The Art of Letting Go (The Uni Files) (14 page)

Spring Term

7th January

8.30 a.m.

Early morning workout.

I couldn’t sleep last night, so figured I would have a quick workout before heading back to class. It's a new term today, new subjects and all.

The only thing I can think is:
He
won’t be here.

He won’t be here.

Next year I will be here and he won’t. He will be somewhere else. Without me.

I pounded away for half an hour on the treadmill. Seems I do my best thinking whilst exercising. Except today. When I can think of nothing at all apart from that one fact reverberating round and round in my mind.

He won’t be here
.

9.15 a.m.

Lectures. Yippee.

Ben is still sitting behind me. We walked into class together, but he has not asked me why I left the bar last night and I have not asked him to reconsider his decision. What I really want to do is fall at his feet, and beg him to give me another chance. I won’t though, I can’t. I must remember the black underwear.

Speaking of Barbie (and black miniscule slut underwear) she gave Ben a warm smile and a wave when we came into the room. In return, he gave her a semi-smile and dodged at high speed around to his seat. I wonder if she sees him as fair game now him and I are no longer doing whatever it was we were doing before. Although, let’s be honest, she clearly always saw him as fair game regardless of whether he was with me or not.

1.30 p.m.

“
Are you going to eat salad forever?” asks Meredith.

I look at the protein deficient bowl in front of me.

“Yes, probably,” I respond, challenging Meredith with a look of salad loving defiance.

“Well, you don't want to go to crazy, even though you look great at the moment,” says the outrageously attractive redhead in front of me.

I stick my tongue out at her.

“I cannot believe that Ben will not be here next year.”

Yep, that’s my friend Meredith, always straight to the heart of things.

“Me, neither,” I say, and just like that my eyes fill with tears. “It really is going to be over. I mean, I know it is anyway, but at least at the moment he is still around.” I take a deep breath and continue. “But when he leaves, I know that there will be little chance I will ever see him again.”

She looks at me, eyes calculating. “How do you feel?” she asks.

“Like I want to curl up and die,” I say.

She smiles a little and says, “You should tell him that.”

“What’s the point? He is already going. Anyway, I am going to have a while without a boyfriend. It’s about time I stood on my own two feet.”

“You know it is possible to stand on your own feet and be in a relationship?”

“I don’t think so,” I say, folding my arms resolutely, conversation over.

8 p.m.

Salmon, salad, and new potatoes for dinner. Expertly prepared, and
not
by me. I am going to bloody starve next year, there is no doubt about it.

No! I must remember that I am going to be standing on my own two feet. I need to buy a cookbook, or hire a live-in chef or something.

We wash up after dinner, the usual routine.

“So where did you learn to cook?” I ask, handing him a wet plate.

He shrugs a little as he dries the dish. “Mum worked all the time when we were young. Rose and Iris were always at their friends’ houses, so it was either learn to cook or starve,” he explains with a wry smile.

I have never asked him about his family. I don’t like to pry. I believe if people want you to know things, they will tell you when they are ready. I just carry on washing the dishes.

“Dad bailed when I was three,” he eventually continues, hands still busy on a plate that is already dry.

“I'm sorry,” I say. And I am.

“No need,” he flicks me with the tea towel. “It was a long time ago.”

We wash and dry some more in silence.

“It made me realise that I would never start a family until I was completely sure it was the right thing.”

I look at him as he speaks, and his eyes hold mine and for a moment I just stare.

Finally I shake my head. “Guess that’s the sensible thing to do. I never wanted to get married either. I might end up like my mum and dad, living in separate rooms getting pissed just to make it through the day.”

The blues appraise me. “Yep, that’s me, Mr Sensible,” is the reply, seeped in deep-hurt sarcasm, though not directed at me.

I want to grab him, to kiss him and beg him to carry me off to the bedroom.

Instead, I let the plug out of the sink and dry my hands. “’Night, Ben,” I say, walking to the door.

“’Night, Lilah,” he whispers after me.

8th January

8.30 p.m.

“
I cannot believe that I have to sit here listening to this bloody shit!” Ben exclaims.

Jayne, and I are discussing the pros and cons of a three-step beauty regime with Meredith, and have been for twenty minutes, much to Ben’s apparent annoyance.

“What?” Meredith asks. “Seriously, Ben, you should have one too. You are looking a little crinkly!”

He makes a face at her in disgust, whilst I admire the crinkles. I love them.

“That does it! I am going to get drunk.” He picks up his jacket and heads for the door.

“Where are you going?” Meredith calls after him, putting on her best housewife voice.

“Bloody out!” he shouts back, slamming the door behind him.

“Good. He’s gone,” Jayne says. “Now we can work out what we can do to make him stay.”

“Jayne, there is nothing that can be said,” I tell her, my cheeks warming a little.

“Well, you can tell him that you believe him that nothing happened with Barbie, that you love him, and don’t want him to leave.”

I take a sip of my herbal tea. “Not going to happen. It is too late now. He knows that I don’t trust him and that’s all there is to it.”

I wish that they’d stop looking at me like that, like I can click my fingers and everything will be okay. Because no matter how hard I try, it won’t be.

I think of the way Ben stood in the kitchen last night, the slope of his shoulders as he told me about his dad, and it makes my heart feel hollow. It makes me want to chase after him down the stairs and follow him wherever he is going.

“Listen, guys.” I level them both with my serious stare, though, judging from their twitching lips, it’s not that serious.

“Ben needs to do his music thing, and if the band has been offered a break, then he should go with it. I know he would be crazy to miss out and he knows it, too.”

I finish my tea and get up to put my mug in the sink, deliberately turning my back on Meredith and Jayne. I can’t give them the one thing they want, which is a happy ending.

9.30 p.m.

I am staring at pictures on my phone. There are some of us from Fez club. That night seems like a lifetime ago, when we were all giggly and posing for the cameras. There is one of Ben and me on the dance floor, his arms around my waist as he smiles against my neck.
Wait a minute, what night is it?
Tuesday? Sod it! There is nothing better to do.

9.35 p.m.

“Come on, girls! Get ready, and let’s go to Fez!”

Meredith pulls her door open wide with a look of suspicion painted on her face. “I’m not coming if you’re only drinking herbal tea all night!”

I laugh at her grumpy face. “I won’t. I promise. I can still drink alcohol, just not so much anymore.”

She cocks her head to the side and thinks this through. “Okay, deal. I'm in. Give me fifteen minutes!”

Jayne shouts her agreement through her door.

9:45 p.m.

I have just completed the quickest ‘get ready’ known to man, well, known to woman.

My jeans are all baggy around the waist, so I am wearing a black slinky dress, which I have paired with some chunky boots and a cropped cardi. I think it looks okay. Different, but okay. Too late to change now. The others are knocking for me.

The Fez. Again

It really is a girls’ night. Well, to start with: no Tristan, no Ben, and none of the various University football players Jayne toys with. Just the three of us girls together on the dance floor. I only have two very small Gin and Slimlines. Jayne and Meredith have a lot, lot more.

There is something very funny about being out with drunk people when you are sober. I have never realised this before as it is normally me who is drunk. Before we get in the queue to the club we visit the Weatherspoon’s across the road. Jayne and Meredith get louder and louder with every glass of wine.

“Stink, Trishtan shloves me?” Meredith dribbles into her Pinot.

“Oh god! Not this again!”

I bang my head on the table.

“Shwhere, ish he?”

“I don’t bloody know! I’m his twin, not a mind reader.”

“Oh.” Guzzle, guzzle, guzzle.

Then we have the same conversation again. Only louder.

By the time we make it onto the dance floor, I’m clutching my bottle of fizzy water like my life depends on it as Meredith spins around me like a demented chimpanzee. Someone taps me on my shoulder and I turn to see who it is. It's James, Mr. Hotbod gym instructor.

“Hey.” I smile, giving him a big hug.

His hand lingers on my back.

Hmm.

“Hey to you,” he says back in my ear. He tries to move into our little dancing circle, stepping very close to me, hands on both of my hips, attempting to dance with me.

Now, this is Dad dancing.

I hesitate. I am in no way sure about this but I do not know how to extricate myself without being rude, so I just smile politely and keep dancing.

When the tune changes, I duck out of his grasp, positioning Jayne in-between us. I feel kind of bad. This is the second time I have used her as a sleaze shield, but I am not comfortable with him being that close—at all.

As I turn to complete my covert manoeuvre, I catch a glimpse of dark hair at the bar, blue eyes watching me. I freeze automatically, but then see Ben turn away and head for the door. I don’t hesitate for one moment, but head off in hot pursuit.

“Hey, Ben, where you going?” I gasp as I catch up with him after pushing through the entire dance floor.

“Home.”

He won’t look at me.

“What’s the matter?” I ask, trying to position myself so he has to face me.

He lowers his gaze to me and I wish I had not bothered. He looks bloody furious.

“Oh, I don’t know, Delilah! Kind of don’t like seeing some other guy rub himself against you, especially when you are dressed like that.” He waves a dismissive hand at my outfit.

“What’s wrong with my outfit?”

I am sure there are better questions to ask but this is the one that comes to mind first.

He just raises a perfectly arched eyebrow in response.

“That’s my trainer from the gym,” I try to explain, holding onto his arm as he turns away from me heading up the steps to the exit. I chase him up the stairs two at a time. The music is much quieter up here. There is just a bouncer standing at the top watching our approach.

“What? Is this his bonus payment?” Ben asks sarcastically.

“What the fuck does that mean?” I shout, much to the delight of the bouncer who has just realised he is going to get some early entertainment.

“Well, you know, Delilah. After Christmas, I thought that maybe if I just waited for a while we might be able to move on from that whole nightmare. Seems that you have moved on, and everyone knows it apart from me!”

We’re finally both venting, which in normal circumstance is probably a good thing, but he is swaying slightly so it may not be good right now.

His normally pale cheeks are flushed pink and he glares daggers at me.

I start to laugh. “You think I have moved on, really?”

He looks at me like I am insane.

“Yeah, this is me moving on,” I explain, pointing to my new month-long crazy diet svelte figure.

“What do you mean?”

He has stopped shouting, which is a good thing.

“The whole reason I have been doing this, is because I thought that if I could feel good about myself and think of myself as attractive, maybe I wouldn’t have to be so worried about you leaving me all the time.”

“What? You think that you’re not attractive?”

“I don’t think it. I know it.”

I am not playing a sympathy card, it is just how I feel. Frumpy, dumpy, and old.

“So the girl that caught my attention, not once, but twice, across a packed room, thinks she is not attractive?” He sounds incredulous. His fingers tease a trail along my hip, and not in the sticky finger move James just tried. This is a Ben-move that makes my knees go weak.

“What? So are you doing this for me?” Ben asks his voice a notch lower.

“No, I am not! I am doing it for me!” Shouting again.

“Lilah.” There it is, his low intimate way of saying my name that makes my stomach flip out. “I did not do anything with that girl. I promise.” His tone is very low.

“I know, Ben. I believe you. I just need to be stronger in myself so that if anything like that happens again, it will not crush the life out of me.”