chorused.

“Go and sit yourselves down in the living room. I’ll fix us a pot of coffee and get these dishes out of the way.”

I said, “That works for me.” I followed a grinning Harriet to the living room. I sat in an armchair while she chose the sofa.

Harriet kept her voice low. “How did it go this morning, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“It was a lot better than I thought. I’m glad I signed up last year to be listed for bi-annual health checks, and the request was forwarded by my former doctor.”

“How close is the surgery you’re with?”

“It’s only about a twenty-minute walk along Woodlands Road.”

“I might get my records sent there—I’m still registered with what used to be my local surgery in Paisley.”

“How did it go on your course today?”

“It was interesting. We were discussing natural alternatives used for skincare. We’ve got our first assessment in four weeks.”

“What do you have to do?”

“There’s a short questionnaire on cosmetics theory, and we all have to give a practical makeup demonstration on a member of the class.”

“I’m sure that’ll be fun.”

“It’ll be interesting to see what we all do to each other’s faces.” She grinned. “How is it going with the short stories you have to write?”

“I have two underway, so I can now work to improve them, but I’m a bit lost for the third genre.”

“What have you written so far?”

“One is a sci-fi which I’m pleased with, and the other one is a thriller, but it needs a lot of work.”

“How about romance for your third one?”

“It might help if it was a genre which I had some experience in.”

“Come on, Nicky, you must have a girlfriend or two in your past, so just use the memories.”

I turned to face her and gave a weak smile. She understood without me saying it aloud.

“Seriously?” Harriet’s brow furrowed.

“Prepare yourselves for first-class coffee,” Peter announced as he walked into the living room carrying a tray. “I can’t cook yet, but I make an excellent brew.” He placed the tray on the low table and set about pouring three cups. “No teaspoons … damn it—I’ll be back in a minute.”

Harriet whispered, “If you’re really stuck, I’ll help you work out a third genre. Don’t worry.”

“Thank you.”

She winked as Peter returned and placed teaspoons on the tray.

***