The Art of Letting Go (The Uni Files) (10 page)

Meredith is no help whatsoever.

We are interrupted by a knock on the door. Ben peeks in and asks, “Do you want dinner?”

“What is it?” I ask. Okay, that came out ruder than I intended.

“Roast chicken.” He looks a bit confused as he answers.

“Yeah, sure,” I reply.

“Uh, okay. Ready in an hour,” he says before ducking his head back out of the door.

Meredith reads me with her all-knowing green eyes. “If anyone is acting weird, it’s you,” she says.

“Bugger off. He looked practically embarrassed then.”

“Yeah, he must be really embarrassed, coming in and telling the girl he has been obsessing about and has finally slept with that her lovely roast chicken meal cooked with love and care will be ready in one hour.”

I elbow her in the ribs, sarcastic cow.

22nd October

Today involved the following:

Awkward breakfast.

Uncomfortable lecture.

Awkward dinner.

23rd October

And more . . .

Awkward breakfast

Uncomfortable lecture

Awkward dinner

Oh, and an awkward moment when Ben came out of the shower in his towel. It was a cup of tea I slopped all over the floor this time.

24th October

I have been Mum’d.

“Oh, Dharling, where on earth have you been? Daddy and I have been frightfully worried about you!”

I automatically grab my packet of cigarettes and open my window wide. No conversation with my mother is complete without the helpful addition of nicotine.

“Well, it has been weeks. You can’t have been that worried.”

“Tish tosh, Lilah, don’t be difficult!”

“Okay. I’m busy studying. Did you want something?” I’m not really studying. I’m busy obsessing about Ben and the whole ‘no talking thing’ we’re doing.

“Now, now, Dharling, don’t be like that. Shall we do a little bite for lunchy on Saturday? My treat. Let’s say Harvey Nics at noon.”

“Um—”

“Lovely!
Ciao
, Dharling. See you then.”

And then she is gone.

My mum is a now rare breed of woman who thinks that anything in life can be fixed by lunch at Harvey Nics and a quick spin around Harrods. I am not exaggerating. There was a rumour once that my dad had participated in a bit of office hanky panky. Instead of freaking out and shouting like a normal woman, my mum just took the American Express to Harrods and killed it. She did not just kill the card, she buried it six feet under and danced on the grave.

Still, lunch with Mum is always a bit of a laugh. Well, it’s always free for a start. And it always involves a tanker-load of gin and tonic.

I put a quick call in to Tristan. “Have you been blabbing to Mum?”

“Nope.”

“If you have, I will cut your balls off.”

“Jeez, calm down Miss Dramatic.”

“Is Meredith there?”

“Um, yes.”

“Ask her if she wants to come to lunch with Mum.”

“I don’t think that is such a great idea.”

“Why?”

“Mum might scare her off.”

I laugh and hang up. Excellent! I shall not have to go alone. This fills me with cheer in a week that could have been great, but has started to turn to a pile of shit at an alarming rate.

Mum and I have always had a strained relationship. I just don’t get her! There are no two ways about it.

I don’t understand how she can be happy swanning around the house all day, so bored that she starts drinking gin at noon, pretending to be an upstanding member of the community with her charity work. How is she satisfied with that?

What I understand even less is how she thinks that me marrying John is such a great idea, when it would clearly be a case of history repeating itself.

And as a student of history (sort of) I am only too aware that history really does repeat itself. I just don’t want it to do it with me.

This reminds me. I must ring John.

27th October

It is 5 o’clock, and I am still in a state of shock. Mum  pulled a complete fast one on me.

I cannot quite believe it.

Lunch was over fast and sober. My alarm bells should have been going off by that fact alone. Another alarm bell trigger should have been Mum’s outfit. Instead of her normal twinset and court shoes, she was wearing flats, some trousers that were borderline jean material and a shirt thing. She looked like she was about to go and bunfight it out at Primark. Even her putdowns were low key.

“Dharling, I do think perhaps you should join a class or something.”

“What sort of class, Mum?”

“Oh, Yoga, Pilates, you know.”

This should have warned me. Any other time Mum would have just looked me up and down and said, “Delilah, you really are getting frightfully plump.”

But still, I didn’t think it was weird when after lunch she drained her orange juice (really, orange juice?) and said, “Come on, Delilah, let’s go and look at some of their departments.”

Meredith, who had been expecting Mum to be a complete head case after Tristan and I had given her advanced warning of what to expect, shoots me a confused look as we trail after Mum’s high-speed power walk.

The Bridal Department

Mum’s marathon sprint ends at the entrance to the Bridal department. I just stand there in complete shock. Meredith actually gives an audible gasp when she sees our destination.

“Come on, Dharling, we are just in time for your appointment.”

“What?”

“Don’t say ‘What?,’ say ‘Pardon,’” she tuts. “Your appointment? It takes months to get a decent dress made. We need to get cracking with the planning.”

“But there isn’t a wedding, Mum. Remember?”

“Oh, Delilah, will you stop all this silliness? You know that you and John are going to be married, so we may as well get on with it.”

This is not at all what I am thinking.

I am thinking that a few short days ago I had sex with someone else who I do actually want to be with but am not, all because of some silly question I was unable to say “No” to last year.

She takes me by the hand and guides me in where I am immediately pounced upon by gushing female sales assistants who “oooh” and “aaaah” over me. They even compliment my crazy short hair, which makes Mum grimace. The hairstyle was not a success with my mother. I shall probably keep it short forever.

“Is this your bridesmaid?” one of the assistants asks, pulling a completely dumbfounded Meredith into our little circle of activity that involves stripping me down to my granny knickers.

“Yes, she will be,” I say. Not at the wedding these ladies are planning, but when I do get married, Meredith will be standing there looking spectacular in emerald green. I can visualise it now.

And that is it. They spend the next hour measuring me and then showing me different styles of gowns, which I am made to try on like some life-sized wedding Barbie doll. I stomp out of the changing room each time like a bull in a china shop, wishing I had some of Goth chick’s shit-kicker Doc Martins on. Not one dress I try on has a price tag under two grand. I would never spend that much on a dress, if I ever do get married, which I don’t plan on doing. But if I ever do, I’m making my own personal vow to only wear a dress that costs less than one hundred, preferably even less, actually preferably no dress at all.

Meredith and I spend the whole Tube trip home sitting in stunned silence.

“Thanks for saying I could be a bridesmaid,” she says eventually.

“You’re welcome. You will be, won’t you?”

“Yeah, so long as you don’t marry that tit.”

When we get home, I am flabbergasted for the second time in one day. Ben and Tristan are sitting in the lounge on the torture furniture, a heavy smattering of empty beer cans between them.

“What you guys doing?” I demand.

Ben shifts uncomfortably under my glare.

“So, what? You can ignore me for the whole week and then chill out at the weekend and have drinks with my brother?” Clearly my limit for crap has been reached.

“I am not ignoring you, Lilah.” Ben’s voice caresses my name and I hate the way it makes tears prickle my eyes. It has been a terrible day. I am tired and cannot go on any further. I just stand there with my lips wobbling and on the brink of tears.

Ben leaps out of his chair all dominating masculinity and grabs hold of me. “What’s wrong?” he asks, lifting my face to his.

“It’s been a really shit day. Actually it’s been a really shit week.”

“I’m sorry,” he says in a low voice, his hands are on my face, forcing me to look at him.

“Sorry for what?”

“Sorry if you think I have been ignoring you. I just wanted to give you some space so you could work stuff out.”

“Oh.”

I am a dick sometimes.

“Did you really think I would ignore you after
that?
” he whispers.

I look at him. Yeah, I kind of did. “I just thought maybe it was rubbish and you decided not to bother again,” I whisper back. I can’t believe I have just admitted to this, but I have no energy left to bullshit, even myself.

“You could not be further from the truth,” he assures me in a voice that’s noticeably lower, keeping eye contact with me the whole time.

He kisses the tip of my nose. “Don’t worry, Ben. It’s not your fault she is crying.” Meredith shrugs out of her jacket and grabs a beer before plonking herself down next to Tristan who is watching my little drama with interest.

“Her crazy mum made her try on wedding dresses for an hour. I nearly cried.”

“What?” Ben sounds astounded, as he should, quite rightly. I have failed to mention the teeny tiny matter of my engagement. Funnily enough, it has never come up in conversation.

Yes, I know I have double standards.

“You’re getting married? Like, really getting married?” He looks at me a little frantically.

“No, of course I’m not. Mum and Dad just think I am.”

He does not look appeased.

“I’m not. I promise,” I try and assure him. Making eye contact, I tiptoe to kiss him.

At first he resists a little, then his arms snake around me and pull me in tight. “Fuck, Lilah! I just nearly had a heart attack.”

“Yep. Imagine how I felt today.”

I laugh a little. Let’s be honest. It is kind of funny.

I grab a beer and sit down, pulling Ben along with me. We then all sit and drank beer until eventually I have forgotten the pain of being squeezed into terrible dresses.

When it is time to go to bed, I ask Ben if I can go with him. He just grins and grabs me, throwing me over his shoulder in his trademark fireman lift, and marches us into his bedroom as I scream in hysterical giggles.

Bliss. Bloody Bliss.

November

5th November

Fireworks Night

Poor Guy Fawkes! There he was, part of a gang planning to bring down parliament using over-sized fireworks. A plan that failed spectacularly, yet he is the only one who gets plonked on top of a bonfire year in, year out. That’s history, though it only really ever remembers the names that it wants to. Everyone else gets lost in dusty boring textbooks, much like the ones that I am being forced to read these days.

I feel a bit like Guy Fawkes. Well, I have been creating some fabulous fireworks of my own with Ben of late. Mum freaked me out last week at Harvey Nics. She was seriously not listening to a single word I said when I protested that I did not want to get married. It is being treated like a done deal. I thought girls were allowed to change their minds.

Perhaps the problem is that I have not actually told the person I am supposed to be marrying that I have changed my mind. I know there is not a chance in hell I will ever be able to pretend to be in a relationship with John again. Not even for ten short minutes. Not ever.

Ben and I are living this bizarre co-existing lifestyle. Sometimes I stay in his room; sometimes he stays in mine. Every morning he makes me coffee. He assures me he is happy with this role due to the fact my coffee and tea tastes like cat piss.

We never talk about anything serious, and never, ever mention John or the fact that my Mum has rung again asking if I had thought any more about those damn dresses. We just giggle a lot, all the time. It is kind of silly and adorable all at the same time.

“What would you like for breakfast?”

Hot boy from next door is asking what I want for breakfast whilst naked in front of me.

Giggle, giggle, and giggle. “Shall we go to the library after lectures?”

“No. Let’s just come home and have sex.”

Giggle, giggle, and giggle.

Every time he calls, these teeny tiny guinea pig cages our "home" it makes my stomach flip out with crazy-good, happy feelings.

I have never had this before with anyone. I never thought of any place as a 'shared home,' and have it be something not to be feared. It’s kind of crazy. We hardly know each other, but it is the most natural thing in the world. I can’t help wonder if it is too easy.

We are leaving in a few minutes for the fireworks display. It is raining hard, so I reckon old Guy Fawkes might get a lucky escape this year.

6th November

Okay, I need to get a grip. I have got one month to complete four essays, otherwise the Christmas holiday will be a complete write-off.

Uh, Christmas holiday. I cannot think of anything worse. The way things are going, I will still be doing my chicken act and effectively dating two people at once. I will have to go home to Mum and Dad’s for Christmas, where I will have to pretend that my little perfect existence they have cooked up for me is still going ahead. John will be there and I will have to sit next to him all day "ooh'ing" and "aah'ing" over the ridiculous gifts that he will undoubtedly lavish on me. It makes me sound like an ungrateful cow, but it is the truth. I will probably have to share my mum and dad’s guest room with him.

I don’t think I can.

Last night when we got home from the bonfire display, Ben knocked on my door. He didn’t come into my room, just stood on the threshold, hair all damp and dishevelled and said, “Lil, do you think that maybe you should just do it? Tell John it is over? I’m not sure that I want to share you anymore.”

“You’re not sharing me,” I said, but the words hung there between us.

“Yeah, but you are not just my girlfriend either.”

I had no answer to this.

Taylor Swift is singing ‘Mine’ and I want Ben to be mine. Only mine. Forever.

Okay. It is time to sort things out. I need to be brave and say the things that need to be said.

Friday is going to be the day.

8th November

I have told everyone, well, Meredith, Ben, Jayne, and Tristan (that’s pretty much everyone) that tomorrow is the day.

Tristan is going to be on Camp McCannon watch to help with the fallout that is sure to happen. Let’s not forget that my dad threatened to cut me off if I ended things with John. Theoretically, I could be eating turkey by myself this year.

Ben has been as excitable as a puppy all day. We went for a walk over the campus, which was beautiful with late autumn leaves still clinging to the trees, the air cool and crisp against our skin. The other week when I was lost in Froebel (again), I came across the place where Ben and I first, well, first drunkenly snogged. Turns out that it is actually beautiful there. I had just been too shit-faced to notice at the time.

Froebel College is a stunning mansion house with the most amazing landscaped lawns, with worn grey stone steps leading down to them, and an old-fashioned pond in the distance.

Ben and I sat there quietly taking in the scene around us when I told him. I told him that if he was keen, in a couple of days I would be available on a more permanent basis. It was quite romantic really, when he had turned toward me, his lips curved into a smile, his eyes flashing the blue of the sky overhead, and told me that he was most definitely keen.

I am not going to be scared. I am going to do it so that I can be with the person who has transformed me like I never thought possible.

I am going to do it.

9th November

Isn’t this just hunky dory? I have just done the most dramatic thing ever, and there is no one here to tell.

I did it. I did it. I did it.

I’ve come charging in all excited and ready to gloat on my single status, which hopefully will transfer to a non-single status again by tomorrow morning, and there is no one here.

Oh, it’s only nine-thirty.

Blimey! That did not take long at all. Ben and Sound Box are playing a gig tonight. They will not be home for hours. How bloody annoying! I could go, I suppose, but it might be a bit weird to go straight out on the town after splitting up with someone. I’m sure there is some sort of respectable lapse of time you are supposed to allow to pass before you go out shouting from the rooftops that you are single again. Two hours is probably not it.

The Break-Up

It’s hard to say goodbye to someone when they have been in your life for five years, but I did it all the same.

John had been so delighted that I was finally finding time to see him he had booked a table for the two of us at my favourite Chinese restaurant. It’s a shame really, they do the best Ho-Fun in London, but I doubt I will ever be able to go back there now.

There was a bit of a scene.

In between the hors d’oeuvres and the crispy duck and pancakes, I slipped my hand out from under John’s, where it was sweating profusely, and told him how thankful I was that he had given me space over the last couple of months, but how I had come to realise that I only really saw him in a brotherly way and because of this we should not continue with our relationship.

“What do you mean like a brother?”

“Um, well, I just see you in a brotherly way.”

“What, so you don’t fancy me?”

“Um, no, not really. Sorry.”

“I’m sure we could just do with some quality time together. Maybe I should book us a holiday?”

“John, I don’t think time is going to help. At all.”

“What about the wedding?”

“John, I don’t want to get married to you. I’m sorry that I said I did, and led you on for so long. It was wrong of me to do so.” (This is probably the bravest thing I have ever said.)

“Oh.”

And then he cried. And cried and cried. Very loudly.

An hour later, I have exhausted every argument that I can come up with. He was determined not to make it easy, and I don’t really blame him. We have spent five years together, and I am ending it over a plate of Chinese food.

I feel like a complete bitch. A bitch no longer in a relationship she does not want.

A liberated bitch.

10th November

6.45 a.m.

Shit! I must have fallen asleep.

My face has been resting on my spiral pad and now I have a curly indentation all along my right cheek.

That’s weird. The others must be home by now. It is getting light outside.

I should just go back to sleep, this time on a proper pillow, then when I wake up again it will be time to go and tell Ben the good news.

Yeah, right. Who am I kidding?

I am going to find my sexy jim-jams and I am going to go and wake up him up right now.

Someone Poke My Eyes Out

6.50 a.m
.

Please poke my eyes out, because it feels like that image is going to be burnt on my irises forever, no matter how hard I try to blink it away.

I snuck out of my room and along the hallway to the next door. Opening it slowly, I crept inside. It was pretty dark in there with the curtains closed.

The door banged shut behind me, which I did not intend to happen. The noise woke Ben, who lifted his head to look at me with an expression of shock across his face.

Probably not as shocked as the look on my own face, because there next to him on the bed was Barbie Girl, and she appeared to only be wearing her bra and knickers.

PLASTIC BARBIE WAS IN BEN'S BED, DRESSED ONLY IN KNICKERS.

If I look at that line enough, I may believe it to be true.

FUCK.

I turned and hightailed it out of there. Now I am sitting here not entirely sure what to do next.

I did not see that one coming at all.

Ben is banging on my door, but there is not a chance I am opening it to him. Not now, not ever. Instead, I am just going to sit here in complete and utter shock whilst I try and work out what the hell just happened.

What the hell
did
just happen?

I am sure Ben knew my intentions to break up with John last night. Unless I am completely mistaken, he stood right about where he is currently banging away and asked me to sort everything out. We then had the whole ‘keen’ conversation that had been touchingly sweet and romantic.

Or so I thought.

Maybe I left it too long. Maybe this is some sort of punishment for behaving the way I have the last few months. Did I think I could have my cake and eat it, too? We all know that is not possible. Look at what's-her-name with the wig.

6.55 a.m.

He has been banging on the door and shouting through it for a good five minutes. He sounds pretty desperate. The other students are going to be pissed.

“Delilah, please let me in to explain."

“Go away, Ben,” I shout back.

“No! Not until you open the door and let me explain.”

“Fuck off!”

“No.”

I feel like I can’t breathe. There is no air left for me to catch hold of.

7.10 a.m.

Students in another dorm have called the phone in the hallway and complained about the noise. Ben told them to fuck off.

I have unlocked the door. I don’t want security coming over to sort us out. I am surprised my legs still work. They feel like jelly.

7.20 a.m.

This has got to be the worst day ever.

Ben marches over and stands in front of me, with his hair dishevelled and slept on (but
not
slept on with me), his blue eyes flashing all over the place. He runs an agitated hand through his wild hair, making it stand up even more.

“Lilah, please let me just tell you what happened. It isn’t what you think at all.”

“Really? There is a naked girl in your room.”

“Yes, there is, but nothing happened.”

“Why is she naked then?”

“Because she was trying it on, then she passed out. It’s the truth. I promise!”

“Oh, well that makes me feel
much
better, that she was just trying it on. Exactly how far did she get? Far enough for her to get her clothes off without you stopping her? Why the fuck was she in your room anyway? Or why didn’t you just leave her there and come to find me?”

My screaming voice breaks a little on "me."

He opens his mouth to tell me, but I don’t really want to hear.

“Don’t bother, Ben. I am not interested. Clearly you and I have been having some fun the last few months, but it is over now, so let’s just leave it at that, shall we?”

He looks at me in complete shock. “Fun! You think I have just been having fun with you? I am in insanely in love with you, Lilah! I have been since the first night. Remember the night I carried you all the way home, just so you could not meet anyone else before I had the chance to make you mine?”

He waits for his words to sink in.

He just told me he loves me. He loves me!

“You have a funny way of showing it. I don’t believe you. I think you are a player and I was foolish to think otherwise. Now would you please kindly leave my room?” My voice is loud and close to breaking. Any attempt not to wake the neighbours has been forgotten.

I turn my face away from his.