The Art of Letting Go (The Uni Files) (17 page)

Um, now let me think. What have I got to lose?
Oh, yes, that’s right, my fucking sanity.

“Ben, come on, you promised.”

“No, you promised. Now get over it. We are spending the day together. We shall be spending the day in perfect co-habiting bliss!”

I raise an eyebrow. “You know, most people that live together or are married hate each other?”

He laughs and pulls me in for a snuggle. A Ben snuggle. I have never had one before, and they are not bad.

“Not us, Lilah.” His voice is quiet and I realise that beneath the joking he truly does believe that we could be different.

“Okay, I admit defeat. What does the day involve?” I smile. I can’t help it. I cannot wipe the damn thing off my face.

He beams me with his mega-wattage superstar smile.

“First, we have to go food shopping.”

And this is how I find myself in the hell that is Asda on a Sunday with Ben. We have never been food shopping together before. I imagine it will be very romantic strolling up the aisles together, choosing what to buy and cook.

Asda

I am staring at a can of what appears to be beans. I’m not entirely sure what type of beans they are but I don’t think they are baked.

“What are you looking at?”

“Um, nothing.”

“Yes, you were. You were reading something on that can.” He nods in that general direction, never taking his eyes off of me.

“Oh, I was just looking at how to cook it.”

“Cook what?”

“Um, I don’t know,” I say, turning the can in my hand. “Refried beans.”

“Are we even having refried beans for dinner?”

“Uh, I don’t know. Are we?”

“No, we are bloody not. Leave the can, Lilah, and let’s get what we came for.”

He drags me, and the trolley, along the aisle.

Why Men and Women Should Not Go Food Shopping Together

As a rule, men and women have evolved to do most things reasonably well together. You know, sex and such. However, food shopping is not one of them.

Any woman, whether she loves or hates shopping, will quite happily read the label of every can in sight. I don’t even cook and I read them.

Men like to get what they came for and leave.

Asda is packed. It took us twenty minutes of frantic circling just to get a parking space, even when we did find one we ended up in a tournament style joust to get to it before a bitch in a Volvo 4x4 stole it.

Ben has completely lost his post-coital glow and is glaring at anyone who brings their trolley within five inches of ours. I thought the two ten-year-olds playing dodgems were going to get it.

Even we who are living our ‘let’s pretend this is a real lovey-dovey day’ are starting to show the strain.

“Red or white wine?”

“Whatever you prefer, I probably won’t drink much.”

“Well, still, red or white?”

“What are we having, fish or meat?”

“Meat.”

“Then red.”

“But you prefer white, don’t you?”

“For Christ’s sake, just put both in.”

And this is how it goes. Finally we get to the till and pay nearly seventy quid for what appears to be the makings of one meal. I mention this to Ben who is staring down an old granny who has dared to teeter into our path. He turns to me with a wink and says that he bought breakfast for tomorrow as well.

We then spend another five minutes trying to jam the bags of shopping into Deathtrap Cooper, and then sit for another twenty minutes attempting to get back onto the A3.

“Wasn’t it lovely that Sheila was going to Morocco on holiday, what with her husband leaving her . . . Such a nightmare.”

“Who’s Sheila?”

“You know, the lady on the checkout. Poor thing, she has had it hard.”

Grumpy look from Mr Chambers.

Nightmare. Asda has effectively eaten two hours into our day together.

Two hours? What the hell happened? It is like a supermarket vortex. You just enter and then lose a large percentage of your day and your sanity.

Great.

Why I am the worst pretend girlfriend in the world

We are unpacking our plentiful bags of shopping. I am not even bothering to look at what we purchased on our little joint shopping trip. It is not as if I would know what to do with any of it. I think my little Christmas feast proved that I really am completely useless in the kitchen department unless it involves opening a bottle of wine. I demonstrate my considerable skill as I open the bottle of white.

I can relax my no drinking rule just for this one perfect day. I am sure I can manage to keep a handle on the situation and not get completely blotted.

Ben and I have recovered from the evil that is Asda and are being all lovey-dovey as we put things away. We are giggling and cuddling when the front door slams and Meredith comes slouching into the kitchen.

“Hey, Ben, Happy Birthday!” She leans over to him and gives him a kiss on the cheek and hands him a card.

Oh, shit.

I spin and glare at him.

“It’s your birthday and you didn’t tell me?”

He shrugs and offers me a crooked smile. “It didn’t seem that important in the grand scheme of things.”

“Not that important? Here we are having a day of ‘let’s pretend’ and it is not important that it’s your birthday?” I scrunch my face up in disgust at myself. I can’t believe I didn’t know it was his birthday. I can’t remember if he has actually ever told me the exact date, but surely I should have found out somehow.

Oh, god, this is never meant to be if I do not even know when his bloody birthday is.

He can clearly sense that I am heading into a spiral of panic. He approaches me as one would approach a scared kitten, hands smoothing down my arms, long fingers linking with mine.

“It’s okay, Lilah,” he assures me. “You gave me the best birthday present this morning when you agreed to my plan for the day.” He gives me his wicked grin and then leans in to my ear. “And the bit afterwards.”

Oh, yes, that’s right. I flush crimson.

Meredith stands there leaning on the kitchen counter watching and grinning as she works out what I probably gave him for his birthday.

“I need to go shopping!” I say, and as quick as I can, I twist out of his arms, grab my bag, and dash for the door, before he can do anything to stop me.

I use my new gym skills to jog at a reasonable pace across campus and onto Roehampton Lane. Speed is of the essence, so I may as well leave the poxy car at home and grab the bus.

Even the big red double decker cannot go fast enough down the bus lanes for my liking. I bounce in my seat the whole way into town, legs jumping like crazy as I will the bus to go faster and faster, cursing every time it stops to pick up a granny by the side of the road. At last I jump off and head down High Street. It is only when I am halfway down that I come to a complete stand still much to the annoyance of all the people behind me.

I have absolutely no idea what to get him. This is a bit of a problem.

Ben, Ben, Ben . . . Now I wonder what would he like for a birthday present? Well, apart from what he has already had today. I need a man to help me chose. Unfortunately, the only person I know is Tristan, and well, let’s be honest, he and Ben could not be further apart if they tried. Although there is the fact that they are currently doing the whole ‘best buddy’ thing, so maybe I should ring and ask.

Never ask my brother for advice on anything important.

This is what I learnt today. Well, that, and the fact I am a crap pretend girlfriend. Tristan had no bloody idea at all. Well, he had suggested a blowjob, but I wailed that I had already used that for the day. I hung up the phone about three minutes into the conversation. He was wasting my valuable time.

I end up at the music shop. I am actually quite proud that I came up with the idea all by myself.

Upon entering the shop, there are about a hundred different guitars all hanging from suspended stands. I nearly burst into tears when I see them all. There is no way in hell I am ever going to know what to buy. Not in a million years.

Enter my saviour angel of birthday presents in the form of Big Baz. He is big. He is hairy. And he is covered in tattoos. But he knows how to save a girl in a sticky predicky and that is all that matters.

He quickly saw the emotional breakdown that was about to erupt all over the floor of his shop.

“You all right, love?” he asks.

There is an accent. Welsh, maybe? “Um, no,” I reply.

“How can I help?”

What a stupid thing to say to a crazy lady on the brink of tears in your shop. Silly man.

He got the whole sob story beginning to end. Nothing left out, no holds barred, even the bit with the black underwear and the subsequent, ‘Moving to the States’ dilemma that’s currently destroying my happily-ever-after.

After I had finished and he had handed me a tissue, he sat there and twisted his goatee, mulling it over. I stood there feeling like a complete prat waiting for his verdict.

“What band did you say?”

“Sound Box.”

“Yeah, I know them. Ben, isn’t it?”

“Uh, yes.”

“They are going to do really well, I think.”

“Yes, yes, I know. That is why I am letting him go and not telling him that I am completely madly in love with him, so he will go and get all the things he deserves.” My patience is wearing dangerously thin. I have already explained all this.

“So what you want is something that shows that you love him, shows him how much you feel without actually have to say the words?”

“Yes, that is it exactly . . . Do you, for the love of god, have anything?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. I have one word for you, young lady. Gibson.”

I stare at him blankly. His meaning is completely lost on me but the way he says it with such a reverence in his tone makes me believe that we might be on the right track.

“Yes, please. I will take one.”

“Not that easy, Miss. We need to choose the right one. Lucky for you I know the young man in question so I can help.”

Thank god for that.

I have one word that goes with Gibson.
Kerching!

You know how they say a man should spend two and a half times his monthly salary on an engagement ring? Well, this is more.

I don’t care, I am practically crying with joy as I hand over my credit card. Sod it! I will swap the money from my bank account tomorrow. This is well worth it, even if the money could have been spent on another two years at the gym and a lifetime supply of salad.

I thank the man profusely. He thanks me. It looks like he is about to shut up early for the day after his bumper sale.

I dash back up High Street, jumping into another shop on the way for candles and stuff.

Birthday Dinner

I text Meredith on the way home and ask her to make sure that he is out of his room, then I slink in and hide the present under the bed. I then spend five minutes decorating the place with candles hoping that the fire alarms will not go off.

Ben, it turns out, has also been busy during the two hours I have been shopping. Yes, another two hours wiped out of the day. He does not ask me where I have been, just kisses me and pulls me in. Then shows me all the food he has been cooking. It looks amazing and, thankfully, it is ready. So after just a few quick moments, we load up our plates and head into Ben’s room. He stops in amazement at the door when he sees all the candles, then we try and do one of those tricky kissing things where you also have to keep the food from sliding off your plate.

“Thank you,” he says, once we are settled on the floor, our plates still safely holding food.

“You’re welcome. I am sorry I didn’t know it was your birthday. It is kind of embarrassing.”

“Why? It’s not like I did anything for yours.”

I mull this over. It’s not like I gave him a chance to do anything for it. I think back to that month of hell and hate myself for making it so much worse. I know he did things that made me angry, but I should have listened to him, instead of letting my own stupid issues and negativities allow me to destroy everything.

“That was not your fault, Ben.”

“Well, yeah, it kind of was. Let’s not forget what started the whole row in the first place.”

Like I am ever going to forget.

“This is nice, isn’t it? The whole day together thing?” I observe as I shovel a potato into my mouth.

“Yeah, it is.” His voice is soft and his eyes dance in the candlelight as he brushes his hand across mine.

Suddenly I am not that hungry. I down half my glass of wine, washing away the potato that is stuck in my throat. Then I lean forward and kiss him.

The dinner will be just as lovely cold.

Later.

We are lying together in silence. There is not much to say. Our day is nearly over and we both know it. I sit up and take him with me. Then I reach down under the bed and slide out his present.

Just in case I ever wondered what Ben would have looked like as a little boy on Christmas Day, I am pretty sure I now know. His face lights up like the Blackpool illuminations as he stares at the box in his hands.

“There is no way I can accept this.”

His face is down and his voice is very low. I tilt his chin up with my fingertips and am surprised to find tears glittering along his eyelashes.