Fat Girls and Fairy Cakes Read Online Free PDF Page B

my feet kept sinking into the squelchy earth. Each step took me further down and threatened to suck my new Boden polka-dot wellies into muddy infinity. I panicked and tried to turn round to go back before anyone noticed, but I’d come too far. Be calm, you can do it , I told myself firmly, and forced my feet to make strong, quick movements which, to my horror, made the most obscene noise. Each excruciating attempt to lift my wellied foot out of the gloop became louder and more profane. This sudden noise in the darkness had the effect I’d been dreading and began to attract the attention of my fellow workers, who, I noted, giggled and stopped what they were doing to stare rather than help. Bernard (a true man of the cloth) was the only one to step forward and help me in my moment of need. He held out his big paw of a hand and, relieved to have something firm to cling to, I lunged enthusiastically at it. Unfortunately, Bernard wasn’t quite ready for my gusto and this vigorous rugby tackle brought us both down into the mud.
    “Oh Bernard, I’m so sorry,” I cried, grabbing at him in the darkness to try and help him up.
    “Stella, are you alright dear?” he said, shocked and breathless.
    “I’m fine!” I cried, lurching at him for more support and slipping further in the mud.
    Despite the situation, our politeness meant we both tried to help each other up but in doing so, we each simply pulled the other back to the ground. As we grappled and slid, a mass of twisted limbs and polite yelps, I was suddenly aware that camera lights had been switched on and a small crowd of researchers, runners and crew had gathered to watch the indecent, mud wrestling spectacle involving their esteemed producer and the starring vicar. “Oh my God it IS! It’s Stella!” “What’s she doing with the vicar?”
    I tried to ignore them all and concentrate on getting out of this mess but the more we tried to heave ourselves from the mud, the more unwittingly intimate it became as I clung to Bernard for ballast. Trying hard not to swear and scream, I could hear Bernard shouting, “Oh...Oh I say... Oh...” and going under again. Throughout this whole mortifying episode I was praying that Denise wasn’t watching and coming up with new ideas in sexual entertainment for the parish.
    Suddenly, Al appeared at the sidelines, shouting, “Go Stella. Go Stella,” and wiggling his hips in a cheerleading mantra.
    “What the hell do you think I’m doing here, Al?” I yelled angrily.
    “You tell me babycakes?” he screamed. “Whatever gets you through the night.” This contribution delighted the onlookers, who roared with laughter. Even in the middle of this muddy doom, my legs wrapped round Bernard in a most inappropriate way, I managed a ‘look’ under my brows. Al’s expression changed; he knew I meant business and throwing off his designer jacket and rolling up his jeans, he screamed “human chain!”
    Within seconds, several burly crew members were clutching his waist (he told me later he couldn’t believe his luck). I grabbed at Al and was dragged to safe ground, closely followed by a muddy, bewildered vicar.
    “Bernard, are you OK?” Al asked, grabbing his arm and escorting him to safety.
    “I’m fine. Just a bit of a surprise. I didn’t expect that...in the dark...bit of a shock.”
    “Stella, you should be ashamed of yourself, the vicar’s in shock.” Al glanced over at me; even in the semi-darkness I could see his eyes dancing with laughter.
    “I’m so sorry Bernard, the ground just sucked me in. Gosh I can’t believe I pulled off your dog collar,” I said, brushing at his chest in a vain attempt to wipe away the mud and reposition the collar, which was now hanging limply across his chest.
    “You two need coffee,” said Al. I could see his shoulders going up and down in mirth as he walked away. I looked round to see everyone staring in disbelief at what had just happened. I wanted to shout ‘just fuck off’ at