by Anna Bloom
“I don’t know, I guess it might!” Ben chuckles a little.
“Nah. I wouldn’t think so.”
“I hope not.”
“So what were the girls like anyway?”
“I have no idea, I couldn’t make out a word they were saying.” He giggles and my stomach gives a squeeze.
“I miss you, Ben. I am trying to be mature and calm, but I guess deep down I am disappointed.”
“Disappointed by what?”
I can hear him light a cigarette of his own.
“Well I guess when you came back I figured that was it forever. Then when you left again it came as a hard blow. I know I was being naive, but I just really wanted to, well, you know, be with you.”
He exhales a deep breath of air. “Lilah,” his voice is low, “Lilah, I so want to be with you, too. I was happy being home with you, but over the summer I saw a glimpse of what I could give you.”
“I know,” I say.
But I don’t. I can think of nothing that he can give me by being thousands of miles away.
I just want Ben. I want him to wake up with me every day. I want for our dirty washing to be intermingled on the floor and I want for him to hide socks from me so he can see me naked until I am sixty and wrinkly.
“I am going to be back in a few weeks and then we can sort things better without it being such a rush.”
“What do you mean sort things?” my voice rises slightly but then I register what else he said. “What do you mean home in a few weeks?” my voice rises even higher but with excitement this time.
He chuckles down the line. “I’m planning on visiting Kit for your birthday is that okay? I feel I should, what with our shared parenting rights.”
Oh, my God.
“That’s the best news I have heard in ages,” I shout which gets me strange looks from the other smokers in the garden. “I am sure Kit will be relieved to see his sensible parent.”
Ben snorts this time and I feel like my heart will explode with happiness. Ben is coming home in just a few weeks. Ben is coming home for my birthday just because he loves me. Well that and the fact he wants to check I have not killed our cat.
“I’m glad you are pleased,” he tells me, his voice a fraction lower. I would sit in this pub garden and talk to him all night but I know I can’t.
“Okay, I’d better go. This call is probably costing a fortune, and my wine is getting warm!”
He chuckles down the line again.
“I love you, Lilah, and I am thinking about you all the time.”
“What you doing now?”
Yes, I know I am supposed to be hanging up.
“Well, I am supposed to be on stage doing a sound check.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
“Okay. I won’t.”
“That’s my girl.”
“Any new songs?”
“Plenty.”
“Any about me?”
“All of them …”
Silence—good silence.
”I’d better let you go and do your sound check.”
“Yeah, I guess. I will call tomorrow on the landline. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Bye, Lilah.”
“Bye, Ben.”
It’s only after we have hung up that I realise I have forgotten to tell him that I love him. What a bitch.
I send a quick text just to make sure he knows.
I have not even got my phone back in my pocket when it beeps.
Ben: I know. xx
I walk back into the pub and over to the girls at the table.
“HE IS COMING HOME FOR MY BIRTHDAY,” I screech full volume.
“Thank God for that.” Meredith breathes an exaggerated sigh of relief.
“Let’s get shit faced,” I announce.
“Thank fuck for that,” Beth agrees, slamming her empty glass on the table.
“More drinks, fine bartender,” she shouts across the pub.
Bloody hell we are going to get barred. Again.
29th October
I have found out a startling fact—the library has a computer suite. Now this I did not know. I am so excited I’ve had to text Ben to tell him.
Ben: Seriously, Lilah?? What were you doing last year? x
Me: Stalking you. x
Ben: Why are you at the library? It’s nearly bedtime! Are you sick again?
Very funny.
Me: I am a very important academic person and am most at home when surrounded by books in the library
Ben: Sure. Love you Lilah. I’ll call you later. x
The truth is I don’t really want to go home—so instead I am in the library like Billy no-mates. There was a bit of a scene over the weekend, of which I am completely innocent of creating.
On Sunday, mum and dad unexpectedly turned up. Well, I was not expecting them, but I guess Meredith and Tristan may have been. I hid in my bedroom nursing my white wine headache and pretending to look at my history books, which I wasn’t. I was sitting there on my bed listening to all their grown up conversation as they planned Meredith’s wedding to Tristan. It’s still two years away but Mum is determined to start planning early.
Mum’s in her element, and I was a little concerned that Meredith may not survive the experience. I would have come out and joined in, but all I could hear was Mum making reference to sodding John’s wedding.
“Well, Dharling,” she says to Meredith. That’s enough to piss me of; that’s what she calls me. “Annabelle is so up to date with her ideas, you should really meet her for a coffee one day so she can tell you exactly what you should be doing. Their wedding is going to be an extravaganza of sophistication.”
Is there such a thing? I think not.
I would have got up to save Meredith as clearly Tristan was not going to step in any time soon, but I was too distracted by the name Annabelle. It was ringing a serious bell.
Who the fuck is Annabelle?
Then it hit me. I was up off my bed and in the lounge in under five seconds.
“Is John marrying that tit of a work experience girl?” I demanded. Anabelle was the little do-gooder I was working with last year when I decided to ditch it all in and never return to the bank from my epic cigarette break.
Mum looked up from her gin and tonic and arched an eyebrow. Dad looked rather embarrassed.
“Well after you left the bank last year I gave your job to Annabelle and she and John hit it off straight away. It was always quite clear that they were a good match, but he did not want to upset you by breaking up with you when you were alone at University. I think he just ignored his feelings for Annabelle until a suitable moment,” Dad explained.
“What?” I screeched. “So for all those months that I was trying to build up the courage to dump him, he wanted to be with someone else anyway?”
“Well, yes I would probably guess so.”
“Mother fucker!”
Meredith started to giggle.
“Delilah, mind your language,” Mum warned, draining her glass and holding it out for Tristan to refill like the Queen of frickin’ England.
“What about the tears over the Chinese? What about you telling me I had broken his heart?” I rounded on her, my blood boiling in a dangerous way. I was going to explode or I was going to cry.
“Oh, Delilah, do calm down. You are so dramatic all of the time. It all worked out for the best, didn’t it?”
“Well, yes. But it would have been much easier if I had known from the beginning. I would have never gotten in such a mess. I can’t believe you did not tell me.”
Mum waved her glass at me in a dismissive manner, which nearly sent me over the edge.
“Do not give that woman any more of my gin,” I shouted at Tristan, who was watching me with amusement.
“I brought my own,” she told me.
“Good, you can bloody take it with you when you leave in two minutes, and don’t bloody come back.”
Then I slammed int
o my room like the teenager that I am.
So that was Sunday. Afterwards Meredith and Tristan tiptoed around me like they were walking on eggshells. And well, now I pretty much hate everyone.
Meredith has hidden all the wedding stuff and she and Trist are sitting at opposite ends of the sofa in an effort to not make me uncomfortable. This in turn makes me even more uncomfortable.
To make matters worse, Ben did not call on the landline as he promised. I just got a text at midnight telling me he was tied up and he would talk to me later today.
Excellent.
30th October
No phone call.
Last night, while I sat there pathetically waiting for my non-existent phone call, I looked at the Facebook pictures. I wish I hadn’t. There were more of girls falling over Ben and there were even more of Mhiiraan—fucking—dah with him. I know I should not read too much into it. However it is off pissing, when your boyfriend is in a different country and every time you see a picture of him, a six-foot blonde, size zero, has a hand strategically placed on him.
I think I may be depressed, and the worse bit is the fact that knowing I am depressed is making me even more depressed.
I feel like getting completely lashed but all my ‘friends’ are busy, so I am in the library by myself like a sad fuck.
5.30 p.m.
“Hey,”
“Uh?”
“Lilah? I’m here behind you!”
It’s Richard. I shift uncomfortably in my seat, us meeting in the library is becoming too frequent. He gauges my reaction and a half smile lifts his mouth. “Blimey, Lilah, chill out. I am not stalking you.”
“Well, uh, yeah. I would never think that, that would be silly.”
Also, I am the stalking freak in the room.
“I came up a few minutes ago and saw you asleep. So I popped down to the cafe and got you a coffee.”
He offers me the cardboard cup with a crooked smile.
“Thanks,” I reply taking the cup and placing it on my desk/sleep station.
“What are you doing here if you are just sleeping?” he asks. It’s a reasonable question.
Before I can stop myself I scrunch my face up, my expression giving away more than I want.
“Come on, Lilah. What is it? Are your legs still hurting because of that run? I can take it easier on you next time …”
“I never agreed to a next time!”
“True. So spill, what’s up?”
I sit there in silence working out what to say.
Deep breath.
“I guess I just feel a bit lonely, you know? Meredith and Tristan are doing their thing, Beth and Jayne are doing theirs, and well Ben is, um, gone. I don’t know anyone else here at Uni and I am not sure if I even fit in. Now I just feel old and like I am not really supposed to be here.”
Don’t hold back.
Richard looks at me with his warm brown eyes and I feel completely exposed. “Well, maybe you just need to get involved more. Everyone thinks you are fun to have around.”
I stick my tongue out. “Everyone just thinks I am a pisshead.”
“No, they don’t! And for the record no one thinks you are old.”
“I feel old right now.”
“Lilah, give it up. You are not old you fit in just fine.”
“Well I am older than you,” I retort.
“Lilah, I am only a little bit younger than you. You just never bothered to ask.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“How much younger?”
“What to the exact day?”
“Exact minute.”
He pretends to think for a moment before shaking his head. “Nope, my shit math’s brain cannot do a sum of that size.”
I giggle, the sound feels strange coming out of my mouth.
“Fancy a drink?” Richard asks.
I should say, ‘no.’ So of course I say, ‘yes,’ and ask, “Vodka?”
“Vodka sounds perfect,” he tells me as he helps gather up my books/impromptu pillows.
“I find vodka fixes most things,” I say.
“Well, then. I am all for that.”
I have no idea what he needs to fix, but hey I am up for drinking vodka with anyone right now. The more problems they have the better. At least I won’t be the only sad bugger.
Later
Shrichard isss meyes news joggin’s shpartner.
November
1st November
Yes, that is right. Richard is my new jogging partner. It’s a bit weird. But after drinking our way through a litre of vodka the other night it seemed like a really good idea. I can’t really back out now, that would look strange.
Tristan is not very impressed. This morning he answered the door to Richard and then came banging along the hallway to my room. “Lilah, there is a dick at the front door dressed in Lycra asking for you.”
When I got to the front door to meet Richard for our arranged (and, yes, I did remember this time) run, Richard was quite adamant that he was not wearing Lycra at all. I was inclined to agree although I tried not to look too hard but from what I could work out he was just wearing football shorts and a T-shirt. Maybe it was the fluorescent headband that ticked Tristan off … only joking.
We went for another killer run from which it will probably take me bloody days to recover. As we went our separate ways and he jogged into his road and I limped toward mine he called over his shoulder. “Fancy coming to a match tomorrow?”
What I wanted to ask was whether he would actually be able to run again after our morning’s exercise. I will be lucky if I can walk. Instead I kept my integrity intact and just told him that I would be working.
“Maybe after, hey?” He winked.
“Yeah,” I replied but what I really meant was, “Yeah, maybe not. Because I will be nursing my poor, sore, bruised muscles at home and in peace.”
I have not spoken to Ben all week, we have had the odd sporadic text conversation but he has not been able to find five minutes to call. I can’t call him because I do not have a number to ring that does not cost a million pounds to dial, and I daren’t use my mobile again because our conversation in the pub garden the other week cost me the best part of thirty quid. I called O2 to make sure my bill was right. Apparently it was, it just costs a lot of money to apologise to your boyfriend long distance.
Right then, I am going to crawl to the bathroom and run a hot bath to ease my legs. I think I am going to have to tell Richard that if he wants me to be a regular jogging partner he is going to have to take it a bit easier.
It hurts now, which makes me think tomorrow is going to be a real bitch.
2nd November
7.30 a.m.
Oh it’s a bitch all right. But that may have more to do with the four bottles of wine Meredith and I consumed.
Oh God, don’t think about the wine.
It all started off so well, a civilised glass of wine along with our pizza and salad. I had a hot water bottle on my thighs to try and ease the intense muscle rupture I was experiencing. At about nine o’clock the doorbell started to ring like there was a person possessed standing on the other side.
Not possessed. Just drunk. It was Beth and Jayne; both two sheets to the wind.
“Shuure, soes shboring now,” declared Jayne with a theatrical wave of her hands, which sent her off balance and into the bookcase.
“Great,” Tristan muttered under his breath before grabbing his new best friend—his iPad—and stalking off to their bedroom.
Meredith watched him leave with an expression of conflict on her face. She clearly wanted to go after him and check that he was okay, but she did not want to be judged by the evil drunk twins who were making themselves at home grabbing pizza and pouring wine.
“Shboring, shmarried shpeoples,” Jayne added, lowering herself into Tristan’s place.
Beth at this point seemed to be maintaining a better control of her faculties and was at least able to put a coherent sentence t
ogether in response to my question when I asked where they had been.
