The Art of Letting Go (The Uni Files) (13 page)

4.05 p.m.

Tristan’s blond head ducks around the doorframe interrupting my Avril Lavigne moment.

“Got space for a few more, Avril? You know your singing can be heard right down in the car park, right?”

Funny.

I drop the peeler on the floor as I watch Meredith walk through the door closely followed by Ben.

What is Ben doing here?

My brain does not process this at all.

And again. What is Ben doing here?

He gives me a very sheepish smile, accompanied by a shrug.

“I thought you were in Dorset?” I say as my legs start to do a wobble. Not just a wobble, a full-on knee jerk, Elvis on crack.

“I was, but then I heard you were cooking, and that is something I can’t possibly miss.”

I stand in mesmerised rapture watching him, my mouth hanging agape as he steps towards me unwinding his blue scarf from around his neck.

Then I start to seriously regret the sherry and the box of mince pies. Oh and the whole chocolate orange.

Sod it!

I launch myself towards them and hug them all. I may linger over Ben’s hug a teeny bit, just allowing myself to press my body against his. In turn, his hands automatically slide along my neck, his thumbs against my jaw (his kissing hold, except he did not kiss me). I can feel him breathe me in.

For the briefest moment, I stand there and allow myself to be held by him before finding the willpower to move away. The physical pull between us is undeniable. After a month of not touching him, leaning my body against his feels like being home. We just fit together.

I glance at my brother. When did the change happen? When did we get to the point that I would be glad to see him? That I would be happy that he'd turn up unexpectedly, towing behind him two of my favourite people? We grin at each other. It’s all rather nice.

Just for the day I decide to forget everything that has happened. I just want to feel normal again, whatever normal is.

“According to Deliah, dinner will be served at approximately 11:45,” I announce in my best hostess voice. This is received with sniggers from my new guests. I glare at them all as I grab extra glasses out of the cupboard.

“Deliah suggests that if dinner is going to be late, we all get snot-flying drunk on sherry instead.”

There are whoops all around as we take the glasses and head towards the lounge.

6.30 p.m.

Sherry all gone. Mince pies all gone. Ben is rubbing my feet.

8.30 p.m.

Apparently you are supposed to baste the bird. I do not know what this means, but I am pretty sure I have not done it. I still do not know what it means. Ben gives me one of his amused ‘How did you survive so long?’ looks and takes over turkey duty.

Dinner is rescheduled for 12.15 a.m.

10.00 p.m.

An in-depth discussion about whether we can just turn the oven up. Two votes for yes, two votes for no. It’s a turkey stalemate.

Scrabble:

“That’s not a word.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Bejesus is a word,” declares Tristan.

He is determined to win at Scrabble through cheating. We are playing teams and Ben shakes with laughter next to me. Ben and I are creaming them, but that might have more to do with the fact that they spend most of their time snogging. It’s a bit gross, really. Every time they start a game of tonsil tennis, Ben and I have to sit there all awkward smiling shyly at each other like two thirteen-year-olds at a school disco.

I give up in the end and head over to the iPod dock so I can put on some more music. Ben follows me. He stands really close and puts his hand over mine as I scroll through playlists.

“Can I play for you?” he asks.

Like he needs to.

He has never played just for me. Even before on our first date, there had been a fair crowd of other onlookers.

“Um, yes,” is all I manage in response. He is standing close. Kissing close. All I would have to do is lean in just a little bit . . .

“Good. I’ve been practising something.”

He heads out into the hallway where he must have left his guitar upon arrival.

We settle on the floor, me cross-legged opposite him.

“Did you write this?” I ask, waiting for him to finish tuning.

Meredith and Tristan stop communicating with tongues and watch us on the floor, his hand absently stroking her hair.

“No, I didn’t. I've shamelessly stolen it. It seems that when it comes to you, I find it hard to find the words.”

He starts to pick out notes on the strings and I automatically know what it is, kind of hard not to. Then I sit there and cry like a big fat girl as I listen to him start to sing "Here Without You", a Three Doors Down song, but sung much better by Ben. He makes it sound like a lament rolling off his tongue. I sit in rapt wonder.

When he finishes, he looks at me in concern. “Why on earth are you crying?” he asks, a frown creasing his scrumptious face. “Was it that bad?”

I shake my head.

“It was beautiful. Thank you.”

I have to get up and move away. I head into the kitchen and anoint the roast potatoes with my soggy tears. Perhaps it will help with the crisping process.

“Are you going to give him some slack now?” Meredith asks, as she watches me from the doorway.

I look at her. “You know it’s not that easy, Mer. He had a naked girl in his bed. The night he was supposed to be excitedly waiting for me to come home and tell him that I was just his. Do you have any idea what that feels like?”

She gives her head a shake. “I could kill him for doing that to you.”

“Nice idea, but we all know you’re a big softy!” I laugh at her and she laughs, too, as she stares at the turkey in the oven. “Do you reckon this will be ready by New Year’s Eve?”

I swat her out of the kitchen and set about killing some Brussel sprouts.

1 a.m.

At one o'clock in the morning, the turkey finally gives in to the roasting process. It’s the best Christmas dinner ever, although that may be because we have consumed every drop of alcohol in the flat.

3.00 a.m.

We are all stuffed to the limits and sitting with our trousers undone, and not in a sexy way.

“Ugh, my God! I need to go to bed,” I groan.

I contemplate crawling there. My eyes automatically find Ben’s. He is watching me.

“Can I grab the couch?” he asks, fiddling with his wine glass.

I stare at him for a moment longer. “Nah. It’s cool. You can share with me.”

Whether this is a good idea I am not entirely sure. I still am not sure.

I avoid eye contact as I push away from the table and wobble to my feet. Those mince pies were a definite mistake. He silently gets up and follows me to my room. He has never been in here before. After he enters, he looks about, letting out a low whistle as he does.

“Minimalist, hey?” He smiles at me, that beautiful crooked smile that used to make my heart melt when we first met. It almost does now, but then I remember the black underwear.

“Yeah. I am a no fuss kind of girl.”

“I know.” Voice low.

I strip down to my underwear, trying to ignore the flash of blue watching me or the tightening in my pit of my stomach in response, and dive under the duvet. He takes off his shirt and jeans leaving just a T-shirt and boxers. Then he lies down next to me on top of the duvet.

“You can come under, if you want.”

I don’t know if he should, but my body will not be satisfied until he is there. He does not hesitate, diving under the duvet, sliding himself alongside me. Every bit of my skin that touches his sings as I let myself relax next to him.

“You know that song?” he whispers.

“Yes?” I whisper back.

“It’s all I can think and it's all I can play. I just don’t know how to move on from this.”

He kisses the back of my neck in the sensitive spot he knows that I have there. I should stop him, but I don’t.

“I don’t know either,” I whisper.

I have my eyes closed to say the next bit. “I don’t know how to be with you now.” He tenses next to me, and I continue. “But I also don’t know how to be without you.”

He relaxes a little as I turn and face him. We are close enough that I can feel the warmth from his body radiating against mine.

“I will do whatever it takes to make you
want
to be with me,” he replies, kissing the tip of my nose.

Later.

“Lilah. Are you awake?”

“Mmm.”

“The band's been asked to go to the States during the summer to work in LA.”

“Oh.”

“I don’t know what to say,” he whispers.

“I don’t know what to say either.”

And ain’t that the truth of it?

Even Later.

“Ben, are you awake?”

“Mmm.”

“I think you should go.”

“What, now?”

“No. To the States.”

His fingers, which are absently trailing up my spine, hesitate. I am not sure what else to say, so I don’t bother. Instead, I move myself a little closer to him and allow myself to kiss his lips.

“You know, you have got things you need to do, and I have got things I need to do. If this is meant to be, then it will happen in the end.”

I kiss him again. This time he slides his arms around me and rolls me over so I am underneath him. My body is on fire now that it has what it wanted. Now he is touching me. I still need him to be just a little closer.

“What do you have to do, Lilah?” He whispers the words against my mouth.

“I need to learn to let go,” I respond, circling my arms around his neck.

I need to do some stuff for me. I need to let go of my issues and insecurities, but I also need to do
this
first.

Taylor Swift is singing "Change." It is all I can hear as I fall asleep with my head on his chest, and I know that it is me who has got to do the changing.

26
th
December

So that was my first and possibly my last Christmas with Benjamin Chambers.

They are all gone. I am back by myself again. Tristan has taken Meredith home to her parents. She looked a little scared at going. And Ben is gone. Again.

Yesterday had to have been the best Christmas
ever
. Today I cannot move due to eating too much, drinking too much, and not sleeping a wink.

It was so worth it!!

28th December

I have not heard from him. Should I text or just leave it?

29th December

Still nothing.

I am trying to ignore how incredibly disappointed I am. I wonder what he is doing?

31st December

I am back in the Guinea Pig cage. It feels kind of good. There is no one else here. This time I really am by myself, and do you know what? That feels good, too.

New Year's Eve, and I shall be spending it by myself writing my list of New Year’s Resolutions.

It goes something like this:

I will no longer be a lush.

I will no longer smoke cigarettes in the hope I bump into tasty men outside the dorm.

I will go to the gym.

I will embrace my studies.

I will pay attention in class and not concentrate on the conversations behind me.

I will learn not to be jealous of girls skinnier and blonder than me. Instead I shall learn to embrace who I am.

I will learn to let go.

All looking good and highly achievable, the last one is the most important. I need to learn to let go. I need to find out who I actually am. I was foolish to think that I could go straight from a long-term relationship into another without ever taking time out to get to know myself
again. It is time for that to happen.

Ten days until the essay deadlines. I can do it, I know I can.

January

1st January

Hurrah! It’s New Year's Day and for the first time in my adult life I do not have a hangover.

I awoke to a text from Ben sent bang on midnight.

Ben:
Happy New Year, Lilah. XX

Me:
Happy New Year, Ben. XX

There was a brief moment where I considered embarking on a text convo, but then I remembered I am supposed to be spending time by myself and learning who I am. Texting Ben is not conducive to this plan so I have maturely switched my phone off to prevent any temptation.

I feel amazing and virtuous and all kinds of good. Today I am going to write at least 3,000 words of one of my essays. I am also going to research local gyms.

2 p.m.

Just watched an amazing programme about penguins.

5 p.m.

I have written 55 words.

8 p.m.

Antiques Roadshow Christmas Special
is on. What a win!

2nd January

Shit! I must have fallen asleep. God damn it! Ugh! It’s 8.30! I am supposed to be up and finding a gym.

Okay, I can do this. I have to. Those mince pies are starting to show. Thankfully, my tracksuit pants are very stretchy.

12 Noon

The people at the gym must have seen me coming. I guess this is their bumper day of the year. All the sorry-for-themselves, overweight people who have gorged themselves for the 12 Days of Christmas, all queuing up and begging for forgiveness. I have no shame in admitting I am one of them.

Somehow I am convinced to part with the best part of a thousand pounds. “Six months with a personal trainer and you will be transformed,” Cheryl, the stick-thin gym attendant, assures me.

My personal trainer is James, and he is buff, to say the least. After I manage to close my mouth and stop gawping, he walks me around the machines and constructs a workout to get the results I want.

“What would you like to achieve, Delilah?” he asks. A coy smile plastered on his lips as he tries not to laugh at the overweight 26-year-old in the throes of a mid-twenties break down.

“Um, flat tummy, nice bottom and no bingo wings,” I suggest optimistically.

He looks me up and down then increases all my machine time to twenty minutes each. I manage three on the cross-trainer before I think I am going to die.

2 p.m.

It has taken me a whole ten minutes to get up the stairs to the dorm. It seems your legs turn to jelly after you have been on a cross-trainer, treadmill, rowing machine, and various weight machines within the same training session. There had been some super skinny chick there, like really, really skinny. She was basically a jogging stick. She was still powering on the treadmill when I fell off my last machine and heaved myself out of the door. But still, that is what I am going to be like in six months. James assures me that anything is attainable if I stick to the schedule and the diet plan he has written for me.

“What are you doing?” asks Ben when he approaches.

It’s a fair question. I am lying facedown on the hallway floor.

“I dropped an earring.”

“Why are you bright red?”

“Why are you here?”

That was a bit rude, but I am struggling with my lungs.

“Finishing my essays. Want to study together?”

“Yeah, give me ten minutes,”

And please go away so I can die in peace.

“Do you want some help?”

“With what?”

Yes. Please lift me up and place me into the shower.

“Looking for your earring?”

“Oh. No, it’s okay. Um, I will see you in a few.”

Once his door is safely closed, I crawl to my room where I just lay face first on my floor for another ten minutes.

Tomorrow will be easier.

3rd January

Tomorrow will not be easier at all. It will be worse.

I do it, though, getting a thumbs-up from James as he swans past me as I'm heaving away on the bike machine thing. He stops to have a laugh with super-skinny chick. I power on.

I will be thin.

I will be healthy.

It will all be worth it.

Last night Ben had looked at me like I was deranged as he tucked into his pizza and I had my salad dressed only with Balsamic Vinegar and a squeeze of lemon. This morning I bumped into him at breakfast. He only raised his eyebrows at my Muesli, whereas I wanted to wrestle his slice of Marmite toast out of his mouth, but I managed to resist. The key is in repeatedly chanting my mantra to myself:

I will be thin.

I will be healthy.

It will all be worth it.

Not one drop of alcohol has passed my lips in 8 days. It is a miracle.

8 p.m.

One essay is completed and I've got three more to do. I’m incredibly proud that I have completed my first essay. On the downside, I have to admit that it makes no sense at all, even to me, and I wrote it. Still, it is done and printed out, and that is good enough for me.

I texted Meredith earlier to see when she was coming back. She has been at home convincing her mum and dad to forgive her for ditching them on Christmas Day. Oh, and for having a twenty-six-year-old boyfriend. They were not best pleased. There is a rational part of my brain that kind of understands their sentiment. However, Tristan has been on the charm offensive attempting to win them over. No word yet on whether he is winning.

It’s a bit weird. Ben and I are here by ourselves, kind of just milling about. We sat and did some study together this afternoon, after I had recovered from my gym torture session. He even cooked dinner: grilled chicken and a salad. Bless him.

So here we are just rumbling along, not touching or being overly familiar at all. And definitely not talking about Christmas night when we had the best sex ever: slow, sweet, and perfect. Part of me wants to stand there with hands on my hips and shout at him, "You know it is not all okay? You know this can’t carry on, right?" But then there is a small part of my brain that says,
This is okay. Why not just carry on? If he is going away for the summer, I may as well just enjoy this whilst it lasts
.

I cannot think about that now. I have a very important essay about something or other to compose.

4th January

I woke this morning covered in sweat from the craziest nightmare ever.

I am being chased by a cross-training machine. It is pounding after me down Putney High Street as I try to escape from it while also shoving a King Size Snickers in my mouth. The doors to all the pubs are opening and shutting of their own accord, wafting the smell of smoke and wine at me. They all have Taylor Swift blaring "Should’ve Said No," as I run past them.

Down on the bridge, super-skinny chick from the gym is doing something indescribable to Ben. She is only wearing black underwear. I try and get to him to save him, but it takes me ages to cross the busy road that is jammed with countless Number 14 buses blocking my path. When I do get across, I see that he is not trying to get away from her . . .

Oh, god!

It’s 6.30 and I am never going to get back to sleep now. I may as well go to gym. I think I will jog today instead of taking Deathtrap Cooper.

7.15 a.m.

Super-skinny Chick is also there. Does she ever go home? She gives me a little smile as I jump on the treadmill. Bitch. After what she was doing to my boyfriend last night?

Wait a minute. He is not my boyfriend. In fact, less than two weeks ago I told him to go and live in America for the whole of the summer, where there will probably be lots of super-skinny chicks all willing to show the British guy a good time.

Fuck it.

I pound away harder.

7.50 a.m.

James looks shocked when he comes in and sees me. Ha. And he had the cheek to laugh at my bingo wings. I will show him.

“Well done, Delilah. You’re looking good,” he calls.

Yeah, right.

8 p.m.

Second essay is done. Completed under duress this time. I jogged back from the gym and then made the huge mistake of thinking I could cook something. I created a vegetable stir-fry for lunch. I don’t know why I thought I could do this.

It has given me the shits.

In fact, the world has fallen out of my arse.

I have been hiding in my room all day just legging it to the bathroom every ten minutes.

I am under my duvet, and I do not plan to move.

8.35 p.m.

Ben just poked his head around my door.

“Are you alive?” he asks.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Can I get you anything?”

Yes, a new bumhole, please.

“Nah, it’s okay, Ben, I am just going to stay in bed.”

I pull the duvet up to prove my point.

Oh no! He must know I have had the shits all day. I am reading
Persuasion
by Jane Austen. It’s my favourite book and my mental comfort blanket when I feel low.

I am going to settle down for some quality time with Captain Wentworth, although I am pretty certain that he never had to deal with his Anne having a dribbly bum.

5th January

Meredith is coming back tonight. Thank god for that! I said I’ll pick her up from the station at 7. It has been okay here, just Ben and I, but I will be very grateful to have someone else to talk to. Well, mainly to talk to about Ben.

I’m surprised that she did not suggest the pub, but then I think perhaps Ben has told her about my crazy detox.

I do not know how it happened, but Ben and Tristan seem to be doing some bizarre best buddy thing. I mean, at first I didn't notice, I was too busy obsessing and stalking Ben to realise that he was actually becoming friends with my brother at the same time. I find it a bit odd because Ben is so normal and nice, and Tristan is still, well, Tristan. Still only a few hours until my bestie is home and girl power will be re-instated at flat B Digby Stewart.

7.30 p.m.

“Holy shit, Lilah, you look hot! I just don’t get it!”

I don’t get it either. This is all Meredith has said since I picked her up in the pissing rain half an hour ago.

“You must have lost a stone since, um, well you know, since . . .”

Yeah, I probably have, I think to myself.
But most of it was caused by having my heart stamped out of my chest, not because I have been detoxing and going to the gym.

“Doesn’t she look hot, Ben?”

Yes, that is right, Ben is here listening to Meredith wax lyrical about my drastic weight loss.

“I always think she looks hot,” he replies, his sky blues catching mine.

I feel myself blush furiously.

Surprise, surprise, we have ended up at the student bar, which is open to the whole seven students currently on campus. I am sticking to the Diet Coke though, and it feels incredibly empowering. I have my essay to finish later and I want a clear head for the gym in the morning.

Those are words I never thought I would say.

Meredith has been filling us in on what happened with her mum and dad. It sounds awful, and I’m very glad that I missed it. Her dad went completely mental that she failed to have family Christmas with them. She finally managed to convince them that I was in a really bad way and that she had been worried I was going to do something drastic. As she says this, she shoots me an apologetic look, but I just shrug. Whatever works.

Then the bombshell otherwise known as Tristan arrived. He was banned from their house and told never to darken their doorstep again. The implication being that he was a complete pervert for going out with a girl so young. To be fair, six months ago I would have thought the same, but I have seen him with her and I know that his intentions are as honourable as they could ever be. Tristan, to his credit, persevered, and managed to get his foot inside the door so he could talk to her dad without being shot at by his farmer’s rifle. They are still not happy, but better about it all, which is good.

“So what did you decide about the band?” Meredith asks Ben, after taking a deep drink of her pint. The question hangs there like a lead balloon.

“I told them ‘yes’,” he says after an age. He has his eyes down on the table and is not looking in my direction at all.

“You will be back in time for the start of the second year, won’t you?” she asks.

Yes, won’t you?

“No. If I go, then I will not be coming back. The band needs a full commitment and I can’t really do both.”

What? Next year he will not be here? I kind of figured we probably would not live together again, but not be here at all?

The words sit there.

“Oh,” says Meredith.

I can think of nothing to say at all. So I just get up and leave, a frog in my throat and my legs doing the Elvis wobble.