Diary of a Crush: Sealed With a Kiss (7 page)

Seems like I did a crap job of explaining why I love Dylan so much. He called me earlier and I think our phone conversation says what I can’t. Like, that we’re two people who totally get each other:

‘Hello, Anna’s Café, Edie speaking.’

‘Hey you.’

‘Hey you! I thought you were busy doing art boy stuff today.’

‘I’ve got art boys’ block.’

‘What’s art boys’ block?’

‘It’s like writer’s block but it only affects art boys. So are you busy or can you talk for a while?’

‘God, this place is dead. Done the lunch crowd and Poppy’s on washing-up and I’m re-filling the tomato ketchup tomato things.’

‘You’re what?’

‘Y’know, those plastic red tomatoes that you put the ketchup in.’

‘Oh,
those
tomato ketchup tomato things! So can you talk then?’

‘Yeah, Anna’s at the cash and carry and Italian Tony’s popped off to the bookies.’

‘I’m bored Edie. Can’t you take the afternoon off and we could go and see a film or something?’

‘Oooh! Yes! ’Cept, no, I can’t just, like, leave.’

‘You could say you were ill.’

‘Yeah but Anna would come upstairs to see me. And there’d be no ill Edie and hell to pay.’

‘I suppose that’s the problem with living above the premises. Well, do you want to see
Moonrise Kingdom
after work? It’s showing at the Rep. I’ll pick you up.’

‘Yeah, that’d be cool and then we could go for something to eat.’

‘OK, soooo… c’mon talk to me.’

‘Actually there was something I needed to talk to you about. But you’re not going to like it.’

‘That sounds ominous. You’re not going to dump me, are you?’

‘No! Don’t be silly. It’s just, well, I’ve got an acceptance letter from University College London for their French course.’

‘Oh.’

‘So say something.’

‘I guess I knew this was going to happen but I just decided that if I didn’t think about it, it would go away.’

‘But it wouldn’t start till the end of September and we’re going to spend the summer in America and you’ve only got a year to go anyway and you said that you wanted to do a Masters degree in London so it would only be a year apart and I’d get really long holidays and we could still…’

‘Jeez, Edie, you’re going to start hyperventilating if you don’t take a second.’

‘Don’t be mad at me, D.’

‘I’m not mad at you, I just can’t imagine what life would be like with you being more than fifteen minutes’ walk away from me.’

‘I know. I feel the same.’

‘So what did your mum say about it?’

‘She got all tearful about me moving to London and taking a job as a podium dancer in between lectures but I think she was also pleased.’

‘At least I’ve got you till the end of September I s’pose.’

‘You’ve got me after that as well.’

‘Yeah, I know. Listen, I’m pleased for you but it’ll take some time to get used to being Edieless.’

‘Yeah, but I hear they’ve invented this wonderful thing called a train and if you give a nice man some money he’ll let you go on his train all the way to London.’

‘Hey, you’re a real funny girl aren’t you?’

‘’Sides September is ages away.’

‘I know and I am going to have to kiss you and have wild, post-watershed sex with you even more now just to make up for all the times we can’t spend together.’

‘That’s sweet.’

‘I am sweet, that’s why you’re going out with me.’

‘Oh yeah, that’s why. I knew there had to be a reason. My God! I can’t believe I didn’t tell you this. Guess who came in here for lunch?’

‘I don’t know, Randolph the dog-faced boy?’

‘Who? No! Grace and Jack!’

‘On their own? Like, as a couple?’

‘There was a whole bunch of them from college but they sat opposite each other.’

‘Did they actually manage to speak whole sentences and maintain eye contact?’

‘Not so you’d notice but it’s early days. Don’t start that whole matchmaking business again. You have to let them do their own thing.’

‘Huh! If I let them do their own thing they’d be drawing their pensions before they’d even get round to saying “Hello”.’

‘Like us. If I hadn’t been the one to make the first move we’d never have got together.’

‘You’re so not right. I had to pursue you relentlessly.’

‘I was just playing hard to get. I’d have given in eventually.’

‘Yeah, right… It’s um, Dylan.’

‘You still there, Edie?’

‘Anna’s back, have to go now.’

‘Pick you up at five?’

‘’Kay. See you then.’

‘See you. Oh and remember, lots of smooching on the menu tonight so remember your lip balm.’

‘Bye D.’

‘Bye Edie.’

Yeah, me and D, we’re all right.

Dylan is driving me freakin’ mad!

Where am I? Back home
home
for the weekend where there is always ice cream in the freezer, no-one hogging the bathroom and a purry, purty cat currently sitting on my stomach so I can’t actually see what I’m writing. Plus, there is no-one annoying the hell out of me.

I am not one of those girls who’s only defined by her boyfriend. I have a life. A life that is going to send me into my own private room in a mental institution.

I have Poppy whinging at me about practising my guitar and her plans for domination of the upper reaches of the Top Twenty. I also have to witness the sight of Poppy and Jesse dry-humping in the kitchen when I’m trying to keep my cornflakes down.

I have work, work, work. And I’m sure all that grease is playing havoc with my pores. Plus, at least once every day some cheeky chappy thinks it hugely amusing to say, ‘Cheer up, love, it might never happen’ and because I want my tip I have to shoot him a big insincere smile that makes the sides of my face ache.

I have my parents banging on for England about tuition fees and halls of residence and how if I go to America this summer I will definitely get involved in a drive-by shooting.

I have Grace avoiding me because she’s too chicken to do something about the monster-sized crush that Jack has on her. Even if it’s just to put him out of his misery.

And now I have Dylan moping and moaning at me from sun-up to sun-down (and actually for quite a long time after sun-down too if we’re going to get technical about it) because in eight months I’ve got the audacity to want to leave town so I can get a degree.

OK, I’ve vented and I don’t feel the least bit better.

I find getting up on Sunday mornings difficult. Some might say impossible. But Shona insisted me and Poppy and Grace got up at seven so we could go car-booting and buy quirky, exotic Valentine’s Day presents for our boyfriends. She’s just passed her driving test and wanted to feel the call of the open road beneath her mum’s Honda Civic as we moseyed along the A roads to Blackpool.

We didn’t talk in the car because Shona needed to concentrate and I was too busy having my whole life flash before me every time she braked suddenly. Then I’d get yelled at for flinching and therefore distracting her. It was a very tense journey. My legs were like half-set jelly by the time I got out of the car.

‘So what are you going to get Dylan?’ Shona asked me as we shuffled around the stalls set up in a school playground.

I shrugged. ‘Something kitsch that will make him laugh,’ I said. ‘He’s been in a complete funk ever since I told him I’d be going to study in London after the summer.’

‘Yeah, he keeps gazing at her in a lovesick fashion and sighing heavily,’ Grace added. ‘It’s really sweet.’

‘I think I preferred it when she was mousy,’ I hissed at Poppy who smirked.

‘I’m going to look at clothes. I need a new stage outfit,’ Poppy announced. ‘C’mon Grace, heel.’

I got D the most wonderful present, plus we had these bacon butties from a transport caff on the way home that had to be one of the seven wonders of the modern world. Or does the modern world have eight wonders?

Crap! Now that’s going to bug me for the rest of the day.

Dylan stayed over and I woke him up by switching on his Valentine’s Day present, a Fifties hula girl alarm clock. But even the plastic hula girl, hula-ing to
La Cucaracha
, failed to raise a smile.

‘Unnnh,’ he groaned, rolling over and burying his head in the pillow.

‘Dylan!’ I whined, nudging him.

‘It’s a cute present Edie, but every morning when I wake up, you’ll be in London and it’ll just remind me of you,’ he sniffed before reaching under the bed, retrieving a small carrier bag and shoving it at me. He managed to do all this with his eyes still shut. And I’m the one who’s not a morning person.

D had got one of his arty mates to make me a cute silver ring embossed with little pink enamel hearts. Plus there was a home-made card because Dylan always makes me cards to celebrate significant events and I’d throw the mother of all hissy fits if he decided to stop. This one had a cartoon of me on the front, wearing my tiara and he’d stuck bits of diamante on it. Inside he’d written, ‘I love Edie like a fat kid loves cake.’

Aw, aw, and a thousand times aw.

I went to give him a big thank you kiss but he’d already gone back to sleep.

To tell you the truth, this Valentine’s Day was always going to suck. It’s the first Valentine’s Day in three years when Dylan and I are actually
together
instead of either mooning over each other from afar/wishing that the other one didn’t even exist/being non-committed kiss sluts (delete where applicable) which adds up to a lot of pressure
and
we’re playing a gig tonight. Or more specifically, we’re playing an anti-Valentine’s ball.

When I dared to suggest that we turn the gig down so I could spend some relationship recuperation time with Dylan, the others spent the rest of the day mocking me harshly for being lame.

The first nine-tenths of our set was awful. Because it was an anti-Valentine’s theme we had to play all our boys-are-evil-jerks songs, of which we have a fair few. As I tried to remember the chords for
He’s A Loser
(
And He’ll Never Be Any Good
) all I could see was Dylan sitting by the side of the stage looking like he was about to cry.

I couldn’t bear it any longer.

When we finished the song, I stepped up to the mike. ‘I know this is meant to be anti-Valentine’s,’ I said nervously, hoping that my knees knocking together wouldn’t drown out the sound of my voice. ‘And I’m down with that sentiment but I want to dedicate the next song to the sulky boy at the side of the stage. This one’s for you, Dylan.’ And it was completely unrehearsed but I started playing the thrash version of
This Girl’s In Love With You
that me and Poppy had been mucking about with all week. Finally I got a smile out of him.

After the gig, we all piled into a club. Dylan had cheered up. Like, to the power of one thousand. He pretended that he was embarrassed about having a song dedicated to him but judging by the way he kept pulling me into dark corners so he could give me these kisses which devastated my central nervous system, he was faking. I vaguely remember pulling Poppy and Grace onto the dancefloor so we could jump around to Azealia Banks when a huge bunch of flowers with legs walked up to Grace.

It was Jack hidden behind the biggest bouquet of mixed blooms I’d ever seen. If Dylan had done that, I’d have burst into soppy tears of happiness but Grace gave a horrified squeal and pushed the flowers back at Jack who promptly fled.

Then Poppy bawled out Grace loudly and publicly for being ‘a selfish, emotionally crippled, thoughtless cow’ and Grace fled. I should have been more concerned but Dylan was being sultry, which mostly involved nibbling my neck and telling me in no uncertain terms what he was planning to do to me when we got home, and Atsuko and Darby kept aiming their water pistols at us so I forgot all about Grace and Jack.

But (and it’s a big but) when we got out of the club at some godforsaken hour, sitting on the wall opposite, sharing a bag of chips and looking morose were Grace and Jack. I think that’s progress.

Dylan and I have just had what has to be the most scary, intense argument ever. ’Cept it never really got to be an argument; it whooshed out of control like someone had just thrown lighter fuel on a bonfire.

See, in between brooding and more brooding and, hmmm, brooding some more about my not-very-imminent move to London, Dylan found time to get hold of a copy of every US fly-drive brochure that’s ever been written. I cashed in my Crimbo book tokens and bought a load of travel guides and we started to plan our amazing road trip adventure.

Actually we weren’t getting very far. We knew where we wanted to go but planning out the route takes organisation, military precision and levels of concentration that neither of us seemed to possess.

‘We should start in New York,’ I said decisively, as I peered at the map I’d pinned to my corkboard.

‘But New York’s on the right and a lot of the places we want to go are on the left. Maybe we should start at the top in Seattle and work our way down.’ Dylan traced his finger along the middle of the States.

I gave a frustrated groan. ‘We have to do this in a scientific way? God! This is like being back at freakin’ school.’ I find in times of great stress that it helps to use not-quite-swear words.

‘Maybe we should make a list of all the places that we want to go to and just draw a line that connects them together. And that’s our route.’ A very smug note was creeping into Dylan’s voice, which I tried to ignore. It was not very becoming.

Instead I shrugged. ‘Yeah, I guess that would work. Might be a pretty crooked line but, hey, I got nothing here.’

We started our US wishlist: