The Art of Letting Go (The Uni Files) (26 page)

24th February

10.00 a.m.

I am back under the duvet.

I have re-read my entries from the last couple of weeks.

I have been a complete dick head. On Valentine’s Day, all Ben wanted was for me to admit that I felt more than something physical for him.

WHICH I DO.

But, oh no, I just couldn’t say it. I stood there like a dim-witted nut job and said all the wrong things, which I have been moping about ever since.

This whole ‘friends’ thing is completely and utterly my fault.

I should just go and knock on his door right now and tell him that it has all been a complete misunderstanding and that really I do feel a lot for him, and would he perhaps hang around and cook me spaghetti Bolognese forever?

Or I could just stay under my duvet.

11.00 a.m.

Okay. Duvet today.

2.00 p.m.

I think maybe I should come up with a plan of attack to try and win him back. This whole separation between us has been caused by me. I should try and fix it.

Tomorrow I will try harder to show him that I can manage something more than friends. I know it will only be for a short time, but it has got to be better than obsessing about him and stalking him but not doing anything about it.

I just need to say, "Yes, Ben. I do completely love having sex with you, but I am also
in
love
with you as well."

That should be easy. I'll just have to embrace the truth for once.

25th February

“Hey, Ben. Do you fancy a trip to the library?”

“Oh. Sorry, Lilah, I have got football practice.”

“Football practice?”

“Yeah, I joined the team.”

“Why?”

“I had some free time. Seemed like fun.”

“Oh. Okay, then. Well, have a good time.”

“Thanks. See ya about.”

It’s a date with the duvet again.

26th February

Tristan is getting worried that we are not going to find a place to live in time.

My brother really is a big girl's blouse.

He dragged me to see another flat today but it really was so hideous. I can’t help thinking that we are looking at the wrong things. He wants a flat because they are a teeny bit cheaper, but everything we have seen has been completely appalling.

Today, the third ‘bedroom’ was really a glorified airing cupboard. I think I may branch out a little and see if I can convince him to try something else. The way things are going, we will be living in a caravan parked outside of campus in September.

Meredith is very blasé. I think she feels guilty that we are funding it all, though Tristan and I have both assured her that she can pay her own way once Uni is over.

It is a worry, though. Even with Tristan paying the mortgage, I’m not sure how I am going to afford to live next year.

I might have to get a job or something equally drastic.

Maybe I should have a look about for a job now? It will give me something to do other than stalk the boy next door. I could do with a new project. Maybe I will find someone new to stalk.

Oh god, that just shows how low I have fallen. I am thinking about stalking someone new, just so I can try not to think about the person I am actually stalking.

Football? I am still in a state of shock over that one. Surely he should be practising guitar or something. Perhaps writing some award-winning lyrics.

Football?

Taylor is singing "Teardrops on my Guitar."

I feel like smacking myself over the head with a guitar, sod the teardrops.

27th February

Where can I get a job? I think I need to write a list of my abilities and work out what I can do.

I like to read, but only on a casual basis.

I like to jog, slowly, with an oxygen tank.

I like to drink wine, but that's not typically allowed while on the clock.

I like to smoke, a luxury I will soon be unable to afford.

I like to stalk tall, dark, handsome men. Well, only one, but I am open to new stalking opportunities, though that might distract from my duties.

I have an amazing memory for detail, but only in relation to object of stalking.

That is it. That is the sum list of my abilities.

Meredith has also written a list but I think she may be drunk. She sat on the end of my bed giggling as she wrote the list then dashed out of the door full speed.

Meredith list goes like this:

Lilah is kind.

Lilah has pretty hair, now that it is grown out a little and not looking like it was cut by a demented person.

Lilah makes an awesome Christmas dinner so long as you are not too hungry or pressed for time.

Lilah is very good at making cat piss tea in a crisis.

Lilah is very good at giving hugs and holding hands when you are upset.

Lilah would make a very good rock star girlfriend/wife if only she wasn’t such a dick.

This is a problem. I have no clue how I am going to get a job with these skills.

How the hell did I manage to hold down that job at the bank for all those years? I really should have pushed the tea trolley around. How on earth did I end up on the trading floor? It must have been a complete fluke, or my dad pulled some major strings.

I am unemployable. And I am working toward a History degree, which will make me even more unemployable. Fact.

Oh shit!

I have just realised something monumental. It really was my dad who’d helped me get my career started. It pains me to think it because he annoys me so much, but he must have really put his neck on the line to get me that job. Then I just gave it all up, with no thanks or anything. I just pissed off to university without a second thought. I then proceeded to dump the guy that he welcomed into our family with open arms.

Oh, no. Now I feel like the world’s worst daughter.

Should I, though? It was only a month ago that he was trying to bribe me back.

But was he? Or was he just giving me an escape route.

I told him to stick it up his arse.

28th February

It’s the end of February. What have I achieved since the beginning of the year?

I joined the gym . . . then left

I gave up alcohol . . . but then started again due to the depressing realities of life.

I re-ignited my amazing love affair with the sexy boy next door . . . then accidentally stopped it again by saying the wrong thing at the wrong time.

I went from having sex numerous times a day . . . to having none.

The good news is that I am really enjoying my studies.

That is the only good news I have.

According to Dad’s estate agent, someone has put an offer in on the Putney flat. So I shall now be homeless as well.

Great! Bloody great.

Oh, hold on, one more thing, I must not forget.

Ben is leaving for a trial run in the United States in three weeks all because I am too stupid to tell him that I love him and I want him to stay.

March

1st March

Two really weird things happened last night.

Weird Thing Number One

I had been going into the kitchen to create a gourmet dinner of Cheerios, but stopped in shock at the door. Inside the kitchen is a girl that I have never ever seen before. She is very pretty, but I have no idea who she is. The first thing that flashes through my mind is that Ben has decided to move out of his room and live with his new super-duper football buddies somewhere. Maybe the university have already let out his room?

Then I think,
Don’t be so bloody ridiculous, Lilah, there is no way he would move out without telling you.

At least, I don’t think there is.

“Hey, Lilah, do you want some pasta?”

That’s weird. The pretty girl knows my name and is offering me food.

Uh oh. My second panicked thought is,
Ben has a new girlfriend who knows the name of all his flatmates. She’s in the kitchen cooking up a pasta storm, which
she is sharing out of the kindness of her heart before heading back into his room to spoon-feed him dinner before offering him sex for dessert
.

Oh God.

Wait a minute. He isn’t in. That’s okay. At least she cannot offer him sex as dessert.

Phew.

“Lilah? Earth to Lilah! Do you want some sodding pasta or not?”

Hold on a minute, I recognise those dulcet tones. I squint a little at the girl brandishing the serving spoon.

“Beth?”

“Yes?”

“Oh goodness, you just scared the life out of me! Where’s your makeup?”

It’s Goth Chick, without the black war paint.

“I fancied a change. Why? Does it look terrible?”

I stare at her. “No. You look beautiful.”

She flushes bright red, which makes my cheeks heat as well.

“Um, thanks. Do you want some dinner?” she asks.

“I would love some. Thanks for offering.”

And just like that Goth Chick, who is no more, and shall now just have to be called Beth sat down and had dinner with me for the first time ever. We got on really well, which is not what I was expecting at all.

“So you and Eva are still not talking?” I ask once I have finished shovelling the cheesy pasta in my mouth at a great rate.

“Nah. She is still hanging out in the other flat with Adrian.”

“Who’s Adrian?”

“The guy I was seeing.”

She says this like I am supposed to know. I want to ask how when she did not even see us for months and has not told us what really happened since. But I don’t want to be rude. The girl has just fed me.

“Is it worth losing a friend over a guy?”

“It’s not really over a guy. Well, it is, but it is a bit confusing.”

I lean back in my chair. Excellent, I was not in the mood for studying tonight anyway.

“I am all ears, and I have all night,” I say with a smile. “Do we need alcohol?”

She laughs. “Lilah, I think you always need alcohol!”

I could be offended but what would be the point? “Okay, I will go and get some and be right back.”

I grab my purse and dash out of the door, jogging over to Digby Bar where I relieve Trev of six, oh, okay, ten bottles of beer.

We are three bottles down when she finally tells me the crux of her problem.

“I never really fancied Adrian, I just hung out with him so I could hang out with Eva.”

“I don’t get it? Why would you do that? I thought you and her were friends anyway?”

“Well, we were, but she wanted to hang out with him as well and he seemed interested in me so I played along with it hoping to keep them separate.”

This makes no sense to me. “Well, if you did not fancy him, why would you want to keep them separate?”

She looks at me like I am dumb.
Fair point
. “Because I fancy her instead.”

She sounds a little defiant but her tone is low, as if she is not sure how the news is going to be received.

“That’s a bit of a bitch.”

I clink my bottle against hers, then have a thought. “Uh, did you kiss him even though you prefer girls?”

She looks outrageously embarrassed. “Yeah, not something I am proud of.”

“I’d say.” I study her for a moment. “You know that you will find someone else, right?”

“Yeah, I know. Guess I should just try and be interested in someone with same feelings as me.” She sighs, settling back against the foam torture chair.

“You’re not going to fancy me, are you? This is a pretty romantic setting,” I tease as I motion to our office reception style surroundings.

She laughs and nudges her shoulder against mine.

“It’s okay, Lilah, hot as you are, everyone knows that you and Ben are insanely in love with each other.”

I choke on my mouthful of beer. “We are not! We are just friends.”

She fixes me with her Bambi eyes. “You and Ben are the only people who believe you are just friends. Everyone else knows that you are minefield of hopeless sexual tension and lingering brooding looks.”

“Are not!”

“You are in love with him, though, aren’t you? You would be crazy not to be.”

Her tone is leading, inviting me to get the weight off my chest. “Yeah, I am,” I admit. “And I am crazy, too. I’m not telling him how I feel, because I don’t want him to miss his chance in the States, so I think it best to keep my crazy emotions to myself.”

“I thought he knew that, and you were going to carry on seeing each other until he left?”

Oh the questions this girl asks!

“It’s depressing.” I groan as I smack my head back on the wall behind me. “We were doing that, but then he got annoyed that I was supposedly using him for sex. He wanted me to give him a bit more on an emotional level, but I bottled it. Now we are just friends.” I blow a loud raspberry to demonstrate just what I think about being ‘friends.’

“It will work out for the best, I’m sure,” she says easing herself out of the hideous chair. “I have got to go and finish some work for tomorrow. Thanks for the beers,” she says, clearing up her bottles and plate.

“You’re welcome. Thanks for dinner,” I reply.

I mean it. That was a pleasant way to spend the evening.

After she leaves, I just sit there for a while finishing my beer. What did she mean, Ben and I are the only ones who believe we are just friends?

I do not believe we are just friends.

This means he is the only one who does.

Ouch.

I finish my beer and stand up to clear my stuff. I am just turning to head into the kitchen when I notice Ben’s door is open.

I stand there in horrified shock. I had no idea he was in. His room is right by the door to the lounge. From inside his room you can hear everything that is said in the lounge.

Fuck.

“Hey, Lilah, good dinner?” he asks, nodding towards my empty plate as he walks into the hallway.

“Uh yeah, it was good, thanks. Did you have a good evening?”

I motion my head to the book, which is in his hand, thumb squeezed in the spine, holding his place.

“Very informative.” He smirks a little. Then he winks at me.

I stare at him in confusion, before going rash red, and ducking around him to my room where I have the mother of all panics.

Shit.

Did he hear what I said? Was he just winking in an offhand manner, or was he trying to tell me that he had just heard my declaration?

Oh shit.

Surely he had music on in his room and could not hear our conversation? Then I realise that I did not know he was there. If he had music on, I would have heard it, no matter how low it was playing. My sad stalker tendency has left me with super-sonic hearing when it comes to anything that goes on his room.

Weird Thing Number Two

It was later when the second weird thing happened. Ben had not been playing his guitar, which I normally fall asleep to. It was deathly quiet in his room. Eventually I just started to drift off to sleep when I heard the chords pick up through the thin partition wall. Ben was playing "Hey There, Delilah," his voice low and soft as if trying not to disturb anyone. I turned onto my side and edged myself closer to wall separating us and laid there listening. It’s the first time he has played it since our date at Borough Market.

I wonder what it means? Does he know that I can hear him?

His singing of the chorus makes me smile regardless of the answers to the questions zooming around my head.

2nd March

“Hey There, Delilah,” through the wall again as I fall asleep.

I have no idea what it means.

There's a school trip tomorrow. Exciting stuff.

4th March

8.00 a.m.

It’s the big school trip to the Imperial War Museum. I am trying to rile up some enthusiasm, but it is slow in coming. Very slow.

Outside, the March weather is miserable and cold, complete with a determined wet wind created for the sole purpose of breaking umbrellas. The last thing I want to do is traipse across London and try to be enthusiastic about the futility of war. Meredith is not sharing my apathy. She practically vibrated with excitement as she watched me layer on six jumpers, which all seem to be varying shades of blue, before bouncing back out of my door again to get her breakfast.

8.10 a.m.

“
I don’t get why you’re not excited.” She moans with a sigh settling back on my bed with her toast.

I poke my tongue out at her. “Because our day will be spent trying to keep up with crazy Professor Johnson as he attempts to fill us with enthusiasm for a subject that I quite frankly find depressing.”

She sticks her tongue out at me in response. “I think it is because you will be forced to talk to Ben all day and the whole world will see the flaw in your ‘best friend’ day.”

“I think you talk out of your arse.”

Bugger, it’s the door. It can only be Ben. I shoot Meredith a look warning her not to say anything more. She just giggles like the twelve-year-old that she is.

8.20 a.m.

I have not seen Ben outside of class since the accidental declaration of love through a closed door and "Hey There, Delilah" debacle of a few nights ago.

“Hey there,” he says as I open the door to him and flush what I know is a vibrant shade of cerise, which makes Meredith giggle even more. How immature.

The blues are twinkling, and I wonder if he is leaving those words to hang there on purpose. He has a look on his face that I have not seen for a while. It is the same look as when I first met him, like he is enjoying a game he is playing. Like he is unsure how many boundaries to push and like he is very much up to something. Due to all the depressing stuff from the last few months, it has been a while since I have seen this carefree side of Ben.

(Let’s not forget that carefree Ben of the early days used to annoy me every time he opened his mouth, and he also felt me up against trees and in black cabs a lot. I will not be letting that happen again.)

“What are you smirking at?” I ask.

“Who me? Nothing! Who put your knickers in a twist?” Smirk, smirk.

Not you.

“Let’s not talk about my knickers, or any other part of clothing.”

“Okay. Come on. We are going to be late and we don’t want to miss any of Johnson’s scintillating lecture.”

“Okay.”

I grumble while grabbing my bag and holding the door open for Meredith, who gives me a sarcastic thumbs-up as she walks past.

This could be a very long day.

12:45 p.m.

It’s been a very long day and it is not even lunchtime yet. Meredith is having a whale of a time running around the exhibition and filling in the questionnaire we have been given. She is such a bloody geek.

I am attempting to concentrate on the questions as well, but in all honesty I am just watching Ben. How come he is not getting all hot and bothered trying to battle holding a clipboard and manage a coat and a bag at the same time? The museum has its heating ramped to the max and I am sweating freely.

Sweating, not glowing.

Ben is just swanning around looking all intellectual and cool at the same time. Every so often pulling his battered leather notebook out of his back pocket and then thoughtfully jotting things down.

12.50 p.m.

I give a loud
humph
of disgruntlement and hike my annoying bag higher onto my shoulder, before I head off to another display, leaving Ben to look all irritatingly cool and collected.

A couple of moments later, I feel hands lifting the strap off my shoulder. Ben takes my bag and then puts it onto his own shoulder.

“It’s pink,” I state unnecessarily.

He flashes me his killer grin, before heading back over to the display that is so absorbing his attention.

I watch him go, swaggering off with my pink backpack and allow myself a grin of my own. It’s kind of hard not to.