The Art of Letting Go (The Uni Files) (12 page)

More Gin.

Birthday Dinner

7.30 p.m
.

Tristan, who can’t take the hint of being ignored, has eventually gotten me out of my smelly self-imposed birthday bunker.

“Come on, old girl, it’s my birthday, too. And at the moment you are raining on my parade, not just your own.”

And there is the Tristan guilt trip, impossible to ignore. Well, that and the fact he wrestled me into the bathroom and threw me into a full bath with all my clothes on. Oh, I know, I was only wearing pyjamas. But it is the principle!

He wants to go out for dinner. I would rather have my fingernails pulled off. Me in a public setting may not be the best idea right now.

11.30 p.m.

We have been for Tapas. Well, Tristan has been for Tapas. I, on the other hand, have been for wine and sambuca.

I was completely right. I should have stayed home in bed. When will I learn to listen to myself? To be fair, Tristan has tried to encourage me to eat. I have not managed one meal since the underwear incident, and the smell of garlic and oil has done nothing to help settle my queasy stomach. “You know, you are going have to eat at some point,” Tristan says around a mouthful of Patatas Bravas.

I pull my most unattractive face at his observation. “Mmm, and you are doing wonders to increase my appetite,” I say back as snidely as possible before returning to guzzling my wine.

“Where is Meredith?” I ask. Even in my sulk I can’t ignore the fact that my best friend and his girlfriend is missing from our sad little birthday celebration for two.

“She’ll be here in a bit,” he says, his eyes holding mine.

“Okay, as long as she is not going to bring that piece of shit with her.”

My words are cruel. I am not sure I have ever spoken about anyone like that.

“It’s okay, Lil. I think you’ve made your feelings clear on that one.”

“Good.”

I pick up my wine glass again and take a deep sip before continuing to push the mushrooms around my plate.

Meredith turns up twenty minutes later, no Ben in sight. Deep down, I’m disappointed. Maybe he could have turned up, I could have shouted a little, then maybe he could have grabbed me and kissed me. And I could have just given in, blaming it on the drink or whatever. I could have been with him at least one more time. Instead there is just a never-ending sea of non-Ben-ness in front of me, an endless tide that I can’t fight.

“Hey, Lilah! Happy Birthday.” Meredith greets me with a hug as I desperately glance over her shoulder.

“Hey, Mer.” I sigh, knocking back my wine and instantly reloading.

“Were you expecting someone?” she asks with a rise of her eyebrow.

She has picked up this annoying habit from my brother. “Nope. Just your beautiful face.”

“This is for you.” She slides a box toward me, and I open it to find a blue topaz pendant blinking at me.

It’s beautiful, but the colour of the stone is a little too close to my favourite shade of blue.

I am unable to thank her due to huge lump that forms in my throat. So I just squeeze her hand instead, and put the necklace around my neck.

Dinner was okay. Well, my liquid dinner was okay. After an hour and a half, during which I just consumed wine and Sambuca shots, we were asked to leave by the management after I executed a spectacular fall off my high bar stool, landing on my arse in the middle of the busy restaurant. Apparently the other diners were not so keen on my loud drunken ramblings or seeing my knickers.

Spoil sports.

24th November

“Please come back,” Meredith pleads for the gazillionth time. We are horizontal whilst nursing what can only be described as a cracking hangover. My private locomotive is back in residence and offering trips to the entire world and its mother.

“Meredith.” I wince. “I will come back, but probably not until after Christmas. I need to sort myself out.”

Isn
’
t this the truth?

“You know, three months ago I started Uni with strict rules for myself. No Booze, No Ciggies, No Boys, No Home. How many of those have I kept? And what do I have to show for it? I am lying in my bed at home, nursing a hangover, smoking about forty cigarettes a day after having an affair with the guy who lives in the room next door.”

She looks at me in silence as we lay next to each other on my king-size.

“If it makes you feel any better, he’s a wreck, too,” she says. She looks earnest enough.

“Mer, that does not make me feel better. I think we just need to realise that we are not right for each other. I will never be confident around him knowing that he can do better.”

“He doesn't want better. He wants you. That is all he has ever wanted since the first day. Come on, Lil. He was patient enough when he found out about you being engaged and all that stuff.”

“Yeah and look at me now. Not engaged, no boyfriend, and no parents willing to talk to me!”

“Your parents will come around,” she says.

I know them well. They won
’
t. “Mum accused me of ruining her wedding of the year and said that they will never accept any other partner I choose!”

“Yeah I know. But the good news is that your mum is off the orange juice and back on the Gin so she will forget all about it soon.”

This does make me laugh. “What about my dad?”

Ha! It’s my trump card.

“Your dad needs to realise you are a grown-up girl.”

Yeah he does, but then I guess I should start acting like one.

I take a deep breath and then tell her what she wants to hear.

“I will be back after Christmas. You can tell Ben, but he needs to know that it will be on a roommate’s only basis.”

It kills me to say that.

Meredith’s shriek of joy makes me smile. It will be nice to be with her again.

Now I am sitting on my bed trying to cram for my essays. I am finally starting to understand what I am writing about, (just shows how much more you can achieve when you do not have one ear permanently tuned into the room next door to yours).

Ooh, a text.

Oh.

Ben:
Glad you
’
re coming home.

I have no idea what to reply. I will leave it for a while.

Okay, I can’t concentrate on my books until I respond . . . Um . . .

Me:
So am I

‘Send’.

26th November

Lectures were slightly better today. Well, I managed to make it through the day without:

— Consuming Alcohol

— Crying

— Smacking that Barbie bitch with her plastic fanny in the gob for ruining everything.

I even managed a smile at Ben. He seemed relieved as he smiled tentatively back at me. The blues crinkled ever so slightly and I tried desperately hard to ignore how it made my stomach flip and my cheeks flush pink. If I am going to get through this and be a stronger, more grown-up person for it, then I need to not melt into a puddle every time he looks at me.

I wonder if they still make chastity belts and if they do where I can get one.

December

7th December

End of Term!!

I have somehow managed to make it through my first term of University. I deserve a medal.

I have been trying very hard to be civil and normal around Ben, but it is taking all of my strength and determination. I am half-inclined to ignore him. But then the other half of me wants to throw myself at him, and beg him to take me (and my crazy jealous tendencies) back.

I can feel him watching me all of the time. I catch the odd flash of blue as I turn in class. It feels like the weight of a million glances on my shoulders, burning into my back. We have not spoken to each other out of class. There have been no trips to the library, nor to the bar. I still have not been back to the dorm. Every time I think I may be ready, I visualise a scant of black lace.

I have also been dramatically sober since my birthday. No one is more surprised about that than me. But landing on my head in a packed restaurant and being escorted from the premises was a bit of a wake-up call, even by Lilah McCannon’s standards.

Everyone is leaving for Christmas today and tomorrow. Meredith and Ben are going this afternoon (obviously I eavesdropped this information). I shall be spending Christmas by myself at the flat. I do not want to see the oldies and they do not want to see me, which is fine. I will just be able to work on my essays in peace and quiet.

Turkey for one
,
please.

10th December

It has been one month since the debacle from which my eyes will never recover. I am finding the strength of my reaction to the whole crisis a little weird.

It’s not normal, is it? To fall apart like that? It makes me think that perhaps what Ben and I had was not that normal either.

Tristan is moping. Meredith has gone home to face her parents. I think she is going to tell them about Tristan and admit to them how much older he is. That is one conversation I would not want to witness. It’s weird, but I just completely get them as a couple. At first I was a little concerned. Tristan and I have not got on for so long (well, never actually). I had forgotten that he could actually be quite a caring and considerate person. But Meredith saw this straight away when she met him. She knows he is a catch, even if I have been slow to agree.

The Boy Wonder and I have been milling about the flat together, which is very strange. Even when I lived here before Uni, we never used to see each other this much. It was never a joint home. Our keys just happened to open the door of the same flat. Now it is all things like, “Lilah, what movie do you want to watch?” or “Shall I order Indian or Chinese?” or “Jesus Christ, Tristan, could you open a bloody window in the bathroom?”

He was moping so much today we ended up going shopping. I went to the bank and pulled a wad of cash out of my savings account, which we blew in spectacular fashion. It seems that shopping does not make you happy. It just makes you feel empty and hollow, but with lots of bags and packages to unpack. He did buy Meredith a lovely Christmas present: a pair or stunning emerald earrings that match the colour of her eyes perfectly. I got a bit emotional when he was buying them. It seems that anyone having a happy ending is a bitter pill to swallow, even if my brother and my best friend are the ones having it.

11th December

Mum rang. Not to speak to me, obviously.

Tristan’s presence has been requested for family Christmas. Not mine. I laugh in the background, prancing about making rude gestures, as Tristan sits on the phone "yes'ing" and "no'ing" in the right places as Mum chews his ear off.

Sometimes it is actually good to be in the doghouse.

So he is going and I will be by myself at Christmas. I quite like this idea. It is something I have never done before. I have never had a Christmas where I have been able to do what I want, when I want. It sounds like fun.

12th December

Who am I kidding? It’s gonna suck being by myself. I am going to end up listening to that awful thing they do on Capital Radio when they have people calling in and telling their Christmas morning sob stories so that everyone ends up crying into their Buck's Fizz.

Hell, I might even end up calling in myself.

“Our next caller is Lilah, from Putney. She is spending Christmas by herself after alienating everyone who ever loved her. So what happened, Lilah, for you to end up by yourself on Christmas Day like a sad fuck with no friends?”

“Well, I went to Uni in an attempt to change my life and escape from a guy I was not in love with. And, well, I ended up falling in love with the boy next door. So after having lots and lots of sex and thinking that I had the perfect future just within my grasp, I decided to be brave and dump my original boyfriend—”

“Hold on Lilah! Let me stop you there. So at this point you were effectively two-timing your original boyfriend with the new guy who you were madly in love with?”

“Well, yes. But it was not really like that. Anyway I did the big thing and changed everything, making my parents never talk to me again and upsetting everyone. Then the next morning I found the new guy in bed with a semi-naked woman.”

“Oh dear, Lilah. What had he done?”

“Well nothing, it seems, but now I am paranoid and can never look at him the same again.”

“Okay, well, thank you Miss Dramatic in Putney. Now let’s talk to Sharron on Line Two, whose dog has just been run over this morning by the Rotary Club’s out-of-control Santa Claus Sleigh."

Oh God. Just kill me.

13th December

I miss Ben.

I miss his eyes.

I miss his laugh.

I miss his bum.

I miss him barefoot in jeans.

And, yes, I have been at the vodka again.

Vodka is good. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy on the inside.

14th December

9.30 a.m.

Right, that does it.

No more moping about. Ever. It has been over a month since I left Halls of Residence and I have not heard from Ben in days. Or is it weeks? I lose count.

Time to sort it, Lilah Procrastinate McCannon.

No more feeling sorry for yourself. No more vodka. I am going to study. I am going to pass these bloody modules if it kills me.

I am going to the library right now.

11.00 a.m.

"Library Closed" until after Christmas.

Damn it.

12.03 p.m.

Lucky for me, I have hundreds of books of my own. I have to be brave and enter what formally used to be the ‘shag-pit’ and gather up the books I need.

It takes me two minutes in and out, including the stairs. That has to be a record.

15th December

9.23 a.m.

I am bored. Bored. Bored. Bored.

I may have to read a history book.

2.50 p.m.

Did you know that in 1527 . . . blah . . . blah . . . blah.

Oh god, is it possible to bore yourself to death with a book? I swear on my life, every time I read the same paragraph I fall asleep at exactly the same point every single time, without fail.

Maybe there is some subliminal message hidden in the text.

You will go to sleep. You will go to sleep, and you will fail your first term at university.

3.20 p.m.

Ah-ha! Just had a very clever idea. The History Channel must be a very useful place to learn historical facts. I will give that a go.

10.30 p.m.

Rubbish. I have just woken up.

That did not work out at all the way I expected. I have fallen asleep on my pen and created a pool of blue ink on the sofa.

Great.

I had better go and buy some Vanish. Tristan will wet his pants when he sees this little oops-a-daisy.

16th December

Vanish does not work. I have managed to dilute the colour of blue but in doing so I have spread it over most of the sofa.

Bugger.

I shall throw a blanket or something over it before Tristan sees it.

20th December

Tristan has gone, the bloody arse. Here I am, up and dressed and doing useful things (sort of), and he buggers off to Mum and Dad’s, leaving me with my own desperate thoughts and nightmares of black lace underwear.

He claimed he was fed up with takeaways every night, and that he has put on weight since living with me again. It seems our mutual inability to cook is a bit of a domestic problem. I wonder how we coped for all those years before? Oh, yes, now I remember. I was always at work being Dad’s Super Daughter, and he was always at the pub being Dad’s Embarrassing Good-for-Nothing Son.

Isn’t it funny how the tables turn?

It’s probably a good thing he left. He has been looking at me rather strange as I have insisted on lying on my ‘special blanket,’ which I have artfully draped over the big blue blob on the sofa. Hopefully it will fade before he gets back. Or the housework fairies will come and magically remove it.

22nd December

Oh God! I have made a mistake, haven’t I? I have been re-reading my diary entries of the last few weeks and have realised one thing. I am a complete dick.

I have completely flipping overreacted and now there is no taking it back. I've allowed my crazy green-eyed monster to bust out and take over. Now Ben has gone for Christmas, probably to a perfect family Christmas day, spent laughing and joking about the crazy girl he nearly made the mistake of having a relationship with.

The situation as I understand it is as follows:

I had a boyfriend.

Ben told me he wanted me to break up with said boyfriend.

I took my sweet-arse time doing it.

Ben has been nothing short of amazing the whole time I have known him. I, on the other hand, have been a completely neurotic nutcase.

He told me, in no uncertain terms, that he has fallen in love with me. And that he did so the first day he met me.

I have not specified any of the same sentiments back to him.

He begged me to talk to him about the
"
black underwear incident,"
but I refused, acting like a drunk child. Which I am.

Crap.

That is it.

It's over.

Taylor’s singing “A Place in This World,” and well, crap, if she does not know what her place is, then I am well and truly fucked.

23rd December

Sooooooooooooooooooooo booooooooooooooored.

I wonder how long it would take for someone to find me if I died of extreme boredom and malnutrition. All I have eaten for days is crackers and cheese. I have now run out of cheese and also crackers so I am just dipping breadsticks in Branston Pickle. Not a bad combination, even if I do say so myself.

Not that I have a huge appetite at the moment but I could probably eat just to alleviate the brain-numbing boredom.

The worst bit about being alone is the fact I cannot ring for a takeaway. It is always dead embarrassing and painfully obvious that I am by myself when I call it through. They always know it is me. I do not even give my address anymore. “Um, I would like one Chicken Bhuna, one Pilau Rice, one poppadum, and one Onion Baiji. No, not a whole portion. Just one, please.”

“Okay, Leeelah, we will be there in twenty minutes.”

Damn.

I end up ordering extra and then trying to wedge the door closed behind me so the nosey deliveryman can’t peer in to see who I am with, which he always tries to do.

Worst bit is that I always end up eating all the extra food. Can’t think how I got so plump.

On the plus side as I am a regular, regular customer, I am guaranteed free after-dinner drinks. I wonder if they could drop me off a bottle of Sambuca with my delivery?

25th December

An Unexpected Christmas Present

1 p.m.

Deliah Smith wants me to put my hand up this turkey's arse. She must be on drugs! There is not a chance I am doing that.

I’ve poured a quick glass of sherry to try and steel my nerves. I am running a bit behind schedule, according to the instructions I was supposed to have the turkey in the oven at six this morning and, at this rate, Christmas Dinner will be ready at about eleven tonight.

I have absolutely no clue why I am cooking dinner! Yesterday I was bored, so I ended up going into town, buying a twenty-pound bird and all the trimmings, five bottles of sherry, and a case of wine. Yeah, I know I am supposed to be dry these days, so sue me. It’s Christmas.

This morning for breakfast I ate half a dozen mince pies with cream, a whole Terry’s Chocolate Orange, a bag of Brazil nuts, and a Satsuma. And I drank half a bottle of sherry. It was yummy.

Rubber gloves! That’s what I need.

2 p.m.

I am a domestic goddess! Well, that is what I am telling myself. The bird is finally in the oven. It is now 2 p.m. The queen is on in an hour. So that gives me just enough time to prep my veggies and then I will be able to sit down and toast the old girl with a glass of Bristol Cream.

2.45 p.m.

Oooh! I love being by myself. It truly is completely liberating. I have the music cranked up and am singing away to all my faves, whilst peeling enough potatoes to feed a small army. The Brussel sprouts were a bit of a pain. Not sure I will bother to do those ever again.

3.30 p.m.

Bugger-it! I forgot the queen!

4 p.m.

I am just belting out some Avril Lavigne ("Keep Holding On" as sung by a strangled cat) using my veggie peeler as an impromptu microphone.

What the hell? It’s the front door. I am supposed to be here all by myself.

Maybe it’s Father Christmas coming to tell me to shut the hell up!