The Art of Letting Go (The Uni Files) (23 page)

But that’s not real, is it? This is all just pretend.

Taylor Swift is singing "Fifteen," rather loudly. Apparently she didn’t know who she was supposed to be at fifteen.

Me either, love. I’m twenty-six, and I still don’t bloody know who I’m supposed to be.

11th February

I went to another viewing after lectures. Another shit hole, I should clarify. This one had a staircase that smelt very strongly of pee, and not the animal kind.

Ben is ‘super’ excited about his trip to the States. He is going to be gone for the whole of the Easter holidays.

Yippee flipping doodah!

Valentine's Day is in three days. I am going to hide. I think that is the most sensible and mature approach.

13th February

“Why are you here?” Tristan asks with his ability for annoying questions.

“Why are
you
here?” I counter.

“I live here.”

Fair point.

“Well, it’s my home, too. Just thought I would have one last night in the old place before we pack up and move.”

Even I would not believe me.

“No, you’re not. You are hiding because it is Valentine's tomorrow.”

“Am not.”

“Sure you’re not, Lilah,” Tristan says, giving me a sad little shake of his head like I am the most pathetic being he has ever clapped eyes on.

I probably am.

“So what are you loved-up kids doing tomorrow?” I ask as I hoist myself up onto the work surface.

Tristan is making one of his sandwiches. It’s always fun to watch. He is like a builder layering up the perfect sandwich. They are so big, I have never managed to finish one, even before I went on the now nonexistent Delilah Detox Plan.

“I’m taking her to a show.”

No eye contact.

“
You
are taking her to a show?” I can’t keep the incredulous tone out of my voice.

“Yep,” he replies, layering his third piece of bread.

“You are taking her to a show?” If I say it enough I might believe it.

“She has never been and mentioned that she would like to, so I booked it. No big deal, Delilah.” He waves the knife at me for emphasis.

“But you hate shit like that! You always say it is boring and you would rather have your eyes gouged out.”

“Yeah, but she wants to go, so I don't mind.”

And that in a nutshell is what love is.

Love = Doing something even though you can think of nothing worse, just because the person you love most in the world wants you to.

I feel even more depressed now.

I am in my room and have loaded
Pride and Prejudice
on the DVD player ready for a ten-hour Mr. Darcy drool fest.

Colin Firth, bring it on! Now
that
is my sort of Valentine’s Day. I may watch it again tomorrow followed by
Love Actually
and
Bridget Jones
whilst dodging class. Perfect.

14th February

Valentine’s Day from Hell

9.20 a.m.

Another embarrassing wake-up.

“Wakey, wakey, Lilah.”

There are deft fingers teasing under the duvet, which I try to roll away from.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

“Finding you. Why are you hiding? And most importantly where is my Valentine’s Day snog?”

“Uh, go away.”

“Only if you come with me.”

“I am not going to campus today to watch lots of lovesick teenagers drool over each other.”

“No, I mean come away with me.”

I open an eye to see if he is being serious. Ben looks deliciously fresh sitting on the edge of my bed wearing a navy T-shirt and faded jeans. A little too deliciously fresh.

“Come away where?”

“Dorset. Come on, we’re going now. Grab your things.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Yeah, I know,” he concedes with a look like he might be about to add,
About you
. But he doesn’t.

“Really? You want to go now?”

“Yes. I promised you a date, and we are going to have it.”

I think about it for a whole twenty seconds before leaping out of bed.

“Give me five,” I shout as I head into my en-suite.

“No problem. Um, Lilah?”

“Yeah?”

“Why is Colin Firth paused on your TV screen wearing a wet shirt?”

“Oh. Is he? I must have fallen asleep.”

11.00 a.m.

Deathtrap Cooper does not like long journeys and has decided that it does not want to go to Dorset. It thinks the salt air will make it rust or something and that it’s best to stay in the relative safety of the underground parking.

This would have been a huge spanner in the works, until Tristan very gallantly offers to lend us his Audi.

Yes! Now that is a result.

Hurrah! A trip away with the hottie from next door now is taking place in super-sexy fast car. Much, much better.

1.30 p.m.

The super-sexy car goes very fast.

I am a little surprised when Ben starts to navigate us away from any towns and most especially away from Lyme Regis, which is where I think we were going.

“Where are we going? Isn't Lyme the other way?”

“To my mum’s.”

He says it casually, like he has just answered "To Asda" or "To the pub."

This is not what I am expecting at all. I’m thinking it would be more along the lines of an out-of-season hotel, with warm fires and crazy local staff. Not, I repeat
, not,
a visit to meet his mum.

He smirks as he watches me come up with something to say.

I can’t really think of anything appropriate, but have a strong desire to do a U-turn and head back to London. To my own credit, my fears do not affect the speed or direction of the vehicle at my control.

“Why are we going to your mum’s? And why did you not tell me so I could pack the right stuff?”

“What do you mean 'pack the right stuff?' What on earth did you pack?”

“Well nothing suitable to meet your mum for the first time.”

“And my sisters,” he adds helpfully.

Great.

“Don’t they think you’re a twat?”

“Yep.”

Double great.

“Should I be prepared for any ex-girlfriends to rock up and call you Benji?”

He sticks his tongue out at me. “No, you'll be okay on that one.”

Finally, he directs me to a narrow road lined with neat semis. My hands are slick with nervous sweat and sliding around the wheel as I attempt to manoeuvre Tristan’s car. I manage to park eventually, but it takes me a few tries, the whole time the blues are watching me, gauging my reactions and emotions. I try to make a discreet hand-wipe on my jeans. My tatty horrible old baggy jeans that I flung on in a rush having no idea I was going to meet his family.

Curse it!

He turns to me from the passenger side and catches my face in his hands.

“Lilah, will you calm down? It is just my mum and sisters and we are just popping in. It is no big deal.”

I gaze into the blues trying to absorb what he was saying. He is right. It should not be a big deal at all. I am not even his girlfriend really.

He gets out of the car and walks around to meet me on my side, opening the door, (which is quite sweet) and taking hold of my hand before leading me up the path to the red front door.

I expect him to ring the doorbell, but he doesn’t. Instead, he slides a key out of his pocket. And, yes, I do stare a little as his hand slips into his pocket. I don’t know why I find this sexy, I just do.

The lock clicks open and he pulls me through to whatever is awaiting us on the other side.

“Hey, guys, I’m home!”

Imagine my complete surprise when a voice calls back with, “Hey, Ben! Hey, Lilah! We are in the kitchen.”

Surprised, I am. I don’t know why I thought they wouldn’t know about me. I just assumed that because my parents were crazy freaks and I didn’t tell them anything going on in my life, that other people were the same. It appears they’re not. Ben’s mum is not only expecting me, she has been waiting to meet me after hearing all about me over the last few months—yes, that's right—over the last few months.

This information nearly causes me to drop my cup of tea all over the floor, and Ben gives me his wicked smirk as he watches me comprehend just how integrated into his life I actually am.

I mean, I know I live, breathe, and obsess about him on a continuous basis, but I never once considered that he might talk about me to his family.

Ben’s mum, Beverley, as she insists I call her, is such a lovely person. She is much younger than my mum, but then she would be as she had her children much earlier in life. She has the same black hair as Ben, but her eyes are very dark brown, almost black. His sisters share their mother's colouring, which makes Ben the odd one out with his crazy, beautiful blues.

His sisters, Rose and Iris, don't regard him as a twat at all. In fact, they seem to worship the ground he walks on. Both are married with children. Rose’s two were at school, but Iris has her six-month-old baby with her, and for the first time in my whole life I quite comfortably hold a baby for longer than thirty seconds.

This is after I see Ben pick up and cuddle baby Arran, and my ovaries explode.

Bang.

The only dampener on the visit is when Beverly asks Ben for details about his move to LA, especially the bit where she turns to me and asks, “So, Lilah, are you going with Ben?”

What?

“Um, no, I will be at Uni next year.”

Without your son, which means Uni will become unbearable and a torment to my soul
. Clearly I keep my sad stalker thoughts to myself.

“That’s a shame,” she says. “Well, you never know what will happen in the long run.”

Ben glares at her and starts making our excuses to leave.

I am actually a little sad to leave. This is the most normal family time I had ever experienced. It is how I would like my family to be, but I know that will never happen.

As we get ready to go, all three of them give me big hugs and kisses the same as they give to Ben.

Beverley leans in and whispers as she squeezes my hand, “I know we will meet again. You are always very welcome here, Lilah.”

I flush furiously in response, and Ben glares at his Mum again as we step into the cold February air and make a little dash for the car.

Cranking up the heating to the max, we sit in silence for a moment.

“Sorry my mum came on a bit strong,” he says, running a cold fingertip along my cheekbone.

“Don’t be daft! She was really nice,” I reply, shoving the car into first and waiting for instruction.

“Where to now, navigator?”

“Okay, now we are going to Lyme and the real date.”

He flashes me his best killer smile, which makes my stomach flip out and the accelerator rev ever so slightly as I ease the car forward into whatever the rest of Valentine’s Day has to offer.

The Real Valentine’s Date
—
From hell

Valentine's 'Ben style' is strangely also Valentine's 'Lilah style.' Go figure.

We check into a little B&B that had not seen a decorating brush since at least the 1970's. I am talking brown-flocked wallpaper and a burnt-orange deep-pile carpet. It’s hideously great. We are both in fits of hysterics as we survey our room, which is decked out in pea green. Everything is pea green; bed sheets, carpet, walls, curtains, sink, toilet, and bidet.

“They have a bidet!” I shriek from the bathroom.

“Only the classiest of places for you, Lilah,” he replies with huge grin.

I unpack my bag, which involves just taking out a toothbrush and some very sexy red underwear.

“Now I see why you panicked in the car earlier.” He smiles slowly whilst moving toward me as lithe as a cat.

“Hold on. I actually have to put it on first,” I protest, unsuccessfully trying to squirm out of his arms.

“Save it for Round Two later,” he murmurs against my ear.

So I do.

It is completely perfect. It is also completely unreal.

When it’s time to go out and explore, we find a great pub, the sort of place where everyone stops and stares at you as you walk in, and you have to be careful about where you sit in case you offend a local by deeming to put a butt cheek on their special chair.

We locate a small corner table to sit in (nobody glares at us so we assume it is a safe zone) where we proceed to drink countless pints of beer and eat about fifteen packets of crisps a piece. It's really just as well I am not going to the gym again as James would have been able to see those fifteen packets sitting on my hips from a mile away.

Advice for Valentine's Day

Never ever talk about feelings when drunk on Valentine’s Day.

Later we walk under the cover of darkness along the Cobb, hands held loosely together, stepping in time with one another. We walk in silence listening to the sound of the waves as they crashed on the wall below us. It is all deeply romantic until we make the catastrophic mistake of talking.