The Art of Letting Go (The Uni Files)

by Bloom, Anna

  Then I think, Don’t be so bloody ridiculous, Lilah, there is no way he would move out without telling you.

  At least, I don’t think there is.

  “Hey, Lilah, do you want some pasta?”

  That’s weird. The pretty girl knows my name and is offering me food.

  Uh oh. My second panicked thought is, Ben has a new girlfriend who knows the name of all his flatmates. She’s in the kitchen cooking up a pasta storm, which she is sharing out of the kindness of her heart before heading back into his room to spoon-feed him dinner before offering him sex for dessert.

  Oh God.

  Wait a minute. He isn’t in. That’s okay. At least she cannot offer him sex as dessert.

  Phew.

  “Lilah? Earth to Lilah! Do you want some sodding pasta or not?”

  Hold on a minute, I recognise those dulcet tones. I squint a little at the girl brandishing the serving spoon.

  “Beth?”

  “Yes?”

  “Oh goodness, you just scared the life out of me! Where’s your makeup?”

  It’s Goth Chick, without the black war paint.

  “I fancied a change. Why? Does it look terrible?”

  I stare at her. “No. You look beautiful.”

  She flushes bright red, which makes my cheeks heat as well.

  “Um, thanks. Do you want some dinner?” she asks.

  “I would love some. Thanks for offering.”

  And just like that Goth Chick, who is no more, and shall now just have to be called Beth sat down and had dinner with me for the first time ever. We got on really well, which is not what I was expecting at all.

  “So you and Eva are still not talking?” I ask once I have finished shovelling the cheesy pasta in my mouth at a great rate.

  “Nah. She is still hanging out in the other flat with Adrian.”

  “Who’s Adrian?”

  “The guy I was seeing.”

  She says this like I am supposed to know. I want to ask how when she did not even see us for months and has not told us what really happened since. But I don’t want to be rude. The girl has just fed me.

  “Is it worth losing a friend over a guy?”

  “It’s not really over a guy. Well, it is, but it is a bit confusing.”

  I lean back in my chair. Excellent, I was not in the mood for studying tonight anyway.

  “I am all ears, and I have all night,” I say with a smile. “Do we need alcohol?”

  She laughs. “Lilah, I think you always need alcohol!”

  I could be offended but what would be the point? “Okay, I will go and get some and be right back.”

  I grab my purse and dash out of the door, jogging over to Digby Bar where I relieve Trev of six, oh, okay, ten bottles of beer.

  We are three bottles down when she finally tells me the crux of her problem.

  “I never really fancied Adrian, I just hung out with him so I could hang out with Eva.”

  “I don’t get it? Why would you do that? I thought you and her were friends anyway?”

  “Well, we were, but she wanted to hang out with him as well and he seemed interested in me so I played along with it hoping to keep them separate.”

  This makes no sense to me. “Well, if you did not fancy him, why would you want to keep them separate?”

  She looks at me like I am dumb. Fair point. “Because I fancy her instead.”

  She sounds a little defiant but her tone is low, as if she is not sure how the news is going to be received.

  “That’s a bit of a bitch.”

  I clink my bottle against hers, then have a thought. “Uh, did you kiss him even though you prefer girls?”

  She looks outrageously embarrassed. “Yeah, not something I am proud of.”

  “I’d say.” I study her for a moment. “You know that you will find someone else, right?”

  “Yeah, I know. Guess I should just try and be interested in someone with same feelings as me.” She sighs, settling back against the foam torture chair.

  “You’re not going to fancy me, are you? This is a pretty romantic setting,” I tease as I motion to our office reception style surroundings.

  She laughs and nudges her shoulder against mine.

  “It’s okay, Lilah, hot as you are, everyone knows that you and Ben are insanely in love with each other.”

  I choke on my mouthful of beer. “We are not! We are just friends.”

  She fixes me with her Bambi eyes. “You and Ben are the only people who believe you are just friends. Everyone else knows that you are minefield of hopeless sexual tension and lingering brooding looks.”

  “Are not!”

  “You are in love with him, though, aren’t you? You would be crazy not to be.”

  Her tone is leading, inviting me to get the weight off my chest. “Yeah, I am,” I admit. “And I am crazy, too. I’m not telling him how I feel, because I don’t want him to miss his chance in the States, so I think it best to keep my crazy emotions to myself.”

  “I thought he knew that, and you were going to carry on seeing each other until he left?”

  Oh the questions this girl asks!

  “It’s depressing.” I groan as I smack my head back on the wall behind me. “We were doing that, but then he got annoyed that I was supposedly using him for sex. He wanted me to give him a bit more on an emotional level, but I bottled it. Now we are just friends.” I blow a loud raspberry to demonstrate just what I think about being ‘friends.’

  “It will work out for the best, I’m sure,” she says easing herself out of the hideous chair. “I have got to go and finish some work for tomorrow. Thanks for the beers,” she says, clearing up her bottles and plate.

  “You’re welcome. Thanks for dinner,” I reply.

  I mean it. That was a pleasant way to spend the evening.

  After she leaves, I just sit there for a while finishing my beer. What did she mean, Ben and I are the only ones who believe we are just friends?

  I do not believe we are just friends.

  This means he is the only one who does.

  Ouch.

  I finish my beer and stand up to clear my stuff. I am just turning to head into the kitchen when I notice Ben’s door is open.

  I stand there in horrified shock. I had no idea he was in. His room is right by the door to the lounge. From inside his room you can hear everything that is said in the lounge.

  Fuck.

  “Hey, Lilah, good dinner?” he asks, nodding towards my empty plate as he walks into the hallway.

  “Uh yeah, it was good, thanks. Did you have a good evening?”

  I motion my head to the book, which is in his hand, thumb squeezed in the spine, holding his place.

  “Very informative.” He smirks a little. Then he winks at me.

  I stare at him in confusion, before going rash red, and ducking around him to my room where I have the mother of all panics.

  Shit.

  Did he hear what I said? Was he just winking in an offhand manner, or was he trying to tell me that he had just heard my declaration?

  Oh shit.

  Surely he had music on in his room and could not hear our conversation? Then I realise that I did not know he was there. If he had music on, I would have heard it, no matter how low it was playing. My sad stalker tendency has left me with super-sonic hearing when it comes to anything that goes on his room.

  Weird Thing Number Two

  It was later when the second weird thing happened. Ben had not been playing his guitar, which I normally fall asleep to. It was deathly quiet in his room. Eventually I just started to drift off to sleep when I heard the chords pick up through the thin partition wall. Ben was playing "Hey There, Delilah," h
is voice low and soft as if trying not to disturb anyone. I turned onto my side and edged myself closer to wall separating us and laid there listening. It’s the first time he has played it since our date at Borough Market.

  I wonder what it means? Does he know that I can hear him?

  His singing of the chorus makes me smile regardless of the answers to the questions zooming around my head.

  2nd March

  “Hey There, Delilah,” through the wall again as I fall asleep.

  I have no idea what it means.

  There's a school trip tomorrow. Exciting stuff.

  4th March

  8.00 a.m.

  It’s the big school trip to the Imperial War Museum. I am trying to rile up some enthusiasm, but it is slow in coming. Very slow.

  Outside, the March weather is miserable and cold, complete with a determined wet wind created for the sole purpose of breaking umbrellas. The last thing I want to do is traipse across London and try to be enthusiastic about the futility of war. Meredith is not sharing my apathy. She practically vibrated with excitement as she watched me layer on six jumpers, which all seem to be varying shades of blue, before bouncing back out of my door again to get her breakfast.

  8.10 a.m.

  “I don’t get why you’re not excited.” She moans with a sigh settling back on my bed with her toast.

  I poke my tongue out at her. “Because our day will be spent trying to keep up with crazy Professor Johnson as he attempts to fill us with enthusiasm for a subject that I quite frankly find depressing.”

  She sticks her tongue out at me in response. “I think it is because you will be forced to talk to Ben all day and the whole world will see the flaw in your ‘best friend’ day.”

  “I think you talk out of your arse.”

  Bugger, it’s the door. It can only be Ben. I shoot Meredith a look warning her not to say anything more. She just giggles like the twelve-year-old that she is.

  8.20 a.m.

  I have not seen Ben outside of class since the accidental declaration of love through a closed door and "Hey There, Delilah" debacle of a few nights ago.

  “Hey there,” he says as I open the door to him and flush what I know is a vibrant shade of cerise, which makes Meredith giggle even more. How immature.

  The blues are twinkling, and I wonder if he is leaving those words to hang there on purpose. He has a look on his face that I have not seen for a while. It is the same look as when I first met him, like he is enjoying a game he is playing. Like he is unsure how many boundaries to push and like he is very much up to something. Due to all the depressing stuff from the last few months, it has been a while since I have seen this carefree side of Ben.

  (Let’s not forget that carefree Ben of the early days used to annoy me every time he opened his mouth, and he also felt me up against trees and in black cabs a lot. I will not be letting that happen again.)

  “What are you smirking at?” I ask.

  “Who me? Nothing! Who put your knickers in a twist?” Smirk, smirk.

  Not you.

  “Let’s not talk about my knickers, or any other part of clothing.”

  “Okay. Come on. We are going to be late and we don’t want to miss any of Johnson’s scintillating lecture.”

  “Okay.”

  I grumble while grabbing my bag and holding the door open for Meredith, who gives me a sarcastic thumbs-up as she walks past.

  This could be a very long day.

  12:45 p.m.

  It’s been a very long day and it is not even lunchtime yet. Meredith is having a whale of a time running around the exhibition and filling in the questionnaire we have been given. She is such a bloody geek.

  I am attempting to concentrate on the questions as well, but in all honesty I am just watching Ben. How come he is not getting all hot and bothered trying to battle holding a clipboard and manage a coat and a bag at the same time? The museum has its heating ramped to the max and I am sweating freely.

  Sweating, not glowing.

  Ben is just swanning around looking all intellectual and cool at the same time. Every so often pulling his battered leather notebook out of his back pocket and then thoughtfully jotting things down.

  12.50 p.m.

  I give a loud humph of disgruntlement and hike my annoying bag higher onto my shoulder, before I head off to another display, leaving Ben to look all irritatingly cool and collected.

  A couple of moments later, I feel hands lifting the strap off my shoulder. Ben takes my bag and then puts it onto his own shoulder.

  “It’s pink,” I state unnecessarily.

  He flashes me his killer grin, before heading back over to the display that is so absorbing his attention.

  I watch him go, swaggering off with my pink backpack and allow myself a grin of my own. It’s kind of hard not to.

  “Yep, there are some definite flaws coming to light,” Meredith whispers in my ear.

  “What? He is just holding my bag to help me out,” I explain.

  “So why are you grinning like a buffoon?”

  “Bugger off!”

  “I rest my case.”

  2.00 p.m.

  Thank goodness that is over. We have been let go and have all dashed to freedom like our lives depend on it.

  “Do you guys fancy a drink?” Ben asks as we wander away from the museum.

  I nearly fall over the pavement. I am about to make up an excuse when Meredith beats me to it.

  “That sounds like a great idea, Ben. Come on, let's go,” she singsongs, grabbing hold of my arm and wrapping hers around it as if she thinks I might bolt at any moment.

  I give her a small shrug and shake of my head when he is not looking. She just grins and shrugs back.

  I have a very bad feeling about this.

  Eventually, after twenty minutes of wandering aimlessly about, we find a suitable pub. By suitable, I mean it ticks all my and Ben’s criteria for the perfect pub.

  It is full of old people who are ‘day drunk’.

  It has a random dog, which later on we will decide is our best friend.

  It does not sell food, only crisps and nuts, and it smells of old farts.

  Meredith looks about in disgust as we come through the door. She, like Tristan, is more into sleek sterile wine bars. Ben and I used to tease them that their drinking habits had no soul, and they used to say that ours were insanitary and unhealthy. That seems like a lifetime ago now.

  “Pint, Lilah?” he asks.

  I should say ‘No’. So of course I say ‘Yes’.

  Meredith nods as well. This is really not good. Meredith cannot drink pints to save her life.

  5.00 p.m.

  I am right. It is not good. Meredith is completely off her trolley and has just been sick in the toilet. Unfortunately, not in the toilet itself. We have had to call Tristan to come and escort her home. I should probably go home, too.

  7.00 p.m.

  Yep, I should have gone home.

  I cannot see through both eyes anymore. I think Ben might be suffering with a similar vision impairment. Every time we turn to talk to one another we each have one eye closed, squinting through the open one.

  We have given up talking for a while, and are just sitting in the dodgy old-man pub alongside each other. I have my head on his shoulder—mainly because I am having problems keeping it upright—and he is drawing patterns in the palm of my right hand.

  7.15 p.m.

  “So what do you want to do, Delilah?”

  “Um, what?”

  I think I may have dosed off. The pattern tracing is very relaxing.

  “What do you want to do when Uni is finished?”

  Oh, god! It’s that question.

  “I
have no idea,” I say.

  “What? No idea at all? I don’t believe you.”

  “I don’t know what I want to do in two years’ time. I can’t even see further than three months away at the moment.”

  This is what I think I am saying. It could be completely different.

  “Why can’t you see any further than three months away?”

  His lips are close to my ear, sending shivers down my arm despite my many blue layers. I say the words before I can stop them. The moment they are out I want to grab them and shove them back in my mouth.

  “Because you will not be here.”

  He doesn’t say anything, just looks at me through one blue eye.

  “I’ll get another drink,” is all he finally says in response as he pushes up away from the bench we are sitting on. I should stop him. I have had too much already. I don’t.

  9.00 p.m.

  “Weesh shoulds shgo home.”

  “Yesh, weesh shoulds.”

  Black Cab Home

  Snow whands in shnaughty shplaces. Snow cwazy snoggering. No snakeds.

  5th March

  10.50 a.m.

  Professor Johnson is glaring at me again. I think I can safely say that this man is not a big fan of mine.

  I do have my head on the table during his lecture and I may be involuntarily groaning, but, hey, at least I am here.

  There was a knock on my door this morning. I had still been in my drunken stupor, thinking it was Meredith coming to blame me for allowing her to puke on a pub carpet. I had shouted out, "Come in."

  Imagine my complete surprise when Ben entered, all fresh and showered. Unlike my own sad self who was still lying in bed, sweating out yesterday’s beer.

  He put a cup of coffee down on the bedside table grinning like a nut case. “Thought you may need this.” He smirked.

  “Go away, you annoying morning person,” I retorted from under the safety of my duvet.