Karen checked her reflection one last time in front of the cream, oval cheval mirror in her bedroom. It was only since Christmas that the too small, redundant dressing gown had been removed from where it had lain draped across the glass since Mark walked out fourteen months ago. Due to her weight loss, it was back in use, as was the mirror itself.

     ‘You’re looking hot, Lady!’ she said out loud, before she turned round and looked over her shoulder to admire her greatly reduced backside. Her bum had always been one of her greatest assets, according to Mark. Although it could still do with losing a couple of inches, she had to admit it looked pretty damned good. The black jeans she’d bought on EBay looked perfect with the cream top she got from Primark the week before. Not only did it disguise the weight she still had to get rid of around her middle, it emphasised her bust in a way that looked respectable, but sexy at the same time. Satisfied she could do no more to improve her appearance, Karen ran her fingers through her blond highlighted hair, winked back at herself with a verbal click of approval, before heading for the living room to await Mark’s arrival.

     The minute she opened the door to face him, Karen knew all the effort of secretly losing thirty-four pounds had been worth it; as was all the subterfuge on Christmas day. The expression on his face was priceless.

     ‘K... Karen?’ he stuttered, the shock of seeing his previously bloated wife looking like a movie star, rendering him almost speechless.

     ‘Yes,’ she answered with a smirk. Karen then deliberately turned her back on him and sashayed through the hallway towards the living room.

     ‘How… How have you? Jesus, Karen. I saw you three weeks ago. You didn’t…’

     Karen turned to face Mark when he eventually caught up with her, his dropped jaw making her feel even more triumphant than before.

     ‘You… You’re looking really, really well, Karen,’ he told her as he sat down on the sofa, his eyes nearly popping out of his head.

     Karen knew she did. Losing weight had given her back her confidence, as had manning the chat line. The guys who rang her might be a bit perverted, but they made her feel good about herself, and very much a woman again. More importantly, it had allowed her to distance herself from Mark at last. If he had paid her a compliment before, it would probably have reduced her to tears. Not now.

     ‘Come on, Mark, cut to the chase. We both know you didn’t come here to discuss the way I look.’

     Sensing her hostility, Mark glanced around the room as he tried to buy some time.

     ‘Well?’ Karen asked, her arms folded across her chest.

     This was a Karen he hadn’t seen for a long time. The Karen who had fought the playground battles for his kids. The Karen who had made him feel like a successful man every night when he came home. The Karen who had made baby-making one of the most pleasurable pastimes on the planet. He had come to discuss putting the house on the market with a woman who had become a stranger. But now…

     The expression on Mark's face was comical. If it wasn't for the fact Karen still needed to hurl his parting words back in his face, she would have burst out laughing. ‘The fact that I’m not a fat cow anymore isn't the issue. What are we going to do about the house?’

     Mark squirmed in his seat for a moment when he remember what he'd said. No, he hadn’t come to discuss Karen’s previous weight, but it was damned hard to concentrate on anything else when she was standing in front of him looking as good as she did now.

     ‘I... I’ve appointed an estate agent,’ he eventually managed to blurt out. ‘He’s asked if he can come and take some particulars tomorrow so he can prepare the brochure. Is that okay with you?’

     Karen didn’t hesitate before telling him it wasn’t. ‘It would be much better if we waited till the spring before we put it on the market,’ she added, her stance confrontational. ‘Nobody looks at property at this time of year.’

     Mark, having momentarily recovered from the effect of Karen’s transformation, regained his courage sufficiently to disagree. ‘Well, I’ve been looking for a property this month, so that can’t be right. Anyway, it takes a couple of weeks to get the brochure together. It probably won’t be on the market until early February.’

     Karen wanted to tell him there was no way she was letting the estate agent into the house, but she knew her hands were tied because of the contract she’d signed. Until she could earn enough money to pay the mortgage herself, she had to play along. The good news was, if Mr. Patel agreed to let her run his restaurant, Karen might have enough funds in the not too distant future. She would just have to stall until then.

     ‘Okay, send in your bloody estate agent… I’m really past caring,’ Karen told him dismissively, before pointing to the door and asking him to leave.

   
   
     When the estate agent put up the ‘for sale’ sign outside the house, Karen wanted to go out the minute he left and rip it down. So much for it taking at least two weeks to put the house on the market. Four days after the agent came to take pictures and measure the place up, she found the sale particulars on his website.

     To take her mind off the thought of losing the home she loved so much, Karen focused on talking to Mr Patel about the suggestion Laura made. She checked out the roving licensees in Glasgow, and was delighted to find two of them who were available on the fourteenth of February. By the time she discussed the idea with Mr Patel, she was totally up to speed with what was involved.

     Much to Karen’s surprise, he loved the idea. Mr Patel's wife being away must have made him a lot more agreeable, because when Karen suggested putting the ad in the Valentine’s Day feature of the Herald the following weekend, he even offered to pay for it. With the twenty percent she was going to give him from the dining room sales, and the ten percent he was getting from the licensee, it was probably well worth his while.

     In the meantime, if anyone came to view the house, she was damned if she’d do anything to make them like it. With that thought in mind, she picked up Molly and took her out to the shed she’d inadvertently locked her in the year before.

     ‘Forgive me,’ she said, before she kissed Molly on the back of her neck and locked her in there again.

     Karen didn’t feel too guilty, because she left enough water and dry cat food to last a few days, and she didn’t doubt Molly would have fun catching the odd mouse while she was in there as well. Molly was used to being out at night, but Karen put a box with a warm woollen blanket in the corner of the shed, just in case she got cold.

     Karen’s next port of call was the Salvation Army, where she bought three pairs of disgustingly dated curtains and some equally hideous bed covers and scatter cushions. The whole lot cost less than thirty pounds, but could mean the difference of thousands to her. Karen was damned if all the beautiful soft furnishings she’d picked for the house over the years were going to make it any easier to sell. Fortunately, some of the internal pictures the estate agent had taken didn’t show the windows, so none of the viewers she might get would be any the wiser. Convinced that she’d done everything she could for now, Karen went back to work on the chat line when she wasn’t doing her two shifts at the hotel.

    When the estate agent phoned Karen on the following Wednesday afternoon, he told her he’d been trying to get hold of her for two days, but couldn’t because the phone had been constantly engaged. Karen chuckled silently when he said that. At least the chat line had served another useful purpose. The smile dropped from her face a few seconds later though, because he told her he had a couple who were anxious to view the property that afternoon. Although she wanted to tell him it wasn’t convenient, she knew she couldn’t. Mark’s lawyers had made it quite clear she would be in breach of contract if she didn’t accept viewings.

     ‘Bring it on!’ Karen said out loud after she put down the phone.

     She only had an hour and a half to put her plan into action, so didn’t waste any time. The first thing Karen had to do was extract the litter box filled with shredded newspapers from the shed. Molly had done well to have peed in it so often when she was trapped in there for two days. Karen had reduced her guilt by giving her a tub of her favourite kitty mince as soon as she let her out.

     Having distributed the contents of the litter tray into half a dozen hidden, open-topped containers around the living room and kitchen, Karen focused on changing the curtains and bedcovers. She couldn’t do anything to make her ultra-modern kitchen look dilapidated, but the cold coffee she splashed down a couple of the units certainly didn’t enhance its appearance. Karen then removed some of the dirty dishes from the dishwasher, and scattered them around the sink and work surfaces so it looked like the place was lived in by a bunch of dysfunctional teenagers.

     Ten minutes before the viewers arrived, Karen was pleased with the result. All four bedrooms looked like war zones, and the main living areas now smelt like a cat sanctuary with problems.

     ‘Hello!’ she greeted them enthusiastically when they arrived on her doorstep at four on the dot. To make sure the smell of cat pee hit them as soon as they arrived, Karen had turned the heating up to high. Even she had a problem not gagging when she smelt it.

     The couple were incredibly polite. ‘Do you have cats?’ the husband asked a minute after they walked in.

     ‘Just the one, but she’s getting on a bit.’ Karen explained with a sugary smile.

     As if on cue, Molly stretched lazily on the sofa, before giving the couple a look of disdain. They then looked concerned when they went into the kitchen and saw the puddle of water Karen had made sure was spread across the floor in front of the sink. Her past experience might as well be put to good use.

     ‘It’s nothing to worry about,’ Karen advised them with a straight face. ‘It’s just the mice chewing up the pipes again at the back of the dishwasher. Poor old Molly isn’t as good as she used to be, so I'll have to phone pest control.’

     The couple couldn’t get out of the house quickly enough. Thirty minutes after they left, Karen had the pee-soaked newspapers back in the shed, and the curtains and bedcovers returned to normal.

      By the time the kids got home at six, the place was looking and smelling the way it always had…