The Art of Letting Go (The Uni Files) (22 page)

It’s a tricky one. I hate bloody Valentine’s Day anyway. It is just an excuse for florists to quadruple their prices and for gift shops to sell cards that on any other given day of the year would make most people puke.

My hate for Valentine’s Day might stem from the fact that for the last five years I have spent it with someone that I was not actually in love with but had to pretend to be.

This year I will probably be spending it with someone that I am madly in love with but pretending not to be.

Oh the irony.

I wonder if they have a 'Puke-Free Sentiments' section at the card shop.

3rd February

Went to look at a flat with Meredith and Tristan. It was a complete shit hole. I made it to the kitchen and then walked out.

It’s not that I am a complete snob (maybe a partial snob), although I am aware that the flat in Putney is luxury to say the least, but I would expect someone to at least clean a little if they have prospective buyers coming around. This place was disgusting. It smelled like someone had been violently sick and left it for a week. There were dirty takeaway cartons everywhere and ashtrays full of dead spliffs.

What an absolute waste of time and lung capacity. I wonder if I'll ever be able to get that stench out of my nose and off my clothes. I told the estate agent not to bother showing us a place like that again.

He apologised profusely and said that it would never happen again.

4th February

It happened again.

This time there was a man still asleep on top of the bed just wearing a pair of dirty stained boxers (stained with what I am trying very hard not to think about). To be fair, he looked more surprised than us, but I think I can safely say it will be hard to visualise that bedroom ever again without also seeing a large hairy man prone on the bed legs akimbo.

Not good.

Ben thought it was the funniest thing he had ever heard when I told him about it.

He is not helping with the flat search, for obvious reasons, since it is not like he will ever be spending any time there.

Oh, just kick me when I am down.

Ten days to Valentine's Day. I still don’t know whether to get card or not.

5th February

Professor Johnson, one of our lecturers, is the craziest man I have ever encountered. He leaps from desk to desk attempting to keep us all awake, blinding us with information as he attempts to coax us into some form of class participation. He normally manages it, hell, sometimes I even forget to go red whilst answering questions. Okay, I’m sure I still go a little pink, but at least I haven’t burped out loud in class for a while.

This morning he talked about Elizabeth I, and her supposed love affair with Robert Dudley. Imagine being so sexually frustrated that you have people’s heads cut off for fun. Oh, I know that is not really what happened, but it makes it sound much more interesting. I may even write an essay about it entitled, “How to fabricate history to make it more exciting.” Maybe I should become a professional historian and that can be a specialist subject: How to recognise sexually repressed figures throughout History. Ooh! I quite like that.

I am thinking of ending a love affair of my own.

No, not with Ben. We all know that is ending anyway. I realised this morning whilst on the Cross Trainer that I can’t really afford the gym anymore. I think my keep fit regime will have to continue by taking my life into my own hands, and jogging around Roehampton with fear-induced adrenaline.

I wonder if I can get my money back? I could pretend to have a heart condition or something.

Oooh! I just had a thought. Richmond Park is just down the road. I could run around there. I don’t think it’s that big.

6th February

It’s big. It’s very, very big with lots of scary deer with trees growing out of their heads.

I just about made it to class but now I need to die a million deaths whilst my legs recover. I am beginning to think that trying to be fit and healthy has some serious drawbacks. The drawbacks being extreme pain and agony.

Sod being thin and healthy! I would rather go back to being frumpy and dumpy again. At least I could use my legs the majority of the time.

7th February

“It’s not you, it’s me.”

“I don’t understand. Have I done something wrong?”

“No, not at all. I just feel that I have moved on, I can no longer offer you as much commitment as you deserve and you do deserve it, you truly do. I just can’t give you what you need.”

“But I will miss you.”

“I know. And I will miss you, too, but I need to move on and let this all go.”

James Mr. Hot Bod Gym Instructor stares at me, and decides that he is obviously not going to win this battle. He has tried twitching his pecs and everything. I am not backing down.

“Okay, Lilah, but you will only get half of your money back.”

I think he wants to add that I will also never look good in Lycra but I just clap my hands in glee, which makes him frown. I will simply never wear Lycra. That is something I can live with.

“That is absolutely fine with me,” I assure him.

I decide to text Meredith:

Me:
I am free! I am free! Come and meet me for chips and wine! X

Meredith:
Thank Christ for that!!! C U in 15 ;-)

Just like that, I give up on all my New Year’s resolutions. It feels bloody great.

9.30 p.m.

The pub that smells of old farts.

"Shcan yous shmpromish shtoo neves beez shealthy shgain.”

“I wills shnever beem shealthly shgain. Shmpromish.”

“Dids yous Shfart?”

“Shozzy.”

8th February

8.30 a.m
.

Oh my head.

Embarrassing wake-up this morning. I was conscious for about fifteen minutes before I was able to open my eyes due to an extreme searing pain in my right temple lobe.

When I submitted to the pain and opened my eyes I was greeted with this . . .

“Oh! What are you doing in here?”

“Good morning, Delilah.”

“Morning.”

I want to scrunch my face up at Ben but it hurts too much.

“Do you remember anything from last night?” Blues twinkle and crinkle.

“No. Not really. Was it bad?”

“You told me you shloved me.”

Oh, god!

“Then you threw up in the gutter. Did you eat carrots yesterday?”

Oh, god!

“Did I say anything else?” I am too scared to look at him so I pull the duvet up over my head.

There is a moment of deathly silence.

“No.”

Thank goodness for that.

He pulls the duvet down.

I am sure I look a treat. “Thank you for picking us up.”

“You’re welcome, Taylor.”

“What?”

“You don’t remember singing the whole way home?”

The blues give a definite twinkle now.

Oh, god!

“Very tuneful. Now come on, get up. It’s nearly time for class.”

I’m trying to get ready but it is impossible to get dressed when you can’t move your head at all. I just fell over trying to get my foot into my knickers.

Who thought it was a good idea to go and get smashed and then go dancing all night?

Oh, yes, that was me.

11.30 a.m.

“Delilah?” Professor Johnson calls me over to the front.

Oh, no! What have I done now?

“I think next time you drink that much vodka you should just stay in bed.”

“Oh, okay then.”

“Oh and maybe have chewing gum.”

Shit.

I shuffle back to my seat trying not to move my head too much.

2.00 p.m.

Praise the lord for having no lectures on a Friday afternoon. I am back in bed where I plan to stay for the rest of the day.

Thankfully, Ben is going out to meet the band, so I can just hide in my room and die of mortification by myself.

When am I going to grow up?

4.00 p.m.

Okay, I'm not by myself. Meredith is here as well. We are going to die together, which is fine with me.

Tristan is annoyed at her for going out and getting so bladdered after what she has been through.

Tristan is annoyed at me for allowing her to do it and encouraging it.

Meredith and I both told Tristan to sod off.

Meredith needed it, and before the slurring started we had actually talked through a lot of her feelings. She says it is weird but in a way she is relieved by what happened. It was only after the baby was gone that she realised just how bad her lifestyle had been during those early weeks before she knew it was there. She reminded me of the night at Fez when I had been sober but she had been really, really drunk, worse than last night. She told me that in her heart of hearts she knows that what happened was for the best, and next time she would be prepared and ready for it.

I looked at her in shock.

Next time?

She looked right back at me and said that if there was one thing she had learned through the whole heart-breaking episode was that she definitely wanted to have a baby, just not quite yet.

Very mature. I wish I were that mature.

I am never going to be that mature. I am never going to want to get married or have a baby because I have the mental maturity of a ten-year-old.

“So what about you and Ben?” she asks.

It is my least favourite question. I stick out my tongue.

“I told him I loved him.”

I pull the duvet up again like it might make the memory go away, before shouting out to clarify. “Actually I told him I shloved him.” Which is far worse.

“Lilah, he knows that anyway.”

“Well, I’ve never told him before.”

“Yeah, but he knows it all the same. He just needs to know if you love him enough to want him to stay.”

“I will never say that.” I scowl, which hurts my still-sensitive head.

I won’t say it. No matter how hard it is.

“Well, then he is going to leave and that will be it.”

“Yeah, I know. That is fine. It's how it should be.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Yeah, I know.”

11.00 p.m.

“Lilah? Are you awake?” asks Ben, sticking his head around my door.

“I am now. Come in.”

I should have tried to make myself presentable, but honestly what would be the point?

“Sorry, I just need to tell you something.”

I am instantly alert, my heart hammering with anticipation. Oh, my god! Is he going to tell me that the plans have changed, that they are not going, and that he is going to stay and live happily forever after with me?

“The band’s been invited to L.A. over Easter to go and meet everyone and stuff.”

Oh.

“That’s good, Ben. Very exciting.”

I sound false even to my own ears. He does not seem to notice.

“It is, isn’t it? It feels like it's finally going to happen!”

Yeah, it is really is going to happen.

My heart sinks down to the pit of my stomach.

I pull him down next to me and wind my arms around his waist. It is easier to hug than it is to talk.

I have been lying here listening to him breathe in his sleep. I can’t sleep. I have too much going on in my head, well, and I am staring at him a little. Okay, a lot.

I know that the ‘let’s pretend’ stuff has got to stop. It has to, but I just don’t know how. We are going nowhere apart from around in circles—circles of hell.

9th February

I have awoken feeling considerably upbeat. This could be because I do not have a hangover. Or it could be that last night I managed to sleep in a bed with Ben and not be in any way intimate. That has got to be progress! We were just like two friends. Two friends who happened to sleep in a vice-like hug all night.

I am leaving him asleep so I can go for my jog. He’ll be gone by the time I get back.

9.30 a.m.

No he won’t. He’ll still be asleep. In my bed.

Damn it!

After a moment of hesitation, I climb back in next to him. His arms come around me tight, which makes me think he was not really asleep in the first place, just waiting for me to come back.

Crafty.

11.00 a.m.

“Will you give me the day?” he whispers in my ear.

No! Yes! Oh, I don’t know.

“I've got stuff to do, Ben.”

“What sort of stuff?”

“Laundry.”

It’s the first thing I can think of.

“I’ll help, and then we will go out.”

“Just one more day,” I concede.

My lack of willpower is shocking even to me. It’s not even made of candyfloss anymore, it has taken on the substance of wisps of floating cloud. You can just about see it but it is barely there and completely untouchable.

No use whatsoever.

2.00 p.m.

It’s the worst bit. The doing of normal stuff together, like laundry or cooking or making tea, or anything that would be normal to anyone else, but to me feels like a ticking time bomb.

Next year we will not need to separate out our clothes from one another’s as they come out of the wash.

Next year I will have to cook for myself.

Next year I will have no one to tell me my tea tastes like cat piss. Well, maybe Meredith.

4.45 p.m.

After we finish the boring domestic stuff, we head off to Borough Market, which is winding up business for the day. We go to the pub where we had our first date, when he made me fall in love with him. We spend the day drinking pints and smoking fags, talking away, and for the briefest moment it feels like the last couple of months have not happened. I had not found Barbie in his bed. We had not spent a month living separately whilst I fell apart at the seams. We had just always been together, like this.