Read Fat Boy Swim for Free Online Page B

what
should
be in a healthy diet.
    This dispute wasn’t a new one, but today there was something forced about it; Mum and Aunt Pol trying to cram noise into the silence Jimmy’s mood had spun.
    Jimmy was normally at his best cooking Sunday lunch, a feast that tended to last all the way to teatime. Today, no one wanted seconds and the wine Aunt Pol had brought remained unsipped. While Mum and Aunt Pol argued, Jimmy slipped off to his room.
    Fat arse.
    Dead inside.
    Miserable as sin.
    GI Joe’s words churned like ingredients boiling in a stewpot. They burned. They hurt. Gnawed Jimmy like hunger.
    Reaching under his bed, he withdrew his stash of emergency rations. Unwrapped a multipack of Mars bars, settled back on the bed. Its frame creaked, springs twanging a tone poem of warnings under Jimmy’s backside as he swung his legs up with a grunt and nestled against his pillow.
    His mouth filled with soft sweet flavours: toffee, mallow, creamy milk chocolate. They coated his teeth and his tongue, plastering the arch of his palate. Jimmy allowed himself a little sigh.
    That’s better, he told himself. You needed that.
    Stop it. Look what you’re doing to yourself
, a voice in his head implored.
    Jimmy unwrapped another Mars bar. Noisily. Stuffed it whole into his mouth making loud mashing noises, pulping the chocolate. Chomping down so he wouldn’t hear his nagging voice of reason:
    Stop. You’re making yourself ill. You have to stop.
    I’ve had a rotten day, Jimmy justified himself.
    He’d finished the packet. Fifteen Mars bars journeying through his digestive system. Jimmy lay back and pressed his belly. His hands disappeared into a squish of flesh. He moved them upwards to his chest. He shuddered, crossing his arms over his shoulders, cupping the spot that GI Joe had gripped so earnestly.
    His
fault, that psycho priest. If GI Joe hadn’t said all those things, Jimmy would never have skelped those Mars bars. Now he was feeling worse than ever.
    I want to know how I can help you,
GI Joe had said. Tough one that, thought Jimmy. Let’s see: Can you find me some mates?
    Can you whisk me away and set me up in my own restaurant far, far from here? Where the only things I’ll worry about are choosing ingredients, blending flavours, inventing sauces, cooking
. . .
    When he closed his eyes, Jimmy could see himself, clad in the checked trousers and stacked white hat of a chef. He stood in the middle of a stainless steel kitchen. Around him winked gleaming pots and pans. Ranked before him was an armoury of utensils essential to the working chef.
    In his mind’s eye, Jimmy opened a swing door into his well-stocked pantry. On shelves, tidy rows of ceramic jars stood to attention, labelled in his own handwriting:
    CORNFLOUR CUMIN CURRY POWDER
    Tins on the floor. Bulky dried goods on the first shelf. Fragrance of basmati rice tempered by the tang of dried herbs. Jimmy knew the layout of his pantry better than the stretch marks on his belly.
    SUGAR
    He reached for the sugar jar without needing to look for it
. . .
    But his hands clutched air. And the pantry doors swung closed behind him. There was no smell of dried food in his nostrils.
    Only chlorine.
    Jimmy was back at the swimming pool of his dream.
    There was Aunt Pol, waving anxiously from the gallery. She was jabbing her finger towards the deep end. Jimmy scrunched his eyes, tried to see what she was on about. He could only make out a blurred shadow in the distance.
    ‘What?’
    He shouted at Aunt Pol in frustration.
    ‘Who is it? Tell me.’
    Then he had a brainwave. Eureka! Why did he have to swim to the end of the pool when he could walk around its perimeter?
    He moved off, still in his chequered chef’s trousers. One step, two steps. Excitement beating a pulse in his throat. At last, the answer to his dream quest: Shadow Shape, who are you?
    He took another step, foot raised in mid-air, ready to surge forwards.
    ‘Jim. What are you doing to yourself, man? Stop. You’ll