Shame cake

Contains suggestions of an eating disorder and abuse

Shame cake

‘You’re fat.’ Her mother's eyes slid from Alice’s face to the tape measure around her daughter’s 9 year old waist as if willing it not to be true. ‘Too much cake.’ A hot shame crept from behind Alice’s ears. She was holding her breath to shrink. Becoming smaller was her new survival technique that summer. Her father’s temper threatened to break a bone and if hospitals were involved then she would lose their secret. And she desperately wanted to keep it. She felt closer to her parents with it sitting in between them. ‘I’ll help you,’ her mother said flatly, dropping the tape measure like it was laden with germs. ‘After all, where's the money going to come from for the extra material for your costumes?’ A pause with no eye contact.’ We’ll count calories.’ Alice got dressed with her focus firmly on the threadbare carpet.

The last time that her mother had looked like this (pursed lips, a wrinkled brow where smooth normally sat) had been on a trip to the dentist. ‘7 fillings! she had spat whilst the plastic car seats burnt Alice’s legs in a homemade dress fast becoming ‘too short.’ ‘How did this happen?’ Even at the age of 7, Alice knew better than to answer back. Her mother would certainly not approve of the daily bag of sherbet lemons she had been enjoying over that long hot summer, riding one handed on her brother’s old bike with the crossbar rubbing in between her legs until she was red raw. The sudden explosion when she least expected it. The sour taste. A solitary comfort in a summer where tempers flared like wildfires; only the bruises and cuts on her soft forearms could douse the flames in her father’s eyes.

++

‘And that’s how it started.’ Alice sat back, feeling uncomfortable. What was her counsellor thinking? Impossible to tell….

‘Alice, you’re not that child anymore. Why does it still matter to you so much?’ Yes Alice, 35 year old teacher and school governor. Third session and she hadn't mentioned the beatings yet. They felt like a secret that must be kept to stop everything crashing around her. If they said it never happened, then maybe she imagined it? It was easier for everyone this way.

‘I - …I don’t know.’

Mercifully, the expensive 50 minutes had been entirely spent. With her hand on the doorknob, she realised she hadn’t told her about the cake either.

++

The cake had been a birthday present from her mother now too many flights away for a visit (‘heart pills.’) Alice’s birthday always fell in the school holidays - a blessing she was grateful for. A childless 8 weeks of bliss - baths, books and perhaps a fleeting affair with one of the waiters in whichever Mediterranean island she casually chose back in January when she craved the light like a cigarette.

The day began with one of those dark skinned foreign types (Albanian?) standing impatiently holding a slightly battered box.

‘One moment.’ He pointed the camera, grunted and left.

Inside she placed it down on the marble counter and opened the small envelope attached by a single gold thread. ‘Happy birthday Alice. Love from mother x’ As she opened the box, the smell of other birthdays hit her. The pink strawberry swirls. The soft white icing - so sweet and lightly dimpled by her mother’s fingerprints. (‘Just one small piece! Remember what we agreed.’) A pink, blank eyed ballerina candle teetering on one leg. (‘I had to pay more for extra material for that tutu.’ ‘Elephant in a tutu! haha!’)

Now where was the knife? (‘This knife is for every happy occasion you’ll have in your life - wedding, christening!’) Her mother had been wrong. She used it only twice a year - Christmas and birthdays. ‘Cake for breakfast!’ This seemed decadent even in a stained bathrobe. Carefully, tongue sticking out at the side like a 9 year old (‘Not too big!’) she slid the knife into the soft icing and cut a large piece. Her counsellor’s words came back to her: ‘You’re not that child anymore, Alice.’ She was a full grown woman - maybe a little too full in places - with a wardrobe spanning four sizes - so why did it still matter? She carefully laid the cake on its side as if it were a baby and licked her fingers before sinking down on the stool and slowly lifting it to her lips.

‘Because you’re fat!’

Alice’s eyes bulged as she spun round, still holding firmly to the cake. ‘Who’s there?’

‘Don’t do it! You’re fat enough already! Why such a big slice? I mean look at you! You’re …what…3, 4 stone overweight? What a gut bucket! Put it down and get a grip!’

‘Wha-?’ Alice dropped the cake. It landed with a soft thud. ‘Who are you? Who’s there?’ Pain pounded at her temples.

‘I’m here. And I’m telling you - do not eat it. You want to be obese and wobble around so people can laugh at you? Hey, be my guest! But you’re no spring chicken. If you want men to like you, you gotta’ lose the weight! You're a complete porker! Do you know what the kids call you? Fatso Frenchie!’

Alice brought her hand to her mouth in alarm. ‘H- How do you know that?’ Was this a birthday prank? ‘Come out! It's not funny!’

‘It’s not meant to be. I’m here inside the box.’ Alice stared at the counter, wildly searching for some reasonable explanation. ‘Do you know you’ve got a double chin? And Jesus what size are you wearing? An 18? It’s just disgusting. You’ve really let yourself go…’

Alice put her head in her hands. The cake had her mother’s voice iced all over it. ‘Who put you up to this?’ she spluttered.

‘No one. I am a gift from your mother - who loves you very, very much. She only wants what’s best for you. To be slim and attractive.Than you can get a man and have children!’

The voice had become Disney positive. Alice groaned and rocked her head in agitation. ‘You’re not real. Cakes don’t talk!’

‘Yes I am. I am the Shame Cake,’

Alice slowly looked up to peer into the box.Was she somehow dreaming? ‘Wake up!!!’ She clapped her hands sharply.

‘You are awake. I’m here to give you a message. Happy birthday! Oh and you’re a fat beached whale. Lose the load, fatso!’

‘SHUT UP!’ Alice shoved the box across the counter and jumped off the stool. Her bathrobe flapped open with the effort.

‘Ugh! Disgusting! Look at all of that white flab! And the saggy boobs! Are you 35 or 55?? Zero muscle tone. Flabby thighs. And when was the last time you shaved that thing? It looks like a neglected hamster.’

‘SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP!’ Alice ran into her bedroom and slammed the door. Catching sight of herself in the wardrobe mirror she shrieked - a strange wild ragged sound. The voice was right, She looked disgusting, She’d stopped shaving last December. And her stomach was a huge lump of dough, suspended below her flattened sad breasts. They had a turned down air she had never noticed before. Was she repulsive? Is that why those men had pressed her to the wall, never undressing her. So many hurried fumblings on kitchen sinks, dirty floors, littered beaches. She whimpered as she took in the sight of her own body. Her mother's voice was right. She had been fat aged 9 and here she was aged 35 and still fucking fat.

‘Come out fatso!’

Alice took a breath and steadied herself, imagining a class of teenage boys with beady eyes and mean smiles. If she could control a class like that then she could silence one voice. Her counsellor’s words: ‘Alice, you’re not that child anymore.’ She nodded to herself in agreement, dropped her dressing gown to the floor and averted her eyes as she slid open the wardrobe door. What to wear?

‘Why are you hiding in your bedroom like a little girl? Scared to face the truth?’

The truth was - she was an adult. She picked out a plus size pink dress, gently stroking her favourite yellow dress (size 8.)

‘Why don't you just wear a tent?’ She slipped on a bra. ‘Hammock!’ Then pants. ‘Enough material to make a flag!’ Finally she slipped the dress over her head. Perfect fit. Her confidence edged up. ‘You look like a huge blancmange!’ She stroked herself for reassurance.

Taking a deep breath, Alice imagined opening the door to her classroom and headed for the kitchen phone.’Call weight watchers! You should stick to darker colours. No! Wait! That would block out the sun!’ She whipped the phone from the wall and hit ‘mother.’ Engaged tone. She scooted back on the stool and pulled the cake box towards her. One solitary slice lay on top like a crooked sculpture. The candle! Where were the matches? She scrabbled around in the drawer. There they were! (‘Make a wish!’) She hurriedly lit the ballerina’s crown, not really believing in anything other than the distracting scent of that pink icing,

‘Yeah, make a wish. You want to be thin! Isn’t that what you always wish for? Never came true did it? Impossible if you eat this cake, Tubs!’

‘Shhhh!’ She shut her eyes and whispered the same angry wish she always had - year after year - then picked up the knife to cut away the guilt she felt at saying it, even though she knew it meant nothing.

‘You’re nothing!’ She stabbed the cake with the rest of her anger and hit ‘mother’ again. Ring tone. She grabbed the piece of cake with one fleshy hand and stuffed it into her mouth. ‘Hello. This is Imelda, Please leave a message after the tone.’

‘What are you doing?’ The voice screamed in panic and then a little quieter, ‘Don’t eat me Alice!’

‘Alice is that you?’

‘Hello mother.’ Alice’s voice grew thick with buttercream. She cut another slice. ‘How are you?’

‘I- I don’t feel well. It came on all of a sudden. About five minutes ago. I feel……..breathless.’ Alice stuffed the second slice into her mouth and chewed slowly, dribbling onto the counter. ‘Alice? Are you there? She swallowed, nearly choking on the thick icing stuck to her tongue.

‘There are people starving in Africa!’

‘Alice, who’s that? Do you have someone with you?’ Alice cut another slice and shoved it into her mouth. ‘Alice - I feel….I can’t catch my breath!’

A pause whilst she savoured and swallowed. Then: ‘Have you taken your pills mother?’ A fourth slice lay on its side, ready to be taken.

‘No……I - I’ve been busy making you a….surprise. You know how I get…….when I’m baking.’

‘Uh huh……….mmmmmmmmmmmmmm’ Alice licked the top and peeled the icing off with her teeth. ‘It’s delicious mother.’

‘You’re not going to eat all of it are you? You pig!’ Then quieter, almost strangled, ‘Don’t eat me Alice! Please!’

‘You ate it?’ Her mother gasped, her voice shaking with the effort.

‘Of course I did mother. What else was I meant to do? And don’t worry. I made a wish.The usual one.’ Silence. ‘Mother? Mother, are you still there?’

A clang. Gasping. ‘Alice! Help me!’.........’ Ragged breaths. ‘Alice!’

‘Sorry I can’t hear your voice mother! Bad connection!’ She threw down the phone and listened as she stuffed the rest of the cake into her mouth, using both hands. Crumbs flew through the air as she closed her eyes, feeling that familiar sugar rush. She ate her mother’s voice. Every last crumb until there was only silence. No one told her that she was fat or repulsive. SIlence in the kitchen. Silence on the phone. Silence in her head. She closed her eyes and smiled. She didn’t believe in birthday wishes but…..

++

‘Same time next week? I think we’re making real progress.’’

Alice nodded and left the room.

1999 words