Waiting for Kate Bush Read Online Free Page B

sharp intake of breath from one of the women behind me.
    Crinolyn wasn’t distracted, though. “I asked you a question, mate,” she said, leaning over toward me. “What are you fucking doing here?”
    “Crinolyn,” the huge black woman tried again.
    “If you’re fine with our being infiltrated by chubby chasers,Boopsie,” Crinolyn snarled at her, “my hat’s off to you. But I’m fucking not, am I?” She turned to me again. “I’m going to ask you one more time, mate. What’s your game?”
    Everyone else had fallen silent. There was nowhere for me to hide. Even Gilmour, about to go out of the door, seemed to be waiting for my answer. My shirt was pasted to my back with sweat. I cleared my throat. “My game is trying to sort out a way to stop overeating myself into a state far past mere morbid obesity. I dare say it’s the same game as all of yours.”
    You could have heard a feather drop onto a pile of gauze. All the overeaters looked at one another. Gilmour looked at Duncan and shook his head, smirking. It was I who was sweating lard now.
    “Would you permit me to ask what your present weight is?” one of those behind me finally managed. The pink whale, the one from outside. I told her the truth. I told her that I hadn’t even bothered getting on a scale in months. I was blinded by my own sweat. “And you’ve not been to see a doctor, then?” I admitted I hadn’t.
    “If he’s over 14 stone,” Crinolyn said, “the drinks are on me. For the rest of the bloody year.” No one laughed incredulously. It was my turn to wonder what their game was. Somebody cleared her throat. My mouth was the most arid place on earth.
    “May I ask what you mean by chubby chaser?” I finally blurted, just to put the awful silence out of its misery.
    “A normal-sized bloke who gets off on fat women,” Crinolyn said. “A victimiser. An exploiter of the misery of the defenceless. First cousin to a paedophile.”
    Another mass sharp intake of breath. Then Boopsie: “Isn’t that a little harsh, Crinolyn?”
    “Fuck off,” said Crinolyn. “No, I don’t think it’s harsh at all really. In her own way, somebody like Nicola is no more able to defend herself than a child would be.”
    Squirming, the young one with the cornsilk hair moaned as though in agony. And then threw up, sparingly, on her own lap. Both Graham the moderator and the late arrival, the former pop star, quickly produced handkerchiefs. Propelled back into the room by some sixth sense, Duncan hurried over with one of his own. Miss Cornsilk –Nicola – wailed as they all had at her.
    “Are you pleased with yourself, Crinolyn?” Boopsie demanded angrily.
    “Don’t turn it on me, you, you fat black bitch,” Crinolyn snarled. “Don’t shoot the bloody messenger. If I’m the only one with thedanglies to object to this wanker’s being here, it’s still him you should be angry at, innit?” Duncan and Graham each took hold of one of Nicola’s wrists to keep her from trying to pull out handfuls of her own gorgeous hair. You could have heard her wailing in Finsbury Park.
    Boopsie backed down. The siren that Nicola had become seemed to recede a bit. Her wailing became snivelling, and then sniffling. “What I would remind Crinolyn,” Graham said, each syllable dripping accusation, “is that one person’s fat isn’t necessarily another’s. OA doesn’t say you have to weigh such-and-such to benefit from the programme. The programme is for anybody who feels they weigh too much, whatever they weigh.”
    “Good news for the chubby chasers,” Crinolyn said under her breath, but not far enough under it to keep everyone from hearing.
    “While Nicola phones her sister to dash over with another skirt,” Graham said, not dignifying her with acknowledgement, “why don’t we all have a nice relaxing drink.”
    “I don’t drink with paedophiles,” Crinolyn snarled, “and I don’t drink with chubby chasers either.” Her comment hung in the air like