The Art of Letting Go (The Uni Files)

by Bloom, Anna

  I’m trying not to sulk but Ben stayed at Dave’s last night. I know it is to be expected, but it still cuts a little. We have less than four weeks left and I am feeling very protective of every minute that passes. Sound Box can have him forever and always. I get thirty-five more sodding days.

  Guitar Karaoke

  “Do you fancy a beer, love?”

  I make a face at my boss.

  “Baz, do you think I need alcohol for everything?”

  It worries me this is what people think. It worries me this might be what I think.

  “No. Let’s be honest, it’s boring.” He has a point.

  “Shall I go and get some?”

  He nods at me and I open the till for some money.

  “Baz, when I get back, will you play me some tunes?”

  “Sure, lovey! Let’s have a rock out!”

  There is nothing Baz loves more than a rock out on a boring Sunday afternoon.

  “Cool,” I say and dash out of the shop.

  Big Baz is a guitar whizz. In fact, he rivals Ben, however, he does not manage to pull off quite the same level of sex appeal.

  We play a game of guitar karaoke where I shout out any random song that I can think of, and he continually amazes me by being able to play it.

  After a while, I exhaust every obscure song choice I can come up with and he just starts to play his own stuff. I sit there drinking my Bud, listening whilst I doodle the Lilah triangles on a scrap of till receipt. Eventually his playing becomes familiar again. I pick up the tune he is playing, but I have no idea what it is, though it is beautiful and makes me feel a little emotional.

  “Does that have lyrics?” I ask trying to blink around the tears which for some bizarre reason have lined my eyes.

  “Yeah it does, Lil, but I can’t do it justice,” he tells me with a shrug.

  “What song is that, Baz?”

  It's Ben. His arms slide around me from behind and just like that I can breathe again.

  “‘The Promise,’” Baz says, looking Ben directly in the eye.

  “I know that one,” says Ben, reaching for the guitar and picking the notes. He adds the words that Baz had been unable to sing and it is perfect for Ben. Quiet and understated, the words are him and I and the unspoken promise between us. The words I will never be able to say, but live and breathe with every cell of my being. Because the truth is that I do hope he is going to make his way back to me just as the lyrics say. The blues sparkle and hold mine as he sings.

  When he has finished, my mouth is so dry I cannot swallow at all.

  Ben just stares at me and I stare at him.

  Eventually I smile and say, “I think I found my favourite song.”

  He flashes me his megawatt grin and the blues light the room.

  Oh god, I can’t breathe!

  We just sit and watch each other, the tension mounting second by second.

  “Oh, go on kids. Go and have fun,” grunts Big Baz as he opens another bottle of beer.

  I give a cheer and grab my purse. “Thanks! You’re the best,” I tell Baz as I kiss him on the cheek.

  Ben and I race to the Barnes’ house; it is closer. Dorm is just too far to go. We collapse through the door together and here we are going to stay until we get up for classes tomorrow.

  20th May

  25 degrees. The whole of campus has put itself on an early vacation. Even the teachers are getting more relaxed. With only two weeks of lectures left, they are on a wind down, just blasting us with more reading in preparation for the exams.

  “Oh yes, I would suggest you read, blah, blah, blah’s amazing book on blah, blah, blah. You need to read at least the first two chapters. No, actually, just read the whole thing to make sure you grasp it.”

  Great.

  We have been sitting out on the lawn after lectures, drinking cold beer and staring at books that none of us really understand.

  We have another school trip coming up on the 31st of May. Fancy having an outing on the last day of proper lectures. That strikes me as crazy, but who am I to complain? It will just relieve me of one more lecture to sleep through.

  Ben is lying on his tummy next to me and I am attempting to concentrate on the book open in my lap. Instead I am really memorising the shape of his shoulders, the dip in the small of his back, and the slim strip of skin exposed just above his jeans.

  “Lilah, are you reading?”

  “Yes.”

  “What are you reading?”

  You.

  “Um, this delightful book, regarding. Um . . .”

  Damn it!

  He rolls over and watches me, his hand raised to shield his eyes from the sun.

  “Fancy a trip to our tree?” he asks with a wink.

  “Benjamin Chambers! It is broad daylight!”

  He laughs and pulls me towards him. We are oblivious to the other people talking and walking around. It is just us. Well, just us and some geese that get braver with every passing moment we do not run away screaming.

  21st May

  3.00 a.m.

  “Ben, are you awake?”

  “I am now.”

  His hands reach out and draw me towards him. I must have moved a whole three inches away during my doze.

  “I know what I want to do!” I declare.

  “What now? Jesus, Lilah! Give me a little rest.”

  I elbow him in the ribs, which are handily close. “No! I know what I want to do.”

  “What’s that, Lilah?”

  His voice caresses my name even in the middle of the night.

  “I want to write a book.”

  Silence.

  “What are you going to write a book about?” His voice is quiet.

  “About you.”

  Silence.

  He turns me to face him. We are just shadows in the night. He doesn’t say anything at all, just kisses me, and I kiss him back.

  5.00 a.m.

  Ben is asleep, but I am lying awake thinking about my book. I wonder if anyone would bother to read it. Isn’t that the thing about love stories? They don’t always have happy endings.

  22nd May

  “Quick, quick! Look what I can do!”

  I am running up and down the corridor banging on the girls' doors.

  “This had better be good!” exclaims Meredith, pulling her door open wide and glaring at me from under a red haystack.

  Beth and Jayne pull open their doors as well, and I parade up and down showing them my exciting news.

  “Lilah, what are we supposed to be looking at?” asks Meredith. She does not look pleased at my wake-up.

  “Looook!” I squeal. “I can get my hair in a ponytail!”

  I catwalk my new ponytail up and down the hallway sashaying my hips as I go.

  “You woke us up at 6.30 to tell us you can get your hair in a ponytail?” asks Meredith, sounding shocked and not nearly as enthused as I'd imagined.

  “Yip, I sure did!” I shout gleefully as I bounce back into my room to jump on Ben and show him the same thing.

  He looks at me in amusement as I twirl around grabbing my hair in both hands and then says, “I completely love you.”

  Lecture.

  Lawn.

  Beer.

  Dinner.

  Sex.

  In no particular order.

  23rd May

  I, Lilah McCannon, have just made an omelette.

  Yes, that is right. I whisked some eggs, melted a knob of butter, cooked eggs in pan, added cheese, and folded it onto a plate.

  I feel that this, above everything else, shows just how much I have grown since starting Uni. I am now capable of feeding myself.

&
nbsp; Admittedly, I did have some help, but I wrote notes so that I could remember the directions for next time. Next time when I am cooking for myself.

  When we have finished eating, I sit there and assess Ben, who is not throwing up, so I can safely assume the eggs were okay. It’s time to be a little bit honest.

  “I wish we had done this earlier.”

  “What, made an omelette?”

  “Been together.” I let the words sit there.

  “So do I,” he says as his fingers graze mine.

  “We are doing the right thing, aren’t we?”

  “Being together? Or agreeing to part?”

  “Both.”

  “I don't know, Lilah. I think so.”

  “So do I.”

  One month tomorrow and it will all be over.

  24th May

  4.00 p.m.

  We are putting in some half decent study time at the library whilst playing footsie.

  I still have that niggling thought at the back of my mind, like there is something I am supposed to do, but it is still unreachable. I am trying not to push it, I'm just going to let it fester there until it is ready to come to light. I hope it does not take too long. It is a bit bloody irritating.

  4.20 p.m.

  Ben just poked his head up between our weird cupboard desks.

  “Lilah, remember I mentioned having another date?”

  “Um, yeah.” I think we are way past the date part of a relationship.

  “If it’s okay with you, can you keep the afternoon free after the Museum trip?”

  “Uh, yeah. Sure.”

  “Excellent.”

  Then he started to scribble away again whilst tapping my foot.

  That’s a bit weird. What’s he up to?

  26th May

  9.30 a.m.

  Oh goodness. I hope everyone does not feel as rough as I do. I am not sure if it was the crazy volcano Pimms or the chicken.

  Yesterday, Tristan and I decided to be grown up hosts and throw a BBQ for everyone. The flaw in this plan is that Tristan and I cannot be grownup no matter how hard we try, as my hangover today clearly proves.

  Ugh, chicken. I am going to be sick again.

  Ben is watching me from the bed. “Lilah, did you have too much Vodka again?”

  “Maybe, I’m not sure. Do you feel alright?”

  “I feel great, although I might feel better if I did not have to watch my girlfriend puke in a bin.”

  “Sorry.” My tummy flips at the word ‘girlfriend,’ despite the nausea.

  “I’m joking, Lilah. I’ll go and get you some water.”

  He gives my hand a squeeze.

  “Ben?”

  “Yep?”

  “I sang again, didn’t I?”

  “You sure did, my love.”

  Oh crap. I am going to be sick again.

  Volcano BBQ

  “This is nice, being all grown up together,” I remark, stirring my frothy, bubbling concoction. I am attempting to make Pimms. I don’t know what goes in Pimms, but have tipped half a bottle of vodka in there.

  Trist watches me with a smug expression on his face. “Lilah, we are twenty-six. I think we are supposed to be grown up!”

  I flash him a zap sign, which makes him chuckle. He is chopping the fruit for the jug of drink. It seems people are still not comfortable with me touching sharp knives when cooking. I think they are all being grossly unfair.

  “So what are we cooking on the fire, big brother?” I ask, removing another jug out of the cupboard. I’m not sure what I am going to put in this one but it will undoubtedly have vodka in it.

  I wonder what would happen if the McCannon children stopped drinking the stuff? Would the whole vodka industry grind to a halt? Go bankrupt? What do they make vodka out of anyway? I think potatoes may be an ingredient, but that might be an idea I came up with after drinking too much of the stuff.

  “Sorry, Tristan. Were you saying something? I got side-tracked.”

  “For goodness’ sake, Lilah! You are such a bloody daydreamer. What time is Ben getting here anyway? You might wake up then!”

  I stick my tongue out at him. “Soon, I hope. Otherwise we may go hungry!”

  Tristan is giving me his look that tells me he reads every thought that I have. “You are going to be okay, aren’t you?”

  “What? When the love of my life leaves me and goes to have his fabulous career, which I only get to hear about via other people or, heaven forbid, through pictures in newspapers and magazines.”

  “Yeah, when that happens.”

  “Oh yeah, I will be fine. Vodka and I have a long-term relationship planned.”

  I chuckle, but Tristan does not look amused.

  “Lilah, I’m being serious. I don’t want to lose you again, and I have a bad feeling he is the thing that brought you back to me.”

  I think about this for a moment. “Nah, it’s okay, Trist, I think I have found myself.”

  “Good.”

  “Right. What’s for dinner?”

  “Well, we have chicken to go on the BBQ, steak, and some sausages.”

  Oh God, I just puked a little in my mouth.

  Yuck. Gross. Thankfully, I am distracted by Ben walking in. I’m not sure why he has a key when he is not going to be living here, but he does.

  “Lilah, why are you green?” he asks, stepping towards me. One hand sweeps across my forehead. “You’re all sweaty.”

  Oh, I am so sexy.

  “I’m fine. I think I'm just hungry.”

  The blues search my face for a moment and then crinkle into a smile.

  “I got these for you,” he says as he pulls his other arm out from behind his back.

  In his hand he holds a bunch of wild cornflowers. I stare at him a moment. The flowers match his eyes exactly. I want to hold them a little closer to marvel at the feat of nature but I don’t want to be too special.

  “Thank you, they are lovely,” I say, voice low and a little choked.

  “Come on, let’s get this BBQ on so you can eat. I don’t want you to pass out. The head between the knees look is not one that works for you.”

  I giggle and bring him outside into our perfect courtyard garden.

  8.00 p.m.

  Five jugs of pretend Pimms later. And I’m singing. Perfectly on key, of course.

  “Does she only know one Avril Lavigne song?” Ben asks Tristan.

  “Apparently so.”

  27th May

  Oh dear. I am still feeling horribly dodgy but I am attempting to put a brave face on it. I don’t think I gave myself Pimms poisoning. I think I may be suffering from a serious case of anxiety. Every time I think that in a couple of short weeks Ben is going to be gone, a wave of nausea smashes over me which includes cold sweats, stomach cramps, and this terrible need to gag that is hard to hide.

  I nearly did not bother to go to lectures today until I realised that this would mean I would be separated from Ben for two whole hours. How sad is that! Two hours is nothing really, is it? A mere drop in the ocean of non-Ben I have looming in front of me.

  Yesterday after I had spent the day being violently sick and he was so supportive and caring and generally bloody lovely, I had nearly given in and begged him to stay. But I didn’t. He started to play guitar for me, just softly playing in the background as I lay curled up on the end of the bed and it sounded so damn beautiful I knew I would not be able to say anything. Not ever.

  It hurts to let him leave but it would hurt even more to be weak and ask him to stay.

  31st May

  7.30 a.m.

  It's our last official day of lectures. Praise the lord that we will not actually be lectured at, bu
t instead are going to the National Gallery to look at something very interesting. No idea what it is, but I am sure it will be interesting.

  After lectures yesterday I excused myself from study/football watching/boyfriend ogling/duties and nipped into Putney. I ordered a little something for Ben last week and it was finally ready, so I went to grab it. Tonight is the last Digby shindig but Ben and I are out on our date, so we will miss it. I am trying very hard to ignore all ‘last (fill in the blank) of terms.’ Every time I see it written somewhere, I have crazy butterflies in my stomach.

  I’m blaming my erratic retching and gagging on the mutant butterflies and the anxiety they bring. It is embarrassing. Ben offered me toast yesterday morning and I just stood there gagging right in front of him. The same thing happened with dinner once I got home from Putney. Ben keeps banging on about me going to the doctor in case it is a bug or something but I am sure it is just my nerves causing it. I don’t want to tell him that. If I do, he might decide that we should calm down for the next three weeks until he leaves.

  That would be bad.

  I really hope that he likes his present. I have gone out on a limb a little and he may think it is a bit odd but I have done it anyway. Since I came up with the idea I knew I wouldn’t change my mind.

  Right then I had better get ready for this last ever date.

  Our Very Last Date

  Oh goodness. I think I may actually be suffering from a broken heart and he has not even left Halls of Residence yet, let alone the country.

  Ben saved the very best date to last.

  1:45 p.m.

  “So where is the date?” I ask.

  I am excited to see what he has come up with, and rightfully so since the last two have been amazing.

  “Well, I just thought we would go for a walk and a drink,” he says.

  I’m slightly surprised. This sounds like a normal afternoon to me.

  3.30 p.m.

  Yep, just a normal afternoon: pints of beer, packets of crisps, and endless conversation. I have no idea how it is possible for two people to talk as much as we do, but we manage it all the same.