The Art of Letting Go (The Uni Files)

by Bloom, Anna

  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. Tris
tan 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!

  4.05 p.m.

  Tristan’s blond head ducks around the doorframe interrupting my Avril Lavigne moment.

  “Got space for a few more, Avril? You know your singing can be heard right down in the car park, right?”

  Funny.

  I drop the peeler on the floor as I watch Meredith walk through the door closely followed by Ben.

  What is Ben doing here?

  My brain does not process this at all.

  And again. What is Ben doing here?

  He gives me a very sheepish smile, accompanied by a shrug.

  “I thought you were in Dorset?” I say as my legs start to do a wobble. Not just a wobble, a full-on knee jerk, Elvis on crack.

  “I was, but then I heard you were cooking, and that is something I can’t possibly miss.”

  I stand in mesmerised rapture watching him, my mouth hanging agape as he steps towards me unwinding his blue scarf from around his neck.

  Then I start to seriously regret the sherry and the box of mince pies. Oh and the whole chocolate orange.

  Sod it!

  I launch myself towards them and hug them all. I may linger over Ben’s hug a teeny bit, just allowing myself to press my body against his. In turn, his hands automatically slide along my neck, his thumbs against my jaw (his kissing hold, except he did not kiss me). I can feel him breathe me in.

  For the briefest moment, I stand there and allow myself to be held by him before finding the willpower to move away. The physical pull between us is undeniable. After a month of not touching him, leaning my body against his feels like being home. We just fit together.

  I glance at my brother. When did the change happen? When did we get to the point that I would be glad to see him? That I would be happy that he'd turn up unexpectedly, towing behind him t
wo of my favourite people? We grin at each other. It’s all rather nice.

  Just for the day I decide to forget everything that has happened. I just want to feel normal again, whatever normal is.

  “According to Deliah, dinner will be served at approximately 11:45,” I announce in my best hostess voice. This is received with sniggers from my new guests. I glare at them all as I grab extra glasses out of the cupboard.

  “Deliah suggests that if dinner is going to be late, we all get snot-flying drunk on sherry instead.”

  There are whoops all around as we take the glasses and head towards the lounge.

  6.30 p.m.

  Sherry all gone. Mince pies all gone. Ben is rubbing my feet.

  8.30 p.m.

  Apparently you are supposed to baste the bird. I do not know what this means, but I am pretty sure I have not done it. I still do not know what it means. Ben gives me one of his amused ‘How did you survive so long?’ looks and takes over turkey duty.

  Dinner is rescheduled for 12.15 a.m.

  10.00 p.m.

  An in-depth discussion about whether we can just turn the oven up. Two votes for yes, two votes for no. It’s a turkey stalemate.

  Scrabble:

  “That’s not a word.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “Bejesus is a word,” declares Tristan.

  He is determined to win at Scrabble through cheating. We are playing teams and Ben shakes with laughter next to me. Ben and I are creaming them, but that might have more to do with the fact that they spend most of their time snogging. It’s a bit gross, really. Every time they start a game of tonsil tennis, Ben and I have to sit there all awkward smiling shyly at each other like two thirteen-year-olds at a school disco.

  I give up in the end and head over to the iPod dock so I can put on some more music. Ben follows me. He stands really close and puts his hand over mine as I scroll through playlists.