text: Andy stared at her shoes, trying to gauge their weight whilst keeping her expression casual. It seemed she could feel the eyes of every person in the circle watching her, though of course that was absurd. Everyone there was intensely focused on themselves; the week they’d had, the food they’d consumed at the weekend. Not a single one would be thinking about anything but the scales. For the millionth time, Andy cursed the day she’d first heard of the government’s newest reward scheme to combat obesity. In theory it made a lot of sense, rewarding valuable ‘food benefits’ to those who lost weight each week. For anyone who had a lot of weight to lose, or anyone who really knew how to handle their weight, it was a breeze. The only trouble came on weeks like this one, hot on the heels of an office leaving party that had gotten a little out of hand. That bitch Tracey Bateman and her endless bottles of wine... ‘Are you okay?’ asked a young man next to her. She jumped a little, feeling her cheeks flush red, and glared at him. He smiled uncertainly and looked away. Andy ignored him and glanced around the room, trying to judge if anyone had lost any weight this week. The chairs edging the hall were all occupied, mostly women but some men. All looking glum and fearful. The hall itself had a faintly musty smell which made her think of her school sports hall and old, unsanitary shoes. She shuddered; she could practically taste it. What she wouldn’t have given to see Tracey Bateman here, struggling to conceal her expanding waistline behind floaty shawls and dark clothing. Around the edges of the hall the familiar posters screamed their messages, exhorting people to contribute to the country and improve their health. Food benefits for everyone who needed them, if only they’d sign up. With the economy the way it was, and prices the way they were, it was easy for anyone to become desperate enough to sign up. It was a clever campaign, she had to admit. Clever, and cruel. She looked again at her shoes. They were definitely a few pounds all on their own. Into the circle swept Jane, the group leader. A small, fiery woman with a pinched face and lank hair dyed a faded red and glasses that made her squint seem even worse. Rubbing her hands together with obviously forced enthusiasm she began her usual reminders. ‘Evening everyone and welcome to tonight’s weigh-in! Now I know you’re all worried about the government’s changes to the program,’ she paused to acknowledge the groans and angry calls from the participants, ‘but things haven’t really changed. The focus is still on the weekly weight loss, just like before, except now the required reduction is two pounds instead of one. The upper limit is still two pounds on, and you can still walk away from the program at any time, so there’s no need to panic.’ ‘But we have to give notice,’ a gruff man’s voice called out, ‘so there might be a good reason to panic.’ A couple of the women tittered nervously at this. ‘Only a week,’ said Jane brightly, ‘you just have to give notice after your weigh-in and then you get to leave the program.’ ‘Yeah after the *following* weigh-in,’ said the same man, ‘so you have to get through another week first.’ Andy was impressed, this guy clearly knew what he was talking about. But as she studied his face, the almost grey pallor to his skin and the sweat beading on his brow, she realised he was well informed because he was scared. For a brief moment she felt for him, before she remembered that she herself was in danger of getting the wrong result this week and had every bit as much cause to worry as him. She was in the middle of ignoring Jane’s introductory prattle and fantasising about a superhero smashing the windows and sweeping her away when an idea struck her. No superheroes perhaps, but maybe a fireman might save her the scales’ cold-hearted assessment. She half turned her head and glanced quickly behind her. The door to the toilets was only a few paces away, and if she remembered right the short corridor leading to the toilets also opened into the kitchen. If she could just get in there... Andy stood up without another thought, startling the young man next to her who had clearly already decided she was odd. She ignored him, smiling broadly at Jane as she turned her waspish eyes to regard Andy with eyebrows raised. ‘You first, Andrea?’ Jane asked in surprise, and Andy realised with a sinking sick feeling that she must have just asked for volunteers to kick off the weigh-in. Andy tried a light-hearted grimace and a laugh, noting with mounting panic that Jane’s eyes narrowed in response. *Not buying it*... ‘I thought I’d best use the loo,’ she said, once again flashing that bright smile at the group leader and thinking hard about the fire alarm she knew was in the kitchen, merely paces away. She turned away, began shoving her chair aside so she could pass through the ring. ‘Oh sorry Andy,’ Jane called, her voice conveying absolutely no regret, ‘I’ve already opened the weigh-in for the evening. You know the rules, no weight adjustment from this point on. But let’s do you first, then you can use the loo.’ She turned back, the sickness in her stomach turning into ice. She could feel it creeping along her veins. ‘Oh but I really do need to Jane, please? See it was my birthday last night and Tracey Bateman was there -’ There was something terrible about the quiet, watchful way Jane simply smiled at her, letting her tell her story. *Tell me*, her eyes said. *Tell me everything. It makes no difference*. ‘-she hates me and she was filling up my glass. I drank more than I should and I’m pretty sure I had more than the one slice of cake I was meant to have-’ The words kept coming. The terrible icy fear somehow fuelling her desperation wouldn’t let her stop. They had to understand. They had to see. ‘So I need to go before because I’m just not sure if I went over my limits and if I did...I just don’t want to risk it...’ ‘I understand Andy,’ Jane said with that familiar soft, practiced tone she used every time this happened. ‘But the rules are clear. I don’t make them, I hope you understand. I can’t let you leave before the weigh-in and I can’t let you adjust your weight beforehand.’ ‘But couldn’t you -’ ‘No Andy I’m sorry. I’d have to mark you down as a fail.’ The final word hung heavily in the silence that followed. A horrible anticipatory hush had descended over the group. Faces trembled somewhere between horror and exhilaration. Small whimpers escaped an enormously fat woman slumped on two seats opposite Andy, her pudgy hands fluttering excitedly against her vast thighs. Andy stared in silence as Jane turned towards the table on which sat her little computer, its wires trailing down to the box-like scales sitting on the floor. As Jane began tapping at the keys and the lights on the scales flickered on, Andy felt a wild leap of hope. Perhaps she could reach the wires before she stood on the scales; perhaps they’d have to adjourn until the following week when she’d had a chance to shift the weight Tracey Bateman had purposefully tried to ensure she’d put on. She could almost hear that bitch’s laughter, see her cackling face as she poured more and more wine into her glass. ‘It’s your birthday honey,’ she’d said, watching the red liquid flowing into the glass, ‘might as well enjoy yourself.’ Why hadn’t she seen the malicious intent in those sparkling eyes? How could she have missed the mockery in the syrupy voice? She should never have admitted that she had signed up for the reward scheme in the first place; she’d hated seeing their pitying faces, being told how brave she was... *Shoes!* The thought flashed across her mind as the silence lengthened. Jane was busy at the computer, her eyes intent on the screen. Andy sat down, tucking her feet under the seat as she did so. Jane looked up, her eyes narrowing again. Andy’s feet began squirming, working the too-heavy shoes off. ‘Nearly ready Andy, why don’t you come on up?’ Jane asked in that bright, insincere tone. Her eyes were locked on Andy’s face. The shoes were almost off. ‘Alrighty!’ Andy said, far too loud and far too shrill. One foot was free, and she bashed it against the other with a final desperate shove as she made to stand up. The shoe fell away, and she padded over to the scales in her socks. Jane’s eyes never left her face as she stood on the scales, then briefly glanced down at the screen. ‘One pound on,’ she said, something close to disappointment colouring her voice, ‘well never mind Andy. We all have birthdays!’ she smiled brightly, falsely, up at her. ‘I’ll just lock that result in and we can -’ ‘Wait!’ shouted the huge woman spread over two seats. Jane’s eyes flicked over to her. Andy’s heart pounded in her chest, hammering against her ribs like a wild animal desperate to be free. ‘I’ll just be off now then,’ she babbled, stepping off the scales and hurrying over to grab her bag. ‘She took her shoes off!’ the massive woman shouted, making no attempt to hide her breathless excitement. Andy whipped around angrily. ‘They were off before weigh-in time was called!’ she said hotly, hoping she’d managed to mix just the right amount of indignant outrage with disbelieving amusement. Jane’s eyes turned to her, and a smile that was not-quite predatory spread over her shrew-like face. ‘They clicked on the floor when you stood up, Andy,’ Jane said quietly, eyes boring into her like a malignant laser, ‘so I think you had better put them on again and we’ll forget about the first result. I won’t mark you down as a fail, but you do need to be weighed again.’ Andy’s voice was choked as she tried to respond, a feeling of hopelessness overcoming her as she lowered herself to her seat and slowly reached for her shoes with numb fingers. ‘Please...’ ‘Come on Andy,’ Jane’s voice was soft like velvet, ‘it’s all part of the scheme. Risk and reward. You know the rules.’ To Andy it seemed she floated to the scales, the clicking of her heels against the hard floor echoing loudly in her mind like the mockery of Tracey Bateman. This wasn’t happening. Couldn’t be happening. The scales stood before her. Jane’s eyes watched her. She stepped onto the little box. Her fingers twitched towards the wires, but Jane was watching. From somewhere far away she heard the words. ‘Three pounds on.’ For a moment Andy looked at Jane, seeing in that look all she had feared since the moment she had woken up with the memory of Tracey Bateman’s ghastly face clawing at her mind and the taste of icing still on her tongue. Then there was only the horrible crooning of the other group members. Little cries of joy, the soft clapping of hands. Some were sighing with a kind of hideous ecstasy, others making incoherent sounds of happiness and feverish greed, like people fawning over a new-born baby. *Food benefits. Food benefits. The government scheme for food benefits. Food benefits*... Andy ran, almost tripping over her heavy shoes as she sprinted for the door. All around her the hideous crooning of the expectant group members rose to a deafening chorus of ghastly hunger just as the floor beneath her slid apart and she fell, screaming in horrified disbelief, into the churning blades .