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This book features our luscious heroine going all out to try and win back the affections of Ted, her lovely ex-boyfriend. She becomes convinced that the way to do it is by putting herself through a six week transformation plan in time for her friend’s 30th birthday party.
But, like most things in Mary Brown’s life, things don’t go exactly according to plan.
Featuring drunk winter Olympics, an amorous fitness instructor, a crazy psychic, spying, dieting, exercising and a trip to hospital with a Polish man called Lech.
I really hope you enjoy it xxx
An Extract… Mary Brown decides to visit a psychic
I noticed a piece of paper pinned on with a solitary drawing pin, flapping in the gentle breeze.
The sign said: “Leading Psychic, sessions available this week. Learn what the future holds for you.”
Wow. That sounded exciting. I love a psychic. I’d been to a few in my time. Nothing they said to me has ever remotely come true, but it’s such great fun seeing what they have to say. Perhaps this one would be the key to a happy life. Perhaps she could give me advice about Ted? Perhaps I would be set off on the right path. I mean, what could go wrong? She was advertising outside the church hall, for God sake. I mean, if she had been given the blessing of Christianity, surely I could trust her? I pulled out my phone and took a picture of the name and number.
The marvellous Sheila… psychic and healer.
Now then, anyone tell me that doesn’t sound like a kosher name for a psychic? Sheila the Healer. It was perfect. She even had a picture below of her, wearing a scarf and hoop earrings with her hands out over a mini ball from which electrical impulses were flying.
This was just what I needed. It was the way in which I was going to win the love of my life back. And maybe even give me the key to permanent lifelong weight loss along the way. She might be, in short, the answer to all my prayers. You see – it does pay to come to church.
“Thank you, God,” I shouted up to the steeple as I walked away from the church, clutching my phone in my hand as I power-walked back home.
Later that day, I called Sheila and left a message on her very business-like answering service. I had expected the message to be full of mystic sounds, perhaps coming from a distant world far away, but it just said very officiously: “Hello. Please speak after the tone. If you want to call me at work, I am now working for Elmbridge Council waste disposal department, so try me there.”
I left a message. “Hello, I wanted to talk to Sheila, the psychic healer – but you probably know that! Ha ha. My name’s Mary Brown. I guess you knew that too. Ha! Er, anyway, here’s my number…call me.”
Shit. Why did I say that? She must be sick to death of people saying ‘but I guess you know that already.’
I rang up again.
“Hi Sheila, It’s Mary again. Er, just wanted to say sorry about that message. Really stupid. Anyway…call me.”
Despite the inauspicious star, I soon received a text from Sheila, full of pictures of tarot cards and candles, inviting me to come for a reading at 3pm on Monday……….
It turned out that Sheila’s house was a rather plain looking place on a council estate on the other side of town. Kids who should have been at school raced bikes up and down the pavement while parents shouted from kitchen windows at them to stop. I stepped over an abandoned skateboard and walked up to Sheila’s door, knocked it, and listened to the sound of a man and woman shouting at one another while a dog yapped.
It was at this point that it occurred to me that I really should have told someone where I was going. No one in the world knew that I’d come to talk to Sheila the Healer. The only person who knew I wasn’t at work was Keith, and he thought I disappeared off to get women’s problems sorted. They would have a hell of a job finding me if I was kidnapped. I took my phone out of my handbag and held it tightly as I knocked again.
A sloppy-looking man opened the door to me. He had a distinct potbelly and wore an ill-fitting football shirt for a team I didn’t recognise, slightly stained jogging bottoms and was holding a small dog. “Sorry to disturb you. I’ve come to see Sheila,” I said.
“Psychic Sheila? Sheila the healer?”
“Oh yes, come in.”
“Margaret, there is someone at the door for you.”
So, she lived in a scruffy house with a rough-looking man, she was going by a false name – she wasn’t Sheila the healer at all, but Margaret from the waste disposal office at the council. It would be a lie to say that my confidence in her was at all all-time high. But I tried to reassure myself, it didn’t mean she wasn’t a good psychic.
I followed her husband along the corridor that was cluttered with shoes and coats, and into a sitting room that looked like everyone’s mum’s house. Perfectly nice and comfortable, but nothing terribly stylish or modern. The television in the corner was showing some sort of football game. The sound was turned up very loud. There was a sofa facing the tv and two armchairs by the side. In the middle there was a coffee table and on it the only clue as to who lived in the place… a magazine called “Psychic Today” next to a can of beer and one of those monster-sized bags of crisps.
“Come through,” said a disembodied voice, emphasising the ‘oooo’ at the end of the word, to make it sound a little spooky. She needn’t have worried about being more spooky – I was quite spooked enough already.
I walked from the sitting room into a small conservatory which led onto a small garden. It was decked out with fairy lights and candles and was much more like I’d imagined a psychic’s house to be. I was guided to the seat opposite Sheila, with a small wooden table between us covered in a lacy table cloth. On it there was all the paraphernalia that one would associate with a psychic…some cards, candles, a notebook, a teapot and some sort of globe thing – like the one on the notice I’d seen at the church, but without the electric sparks coming out of it.
Sheila herself was nice…she had dyed blonde hair that was actually more yellow than blonde, drawn-on eyebrows that were nowhere near where her real eyebrows ought to be, and about four earrings in each ear. Her eyeshadow was in the same lilac as the curtains, but she had a very nice aura about her: a big smile which suggested a generous, kindly nature despite her efforts to look ethereal and distant. I felt immediately at ease.
She took my hands in hers. She had a lot of rings on her fingers and bangles on her wrists: all of them ugly. I assumed they all had incredible psychic powers, but the bangles jangled in an annoying fashion and were too big and tarnished to be attractive. She had a sort of gypsyish quality, but also was quite like a nurse or something…she had a solidly about her. I decided instantly that she would change my life.
“Derek,” she screamed out through the open conservatory door. “Can you close the door, and turn the television down, I’m trying to do a reading.”
There was a shuffling and then the banging of the door, and the sounds of football disappeared into the background. “What can I do for you, Mary?” she said softly. “What is it you’re looking to get from today’s session?”
Praise for Bernice Bloom
“I urge you to pick up these books, you won’t be disappointed!”
“You really need to read these fabulous books by Bernice Bloom.”
“I adored the various storylines, loved the quirky and captivating characters, and was beguiled by Ms. Bloom’s colorful and highly amusing writing style. I am hopelessly addicted. More Fat Girl, please!”
“The book was just a delight to read. Every time I picked the book up I could guarantee that it was going to make me smile.”
“The last thing on earth I need is another addiction, but I fear I have acquired a new one for the cunningly amusing author Bernice Bloom and her wily Adorable Fat Girl series.”
“I can’t recommend this book enough.”
“THE most heartwarming, funny and emotional read.”