Table

of Contents
THE ART OF LETTING GO
Acknowledgements
Autumn Term
September
October
November
December
January
Spring Term
February
March
April
Summer Term
May
June
THE ART OF LETTING GO
THE UNI FILES: YEAR ONE

ANNA BLOOM

SOUL MATE PUBLISHING

New York
THE ART OF LETTING GO
Copyright©2013
ANNA BLOOM

Cover Design by Shirer Burkett Towler.

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are
the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any
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or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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Published in the United States of America by Soul Mate Publishing P.O. Box 24
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This book is for Lana and Jake

who made me believe

that I could create anything

 Acknowledgements

This book would not have been possible without some very important people. I
am going to keep it short and simple and hope you all know that I will always
have far more to say than this page allows.

Mr B who has completely embraced my new ‘career’ with 100% support. Who
not only supports me in this, but in everything that I do – thank you for taking a
chance on the crazy British girl.

My Sister for being so supportive and offering so much of her time to my

surprise project, her support has been phenomenal and I am not sure I would
have seen it through to the end without her.

My Mum and Dad who always believe in me and love me no matter what I try to
do. I wish I got to see you more so I could share this all with you.

Ann Mauren who smoothed my manuscript into something people could actually
read and became a good friend whilst doing it.

Zoe, whose blog I read and enjoy every day. It started as a simple email asking
for advice now we are BFF’s! A day is not the same without an email or text
from you! No seriously I value your support more then you will probably ever
realise.

Lastly and by no way least to my besties Suz and Jaq. I will be eternally grateful
that I met you those first few days on campus and that you listened to me dribble
into my Pinot for the next three years. This is for you.

A.B
 Sometime in August
“Psst, Lilah.”
“Huh?”
“Lilah, are you asleep?”
“No, of course I’m bloody not.” I glare at the annoying work experience girl
with her shiny swingy blonde ponytail and endless exuberant enthusiasm.
Exuberance is not a trait of which I'm overly fond. I am not that fond of
enthusiasm either.
I may have been asleep. Just a little bit. I am just so bloody bored I cannot
keep my eyes open. The buzz of the computers and the distant hum of voices are
quite frankly relaxing. I did not get a huge amount of sleep last night and I am
keen to catch up when and where possible. I dozed the entire Tube trip to the
office and I reckon I have had a sneaky fifteen minutes at my desk. Result.
This is what happens when I go for mid-week after-work drinks. I get
completely blotted and then spend the next day attempting not to look hung-over
whilst trying to catch up on sleep in various sneaky locations. Last week I had to
hide in the bathroom where I spent twenty minutes with my head resting against
the partition while sleeping off the mother of all white wine hangovers.
Yesterday evening was worse than most. I drank a crazy amount of alcohol
just in case I ended up having sex, but then instead managed to slur my way
through my entire repertoire of ‘no sex’ excuses. I had a sore back, a migraine,
and was on the third week of my period.
The girl with the annoying ponytail is still standing by my chair, so I lift my
head off the desk and look at her expectantly. There may be a little bit of drool
pooled by my keyboard. Oh well.
“Mr. McCannon wants to see you in his office.” She informs me of this with
a smirk that I would like to wipe off her face, preferably with the keyboard I am
currently trying to clean my dribble off of.
“Why?” I ask. Then I have a thought, maybe he is calling me in to tell me
that Annoying Ponytail Girl is going to replace me in my job and I am free to go
and find alternative employment someplace else. I am thinking along the lines of
a supermarket.
“He didn’t say, but he has been waiting a good few minutes,” she warns with
a swing of her ponytail before walking away in towering stilettos.
 My dad, a.k.a Mr. McCannon, is not good with being made to wait, it makes
him go purple and a vein pulsates on his forehead.
Great.
“Dad, you asked for me?” I say in greeting as I edge around the door to his
office and attempt to sit down before he notices that I am wearing jeans (not a
suit) and Birkenstocks (not stilettos).
“Ah yes, Delilah, there you are.”
I hate being called Delilah, especially when he does it. “Here I am,” I
counter. I can’t help it, being in the same room as him makes me act like a sulky
teenager.
“Mother and I were wondering if you had made any plans yet regarding that
event we are all waiting for?” He shuffles some papers and looks at me over the
rim of his varifocals.
This is what he does. He talks about plans regarding my future like they are
a game the whole family is playing. It is a glorified Game of Life.
I scrunch my face as I think of a suitable response. What I really want to do
is to tell him to sod off.
“Dad, please. Can you and Mum just back off a bit?” I ask as politely as I
can muster.
He frowns at me and the tips of his ears turn a little purple—this is not a
good sign. “Well, I wanted to tell you that Southwark Cathedral has an opening,
I spoke to the rector.”
What? “Pardon? Where?”
“Southwark Cathedral, you know that gothic place down by London
Bridge.” His forehead wrinkles in confusion at the fact that I apparently do not
know the location of one of London’s landmark churches. My sarcasm has
always been wasted on him.
“What do you mean? The tourist trap which is flooded every day with
people walking past taking photos, or, with people eating their lunch from
Borough Market, the place where every single posh person living in London
goes to buy their groceries?”
“Yes, that one.”
“No. I don’t know it. Excuse me, Dad, I am feeling a little sick.” I dash out
of the door as quick as I can and head to the exit grabbing my bag on the way
through, ignoring the interested stares of my colleagues. Nosey buggers.
We work on the 53 floor and it is a long elevator ride down to fresh air, but
rd

I make it and push through the doors to the freedom that the crowded streets of
Canary Wharf offers.
Ducking down the alleyway I like to fondly call ‘Lilah’s Smoke Den,’ I
draw a cigarette out of my packet and lean against the cool moss-covered brick
wall as I contemplate my options.
What are my options? I honestly do not know.
All I do know is that history seems to be repeating itself with me. I am going
to become my mother, in twenty years from now I will be married to a banker
wanker, dressed in a twin set and drinking Gin all afternoon. I will have a lovely
house, a lovely garden, lovely holidays and knowing my luck two children who
think I am a raving pisshead.
This is what I have to look forward to. Or is it?
I could choose not to.
I eye the door to the office with speculation as I finish my cigarette. I can
see it clearly from my little hidey-hole. I stand and watch all the people rushing
by, rushing with their lives, doing lots of super-duper important things that I
cannot contemplate.
Stubbing my cigarette on the wall of the alleyway I tilt my head up and gaze
in the general direction of the floor my office is on. Annoying Ponytail Girl is
probably looking for me. Hell, there are probably a few people looking for me.
They are not going to find me, though.
I have no idea where I am going, but I know it is not back into that office,
nor back into the vacuum that has become my life; my life of endless repeated
cycles.
I am not going back.
Instead I turn on my heel and towards the Tube station and a direction that I
am not sure of yet.
Autumn Term
September
14th September
Dear Diary. Ugh! That’s rubbish and sounds like something a thirteen year
old would write.
Dear Journal? Nope, that’s crap, too.
Oh, who gives a shit what it is called? It’s not even a posh leather-bound
volume. It’s a spiral pad. A jotter.
I, Lilah McCannon, aged twenty-five, have just run away from home. I am
trying not to think about it too much. Every time I do, I start to hyperventilate
with that hitched breathing that precedes a full-scale panic attack.
It’s my first day at Roehampton University, the only institution to accept a
desperate application from a mid-twenty-year-old with slightly-below-par exam
results. I would have preferred it a little further away. Scotland, perhaps? Or,
Land’s End? I guess Roehampton will have to do.
Twenty minutes ago, I screeched my car to a halt outside my new home.
Okay, technically it is not just ‘my’ new home, but still, home it is for the next
year. If I had to be completely honest it does leave a little to be desired. Not that
I have investigated in great detail, but, as I struggled down the corridor with my
boxes of books and bag of clothes I caught a quick glimpse of a room which I
think is supposed to be a lounge ‘communal area,’ but looks more like an office
reception. It’s filled with those brightly coloured low chairs that look all inviting
and comfortable until you attempt to sit on them and realise they are made out of
some sort of spiteful foam created for torturing purposes.
Still, best not to moan.
It was me, after all, who decided that this was a great idea, an exciting
venture in the next phase of my life—or something like that.
I am going to be a GROWN UP at last!
I have written some very strict University rules that I plan to stick to:
1. No Alcohol
2. No Cigarettes
3. No Boys
4. No Going Home
These will be so easy to keep for a ‘very’ mature student such as myself I
don’t know why I am wasting time writing them down. Hurrah! I am going to be
an intellectual!
After seven years of delay I have finally made it to an establishment of
Higher Education. Not that I have been sitting around doing nothing, but still,
seven years is a long gap year even by my standards.
I should have been called Lilah Procrastinate McCannon.
Every time I think of my parents’ faces, when I told them I was quitting the
boringly dull (serious yawn fest) but outrageously lucrative job at the bank, and
that I was going to attend university instead, I have a hearty belly jiggling laugh
to myself. Complete and utter shock! Ha, ha, ha.
It’s fair to say that the news was not well-received in Camp McCannon.
1. Dad went purple
2. Mum dropped her Gin and Tonic
3. Brother (Tristan the Arse) laughed and walked off
What a bloody wanker.
Why I chose this University
I think Roehampton University actually chose me. In August, when I left my
desk for the world’s longest cigarette break, I had no plan of what to do next.
The only thing I did know was that there was no way I was going back into that
hellhole again.
A few days later I came up with a career plan and was on my way to Asda to
pick up an application form—I was excited about my new prospects, my sole
aim was to become the fastest check-out girl in South London and hopefully
work my way up to join the supermarket social elite and be accepted into the
smoker’s gang that hangs outside the back exit of the store—when fate stepped
in.
The A3 was closed due to a rather inconvenient accident. I followed the
traffic diversion and ended up bombing down the Upper Richmond Road, which
ultimately led me past the university gates. There it was, a huge banner
advertising ‘Clearing Day.’ I pulled up, got out and then begged to be let onto a
degree—any degree. Oh, okay, now I am exaggerating. I did ask for History and
then sat with my fingers crossed as they um’d and ah’d about whether to let me
in.
11.00 a.m.
I have just worked up an impressive sweat lugging all my boxes of books
onto the bed. There is not a huge amount of space in my new room, which I shall
forever more refer to as the Guinea Pig Cage, as that is about the size of it. I can
either have the boxes on the floor, or on the bed—there is no combination of
both that works.
I am not sure whether to go out and explore campus or hide in my little
guinea cage and flick through my books for the afternoon. I am going to stick
out like a sore thumb on campus. I just know it. My confidence (which has never
been high) has officially gone on holiday. There are three words to describe me:
Frumpy, dumpy, and old. The Student Union should give me a special badge:
‘Old Person. Approach with Caution.’
I think it best to hide today, I can go out tomorrow, or sometime next week.
11.09 a.m.
Shit. There is someone knocking at the door. What on earth should I do? I
have not gotten myself together yet to be seen by another human being. If I stay
really, really quiet they may go away.
Or not.
Meredith
“Hey, girl from Room Five! I am Meredith,” says the stunner with flame-red
hair who has been pounding on my door with relentless determination for about
five minutes. She grins at me as I stand there with my mouth hanging open. Holy
shit.
I am pretty sure there has been a mistake and she should be on a catwalk
runway somewhere, not in a dingy dormitory hallway. I actually have to look up
and down the hallway to check that this is not a joke of some kind. There is no
camera crew so I assume I am not being Punk’d as some form of Fresher’s
prank.
“Uh, Lilah,” I offer after an uncomfortable silence.
Excellent.
I, Lilah, Frumpy, Dumpy, and Old McCannon will be living with a
supermodel. Oh, the irony.
“Come in. I’m in a bit of a mess.” I eventually shrug once the faculty of
speech has returned to me. “I think I may have over packed.”
“Ooh, me, too,” she says, “I didn’t know what clothes to bring . . .” She
trails off as she eyes my room filled with six jam-packed boxes of books and one
small holdall of clothes.
 “Well at least I won’t have to traipse to the library all the time.” She laughs
and makes herself at home squeezing into a tiny gap between boxes on the bed.
There is no chance I could have manoeuvred one butt cheek in a space that
small.
An awkward moment of silence passes as we stare at each other, both
contemplating what to say next.
“I will pass, and you place,” Meredith suggests, handing me a book, but
unpacking suddenly seems like a terrible chore.
“Nah, sod it, let’s not bother,” I say, starting to shift the boxes back off the
bed which effectively means all my heavy lifting of a few minutes earlier has
been completely wasted.
Meredith stares at me, and I squirm under her scrutiny. I know what she is
thinking. Blimey! How old is this chick? And what on earth is she doing here?
Both are good questions, but not ones that I want to answer. Instead, she
surprises me.
“I love the colour of your hair. It’s like melted chocolate,” says the amazing
flame-haired beauty, with no apparent sarcasm.
“Uh, thanks,” I offer in return.
I have no idea how to respond. I am not good at accepting compliments.
They make me outrageously uncomfortable, and normally I just end up nodding
and smiling at people like I am completely unhinged.
“So have you met anyone else?” she questions, thankfully changing the
subject from my hair.
“Nope. You’re the first person,” I reply with a smile, feeling ridiculously
nervous.
“So did you come far to get here?”
Hell yeah, I came far. I ran away from a life that I hated, left most of my
possessions behind, and put most of my money into a savings account, and if
that was not enough, I sold my lovely car.
But this is not what she means.
“Not really. My parents live in Surrey.”
Okay, I made a teeny tiny white lie on my application form and said I lived
in Surrey and not down the road in Putney, just three miles away. (That’s why I
would have preferred a University in Scotland, or Timbuktu). I would rather no
one knew about the little fib that got me into halls of residence.
“So what did you do for a job?”
I take a deep breath and fill her in on my time spent working at the
investment bank. I don’t tell her exactly what I did: working on the trading floor
(being shouted at by my dad), making mega bucks. Instead, I underplay it and
leave it vague. She probably thinks that I used to push the tea trolley around.
That’s good with me.
I end with, “I am twenty-five.”
“Well I think you are really brave,” she says, giving my hand a squeeze.
I don’t know how she has reached this conclusion considering I just told her
I ran away from my job, but, hey, I am not going to argue.
“Do you think we should go and investigate campus?” I ask, keen to get out
of the Guinea Pig cage. It is stifling hot and seriously lacking in oxygen. “We
could go and find the library?” I add hopefully.
She glances at my still unpacked boxes and bursts out laughing.
“Hey, you can never have access to enough books,” I say, shooting her a
mock glare.
“Well, I plan to do no studying at all this year,” she states with a resolute
flick of flame hair over her shoulder.
“Well, I do. I am an oldie and I have to concentrate very hard,” I declare
with a laugh. “I have very clear University rules which I shall be sticking to all
year.”
Thing is, I do actually plan to stick to my “Uni Rules” as I call them. The
non-breaking of the Uni Rules is the one rule I am not allowed to break.
The Geese of Death
Under no circumstances do I remember the University prospectus showing
photographs of students running screaming across campus, arms flailing in panic
as they are chased by mutant geese.
Meredith and I have been conducting a recce of campus, which I can
confirm is stunning although it does have a scary line in wildlife.
Our excursion is most relaxing. It’s really hot and there are students hanging
around on the grass enjoying the late summer sun. We join them and lean back
against the lawn listening to the sound of the insects buzzing around over the
pond.
Well, that’s until a flock of crazy Geese decide to re-stake their claim of the
pond and squawk at us until we run off screeching to the safety of our dormitory.
Before the attack, Meredith had been telling me all about her eighteenth
birthday the two weeks before and about her now ex-boyfriend with whom she
split up a couple of months back because she caught him snogging someone else
at the Sixth Form Leaver’s Ball.
“He sounds like a wanker,” I assure her. It’s not a hard conclusion to reach; I
think most blokes are wankers.
“What about you?” she asks.
I just shrug my shoulders in response and try to look vague.
The topic of my love life is a bit of a sensitive subject right now. Mum and
Dad think that I am getting married, which I am not. Not ever.
I said ‘yes’ to a surprise question last year by accident, and now it appears
that I am being made to keep my promises. It’s ridiculous really, and I don’t feel
like explaining to anyone how I managed to get accidentally engaged to a guy I
am not in love with. Fond of? Yes. In love with? Not so much.
I was saved from trying to lie (which I can’t) or explain (embarrassing) by
the squawk of the mutant Geese beginning their attack.
Hopefully I will be able to avoid that conversation for the rest of the
academic year.

15th September
8:45 a.m.
I need to go home. It’s a bit of a bitch.
Apparently there is a ball tonight on campus: a Fresher’s Ball. I am not sure
what a Fresher’s ball is, but I know that I have nothing to wear to it. It seems that
in my haste to pack every single book that I have ever purchased, I have failed to
bring any clothes that do not originate in the denim or cotton department. I don’t
want to go home because I may run into Tristan the Arse but then I can’t face
shopping either. I hate both things equally.
I wonder if I can wear a duvet?

Last night we met the other girls living with us. The sixth, it seems, has
failed to show up. I’m vague on names but they basically fall under the
following descriptions:
Scary Goth Chick—Black make up and all
Teeny Tiny Girl—Who shall now be known as Sparrow Girl
Plain Jayne—To be fair she is not that plain but her name is Jayne
Deathtrap Cooper
 I made my new flatmates evening by letting slip that I owned a set of
wheels. The news of my car was met with a stunned silence. I may as well have
announced that I was a transvestite.
"Soooo," I offer to the rest of the room, "I am heading out to the
supermarket if anyone wants a lift or wants me to get anything . . .” I trail off as I
take in the blank stares looking at me like I really am a lunatic.
"So what, you have a car?" screeches Meredith about three octaves higher
than her ordinary speaking voice.
"Um, yeah."
Silence.
"What? You actually have a car, here, that we can use?" Another two
octaves higher.
Ah, I see the error of my ways. These guys had full intention of bussing and
tubing it about for the next three years and here I am on the first day offering
them a free ride whenever they want.
Great. Why did I not foresee this?
"Well, it has wheels, doors and an engine, but I would use the term car very
loosely, perhaps it’s more of a deathtrap!"
This is true. I have sold my beloved, sleek black Mini Cooper 4x4 and
replaced it with a not-so new, not-so-sleek and not-so-black Mini Cooper that I
think may be as old as I am. I believe once it might have been royal blue, but
now it is a faded aubergine colour. It also has a habit I am very fond of, which is
to shower you in shards of rust every time you walk past.
I explain this to the others in great detail but they do not seem to lose interest
in my newfound chauffeur skills.
Meredith laughs, a sound that had a slightly delirious ring to it, and links her
arm through mine. “Don't worry, Lilah, I’m sure we will all make a concerted
effort to use the bus every now and then."
Funnily enough, this does little to reassure me. I may have to lose my car
keys or try and get it clamped somewhere, otherwise I will end up ferrying a
bunch of teenagers around for the foreseeable future. Goth Chick is already
planning booze runs to the local Off-License.
Hmm, I am not sure about that. Although I realise that most students
actually go to University to get absolutely wasted in their first year, I am resolute
in the fact that this will not be me. I am here to study and that is all.
Later.
 I am in the process of sneaking down the hallway of the dormitory when
Meredith’s door opens wide.
“Where are you going?” she asks, hands on hips.
“I am going to go and get stuff for the Ball.”
“So you’re coming now?” she asks.
I had been resolute that I was not. “Yes, I feel you would be a danger to
yourself and others if left unattended.”
“Can I come with you?”
Damn! This is not really what I wanted. I kind of wanted to keep the flat a
secret. More to the point, I wanted to keep Tristan the Arse firmly away from
any young and beautiful girls, of which Meredith is both. He has a rep; what can
I say? But Meredith and I seem to have created a bit of a bond during our high-
speed Goose chase and I would like for that to continue, so against my better
judgement I say, “Okay, you can come, so long as you don’t tell anyone else.”
“Oooh, is it top secret?”
“Sort of.”
“Do I need to wear a disguise?”
I look at her in her skinny jeans, a smooth expanse of flat tummy exposed
beneath her T-shirt, and I give a little tut of disgruntlement.
“You could wear an invisibility cloak and people would still notice you.”
So the day after flouncing out of my home with a defiant flick of my hair,
announcing to all who would listen that I would not be crossing the threshold
again for the entire academic year, I am returning home, if only to just pop back
in and pick up a few bits.
Things are not quite going to plan. Bugger it. Rule Four broken.
“Are we going in your car?” This is accompanied by enthusiastic bouncing.
“Yeah, I guess so.”
Meredith nearly causes permanent hearing damage as she lets go with a high
pitched squeal of enthusiasm and exclaims, “Yippee!”
Oh dear.
It is with a wry smile that I watch Meredith run up to the purple-and rust-
coloured deathtrap and lovingly trace her hand along the peeling purple paint.
The crappy car just sits there soaking up the attention. It doesn’t spray her
with one speck of rust. This makes me dislike the car even more. It is clearly
biased towards attractive redheads and not dumpy brunettes.
A Little Dose of Tristan
 When we get back to the flat I share with Tristan the Arse I randomly dash
about, stuffing supplies into a bag as Meredith stares out of the huge glass wall
overlooking the Thames.
“You live here?” she asks six times.
“Yes,” I confirm six times.
“What? By yourself?”
I look at her incredulously. I wish!
“Nope, with my brother,” I explain.
“You have a brother?” There is a spark of interest in her eyes.
Better get rid of that.
“Yes, and he is a dick. You must not talk to him under any circumstances.”
Tristan is not in, which is an added bonus. He would take a huge amount of
pleasure in catching me sneaking back home the day after waltzing out. He
really is a complete arse.
I have just managed to get Meredith down from my king-size bed, which she
is using as a trampoline, and we are making our way back to the front door when
the worst thing happens. I hear the sound of a key sliding home in the lock of the
front door.
Damn it! Not good at all.
Meredith watches me in amusement as I hesitate in the hallway, unsure
whether to duck and hide or brazen it out.
Brazen it out. Don’t be a dick.
He waltzes through the door all shining and bright. God I hate him with his
annoying blond mane and dazzling white teeth.
“And what do we have here?” He raises his right eyebrow in his usual
sardonic manner, which makes me want to punch him in the face.
Meredith looks ridiculously dazzled staring at him with her mouth open.
Finally she takes a step forward and holds out her hand. “Hi, I’m Meredith,” she
says, batting her eyelashes. To be fair, he looks a bit dazzled as well.
Hah!
I try my hardest not to throw up as he takes her hand and kisses it. Yuck.
“Tristan,” he responds.
“The arse,” I clarify under my breath.
I am not sure, but he may be lost for words as he stares at Meredith. I cannot
blame him. I was as well when I met her. Unfortunately, it does not last long
enough, and he soon turns his attention back to me.
“Lilah, I thought you were not coming back? ‘Not ever’” he says, mimicking
my voice.
“I had to get some stuff.”
He eyes my dress bag speculatively.
“What you doing?”
“Washing my hair.”
“Well John’s coming over in a bit. Why don’t you stay and see him?”
With that last sentence, he completely has me. John is my fiancé, the main
reason I went to university. I could think of no way to break off the wedding
plans, so I decided to run away instead. Not very grown up, I can admit.
Tristan knows this. He thinks John is a prick, which is partly true. Okay, it is
mainly true, but unfortunately, Mum and Dad think the sun shines out his butt.
And if I make the mistake of ruining my relationship with John, my father has
given me the glorious warning that he will no longer financially support me in
any way, whatsoever. It’s a bit of a catch 22.
This also makes my dad a prick.
“Who’s John?” questions Meredith.
“John is Delilah’s fiancé,” Tristan informs her with a smirk. “Didn’t she tell
you?”
Wanker!
“Lilah, are you getting married?” Meredith whirls around to stare at me,
taking her gaze off Tristan’s glorious face for a whole thirty seconds whilst she
inspects my ring finger. It is bare. I have already stashed the ring in my drawer at
Uni. It’s the only bit of unpacking I have done.
I stare back at her for a moment as I contemplate my response. “Nope. Not if
I can help it.” I say, in firm resolution. Then I think about what Tristan just said.
“What do you mean, John is coming here?” I ask.
“He is coming to plan his bachelor's party.” He watches me closely as I
absorb this information.
“But, there is no wedding!”
“Apparently, there is, just no one bothered to tell you.”
Wanker!
“Oh.” I have no idea what to make of this so I just grab Meredith and wheel
her towards the door.
“Bye, Tristan,” she whispers in what I think is supposed to be her best
seductive voice.
“Hope to see you again,” he responds, his tone makes it quite clear that he is
going to make it his business to ensure he sees her again.
 Double wanker!
Cinderella Will Go to the Ball
All of my stuff from the flat is dumped on the floor of the Guinea Pig cage,
reducing my floor space even more.
I have checked myself in the mirror. I have been playing a little game of
dress up and I kind of look okay. Well, as okay as I am going to get.
The boring brown hair is still there. The boring grey eyes are still there and
so are all the squidgy bits that I wish did not exist. They never used to; they have
crept up on me. I am squidgy where I once used to be firm.
The dress looks good though, and hides a multitude of sins as it skims over
my body and lands by my feet in a waterfall of white silk. It’s my Gucci and my
most favourite item of clothing that I own.
It will be perfect. The sun has been glaring down providing a fabulous
Indian summer, and the campus is alive with beautiful trees and vivid green
grass. I feel so inspired, I have gone all out and put my faith in the slinky white
sheathe dress.
I am about to break another one of my rules, but sod it. The shock of hearing
that John is still planning a wedding that I resolutely do not want is reverberating
around my brain. That my arse of a brother is helping him relieves me of any
guilt I may have felt over half-inching three bottles of champagne from his
supply this afternoon.
Rule One: I will not drink. Oh well, it can start again tomorrow. I am sure I
can keep a handle on it and maintain my mature dignity.

16th September
6.00 a.m.
Holy shit! My head.
There are no words.
Just pain. Pounding. Pounding, pain.
Why? Oh why? Oh why?
Oh yes, that’s right. Champagne, Tequila, Beer, Wine.
That would do it.
Oh, God, the pain!
Water would be very good right now, but water means keeping my eyes
open and using my legs, and I know that is going to hurt even more. Too much
too cope with.
My mouth feels like the Sahara with no oasis in sight. I would do anything
for an Oasis right now, or an Evian. Who am I kidding? I would do anything for
tap water right now.
I wonder if I can crawl myself to the bathroom and just lay in the bath with
my mouth positioned under the tap for an hour.
I wonder if the other girls got home okay?
I cannot for the life of me remember anything. I have just woken up in my
bed. I am just thankful that it is my bed.
Wait a minute. How did I even get home?
I have no recollection of the walk across campus or the however many
flights of stairs it is to the dorm, and I most certainly do not remember entering
my room and getting into bed.
Shit.
I am definitely in my room, so that is good. My unpacked boxes are still
scattered around and I can see remnants of last night’s whirlwind dress-up
scattered where I left them.
Wish I had not bothered.
I have just peeked under the duvet. I am also dressed, which I am pleased
about, considering.
As slowly as I can manage without causing my brain to bleed or eyeballs to
fall out, I sit up. I need to get out of the tangle of silk dress and cotton sheets,
which are cutting off the blood supply to my legs.
Honest to god, I think my brain may be about to explode. There is a searing
pain above my right eye, and a steady banging located in the back of my skull. It
may be my brain attempting an escape.
Okay. That’s strange. There are three bottles of water lined up in a row next
to my neatly placed shoes. Where the hell did they come from? Meredith,
perhaps?
Nope. It's no good. I need to lie down again. I sat up way too soon.
The Fresher’s Ball
7.00 a.m.
OH, FUCK! Oh no, no, no, no, no.
I can’t believe it! I have woken up and can now remember the Fresher’s
Ball, in all its high-definition 3D glory.
This is all I can remember of how I broke every single one of my Uni rules. I
am going to write it down and then I am going to forget about it until the day I
die, which may very well be later today.
The Fresher’s Ball completely rocks, but this may be because I break the
‘No Drinking’ rule by consuming:
Half a bottle of champagne
Three tequila shots
Three bottles of beer
Three glasses of water (to keep a balance)
Two glasses of wine
Note to self: This amount of alcohol causes significant pain and memory
misplacement.

Halfway through the evening, the room is spinning in an alarming fashion

and I am using the wall as a support. I would like to move away from it and
dance with my roommates, but I am scared that: A. My legs will fall off, or B. I
will be sick. So instead I just stand and lean, sipping some more water.
The live band is great, though unfortunately I have to look at them through
one eye. If I open both eyes, everything gets a bit blurry.
The lead singer is damn hot: tall and slim with a shock of dark hair and
flashing blue eyes that I can see all the way over from my safety spot against the
wall.
Ha ha! If I open both eyes there are two of him!
One eye, one singer. Two eyes, two singers. One eye, one singer. Two eyes,
two singers.
I think he may be glancing in my direction, but cannot be sure. Maybe he is
just working out if he needs to get someone to call an ambulance for me.
Oh no! I probably look like I am winking at him. I am such an idiot!
I decide to head back to the bar and get another bottle of water. Without a
backwards glance at the stage—let’s be honest I am in no condition to be
glancing anywhere—I make my way to the bar. Froebel college is an old
mansion house made up of a rabbit warren of rooms that I stumble my way
through until I find where they have hidden the bar. Once there, I attempt to
communicate with the barman for a bottle of overpriced water.
Sipping my drink, I turn from the bar, but someone is blocking my path back
to the exit. I look up and see a pair of blue eyes twinkling down at me.
Ah, pretty, blue sparkly eyes like the sky at midday. I appear to be
completely at a loss for words. Again.
A dark head lowers to examine me closer.
“Ben,” he introduces, holding his hand out to me, his blue eyes crinkling.
On closer inspection, I see they are surrounded by the cutest freckles I have
ever seen.
“Lilah,” I respond, taking his hand. I don’t shake it, I just hold it.
That is so not cool.
I hope I am not still looking through just one eye. “You’re the singer guy,
right?” At least my tongue still works.
He flashes me a wicked smirk. “Singer guy, I am,” he replies, his hand still
holding mine.
I have no urge to move away.
“You’re the girl in the knock out white dress,” he adds.
I have nothing to say to this, but he laughs all the same.
“Would you like to go outside for some fresh air?” he asks, leaning forward
slightly and talking right into my ear. His warm breath sends shivers down my
arm and various other places.
“I should find my friends,” I say. I don’t want to. I want to follow the blues
outside, but there is a teeny tiny part of my inebriated brain that knows this may
be a bad idea.
“Come on, Lilah.” He tugs at my hand, and my willpower crumbles like a
sandcastle in the tide and I follow him without a second thought.
I Will Not Talk to Boys . . . Much
Hold on a minute. It gets worse.
Outside, he takes a crumpled packet of cigarettes out of his jeans pocket. I
cannot help but focus on his hand sliding into the tight space of his dark blue
jeans.
I am a dirty pervert.
He offers me one, and I automatically accept.
Well, that is a pile of Crap!
I have broken all four of my cardinal rules within twenty-four hours of
starting Uni.
Well done, Delilah! I offer myself an imaginary clap on the back.
“I wasn’t winking at you, by the way.” I assure him.
“What?”
“Um, nothing.”
 “So you here as a guest or a student?” he asks, leaning in and lighting my
ciggie for me.
“Student,” I reply, attempting not to slur.
He lifts an eyebrow at this.
“Yes, I know I am old!” I retort. I should just walk away but my legs are not
responding to any command my brain makes. Apart from the one that instructs
me to stand there like a dick.
“Hardly.” The blues hold mine.
“Twenty-five is pretty old compared to all the spring chickens in there.” I
motion my head to the hall behind me full of dancing teenagers.
Motioning of head is not such a great idea. My vision is about 5 seconds
behind.
“I’m twenty-five,” blue-eyed Ben informs me.
“Oh.”
“So what are you studying?”
He is standing really close, very close indeed. I seem to be staring at his lips
as he speaks, they are all I can focus on. Everything else is blurred or doubled.
I take a long drag of my cigarette.
“History,” I tell him, waiting for the laugh. None comes. “So, have you been
with the band long?”
“Ten years.”
“Wow! That’s a long time.” It really is.
“Yeah, I guess.” He throws his cigarette away and I follow suit. He still does
not move away from me. This guy obviously does not follow the rules of
etiquette regarding personal space.
“You don’t recognise me, do you?”
Of all the questions I am expecting, this one is not it. “No. Should I?”
“I played at a Christmas party last year. You were there.”
I stare at the blues as he speaks; they are a little mesmerising. Let’s just hope
I have my mouth closed.
I remember the band now, and I vaguely remember him. Well, not him
exactly, but something about the colour blue. John had been a complete arsehole
that evening, not leaving me alone for a minute. It had been suffocating and in
the end we had left early. The evening was so bad I have forced myself to never
think about it again.
“Sorry,” I offer. I kind of am.
“I think I prefer the white dress to the red.”
 What?! He can remember the dress I was wearing nine months ago! I am
about to say something . . . anything . . .
Then he is kissing me: his mouth warm and firm on mine.
WHAT ON EARTH AM I DOING?
It should be strange, but it is not as strange as you’d think. I automatically
lean in and slide my hands into his black hair, pulling him down closer. His hand
grazes down my back and over my left butt cheek. I am not complaining though.
Nope, no complaints here. None at all.
Just like that my knees start to go. His arms slide around me holding me up
and I think he may be chuckling, but I am not sure. It is hard to hear anything
above the roaring in my ears.
This is the point I realise I am going to be sick all over a complete stranger I
have just snogged.
“I think I should help you home,” he says into my ear.
“What? No way! If you think I am going to let you take me home so I will
have sex with you, you’re sorely mistaken! I am not some gir—” My words are
cut off by his lips. I try to protest but soon give up. It is not the most convincing
protest I have ever made. I have protested more over cold toast.
“I am not taking you home so I can take advantage of you,” he says after
finally pulling away so I can gasp a breath.
“You are really rather drunk and I think you should let me help you home,”
he continues, a smile playing on his lips. He is probably right.
I can barely stand up, though I am not sure if that is through lack of oxygen
whilst kissing or from too much booze.
“Besides,” he says with a twinkle of blues, “when I do have sex with you, I
would rather you were a little more sober.”
I start to protest again but his arms lift me up and throw me over his
shoulder in a very unflattering fireman lift.
“Where do you live, Lilah?” he asks.
He is never going to know, so I tell him, just so he has to admit he does not
have a clue.
To my immense surprise he just starts striding off across campus.
I try to think of ways to get down, but in the end just give up and stare at his
rather tidy arse as my eyesight starts to go black.

This is all I remember.

So kill me now.
 I can’t believe that I got drunk enough to snog a stranger, even a hot one.
What a complete bloody idiot. I may never, ever leave this room again. Ever.
I am going back to sleep. Hopefully when I wake up I will realise that this
has all been a hideous nightmare.
Bacon
8.30 a.m.
Shit.
I’ve come around again to the smell of bacon.
Mmm, bacon. I don’t care who is cooking I just need some of the crispy
goodness. Easing out of bed with very little crying or moaning I fling on the first
clothes to hand and creep down the hallway attempting to keep my head as still
as possible. Actually I ache all over. What on earth was I doing last night?
Oh, yes, that’s right. Dancing, snogging, dying.
Lock me up now.
I shuffle into the kitchen. I don't think I have even been in this room yet, but
that is not what stops me in my tracks.
"What the hell?" The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. I
wish I had, then I could turn away and do a high-speed shuffle to safety before
being seen.
Standing at the cooker with his back to me is Ben the Singer Guy. I know
who it is before he has even turned around.
He is just as tall as I remember, all long legs and defined back muscles,
wearing jeans with bare feet, his T-shirt damp around the neck where his just-
washed hair has been dripping as it dries. For the second time in twenty-four
hours my brain fails to compute anything, anything at all.
He turns to face me and flashes me a cocky grin, one side of his smile lifting
slightly higher than the other.
"Morning," he says, smooth as you like, sliding bacon out of a pan and onto
a plate.
"What are you doing here?" I ask, but also really not wanting to know the
answer. Did he sleep in one of the other girl’s bedrooms? Good god, did he sleep
in my bedroom?
He grabs another plate from a cupboard and dishes some more bacon onto it,
then sets about buttering some toast.
"Making breakfast." He slides a plate towards me, which I automatically
reach for.
 Curse my stomach and its hunger pains.
"I see that, but why are you in my kitchen making breakfast?" I try not to
make it sound accusatory but fail miserably.
"Technically, I think six people live here, of which you are one," he smarts
back. “So I think only one sixth of the kitchen is yours. Which sixth would you
like? The sink?"
Ha! Bloody ha in the morning.
"Actually, for your information"—I pause for effect—"Only five of us live
here. Question is: Which room did you sleep in?" I sound like a nut case. He
should just walk out and leave me to be crazy by myself.
Hopefully he will leave me with the bacon.
"Um, nope. There are six of us that live here."
His eyes, which really are an extraordinary blue, gaze on me as he observes
me processing this information. It must be funny to watch, as by the time I have
come to realise that the ‘us’ he is referring to means that he is going to be living
here as well . . . in this flat . . . under the same roof . . . with me for the whole
academic year . . . His lips are fighting the urge to break into a grin.
You have got to be kidding me!
I glare at him. Go on, laugh. "You know I think you’re a dick, right?"
He laughs out loud.
"Well, then my job here is done." He sniggers as he flicks on the kettle.
“Coffee?" he asks, grabbing two mugs out of another mysterious cupboard.
How come he knows where everything is and I have not even been in the
kitchen before? I can’t be bothered to ask though.
"White, two sugars, please," I say with a sigh as I slide my bum onto one of
the stools under the counter. It's only when I feel the cool plastic material against
my bare leg that I realise I am standing there with practically no clothes on.
Like nothing.
Just skimpy shorts made out of ridiculously miniscule scraps of material, not
intended to cover essentials, and a camisole. No underwear or anything.
He’s still watching my face and I don’t want to look like a complete prude
so I just sit there trying to cross my arms over my chest. It is a bit cold. There is
sure to be nipple rise.
"So how's the hangover?" He smirks, and I can't really blame him. Last time
he saw me I was passed out over his shoulder. I almost join in until I remember
that I have not brushed my teeth yet.
God, I am such a treat!
 "It's cracking actually." I end up smiling. I can't help it. He smiles, too, his
blue eyes holding mine for the briefest moment, just long enough for my cheeks
to warm up.
“What was with the kissing?” Did I just say that?
The blues stare at me. “Seemed like a good idea.”
“Seemed like?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s nice.”
“Listen, Lilah. I saw you from across the room and recognised you from last
year. I have been kind of trying to spot you again since then. I just grabbed my
opportunity when it arose.”
I try to think of a suitable response, but the only thing I can come up with is,
“Huh.”
Very clever.
“Well, now we live together, so I shall try not to kiss you again.” He smirks
a little more, which just pisses me off. Like I would let him do that again.
“Should not be a problem. I won’t be getting that drunk again,” I retort,
grabbing my plate and heading for the door.
Pissed off or not, there is no way I am not eating that bacon.
Fresher’s Ball Post-Mortem
5.00 p.m.
It is a well-known fact that whenever a group of girls go out for an evening,
the next day must be spent analysing exactly what happened in the teeniest
detail. Meredith and I have been doing this whilst vegetating on my bed eating
through a party-sized pack of Doritos and a giant bar of Cadbury Whole Nut.
Meredith has given me the low down on what actually happened. As
painfully clear as my recollections are, I am still missing huge chunks of the
evening.
“So you were standing against that wall,” she says around a bite of
chocolate.
“Yes, yes, I remember that bit.”
“Then you tottered off to that fit Aussie behind the bar, who, for the record,
was seriously eyeing you up.”
“Was not.”
“Was too.
“Was not.”
 “Was too.”
“Oh for god’s sake, Meredith, get on with it.”
“Anyway, Ben saw you stagger away from your little safety spot and
practically jumped off the stage to chase after you, shouting something about
needing a break.”
“He did not!”
“He did.”
“He did not.”
“He did.”
“Meredith, please, this is killing me.”
“Oh yeah, anyway I lost sight of you for a moment, the band just carried on
playing and I thought nothing of it until I caught a flash of white through the
window.”
“There was a window?”
“Uh, yeah. The whole place turned to watch you guys stare at each other as
you smoked your cigarettes, standing dangerously close whilst holding a flaming
object, by the way.” She wags her finger at me.
“Whatever.”
“Anyway, even the band was watching by this point as he leant in to kiss
you all romantically and you practically climbed into his skin.”
“Did not.”
“Did too.”
“Did not.”
“Did too.”
“Shut up.”
“The drummer gave a little drum roll and the whole place laughed,
especially when your knees did that little buckle.”
Damn it.
“Then you stood there glaring at him before he threw you over his shoulder
and walked off with you. Everyone cheered at that bit.”
Damn it.
“Did you not think he may be taking me off to murder me and you should
come to my rescue?”
“Nah, you seemed to be enjoying yourself.”
Damn it.
“I did check on you when I got back.”
“Thanks.”
 “You’re welcome. You were comatose and drooling, no doubt thinking
about Mr. Sexy next door.”
“Oh do be quiet and pass the bloody chocolate.”
We sit in silence for a moment munching on the chocolate. I’m not sure
what Meredith is thinking about. I’m thinking about snogging hot, sexy
strangers.
“Well I guess you will have lots of time to drool over Ben in class,” she says
after a while.
“Pardon?”
“Ben, you know when we’re in History together. You will be able to drool to
your heart’s content.”
Damn it.
“You should see your face.”
“Bugger off.”
Damn him and his cocky smile and his blue eyes with freckles. Damn him to
the pits of hell and keep him there.

17th September
Yay! First day of University! Well, first proper day that does not involve
being hideously drunk or puking from too much alcohol, nor hiding in my
bedroom to avoid my rather attractive but equally aggravating neighbour.
Meredith and I have met for breakfast. I cannot eat, though, I’m way too
excited. So I just sip my coffee.
“Are you on a diet?” she asks.
“No, does it look like I am on a diet?” I poke my squishy middle to prove
the point.
“Why are you not eating?”
Meredith is fast becoming my bestie. However, she does ask daft questions.
“Because I’m not hungry,” I reply, adding an eye roll for good measure.
“Who’s not hungry?” Ben asks as he saunters in looking annoyingly fresh in
a blue shirt and dark jeans. Clearly he is not having a problem with lack of
appetite. He is stuffing a whole doorstep of toast into his mouth.
I stare at him in disgust.
“What?” He mock shrugs around the overload of toast.
“You’re repulsive.”
“Not what you said the other night.” He gives me a wink, which makes me
flush.
“Really? Did you just say that?”
“What?” he replies.
I flip him the finger. Meredith watches us with an amused expression on her
face. Meredith thought I was hysterical yesterday when I practically barricaded
myself into my room so I could not be tempted to try and snog Ben again.
That would have been dead embarrassing.
“Lilah, would you like a coffee?”
“Oh, yes, please, and a snog as well while you’re at it.”
Maybe not. Best to act indifferent.
“Dick,” I mutter under my breath, heading for the door grabbing my
backpack as I go, purposely nudging him with my shoulder as I walk by. All I
manage to achieve is knocking him off balance, which in turn makes him grab
out for my squishy waist to balance against with fingers splayed along my
midriff. I avert my gaze and duck around him.
Complete and utter rubbish.– Thirty seconds in a room with him and I have
managed to initiate some skin on skin contact.
Excellent.
Fountain Pen
Howard, Howard. Where the hell is Howard?
No, I am not lusting after yet another guy. Howard is the building our
History classes are in. Thing is, none of us have brought along a map. No
chance!
We are way too cool for that!
So instead, we just follow each other around in circles until finally I give up
and head into the library. With a big sigh of exasperation I decide to ask for
directions.
It is just across the lawn, and quite pretty really. I try to slow my pace so I
can gaze at the view, but Meredith tows me along by the elbow. Apparently, all
of our aimless circling has made us late.
Registration involves picking our modules for the year and signing our
name.
That’s it.
Funny bit is we don’t actually get to pick any modules. As we are single
honour students, we are told which ones to complete.
Yay.
 Meredith and I sit together. Ben sits behind us, his long legs stretching out in
front of him, tapping the leg of my chair for the duration of our time in the
lecture room.
A Barbie girl comes in smelling heavily of some pop-star perfume.
“You’re that guy from the band?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Hi, I’m Barbie.”
This is what it sounds like to me.
“Hi. Ben Chambers,” he replies.
I can’t see him, but I know he is giving her the lopsided smirk.
I find myself swinging my chair onto the two back legs so I can get a bit
closer to hear their conversation. I think she is asking him out.
What a bloody floozy!
I straighten up when there is a tap on my shoulder.
That’s embarrassing.
“Can I borrow your pen?” Ben asks.
“Seriously, you did not bring a pen to the first day of term?”
“No. Are you gonna lend or not?”
Out of the corner of my eye I can see Barbie reaching for her biro.
“It’s a fountain pen. Can you write with one of those?”
Oh please, lord, tell me I did not just say that!
The blue eyes stare at me, and then his brows give a slight sarcastic lift.
“Oh, I am sure I can manage, just this once.” He smirks.
“Dick,” I mutter under my breath, turning back around to hide my flaming
red cheeks.

18th September
After registration yesterday and my little ‘fountain pen’ gaffe we were all
trooping back across campus (I was still attempting to admire the view), when
Ben suggested the three of us go for a drink at the student union bar. I was in
two minds, part of me wanted to get back to the Guinea Cage and away from
Ben as quick as possible. The other half of me wanted to find out what the
student bar was like.
“Come on, Lilah, what’s the worst that can happen? It’s only one pint of
beer,” he’d taunted with his smirky half-lip-hitch.
That’s true. What’s the worst that can happen?
 Meredith and I turned our feet to follow the path his were taking and trailed
after him inside bar.
The worst that can happen is that I don’t just have the ‘one pint’ as Ben
suggests to the barman, Trev, with a commanding wave of the hand which
makes my stomach take an alarming dive to an area that has not been utilised in
a while. A long while.
The worst that can happen is that I drink five beers and end up drunk, being
groped against a tree in the middle of campus with my legs clamped around
Ben’s waist.
I am blaming Meredith. She should never have left me alone. Again.
Lilah + Ben + Alcohol = Bad.
During our little boozy afternoon sojourn in the bar Meredith was courted by
a vast line of suitor’s who were all knocked out by her green eyes and flame hair
combo. By the time we got up to leave and found that it was getting dark
outside, she was royally smashed but perhaps not as much as me considering she
managed to make it across campus without borderline assaulting someone.
Meredith disappeared off into the dark shadows and left me meandering along
after Ben who by this point, due to my inebriated state was looking even hotter
than normal.
Hot does not cover it. Scorching is the more accurate temperature
description.
So there I am, tipsy, against a tree, legs in inappropriate places, and I am just
considering the unfastening of some clothing when thankfully my commonsense
came back and gave me a hearty slap around the face. I pushed at Ben’s chest
until he released me from his unconventional hold and then took a step back
from him contemplating what to say to him.
“Sh'tell him the truth,” Meredith had slurred at me before leaving me to my
downfall.
I should have, I should have told him about John and the simple fact I am
not in a position to be groped against trees. Did I? Of course I bloody didn’t. I
ran away like a big fat girl, leaving him standing there alone in the darkness
probably thinking that he had been attacked by a complete lunatic.
What’s that sound? Oh, hold on a minute. It must be my self-respect and
dignity fleeing from campus.
Evaluation
Time to evaluate my first few days at University. So far I have:
 Been drunk excessively.
Smoked excessively.
Flirted with/kissed a sexy hot boy. Twice.
Failed to pay any attention at all during first lecture due to eavesdropping on
sexy hot boy’s conversation behind.
Been home to my flat and caught by ghastly brother doing so.
Not good. Not good at all, Delilah.
Not a very successful start to term. Hopefully things will improve tomorrow
once lectures begin in earnest.
We are studying lots of exciting topics like Ancient Rome, something about
Athens and . . . hold on . . . I almost fell asleep there thinking about it.
I have to remind myself that this is what I actually wanted. I chose to come
here. So tomorrow there will be no flirting and no drinking. I can’t promise on
the cigarettes. I would rather give in and have a ciggie than give in and throw
myself at Ben like the wanton hussy that I apparently am.

19th September
I am winning. No alcohol has passed my lips today and I have not snogged
anyone either—top marks all around.
I did nearly fall off my chair in class as I tried to listen to whatever brainless
drivel Barbie was whispering to Ben, until Meredith gave me a sharp elbow in
the ribs.
“What are they whispering about?” I hiss in her general direction whilst still
balancing on two chair legs.
“Get a grip, Lilah, they are looking at the primary source which we are
supposed to be doing as well,” she hissed back.
Whatever.

20th September
There is a flaw in my plan to ignore Ben.
We are the only ones who smoke, which means this keeps happening:
“Hey,” Ben says.
Oh, for fuck’s sake!
“Hey.”
 “Can I borrow a cigarette?”
“Do you plan to give it back?”
“No.”
“Well then it is not borrowing is it?” I am being facetious but who cares?
“Why are you hiding in a hedge?”
“Why are you following me into a hedge?” I have my eyes closed to ignore
him, but I know he is smirking.
“I’m just enjoying the beautiful campus.”
“Oh, go away, you thoroughly irritating person!”
“No can do. I am quite attached to this hedge.”
I can’t help it, I start to smile. It is bloody impossible not to.
“Well I shall find somewhere else to smoke then.”
“Am I annoying you?”
“Yes, you’re breathing.”
He slowly eyes me up and down. “Nice tracksuit. Have you been
exercising?”
“Fuck off.”
“Charming.”
Silence.
“Listen, Ben, we don’t have to talk to each other just because we are the
only ones out here.”
“Guess not.” He gives a little shrug and stubs out his cigarette before
wandering off in the direction of the library and I am left with a distinct urge to
follow him.
I don’t. I am maintaining some self-control but I find it best to come back
into the dorm and barricade myself in. That way I can’t be tempted to go and
loiter in hedges and flowerbeds.

21st September
It’s been a full week of lectures. I have to admit it is slightly more difficult
than I anticipated. You actually have to do reading and stuff in preparation for
the lessons, and once you are there you are expected to participate (which
sucks). I wish someone had told me this before I had enrolled. I may not have
bothered.
I have always loved reading—my boxes of books give that away. It turns out
that I am an amateur reader. I just like my books to sit there looking pretty, ready
for me to dip in and out of them as I fancy. The reading lists accompanying the
course outlines that were jovially given out by the crazy lecturers are enough to
make even a hardened reader weep.
Every time I get called on in class, I go bright bloody red. Not helped by the
fact that yesterday during our lecture on Ancient Rome I suffered the most
terrible coughing fit. The girl sitting on the other side of me— Emma, I think her
name is—sympathetically offered me her bottle of water which I greedily
guzzled. This successfully stopped the coughing but resulted in a very loud and
impossible to disguise burp.
There was a loud laugh from the chair behind me. Ben’s chair.
I am trying to ignore Ben. I truly am, but it is kind of hard when he is always
about, everywhere I go I see him. If I am walking one way across campus, I can
guarantee he will be passing the opposite. If I am going up the library stairs, he
will be coming down (which is embarrassing because I am normally
hyperventilating) and if I go out for a cigarette, the door will bang a few
moments later and he will soon be standing in front of me looking outrageously
sexy blowing smoke in the air. I just stand there like a mute tongue-less nerd
trying not to drool. He is going to think I am raving lunatic soon.
Earlier, he came out of the bathroom wrapped only in a damp towel, which
caused me to drop my plate of Ryvita all over the floor. He smirked as he
walked past me into his room wafting whatever manly shower gel he uses into
my nostrils.
Twenty minutes later he emerged looking outrageously sexy. All done up
boy fashion with a dark shirt, jeans, and hair artfully tousled, he gave us a wink
and exited through the front door before anyone could ask with whom he had a
date. Date?
Date.
He has a date?
It’s only the first week of term! How does he have a date?
Why does he have a date?
Jesus! He was only backing me up against a tree a few nights ago! Really?
Why?
Answer: because he is ridiculously fucking hot and I have been ignoring him
all week acting like he is some sort of scumbag because he kissed me when I
was drunk. Twice.
There is nothing worse than chastising yourself. It’s really bloody annoying
and something I have to do often.
22nd September
7.00 p.m.
Ben’s date must have gone really well because he has not come home. Not
that I am listening for him. Okay, maybe a little bit. No, I’m not.
I’m just sitting on my bed idly wasting away my Saturday, with my ear
super glued to the wall. I don’t want to go into town in case I see Tristan. It’s a
slim chance, but one I am not willing to take. I really don’t think that seeing my
infuriatingly perfect brother tonight will do good things for my state of mind.
I’m trying to remember when I started disliking my twin so much. I think it
was around the time when we were fifteen and he started trying to shag all my
friends. He stopped in the end, but only because he ran out of options once I
started working at Dad’s bank. Tristan knows better than to try something on
with one of Dad’s employees. That is a lawsuit waiting to happen.
I might go and see what Meredith is doing.
Town
9.00 p.m.
We are sitting in a pub on Putney High Street. It is a fab old-fashioned pub,
which I can see becoming a firm favourite, but it smells strangely of old farts.
That might be a contribution from the old man next to us.
It seems Meredith has powers of persuasion that I cannot contend with.
When I knocked on her door earlier and found her deeply engrossed in
Eastenders, I had said that I was happy to just sit around at home, watch some
telly or listen to music—anything at all. Anything that did not involve drinking
too much or snogging someone I hardly know.
One hour later we are on our second bottle of wine and I am starting to feel
the effects.
“So, Ben?”
“Yes?”
“Well, you like him, right?”
“What on earth makes you think that?”
“Um, you go bright red every time you see him, stare at him constantly, and
have kissed him twice in seven days.”
Bollocks.
“I do not!”
“I think the lady does protest too much!”
 “I am not protesting too much! I don’t even look at him if I can help it.”
It’s true. I have been trying to keep my eyes averted at all costs, trying to
ignore a very frustrating attraction that is starting to seep into my consciousness.
I mean, it is pathetic.
Ooh, I wonder what Ben is doing now. I wonder if he is at the library. I
wonder what T-shirt he will wear today. I wonder what he looks like in just
pants. Ooh, I wonder what he looks like with no pants.
Blush, blush, it is all deeply embarrassing. I am reverting to a teenager at a
dramatic pace.
“Babe, if that is you trying not to look at him, then you are doing a
completely shit job.” She is only reaffirming what I already know.
I need to make a stand. I look Meredith straight in the eyes.
“Ben is clearly a player, and as such he holds no interest for me whatsoever.
Just because I kissed him once, um, twice, does not mean I plan to do so again,
ever. Ever.”
There. I think that made my point quite clear.
She is staring over my head, lips curved in a smile.
“That’s a shame, Delilah. I was so planning on having a repeat performance
soon,” says an amused sounding voice from above and behind me.
I whip around to find Ben, a wicked look on his face, as he watches me
blush what I know is a stunning shade of beetroot. Meredith laughs her head off
as she pushes off her stool and stumbles to the bar, giggling like a hyena the
whole way there.
Nice.
Ben scoots onto her bar stool.
Why does it seem so much closer when he is on it?
The table must have shrunk.
He leans into me, shoulder touching mine, voice low. “You really think I am
player?”
I stare at the blues unsure what to say. No. Yes. I don’t bloody know. “Well,
how was your date?”
“Date?
“Yes. You know, all dressed up and out for the night. The whole night?”
I need to stop speaking.
“Funny date, with three other male band members.”
Oh.
“Oh.”
 “Do you think you would like to go on a date sometime?”
“Pardon?”
“You know. Go out with me?” he asks with a nervous twiddling of his
lighter.
Say no. Say no.
“Uh, yeah. I guess.”
Meredith comes back with a pint for Ben and three whisky chasers. She
gives me a blatant conspiratorial wink as she hands out the drinks.
Curse this girl and her penchant for spirits!
We knock them back, and the whiskey burns my throat on the way down,
and not at all in a good way.
The moment I put my glass down, the room starts to spin in an alarming
fashion.
This is a little worrying as the room is already spinning and I have a bad
feeling the whiskey wants to say hello again.
“You don’t mind if I crash your girls’ night, do you?” Ben asks with a
distracting blue eye twinkle and freckle crinkle.
“Yes,” I reply just as Meredith pipes in with, “No.”
“Good that’s sorted then.” He smirks as he shrugs out of his jacket.
I try very hard not to focus on the removal of clothing, ignoring the flash of
skin above his jeans, which exposes a strip of firm abs. He catches me looking
and gives me a wink.
Damn it.
I flush beetroot red.
I need a cigarette, or Valium, or something.
“I am going for air,” I announce, pushing away from the table.
“You okay, Lilah? You look a bit hot,” Meredith asks, completely oblivious.
“Mmm, great,” I mutter back before turning and attempting to make it to the
door without face-planting the floor.
I am so far from cool right now, a heat-seeking missile could pick me out in
a crowd.
It is fair to say that Ben Chambers brings out the worst in me. How did I go
from sounding like a crazy stalker to agreeing to a date all in one conversation?
It makes no sense.
Why did he even bother to ask me out, when it is apparent I am completely
and utterly bloody deranged? Why did I even say ‘yes’ when I know I shouldn’t
have done?
 He did ask me out, right? Or did I just imagine it?
I could have done. I am heading into Crazyville at a rapidly increasing pace.
Cigarette Break
It takes approximately three minutes for Ben to accompany me down the
dingy alleyway I have found, lighting a cigarette of his own. He takes a deep
drag and blows the smoke away into the air above him. I am not sure how he
manages to make it look so sexy, but he does.
Oh, he really does.
“What’s up?” he asks once he’s finished artfully blowing smoke in a
mesmerising manner.
“Nothing,” I say, looking anywhere but at him.
“Really? Nothing?”
“That’s what I said.”
“Any reason you don’t want me around?”
Yes. I fancy the hell out of you but also have a fiancé.
I look up to meet his gaze. “Uh, no not at all.”
“Sure?”
“Sure.”
“So you’re not ignoring me on purpose then?”
“Um, nope.”
“Okay.” He eyes me with an amused expression on his face.
It makes me want to punch him or kiss him. It’s a fifty/fifty split. “Okay.”
“It’s just I would hate it if I made you feel uncomfortable by kissing you the
other day.”
God, this is just mortifying.
“Not at all, Benjamin.”
The smirk gets bigger.
“That’s okay then, Delilah.”
“Good.”
“Good.”
I can feel his fingers seek out my own. I am too scared to look in case he
moves away.
We stare at each other for a few moments: blues meeting greys, fingers
touching loosely, but not letting go.
“Come on, let’s go and rescue Meredith,”
I tug at his hand keeping my hold on his fingers as we head back inside.
Turns out she does not need rescuing. Tristan the Arse is sitting in what was my
seat. I am going to tell him something along the lines of "F’off," but then he
makes a point of staring at my hand, which is still clasped in Ben’s so I don’t say
a word. I just let them get on with it.

23rd September
I am a stalker.
Last night after I was assured by Meredith that she was more than happy
with my brother’s company (can’t think bloody why), Ben and I walked out into
the pub’s courtyard garden where we played a game of ‘get to know you.’
Well, I played a game of ‘let’s stalk Ben Chambers so I can write it all down
in my diary when I get home and re-read it forever more.’
These are things I found out:
Ben’s band ‘Sound Box’ is doing well, but they are at the point of make it or
break it.
Ben comes from Dorset (I drunkenly suggested we should go for a walk on
the beach there one day because that is where one of my favourite books is
based. So kill me now.)
He has never had a proper girlfriend before (This little nugget of information
caused me to spray my spritzer all over the table.)
“As bloody if!” I exclaim once we have stopped giggling from my wine
fountain, but apparently it is true. Ben says he has always been too busy with the
band. Then when he realised maybe he was missing out on something he could
no longer work out if the girls were interested in him, or the fact he stood at the
front of a stage and played guitar. I thought this was one of the saddest things I
ever heard and stared into the blues for a moment contemplating why he thought
I was different enough to jump off the stage for, but I shook the thought away
without voicing it.
In return I told him:
Nothing.
Well, nothing of any real importance like “Uh, yeah, sorry I forgot to
mention it the other day when you had me backed up against a tree, but I have a
fiancé.”
I feel bad, but I was having so much fun sitting there with him, I didn’t want
to tell him the truth. I am scared that if I do tell him then he will not be interested
in me anymore. Deep down I know I would be sorely disappointed if that was to
happen almost as disappointed as I was last night when he kept his promise not
to kiss me and instead just pecked me on my cheek outside my door.
I fell into bed grinning like a buffoon.
I am still grinning like a buffoon now.
This is not good. Not good at all.

24th September
Apparently there was homework over the weekend. I didn’t do it. I spent
most of yesterday reading the same paragraph over and over again and doodling.
I do a fine line in doodling, lots of triangles.
I also spent a reasonable amount of time listening to Ben play guitar through
the wall. I resisted the urge to knock and ask if I could sit in.
So, basically, no studying was accomplished which is a problem. I need to
try harder, otherwise this will be an adventure in futility and my dad will be
proven right.
It was with this in mind that I slipped out of the lecture hall as soon as
today’s seminar was over and dashed off to the library before anyone could stop
or distract me.
I have sat here for two hours staring blankly at the books.
Oooh, a text message.
Tacos in 15 if you want. B.x
Way-hay! Ben’s number! Think I will store that.
9.00 p.m.
I am lying in bed, listening to Ben play guitar through the wall. It sounds
rather pretty.
What a bizarrely domestic evening. When the text came through, I packed
up my stuff at superhuman speed then ran it out of the library as quick as my
legs could carry me. I am all for the study but I am also all for tacos, especially if
they are being served up by a hottie.
The tacos are good. The company is even better.
I do no studying at all. Well, not in the traditional study of books, per se.
I do perform a detailed study of Ben’s bottom, which is deliciously encased
in low-slung jeans.
I wash up after dinner as he sits on the work-surface and chats, drying the
plates as I pass them along. I manage to drop four plates due to extreme lack of
attention to my task in hand. It was hard to concentrate on anything apart from
my gratuitous ogling. Luckily the plates all bounced. Clearly not fine china.
Ben laughs when the fourth plate slips out of my soapy hand.
“Are you always this clumsy, Lilah?” He chuckles.
The way he says my name makes my stomach take the most alarming dip. I
will be eternally grateful I was not holding a knife at that moment.

25th September
Ben waits for me after class and walks me to the library. I melt a little bit
into a puddle of drool, grinning like a buffoon.
Again.

26th September
Ben waits for me after class again, standing there leaning against the
doorframe looking far more cool than should be legal.
Barbie gives me a glare and I give an imaginary punch in the air.
Stick that, skinny blonde cow.

27th September
Ben waits for me again, handing me a sheet of paper as I approach him.
“What’s this?”
“Notes from class. You did not appear to be listening,” he says with a smirk.
“Thanks.” I am a drooling bright red mess.
He walks me to the library, flashing me a smile as he leaves me at the door,
lighting a cigarette as he goes. It seems Ben is not so keen on the library, yet he
still seems to know the answers to most of the questions in class. And without
burping or going bright red like me.

28th September
I have my Uni schedule well and truly nailed. My agenda goes like this:
 Lectures
Library
Ben ogle time
Apparently another one of Ben’s skills other than playing the guitar, being
super brainy, and looking shit hot is that he can cook. What a result. I cannot
even boil an egg, and judging by how long the smoke alarm was going off the
other day, Meredith cannot make toast. We have been rescued from our joint
culinary dilemma by Ben, who makes chopping an onion look rather sexy.
Goth Chick and the Sparrow are never here. They have made some new,
more interesting friends on a different floor.
Jayne is hanging with us, which is cool. She is really nice, and not at all
plain. In fact, she is actually very pretty.
Ben and I are living in a comfortable sort of stalemate. We move around
each other, being all polite whilst secretly eyeing one another other up. Well, I
know I am eyeing him up, and Meredith, whom I believe is a reliable source,
tells me that he spends a reasonable amount of time looking at me. According to
the Oracle of Staring, he spent a whole three minutes staring at my arse whilst I
rooted around in a cupboard for plates the other day.
There is a crazy sexual tension thing going on, which everyone is beginning
to notice, and I seem to be spending most of my time giggling. Every day he sits
behind me in lectures, tapping the leg of my chair, and every day I lean my chair
closer and closer back towards him. I will land on my arse one day. I know it.
Every night, we sit in our bedrooms next door to one another and have
bizarre text conversations that leave me grinning as I go to sleep.
Ben: What you doing?
Me: Filing my nails.
Ben: Toe or Finger?
Me: Camel toe.
Tonight, we are doing something completely different. We are going to the
local club that holds a student night: The Fez Club. I am not super thrilled about
going clubbing. It is not really my scene. I much prefer a pub and a bottle of
wine to standing in a club surrounded by sweating teenagers.
I hate dancing, and I am pretty sure dancing hates me.
Well, actually the truth is that I hate dancing until I have too much to drink
and then believe that I can dance. Then I do not stop.
 I am worried about how badly I am going to embarrass myself. It could go
either way. I have decided to wear a mature outfit of a black strapless top and
dark blue jeans, a simple and understated ensemble intended to demonstrate my
maturity and dignity.

29th September
Shit. My head. Again.
I am pretty sure that there is a locomotive in my skull performing some form
of Morse code with its horn thingy.
It’s official. I am not mature and I have no dignity whatsoever. Well, now I
don’t.
I cannot stop being sick but I am not sure if it is the alcohol (let’s be honest,
there was a fair amount of it) or if it’s the embarrassment of another incident
involving, me, Ben, and alcohol.
This is terrible. I am going to be stuck in my room all over again all because
I have willpower with the substance of candyfloss.
Fez club, Shmez Club. I am never going there again.
The Fez Club
I am a bit tipsy. Oh, okay, I am very tipsy. Again.
My excuse is that the drinks are cheap: Two pounds a shot!
My kind of bar.
An hour after arriving, Ben has disappeared off somewhere with his band
mates and Meredith and Tristan are in a booth, whispering. When Tristan turns
up, I glare at him. How bloody annoying can he be? Surely he must have
something better to do.
This leaves me putting it about the multi-coloured dance floor with some
strange guy who keeps trying to ruin my solo dance by gyrating in behind me,
placing his hands on my hips and attempting to pull me back into his groin.
Yuck!
I am ducking away, when I see Ben over on the other side of the dance floor.
He is surrounded by girls, who all appear to be in a state of undress. He gives me
a wink when I catch his eye. I want to pull a finger at him for standing there
surrounded by skinny, nearly naked teenage girls, but I manage to maintain some
restraint.
I move myself away from the greaseball with the wandering hands and circle
myself further into the dance floor blocking the view of Ben and his hoard of
fans.
The next thing I feel are some hands circling around my waist again. I turn
around fast, ready to punch the guy with sticky fingers. Instead, I find Ben right
there, standing as close as he can. My mouth flaps open like a fish, not that I
would have anything to say even if he could hear me over the pounding music.
He keeps himself close as he starts to dance with me. It is absolutely
electric! My entire body feels like it is going to combust. As a general rule the
sight of men dancing always makes me laugh. I can’t help it. There is always a
serious amount of "dad-dancing" no matter how hard they try.
But Ben does not have this problem. He fits around me like a jigsaw piece,
his mouth close to my ear. For a split second I think he is talking to me but then
with a shock I realise he is kissing along my jaw and ear lobe. My knees started
to shake a little, which is a trifle embarrassing. Laughing against my ear, he
tightens his arms around me and leads me away and into a dark corner booth.
The Booth of Truth
Ben slides into the booth, pulling me in beside him, his arm still tight around
my waist.
There are a million questions chasing around in my mind but I don’t ask any
of them. I just kiss him instead. Fervently. And then I kiss him some more.
I am on fire, literally, as he trails his lips along my naked shoulder his hands
brazenly sliding around my back, his fingertips grazing under the hem of my top.
I should stop, but I don’t. I can’t. I just move closer and closer to him.
Hot. Hot. Hot.
How hot can one boy be? It’s wrong on so many levels but right in the
moment I don’t care. I don’t care about anything I just allow myself to slide
deeper under and melt into him.
And then . . . I give myself a mental bitch-slap and ease away, but not out of
arm’s length.
“I can’t do this,” I confess with a sigh that may be a little breathless.
“Why?”
The question sounds less concerned or frustrated than I am expecting.
“Because I just can’t. It’s complicated.”
His lips don’t cease their path up my shoulder and neck.
“Complicated,” he murmurs. “It sounds serious.”
“I am with someone else.”
 There it is: the big fuck-off bombshell in the proceedings.
I cannot read his normally bright eyes. It’s too dark, and his eyelashes
obscure any reflection.
I am about to apologise or something, I feel I should, when to my complete
and utter surprise, he leans back in and kisses me again firmly, his lips opening
my own. He is pretty hard to resist, so I don’t bother.
Some point later, he whispers against my ear, breathing warm air along my
throat. “I’m going to set myself the challenge to make you mine.”
I throw my head back and laugh in response. “Oh, really?”
“Yes. I like this. It’s something I think I can get used to.”
His lips are still trailing their maddening pattern.
“You sound very confident, Mr Chambers.”
“I am.”
I slide out of the booth and grab his hand to bring him back onto the dance
floor where we melt into the crowd, our bodies still pressed together tight, which
is where we stay until two this morning, when the bouncers finally empty us off
the dance floor.
Meredith?
It was only when we are outside and buttoning our jackets that I realise I
cannot find Meredith. Best Friend Award goes to me. After about twenty
minutes of frantically searching the crowds and the kebab shop for her, I
remember that I have a useful item called a phone in my coat pocket.
First try: No answer.
Second try: “Mmm, yes?”
“Meredith, where the hell are you? I’ve been looking everywhere!”
“At the flat.”
“Oh, okay then. We’ll see you in fifteen, we’re just getting in a cab.”
“Um, not that flat, Lil.”
“Which flat then?”
“Yours, with Tristan.”
“Oh . . .”I don’t know what else to say other than, “See you tomorrow then.”
“Yeah. See you tomorrow, Lilah.”
I can hear her giggling as I hang up.
“Don’t ask,” I warn Ben.
He didn’t.
 Oh well, at least someone may have got laid last night.
I didn’t. Although I am never going to be welcomed open-armed into a
nunnery after the behaviour I exhibited. It was all a bit indecent. By the time we
made it up the stairs to the front door, Ben’s shirt was completely undone. I may
have been working on the fly of his jeans at that point.
We fell through the front door, smacking into the hallway wall as my legs
had snaked around his waist. I don’t know how they even got there. He paused
outside my door, hesitation clear on his face. Then he placed my feet on the
floor, flashed me his wicked grin, and kissed me softly on the lips before
whispering a soft, “Goodnight, Delilah,” as he walked into his own room.
What a gentleman!
It had been all I could do to stumble through my door and land face first on
my bed before passing out.
I woke up an hour ago to a puke fest, and the shame of recollection. I
actually don’t know how I am going to face him today. In fact, I don’t know how
I am ever going to face him again. I may have to hide in my Guinea Pig cage
forever.
Later.
I am still hanging, and I am still thinking of what could have happened. I am
full of remorse, but I am not sure if it is remorse at what did or didn’t happen.
I think I would have done it, a couple more minutes in that hallway and I
would have been undone. I can’t remember the last time I felt like that. Felt like
I was being consumed by fire.
I am not sure I ever have before.
I have not seen Ben today although I can hear him moving about his room
with my stalker hearing.
I am not the only one feeling remorse. Meredith is having a rather large dose
herself. I found her earlier being sick in her sink.
“So did you?” I ask, crash-landing on her bed.
“Lilah!”
“Well did you?”
“No.”
“Really?” I lean up on my elbow to study her.
“No, really! I passed out.”
She looks really sheepish and I completely wet myself.
“It’s not funny! It’s embarrassing!” She elbows me.
 “Don’t worry, Mer. If he thinks you’re worth it, he’ll wait for the right
time.”
“Will he?”
I know Tristan. He is a bit of a ladies’ man, but he definitely seems keen this
time. Well, he has seen her twice. That is keen for Tristan. But then there is the
small issue of the age gap. He is quite a bit older, chronologically speaking,
although he does possess the mental and emotional capacity of a fifteen-year-
old.
She jumps up to be sick again, and I doze to the lovely sound of my friend
retching her guts up.
“What about you?” she asks, returning to a horizontal position next to me,
wiping her face on what appears to be a T-shirt.
“What?”
“Um, smoochie smoochie in a boothie.”
“I can’t believe you just tried to make that rhyme.”
“Well?”
“Well, stuff happened but not everything.”
I would say that it had been pretty bloody close. There had been hands in
inappropriate places—very inappropriate.
I am going to hide under my duvet today. I will face Ben tomorrow.
Tomorrow I will be the grown-up, mature woman I am supposed to be.

30th September
Or tomorrow I will just giggle all day like a teenager. Every time Ben talks
to me I break down into hysterical girly giggles. It’s embarrassing and
mortifying and everything in-between.
“Lilah, do you want to work on that source together?”
Giggle, giggle, and giggle.
“Lilah, can I borrow your Athens book?”
Giggle, giggle, and giggle.
“Lilah, do you prefer ketchup or mayonnaise?”
Giggle, giggle, and giggle.

Okay, I am not giggling anymore. John has just texted me. He wants to see
me on Friday. What on earth am I going to do? I really don’t want to see him. I
don’t want to admit that none of this is real, that I have a life outside of the walls
of this campus where giggling is foreign to me.
I want this to be my reality.
What am I going to say when he asks me what I have been doing at Uni?
The beginning of Uni has not gone at all the way I expected. I have learnt
nothing about history whatsoever. The only thing I have learnt is that I am an
outrageous lush who will soon be arrested for indecent behaviour in public if I
carry on the way I am.
October
November
December
January
 1st January
Hurrah! It’s New Year's Day and for the first time in my adult life I do not
have a hangover.
I awoke to a text from Ben sent bang on midnight.
Ben: Happy New Year, Lilah. XX
Me: Happy New Year, Ben. XX
There was a brief moment where I considered embarking on a text convo,
but then I remembered I am supposed to be spending time by myself and
learning who I am. Texting Ben is not conducive to this plan so I have maturely
switched my phone off to prevent any temptation.
I feel amazing and virtuous and all kinds of good. Today I am going to write
at least 3,000 words of one of my essays. I am also going to research local gyms.
2 p.m.
Just watched an amazing programme about penguins.
5 p.m.
I have written 55 words.
8 p.m.
Antiques Roadshow Christmas Special is on. What a win!
2nd January
Shit! I must have fallen asleep. God damn it! Ugh! It’s 8.30! I am supposed
to be up and finding a gym.
Okay, I can do this. I have to. Those mince pies are starting to show.
Thankfully, my tracksuit pants are very stretchy.

12 Noon
The people at the gym must have seen me coming. I guess this is their
bumper day of the year. All the sorry-for-themselves, overweight people who
have gorged themselves for the 12 Days of Christmas, all queuing up and
begging for forgiveness. I have no shame in admitting I am one of them.
Somehow I am convinced to part with the best part of a thousand pounds.
“Six months with a personal trainer and you will be transformed,” Cheryl, the
stick-thin gym attendant, assures me.
My personal trainer is James, and he is buff, to say the least. After I manage
to close my mouth and stop gawping, he walks me around the machines and
constructs a workout to get the results I want.
“What would you like to achieve, Delilah?” he asks. A coy smile plastered
on his lips as he tries not to laugh at the overweight 26-year-old in the throes of a
mid-twenties break down.
“Um, flat tummy, nice bottom and no bingo wings,” I suggest optimistically.
He looks me up and down then increases all my machine time to twenty
minutes each. I manage three on the cross-trainer before I think I am going to
die.
2 p.m.
It has taken me a whole ten minutes to get up the stairs to the dorm. It seems
your legs turn to jelly after you have been on a cross-trainer, treadmill, rowing
machine, and various weight machines within the same training session. There
had been some super skinny chick there, like really, really skinny. She was
basically a jogging stick. She was still powering on the treadmill when I fell off
my last machine and heaved myself out of the door. But still, that is what I am
going to be like in six months. James assures me that anything is attainable if I
stick to the schedule and the diet plan he has written for me.
“What are you doing?” asks Ben when he approaches.
It’s a fair question. I am lying facedown on the hallway floor.
“I dropped an earring.”
“Why are you bright red?”
“Why are you here?”
That was a bit rude, but I am struggling with my lungs.
“Finishing my essays. Want to study together?”
“Yeah, give me ten minutes,”
And please go away so I can die in peace.
“Do you want some help?”
“With what?”
Yes. Please lift me up and place me into the shower.
“Looking for your earring?”
“Oh. No, it’s okay. Um, I will see you in a few.”
Once his door is safely closed, I crawl to my room where I just lay face first
on my floor for another ten minutes.
Tomorrow will be easier.
3rd January
Tomorrow will not be easier at all. It will be worse.
I do it, though, getting a thumbs-up from James as he swans past me as I'm
heaving away on the bike machine thing. He stops to have a laugh with super-
skinny chick. I power on.
I will be thin.
I will be healthy.
It will all be worth it.
Last night Ben had looked at me like I was deranged as he tucked into his
pizza and I had my salad dressed only with Balsamic Vinegar and a squeeze of
lemon. This morning I bumped into him at breakfast. He only raised his
eyebrows at my Muesli, whereas I wanted to wrestle his slice of Marmite toast
out of his mouth, but I managed to resist. The key is in repeatedly chanting my
mantra to myself:
I will be thin.
I will be healthy.
It will all be worth it.
Not one drop of alcohol has passed my lips in 8 days. It is a miracle.
8 p.m.
One essay is completed and I've got three more to do. I’m incredibly proud
that I have completed my first essay. On the downside, I have to admit that it
makes no sense at all, even to me, and I wrote it. Still, it is done and printed out,
and that is good enough for me.
I texted Meredith earlier to see when she was coming back. She has been at
home convincing her mum and dad to forgive her for ditching them on
Christmas Day. Oh, and for having a twenty-six-year-old boyfriend. They were
not best pleased. There is a rational part of my brain that kind of understands
their sentiment. However, Tristan has been on the charm offensive attempting to
win them over. No word yet on whether he is winning.
It’s a bit weird. Ben and I are here by ourselves, kind of just milling about.
We sat and did some study together this afternoon, after I had recovered from
my gym torture session. He even cooked dinner: grilled chicken and a salad.
Bless him.
So here we are just rumbling along, not touching or being overly familiar at
all. And definitely not talking about Christmas night when we had the best sex
ever: slow, sweet, and perfect. Part of me wants to stand there with hands on my
hips and shout at him, "You know it is not all okay? You know this can’t carry
on, right?" But then there is a small part of my brain that says, This is okay. Why
not just carry on? If he is going away for the summer, I may as well just enjoy
this whilst it lasts.
I cannot think about that now. I have a very important essay about
something or other to compose.
4th January
I woke this morning covered in sweat from the craziest nightmare ever.
I am being chased by a cross-training machine. It is pounding after me down
Putney High Street as I try to escape from it while also shoving a King Size
Snickers in my mouth. The doors to all the pubs are opening and shutting of their
own accord, wafting the smell of smoke and wine at me. They all have Taylor
Swift blaring "Should’ve Said No," as I run past them.
Down on the bridge, super-skinny chick from the gym is doing something
indescribable to Ben. She is only wearing black underwear. I try and get to him
to save him, but it takes me ages to cross the busy road that is jammed with
countless Number 14 buses blocking my path. When I do get across, I see that he
is not trying to get away from her . . .
Oh, god!
It’s 6.30 and I am never going to get back to sleep now. I may as well go to
gym. I think I will jog today instead of taking Deathtrap Cooper.
7.15 a.m.
Super-skinny Chick is also there. Does she ever go home? She gives me a
little smile as I jump on the treadmill. Bitch. After what she was doing to my
boyfriend last night?
Wait a minute. He is not my boyfriend. In fact, less than two weeks ago I
told him to go and live in America for the whole of the summer, where there will
probably be lots of super-skinny chicks all willing to show the British guy a
good time.
Fuck it.
 I pound away harder.
7.50 a.m.
James looks shocked when he comes in and sees me. Ha. And he had the
cheek to laugh at my bingo wings. I will show him.
“Well done, Delilah. You’re looking good,” he calls.
Yeah, right.
8 p.m.
Second essay is done. Completed under duress this time. I jogged back from
the gym and then made the huge mistake of thinking I could cook something. I
created a vegetable stir-fry for lunch. I don’t know why I thought I could do this.
It has given me the shits.
In fact, the world has fallen out of my arse.
I have been hiding in my room all day just legging it to the bathroom every
ten minutes.
I am under my duvet, and I do not plan to move.
8.35 p.m.
Ben just poked his head around my door.
“Are you alive?” he asks.
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Can I get you anything?”
Yes, a new bumhole, please.
“Nah, it’s okay, Ben, I am just going to stay in bed.”
I pull the duvet up to prove my point.
Oh no! He must know I have had the shits all day. I am reading Persuasion
by Jane Austen. It’s my favourite book and my mental comfort blanket when I
feel low.
I am going to settle down for some quality time with Captain Wentworth,
although I am pretty certain that he never had to deal with his Anne having a
dribbly bum.
5th January
Meredith is coming back tonight. Thank god for that! I said I’ll pick her up
from the station at 7. It has been okay here, just Ben and I, but I will be very
grateful to have someone else to talk to. Well, mainly to talk to about Ben.
I’m surprised that she did not suggest the pub, but then I think perhaps Ben
has told her about my crazy detox.
I do not know how it happened, but Ben and Tristan seem to be doing some
bizarre best buddy thing. I mean, at first I didn't notice, I was too busy obsessing
and stalking Ben to realise that he was actually becoming friends with my
brother at the same time. I find it a bit odd because Ben is so normal and nice,
and Tristan is still, well, Tristan. Still only a few hours until my bestie is home
and girl power will be re-instated at flat B Digby Stewart.
7.30 p.m.
“Holy shit, Lilah, you look hot! I just don’t get it!”
I don’t get it either. This is all Meredith has said since I picked her up in the
pissing rain half an hour ago.
“You must have lost a stone since, um, well you know, since . . .”
Yeah, I probably have, I think to myself. But most of it was caused by having
my heart stamped out of my chest, not because I have been detoxing and going
to the gym.
“Doesn’t she look hot, Ben?”
Yes, that is right, Ben is here listening to Meredith wax lyrical about my
drastic weight loss.
“I always think she looks hot,” he replies, his sky blues catching mine.
I feel myself blush furiously.
Surprise, surprise, we have ended up at the student bar, which is open to the
whole seven students currently on campus. I am sticking to the Diet Coke
though, and it feels incredibly empowering. I have my essay to finish later and I
want a clear head for the gym in the morning.
Those are words I never thought I would say.
Meredith has been filling us in on what happened with her mum and dad. It
sounds awful, and I’m very glad that I missed it. Her dad went completely
mental that she failed to have family Christmas with them. She finally managed
to convince them that I was in a really bad way and that she had been worried I
was going to do something drastic. As she says this, she shoots me an apologetic
look, but I just shrug. Whatever works.
Then the bombshell otherwise known as Tristan arrived. He was banned
from their house and told never to darken their doorstep again. The implication
being that he was a complete pervert for going out with a girl so young. To be
fair, six months ago I would have thought the same, but I have seen him with her
and I know that his intentions are as honourable as they could ever be. Tristan, to
his credit, persevered, and managed to get his foot inside the door so he could
talk to her dad without being shot at by his farmer’s rifle. They are still not
happy, but better about it all, which is good.
“So what did you decide about the band?” Meredith asks Ben, after taking a
deep drink of her pint. The question hangs there like a lead balloon.
“I told them ‘yes’,” he says after an age. He has his eyes down on the table
and is not looking in my direction at all.
“You will be back in time for the start of the second year, won’t you?” she
asks.
Yes, won’t you?
“No. If I go, then I will not be coming back. The band needs a full
commitment and I can’t really do both.”
What? Next year he will not be here? I kind of figured we probably would
not live together again, but not be here at all?
The words sit there.
“Oh,” says Meredith.
I can think of nothing to say at all. So I just get up and leave, a frog in my
throat and my legs doing the Elvis wobble.
Spring Term
7th January
8.30 a.m.
Early morning workout.
I couldn’t sleep last night, so figured I would have a quick workout before
heading back to class. It's a new term today, new subjects and all.
The only thing I can think is: He won’t be here.
He won’t be here.
Next year I will be here and he won’t. He will be somewhere else. Without
me.
I pounded away for half an hour on the treadmill. Seems I do my best
thinking whilst exercising. Except today. When I can think of nothing at all apart
from that one fact reverberating round and round in my mind.
He won’t be here.
9.15 a.m.
Lectures. Yippee.
Ben is still sitting behind me. We walked into class together, but he has not
asked me why I left the bar last night and I have not asked him to reconsider his
decision. What I really want to do is fall at his feet, and beg him to give me
another chance. I won’t though, I can’t. I must remember the black underwear.
Speaking of Barbie (and black miniscule slut underwear) she gave Ben a
warm smile and a wave when we came into the room. In return, he gave her a
semi-smile and dodged at high speed around to his seat. I wonder if she sees him
as fair game now him and I are no longer doing whatever it was we were doing
before. Although, let’s be honest, she clearly always saw him as fair game
regardless of whether he was with me or not.
1.30 p.m.
“Are you going to eat salad forever?” asks Meredith.
I look at the protein deficient bowl in front of me.
“Yes, probably,” I respond, challenging Meredith with a look of salad loving
defiance.
“Well, you don't want to go to crazy, even though you look great at the
moment,” says the outrageously attractive redhead in front of me.
I stick my tongue out at her.
 “I cannot believe that Ben will not be here next year.”
Yep, that’s my friend Meredith, always straight to the heart of things.
“Me, neither,” I say, and just like that my eyes fill with tears. “It really is
going to be over. I mean, I know it is anyway, but at least at the moment he is
still around.” I take a deep breath and continue. “But when he leaves, I know that
there will be little chance I will ever see him again.”
She looks at me, eyes calculating. “How do you feel?” she asks.
“Like I want to curl up and die,” I say.
She smiles a little and says, “You should tell him that.”
“What’s the point? He is already going. Anyway, I am going to have a while
without a boyfriend. It’s about time I stood on my own two feet.”
“You know it is possible to stand on your own feet and be in a relationship?”
“I don’t think so,” I say, folding my arms resolutely, conversation over.
8 p.m.
Salmon, salad, and new potatoes for dinner. Expertly prepared, and not by
me. I am going to bloody starve next year, there is no doubt about it.
No! I must remember that I am going to be standing on my own two feet. I
need to buy a cookbook, or hire a live-in chef or something.
We wash up after dinner, the usual routine.
“So where did you learn to cook?” I ask, handing him a wet plate.
He shrugs a little as he dries the dish. “Mum worked all the time when we
were young. Rose and Iris were always at their friends’ houses, so it was either
learn to cook or starve,” he explains with a wry smile.
I have never asked him about his family. I don’t like to pry. I believe if
people want you to know things, they will tell you when they are ready. I just
carry on washing the dishes.
“Dad bailed when I was three,” he eventually continues, hands still busy on
a plate that is already dry.
“I'm sorry,” I say. And I am.
“No need,” he flicks me with the tea towel. “It was a long time ago.”
We wash and dry some more in silence.
“It made me realise that I would never start a family until I was completely
sure it was the right thing.”
I look at him as he speaks, and his eyes hold mine and for a moment I just
stare.
Finally I shake my head. “Guess that’s the sensible thing to do. I never
wanted to get married either. I might end up like my mum and dad, living in
separate rooms getting pissed just to make it through the day.”
The blues appraise me. “Yep, that’s me, Mr Sensible,” is the reply, seeped in
deep-hurt sarcasm, though not directed at me.
I want to grab him, to kiss him and beg him to carry me off to the bedroom.
Instead, I let the plug out of the sink and dry my hands. “’Night, Ben,” I say,
walking to the door.
“’Night, Lilah,” he whispers after me.

8th January
8.30 p.m.
“I cannot believe that I have to sit here listening to this bloody shit!” Ben
exclaims.
Jayne, and I are discussing the pros and cons of a three-step beauty regime
with Meredith, and have been for twenty minutes, much to Ben’s apparent
annoyance.
“What?” Meredith asks. “Seriously, Ben, you should have one too. You are
looking a little crinkly!”
He makes a face at her in disgust, whilst I admire the crinkles. I love them.
“That does it! I am going to get drunk.” He picks up his jacket and heads for
the door.
“Where are you going?” Meredith calls after him, putting on her best
housewife voice.
“Bloody out!” he shouts back, slamming the door behind him.
“Good. He’s gone,” Jayne says. “Now we can work out what we can do to
make him stay.”
“Jayne, there is nothing that can be said,” I tell her, my cheeks warming a
little.
“Well, you can tell him that you believe him that nothing happened with
Barbie, that you love him, and don’t want him to leave.”
I take a sip of my herbal tea. “Not going to happen. It is too late now. He
knows that I don’t trust him and that’s all there is to it.”
I wish that they’d stop looking at me like that, like I can click my fingers
and everything will be okay. Because no matter how hard I try, it won’t be.
I think of the way Ben stood in the kitchen last night, the slope of his
shoulders as he told me about his dad, and it makes my heart feel hollow. It
makes me want to chase after him down the stairs and follow him wherever he is
going.
“Listen, guys.” I level them both with my serious stare, though, judging
from their twitching lips, it’s not that serious.
“Ben needs to do his music thing, and if the band has been offered a break,
then he should go with it. I know he would be crazy to miss out and he knows it,
too.”
I finish my tea and get up to put my mug in the sink, deliberately turning my
back on Meredith and Jayne. I can’t give them the one thing they want, which is
a happy ending.
9.30 p.m.
I am staring at pictures on my phone. There are some of us from Fez club.
That night seems like a lifetime ago, when we were all giggly and posing for the
cameras. There is one of Ben and me on the dance floor, his arms around my
waist as he smiles against my neck. Wait a minute, what night is it? Tuesday?
Sod it! There is nothing better to do.
9.35 p.m.
“Come on, girls! Get ready, and let’s go to Fez!”
Meredith pulls her door open wide with a look of suspicion painted on her
face. “I’m not coming if you’re only drinking herbal tea all night!”
I laugh at her grumpy face. “I won’t. I promise. I can still drink alcohol, just
not so much anymore.”
She cocks her head to the side and thinks this through. “Okay, deal. I'm in.
Give me fifteen minutes!”
Jayne shouts her agreement through her door.
9:45 p.m.
I have just completed the quickest ‘get ready’ known to man, well, known to
woman.
My jeans are all baggy around the waist, so I am wearing a black slinky
dress, which I have paired with some chunky boots and a cropped cardi. I think
it looks okay. Different, but okay. Too late to change now. The others are
knocking for me.
The Fez. Again
It really is a girls’ night. Well, to start with: no Tristan, no Ben, and none of
the various University football players Jayne toys with. Just the three of us girls
together on the dance floor. I only have two very small Gin and Slimlines. Jayne
and Meredith have a lot, lot more.
There is something very funny about being out with drunk people when you
are sober. I have never realised this before as it is normally me who is drunk.
Before we get in the queue to the club we visit the Weatherspoon’s across the
road. Jayne and Meredith get louder and louder with every glass of wine.
“Stink, Trishtan shloves me?” Meredith dribbles into her Pinot.
“Oh god! Not this again!”
I bang my head on the table.
“Shwhere, ish he?”
“I don’t bloody know! I’m his twin, not a mind reader.”
“Oh.” Guzzle, guzzle, guzzle.
Then we have the same conversation again. Only louder.
By the time we make it onto the dance floor, I’m clutching my bottle of
fizzy water like my life depends on it as Meredith spins around me like a
demented chimpanzee. Someone taps me on my shoulder and I turn to see who it
is. It's James, Mr. Hotbod gym instructor.
“Hey.” I smile, giving him a big hug.
His hand lingers on my back.
Hmm.
“Hey to you,” he says back in my ear. He tries to move into our little
dancing circle, stepping very close to me, hands on both of my hips, attempting
to dance with me.
Now, this is Dad dancing.
I hesitate. I am in no way sure about this but I do not know how to extricate
myself without being rude, so I just smile politely and keep dancing.
When the tune changes, I duck out of his grasp, positioning Jayne in-
between us. I feel kind of bad. This is the second time I have used her as a sleaze
shield, but I am not comfortable with him being that close—at all.
As I turn to complete my covert manoeuvre, I catch a glimpse of dark hair at
the bar, blue eyes watching me. I freeze automatically, but then see Ben turn
away and head for the door. I don’t hesitate for one moment, but head off in hot
pursuit.
“Hey, Ben, where you going?” I gasp as I catch up with him after pushing
through the entire dance floor.
“Home.”
 He won’t look at me.
“What’s the matter?” I ask, trying to position myself so he has to face me.
He lowers his gaze to me and I wish I had not bothered. He looks bloody
furious.
“Oh, I don’t know, Delilah! Kind of don’t like seeing some other guy rub
himself against you, especially when you are dressed like that.” He waves a
dismissive hand at my outfit.
“What’s wrong with my outfit?”
I am sure there are better questions to ask but this is the one that comes to
mind first.
He just raises a perfectly arched eyebrow in response.
“That’s my trainer from the gym,” I try to explain, holding onto his arm as
he turns away from me heading up the steps to the exit. I chase him up the stairs
two at a time. The music is much quieter up here. There is just a bouncer
standing at the top watching our approach.
“What? Is this his bonus payment?” Ben asks sarcastically.
“What the fuck does that mean?” I shout, much to the delight of the bouncer
who has just realised he is going to get some early entertainment.
“Well, you know, Delilah. After Christmas, I thought that maybe if I just
waited for a while we might be able to move on from that whole nightmare.
Seems that you have moved on, and everyone knows it apart from me!”
We’re finally both venting, which in normal circumstance is probably a
good thing, but he is swaying slightly so it may not be good right now.
His normally pale cheeks are flushed pink and he glares daggers at me.
I start to laugh. “You think I have moved on, really?”
He looks at me like I am insane.
“Yeah, this is me moving on,” I explain, pointing to my new month-long
crazy diet svelte figure.
“What do you mean?”
He has stopped shouting, which is a good thing.
“The whole reason I have been doing this, is because I thought that if I could
feel good about myself and think of myself as attractive, maybe I wouldn’t have
to be so worried about you leaving me all the time.”
“What? You think that you’re not attractive?”
“I don’t think it. I know it.”
I am not playing a sympathy card, it is just how I feel. Frumpy, dumpy, and
old.
 “So the girl that caught my attention, not once, but twice, across a packed
room, thinks she is not attractive?” He sounds incredulous. His fingers tease a
trail along my hip, and not in the sticky finger move James just tried. This is a
Ben-move that makes my knees go weak.
“What? So are you doing this for me?” Ben asks his voice a notch lower.
“No, I am not! I am doing it for me!” Shouting again.
“Lilah.” There it is, his low intimate way of saying my name that makes my
stomach flip out. “I did not do anything with that girl. I promise.” His tone is
very low.
“I know, Ben. I believe you. I just need to be stronger in myself so that if
anything like that happens again, it will not crush the life out of me.”
He pulls me closer, his lips on my neck. “Nothing like that will ever happen
again. You have to trust me.”
I can’t resist the wave of desire that overcomes me.
“I know that, Ben, but I have to have trust in myself, too. If I don’t feel that,
then I don’t think I can be with you, I want to, bu—”
I don’t get to finish. His lips are on mine, firm and hard, teasing my mouth
open. My willpower disintegrates like a stack of cards and I allow him to push
me towards a nearby doorway, Foxtons, I think. I hope they don’t have security
cameras rolling as they will be in for a show.
For a few moments I allow myself to completely forget everything, I just let
Ben reel me in and enjoy the feel of his mouth on mine, the way his hands move
over me, and the sensation of having his skin under my fingertips again. After a
while, I pull away.
“I can’t do more than this at the moment,” I say a little breathlessly meeting
his eyes.
He just squeezes my hand and leads me back into the club where we have to
beg to be let back in again, explaining that we have left our jackets and
belongings behind. Oh, and our friends, too. The bouncer is laughing. I think he
enjoyed our little lovers' spat. He gives me a cheeky wink as I pass by.
Back in the club, Ben sticks like glue to my side. We don’t touch, apart from
occasionally in passing, but each connection sends a little charge of electricity
across my skin. James eyes the competition, before giving in with reasonable
grace and moving off to find a new target, but not before he leans in and kisses
me on the cheek, which makes Ben stiffen at my side.
Meredith has found Tristan and has her arms around his neck, no doubt
telling him how much she shloves him.
 I send her an eye roll of disgust, which she ignores. It’s all good fun, but at
twelve, I know it is time to head home. I want to go to the gym before class
tomorrow.
I wave goodbye to everyone and head towards the door.
Ben follows me. I kind of knew he would.
“I am going to walk,” I say. I could do with the fresh air.
“Uh, no, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am.”
“Well, then I am walking with you.”
He sighs and falls into step with me. After about five minutes he rather
bizarrely switches sides and walks on the edge of the pavement.
“What are you doing?”
“Walking by the traffic.”
“You know I am twenty-six right? Not six?”
He turns and smiles. “I know, but I am doing it anyway.”
I can’t help but smile. His action is very gentlemanly and old-fashioned and
it is gives me warm fuzzy feelings as we meander down the Upper Richmond
Road on our way home. After another five minutes I slide my hand into his. He
doesn’t say anything, just walks along next to me in silence holding my hand.
When we get home, he hesitates outside my door.
“Lilah, do you think I could take you on another date?” His voice is low and
he looks so bashful standing there.
I nod my agreement with little hesitation.
“It’s just that I realised that I only ever took you out properly once. We just,
we just . . . Well, you know.”
He is blushing bright red.
“Had sex?” I add helpfully, but then I feel my cheeks go red as well, which
makes us both giggle.
“That would be lovely. Thanks for walking me home, Ben,” I say as I head
into my room.
“You’re welcome, Lilah.”

Mmm. I’m not sure what to think of this turn of events. What does it mean?
Snogging in Foxtons? Walking me home? Asking for a date?
All I know is I’m sitting here grinning my head off like a complete fool.
I need to sleep on it. It will be clearer in the morning.

10th January
10th January
6.00 a.m.
It’s not that much clearer.
Gym
Classes
Study
Reading
Bed
I am a student extraordinaire.
No cigarettes
Only two teeny drinkies.
And only a little bit of listening to other people's conversations, especially
those behind me. I manage to keep my chair firmly on four legs, which I think is
making good progress. I have to admit, I did miss an entire conversation that
Meredith had with me today in class. She shook her head at me with pity when
she realised what I had actually been listening to.
Meredith had been looking at the primary source we had been given for
discussion and was giving me her initial highly intellectual feedback.
Instead, I heard:
“So, Ben. When is the band next playing?”
“Um, Saturday, I think.”
“Oh really? Whereabouts? Maybe the girls and I will come.”
“Uh, I can’t quite remember.”
“What? You can't remember where you are playing this Saturday?”
“Uh, no. I tend not to get involved in the details. I just rock up and play.”
I’m smiling a little smugly at this. I know where he is playing. He told me
yesterday when he invited me along.
Meredith elbowed me at this point, and I had to look at the diary excerpt she
was waving under my nose. I tuned in again as soon as I could.
“So, is it true you have been offered to work on an album in the States?”
“Yeah, it is.”
Even I can tell from my desk in front he now sounds uncomfortable.
Give it up, Miss Plastic.
“So when do you go? I bet you can’t wait!”
There is a moment of silence.
 “24th of June, after the final exam,” he answers with a slightly lower voice.
Now this I did not know.
“Ooh! Imagine all those hot LA girls in bikinis!”
I cannot believe that she actually said that. Is she completely deranged?
“Mmm,” he replied.
Well, he doesn’t sound overly thrilled, but that could just be because he is
talking to a blond airhead.
11:45 a.m.
“So 24th of June, hey?”
We’re walking in step across campus. Meredith has run off somewhere after
seeing the strange green colour I went during my little eavesdropping exercise.
“Yeah, Liam has been sorting it all out.”
Liam is their manager and currently on the top of my people to hate list. He
is actually quite a nice guy, but he is taking Ben away, which means he now has
first place on my black list. It’s a hard spot to climb down from.
“That’s nice.”
“Yeah, it is all kinds of crazy.”
“Mmm, yeah, crazy.”
Oh, for the love of God! Will someone just run me over now? What I need is
a big red double-decker to come careening out of control onto campus to put me
out of my misery right now.
3.00 p.m.
Apparently there were no big red buses available.
“Okay, just to clarify, you could just tell him right now, go and knock on his
door, and he would change his mind at the drop of a hat.”
Meredith has come home to find me hiding under my duvet. It’s been weeks
since I have been found under there. She is obviously concerned, worried there
has been a step back on the Lilah rehabilitation programme.
I stare at her.
“Yes, Miss Brainy, but if I tell him that now then he will back out of the
plans for his band and miss out on the biggest opportunity they have ever been
given.”
“Yeah, well, that is his choice to make, don’t ya think?”
I just pull the duvet back up again.
7.00 p.m.
 I want a drink, but it is only the 10th of January. I cannot quit that easily.
Instead I ring the gym and find out what classes are on that I can escape to.
8.45 p.m.
Spinning.
I've never done it before in my life, and I'll NEVER do it again. There is
little chance in hell I will be able to move tomorrow. My legs feel like they have
been set alight. James is there, hanging out at reception.
“Hi, Lilah,” he schmoozes. “Nice seeing you out the other night. We will
have to arrange something for another time.”
I try to smile politely and escape out the door as fast as my incapacitated
legs will take me. Pigeons walk faster and with more dignity.
9.45 p.m.
“What are you doing?” asks Ben. Again.
“Um.” I am in so much pain I cannot think of anything. It has taken me 10
minutes to do the two-minute walk from the car to the door. The geese were
frighteningly close when they sensed a prey that could not outrun them. I didn’t
bother timing how long the stairs took.
“What class did you take?” he persists.
“Spinning. It is the work of the devil, but supposedly gives you buns of
steel.”
“Come on, crazy girl,” he says as he pulls me up off the floor.
I try not to moan but fail miserably as he slips his arm around my waist and
helps me into the lounge where I stop and look in shock. Goth Chick is sitting
there in tears. Meredith and Jayne are hovering around like they are not entirely
sure what they are supposed to be doing.
“What’s up?” I ask. I haven’t seen this girl in months. I’ve actually forgotten
that she owns a front door key.
“Eva and I had a big fight,” she squeaks through tears that are streaking her
makeup around her face in an alarming manner. She could audition for Kiss right
now and they would welcome her with open arms.
“Who’s Eva?” I ask around a mouthful of rice salad that Ben has just handed
me.
He raises an eyebrow at me.
“Um, our other flat mate,” he informs me, flashing me his best wicked
smirk.
“Oh,” is all I say. I am loving the salad. At the moment it is the only thing
keeping my mind distracted from the fact that my legs are about to fall off.
Goth Chick looks at me. She does not seem offended by my inability to
remember her or her best friend. She then proceeds to tell me all the gory details
of how she has been seeing a guy on campus but last night she found out that
Eva has also been seeing him, too. How this guy managed to double cross two of
the most standout noticeable girls on campus is beyond me, but I managed to
make some sympathetic noises in the right places.
“So, are you back then?” I ask. I don’t want to seem rude, but we’ve hardly
spoken in four months.
“Yeah, I think so,” she says, smearing some more mascara into her hairline.
I try to get myself out of my foam torture chair but not much happens. Ben
laughs as he leans forward, pulls me up, then throws me over his shoulder,
something that seems to be happening way too often. He walks me into my room
and chucks me on my bed, nothing romantic about it.
“Lay off the exercise, hey, Lil?” He smirks before heading towards my door.
Sarcastic arse. Nice arse, but arse all the same.

11th January
I may be dead.
There is not a single muscle in my body that does not feel like it has been
stretched to the absolute maximum before being ripped from my skeleton,
jumped on by a herd of elephants, and then stuck back on again—not necessarily
in the right place—with superglue.

12th January
I have been unable to walk up and down stairs for two days. I’ve missed
lectures and everything. I would like to report that I am completely gutted to
miss out on all of the exciting academic knowledge I should have been
absorbing, but in truth I am more gutted that I’ve missed out on the
conversations to eavesdrop upon. Meredith, bless her, did a good job of keeping
me in the loop. She even took notes.
I have woken up determined. Today I will sort things out with my mum and
dad. They can no longer treat me this way. I am their daughter, but I am also an
adult, and they must acknowledge my decisions and choices in life!
 Or something like that.
Something Like That
I completely ignore Tristan’s offer to come as mediator.
“How hard can it be?” I laugh. “I am their daughter. I’m sure they’ll be
perfectly understanding once I explain what has been going on.”
Not so much.
First indication: My key does not fit in the door.
I wonder if they have been burgled and have forgotten to mention it to
Tristan and me?
Second indication: “Psst! Delilah!”
It’s mum. Her head is poking through one of her prize rosebushes.
“You can’t be here. Your dad will have a heart attack if he sees you on the
doorstep.”
She waves her hand at me as one would at a really annoying fly determined
to land in your Chardonnay.
“What do you mean I cannot be here? This is my home. You know? The
place I grew up. My bedroom is right there,” I say, pointing at the window above
and to the right of my head.
Then I think of a more pressing matter.
“Mother, why are you hiding in a rosebush?”
Fair question, I think.
“He’ll be angry with me for talking to you. Please leave, Lilah, and wait for
him to calm down.”
“Calm down from what, exactly?”
I am starting to get a bit annoyed. One of the irritating boys from down the
road is circling at the end of the driveway watching our little exchange play out
with great interest.
“Oh, you know, dear. For ruining your career, ruining your life by breaking
poor John's heart for some awful singer.” She gives her head a shake, a
movement hindered by the killer-sized thorns right next to her cheekbone.
“What?” I am completely astounded. “What are you talking about? I split up
with John because I was not in love with him, for no other reason.” I am glaring
at her and have crossed my arms resolutely over my chest. Being near my
parents always makes me revert back to being a teenager, although normally it
takes a little longer than this.
Mum raises an eyebrow. It occurs to me that this must be where Tristan
inherited the infuriating habit from. It makes me mad.
“Well, maybe Daddy Dearest should come out here and talk to me like a
grown-up,” I shout as loud I can. I am sure the rest of the cul-de-sac loves this
little show Jeremy Kyle style.
“No, Lilah. He doesn’t want to see you.” Mum has the good grace to look a
little sheepish.
“And are you okay with this?”
“No, of course not, but I know which side my bread is buttered on.
Something that you obviously don’t.”
I cannot believe she just said that.
She leans forward as far as the bush and thorns will allow, a conspiratorial
expression on her face, and adds, “I have been working on softening him a little
for you. I’m sure that if you agree to stop Uni at the end of this year and get a
job back at the bank, he will soon forget all this nastiness ever happened.”
I stare at her in shock. She has got to be joking, right? It doesn't seem like it.
She looks at me like she has just offered me the world’s longest olive branch.
“Mum, that's not going to happen. I will see you around, I guess,” I respond
as I turn and head back down the drive to Deathtrap Cooper.
“Oh, Lilah?” she calls after me. “Your father is also putting the Putney flat
on the market at the beginning of July.”
I don’t bother to respond. I just wave my hands loosely over my shoulder. It
may or may not have been a rude gesture.
Great. So not only is my dad never going to speak to me again—what is he
like five or something?—Tristan is now going to lose his home as well. All
because of me.
I seethed the whole way home, cranking Deathtrap Cooper to its absolute
max, 66 miles an hour.
7.00 p.m.
Tristan is remarkably calm about the whole thing, considering our family
has just effectively exploded apart at the seams.
“Don’t worry about it, Lil, he’ll never sell. That flat is too much of an
investment for him.”
This is what Tristan does, though. He ducks and dives his way out of all
sorts of trouble with our parents. Once, when they went away for the weekend,
he and his stoned buddies set light to the priceless Turkish rug in the lounge.
Instead of owning up, he doused the whole thing in water and then blamed it on
a random bolt of lightning that magically shot through the window setting fire
only to the rug.
Mum and dad had practically fallen at his feet praising him for saving their
house and possessions. Mum had then turned on me and said, “Where were you,
Lilah, whilst all this was happening and your brother was being a hero? In your
room, no doubt, reading.”
My brother walks on water and shoots balls of fire out of his arse and all
sorts of amazing things. I just remembered that this is why we have not been
friends for years.
I glare at him, unable to put any words together. Ben is sitting on the end of
my bed rubbing my feet. I love the fact that he does things like this even though
we are not together. Like sometimes he just absentmindedly catches my hand
and holds it for a few moments, not saying a word.
Hold on! I am supposed to be glaring at Tristan not dribbling over Ben.
“Well, don’t you think it is all a little bit over the top? I mean, really? I can’t
believe that he is going to all this effort just because you dumped someone,”
says Goth Chick.
I haven’t the foggiest why she is in my room or when she became part of our
gang.
“Ugh, let’s not think about it now,” I plead, throwing myself back on my
pillows. It’s all too much for me to contemplate right now.
“Anyway,” I continue. “Ben has a gig tonight. You guys are all going, aren’t
you?”
There is a chorus of yeses and nods.
“Are you not coming?” The blues stare at me intently.
“I don’t want to be a kill joy and I am not really in the party mood,” I say,
although I actually am in the party mood, or, more specifically, I am desperate
for a drink. But I do not want to be defeated. It is only the 12th of January. I
cannot give in yet.
“Well, I would prefer it if you were there,” he says quietly, just for me.
The blues make me melt a little as do the crinkled freckles when he senses
that I have given in.
“Oh, okay,” I sigh. “I’ll come. But I should warn you that sober fan girls are
notoriously boring.”
He just laughs and gives my big toe a tug as he eases out from under my
feet. “I doubt that very much, Miss McCannon.”
The way he says it makes my heart go a pitter-patter.
 Sober Fan Girls Are Not That Boring
The gig is fantastic, and I manage to stay sober the whole way through. It is
kind of sweet, really, when I see Ben decline numerous offers for drinks. I try
not to notice just how cute it is that he isn’t drinking just because I’m not, but
things like that are hard to ignore.
Despite Mum and Dad’s freaky crazy behaviour earlier in the day, I
completely let my hair down. In fact, I have the best time in ages standing at the
front of the crowd dancing away—without the aid of alcohol, I might add!—
watching Sound Box, who are jaw-droppingly good. Ben, with his voice of
honey over gravel, licks goose bumps up and down my spine.
These guys deserve to be huge, and I really hope (with every ounce of
hopeful thoughts I can muster) that they make it. I think they will.
The whole time they are on stage and I prance about like a pony, I know that
he is watching me. I can feel the blues on me no matter where I am. It’s great,
although there is a moment when some strange guys approach me and I think we
may be about to have a repeat of the ‘James/Fez Strop Off,’ but Ben just winks
at me and plays on. He’s damn hot up there standing centre stage. There is a raw
magnetism about him. It reminds me of when I first saw him at the Fresher's
Ball. I thought he was amazing straight away and that was before I even knew
him. Before I knew all the little things about him that I know now: the cooking,
the coffee in the morning, the absentminded palm tracing and the way he makes
me feel when he looks at me with his intent blues. Like I am the only person that
exists.
When their set finishes, the band troupes offstage, all but one of them clutch
a beer as they pass through the crowd and head towards us. Ben slides his hands
around me from behind and leans his chin on my shoulder. He smells and feels
warm and sweaty in a good way, a very sexy way. I lean back just a fraction to
get closer.
“I thought I was going to have to use my guitar as a weapon for a few
moments there,” he whispers in my ear, his hot breath sliding down my neck.
I turn to look at him, but his arms don’t release me. They stay tight around
my waist. I stand in the circle of his arms looking up at him, the stage lights
bounce off his pale skin turning him a mixture of crazy colours. It would be so
easy, really, really easy to lean forward that extra inch and fix my lips to his.
And it is.
His hands slide down my spine, thumbs along my ribs, pulling me even
closer by my slightly exposed hips.
“It’s always better when you are here,” he murmurs in my ear, our bodies
still touching in various strategic places.
“I don’t know how I will play when you are not in front of me anymore,” he
adds, his blues taking me in.
He looks so beautiful standing there all sharp cheekbone angles, his face a
contrast in shadows and light. I could easily crumble, with his hands hot and
firm on me. It would be so simple for me to say four little words now that will
change us forever.
Let’s go for it.
How easy would that be? But just because it is simple does not make it right.
It would be simple for him to choose me over the band and their big break.
Meredith is right, he would never go if I told him how I felt, how much I wanted
him.
But the truth is that I want him to have so much more, so much more than
being stuck with some plump girl heading towards thirty who has no idea what
she wants from life. He deserves more.
So instead I say, "Let’s go home."
And we do. I am aware that I am going to pay for it. I am going to be paying
for it for the next month as I go back to being without him again. But I don’t
care. I just grab his hand.
It’s a typical Ben and Lilah trip home: black cab, inappropriate hands, and
bursting through the door to the dormitory like a gale force wind. There is no
hesitation as we fall through the door to his room, him carrying me, my legs
wrapped around his waist, literally tearing at each other’s clothes, mouths hot
hungry and demanding.
Taylor Swift is singing "Fearless."

13th January
The wake-up.
It’s official. I can’t resist Ben.
I can resist alcohol, cigarettes, and junk food, but I cannot in any way resist
anything to do with Ben. It feels like he has become some sort of integral part of
my being, and it really hurts knowing that once again I have done the
unspeakable and let us overstep our boundaries, because it kills me to get over
this every time. Trying to force the memory of his touch and hands from my
mind makes it so much more painful and even harder to forget. Standing next to
him every day and talking to him like we are just buddies makes me want to
yank my tongue out. I could almost tell him the truth just because I do not want
to go through that again.
Then I smack myself on the forehead and think about the band, and just how
amazing they were last night and how they deserve to get their big break. Ugh!
This is horrible, and I do not even have a hangover to distract me from the
mental pain.
“Why are you hitting yourself on the forehead?” he asks.
“No reason.”
He wiggles himself up close to me, one leg slung over mine, one arm over
my stomach.
Oh, god, this is going to cause pain like never before.
“What are you worried about?” he asks.
I open my mouth to answer.
“And don’t say ‘nothing’, because I can read you like a book.” He giggles a
little in my ear.
Oh, god, I love his giggle. It is completely ridiculous coming from someone
so frickin’ hot. It makes me giggle, too.
“I am trying to work out how to go on from here.”
There. Honesty is the best approach, especially when naked and enclosed in
someone’s arms. I am sure that is in a rulebook somewhere.
“What do you mean?”
I don’t think he has his eyes open yet. His nose is skimming my jawline. My
heart is doing crazy things.
“I mean, I don’t know how to do this anymore. It’s not working, the whole
ignoring each other and being friends, because we just end up having sex and
making everything confused again.”
“I am not confused.”
“You’re not?”
Why isn’t he confused?
“Not really. I know what I want. I am just not getting anywhere with it.” He
kisses the corner of my mouth, which twitches in response. “So I’m just
accepting anything that I can get.”
I am about to heave myself up and be offended when he starts giggling
again.
“Calm down, Delilah. Jeez you are so short-tempered!” He kisses me again,
which is making it hard to be short-tempered about anything.
“I’m leaving in a few short months, and you have made it clear that you
want me to go.”
Oooh, that hurts!
“So I am just going to enjoy being with you. I know you have things to sort
out yourself, and I respect that. It doesn’t change how I feel.”
My mouth has gone so dry I can barely swallow.
“How do you feel?” I manage to whisper.
“You know how I feel. I love you. But I made a silly mistake and I am
paying the price for it. I do love you, though.” He kisses around my lips again
just to make his point.
“Mmm,” I say back.
SERIOUSLY! The man of my dreams has just told me, naked, in bed, that
he loves me and I have replied, "Mmm." I must need locking up.
It’s probably a good thing. If I said the words back then he would know and
would never leave for his big opportunity.
Maybe he is right, though, maybe we should just get what we can and then
let it go when the time comes. I think about this as he moves his kisses further
down my body, until eventually I cannot think at all.
Later.
“You know I am not your girlfriend, right?”
“Yeah. You know I am not your boyfriend, right?”
This time it is me giggling as I move myself over him.
“Good. Just so long as we are clear on that,” I say using my best stern
schoolteacher voice, pulling the duvet up over my head.
Let’s be all romantic and pretend this is real.
Ben came up with the idea. I had been about to get up and head back to my
guinea cage when he had grabbed my hand and pulled me back.
“Don’t go,” he had pleaded, fluttering his ridiculously long lashes.
“Come on, Ben, you know this is not good.”
Damn it, I hate being the grown-up!
He is undeterred, tugging me back onto the rumpled sheets.
“What have you got to lose? Just give me one day, just one day of relaxing
and being with you the way I want.”
Um, now let me think. What have I got to lose? Oh, yes, that’s right, my
fucking sanity.
“Ben, come on, you promised.”
“No, you promised. Now get over it. We are spending the day together. We
shall be spending the day in perfect co-habiting bliss!”
I raise an eyebrow. “You know, most people that live together or are married
hate each other?”
He laughs and pulls me in for a snuggle. A Ben snuggle. I have never had
one before, and they are not bad.
“Not us, Lilah.” His voice is quiet and I realise that beneath the joking he
truly does believe that we could be different.
“Okay, I admit defeat. What does the day involve?” I smile. I can’t help it. I
cannot wipe the damn thing off my face.
He beams me with his mega-wattage superstar smile.
“First, we have to go food shopping.”
And this is how I find myself in the hell that is Asda on a Sunday with Ben.
We have never been food shopping together before. I imagine it will be very
romantic strolling up the aisles together, choosing what to buy and cook.
Asda
I am staring at a can of what appears to be beans. I’m not entirely sure what
type of beans they are but I don’t think they are baked.
“What are you looking at?”
“Um, nothing.”
“Yes, you were. You were reading something on that can.” He nods in that
general direction, never taking his eyes off of me.
“Oh, I was just looking at how to cook it.”
“Cook what?”
“Um, I don’t know,” I say, turning the can in my hand. “Refried beans.”
“Are we even having refried beans for dinner?”
“Uh, I don’t know. Are we?”
“No, we are bloody not. Leave the can, Lilah, and let’s get what we came
for.”
He drags me, and the trolley, along the aisle.
Why Men and Women Should Not Go Food Shopping Together
As a rule, men and women have evolved to do most things reasonably well
together. You know, sex and such. However, food shopping is not one of them.
 Any woman, whether she loves or hates shopping, will quite happily read
the label of every can in sight. I don’t even cook and I read them.
Men like to get what they came for and leave.
Asda is packed. It took us twenty minutes of frantic circling just to get a
parking space, even when we did find one we ended up in a tournament style
joust to get to it before a bitch in a Volvo 4x4 stole it.
Ben has completely lost his post-coital glow and is glaring at anyone who
brings their trolley within five inches of ours. I thought the two ten-year-olds
playing dodgems were going to get it.
Even we who are living our ‘let’s pretend this is a real lovey-dovey day’ are
starting to show the strain.
“Red or white wine?”
“Whatever you prefer, I probably won’t drink much.”
“Well, still, red or white?”
“What are we having, fish or meat?”
“Meat.”
“Then red.”
“But you prefer white, don’t you?”
“For Christ’s sake, just put both in.”
And this is how it goes. Finally we get to the till and pay nearly seventy quid
for what appears to be the makings of one meal. I mention this to Ben who is
staring down an old granny who has dared to teeter into our path. He turns to me
with a wink and says that he bought breakfast for tomorrow as well.
We then spend another five minutes trying to jam the bags of shopping into
Deathtrap Cooper, and then sit for another twenty minutes attempting to get back
onto the A3.
“Wasn’t it lovely that Sheila was going to Morocco on holiday, what with
her husband leaving her . . . Such a nightmare.”
“Who’s Sheila?”
“You know, the lady on the checkout. Poor thing, she has had it hard.”
Grumpy look from Mr Chambers.
Nightmare. Asda has effectively eaten two hours into our day together.
Two hours? What the hell happened? It is like a supermarket vortex. You
just enter and then lose a large percentage of your day and your sanity.
Great.
Why I am the worst pretend girlfriend in the world
 We are unpacking our plentiful bags of shopping. I am not even bothering to
look at what we purchased on our little joint shopping trip. It is not as if I would
know what to do with any of it. I think my little Christmas feast proved that I
really am completely useless in the kitchen department unless it involves
opening a bottle of wine. I demonstrate my considerable skill as I open the bottle
of white.
I can relax my no drinking rule just for this one perfect day. I am sure I can
manage to keep a handle on the situation and not get completely blotted.
Ben and I have recovered from the evil that is Asda and are being all lovey-
dovey as we put things away. We are giggling and cuddling when the front door
slams and Meredith comes slouching into the kitchen.
“Hey, Ben, Happy Birthday!” She leans over to him and gives him a kiss on
the cheek and hands him a card.
Oh, shit.
I spin and glare at him.
“It’s your birthday and you didn’t tell me?”
He shrugs and offers me a crooked smile. “It didn’t seem that important in
the grand scheme of things.”
“Not that important? Here we are having a day of ‘let’s pretend’ and it is not
important that it’s your birthday?” I scrunch my face up in disgust at myself. I
can’t believe I didn’t know it was his birthday. I can’t remember if he has
actually ever told me the exact date, but surely I should have found out
somehow.
Oh, god, this is never meant to be if I do not even know when his bloody
birthday is.
He can clearly sense that I am heading into a spiral of panic. He approaches
me as one would approach a scared kitten, hands smoothing down my arms, long
fingers linking with mine.
“It’s okay, Lilah,” he assures me. “You gave me the best birthday present
this morning when you agreed to my plan for the day.” He gives me his wicked
grin and then leans in to my ear. “And the bit afterwards.”
Oh, yes, that’s right. I flush crimson.
Meredith stands there leaning on the kitchen counter watching and grinning
as she works out what I probably gave him for his birthday.
“I need to go shopping!” I say, and as quick as I can, I twist out of his arms,
grab my bag, and dash for the door, before he can do anything to stop me.
I use my new gym skills to jog at a reasonable pace across campus and onto
Roehampton Lane. Speed is of the essence, so I may as well leave the poxy car
at home and grab the bus.
Even the big red double decker cannot go fast enough down the bus lanes for
my liking. I bounce in my seat the whole way into town, legs jumping like crazy
as I will the bus to go faster and faster, cursing every time it stops to pick up a
granny by the side of the road. At last I jump off and head down High Street. It
is only when I am halfway down that I come to a complete stand still much to
the annoyance of all the people behind me.
I have absolutely no idea what to get him. This is a bit of a problem.
Ben, Ben, Ben . . . Now I wonder what would he like for a birthday present?
Well, apart from what he has already had today. I need a man to help me chose.
Unfortunately, the only person I know is Tristan, and well, let’s be honest, he
and Ben could not be further apart if they tried. Although there is the fact that
they are currently doing the whole ‘best buddy’ thing, so maybe I should ring
and ask.
Never ask my brother for advice on anything important.
This is what I learnt today. Well, that, and the fact I am a crap pretend
girlfriend. Tristan had no bloody idea at all. Well, he had suggested a blowjob,
but I wailed that I had already used that for the day. I hung up the phone about
three minutes into the conversation. He was wasting my valuable time.
I end up at the music shop. I am actually quite proud that I came up with the
idea all by myself.
Upon entering the shop, there are about a hundred different guitars all
hanging from suspended stands. I nearly burst into tears when I see them all.
There is no way in hell I am ever going to know what to buy. Not in a million
years.
Enter my saviour angel of birthday presents in the form of Big Baz. He is
big. He is hairy. And he is covered in tattoos. But he knows how to save a girl in
a sticky predicky and that is all that matters.
He quickly saw the emotional breakdown that was about to erupt all over the
floor of his shop.
“You all right, love?” he asks.
There is an accent. Welsh, maybe? “Um, no,” I reply.
“How can I help?”
What a stupid thing to say to a crazy lady on the brink of tears in your shop.
Silly man.
He got the whole sob story beginning to end. Nothing left out, no holds
barred, even the bit with the black underwear and the subsequent, ‘Moving to the
States’ dilemma that’s currently destroying my happily-ever-after.
After I had finished and he had handed me a tissue, he sat there and twisted
his goatee, mulling it over. I stood there feeling like a complete prat waiting for
his verdict.
“What band did you say?”
“Sound Box.”
“Yeah, I know them. Ben, isn’t it?”
“Uh, yes.”
“They are going to do really well, I think.”
“Yes, yes, I know. That is why I am letting him go and not telling him that I
am completely madly in love with him, so he will go and get all the things he
deserves.” My patience is wearing dangerously thin. I have already explained all
this.
“So what you want is something that shows that you love him, shows him
how much you feel without actually have to say the words?”
“Yes, that is it exactly . . . Do you, for the love of god, have anything?”
“As a matter of fact, I do. I have one word for you, young lady. Gibson.”
I stare at him blankly. His meaning is completely lost on me but the way he
says it with such a reverence in his tone makes me believe that we might be on
the right track.
“Yes, please. I will take one.”
“Not that easy, Miss. We need to choose the right one. Lucky for you I know
the young man in question so I can help.”
Thank god for that.
I have one word that goes with Gibson. Kerching!
You know how they say a man should spend two and a half times his
monthly salary on an engagement ring? Well, this is more.
I don’t care, I am practically crying with joy as I hand over my credit card.
Sod it! I will swap the money from my bank account tomorrow. This is well
worth it, even if the money could have been spent on another two years at the
gym and a lifetime supply of salad.
I thank the man profusely. He thanks me. It looks like he is about to shut up
early for the day after his bumper sale.
I dash back up High Street, jumping into another shop on the way for
candles and stuff.
 Birthday Dinner
I text Meredith on the way home and ask her to make sure that he is out of
his room, then I slink in and hide the present under the bed. I then spend five
minutes decorating the place with candles hoping that the fire alarms will not go
off.
Ben, it turns out, has also been busy during the two hours I have been
shopping. Yes, another two hours wiped out of the day. He does not ask me
where I have been, just kisses me and pulls me in. Then shows me all the food
he has been cooking. It looks amazing and, thankfully, it is ready. So after just a
few quick moments, we load up our plates and head into Ben’s room. He stops
in amazement at the door when he sees all the candles, then we try and do one of
those tricky kissing things where you also have to keep the food from sliding off
your plate.
“Thank you,” he says, once we are settled on the floor, our plates still safely
holding food.
“You’re welcome. I am sorry I didn’t know it was your birthday. It is kind
of embarrassing.”
“Why? It’s not like I did anything for yours.”
I mull this over. It’s not like I gave him a chance to do anything for it. I
think back to that month of hell and hate myself for making it so much worse. I
know he did things that made me angry, but I should have listened to him,
instead of letting my own stupid issues and negativities allow me to destroy
everything.
“That was not your fault, Ben.”
“Well, yeah, it kind of was. Let’s not forget what started the whole row in
the first place.”
Like I am ever going to forget.
“This is nice, isn’t it? The whole day together thing?” I observe as I shovel a
potato into my mouth.
“Yeah, it is.” His voice is soft and his eyes dance in the candlelight as he
brushes his hand across mine.
Suddenly I am not that hungry. I down half my glass of wine, washing away
the potato that is stuck in my throat. Then I lean forward and kiss him.
The dinner will be just as lovely cold.
Later.
We are lying together in silence. There is not much to say. Our day is nearly
over and we both know it. I sit up and take him with me. Then I reach down
under the bed and slide out his present.
Just in case I ever wondered what Ben would have looked like as a little boy
on Christmas Day, I am pretty sure I now know. His face lights up like the
Blackpool illuminations as he stares at the box in his hands.
“There is no way I can accept this.”
His face is down and his voice is very low. I tilt his chin up with my
fingertips and am surprised to find tears glittering along his eyelashes.
“Yes, you can. You have to. I can’t take it back. Big Baz was planning a
holiday.”
He smiles a little at this. “It is way too much, Lilah.”
He says my name low and my stomach stabs with longing, despite our
activities of the last hour.
“Well, look at it this way: When you make that cracking album later this
year, you will be able to think of me whilst you’re doing it.”
He stares at me. “I would have been thinking of you anyway.”
He gently places the guitar on the floor then reaches for me again, hands just
as gentle with me as they were with the guitar. Looks like we will need that
breakfast tomorrow after all.
Taylor is crooning "Safe and Sound." And that’s kind of how I feel as I sit
here watching him sleep. Safe and Sound. It’s not real, I know that, but it feels
good all the same.

14th January
“Give me one more day.”
“Mmm, that’s not what we agreed.”
“I will exchange anything for just one more day. Please.”
The nibbling on my ear is doing little to strengthen my already paper-thin
resistance. “A life time of servitude?” I ask.
“Done.”
“Okay, I am going to the gym. I shall expect breakfast when I get back.”
“You’re completely mental.”
“Yep, I must be.”
7.00 a.m.
The Gym
 8.00 a.m.
Home
What am I doing?
It is halfway through January. In six months, Ben leaves.
When he goes, it is going to be worse than the few weeks we experienced of
being apart. It is going to be permanent and forever and it is going to kill me.
Not literally. I know I will physically survive. But I also know that I will never
find anyone like him ever again.
What am I going to do with myself? What the hell am I going to do with a
history degree and no real plans of what to use it for? I cannot see any exciting
opportunities that I would ever want without him around to share them with me.
I may as well go back to the bank and just die a death of boredom there.
How much is it going to hurt when he leaves?
It’s gonna be bad, there are no two ways about it. Should I just give in and
take what I can for the short time available? Or should I cut my losses now?
How am I going to feel when he is in a different country with lots of skinny
girls dressed in black lacy underwear?
I am sure that all skinny American girls prance about in skimpy black
underwear all day long.
The thought makes me want to throw up.
4.00 p.m.
We are in the library. I am actually kind of into my study, and for once it is
books I am studying.
I know I am being watched in the window. Every so often I get a tap on the
foot and look up to see Ben’s reflection grinning at me like a demented person.
Ben had not wanted to go to the library. He wanted to go home, or to the
pub. He had wanted to go anywhere where we could talk (and by this I think he
meant touch) without having two wooden shelves blocking the way.
Moody Chops sulked the whole way here, lingering on his cigarette outside
in the cold sleet just so he could hold my hand a little longer. Meredith had seen
the sleet and run screaming back to the Dorm with her folder on her head
shouting something about her hair.
“What were those girls talking to you about that one Sunday up here?” I’m
not sure why I decide to ask this, but I have. I meet his blue eyes in the window.
He knows exactly what Sunday I am talking about.
“She was asking me Dave’s name and if I would give her his number or vice
versa.” He grins at me.
“Really?”
“Really.”
My cheeks burn a furious red when I think of the almighty strop I threw,
resulting in the nightmare haircut. If I’d just had the guts to walk up to them and
join in their conversation, then the misunderstanding would never have
happened. But then I remember my legs were not working, so what would I have
done, crawled over?
Bugger it. Why am I sitting here wasting time looking at these books?
“Sod it, let’s go,” I announce. I hear him give a little ‘yes,’ under his breath,
which he thinks I can’t hear.
“Come on, Romeo, you’ve got six hours left!”
“What? No bloody way! You owe me an all-nighter for dragging me to the
library!
When we finally get down the nightmare stairs and out the door, it is
snowing quite hard. The whole of the campus is covered in a white blanket.
Everyone is running to get out of the mammoth white flurry but we just grin at
each other and grab hands, walking slowly in the snowy downpour, snowflakes
landing on our tongues and eyelashes.
It is pretty frickin’ romantic and something I will never forget.
11.45 p.m.
“Tell me something,” Ben says.
“Tell you what?” I ask, curious.
“Tell me your favourite thing in the whole world,” he says.
His arm is around me snug and warm. We are lying in bed with the curtains
open, watching the snow fall. Which it is. A lot.
“The blue sky on a summer day. Not near the sun where it is pale and weak
but the opposite side of the horizon where it is dark like cornflowers and never-
ending.”
Like your eyes, I want to add, but don’t.
Silence.
“Tell me yours.”
“Thunder and rain storms on a hot summer day. There is nothing better than
standing in the warm rain.”
Silence.
“Give me one more day.”
15th January
It's a snow day. Whoop, Whoop!
Okay, we live on campus, so we could have made it across. But where is the
fun in that? Instead, we hike (laughing at our inappropriate footwear) to a local
pub, where they have crackling fires and deep leather sofas.
“Favourite book?” Ben asks, watching me over the top of his glass.
“You already know that.”
“No, I don’t. I just know that it has a bit set in Lyme Regis.”
How does he remember that? It was months ago.
“Persuasion, by Jane Austen.”
“Ugh, Austen. Why?”
“How dare you say ‘Ugh’, to Austen!”
Bloody Philistine!
“Seriously, why is it your favourite?” he prods.
I have to think this through. It has been my favourite novel forever, yet I
find it deeply traumatic to read.
“I think it is because I like the fact the characters are forced apart, mainly by
their own mistakes and stupidity, but at the end when it matters, they are able to
see each other for what they are and admit that they still love each other. In fact,
they probably love each other more for the seven years they have spent apart.
His feelings never faltered for her. She just didn’t believe in them enough.”
He sits there, the blues staring at me. I feel completely exposed. I have said
too much.
“Yeah, I think you’re right.”
I breathe a sigh of relief.
“But Anne is a complete idiot for listening to her friend in the first place.
She was lucky old Wentworth gave her another chance. Lady Russell was a
bitch!” he continues with a growing smirk.
“What? You’ve read it? And you let me do all that explaining. You complete
git!”
I swat him with my hand, and he giggles into his pint of beer.
“Of course I have read it,” he says. “It’s a classic.”
“You astound me sometimes.” I mean it.
“Good.”
The blues crinkle.
We both giggle into our drinks.
 “So what’s your favourite?” I ask.
“Chances by Jackie Collins,” he says, deadpan.
I spurt my spritzer all over the table. “Wanker!”
Cue more giggling accompanied by the sound of crackling firewood.

16th January
9.30 a.m.
Another snow day. I have not bothered getting up. What would be the point
of pretending I am going to make it to class?
I slept in my own room last night. It was all getting a bit too easy. I could
feel myself slipping under deeper and deeper. He gave in with good grace, eyes
flashing and lips giving a slight curve as he kissed me goodnight. A kiss
determined to make me stay.
No gym due to the roads being a nightmare, so I shall be studying instead.
11.30 a.m.
Ah, the door. Hopefully it will be Ben looking for more snow day action.
Later.
“Hey, you. I haven't seen you in ages!” I say to Meredith as she enters
through my door. I feel my cheeks warm a little. I have been so involved in the
little 'Let’s Pretend' days that I have not really had time to see my bestie as much
as I would like, a fact I regret enormously.
“It’s okay,” she says, slumping onto the bed next to me. “I completely get
it,” she adds quickly, patting me on the leg.
I frown at her. She seems a bit off. Not quite herself, but then I figure maybe
she is annoyed after all at me not being around. I’m just about to ask when she
blurts out, “I’m late!” Her voice is nervous and tight.
“Late for what?” I ask. She doesn’t appear to be in a hurry to go anywhere.
She raises an eyebrow, and the penny drops with a resonating clang.
Oh.
For the longest moment I stare at her in silent shock. I can’t think what to do
or say. This is a problem for a grown-up, which I am not.
“Have you taken a test?”
She nods her head in confirmation, the smallest of gestures and it completely
breaks my heart.
I have no words to say, so I just put my arm around her and pull her in
towards me as she starts to sob hysterically. That hitched, snotty crying that
people do when they finally let it go. Snot bubbles and everything.
I am pretty close to creating some snot bubbles of my own.
“Don’t tell him, will you?” She wipes her nose on her sleeve.
It’s gross, but I let it go under the circumstances. “Who? Ben?
Obsessed much. He is the first person I think of regardless of the
circumstances.
“No! Tristan.”
“Um, I think he might notice.”
“I need some time to think first.”
I pause for a moment. It’s a big secret to keep from my brother, but then I
know where my priorities are.
“Of course I won’t tell. You are my best friend.”
She cries even harder and I just hold her tighter. Soon the practical part of
my brain kicks in.
“Surely you were using something?” I feel a bit awkward talking about her
having sex with my brother, but I guess it is out there that they do. Best be
grown-up about it.
“We have been, but that night at Christmas we were so drunk, I think we just
. . . just . . . just sort of forgot.”
Oh.
“He is going to hate me.”
More sobbing.
“He’s not going to hate you. He’s going to be worried about you. You’re
very young.”
I don’t think this is the right thing to say. Her sobs get even louder.
“I love him, I just didn’t expect this.”
I rock her a little.
“I know you do, babe. Don’t worry. We'll get this all sorted.”
This is the wrong thing to say again. She pushes against me so she can look
at me, snot everywhere.
“I am not getting rid of it,” she declares, voice determined, red eyes glaring.
“God, Meredith! I would never suggest that to you—ever.”
She looks appeased and snuggles back down against me.
I spend the next hour smoothing her hair as she lays there giving in to the
odd uncontrollable sob. Ben pokes his head in the door but I shake my head at
him and shoo him away.
 Finally, she is asleep and I ease myself away from her. When I get up, I am
all hot and sweaty from where she has made me clammy with her tears. I cover
her up with my duvet and find myself biting back the tears as I look at her.
This is a nightmare and not at all what I was expecting.
It turns out I can keep secrets, just not from Ben.
I walk straight through the door of Ben’s room. I don’t even hesitate, even
though last time I had gone barging in, there had been a half-naked girl to greet
me.
The moment I am through the door the tears start. He is sitting cross-legged
on his bed wearing just sweat pants and an old T-shirt, his new guitar across his
lap. I need him right now like I never knew was possible. I walk towards him. It
feels like I am in slow motion even though it is just four short steps. The guitar is
down and I crash into his arms sobbing nearly as hard and loud as Meredith.
“Has someone died?”
It’s the first question a man would ask.
“They may as well have,” I snot back through my tears.
He waits whilst I catch my breath, and then I tell him. He looks at me in
complete shock and tightens his arms around me.
I curl up in a ball and he fits himself around me like a protective shell. I
snuggle into his worn T-shirt that smells of softener and cigarettes. It smells like
him.
After a while, I calm down and manage to have a normal conversation.
“It’s just not what I wanted for either of them, you know?” I say.
He nods in agreement.
“I mean, you have to be accountable for your actions, but she is eighteen, for
fuck's sake,” I continue.
Then I have another thought.
“I could kill my brother. I really could.”
He nods again in agreement. He is very quiet.
“What’s wrong?”
“My mum was eighteen when she had my oldest sister.”
Oh.
I don’t know what to say to that. I know he comes from a broken home. I
guess he doesn’t want to see that happen to either of his friends.
“I’m sorry.”
“You said that last time. There's nothing for you to be sorry for.” His voice
is soft and low in my ear.
 I reach up and put my lips against his, the sweetest of slow kisses.
“I am sorry for anything that hurts you.”
Even if it is me, I add in my head. Especially if it is me.
It is completely wrong under the circumstances, in fact it is most indecent,
but suddenly I just really need to be with him. Not simply sex. I want to connect
with him, bond with him. Whatever. I don’t care but I need to do it now. I push
myself out of his embrace and onto my knees. He watches me in confusion as I
lift my jumper up over my head. The look on his face clears as I lean myself
down alongside him and pull him close, hoping to lose myself in him so I can
forget the nightmare that is going on around us.
This time it is different between us. It is like we are speaking a language
without words as we slowly find each other.
I know that when the time comes, it will be this memory that hurts me the
most. This will be the moment that I will never be able to erase out of my mind
no matter how much time passes.
I will be ninety-nine years old and I will still remember this cold miserable
January day. The day I found out that my best friend was pregnant by my brother
and I finally connected with someone, connected in a way from which I would
never be able to separate.

17th January
Meredith is still in my room. She has ignored all of Tristan’s calls. He has
also been calling me and Ben. I had to tell Meredith that Ben knew. She was
okay with it and he has been sitting with her giving the Ben Chambers foot rub
whilst I have been Googling trying to find out what to do. How did everyone
survive before Google?
I tried to get her to go to the doctor, but she says she is too scared. I’m not
going to force her yet. Just give her a bit longer to adjust and tell Tristan. She
has to tell him. He is going nuts. There are fifteen missed calls on her phone and
as many on mine. Mine also has some rude messages as well. Funny that hers
doesn’t.
According to Google, if Meredith is right about Christmas Day being the
whole 'forget the condom thing,' then she is about six weeks pregnant.
Something about it being dated from your last period, not the actual day you did
it.
I cannot get my head around it. My best friend is pregnant with my brother’s
child. Every time I think about it I want to be violently sick.

18th January
8.00 a.m.
We can no longer use the snow as an excuse for not going to class.
Ben and I are going to go. Meredith is staying home with a ‘tummy bug.’
9.30 a.m.
Ben sits next to me in Meredith’s seat. In any other circumstances this would
have given me butterflies, or made me grin like a crazy person. I do not feel
much like grinning, though. He hooks his foot around my ankle so that even
whilst we are listening to the lecture and writing notes we are still touching and
connected someway. It’s the same way we sleep in bed, one foot hooked around
another.
11.55 a.m.
When we leave Howard, Tristan is pacing outside. I want to cry the moment
I see him but I manage to hold it together. This is Meredith’s tale to tell not mine
—no matter how much it hurts for me to keep this from my twin.
“What the fuck is going on?” he demands as he storms up.
Ben edges in front of me so Tristan cannot get right in my face.
“Tristan, please calm down,” I plead, “Let’s not make a scene.”
“Let’s not make a scene? Where the hell have you all been?”
He is shouting and we are collecting an audience as all the other students are
exiting their lectures.
“Calm down, Trist,” says Ben, using his calm voice, the one he normally
uses with me. It doesn’t work so well on my brother.
“Piss off, Ben! Where the hell is Meredith?”
Guess it’s worth a try. “She is just sick, Trist. Go home, and I will ask her to
call you.”
“Not a chance! I want to see her now! If she has changed her mind about
me, she can tell me to my bloody face!”
My god! He actually thinks that she has changed her mind. He looks broken
by this possibility.
Just then it hits me. He actually loves her! Like, really loves her, the ‘not
going to live without her’ kind of love.
Ben looks at me questioningly.
 I give him a nod.
“You had better come back with us,” Ben says. He doesn’t meet Tristan’s
gaze.
Neither of us can.
12.07 p.m.
Just got back. Meredith went mad when I told her Tristan was with us,
shouting until she started to cry.
Tristan barged in when he heard her crying and dashed over to her.
I just walked out. That is something I have no desire to watch.
Instead, I am sitting in Ben’s room in silence holding his hand as if he is an
anchor and my life depends on him.

19th January
I can’t even put into words how proud I am of my brother. How my arse of a
dad and tit of a mum managed to create him is completely beyond
comprehension.
My twin has finally grown up. I don’t think I can call him ‘Tristan the Arse’
anymore. It just would not be fair.
He took complete control, did not freak out at all, even though I did notice
his hand shaking a little when he was making Meredith a cup of tea.
Could I be that brave if it was me? Of course not. I can’t even tell the man
that I love that I am in love with him. Pathetic.
Lilah = Pathetic.
Tristan = Not pathetic.

20th January
Meredith is coming back to lectures tomorrow after the doctor appointment
that Tristan has scheduled for her. He signed her up at our local doctor in
Putney, giving our flat address as hers so that she did not have go to the
University doctor. That was a great idea. Why didn't I come up with it?
Jayne knows. Of course she does. She could tell straight away that
something was up. Goth Chick, who is still annoyingly hanging around, has been
left out of the loop. She does not crack the nod on the ‘need to know’ list.
 Ben has been a trooper, cooking away for everyone and basically stopping
me from having a complete meltdown from the stress of it all. He cooks, and I
make tea and coffee, even if it does taste like cat piss.
We have not been together in the ‘you know what way’ since the day we
found out Meredith’s shocking news. I think he knows I have enough to cope
with, let alone dealing with the emotional trauma of having our relationship
precariously balancing on a knife’s edge, not knowing what is real and what is
‘pretend’ anymore.
Every night he stays in my room or I stay in his. He plays guitar until I fall
asleep and then just curls himself around me.
Every morning I wake up wishing that it never had to end, but I know that it
does.
Today I realised with a shock that Tristan and Meredith are going to need
that flat in Putney in the next few months. My dad is still failing at being Father
of the Year and is threatening to sell it. I need to sort this out. Tristan cannot pay
the price for my mistakes. Tomorrow I am going to have it out with Daddy
Dearest.

21st January
11.13 a.m.
My attempt sounds something like this from my side.
“Sheila, it’s Lilah. Is my dad there?"
She replies.
“What do you mean ‘no’?”
I listen again.
“Tell him to man up and talk to me before he ends up losing his entire
family.”
Well, that went well.
I will try again later.
2.00 p.m.
“Lilah, it’s your father. Would you please not leave me rude messages?”
“Dad, we need to talk about the flat.”
“No. How about we talk about your behaviour?”
“What? Dad, I’m twenty-six. I can make my own choices, but you cannot
make Tristan pay for them. Please.”
 I hate to say ‘please’ but I know it will help. I light a cigarette to make it
more palatable.
“It’s too late, Lilah. I have already instructed Estate Agents.”
“Please, Dad! Let me make it up to you, I will do anything. Just don’t let
Tristan lose his home because of me.”
Silence.
“Come back to the bank, and we will forget all about it.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Come back to the bank, and we will forget about it.”
“How about if I try and pay you for half of the flat, Dad?”
I have the cash in my rainy day fund, minus the Gibson.
“No dice, Delilah.”
“I can’t believe you are doing this to me. I love being at Uni.”
I sigh with frustration. Do I, though? Will I love it next year when Ben is no
longer here? I don’t know.
Silence.
“I will pay for the half the flat so Tristan is secure, and I will return to the
Bank for the summer and see how we get on. Best deal, Dad."
“Well done, Delilah. I knew you would come to your senses. You have a
great career in front of you. It would be a shame to waste it. I’m sure that John
will be relieved to know his partner will be back to help boost profits.”
I hang up.
That did not go at all the way I expected. I finish my cigarette leaning far out
of the window. I probably wouldn’t be overly concerned if I fell out right now
and landed on my head.

22nd January
“Absolutely not.”
Tristan is pacing, which is an impressive feat in the Guinea Pig cage.
“It’s okay, Trist. I can afford it.”
He stops and stares at me. They are not the only blue eyes staring at me.
“What about your degree?”
“Well, I only agreed to the summer. I can still come back next year.”
Tristan greets this with a big raspberry, which I don’t think is very grown up
for someone expecting a baby.
“Bollocks!” he explodes. “You know that once you go back you will never
leave. That is exactly what Dad is planning.”
“It doesn't matter. You guys need a home.”
“We can get a smaller one. That flat is ridiculous,” he says.
I’ve already thought of this. My money is not enough to buy a whole flat in
the same area. All I can do is secure Tristan’s half.
Meredith is crying again.
Ben is staring. I do not know what he is thinking, I can’t read his face, it’s
immobile and half in shadow.
“This is getting us nowhere. Can’t you just say thank you?” I ask, getting
frustrated.
“Thank you,” say Tristan and Meredith at the same time, which makes me
smile.
“It’s okay, guys. I want to help you. I love you both.”
Ben gets up and leaves the room. I don’t go after him. He’ll come back and
tell me what is wrong when he is ready.
Except he doesn’t.

23rd January
And still Ben does not come back.
He is around still doing all the normal stuff, and doing the Ben Chambers’
stoic thing. But he is not talking to me whilst he does it.
What on earth have I done for him to act this way? I just don’t get it.
I think about this as I jog around the roads of Roehampton at crazy o'clock
in the morning. I could not face the gym this morning, so instead I have decided
to go for a little run in the local vicinity. Thing is, the local vicinity is a little
scary: a huge estate filled with towering blocks of flats. I’m sure I see a couple
of burnt-out cars, but that could be my imagination. It’s Roehampton, for
goodness’ sake, not a bloody war zone.
It's fair to say my jog is actually more of a fast-paced run as I try to get out
of the dodgy areas.
As I complete my fast sprint, I think over Ben’s recent behaviour. This, in
turn, makes me think of our history so far. It is not pretty.
We meet, have a bizarre attraction thing where we drive each other crazy
and cannot keep our hands off each other. He pisses me off. And I ignore him.
Eventually, I decide not to be pissed off any more. We have a crazy
attraction thing, drive each other crazy, and cannot keep our hands off each
other. Then I piss him off. And now he ignores me.
It’s not the most mature behaviour I have ever come across.
As I haul my sweaty out-of-breath arse up the stairs, I decide enough is
enough.
I am going to have it out with him.
Ben’s Room
Okay, it will have to be after he gets out of the shower.
I could barge in there and have it out with him, but I don’t think seeing him
all naked, wet, and soapy is conducive to serious conversation.
Instead, I will sit on his bed in my sweaty clothes and wait for him to come
out of the shower. I am not backing down now. How dare he ignore me when I
have done nothing wrong at all!
At least when I ignored him it was with good reason, never mind that the
good reason was mainly due to my own deep-set paranoia and insecurities. That
is not the point at all.
Blimey! He showers like a girl! He has been in there for ages!
The Showdown
“What are you doing in here?” He glares at me.
I am going to go out on a limb and say he is not best pleased to see me
sitting on his bed.
“Waiting for you to get out of your girly shower.” I glare at him.
“Why are you glaring at me?” he demands.
“Because you piss me off. Why the hell are you ignoring me?” I demand
right back.
He breathes a deep sigh and sits down on the bed next to me.
I try in vain not to look too closely at him, maintaining eye contact where
possible because he is wrapped just in a wet towel and it is mighty distracting.
“I am not ignoring you, Lilah.”
“I beg to differ.”
He waves his hand at me to shush me.
How very rude.
“I am not ignoring you, Lilah. I just don’t know how much more of this I
can take.”
“What you are talking about? I thought things were okay between us.”
“Yeah, they were until you did the whole self-sacrificing thing with your
dad the other day. Now I am not so sure.”
“What do you mean ‘not so sure’? I don’t get it. I am just trying to help
Tristan.”
“Yes, Lilah, but did you ever stop to think that maybe you don’t have to help
and save people all the time?” He runs a hand through his wet hair.
I have nothing to say to this.
“Tristan is a big boy, Lilah. Big enough to get a girl pregnant, and he can
deal with this.”
“How? He does not even have a job and Dad was threatening to sell the
flat.”
He looks at me like I am mad. “Do you honestly think your brother doesn't
have a job?” he asks, sounding incredulous.
“What do you mean? I know he doesn’t have one. Remember, I just spent
December with him. He hangs around the whole time working out how to spend
Dad’s money.”
“What? No, he doesn’t! He writes articles, lifestyle ones, which magazines
pay lots of money for. You just never bothered to ask him what he does.”
Pardon? My mouth falls open to the floor. My waste of space brother
actually writes for a living? I did not even know he owned a computer. I can’t
believe it, and I can’t prevent the stab of jealousy that hits me when I realise he
actually has my perfect job.
It strikes me that I have just played right back into my darling father's hands
—again.
Shit.
Ben’s eyes grow wide as he realises I really didn’t know. “So do you see
why I am annoyed? I thought that you would be here next year, that I would be
able to come and find you again, that maybe if I gave you some space, by the
time I got back you might be ready to actually tell me that you are in fact in love
me and want to be with me. Instead, you won’t be here. You'll back to
pretending to enjoy a life that you hate, just like the first time I ever saw you.”
Again, I can’t find any words and I feel my stomach start to do
uncomfortable flip-flop thingys in my stomach.
“Lilah, you have to stop protecting everyone else and let other people deal
with their own choices.”
I stare back at him in shock. He knows that I am in love with him, but not
telling him so he does not change his mind about going abroad. He knows that I
came to university because I wanted to escape but did not want to hurt anyone,
which I did anyway.
“I don’t protect everyone’s feelings,” I say.
I don’t. I certainly don’t protect my own.
“Why did you say ‘yes’ to John when he asked you to marry him?”
Ugh, what a question!
I hate to think of that night. The flutes of champagne that I did not even
notice until it was too late to make an escape and the look on John’s face that
pleaded with me not to let him down.
“Because I didn’t want to let him down,” I whisper.
Ben takes my hand. “All you did was let yourself down,” he whispers back.
We sit there in silence. I don’t really know what to say. I realise Ben has
always known far more about me than I ever assumed. More than I know about
him.
With a gasp of shock, it hits me that he always knew about John.
“Oh my god! You knew about John, didn’t you? Right from the start. That’s
why you weren’t surprised in the Fez Club?”
He absently rubs my ring finger, the indentation from the cursed ring is no
longer there.
“I knew that I wanted you, and I would wait however long it took until you
were mine. I guess I didn't expect it to go quite the way it has,” he says with a
wry smile.
“So where does that leave us now?”
He is going to say that it is over, that our 'let’s pretend' is finished. He is not
going to give me my six months with him.
“Let’s just play it by ear, shall we?”
“Okay.” My chest feels like it has been struck a deathblow.
He pecks a kiss on my cheek and then starts to get up from the bed. Before I
can stop myself, I grab him and pull his lips to mine. The action is automatic and
I can do nothing to stop it. I just close my eyes and hope he does not push me
away. He doesn’t, and he kisses me right back.
“Do you think I should talk to Tristan?” I ask after I have pulled away.
“I think you would be crazy not to,” Ben answers softly, giving me a wink
which means that he thinks I am crazy anyway.
I must be.

25th January
 2.37 p.m.
This lecture cannot go fast enough. I have a date with my brother, and for
the first time in what seems like forever, I am actually looking forward to seeing
him. Yesterday evening I lay in bed listening to Ben play guitar through the wall
and realised that the one person in my entire life that I should be closest to—my
twin—is actually the furthest away. So I texted him and asked him to meet me.
We are meeting at Costa and I can’t wait. First thing I am going to do is make
him buy me the biggest coffee they have in order to make up for all the money
he ponced off me at Christmas.
Bloody cheek.

26th January
9.00 p.m.
If there is one day that I will never want to re-live it will be this one.
Scrap that. I do not even want to be able to remember today, I would like
someone to take it away. Now.
It is nine o'clock and I am in Ben’s bed. His arms are around me tight and
his fingers are tracing patterns along my sides. I do not feel it, though. I am
emotionally dead. I have been chewed up by some emotion-sucking monster and
spat back out again.
Yesterday, Tristan and I had our first ever grown-up sibling conversation,
which was great. Then it all went horribly wrong. So wrong that I wish I could
go to sleep now and wake up unable to remember anything that has taken place.
Of all the occasions I have suffered memory misplacement, this is the one
time I could truly do with it.
Costa and the Coffee of Truth
I ran out of class as soon as the bell rang and dashed to Deathtrap Cooper,
which I drove at high speed into Putney. I was eager to see Tristan and I never
thought I would feel that way about him. It was a new crazy friendly feeling. It
was a bit odd but I was willing to go with it.
“Why did you not tell me?” I ask, stirring my humongous
mocha/choca/every ingredient possible including whipped cream drink.
“Now, let me think, Delilah. Are you aware that you're a little stuck-up?”
I flick a sugar packet missile at him.
“You know, for seven years I watched you shrivel away. The longer you
were there at the bank, and the longer you were with that idiot, John, the less of
my sister I actually recognised.”
I stare at him. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I couldn’t work out what it was you wanted. You just seemed to be
sleepwalking around, completely unaware that life was going on. I couldn't tell
what was real and what was an act.”
“So I ask again, why did you not say anything?”
“Because we were estranged enough anyway. I thought that if I called you
on your little miserable existence that you would cut me out completely.”
It’s a fair point, I probably would have.
“Okay,” I say. There’s no use arguing.
“You were acting, though, weren’t you, Lilah?”
“Of course I bloody was.”
“Thank fuck for that. For the record, that ring was hideous!”
I laugh very loudly. “Yes, it truly was. I suppose in that case size does not
matter!”
We snigger away for a few moments recalling the iceberg ring John had
given me that would have comfortably sunk the Titanic and its sister ship
without taking a scratch.
Well, hasn’t this just been two days of revelations?
“When you decided to go to University, I knew that you had finally woken
up. I was really proud of you that day. You finally stood up to Dad.”
“How do you bloody know? You legged it before the row got going!”
He laughs at this. “Well, you made it to University didn’t you? You are far
stronger then you give yourself credit for. And you were brave enough to break
up with John even though it was the one thing that you dreaded doing.”
“Yeah, look where that got me.”
“It got you free, Lilah. You know that you could tell Ben today how you feel
and he would change everything for you. You are all he really wants.”
I scrunch my face into a scowl. “Yeah, but he deserves more. Anyway we
are not here to talk about me, we are here to discuss living arrangements.”
He raises an eyebrow.
“I do not want to give in to Dad.” There I have said it.
Tristan gives a slow sarcastic clap of his hands. “At last! She realises the
error of her ways!”
I have nothing left to flick at him, so I just stick my tongue out instead.
“So what we going to do?” I ask. I want to hurry this along and get back to
Uni so I can tell Ben and Meredith I am a big girl and won’t give in to my
tyrannical father.
“How much do you have in your rainy day account?”
“Hundred and fifty grand,” I announce, to which he gives a low whistle,
“Would have been more but our little depressed Christmas shopping spree
created a bit of a hole, as did Ben’s present. Turns out guitars are bloody
expensive!”
He raises his eyebrow again, as if to say, Yes, you divvy mare, they are
expensive when you are attempting to say three relatively little words with it.
I ignore the eyebrow. It is still bloody annoying, no matter how well we are
getting on.
“How about we use your cash for a deposit, and for a new sofa? Don’t think
I didn’t find your ink blob, Delilah.” He wiggles his eyebrows at me before
continuing. “And I will pay the mortgage. That way, we should get somewhere
big enough for all of us?”
“All of us?”
“Well, yeah, you will be with us, won’t you? If you do not go back to the
bank, Dad will not have you back home again. Well, not in the next decade
anyway.”
He smirks a little.
I think secretly he may be enjoying being Dad’s golden child at the moment.
Although it won't last when Tristan announces in a couple of weeks he has
knocked up an eighteen-year-old!
“Yeah, I will be with you. You, Meredith, and the baby.” My stomach gives
a little flip as I say the words.
He smiles happily at me.
“Tristan?”
“Yep?”
“You know I love you, right?”
There, I said it. I have told one of the two men in my life the words even if I
cannot say it to the other.
“Yeah, I love you, too, Sis.”
He is going to say something else, but both of our phones ring at once.
I glance at mine. Jayne, that’s weird.
Tristan looks at his and reports that it's Ben.
We both stare at each other for a second.
“Meredith!” We both exclaim, staring at each other.
 Tristan and I both answer our phones at the same time. Ben and Jayne tell us
that Meredith is not well and we should come home. So we go, neither of us
wanting to show our panic but still pushing the damn shitty car to the max.
We reach the dorm in record time and may as well walk into a scene from a
horror movie. Jayne is crying as we came in the door and I instantly want to
throw up. Ben looks even paler than his normal skin tone and just stares at me
blankly.
Meredith is in the bathroom and there is blood everywhere. Her jeans, which
are still on the floor, are drenched and she is staring at the toilet. She looks up at
us as we came in and says words that I will never be able to forget.
“I think my baby is in there.” She gestures at the toilet then she completely
falls apart.
Tristan walks towards her grabbing a towel as he goes and picks her up like
a little doll, gently kissing her forehead as he murmurs gentle words I cannot
hear over the static buzzing in my ears. He takes her into her room where he sits
with her on his lap while I try desperately to get through to the early pregnancy
unit at the hospital.
Finally I get through to some complete mega bitch who tells me that from
what I am describing, Meredith has indeed lost the baby but they would not be
able to tell for sure until the following morning when the scanning unit is open
again.
“What? You can’t do a scan today?” Disbelief colours my tone.
Ben glances up and watches me closely. “No, it is closed. Be here tomorrow
at nine. It is first come, first served.”
What?! How shitty is the National Health Service when a young girl, or any
woman for that matter, has to go all night without knowing if her baby is alive or
not. I just can’t get my head around it, and I tell this to the woman in no
uncertain terms, until Ben finally takes the phone away from me, apologises to
the woman, and hangs up.
I turn, starting to scream at him. How dare he undermine me? How dare he
imply that I am embarrassing anyone with my anger? Instead of pushing me
away, he just grabs me and pulls me in tight and close. Then I start to cry. In the
end, he has to take me out of the room as my near hysteria is making Meredith
worse.
Meredith continues to bleed all night. We all sit with her. It is not at all what
I expected. Not that I know much about it, but I kind of thought it would just be
over. Instead, it is slow and drawn out and desperately traumatic. Ben eventually
gives me the phone back so I can call the hospital again. It seems crazy just
sitting here, but I am assured, nicely this time, that Meredith is better in the
comfort of her own home. The simple fact being that this early in a pregnancy
there is little they can do anyway. I have no idea how to tell Meredith this. There
are no words for telling your friend news like that.
At nine this morning we are waiting at the scan unit. Ben holds my hand
tightly in loving support, but I think he may also be worried that I will punch the
first midwife I spot.
By nine-thirty we have our answer. Meredith lost the baby at eight weeks
and four days.
Only two weeks ago, the news of the little bump had come as a complete
shock to us all, unexpected and unwelcomed. Yet there are four shell-shocked
people leaving that hospital. My heart could break over and over again at the
memory of Tristan’s face. I will never be able to forget it.
Meredith is scheduled for a procedure in a few days to make sure that
everything is all gone.
How bad is that? She has to have an operation to make sure that her baby is
all gone.
We came home and drank a lot of vodka. I don’t care that I did not make the
full month without alcohol.
I have also smoked thirty cigarettes, and had sex with Ben, twice. None of it
has made me feel better.
I am not sure that anything ever will.

27th January
This morning I called my dad and told him he could go to hell.
I don’t need him.
We don’t need him.
He told me that the Estate Agents would make sure the place was sold by the
end of July.
I told him to do it quicker. We did not want his poncy flat anyway.
Then I called him an arsehole.
Then I had sex with Ben again. And then again.
February
1st February
I have awoken to a text from Meredith.
Meredith: Lil, I have some exciting news. See you Later?
I have absolutely no idea what can be exciting. She had her operation
yesterday, and I have not seen her very much since the whole thing at the
hospital. She and Tristan have been at the flat in Putney. Dealing with their
world of pain, which I can hardly comprehend no matter how much I try.
Dad has already sent estate agents around. I mean I know I told him to sell it
quick, but really! What a bloody wanker.
I spoke to Meredith the night before her procedure and she told me she was
scared they had made a mistake and that the baby might have still been there. I
had no idea how to respond at first but then I decided that honesty was the best
policy. It seems honesty is always the best policy it just takes a considerable
level of maturity and decency to say the right thing. These are life skills I am
learning fast.
“Babe, we all saw that scan. There was no baby anymore. I’m sorry.” This
had been met with silence followed by her saying in a small voice, “I know that,
I just keep dreaming about it.”
“I know. I keep dreaming about it, too.”
She then assured me that as soon as the operation was over she would start
getting her arse in gear. She almost sounded upbeat, which is good.
Not so good is the fact that I will then also have to get my arse in gear. This
will mean going dry again, giving up the ciggies, going back to the gym and
trying to stop having outrageously awesome sex with Ben at every available
opportunity.
That is going to be a complete bitch.
Okay, tomorrow is Saturday. I will hit the gym hard and start getting all the
nasties out of my system.
I wonder what Meredith has to tell me. The suspense is killing me.
Me: What is it? I want to know now.
Meredith: Be patient! Will be with you in half an hour.
Me: Just tell me, for goodness sake.
 Meredith: Get Ben and wait for us at Digby bar.
Ah, Digby bar! My new favourite place as it is so cheap and I no longer
have any money due to giving it all to the ‘new home fund.’
Yay! I will go and knock for Ben.
The Big News
11.47 p.m.
Well, that was all a bit unexpected.
Hmm. I’m not sure what to think about a single thing that has happened this
evening.
Good? Bad? Weird? I have no clue whatsoever.
Earlier:
“Wanna come and play?” I ask, poking my head around Ben's door.
I no longer bother to knock. Seems kind of pointless when we practically
live in each other’s rooms on a casual basis. Well, when we are not ignoring
each other, that is.
He is sitting on his bed with his guitar, biro in mouth and notebook laid to
one side. I know this look. It means he is trying to come up with new lyrics or
new tunes, or a combination of both. It is completely fascinating to watch. He
sits there dead still just staring off into space and then suddenly spends a frantic
couple of minutes scribbling stuff down. Then he goes back to staring again.
He waves a hand at me and I know he is in the middle of something so I sit
on the floor and wait for him to finish.
It gives me a good chance to ogle him. This is a pastime of which I will
never get bored. He really is rather fine, but in a ridiculously unaware way. I
don’t think he has the faintest clue what he looks like. In fact, sometimes I
wonder what he sees when he looks in the mirror. At the moment he is sporting
one of my favourite outfits: sweat pants and a holey stretched-out old T-shirt. It
might seem crazy liking him best in what could effectively be pyjamas, but it is
when he is casual like this that I find him practically irresistible, most especially
when he is padding around barefoot all dishevelled and artistic.
“Are you drooling?” he jokes.
I make a show of feeling the floor around me. “No, should I be?”
“You looked a bit glazed then.”
“Oh, whatever, big head.”
“Better believe it, babe!”
 We both start to giggle. ‘Babe’ is not a word he should use. It makes him
sound outrageously gay.
“Come on,” I say. “Meredith wants to meet us in the bar, and before you ask
I have no idea why. It is a secret surprise or something.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Okay, I will just get changed. Don’t think I should
go out in my pyjamas.”
He gives me a wink, and then makes a show of slowly stripping in front of
me. Okay, maybe he is slightly aware of what he looks like, to me, anyway.
Twenty minutes later we saunter into what has effectively become our local
hangout since the Lilah McCannon personal reserve bank closed its doors.
Meredith is already there and even through the dim hazy lighting of Digby
Student Union Bar I can see what the big news is.
Sitting her on her ring finger is the biggest diamond I have ever seen. It
challenges the one that John bought for me, and that has to be saying something.
I stop dead in my tracks. Ben pulls to a stop by my side and looks at me and
then at them.
“Oh,” is all he says.
I slide my hand into his and we walk over the sticky floor to meet them. The
entire way I wrack my brains trying to think of what the hell to say.
Meredith cracks up when she see us, but then she always has had a dodgy
sense of humour.
“You should see your faces!”
She laughs like a hyena sporting some serious bling. Tristan is at the bar
getting what looks to be a bottle of champagne. I glance over at Trev.
“Since when did you start selling the good stuff?” I ask.
“Just call me an old romantic,” he replies with a chuckle, handing us some
terrible wine glasses.
The Student Union Bar is not known for its wine cellar.
Tristan turns towards us beaming like a bloody idiot.
“So anyway,” he says, “yesterday after all that stuff. . .”
He doesn’t need to tell us what, Ben and I both wince automatically when
we think of what they were doing yesterday.
“. . . I asked Meredith if she would marry me”
He reads my expression, which I am ashamed to say is a little shocked. I
don’t know why. A few days ago I thought they were going to have a baby
together. This is nowhere near as BIG as that.
“After she finishes Uni— Jeez, Lilah! Take a chill pill," he interjects on
himself. “Meredith has very generously agreed to spend the rest of her life with
me.”
The look on his face is a picture and it melts my heart completely. I break
into a smile, my eyes stinging with sudden tears. Just because I do not believe in
marriage for myself does not mean I wouldn’t want it for them, especially if it
makes them so happy, which it obviously does.
Meredith gives me a hug, which I return as tight as I can, squeezing the life
out of her with my arms.
“It’s okay, Lil, I know I’m young,” she whispers as we hug. “We aren’t
rushing down the aisle now. It’s just after what we have been through, we know
we always want to be together and this is just to cement that between us.”
As she finishes speaking, she wiggles the iceberg under my nose. It’s very
pretty but somewhat large for my taste.
“Guys, if you’re happy, then I’m happy.”
And I am happy. I give my brother a massive hug and then squeeze
Meredith one more time for good measure. She really deserves it. She is going to
put up with Tristan forever.
Ben just stands there watching this all play out. Tristan looks at him and Ben
gives his head a shake, as if to clear whatever thoughts he is having. He steps
forward and says all the appropriate things, taking his glass of bubbles and
joining in with the clinking. As soon as it is done, he announces he is going for a
cigarette and strides out of the bar.
Bit weird.
Giving the others a shrug, I turn and follow him out.
I find him under the same tree that months ago we stood under together on
our first day of term after our first visit to Digby bar. He is leaning against the
trunk, and I can’t help but blush as I remember being pushed up against the tree
in the exact same spot, my legs around his waist. I had hardly known him then
but it had not stopped me. The chemistry had been instant between us.
Unlike that day months ago when it had been drizzling, clammy and warm,
today it is bloody freezing. I step towards him, raising my hand to brush his
cheek, fingers grazing his skin.
“What’s wrong?” I ask as I run a finger along the arch of his eyebrow.
“I am pissed off.”
Ben is not one to mince words.
“Why?”
He just stares, the blues drilling in to me. It makes me shift uncomfortably.
 Silence.
And still more silence as he continues to watch me.
“Before I met you, I never wanted to get married or have kids or anything
like that,” he finally begins.
There is another pause as he analyses me some more, clearly he does not
know how much he should say. I can almost see the words battling to get out,
but he fights to keep them in. I give his hand an encouraging squeeze.
“But since I met you, it is all I have thought about, and yet it seems to be
happening to other people and not to us.”
He stops to take a drag on his cigarette. “Not that I would want us to go
through the terrible things Trist and Mer have, but I keep thinking, what if we
were to get pregnant accidentally and create something perfect just by chance? I
think it would be the best news in the world.”
I stare at him in shock. I can’t believe he is saying this. Just a few weeks ago
he was telling me that he never wanted to have children.
But he is not done yet.
“Then I keep beating myself up, thinking that if I had not gotten so bloody
drunk that night, and made that awful mistake after that gig, that you and I may
have been engaged by now. It was always my intention to ask you. I was waiting
for your birthday. It’s not like I didn’t wait forever just to find you.” He trails off
giving a humourless laugh.
“Now I have to stand here, and be pleased for our friends. I am, but I am
also jealous as hell. Jealous of the things that won’t happen for us.”
I am still in complete shock. I have never heard him say anything like this
before. I can’t even process what he was saying.
He wanted to marry me after only three months of knowing me? How is that
even possible?
Then, I realise I would have said ‘yes’, straight away, after only knowing
him for three months.
Oh God!
So what? He wanted to marry me, but he’s now changed his mind?
Is this because of Barbie and how I reacted? Or is it because of the America
thing and the fact he is leaving?
Oh my god, my head!
I can’t get my mind around this. What am I supposed to say?
I go for silence instead.
He waits until I can only think of one question. “How were you going to ask
me?”
He gives a little secret smile. “I’m not telling you! Never know when I may
get to use the idea one day.”
Just like that, I think that he may have not given up on us completely after
all.
Maybe we will be like Anne Elliot and Captain Wentworth and find each
other again when there is no longer anything to keep us apart. I know I can’t
count on that being true, but it gives me a little glimmer of something
resembling hope.
“You know the other week? I asked if maybe you would like to go out on
another date with me, as we have only had one real one . . .”
He trails off so I helpfully add again, “And how we have sex all the time . .
.”
He giggles a little and kisses my forehead, the faint stubble along his jaw
scratches ever so slightly against my skin. My natural instinct is to move in
closer. Closer to him.
“Yes, that, thank you, Delilah. Well, I was wondering if I could ask for an
extended date and maybe you could come to Dorset with me over the next
holiday?”
What?
He looks a bit embarrassed, probably misreading my facial expression,
which involves my mouth opening and closing like a goldfish.
“It’s just that I like the idea of going to Lyme Regis with you, and I would
like to do it before I leave.”
He does not say the words, ‘before I leave and I might not get the chance
again’ but they hang there unspoken. Just like that my little glimmer of hope I
had moments before is snuffed out.
I think quickly. Take it, don’t take it. Take it, don’t take it.
Take it.
I link my fingers in his.
“That sounds like fun, Ben, although as we are not proper boyfriend and
girlfriend, I think I should ask for separate rooms.”
My little giggle of mirth is cut short by his lips touching mine. It’s only a
short kiss but I didn’t let him escape. May as well make good use of this tree
whilst we are standing here.
Ten minutes later we head back to the bar, readjusting our clothes as we go,
to find Tristan and Meredith on their second bottle of champagne. This time Ben
really does congratulate them, giving me a wink as he does so.
I’m not sure what the wink means. Actually, I am not sure of the meaning of
anything. All I know is that he has asked me to go away with him and it will just
be me and him together, and that has got to be a good thing.

2nd February
Oh god, it’s Valentine's Day in a couple of weeks. With the way things are
this could be a minefield of problems.
Ben and I are not dating, which means I should not give him a card.
Ben and I happen to have sex on a frequent basis, which means I should give
him a card.
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.
But that’s not real, is it? This is all just pretend.
Taylor Swift is singing "Fifteen," rather loudly. Apparently she didn’t know
who she was supposed to be at fifteen.
Me either, love. I’m twenty-six, and I still don’t bloody know who I’m
supposed to be.

11th February
I went to another viewing after lectures. Another shit hole, I should clarify.
This one had a staircase that smelt very strongly of pee, and not the animal kind.
Ben is ‘super’ excited about his trip to the States. He is going to be gone for
the whole of the Easter holidays.
Yippee flipping doodah!
Valentine's Day is in three days. I am going to hide. I think that is the most
sensible and mature approach.

13th February
“Why are you here?” Tristan asks with his ability for annoying questions.
“Why are you here?” I counter.
“I live here.”
Fair point.
“Well, it’s my home, too. Just thought I would have one last night in the old
place before we pack up and move.”
Even I would not believe me.
“No, you’re not. You are hiding because it is Valentine's tomorrow.”
“Am not.”
“Sure you’re not, Lilah,” Tristan says, giving me a sad little shake of his
head like I am the most pathetic being he has ever clapped eyes on.
I probably am.
“So what are you loved-up kids doing tomorrow?” I ask as I hoist myself up
onto the work surface.
Tristan is making one of his sandwiches. It’s always fun to watch. He is like
a builder layering up the perfect sandwich. They are so big, I have never
managed to finish one, even before I went on the now nonexistent Delilah Detox
Plan.
“I’m taking her to a show.”
No eye contact.
“You are taking her to a show?” I can’t keep the incredulous tone out of my
voice.
“Yep,” he replies, layering his third piece of bread.
“You are taking her to a show?” If I say it enough I might believe it.
“She has never been and mentioned that she would like to, so I booked it.
No big deal, Delilah.” He waves the knife at me for emphasis.
“But you hate shit like that! You always say it is boring and you would
rather have your eyes gouged out.”
 “Yeah, but she wants to go, so I don't mind.”
And that in a nutshell is what love is.
Love = Doing something even though you can think of nothing worse, just
because the person you love most in the world wants you to.
I feel even more depressed now.
I am in my room and have loaded Pride and Prejudice on the DVD player
ready for a ten-hour Mr. Darcy drool fest.
Colin Firth, bring it on! Now that is my sort of Valentine’s Day. I may
watch it again tomorrow followed by Love Actually and Bridget Jones whilst
dodging class. Perfect.

14th February
Valentine’s Day from Hell
9.20 a.m.
Another embarrassing wake-up.
“Wakey, wakey, Lilah.”
There are deft fingers teasing under the duvet, which I try to roll away from.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“Finding you. Why are you hiding? And most importantly where is my
Valentine’s Day snog?”
“Uh, go away.”
“Only if you come with me.”
“I am not going to campus today to watch lots of lovesick teenagers drool
over each other.”
“No, I mean come away with me.”
I open an eye to see if he is being serious. Ben looks deliciously fresh sitting
on the edge of my bed wearing a navy T-shirt and faded jeans. A little too
deliciously fresh.
“Come away where?”
“Dorset. Come on, we’re going now. Grab your things.”
“You’re crazy.”
“Yeah, I know,” he concedes with a look like he might be about to add,
About you. But he doesn’t.
“Really? You want to go now?”
“Yes. I promised you a date, and we are going to have it.”
 I think about it for a whole twenty seconds before leaping out of bed.
“Give me five,” I shout as I head into my en-suite.
“No problem. Um, Lilah?”
“Yeah?”
“Why is Colin Firth paused on your TV screen wearing a wet shirt?”
“Oh. Is he? I must have fallen asleep.”
11.00 a.m.
Deathtrap Cooper does not like long journeys and has decided that it does
not want to go to Dorset. It thinks the salt air will make it rust or something and
that it’s best to stay in the relative safety of the underground parking.
This would have been a huge spanner in the works, until Tristan very
gallantly offers to lend us his Audi.
Yes! Now that is a result.
Hurrah! A trip away with the hottie from next door now is taking place in
super-sexy fast car. Much, much better.
1.30 p.m.
The super-sexy car goes very fast.
I am a little surprised when Ben starts to navigate us away from any towns
and most especially away from Lyme Regis, which is where I think we were
going.
“Where are we going? Isn't Lyme the other way?”
“To my mum’s.”
He says it casually, like he has just answered "To Asda" or "To the pub."
This is not what I am expecting at all. I’m thinking it would be more along
the lines of an out-of-season hotel, with warm fires and crazy local staff. Not, I
repeat, not, a visit to meet his mum.
He smirks as he watches me come up with something to say.
I can’t really think of anything appropriate, but have a strong desire to do a
U-turn and head back to London. To my own credit, my fears do not affect the
speed or direction of the vehicle at my control.
“Why are we going to your mum’s? And why did you not tell me so I could
pack the right stuff?”
“What do you mean 'pack the right stuff?' What on earth did you pack?”
“Well nothing suitable to meet your mum for the first time.”
“And my sisters,” he adds helpfully.
Great.
 “Don’t they think you’re a twat?”
“Yep.”
Double great.
“Should I be prepared for any ex-girlfriends to rock up and call you Benji?”
He sticks his tongue out at me. “No, you'll be okay on that one.”
Finally, he directs me to a narrow road lined with neat semis. My hands are
slick with nervous sweat and sliding around the wheel as I attempt to manoeuvre
Tristan’s car. I manage to park eventually, but it takes me a few tries, the whole
time the blues are watching me, gauging my reactions and emotions. I try to
make a discreet hand-wipe on my jeans. My tatty horrible old baggy jeans that I
flung on in a rush having no idea I was going to meet his family.
Curse it!
He turns to me from the passenger side and catches my face in his hands.
“Lilah, will you calm down? It is just my mum and sisters and we are just
popping in. It is no big deal.”
I gaze into the blues trying to absorb what he was saying. He is right. It
should not be a big deal at all. I am not even his girlfriend really.
He gets out of the car and walks around to meet me on my side, opening the
door, (which is quite sweet) and taking hold of my hand before leading me up
the path to the red front door.
I expect him to ring the doorbell, but he doesn’t. Instead, he slides a key out
of his pocket. And, yes, I do stare a little as his hand slips into his pocket. I don’t
know why I find this sexy, I just do.
The lock clicks open and he pulls me through to whatever is awaiting us on
the other side.
“Hey, guys, I’m home!”
Imagine my complete surprise when a voice calls back with, “Hey, Ben!
Hey, Lilah! We are in the kitchen.”
Surprised, I am. I don’t know why I thought they wouldn’t know about me. I
just assumed that because my parents were crazy freaks and I didn’t tell them
anything going on in my life, that other people were the same. It appears they’re
not. Ben’s mum is not only expecting me, she has been waiting to meet me after
hearing all about me over the last few months—yes, that's right—over the last
few months.
This information nearly causes me to drop my cup of tea all over the floor,
and Ben gives me his wicked smirk as he watches me comprehend just how
integrated into his life I actually am.
 I mean, I know I live, breathe, and obsess about him on a continuous basis,
but I never once considered that he might talk about me to his family.
Ben’s mum, Beverley, as she insists I call her, is such a lovely person. She is
much younger than my mum, but then she would be as she had her children
much earlier in life. She has the same black hair as Ben, but her eyes are very
dark brown, almost black. His sisters share their mother's colouring, which
makes Ben the odd one out with his crazy, beautiful blues.
His sisters, Rose and Iris, don't regard him as a twat at all. In fact, they seem
to worship the ground he walks on. Both are married with children. Rose’s two
were at school, but Iris has her six-month-old baby with her, and for the first
time in my whole life I quite comfortably hold a baby for longer than thirty
seconds.
This is after I see Ben pick up and cuddle baby Arran, and my ovaries
explode.
Bang.
The only dampener on the visit is when Beverly asks Ben for details about
his move to LA, especially the bit where she turns to me and asks, “So, Lilah,
are you going with Ben?”
What?
“Um, no, I will be at Uni next year.”
Without your son, which means Uni will become unbearable and a torment
to my soul. Clearly I keep my sad stalker thoughts to myself.
“That’s a shame,” she says. “Well, you never know what will happen in the
long run.”
Ben glares at her and starts making our excuses to leave.
I am actually a little sad to leave. This is the most normal family time I had
ever experienced. It is how I would like my family to be, but I know that will
never happen.
As we get ready to go, all three of them give me big hugs and kisses the
same as they give to Ben.
Beverley leans in and whispers as she squeezes my hand, “I know we will
meet again. You are always very welcome here, Lilah.”
I flush furiously in response, and Ben glares at his Mum again as we step
into the cold February air and make a little dash for the car.
Cranking up the heating to the max, we sit in silence for a moment.
“Sorry my mum came on a bit strong,” he says, running a cold fingertip
along my cheekbone.
 “Don’t be daft! She was really nice,” I reply, shoving the car into first and
waiting for instruction.
“Where to now, navigator?”
“Okay, now we are going to Lyme and the real date.”
He flashes me his best killer smile, which makes my stomach flip out and
the accelerator rev ever so slightly as I ease the car forward into whatever the
rest of Valentine’s Day has to offer.
The Real Valentine’s Date—From hell Valentine's 'Ben style' is strangely
also Valentine's 'Lilah style.' Go figure.
We check into a little B&B that had not seen a decorating brush since at
least the 1970's. I am talking brown-flocked wallpaper and a burnt-orange deep-
pile carpet. It’s hideously great. We are both in fits of hysterics as we survey our
room, which is decked out in pea green. Everything is pea green; bed sheets,
carpet, walls, curtains, sink, toilet, and bidet.
“They have a bidet!” I shriek from the bathroom.
“Only the classiest of places for you, Lilah,” he replies with huge grin.
I unpack my bag, which involves just taking out a toothbrush and some very
sexy red underwear.
“Now I see why you panicked in the car earlier.” He smiles slowly whilst
moving toward me as lithe as a cat.
“Hold on. I actually have to put it on first,” I protest, unsuccessfully trying
to squirm out of his arms.
“Save it for Round Two later,” he murmurs against my ear.
So I do.
It is completely perfect. It is also completely unreal.
When it’s time to go out and explore, we find a great pub, the sort of place
where everyone stops and stares at you as you walk in, and you have to be
careful about where you sit in case you offend a local by deeming to put a butt
cheek on their special chair.
We locate a small corner table to sit in (nobody glares at us so we assume it
is a safe zone) where we proceed to drink countless pints of beer and eat about
fifteen packets of crisps a piece. It's really just as well I am not going to the gym
again as James would have been able to see those fifteen packets sitting on my
hips from a mile away.
Advice for Valentine's Day
 Never ever talk about feelings when drunk on Valentine’s Day.
Later we walk under the cover of darkness along the Cobb, hands held
loosely together, stepping in time with one another. We walk in silence listening
to the sound of the waves as they crashed on the wall below us. It is all deeply
romantic until we make the catastrophic mistake of talking.
Talking about feelings after that amount of beer is NEVER a good idea.
“So what is this?” he asks, pulling our entwined hands up between us and
motioning his head to them.
“What do you mean?” I have a bad feeling about this and decide to play
dumb.
“Well, what is this, Lilah?” He says my name in that low way of his and my
mouth instantly becomes dry.
“Um, I thought we were playing it by ear?”
“Really?” He sounds a little surprised. “This is you ‘playing it by ear’?”
“Well, yeah, I thought that is what you wanted.”
“No, Lilah. What I want is you, but you are not giving me anything to work
with.”
“What?” I try not to shout. “Nothing to work with? We just spent two hours
in bed together!”
I'm pretty sure this is not the conversation Captain Wentworth and Anne
Elliot had whilst standing on the Cobb together.
“That’s what I mean. You give me all the physical stuff but you don’t want
to give anything more. You don’t want to make me any promises, or give me
more of yourself.”
I want to scream at him "Yes, I do!" but I hold my tongue in check.
Instead I say, “I don’t know what else to give you. What future can we
possibly have when we both know that you are leaving soon? I honestly don’t
know what you want.”
He is staring at me intently. “I just want you to tell me what we really are to
each other. I have realised that I feel much more for you, than you do for me,
and if that is the case then I should know, so that I can move on.” His voice
breaks a little on the last word, like he has something stuck in this throat. It must
be the same thing I have stuck in mine.
What? He thinks that he feels more than I do?
What? He wants to move on?
I want to shout at him and tell him he is insane.
I think he is getting angry as well. He is holding his whole body tight like he
is no longer sure how to move it.
“Lilah, I am beginning to think that we are just glorified fuck buddies.”
Holy cow! I can't believe he just said that to me! I am going to explode. I
can feel the steam building.
“How dare you say that to me!” I practically scream.
He holds his hand out to grab me, obviously realising that the words were
far harsher that he intended.
I spin away from his touch. “I never wanted to meet you, Ben. I had no
intention of ever starting something with anyone. But I met you, and I fell
completely in love with you. Except you’re the one who ruined it, the night you
let that bitch into your room.”
It’s a low blow, even in my rage-induced, alcohol-enhanced craziness, I
know it is.
“Oh, we’re back to that again, are we? How many times do I have to tell you
that nothing happened? You even told me you believe me. I think you’re just
trying to hide your feelings behind a flimsy excuse. What are you hiding from,
Lilah?” He says my name softly stepping towards me, hands sliding along my
arms to meet my hands.
“What are you hiding from?” he repeats softly. “I would be anything for
you, and do anything for you, but you just keep me emotionally shut out.”
“Do you think I find any of this easy?” I ask.
Maybe he thinks I am a completely emotionless bitch.
“No, I didn't say that.” The blues search into my soul.
“I don’t think that I can live my life like this anymore.” I am shouting again.
“I don’t think I can carry on living my life to Taylor Swift anymore. I am
twenty-six, not a teenager, but since I met you it’s all I feel, all these crazy
emotions that spiral out of control all the bloody time.”
He is staring at me.
“What do you mean living to Taylor Swift?” He has a slight lip curve so I
guess he thinks this is amusing.
“Don’t you hear it? All the time? Everything we do, there is a teenage angst-
ridden song for. Thing is, Ben, we are not teenagers and we both have big life-
changing decisions to make. Well, you’ve made yours, but I still have to make
mine.”
“You know I would stay for you, don't you?”
His voice is very low, like he is scared to say the words out loud. His lips are
kissing my forehead.
 “I know you would,” I whisper back, “but I don’t think you should. I am just
not worth it.”
He gives a tsk and pulls me in close until his lips are on mine.
“You asked me how I felt emotionally,” I say after a while.
“Yes,” said through lips that are still on my cheek.
“I feel like you are my best friend.”
He looks at me in shock. “Is that all?”
“No, you don’t get it. I have never ever felt that before, that someone knows
me better than I even know myself—good or bad. That someone is part of my
soul and that they are an integral part of me.”
“I feel that, too,” he whispers against me. “I am just so sorry I fucked this
up.”
“You didn’t. Maybe this is all we are meant to be. Perhaps we need to work
with what we have.”
I am lying. I am lying so badly that I'm surprised the earth has not opened up
and dragged me down to the pits of hell.
I don’t want to work with what we have, I want more, and I am greedy for
more. Then comes the deathblow.
“Do you think that if we are going to do the whole best friend thing we
should stop having sex so much?”
Kill me now. Please.
“Yeah, probably.” I want to pull my tongue out with pliers.
“Well, I will be sad not to see the red underwear.”
“Maybe we could start the whole best friend thing tomorrow, and just for
tonight still be star-crossed lovers.”
It’s cheesy, but it gets a grin from him and he sweeps me up tight into his
arms.
“That sounds like a deal.”
We turn and start to walk back to the hotel.
“Lilah,” he says as our hands are swinging between us.
“Does Taylor have a song for tonight?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
Lying again.
Though he can't hear it, Taylor is singing "Back to December." And I want
to go back to December, too.
Valentine’s Day. The day I downgraded the love of my life to my best
friend.
15th February
I am never ever, ever going to celebrate Valentine’s Day again, as long as I
shall live. I shall make a blood oath or something so I never forget.
I still can’t quite believe it.
I am most definitely back under my duvet, which is where I plan to stay for
the foreseeable future.

17th February
“I don’t really think he and I can be your best friend at the same time. I am
not very good at sharing,” says Meredith, poking her head under my duvet.
“Meredith!”
“Well. Best friend, my arse. You speak out of your bum half the time, Lil.”
“Oh, shut up, and pass the vodka.”
“Just saying. You could fart and it would make more sense.”

18th February
Lectures = Yuck
Library = Yuck
Dorm = Yuck
Acting like best friends = Yuck

19th February
I think I may do something a little different today after lectures. I might
branch out and attempt to feed myself. I have not cooked ‘successfully’ other
than toast since the Christmas turkey fiasco, and I think maybe I should have a
go at self-sufficiency. Ben in his new best friend only role is still cooking for
me. Excellent! But I am starting to worry that come the Easter holiday when he
is away I may starve. Even if I manage to survive that, I will still most definitely
starve next year.
I am going to go to Putney and get some stuff from Waitrose. I wonder if
Meredith fancies a trip to the supermarket?
 Later.
Or I might just go to the pub instead. I am sure crisps are perfectly
substantial for dinner.
We had gone to Waitrose (with all good intentions) and I had made the big
mistake of trying to take a shortcut to the freezer aisle, unfortunately the shortcut
had been down the baby aisle.
“Do you think frozen prawns are as good as fresh?” I asked turning to look
at her. I found her staring at the packs of Pampers lining the shelf in front of us.
Then she turned to me and cried. And I cried, too.
In all the bloody drama of Ben and I, and the whole ‘let’s pretend to be
boyfriend/girlfriend’, followed by ‘let’s pretend to be best friends’, I had
completely forgotten that my real best friend had just lost a baby. Well, I had not
forgotten as such, let’s be honest, who could? But I had been fooled by her
happiness over the engagement that she was okay. Not so okay.
We had abandoned the trolley in the middle of the aisle and walked out arm-
in-arm. Straight to the pub where we put the world to rights over a couple bottles
of pinot.
The best bit of the evening was even though we were both two sheets to the
wind by the end of the night, we managed to find our own way home without
calling on Ben or Tristan.
This is good because:
I did not tell Ben that I 'shloved' him
I proved that I am capable of handling an emotional evening without using
him as an emotional crutch.
I did not drunkenly beg him to have sex with me. Now that we are just best
friends, that would not be appropriate behaviour.

20th February
I have realised today that there are actually other people in our lecture room,
and that they are all reasonably nice.
Since the beginning of the course, I have been so absorbed with Ben, trying
to eavesdrop on all his conversations and watching every move he makes with
my crazy stalker tendencies, that I have never really noticed anyone else before.
This makes me realise just how far in Crazyville I have been, not just a parking
space but a full-on house and garden now. I did not even really notice the thirty
or so other people around me.
There are even a couple of cute guys, not to the same standard as Ben, but
definitely on the cute side. That just shows the effect he has on me. When we are
in a crowded room, he eclipses everyone else to such an extent that I do not even
see the others.
I may as well sit in a lecture room by myself for the amount of attention I
have been paying to my surroundings.
I am now making an effort to at least try and speak to other people. Emma,
of the water bottle fame, seems really nice. She said that a few of the class are
going out for drinks later if I am interested. I’m not sure, though.
Maybe I should go.
But then maybe I shouldn’t.
I could ask Ben to come?
Noooo!!
I must stop thinking like this. We are friends only now. We do not have to
do everything together.
5.00 p.m.
Library = boring.
Maybe I should go for that drink?
6.00 p.m.
Should I mention it to Ben and Meredith?
6.30 p.m.
Okay, I am going to go. But I’m going to shout out to the others as I leave so
it is an open invitation. That sounds like the best plan.
10.55 p.m.
That was fun.
Okay, I am a little tiddly, but not crazy-Lilah-drunk, like I have been
recently.
When I walked in, Trev raised his eyebrow at my apparent lack of ‘crew’
but I just gave him a small shake of the head. Emma called me over to a table in
the corner and I grabbed my drink and legged it before he could ask any
questions about where Ben was or why he was not with me.
Instead, Emma decides to dig the dirt a little later when she knows I have
had a couple and I am far more likely to spill the beans.
“So what happened to you and Ben then? We all thought you were love’s
young dream or something?”
Hmm.
“Well, you know, we are really just friends.” I stop myself from saying,
‘now’ and take a deep sip of beer instead.
“Shame, he is mega hot and seemed to worship you.”
“Well, I don’t think he worshipped me. That's probably overstating it a
little.”
“So does he hang around outside classroom doors for all his friends?”
“Um, I don’t know, maybe.”
She smirks.
“Does he stare at all his friends obsessively?”
“I wouldn’t say he stares, obsessively.”
“So what’s he doing now then?”
“What?”
“At the bar?”
I look up to find Ben standing at the bar coolly sipping a pint of beer. What
does this mean? Did he come to join in? I did shout the invite to everyone.
For the first time ever, I am not sure that I actually want him there. I hate the
way my knees gave a little shake when I see him, or how my heartbeat starts to
charge the moment I know he is near. What’s the bloody point?
Emma, who is clearly not privy to the thoughts in my head, waves him over.
I watch him cross the room with his long strides and know I am blatantly
staring open mouthed. I catch myself and force my mouth closed. He really is
frickin’ hot and I can’t believe I bagged him. His confidence is really sexy. It is
in every move he makes, all calm and commanding, and it makes me want him
in the worst way.
I shake the thought away.
Not good thinking dirty thoughts in a packed bar.
He sits down, but not next to me, as if he doesn’t want to encroach on my
space. He then joins in the conversation some of the guys are having with ease.
This is the thing with Ben; he always finds it so easy to get on with everyone.
Not like me, who gets all flustered and tongue-tied. It’s never a problem for him
to slide himself in to whatever situation he finds himself. Look at him and my
brother. How different could they be? Yet they are still friends. They will
probably be friends longer than he and I will be.
After half an hour, I stand up and grab my cigarette packet, announcing that
I am going out for air. Ben watches me but before he can say that he will come
too, some other guy jumps to his feet and announces that he also fancies a
smoke.
I can feel Ben’s eyes on me all the way to the door.
I spend an uncomfortable five minutes outside attempting to make small
talk, which is not a forte of mine, unless I happen to be at the checkout of Asda
with some guy called Richard, before dashing back in again. I don’t know why I
am dashing anywhere, Ben and I are just ‘friends,’ which is what we agreed. It
should not be a problem if I have a smoke with another guy. But I know I am
talking bollocks to myself. It is going to be a long time, or perhaps never, until I
am comfortable with hanging around having smoke breaks with anyone other
than Ben.
He watches me sit back down through hooded eyes. I just ignore the
butterflies in my stomach. Slowly, we all settle back into conversation. It is all
mild stuff just joking at the lecturers, and everyone is getting a little tipsy.
Ben and I gradually gravitate towards each other. It is impossible for it not
to happen. By the time another hour has passed we are sitting in deep
conversation, knees touching, and hands sliding towards each other. It makes me
think of our first visit to this bar and it makes me a little sad.
Once again, he has eclipsed everyone in the room. There is only him, and
the blues.
When I go to the bar to get some more drinks, Trev gives me a knowing
wink.
“Oh bugger off,” I tell him as I grab the drinks and head back over to our
growing gathering, but to the only seat that I want to sit in. The seat next to Ben.
On the way back to the dorm, we walk along in silence, our fingers tips just
occasionally brushing which we both pull away from.
“Goodnight, Lilah,” he says outside my door.
“Goodnight, Ben,” I whisper.
11.05 p.m.
Something does not feel right. Ben is playing the Gibson and I am lying on
my bed listening to it. But something is definitely not right.
11.08 p.m.
Got it.
11.18 p.m.
I have moved my bed so that it is alongside the same wall as his. Now there
is just a thin partition keeping us apart. Well, a thin partition wall and a sea of
problems that will never be solved.

21st February
I think I might become a vegetarian. That way I won’t keep craving Ben’s
crispy bacon sandwiches anymore.
Obviously, this is a very big decision.
There are pros and cons to carefully consider.
Pro: I will no longer have to whine at Ben to make me a snack and stand
there like a pleb whilst he cooks.
Con: I might starve.

22nd February
2.00 p.m.
I have taken to singing. I categorically cannot sing. It makes all the local cats
stand by the window and yowl.
However, it does seem to do a very good job of winding Ben up, which
makes it a worthwhile pursuit.
I don’t know why I feel the need to wind him up. It’s just pissing me off that
he seems to be dealing with the whole ‘friends’ thing more easily than me.
I have been putting in some Taylor time just to make my point clear. Ben
banged on my wall until I stopped earlier today—when "Story of Us" was the
song du Jour—which I thought was rather rude. I giggled away to myself
afterwards pleased at the fact that I had clearly succeeded in irritating him, until I
heard him playing the same song on his guitar back through the wall, making it
sound much more tuneful than me. I’m not sure what point he was trying to
make.
It could be read in two ways:
He took on board the comment I’d made in Lyme and has been trying to
understand what I was very poorly attempting to explain to him.
He thinks my singing is truly awful (which it is) and is demonstrating in his
frustratingly superior manner how much better he is at everything than I am.
This only highlights for me the fact that we are better off only being friends.
 I kind of really want it to be reason one, but I have the feeling that it is more
than likely reason two.
He still waits for me after class, before giving me a cheery wave at the
bottom of the stairs and heading off to meet his new friends. How come he
managed to make new friends the other night at the bar? I just ended up talking
to him and then obsessing about him even more afterwards. It seems unfair to
me.
Maybe I should try to go out on a date or something?
Who is going to go out with me? It is quite clear that I am infatuated with
Benjamin Chambers. It’s only been a few days since Valentine's. How is he
finding it so easy to do the whole friends thing? I want to ask him. The idea’s
making me cross.
We went from meeting his mum and sisters, and having mind-blowing
"personal relations," to standing in the freezing cold, telling each other that we
should just be friends.
Oh god, I know this is my fault. All he wanted was for me to commit to
something, but as usual ‘Scaredy Pants Lilah’ was completely unable to commit
to anything, and now he has decided that our little game is not worth playing
anymore and he is moving on. I always knew that it was going to be over at
some point. I just figured that maybe I would see a little more moping about. Or,
better yet, he would be in a different country and I could just imagine that he
was moping about, even if he wasn’t. This is worse. Far, far, worse.
Taylor is singing "Haunted." I would join in, but I would not want anyone to
bang on the wall.
It is Saturday for goodness’ sake, and I am sitting on my bed like Billy No
Mates with nothing to do.
I wonder if Meredith wants to do something.
2.15 p.m.
Damn it! She is not in. She must be out being all romantic with my brother.
I wonder if Jayne wants to do something.
2.17 p.m.
Bollocks. She also has a life. I think Goth Chick is here, but I am not sure I
can cope with that. No offence to her, but I find her a little hard to communicate
with, something to do with looking at that amount of makeup. It is like talking to
someone wearing sunglasses.
 2.20 p.m.
I think I might have a go at cooking something. I wonder what you need to
make spaghetti Bolognese? I shall Google it and then attempt to create myself a
gastronomic feast.
2.30 p.m.
Blimey! Apparently you need quite a lot of stuff.
Garlic
Onion
Mince
Celery? Why?
Carrot? Really?
It all looks a little complicated, but I shall resist the urge to buy a jar of
sauce and will do it myself. Who knows? I could turn out to be a Bolognese
whizz, and could get myself a job in an Italian restaurant to pay for my studies.
Asda or Waitrose?
Asda: More appropriate for my student budget.
Waitrose: A far nicer shopping experience.
Bugger it. I am going to Waitrose.
5.00 p.m.
Okay, that was more expensive than expected. I just spent a rather large sum
of money on the makings of dinner for one. I did buy a case of wine, but that is
to go in the sauce. Well, some of it is.
I may just have a small glass before I start chopping, just to make sure it is
okay to go in the Bolognese.
6.00 p.m.
Mmm. That is good wine. I can completely see why it was ten pounds a
bottle.
6.45 p.m.
Oops-a-daisy! I thought it was half price but checked the receipt and think
that maybe it was twenty quid.
That’s quite funny. I just drank a twenty-pound bottle of wine by myself!
Whilst singing Adele at the top of my lungs. I am sure "Someone Like You" was
never meant to sound like that.
This is great, though. Here I am feeding myself, standing on my own two
feet enjoying some quality Lilah time. Life doesn’t get much better than this!
Okay, I am going to go and cook and try not to drink anymore wine. I am
supposed to be putting it in the sauce.

23rd February
9.00 a.m.
I have a red wine headache from hell.
I don’t think that any of the wine got in the sauce, but thankfully by the time
we got around to eating, everyone had drunk so much of the outrageously
expensive red they would not have noticed. It’s a fact: I will never be offered a
job in an Italian restaurant unless it is working in the scullery washing up.
I sliced the top of my finger off, mistaking it for a carrot, which I was trying
to julienne. Unfortunately, I do not have a clue what ‘julienne’ means, but I am
pretty sure you are not supposed to do it to your finger. Then Ben walked in on
my culinary crime scene.
Annoying much? Glug, glug, glug.
I downed half a glass of wine, trying to distract myself from the blood
fountain when he came dashing up, grabbing my bleeding digit, and shoving it
under the tap in the sink, which had made me go all weird and semi-pass out.
This was embarrassing and not at all what I was aiming for when I had started
my cooking endeavours.
I drank another half glass of wine to try and stop my pathetic heart
palpitations caused by Ben holding my hand whilst bandaging the wound and
then smoothing my hair whilst I tried not to pass out.
For future reference, squatting on the floor with my head between my knees
is not a good look.
(Let’s be honest. By this point I was pretty tipsy.)
“What on earth are you doing, Lilah?
“Cooking.”
“Yes, I see that,” he says in a stern, disapproving voice. (Cue me drinking
more wine.) “But what are you cooking? Maybe I could, you know, help. If you
like?”
“Oh. Yes, if you like."
“I just asked if I could help.”
“Are you not out with your new super-duper very important new friends?”
This is met with a confused eyebrow raise.
 “I have been at the library,” he says.
“What? For four hours?”
Stalker alert!
“There were some journals that I found interesting.”
“Really? You found some journals interesting?”
“Yes, Lilah. What are you cooking, and do you want my help?”
I should say ‘No’. But of course I say ‘Yes’.
“Spaghetti Bolognese,” I say with a sigh of resignation.
“You made this much mess for spaghetti Bolognese?”
“Look, Mr. Perfect, we can’t all be blessed with amazing culinary skills.”
“Well, that’s true,” he says with a sarcastic nod of the head.
I could fight it, but, really, what would be the point? Instead, I grab another
glass and pour some wine for him—my one true culinary skill. He gives a small
smirk when I hand him his drink. I think he almost says the thought out loud but
holds himself in check.
I hop onto the counter determined to at least watch what he is doing so I can
remember for next time. Next time, when he is not around to help me anymore,
and is probably making spaghetti with some skinny blonde American who is
clad only in black lacy underwear.
I do not watch him cook at all. Instead I observe his low slung jeans encase
his mighty tidy bottom, and I watch his long fingers prepare the vegetables—
without any blood loss. Show off! I also watch his mouth as he talks to me, and I
watch his smile and the blues when he turns to me, occasionally giving me his
killer grin with crinkles. The whole time he cooks and I sit perving, the
conversation flows between us, not once edging near any sensitive subjects. I
drink more and more of the ridiculously expensive wine and try to keep myself
from launching off the counter and dry-humping his leg while he cooks.
So basically I learnt absolutely nothing about cooking spaghetti Bolognese.
But I did learn the fact that I am still an outrageous Ben Chambers stalker.
And I most definitely am still completely in love with him.
Fuck.
Thankfully, Tristan and Meredith came home before we had to do the whole
awkward sit down to eat together. Though I was slurring badly by the time we
ate, the food was delicious, as was the company. It was a great evening, the four
of us sitting there just laughing and giggling over our food and drink, much like
we did before the whole underwear incident, and much like we did at Christmas,
except Christmas had ended with us having amazing sex.
 Last night ended with a hand squeeze in the hallway outside our doors.
A hand squeeze.
A frigging hand squeeze.
Now I am stuck in my room, with yet another hangover whilst trying to
avoid the annoyingly sexy boy from next door.
I am proud of how far I have come in the last five months.
Not.

24th February
10.00 a.m.
I am back under the duvet.
I have re-read my entries from the last couple of weeks.
I have been a complete dick head. On Valentine’s Day, all Ben wanted was
for me to admit that I felt more than something physical for him.
WHICH I DO.
But, oh no, I just couldn’t say it. I stood there like a dim-witted nut job and
said all the wrong things, which I have been moping about ever since.
This whole ‘friends’ thing is completely and utterly my fault.
I should just go and knock on his door right now and tell him that it has all
been a complete misunderstanding and that really I do feel a lot for him, and
would he perhaps hang around and cook me spaghetti Bolognese forever?
Or I could just stay under my duvet.
11.00 a.m.
Okay. Duvet today.
2.00 p.m.
I think maybe I should come up with a plan of attack to try and win him
back. This whole separation between us has been caused by me. I should try and
fix it.
Tomorrow I will try harder to show him that I can manage something more
than friends. I know it will only be for a short time, but it has got to be better
than obsessing about him and stalking him but not doing anything about it.
I just need to say, "Yes, Ben. I do completely love having sex with you, but I
am also in love with you as well."
That should be easy. I'll just have to embrace the truth for once.

25th February
25th February
“Hey, Ben. Do you fancy a trip to the library?”
“Oh. Sorry, Lilah, I have got football practice.”
“Football practice?”
“Yeah, I joined the team.”
“Why?”
“I had some free time. Seemed like fun.”
“Oh. Okay, then. Well, have a good time.”
“Thanks. See ya about.”
It’s a date with the duvet again.

26th February
Tristan is getting worried that we are not going to find a place to live in
time.
My brother really is a big girl's blouse.
He dragged me to see another flat today but it really was so hideous. I can’t
help thinking that we are looking at the wrong things. He wants a flat because
they are a teeny bit cheaper, but everything we have seen has been completely
appalling.
Today, the third ‘bedroom’ was really a glorified airing cupboard. I think I
may branch out a little and see if I can convince him to try something else. The
way things are going, we will be living in a caravan parked outside of campus in
September.
Meredith is very blasé. I think she feels guilty that we are funding it all,
though Tristan and I have both assured her that she can pay her own way once
Uni is over.
It is a worry, though. Even with Tristan paying the mortgage, I’m not sure
how I am going to afford to live next year.
I might have to get a job or something equally drastic.
Maybe I should have a look about for a job now? It will give me something
to do other than stalk the boy next door. I could do with a new project. Maybe I
will find someone new to stalk.
Oh god, that just shows how low I have fallen. I am thinking about stalking
someone new, just so I can try not to think about the person I am actually
stalking.
Football? I am still in a state of shock over that one. Surely he should be
practising guitar or something. Perhaps writing some award-winning lyrics.
Football?
Taylor is singing "Teardrops on my Guitar."
I feel like smacking myself over the head with a guitar, sod the teardrops.

27th February
Where can I get a job? I think I need to write a list of my abilities and work
out what I can do.
I like to read, but only on a casual basis.
I like to jog, slowly, with an oxygen tank.
I like to drink wine, but that's not typically allowed while on the clock.
I like to smoke, a luxury I will soon be unable to afford.
I like to stalk tall, dark, handsome men. Well, only one, but I am open to
new stalking opportunities, though that might distract from my duties.
I have an amazing memory for detail, but only in relation to object of
stalking.
That is it. That is the sum list of my abilities.
Meredith has also written a list but I think she may be drunk. She sat on the
end of my bed giggling as she wrote the list then dashed out of the door full
speed.
Meredith list goes like this:
Lilah is kind.
Lilah has pretty hair, now that it is grown out a little and not looking like it
was cut by a demented person.
Lilah makes an awesome Christmas dinner so long as you are not too hungry
or pressed for time.
Lilah is very good at making cat piss tea in a crisis.
Lilah is very good at giving hugs and holding hands when you are upset.
Lilah would make a very good rock star girlfriend/wife if only she wasn’t
such a dick.
This is a problem. I have no clue how I am going to get a job with these
skills.
How the hell did I manage to hold down that job at the bank for all those
years? I really should have pushed the tea trolley around. How on earth did I end
up on the trading floor? It must have been a complete fluke, or my dad pulled
some major strings.
I am unemployable. And I am working toward a History degree, which will
make me even more unemployable. Fact.
Oh shit!
I have just realised something monumental. It really was my dad who’d
helped me get my career started. It pains me to think it because he annoys me so
much, but he must have really put his neck on the line to get me that job. Then I
just gave it all up, with no thanks or anything. I just pissed off to university
without a second thought. I then proceeded to dump the guy that he welcomed
into our family with open arms.
Oh, no. Now I feel like the world’s worst daughter.
Should I, though? It was only a month ago that he was trying to bribe me
back.
But was he? Or was he just giving me an escape route.
I told him to stick it up his arse.

28th February
It’s the end of February. What have I achieved since the beginning of the
year?
I joined the gym . . . then left
I gave up alcohol . . . but then started again due to the depressing realities of
life.
I re-ignited my amazing love affair with the sexy boy next door . . . then
accidentally stopped it again by saying the wrong thing at the wrong time.
I went from having sex numerous times a day . . . to having none.
The good news is that I am really enjoying my studies.
That is the only good news I have.
According to Dad’s estate agent, someone has put an offer in on the Putney
flat. So I shall now be homeless as well.
Great! Bloody great.
Oh, hold on, one more thing, I must not forget.
 Ben is leaving for a trial run in the United States in three weeks all
because I am too stupid to tell him that I love him and I want him to stay.
March
April
1st April
Or not.
Instead, I could get completely shit-faced with Meredith over family lunch.
So shit-faced that Ben has to pick me up and carry me from the table and lay me
on the sofa after I pass out with my head on the dining room table in between
courses.
Meredith and I decided to celebrate the fact that Ben was home and that we
were all together, acting like some happy, extended-family unit. Well, we were a
happy, extended unit until she threw up halfway through the main course, and I
passed out before the cheese and biscuits.
I tried to blame Ben for the fact I fell asleep at the table. He had kept me up
half the night whispering promises in my ear.
He didn’t accept the blame for my extreme drunkenness, informing me
instead that I am an outrageous lush and needed to not drink wine from 11 a.m.
in the morning.
“Shonly on Bank’s Sholidays,” I assured him.

2nd April
Back to reality and my role of guitar-selling supremo. Reality is helped by
the fact Ben comes with me, and spends two hours tuning every guitar in the
shop. He really does have an amazing ear. He then plays us some of the band's
new stuff, the bits they were working on before Ben legged it back to the UK. It
sounds great, and I am left with a little stab of guilt that he has put me before the
band.
By the time he’s finished, he has created a bit of a gathering with his
impromptu acoustic set. There are at least thirty people crammed into the shop.
Big Baz has been a little crafty and opened up the doors despite the lashing rain
so that people can hear the music from outside and hopefully come in, which
they do.
At the end of the set Ben gets asked a million questions by some enthusiastic
but very spotty teenage boys who want to play like him. We sell eight guitars,
mainly to harassed mums, and Ben has to give a gaggle of sixteen-year-old girls
autographs, which makes me laugh my head off as he blushes furiously and
signs the pieces of paper they offer him. As one of the girls turns away, looking
like she wants to snog the bit of paper in her hand, I notice that there is a picture
printed on there. Upon closer inspection I see it’s a picture of Ben.
“Where did you get this?” I ask, trying not to sound like a crazy jealous
girlfriend.
“Off the website.”
Judging by the look she gives me, I have failed. “What website?”
“Well, duh! Sound Box’s website.”
I had no idea that they had a website, nor the fact that Ben has a large
following of teenage groupies. Hmm. How did I not know this? Is my head that
far up my own arse that I do not know my own boyfriend has a website? It
hasn’t even crossed my mind, otherwise I would have found it during my stalking
days.
After the shop has cleared and Big Baz is cashing up, he hands us a fifty-
pound note.
“What’s this?” I ask.
“You guys make a great team. Go out for some drinks or something, on
me!” He gives a little chuckle at his ‘or something’.
How mature!
Although, saying that, I am a little desperate for some ‘or something!’ Since
Ben has been home I have been on the blob, which is mighty inconvenient,
though perhaps not quite as inconvenient as the alternative, which is the baby in
the tummy scenario.
“You know, Ben, you sound pretty good by yourself,” Big Baz says as we
get into our coats.
“Thanks, Baz. I don’t usually bother. Guess I am just used to the band being
with me,” Ben replies, as he peers out of the door into the pouring rain.
“Well, you’re welcome to play here anytime, especially if you help me shift
stock like that!”
Ben flashes him his rock-star smirk in return. “No worries. Should be easy.”
Cocky git.
“Come on, Lilah.” Ben says. “Ready to run?”
We run a whole thirty paces to the nearest pub where we settle down and
drink all of our bonus money.
We drink pints of beer, eat lots of crisps, and then come home for lots of
catch-up sex.
 I love having a boyfriend. I love having Ben as my boyfriend even more.

3rd April
“Shall we go to the library and find those sources?” I try to ask without
giggling. I am turned on my front and Ben is kissing up the back of my bare leg,
one sneaky hand creeping up my inner thigh.
“Nah, let’s just stay in bed.”
Okay then.
I wonder if the end-of-term paper is going to have a multiple-choice section
entitled, ‘Things that make you giggle in bed.’ I hope so, otherwise I am
screwed.

4th April
Work and the Ben Chambers show
I wondered why we had such a crowd until I noticed that Big Baz has snuck
up some flyers in the window.
‘Ben Chambers of Sound Box playing here, today at 11.’
What a cheeky shit! But it is good for business, and it has surely got to beat
sitting around in a sea of depression like last week, selling only one item the
whole day.
Big Baz was so thrilled with his increase in profits he slipped us a hundred
this time.
Pub.
Beer.
Crisps.
Sex.
No Library.

5th April
8.00 p.m.
“Are you guys on a honeymoon or something?” Meredith shouts through the
door.
“Go away,” I call. We’re snuggled in Ben’s bed at the halls and Meredith’s
voice is that last thing I want to hear.
“No, come out with us,” Meredith persists. “Beth’s here, too.”
“Where?” I call back.
“Fez! Come on! You know you want to.”
Ben and I look at each other, scrunching our faces up. It’s clear neither of us
‘wants to,’ but we are both too soft to say ‘No’.
“Okay. Give us fifteen minutes,” I shout back.
“No! Say, ‘Half an hour,’” Ben whispers.
“Why?” I whisper back.
“I have something I want to show you,” he explains, chuckling against my
ear as he rolls me on top of him.
“Half an hour, guys!” I shout through the door.
“That’s disgusting,” Meredith and Beth mutter in unison.
8:45 p.m.
No need for makeup. I am flushed to the max.
“Can you wear those high heels?” asks Ben, coming up behind me and
buttoning his shirt.
Sexy.
“Why?” I ask, but he just wiggles his eyebrows at me.
“Oh, my God! You are insatiable,” I screech with giggles as he attempts to
pull me back over onto the rumpled bed sheets.
Midnight.
We walk home, hands swinging between us. Ben is on the side of the traffic,
of course. It’s raining but we don’t care. We're happy together, just casually
walking along. His dark hair is flattened by the water, which drips onto his
shoulders. A raindrop slides down his nose. He turns and catches me looking,
gives me a wink and a squeeze of my hand.
I do not want this to end.
6 April 4.00 p.m.
th

The band is back, and Ben has gone to see them. I am at work, drinking
Budweiser.
10.30 p.m.
A text from Ben:
It’s a late one. I’m going to stay at Dave’s. See you in the morning.
Sorry. XX
Ugh! It’s not that late. It is half past ten. What does he mean ‘late one?’
It’s 79 days until he leaves for good. Not that I am counting.

7th April
6.00 a.m.
“Why are you in your room and not mine?” he asks, his arms winding
around me.
“Why are you here? It’s not dawn yet.”
“I missed you.”
“Really?”
“Really,” he murmurs against my ear. “Now, Lilah, we really need to talk
about your sleeping apparel . . .”
I giggle as he slides his tracksuit pants down my legs and lifts his holey T-
shirt up over my head.
10.00 a.m.
We are back in his room, which it seems has now become ‘our’ room.
“So what happened with the band?”
“Oh, we had an argument, but nothing out of the ordinary.”
I push up onto my elbows. “What about?” I ask.
“Lilah, it is nothing to worry about. Just forget it.”
“The fact you say it is nothing to worry about makes me think that it is.”
He nibbles my ear, which I know he thinks will distract me.
Not a chance.
“They questioned my commitment, so I got angry. It was nothing and not
the first time it has happened.”
“Because you left the States and came home?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault, Delilah. I did what I needed to do, and that is all there is
to it.”
“Yeah, but your friends are freaking out that you might be about to fuck this
up for them.”
He has not exactly told me this, but I know that’s what’s going on.
“Lilah, I have given them ten years. I think they can allow me to have one
minor blip, even if it is when we are abroad.”
“Liam told me that you threatened to leave once before.”
He is silent for a moment. “Yes, but I didn’t leave. I decided to stay.”
“Because of me?”
He doesn’t say anything, just gives a slight incline of his head in
acknowledgement.
“And now they think you are going to leave because of me?”
“Yes.”
“I am not going to let you.”
“I know. Now shut up. I missed you last night and need to make up for it.”
“What? Again?”
Cue ridiculous giggling.
Summer Term
8th April
It’s here, the beginning of the last term of the academic year. I’m not sure
how it has come around so quick. Oh, okay I am, but I am trying very hard not to
think about my track record of stropping, sulking, stalking, and drinking.
After lectures, I tell Ben and Meredith that I have things I need to do. I
actually want to go and study. It would be nice if, just once, I could study
without Meredith obsessing over my brother, or the fabulous home we are going
to have and the parties we are going to throw. Or what wedding dress she may or
may not wear in two years when they get married, happily fucking forever after,
not that I’m bitter.
It would also be nice to study for once without Ben somehow talking me
into taking my clothes off. See? I am growing as a person.
I’m all for naked study, but it is probably best not to do it in the library.
I want to look at the sources for the group project. Since I came up with the
idea, it has grown inside my imagination and become something that I feel very
strongly about.
What is loss?
How do you let go?
What does it mean to admit your sorrow and regret?
How do you live with the memory of what was and is no longer?
These are the thoughts on my mind as I climb the bloody stairs all the way to
the history books.
Luckily I find the most extraordinary source. My god, I actually feel like a
university student right now!! I find it impossible to read it without being moved
to tears.
This is real life, real loss and real sorrow. It makes my heart ache with the
enormity of it all.
The source is a soldier’s thoughts on the Menin Gate in Ypres. The Menin
Gate Memorial Hall of Memory records 56,000 ‘missing’ of the British Empire
who fell from October 1914 to August 1917.
Fifty-six thousand soldiers, who lost their lives in one town, in less than
three years? How can you possibly compute that sort of loss? The record I have
found is heartbreakingly touching. The author has to consider why the memorial
is there. Surely no one will ever forget what happened in that town.
 He writes that he wonders who will march through the gate now that their
numbers are dwindling. He believes that the names are well graven on the arch
for there will come a time when nobody remembers the names of those who
gave their lives.
Can you let loss go? No. You immortalise it in any way you can, so that you
will never forget. Even when you are no longer there to remember, the testament
to your loss will stand forever more.
The other source I have found is entirely different and this is why I know I
am onto a winner topic. It considers the comparison of the drastic loss of a
nation with that of the private loss of parents who have lost their children
through war. Kathe Kollowitz’ statue in Roggevelde Military Cemetery, Vlasdlo,
depicts a mother and father kneeling in grief at the loss of their son during the
war. The husband kneels, arms folded over his chest, remorse set in stone on his
face. The wife is kneeling forward, and forever in mourning for the son that she
blessed to go to war but who never came back.
Is it possible to move on from that? How do you give your blessing and let
your child leave you in a futile pursuit, to have them never to return to you
again? Should you let go? Can you ever let go of your guilt afterwards? Can you
learn the art of letting go?
This has been a thoroughly depressing trip to the library. By the time I have
made it back to the dorm, I am choked to the max, with a tight chest that's unable
to lift the weight of loss that grips me. It’s not personal to me but I can feel it
like the cut of a knife.
When I walk inside I give my notes to Ben who is sitting in the lounge
talking to Jayne and Beth. I then go to my own bedroom where I sit in the dark
for what feels like an age.
Later.
Ben comes in to find me in the end.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“Yeah, I am.”
I am now.
“I love the stuff you’ve found,” he says. “It’s very thought provoking.” He
leans against me so we are touching all along our side.
“Thank you.”
“What’s wrong, Lilah?”
I sit there and think about it. “I can’t imagine how you deal with that sort of
loss. I don’t understand how to let go of something that you love that much
without it killing you on the inside.”
He sits there for a while and we watch the lengthening shadows spread
across the room.
“I don't know either,” he says at last.
Then he reaches for my hand and we head back to our room.

9th April
“Who the fuck is Miranda?” I ask, my green-eyed monster back with a
vengeance.
“Our rep in the States.”
“Why is she texting you?”
“Why are you asking? And why are you looking at my phone?”
“I am not looking at your phone. It’s right there by my leg and it flashed
clear as day.”
“Seriously, Lilah. Are you jealous?” His tone is incredulous.
“What, that some strange woman is texting you? Who I’ve never heard of
before? Yes, I fucking am.”
Cue major stomp off out the front door.
Damn it. What am I supposed to do now? It is a Tuesday and it's only five in
the afternoon.
7.00 p.m.
I love wine.
I love my Brother.
8:45 p.m.
“We need a BBQ.” I state mainly to the table.
“What, now?”
“No, you fool, for our new home.”
The room is spinning really badly and I think I may be sick.
“It’s April, and we don’t actually own it yet, Lilah.”
I blow a raspberry at these inconvenient facts. “When will we?”
“Four more weeks, according to Tracy, the world’s most useless solicitor.”
“Good. I’m going to paint my room purple.”
“Purple is for the sexually repressed, Lilah, which you are not.”
“Not now, but I will be.”
 “Do you think you should go home?”
“Don’t want to. You can’t make me.”
9.15 p.m.
Ooh, shexy man coming towards me. I hope he doesn’t notice that I am
slurring and looking through one eye. Sexy, shmexy.
“Are you ready to come home yet?”
“Oh, itchs youse.”
“Why are you looking through one eye?” He turns to the debris on the table.
“Oh, that’s why.”
“Shwat, exacry aresh youse implysing?”
“Come on, Lilah, let’s go.”
“Shcant shmake shme.”
“You think so?”
“Yesh.”
“Sounds like a challenge.”
Cue Fireman lift. And a round of applause from the pub, fed up listening to a
drunken old lush rambling with her head on a table.

10th April
8.30 a.m.
“I am sorry.”
“I know you are.”
“No, really. I am very sorry, but I need to be sick.”
8.40 a.m.
“Please don’t ever walk out on me like that again.”
“I won’t.”
“Lilah.” Ben holds my chin so I have to look at him. “You can ask me
anything and I will always tell you the truth.”
I meet his gaze even though my brain is attempting to escape out of my right
eyeball.
“I know, Ben. It’s just I have this very bad visual image of you being
surrounded by tall, skinny, blond girls dressed in black underwear.”
He laughs as he pulls me in. “You are crazy.”
“I know. I’m missing lectures today.”
“I know.”
13th April
It’s Jayne’s birthday.
Jayne has been largely absent of late due to her embarking on some crazy
love affair with a guy from the football team. I have only met him a couple of
times, and I’m not entirely sure if he may not be a bit of a twat. I have not told
her this, though. He strikes me as being a player, which is funny considering that
a few months ago I thought that Ben was a player, too.
Anyway, Jayne is trailing this guy all over campus, which is rather amusing
to watch. Meredith and I frequently get emergency calls like "Quick! Meet me
outside the bar. He’s just gone inside. We can make it look like a coincidence,"
or "Guy’s! He’s on the third floor of the library. Meet me in the stairwell!"
Meredith and I have started calling lots to see which one of us goes to rescue
her.
Tonight we are going out to celebrate her birthday. Thankfully, we are not
trailing the football team, but instead watching Sound Box play. This is good, I
think, apart from the fact that I am worried about a couple of developments.
This is the first time I have seen the band since the whole America debacle
and the subsequent row and Ben has told me (in his gentle don’t-scare-the-kitten
voice) that their rep from the States is going to be there. Miranda.
Now this should not bother me since I know he loves me and he knows I
love him. We are as set as cement.
However, let’s be honest: I am prone to crazy-green-eyed monster behaviour
and I am trying very hard not to think about the fact that in two short months the
love of my life will be leaving me to live in another country with this woman
called Miranda.
No. It’s okay. I am a confident, attractive woman with a boyfriend who
worships the ground I walk on. I do not need to be worried.
The Gig
Or I really bloody do.
Guess what? Miranda (pronounced Mihraandah) is six foot, blond, skinny,
and I can clearly see her black frickin’ bra through her white shirt. Bloody ho.
So far she has said with a sexy slow southern drawl, “Wow, Lilah, how
lucky are you to have such a talented boyfriend?”
“Mmm, that’s me, lucky, lucky, lucky.”
“He really is quite a catch. Girls love the guitar thing. Hope you are keeping
him sweet.”
I hesitate for a moment unsure if I have heard her correctly. What? As
opposed to sour?
“Well, I try.”
“Those girls were going wild for him out there.”
“Really?” I bet they bloody were.
“Oh, yes, Ben definitely got a lot of positive feedback.”
What is positive feedback?
I need a cigarette before I turn green and explode out of my clothes, but the
band has only just started playing so I cannot escape quite yet. I decide to be a
grown-up and move away from the annoying skinny American.
I stand and watch Sound Box play. They are so good and their new material
really is amazing. The general pace of their new stuff is much slower than their
usual fare. Ben’s told me he has not been writing much over the last few months,
but standing here listening to the new tracks, I believe he may have been keeping
a few things to himself. Sneaky.
“Did Ben tell you about the great night we had at the hotel before he left?”
Oh God, she is back.
“Uh, no, he didn’t.” We have been far too busy having crazy reunion sex.
Get lost, you skinny bitch.
“Oh, it was such a blast! There was a Jacuzzi, but none of us had any swim
wear packed . . .”
Oh, God. This I do not need to hear. “Excuse me. I need the bathroom.”
I head towards the door and the spring fresh air outside where I can stand
and smoke for a few minutes of peace.
Jacuzzi?
My peace does not last long.
“Lilah? Ben is looking for you from the stage. You better come in.”
Meredith informs me poking her head out the door.
Shit.
I walk back in, not really wanting to look at him.
Ben is talking into the microphone.
Knicker explosion again.
Ping.
“Recently I had some time to do some thinking, and I came to realise one
thing. This song is for Lilah.”
Instead of singing a Sound Box song, Ben takes his Gibson to the centre of
the stage and proceeds to sing an acoustic stripped back version of U2’s "With
or Without You."
Why does he do this to me? How does he always know the right way or the
right things to say to make everything so much better? Better than they would be
without him.
By the time he is finished I am on the verge of swallowing my own tongue
as I try and beat down the lump in my throat. He finishes and gives me a small
bow, which I return. Before he even turns back to the others I have legged it to
the bathroom.
“What are you doing?” asks Meredith, peering under the toilet door.
“Dude, I could be having a crap!”
“Well you’re not, you're just crying.”
“Go away, Meredith. Sorry, I just want to be alone.”
“Open the door.”
“No.”
“Open the door before I go and get Ben or Tristan.”
I open the door.
“What is the matter? That was ridiculously romantic!” she asks, kneeling on
the floor in front of me.
“I know.”
“So? What?”
“I don’t know. How I am going to cope when he is gone?"
“Lilah, you are crazy.”
“You’ll help me, won’t you?” I am dribbling snot everywhere.
“Lilah, you are my best friend. I will always help you.”
I raise my head to face her. “Thank you.”
I give her a hug. “Don’t tell him I was upset.”
She looks at me like I am mentally challenged. “Lil, I think he is going to
know.”
I stand up and go to the mirror. Shit! I look like I’ve been in a fight and lost.
I splash my face a few times and head out.
Holding my chin up high, I head back out to the bar. Ben is there with a pint
in his hand. He really is sublimely hot standing there in black jeans and T-shirt,
skin glowing pale in the dim light. The blues find me instantly. Then he is across
the bar in a flash.
“What’s the matter?” he asks, bending down to meet my eyes.
“Nothing, Ben. It’s all good.”
 Miranda is tripping up to us in her ten-inch heels, like she bloody needs
them. “Oh Ben, I was telling her about that night with the Jacuzzi. Wasn’t it such
a blast?”
He looks at her like she is nuts, which I think she might be. His hand slides
down and links through mine.
“It’s not what you think,” he whispers.
I just give a small shake of my head.
“Ben, I’m going to go for some air. Give me a couple of minutes, hey?” I
say as I walk towards the door.
Three minutes later, he is in front of me.
“It is not what you think,” he says again, while taking a cigarette from my
packet.
“I don’t think anything. It's okay.”
It kind of is. I know that when he is gone it will not be my business to be
bothered by Jacuzzis or skinny blondes.
“Why are you upset then?”
I stare at him for the longest moment before deciding to go with honesty.
“Because I have realised just how hard it is going to be.”
“How hard will what be?”
“Letting you go,” I whisper.
He reaches his hands for me and fits them around my waist, planting his lips
against my forehead.
“I know,” he whispers back, before stepping me backwards into a shop
doorway and making use of the cover of darkness only the way that Ben
Chambers can.

14th April
We have just over two months left. Last night when we got home after the
gig we had another conversation without words, different from before. This time
I think we were trying to memorise each other, so we were imprinted on one
another's soul. I laid there with my eyes closed, using my fingers to feel his face,
like a blind woman reading her favourite book, the feel of the skin around his
eyes, the crinkly bit, the slope of his nose, the outline of his lips.
He is my favourite book. Captain Wentworth has been demoted.

15th April
15th April
My list of most hated people is as follows:
Mihraandah. Impressive. She made it to the top spot the first time I met her.
Liam. He doesn't like me and I am only too happy to return the favour.
My dad. Our relationship has improved, but it's not fixed.
Mr. Sleaze from Arseholes R’Us. I am still having nightmares about those
dirty boxers.
Barbie. Well, at least she’s down to fifth place.
Tracy, shit solicitor. I want my new keys.
Primary Head teacher. She will never be forgiven for making me read in
assembly when I told her I needed to go to the toilet.
Brian Johnson. When I was thirteen, he told everyone that I kiss like a frog.
Sparrow Chick. She never came back and talked to Beth. What a bitch.
Me. I am a completely spineless dick.

16th April
Taylor is singing, "Mine."
I thought she had gone away but apparently not.
“What are you humming?” Ben calls from his side of the study desk.
“Nothing.”
“Yes, you are.”
“Am not.”
“Is it Taylor?”
“I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about.”
Ben giggles and ducks his head down from between our study desks. His
foot taps mine in time with my tuneless humming. We are supposed to be
studying but I am not really. I am staring at the books I have opened and
doodling. Lots and lots of triangles.
I can’t concentrate on anything. I just keep counting . . . How many days
until he leaves? I have to count them every day and every time I do, a knot of
anxiety grows in the pit of my stomach.
Meredith and the girls want to go out tonight but I have said no. I don’t want
to be away from him for even a second. Every second I have is just too precious
to lose.

19th April
19th April
My jog around the park today was sweatier than I am used to and I have
realised with surprise that spring is here. It has probably been here for a while, I
have just not noticed. Summer is snapping at its heels, eager to have its full
month of glory.
I found the most amazing place in the centre of the park that I am going to
take Ben on Sunday. Let’s call it the Lilah McCannon date. It’s about time I
organised one.

20th April
8.30 a.m.
“Keep tomorrow free! I am taking you on a date,” I say to Ben.
“What? You are taking me on a date?”
“I sure am.”
“Well, that is a first. All you do normally is have sex with me.”
Smart arse.
3.23 p.m.
Work sucks.
Ben hasn’t come. He’s gone to meet Dave, and he didn’t tell me why. So, no
guitar playing, no crowds, and not that many sales. Baz and I have been staring
at the counter and randomly eating and drinking all day to chase away the
boredom.
Breakfast was bacon and egg sandwiches from the café, not a patch on
Ben’s.
Elevenses was a cream donut and a cup of tea.
Lunch, well, lunch, I do not really want to admit to, but let’s just say it came
from a place whose branding takes the form of a golden arch and it was an extra-
large. That’s all I’m going to say.
I wonder if Ben will be home when I get back. I’m a bit concerned as to
what I might have for dinner.
6.45 p.m.
He’s back.
9.30 p.m.
Steak and chips.
 I officially can’t breathe. Well, I could but then I would be sick and I don’t
want to see any of that again.

21st April
How perfect my life would be if this were my forever after.
It would be perfect. If every day were like today, then I would never ever
wish for anything else. I think I managed to prove to Ben that I am not just a
sex-crazed fiend and I sometimes can actually be a little romantic.
The Date
I popped back to the flat in Putney, which is now largely packed up into
boxes, apart from the few bits that Tristan still uses. After destroying a few
carefully packed crates, I find what I need: a wine cooler, picnic blanket, and a
picnic hamper. I then got very, very lucky and found two bottles of Veuve
Clicquot under Tristan’s bed.
Ha, sucker! You did not hide those well enough!
I then went to Waitrose and picked up lots of romantic food including a
baguette, brie, strawberries, and chocolate. Yes, I know I should have gone to
Asda but it does not have quite the same ring to it.
I was back from my hunter-gatherer exercise before Ben was even awake.
Excellent, what a great way to start the day, the Ben and Lilah wake up.
“Where have you been?” he asks. “You're cold.”
“Getting stuff.”
“What sort of stuff?”
“Surprise.”
“For our date?”
“Better believe it, Mister.”
“Can't wait. Is there a strict time schedule?”
“Nope.”
“Excellent,” he says as he pulls me closer.
Two hours later we are in Deathtrap Cooper and heading for the park.
“Oh God, Lilah, you are not going to make me watch you jog are you?”
“Do I look like I am going to jog?”
His appraises my denim skirt and knee-high boots.
“No, not at all.”
“Stop moaning then.”
 After the car is parked, I take him down one of the central paths, the one I
found on Friday, which leads to the most beautiful place that exists in South
London. We enter the wrought-iron gates.
“Shit! This is amazing,” he announces, giving my hand a squeeze. The blues
flash as they take in the view around us.
“I know, and it gets even better.” I can barely contain my excitement.
Around us, the Queen Elizabeth Plantation is showing off its springtime
bloom, with rhododendrons and azaleas vying with each other to display the
most extraordinary colour. The whole place is awash with bright pink, red, and
purple. It is astounding. I lead him by the hand and take him to the best bit: the
woodland spring with its earthy scent and bubbling water.
He looks at me for the longest time as we stand there. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Now I hope you’re hungry.”
“Always,” he says, but the look in his eyes makes me think he is not hungry
for bread and cheese followed by strawberries.
We rest on the picnic blanket and pick at our food, drinking Tristan’s
champagne, clinking our glasses, and shoving strawberries into our mouths so
they explode with the bubbles. This creates lots of giggling and dribbling
strawberry juice down our chins as we attempt the perfect mouthful. Once the
food is finished, we turn on our backs and watch the blue sky overhead. A sky
the blue of cornflowers and Ben’s eyes.
“Where do you get your blue eyes from?” I ask.
“I am a genetic throwback.”
“What do you mean?”
“Everyone else in my family has brown eyes. I am the only one with blue.
No one knows exactly where the blue comes from but it has something to do
with my Gran.”
“Really? How do you mean?”
“It is a long story I am going tell you one day.”
“Tell me now! I am in the mood for a story!”
He rolls onto his side and pulls me towards him.
“I am saving it for a special occasion,” he murmurs and then proceeds to
push the thought from my mind with his lips.
We stay like this, kissing, touching, and drinking champagne until the
shadows are creeping in, bringing the evening chill along with them. We are
awoken from our afternoon of paradise by scaring the life out of an old woman
with a Scottie dog who did not expect to find two people making out underneath
a bush. Giggling like teenagers, we pack up our stuff and run back to the car.
What a perfect day. When we get home we just go straight back into bed,
strangely tired, even though we had done nothing the whole day.
“Thank you for my date,” he whispers to me in the darkness.
“A pleasure, my love.”
“I think I owe you one more,” he says with lips smiling against my throat.
I am trying not to think that if he does not hurry up there will not be much
more time for dates available to us.

22nd April
I’m sure there is something I am supposed to be doing. I know I am
supposed to be studying, which I’m not. I know I’m supposed to be helping
Tristan look for the perfect furniture for our Victorian conversion, which I’m
not.
But there’s something else niggling around the back of my mind, and I can’t
quite put my finger on it. Not that I am trying too hard, I am too busy living my
little idyllic fantasy which I know is going to end in eight short weeks.
Eight weeks. Sixty-three days, sixty-three very short days.

I manage to drag myself away and have some girl time after class. The four
of us meander around campus aimlessly for a while. I think Jayne was trying to
play her little game of ‘hunt the football player’ but did not want us to know. We
start in the library, but Beth has to duck under a desk as Eva walks past. This
gives Meredith the giggles, which results in her snorting very loudly. This, in
turn, makes the rest of us start to laugh, not particularly quietly. We are
positioned by the journals on the lower floor and as a result receive glares from
the entire bank of library staff, so we leave rather hastily.
We then decide to try and have a drink at one of the other campus bar’s and
head over to Southlands and attempt a drink in there. Meredith loves it and
moans at us the whole time we were are there that it was only our first visit.
In my opinion it is seriously lacking in sticky floors and grumpy bartenders.
The whole time we are out together I try very hard to join in and at least
appear normal but I know I am failing. Well a sure sign of my failure is
Meredith turning to me and saying, “Lilah, just go home you bloody bore.”
I did not bother to argue I just grab my stuff and leg it out of there as quickly
as I can to the sound of booing from my friends.
 Sod them all. I run back to the dorm and to Ben who is sitting on ‘our’ bed
with his study books spread about him. The books do not stand a chance as I
launch myself at him and crush them with my arse as I land on the bed next to
him, the only place I want to be.

27th April
Today I did something that I am sure is frowned upon in many circles, but I
really wanted to, so I said ‘sod it’ to convention.
Ben wanted to come with me, wherever I was going. I just told him that he
should take some time to practice his guitar before he has another row with his
band mates for getting really shitty at playing. Like that could ever happen. But
it was the only excuse I could think of.
After work, I drive the five minutes around the corner from Putney to Barnes
and our new perfect little house that sits there. Where I then help Mrs. Morgan
pack. I find out that she is by herself and I can only imagine the way she feels
packing up her home after sixty-six years of living there.
“Would you like a cup of tea, dear?” she asks, bringing a tray through to the
lounge from the kitchen.
Her hands shake with age and it makes my eyes prick with tears. I am not
good with age. It is the one thing I am scared of, the one thing I am not able to
hide from. Well, that and Ben leaving—both are inevitable.
“Thank you, that would be lovely,” I say with a smile, hoping that I do not
look like I am trying too hard.
“Where is your young man today? We could do with some strong arms,” she
asks with a chuckle.
“Oh, Ben is busy practising his music. He is going away soon to make a
record, so he needs to put some effort in.”
Why is it when you speak to old people you adapt the way you speak?
Record? When did someone last say that in reference to an album? 1992?
“He looks like an artistic type.” She sighs into her teacup.
Good grief, is this eighty-odd-year-old woman lusting after my boyfriend?
“Yeah, he is,” I agree.
And he so is, with his dishevelled style, tall, slim build, and long fingers.
That boy was built to stand behind a microphone and play guitar. I make a
mental note to ask him what he wanted to be when he was young before he first
played the guitar.
 “I bet he is good at sex,” she says completely straight faced.
I spurt my mouthful of tea all over the place.
“Oh God!” I cry leaping up to grab a cloth to wipe up with. I know I am
bright bloody red and not because of the tea fountain.
She just giggles like a teenager. “He is, isn’t he?” she asks with a wink of
her rheumy eyes.
“Yes, he really is,” I admit. “Come on, Mrs. Morgan. What do you want me
to help you with?”
I spend the next two hours helping her pack most of her possessions. It’s a
heart-warming experience, and I try really hard to do a good job, even though
packing is not my forte. When we are nearly done she turns to me. I am standing
in the lounge sliding my hand over the worn desk with its green leather top.
“You can have that if you like. I don’t think I will have room for it in the
Sunrise Home for the Nearly Departed.”
“Mrs. Morgan! Please don’t say things like that! You will have a great time
there. It sounds fun.”
“Well, I hope it will not be too long, my dear. I think it is time to see my
Charlie again.”
I stare at her for a moment acutely aware of the massive lump instantly
formed in my throat.
“Obviously, Charlie is my King Charles spaniel and not my daft husband.”
She lets out a roar of laughter.
I laugh as well. “I would love it, thank you. So long as you’re sure.”
“You can write your book there,” she says, winking again.
“What? What book?”
She just shrugs and wonders off.
10.00 p.m.
I’m snuggled up next to Ben, pretending to look at some textbooks we need
to read before class. When I got back from Mrs. M’s I told him what I had been
up to. He smiled at me appreciatively, before giving me a kiss, which made
packing boxes for the afternoon completely worth it.
10.10 p.m.
“I can imagine you sitting at that desk, sloshing red wine everywhere. It’s a
good image.”
I want to tell him that I like the image, too, but I would prefer it if he was in
it as well.
28th April
It’s a slow day in the word of selling musical instruments. Very slow.
I refused another eating binge like the other day so Big Baz has been
teaching me how to play poker instead. I’m not very good. Apparently my poker
face isn’t that convincing. I’m going to have to work on that.
“Shall I bring in tiddly winks next week?” he asks as he sweeps up the
mountain of matchsticks he has won.
“Ha, bloody, ha, Baz. You wait. I am just luring you into a false sense of
security.”
I attempt a bluff, one that he does not take seriously judging by the chuckles
that shake his massive frame. I give him my best dirty look, which makes him
laugh even more.
“Oh, you’re not here next week, are you?” he asks.
“Aren’t I?”
“No, you’re moving into your new place, right?”
He looks at me like I am crazy not to remember.
“Oh, yeah.”
Oh, yes. It’s happening, isn’t it? Tristan and I will be moving our stuff in
next week. Then Meredith will move hers in after the last exam, after Ben has
left.
“You okay, Lilah?”
“Pardon? What? Uh, yeah.”
“You’ve gone a bit green.”
I look at him, and he looks at me.
“Go home, Lilah. I can close up.”
I lean in and give him a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks, Baz.”
I rush home to the life that I really don’t want to end.

29th April
“Dharling, Daddy and I have bought a new lounge suite. Would you like our
old one?”
“Mum, didn’t you only buy that six months ago?” I ask opening the window
wide and lighting a cigarette.
“No. I do not think so, probably nearer to eight.”
 “You just bought a new one so you could give us the old one, didn’t you?”
“Shh! Don’t tell your father. You can’t keep that one with the blue stain.”
“Thanks, Mum.”
“We will be up bright and early Saturday to help.”
“Pardon?”
“We will be there to help you. Assuming you need the help?”
“Uh, yeah. Thanks, Mum. We’ll see you there.”
I wasn’t expecting that conversation. I stare at Ben who is sitting next to me
with his guitar.
“That was Mum,” I say, sounding a little shocked.
“Yep, I guessed that.”
“She’s coming to help.”
“Yep, I guessed that, too.”
“Strange, isn’t it?”
“Nope, not really. My mum is coming to help, too.”
“What?”
“You heard.”
Oh, God.
May
 1 May
st

“Ready. Get set. Go!” I shout, starting the timer on my phone. I’m on the
kitchen counter. We’re conducting another toast test. This time the question is
‘How long does it take to make the perfect piece of toast?’
Answer: One minute and 33 seconds.
No studying.
2 May
nd

Another experiment.
Which lager is guaranteed to get you more drunk? Stella or Kronenberg?
Ben is drinking the Stella. I am downing the Kronenberg.
Trev has money running on the Kronenberg, but I think that is because I am
drinking it.
Seven pints a piece.

3rd May
Definitely Kronenberg. That stuff is EVIL. I can’t get out of bed and Ben is
bouncing around looking frustratingly fresh and headache-free, stuffing marmite
toast.

4th May
10.15 a.m.
We have keys. Tristan and I own our very own property. It is finally ours.
Neither of us can quite believe it. We grin at each other like idiots. I feel very
grownup.
11.00 a.m.
Mum’s idea of helping involves pouring Bucksfizz for everyone, much to
the amusement of the removal men. The men with the rather large lorry are
working really hard. We are just sitting around like spare parts watching them
lift the heavy boxes.
I have a feeling this is going to be a very long day.
 1:45 p.m.
“Ben, I am sending the oldies down. Prepare your mum.”
Ben and Beverly are cleaning the new place whilst we pack up.
“It’s fine, Lilah. Stop stressing.”
“Hmm. Love you,” I say as I hang up.
2.30 p.m.
It’s done.
The flat is completely bare. How long have we lived here? Eight years? It
does not seem possible. I am a little sad that Tristan and I could not be the
friends we are now for the whole eight years.
Anyway, today is not the day for remorse or sadness. It is a day for new
beginnings.
“Ready?” I ask.
Tristan grins, smoothing his blond hair away from his face before linking his
arm through mine.
“Ready,” he confirms, and we walk out the door together.
11.00 p.m.
Everyone has left, apart from Meredith and Tristan who are in their room.
Ben and I are in my room, which will never be ‘ours.’ The day has been a
success. My mum managed not to get drunk and embarrass me and my dad put
on his best Jack McCannon charm for Beverley. It was all very normal. As I lay
here staring at my new ceiling in my new room I wish that it could last. Maybe I
could have a normal family life, be able to participate in grownup conversations
with my parents, and sit around having fish and chips out of paper every time we
move house. I know deep down that the normal feelings spring from Ben's
presence. He makes things seem just right with his relaxed approach to
everything.
Ben has dutifully unpacked all the kitchen equipment for me, putting things
away in various cupboards, shouting out instructions to me explaining where
everything is. I don’t know what he thinks I am going to do with it after he is
gone. “Lilah, did you know you had a juicer?” he calls, turning to look at me.
“Never seen it in my life,” I gleefully report, which earns me a killer grin
before he bends down to stash it in a cupboard from which it will never be
removed.
What a perfect day.
 Later.
“What are you thinking?” I ask.
“That I wish this was my home, too.”
I have nothing to say to this, so I kiss him instead.

5th May
Breakfast cooked by the hottie from next door, who is no longer next door,
but instead with me all the time. I give an involuntary squeal as I watch him
from the doorway.
He stands in the kitchen, damp hair drying on his shoulders, feet bare under
his jeans. Unlike when I first saw him cooking breakfast, this time I do not
hesitate walking into my new kitchen. I slide my arms around his waist and lean
my head on his shoulder. I am like a living backpack and I stay there the whole
time he cooks, which makes us both giggle and results in very crispy bacon and
rock-hard eggs.

6th May
What does one do on a Bank Holiday Monday?
One starts the day eating brunch with a gang of best friends, twin brother,
and awesome boyfriend. One also goes for a romantic walk in the park, followed
by a romantic trip to the pub and tops it off with a romantic evening in bed.
One does not, under any circumstances, get out books of any description,
even though exams are only about a month away.

7th May
I have just realised that I am going to fail my first year of Uni because I have
been far too busy breaking every rule I set for myself in relation to:
Stalking
Obsessing
Sulking
Being drunk
Having sex
 I do not think the University will be overly happy with me.

10th May
“This is very good.”
Professor Johnson looks almost as shocked saying the words as I am hearing
them. Ben is not here. He had to shoot off to do band stuff, so I am left facing
Crazy Johnson alone. I needed to show him the near-to-final draft of our group
project. As this is officially the only academic work I have completed since my
dire post-Christmas essays I am very relieved to hear the positive feedback.
“Oh, I am glad you like it.”
“It was your idea, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah. It was a subject I thought I could understand.”
“Shall I tell you a secret, Lilah?” He leans toward me like he is going to tell
me how to steal the Crown Jewels.
“Uh, if you want to?”
“In history you can find any subject that will interest you or spark your
imagination. You just have to find it. That is the joy of studying history. You
have all of time at your fingertips.”
“Um, thank you.”
“This year it was the story of letting go. Next year it could be completely
different.”
I wonder what he is getting at. I’m not sure, so I just shrug and get to my
feet, turning to the door eager to get home for my meal for one: Cheerios.

11th May
1:53 a.m.
“Tell me your favourite song,” Ben murmurs, kissing the sensitive spot
under my ear.
“I don’t think I have one.”
“What? Everyone has a favourite song!”
“Well, I don’t.”
“Okay, that my love, we need to work on.”
One month, four days to go, my chest feels heavier and heavier with every
passing day. The knot of anxiety in my stomach is now a burning inferno.
12th May
I am desperately racking my brain trying to think of a song that I may like.
Why do I not have a favourite song? What does this mean? Am I some sort of
emotional degenerate who cannot manage to even have strong feelings about
something as straightforward as a song?
I was going to ask Baz at work, but I know he will think it odd. Also Ben
came to work with me, which is great because I did not eat a week’s worth of
calories in one day or lose at poker. But it also meant that I could not flick
through Baz’ extensive CD collection. I shall have to put off my ‘favourite song’
finding endeavour until I am by myself.
After work it is such a lovely evening that Ben and I decide to walk down
the High Street and along the Thames until we find a great little pub where we
settle in for a few hours of beer and crisps until it begins to get dark. We walk
back home holding hands, stepping in time with one another, as he serves as a
shield between me and the motorists.
Perfect.

14th May
I have come to the Barnes flat. Tristan is not here which is great as I am on a
mission. I am going to become a CD track-skipping ninja. I point-blank refuse to
not have a favourite song, so I am going to listen to every CD that I have ever
bought as I try to find it. If I still don’t have one I am going to listen to every CD
that Tristan has bought until I find one, and so on.
Later.
“Lilah? What are you doing?” Tristan asks.
“Looking for something.”
“I see that, Sis. But why are you ripping apart every box doing it?”
I sit down with a bump and start to cry. Tristan steps over to me,
precariously tiptoeing over the mountain of mess I have created.
“Why can’t I find a favourite song?” I wail, tears flowing.
“Is that what you are trying to do?”
“Yesss.” I sniff, wiping my nose up my arm. “How can I not have one?”
“I have no idea, crazy girl. Come on, let’s get these discs into order.”
Instead of finding a song, I spend two hours alphabetising all our CDs.
Satisfied that I have achieved something with my day, I sit back and survey my
work.
“You know, Lilah,” says Tristan softly, “I don’t think you get to pick the
song. I think that it will probably end up picking you.”
“Well, I hope it hurries the fuck up. Ben is leaving in just over a month and I
can’t even tell him what my favourite song is. He is going to think I am an
emotional moron.”

15th May
I woke up this morning to find that someone has cranked the heating up; not
inside the dormitory, but outside. Summer has arrived and the campus has
exploded into an array of outstanding colour. The guys are playing football on
the lawn, whilst all the girls lounge on blankets, pretending to study their books
(Jayne is in her element). All the girls apart from me, that is. I do not even bother
with the ruse, I just sit and stare. After a while Ben comes and settles down on
the blanket next to me, which may be damp with drool.
Is there anything sexier in this world than lying on a picnic blanket in the
steaming sun next to an outrageously handsome man? Nope, there is not.
“Have you finished playing football?” I ask, tracing my fingers over his
closed eyelids, memorising the faint blue lines under the skin.
“Mmm, what did you have in mind?”
I don’t say anything. I just shift myself over and kiss along his exposed
collar bone. He tastes faintly of salt from where he has been running around in
the sunshine. My lips move further up his neck until finally reaching his lips:
lips that are smiling under my own, as my hand runs under his T-shirt.
“So that is what you want to do,” he murmurs.
I stand up and tug at his hand.

16th May
More sitting on the grass, drinking beer, and pretending to read books.
My arms are pink where I probably should have put sun cream on. Not quite
as bad as Meredith.
Meredith decided to wear a boob-tube and roll it up around the middle so
she could get a better ‘all-round colour,’ I think she called it. She got an all-
round colour all right. She is bright lobster red after passing out in the sun due to
drinking four pints of lager. She is currently lying facedown on her bed making
some awful moaning sound as Jayne applies after sun every ten minutes.
Jayne has got a date and has asked me to take over the role of cream applier.
It’s not really what I had in mind for the night so I suggest to Meredith that I call
Tristan because I am pretty sure he would relish the opportunity to spend the
whole evening lavishing her with a lubricant but she screamed into her pillow
that she did not want to see him until the burn had faded until a golden glow.
“How long's that?” I enquire with hesitation. I have things to do other than
smother her in aloe vera.
“About a week,” she tells the pillow optimistically.
“Sod that. I am calling Tristan,” I shout before dashing out and grabbing my
phone.

18th May
Tick, tock. Tick, Tock. Tick, Tock.
How can everything be so ridiculously perfect? It is like living in a dream
world where every day is an exercise in perfection.
Tick Tock. Tick Tock. Tick Tock.
Well, apart from last night, when Ben had to go and see Mihraandah with
the rest of the band and make some final choices about something or other. I
didn’t really listen to what he was telling me. I heard the word ‘Miranda’ and
then zoned out to concentrate on keeping my inner green monster under control.
After he left, I ate cereal and then drank pints with Jayne and Beth. I never
expected it in a million years but they have decided to live together next year. I
quite like that. We’ll all still be together, just separated into smaller groups:
Meredith and I in one place, Beth and Jayne in another. The only people missing
will be Eva, who I don’t even think I would recognise if she came up and
bopped me on the nose, and Ben. Of course Ben will be missing, too.

19th May
It is ridiculously hot. The shop is a sweatbox and Big Baz and I are taking
turns to stand in front of the fan. We can’t both fit behind the counter at the same
time without getting stuck in there together.
 24 degrees in bloody May! Who would have thought it? I am quite grateful
to be out of the sun and in the shop, I doubt Meredith will be heading out
anywhere today. I reckon she would take one step out into sunlight and her skin
would start to sizzle like bacon on a grill pan.
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.
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, but 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.
5.30 p.m.
The Story of Ben’s Gran
Why do we always end up getting drunk on our ‘dates?’ We are both
looking at each other through one eye. Again.
“Are you ready for a story now, Lilah?” Ben asks.
“Um, yeah, I guess.”
“Okay, make yourself comfortable. I’m going to tell you the story of my
Gran.”
“Excellent!”
It comes back to me. The story he said he was saving for a special occasion.
“Please proceed,” I say with an official wave of my hand.
He flashes me a grin.
“When my nan was nineteen she moved to India with her family,” he begins
and then takes a sip of beer. “Everything was a bit different back then, and her
mum and dad were expecting her to make a good marriage. However when she
got to India she fell in love with the place. It completely set her free from the life
that she had before.”
I wonder where this is leading. “So, what happened?”
“She fell in love.”
“She fell in love?”
“Yes, she fell in love with an Indian man who worked in the same office as
her dad. It was all a bit hopeless. They used to spend lots of time at dinners and
functions together. She told me once that he was the most handsome man that
she ever saw, with the most beautiful eyes.”
“Really? What happened? Did they get married?”
He looks at me, like it is strange I have come to this conclusion.
“No. The guy asked her dad, and the family went nuts and arranged to go
back to England.”
Ben takes another sip of beer.
My mouth has gone very dry all of a sudden.
“So when it was clear that she was going to have to leave, she told her
family that she would never forgive them if they did this to her, and that she
would never marry anyone else. I think they decided it was better for her not to
marry than to marry him.”
“Blimey! Did she get her own way?”
 “No, not at all. She came home and carried on with her life and tried to
forget about him.”
“Oh. That’s really sad. Did she manage to forget him?” I ask, but already
know the answer. There is no way she could have.
“She said she nearly did, until the day I was born, and then she took one
look at me and said it felt like she was looking at his image.”
“Why? Did you remind her of him?” Before he can answer, I have worked it
out. “Your eyes!” I gasp. “That’s where you get your eyes from!” I am
completely gobsmacked.
“Yep, she brought up my mum by herself and she never spoke to her parents
again.”
“Oh. Did she ever see him again?”
“No. I don't think so. She went to India again much later, twenty years later,
but she never told anyone what she found there.”
This is the saddest thing I have ever heard, not helped by the fact I have
drunk four pints of Stella. I start to cry.
Surprise, surprise, Lilah McCannon is crying again.
“That is really awful.”
“Yes, it is.”
The blues are intent and watchful. “You’re trying to get me to change my
mind, aren’t you?”
“Lilah, I constantly hope that you are going to change your mind, but I know
you well enough to know that you won’t.”
I just nod at him.
9.00 p.m.
“Come on, Miss McCannon. It is time for the second half of your date.”
“Yay!” I say as I chug down the rest of my drink. I need a change of scene.
My chest still feels heavy after the earlier conversation.
He grabs hold of my hand and leads me into the cooler night air. I follow
like a lost sheep. I do not really know where we are as we head down a dodgy
back road somewhere.
A few turns later, I instantly have my bearings. I come to an abrupt
standstill. I have never seen anything more beautiful in my life. That’s because I
have never seen Trafalgar Square at night before. Truly amazing. The fountains
are lit and glowing like swimming pools. The sprays of water are catching the
light and falling in golden droplets all around. Ben leads me over to the edge of
one and we sit watching the beautiful water swirl around our fingers. It is
incredibly romantic, the most romantic thing I have ever seen. Ben’s fingers are
linked with mine and he studies me as a silence settles over us.
Minutes pass and we just sit there looking at each other and listening to the
water splash. Finally, he pulls me towards him and kisses me in the deepest,
most romantic, knee-wobbling kiss I have ever experienced. My legs go to jelly
and he slides himself closer along the edge of the fountain towards me so we are
as close as can be. There we sit for what might be hours or just minutes.
Finally, I pull away and look at him. I need oxygen or something. My head
is all over the place.
“Thank you,” I say, though it sounds silly. It's like saying, "Thank you for
kissing me and making me swoon in Trafalgar square."
“You’re welcome,” he says, and then I watch as he slides his hand into his
pocket.
I assume he is going to get out a cigarette. I am about to say that is not at all
romantic, when I see a ring sitting there in his palm instead.
Oh, my god!
Palpitations!
“Calm down, Lilah. I am not proposing. It is just that this is where I was
going to do it, and I wanted to give this to you."
I examine the ring. A Sapphire solitaire in the lightest blue I have ever seen,
sitting on a slim plain band held in place with just four discreet claws.
“It’s beautiful, Ben.”
It really is. It matches his eyes exactly. Then I realise that it also matches my
necklace. The necklace that I thought was topaz and came from Meredith. I lift
my hand to my throat and touch it. I have not taken it off since my birthday. He
smiles when he realises that I have put the two together.
“This was from you?” There, I have managed four words.
“Yes. I knew you would go nuts if I turned up and gave it to you, so I asked
Meredith to help. I’ve seen you wearing it every day since.”
“You told me under our tree that you were going to propose that night.”
He nods in agreement. “Yeah I was, but then when everything went wrong I
decided to give you Gran’s necklace instead.”
“What? This is your Gran’s?”
“No, it is yours now.”
I am completely dumbfounded. “And the ring?” I ask.
He nods again. “She gave it to me before she died. She said that it had to
belong to me, as I was the only one who had retained any physical part of the
person who had given it to her. She used to joke that with every baby that
arrived she waited with baited breath for them to open their eyes and was always
disappointed, until I came along and saved the day.”
Oh, God.
“It’s from him? I can’t take it.”
“Yes, you can. I want you to have it, and so would she.”
“You might want to give it to someone else one day.”
He looks at me like I am crazy. “That will never happen,” he says in a voice
that's soft, but firm.
He puts it onto my right hand ring finger and I watch it twinkle, illuminated
by the shimmering fountains behind us.
I sit there for the longest time, flicking my gaze between him and the ring.
This could have all been so different back in November. He was going to ask me
to marry him, not because it was the right thing to do, or because it was expected
of him. Hell, we hardly knew each other. He was going to do it because he loved
me and he did not want history to repeat itself.
Now history is going to repeat itself like the unstoppable force that it is.
People making the same mistakes over and over, and I am one of them. I
slide my hand into my pocket and give him a stern look. “Don’t laugh!” I warn.
“Why would I laugh?” he asks. Then his jaw drops open as he looks in my
palm at the slim white gold ring that rests there.
“Oh shit,” is all he says, and then we both start to laugh hysterically.
Tears drop down my cheeks, tears that are an equal combination of emotion
and laughter. “I just wanted you to have something to look at to remember me
by.”
He gives me the crazy girl look again. “The Gibson was not enough?” He
smiles.
It’s a fair question, but I shake my head.
“Something personal,” I explain, putting the ring onto his hand. He moves
the band in the light and reads the words.
“Foi Vainquera? What does that mean?” he asks.
I give a smile at my own cleverness! Hurrah, I know something he doesn’t.
“Faith conquers.”
The blues hold mine, then he kisses me.
“I hope it does,” he says after an age. “I can’t believe that we are about to
reach our end,” he murmurs against my mouth.
 “I like to think it is just the end of the chapter. The end of a chapter in the
story of us.”
I kiss him again for good measure.

That was it. Ben and Lilah’s last date. It’s three in the morning. We only got
home half an hour ago, after sitting on the fountain at Trafalgar for hours. I can’t
sleep. I just want to sit and stare at him because soon I will not be able to.
Taylor Swift is singing “Tim McGraw”, and I get her meaning. I hope that
Ben remembers all these little perfect moments for the rest of his life. I know
that I am going to remember them for all of mine.
June
1st June
I do not want to get up. I do not want to eat. I do not want to do anything
apart from lay under my duvet.
I am going to stay under here until July when this is all over. Good thing I
have the most beautiful ring in the world to look at whilst in my duvet hell.
Taylor is performing a long running show in my head. I also think she may
be having a sing-off with Avril.
It’s a mash-up to end all mash-ups and it sounds terrible.
Avril is belting "Things I Will Never Say" whist Taylor is singing "Love
Story." I think my brain might explode. It’s going to be messy and the coroner is
going to announce it was death due to excessive abuse of teenage music.
I might eat some cereal. Or I won’t because the thought of it makes me want
to throw up. Great. Now I cannot even face my main source of sustenance.
I wonder if Anne Elliott spent seven years throwing up at the prospect of
being separated from Captain Wentworth.

2nd June
“Lilah, are you asleep?”
Ben must be joking. I can’t remember what sleep is.
If I was to sleep, then I would miss all opportunities for staring and
memorising and I cannot risk missing one moment.
Not one.
“I’m awake. What do you want?”
“You.”

3rd June
I roll over and plant a kiss on Ben’s lips.
“What’s the plan for today?”
“Library. Delilah, we have to get ready for those exams.”
“Oh, you are so boring sometimes.” I wiggle closer, aiming to change his
mind.
 “We can study later . . .” I leave the thought hanging there.
“We have to be in the library in an hour. You will pass those exams.”
He sounds determined.
“I will pass them. Do you doubt my ability?”
“Lilah, you have not studied once the whole year.”
“I did, too.”
“What?”
You.
“Oh stop nagging. You are wasting my hour!” I giggle as I make the duvet
into a tent.

We make it to the library . . . Eventually. I don’t bother studying, though, I

just watch Ben in the window as he scribbles away at his notes.
“Are you going to stare all afternoon?” he asks after an hour.
“Yep. Problem, Chambers?”
“Not at all, but you may find it easier if you just scoot your chair around.”
I give a little “yes,” under my breath and then drag my chair around to his
side of the desk.
“What book are you looking at?”
“Don’t be so bloody ridiculous, Ben.”
He just gives a little chuckle and slides one of his books towards me.

10th June
“Seriously, are you going to sing Guns N' Roses all fucking day? Because I
may have to take desperate action like go to the library or kill myself,” remarks
Meredith with her typical drama queen flair.
“I have no idea what you are talking about.”
Well, I don’t.
“Delilah, it is not November and it is not raining, so please stop with the
depressing.”
“It might rain later!”
I hope it does. It’s humid, hot and sticky.
“Where is Ben? You wouldn’t be assaulting our ears if he was here.”
“I don’t know. Band stuff.” I know I have my Lilah child’s voice on.
“Do you fancy going into town? We could go and have one la—”
I leap off the bed and smother her. “Don’t you dare, say ‘one last
something!’”
I may kill you. I may sing Guns N Roses for an entire year.
“Sorry,” she mumbles from under my hand.
I concede and let go. I do not let my guard down completely, though. She
could say something annoying at any moment.
“What were you thinking of doing?” I grudgingly ask.
“Lilah, I am too scared to speak. You are freaking me out!”
I shrug. I’m taking no prisoners these days and should be wearing a badge
which says ‘Approach With Caution.’
“I promise I won’t pounce.” I sit on my hands to prove my point.
“How about we go to your favourite pub and have a glass of wine?” she
suggests.
“Maybe we could squeeze in some dancing somewhere?” I add hopefully.
“That is a definite. Let’s do it. Come on, Lil. I hate to see you like this.”
I look at her for a moment. “I hate feeling like this, Mer. I truly do.”
She turns to my cupboard, pulling the doors wide, and yanks out my Ben-
catching outfit out.
“Blimey, is it one of those nights?” I ask.
“Yes. It definitely is. Come on. There is a glass of chilled wine calling to us
right now.”
What have I got to lose? It is just a glass of wine with Meredith. Beats
sitting around waiting for Ben to come home.

11th June
Oh, shit. Ugh, I did it again.
When I woke up I didn’t move for a little while. I was just grateful Ben was
not around to see me that drunk. It would have been awful if I left him with that
impression of me. Probably best to just pretend that nothing happened.
“How’s that locomotive, Lilah?”
I feel Ben shift next to me in the bed.
Crap.
“Loud.”
“Excellent.”
I can’t deal with this right now. There is not a single bit of me that does not
hurt. “Would you like me to tell you what you were doing last night?” he
continues.
 “Ugh.”
“You and Meredith got thrown out of our favourite pub, something to do
with harassing a regular’s dog.”
“Ugh.”
“You then decided to go for Tapas, where you proceeded to try and turn the
restaurant into a karaoke bar. The thing was you were the only one singing.”
“Ugh.”
“You then proceeded to call me and demand that I come and pick you up
because you wanted sex.”
I have nothing to say to this so pretend to fall asleep. I even manage a little
snore.
“Then you asked me if I would visit you.”
Crap balls.
I pull the duvet up over my head.
“Will you?” I ask in a small voice.
“Yes.”
“Oh. Quick, move. I’m going to be sick.”
3.00 p.m.
“How are you feeling, my love?”
“Like I need a new stomach.”
“Can I get you anything?”
God, I feel useless. I have lain here the whole day with the locomotive
giving free rides. I have managed to manoeuvre myself so I can lie with my head
in Ben’s lap whilst he reads a book, but that is as far as I have got. Well, apart
from when I have been upright to be sick.
“Can I have an herbal tea?”
“Do we own herbal tea?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Okay, I will go and get some,” he says, trying carefully to move out from
under me.
I wrap my arms tight around his waist. “No, no, it’s okay. Sod the tea. Don’t
move an inch. You’re the best pillow in the world.”
10.00 p.m.
What a way to waste a day. Twelve days to go and I spend it in bed in no
way participating in sexy time but instead throwing my guts up.
I truly am useless.
12th June
Gosh, I can’t believe I have managed to get us barred from our favourite
pub. That is an achievement even for me. Where will we go during the summer
holidays when Digby Bar is closed?
I owe it to the others to find us a new drinking hole. I may make that my
little challenge as soon as Ben has left. It’ll give me something to do.
Twelve days until he leaves; eleven until we say our goodbyes.
My brain is starting to think of self-preservation. I am wondering if I should
move back into my own room. I don’t think I can do that. Can I honestly deny
myself eleven more blissful days with him?
No, of course I can’t.
Right. I have to study. There is an exam on Friday and I have no idea what it
is about. Ben is out doing band stuff (blah, blah) so I shall get lots of fabulous
work done.
2.00 p.m.
Buggerations! I have just woken up. I might go and attempt a snack.
2.30 p.m.
Cheerios, it is.
2:45 p.m. Oooh! Grease is on the telly. I wonder if Meredith wants to watch
it with me.
4.00 p.m.
Bollocks – No studying just singing instead.
13 June I have awoken with a deep dark sense of foreboding in my
th

stomach. I want to be sick before I have even opened my eyes. I lay with my
eyes screwed shut, trying to think of what could be making me feel that way—
apart from the obvious.
Nothing comes to mind.
Nope, nothing.
Still nothing.
Oh shit! It’s the first exam today!
I sit bolt upright in bed then instantly feel Ben’s arm snake around my waist.
“You just remembered the exam, didn’t you?” he murmurs into his pillow.
 “Oh God! I am going to fail,” I moan loudly. “I have to be the worst student
this University has ever seen!”
He chuckles and pulls me in for a Ben snuggle.
Let’s be honest, no amount of snuggling is going to make the pain of sitting
a two-hour exam go away, especially when it is an exam for which I have done
no preparation.
Later.
Yep, I was right. No amount of snuggling was going to make any of that
better. I am thinking that I should have made it to Asda that day back in August
and got that application form. Clearly I am not cut out to be a student at all.
I am just going to pop out for a quick drink to get over the shock of it all.

14th June
2.00 p.m.
I can safely say that the first exam did not go well. Everyone else sat there
writing furiously away, filling reams of paper. I sat there and could think of
nothing to write at all. I managed a few sparse answers here and there, but
nothing flowing or eloquent, or vaguely intellectual. To make matters even
worse, instead of coming back and sensibly studying and trying to catch up,
afterwards I ended up at Digby bar drinking wine instead.
I really do need to try harder. Even Ben is trying harder than me and he is
not even coming back next year. If I do not pass these exams then I won’t be
coming back either, then what will I have achieved since starting University?
Absolutely nothing. I came here to do something for me, and I am even failing at
that.
So I am at the library where I am actually going to do some serious last-
minute studying. I am not leaving until I know the basics of everything that I
should have learnt over the last term. That is a promise. I am scanning indexes
and flipping through pages at a speed I would not have thought possible. There
are Post-it notes everywhere.
4.30 p.m.
“Can I help, Delilah?”
Ben is standing by my desk/cupboard watching my frantic searching.
“I don’t know. Can you?” I reply, eyeing him suspiciously.
“Well, unlike you, I have actually been listening in class. And fortunately
for you, I am more than willing to share.”
I do not know about this. Normally the presence of Ben equals the absence
of study, but then I am pretty desperate.
“Okay, then. What do I need to know?” I ask, budging over to make room
for him.
He settles in beside me and we spend three hours straight going through his
notes and finding other reference books with which to expand our knowledge.
Now if I had done this from the beginning of term instead of just stalking Ben, I
would not be in this position right now.
“Thank you,” I say, after a while.
“You are most welcome, Lilah. I will miss this.”
His blues are catching the late-afternoon sun.
“So will I,” I whisper back. Then I shake off my melancholy. “Hey, at least
in the exam I will be able to have a peep over at you and catch some clues.”
He says nothing.
“Ben, won’t I?”
“Lilah, I am leaving that day so I am going to be taking the exam separately,
on Friday. Normally they would not let me see anyone on campus afterwards,
but because of Sound Box playing at the ball they are relaxing the rule.”
I have not really heard all this. My brain shut down at the bit when he said
he would not be there at the last exam.
“I can’t believe you won’t be there.”
“I know,” he says.
That is all he has to say.
We sit and finish up our work, and I try very hard not to concentrate on the
final countdown.

15th June
I am thinking about my book. It is important that I get the blue just right so
that everyone reading it will know exactly what I am trying to describe.
I am scared that I am going to forget. I won’t, will I?
Surely it is not possible to forget that shade of perfection. I don’t know.
Then I remember my ring and the pendant nestled at the base of my throat and I
know I will not forget, not until I have to pass them on myself and, maybe then I
will not have my daily reminders anymore. I will just have to sit outside on a
sunny day and wait for the sky to change to the colour that I most want to see.
 2.47 p.m.
“Lilah, quick, quick! Come outside!”
Ben is grinning at me like crazy and pulling my hand.
“What on earth are you doing?”
“You’ll see. Hurry up!”
We run down the stairs and get to the doors and push through. Outside, I
realise what he is excited about. It is a perfect summer storm: the rain is slashing
down in sheets. The temperature is warm and muggy, even the rain is tepid.
Ben pulls me toward the lawns and the pond.
“I was so hoping this would happen before I left,” he shouts through the
loud din of the rain hitting the pond.
We are drenched through. My feet are sliding in my flip-flops and we are
giggling like school children as we get to my tree. At the tree, he pushes me
against the bark. The rain slides over our faces as his mouth comes down on
mine. Our clothes are soaked and cling to us as we push ourselves closer and
closer together.
I wonder just how many romantic moments we can have. In such a short
space of time we have had a fair few.
This is a good one.
He lifts me up and I meld my legs around him, my hands clutching his
soaking hair. We are completely hidden by the summer leaves and his hand runs
under my clingy T-shirt, sliding over my bra, creeping around the back to
unclasp the hook.
“Benjamin!” I exclaim, albeit a little hoarsely.
“What?” he asks, but he is smiling against my lips, hands still determined.
“I still have to come to this campus next year. I don’t want to be known as
the girl who shagged by the pond.”
He lifts his face away a little. “Okay, Lilah, but I do think we should get you
home and out of these soaking clothes before you get sick again.”
Again . . .
Ben does not know I still spend most of my time feeling so anxious that I
gag constantly, a rolling worry of nausea washing over me in waves every time I
think of what the next couple of weeks have in store for me.
“I think that is a very wise idea, Mr. Chambers,” I reply, kissing him some
more. I love the rain on his face. I kiss it off his lips as it slides along. “I don’t
think I can walk in these dangerous flip-flops, though. You’ll have to carry me.”
He laughs as he carries me all the way across a very wet campus, me with
my legs clamped around his waist.

16th June
More study. I am determined to pass the exam on Monday. Meredith is also
cramming. We have given up talking in person. We know we will get distracted
and it will be another wasted afternoon like the Grease one.
We text instead, and occasionally bump into each other in the kitchen. Even
Tristan has been told to stay away, which I think is hilarious. Tristan, not so
much.
Ben and I are still studying together all the time, but it is just getting quieter
and quieter between us. Not in a bad way, but what do you talk about with
someone when you know they are going to be gone in a few days? It's not like
you can say, "Darling, can you remember to get some bacon the next time you
go shopping?" or "Shall we go to the pub Saturday afternoon and read the
papers?" There is a certain limit on safe conversation right now, so we just
communicate without words instead.

17th June
That exam went much better. That is how they are supposed to be. A fifty-
fifty toss-up between what you actually know and what you can bluff.
I reckon that was a success. I rewarded Ben for his hard work and
determination to make me study with a huge snog as we walked away from the
exam desks.
Judging from the look we got from the adjudicator that is not the way you
are supposed to leave the examination hall.

18th June
I think it is time to have my journal review and look back on all the things I
have achieved since starting at Uni.
I, Lilah McCannon, came to University to escape a boring life that I hated.
I have fallen in love with the boy next door.
I have had an on-the-side relationship with the boy next door.
 I have ended an on-the-side relationship with the boy next door.
I have run away home and then come back again.
I have started a second relationship with the boy next door.
I have ended the second relationship with the boy next door.
I have become a demented jogging person.
I have drunk more vodka and wine than someone should consume in an
entire lifetime.
I have thought I was pregnant.
I have known I was not pregnant.
I have made up with my mum, dad, and brother (which is a very good thing).
I have started a third relationship with the boy next door.
I have completed one week of dedicated studying out of the thirty-two
weeks of the academic year.
I have a found job.
I have found an amazing new home, which, unfortunately, I will not be
sharing with the love of my life.
I will soon be ending a relationship with the boy next door.
I am not sure how I feel about any of this. What have I achieved this year?
Progress with Mum, Dad, and Tristan. That is really good. Will it last after
Ben leaves and I stop being normal? I don’t know. I hope it does.

19th June
“Dharling, do you want me to pick you up on Monday afternoon?”
“Why would I want that?”
“Well, you know.”
“What?”
“You know, with Benjamin leaving. I thought you might want to come home
and have some time away.”
Wow, Mum and I really have come on a long way. I have not even lit a
cigarette whilst talking to her.
“It’s okay, Mum. Thank you, but I will be fine.”
I shall be pissed and crying in a ditch somewhere.
“Okay, Dharling. Ring me if you need me,” she says, sounding unconvinced.
“Um, okay, Mum.”
Goodness me. Maybe I really have achieved something this past year.
Everyone thinks I am so pathetic they are all ready to save me at any given
point.
I am not pathetic.
I can do this.
I can do this.

20th June
“Ben.” I kiss along his jaw to wake him up.
“Mmm?”
“Do you think I should move my stuff back into my room today so we can
have some space?”
Instantly, his arms are around me. “Do not say that. Ever. I am having every
minute with you.”
I chuckle and kiss his lips.
“Calm down. It was only a suggestion.”
“Could you not make crazy suggestions at silly o'clock in the morning?”
I don’t need to say I will try. It doesn’t matter since there are only two
mornings left.
“Okay, but I have to get ready for the ball by myself. My outfit is a
surprise.”
“Okay, Lilah. You have woken me up now. What do you suggest we do to
pass time until my exam?”
“Hold on, I have our revision notes here,” I say, making a play for some
paper.
He catches my arm and holds me down on the bed. “Don’t you even dare,
Delilah.”
I just grin at him and soak it up for all it is worth.
Later.
Without him seeing, I start to gather my stuff. There is more than I moved in
with three months ago. I just know in my heart of hearts that it will be even more
painful if I have to move everything on Sunday after the ball. Better that I do it
now so I can walk out with my head held high Sunday morning.
End on the high that I always wanted for us.
I think maybe I have grown up over the last year. I am able to let go of this
one thing that I want more than anything else, for the greater good. For his
greater good.
At least I think this until Taylor starts singing, "Breathe."
Dinner.
We have just eaten the last meal he will cook for me: Spaghetti Bolognese.
Funny bugger.
We sat on the floor and drank our wine and I asked him to play every song
he has ever sung for me. He then asks me to choose which one is my favourite. It
is a tough call, but in the end I have to say "Hey There, Delilah." I used to hate
that song, but he has made me love it and believe it to be mine. Every time I hear
it, forever more, I will remember our first date and just how much I truly loved
him.

22nd June
7.30 p.m.
It has been nine months and 4 days since I first stood here getting ready for a
University Ball.
That night, as I had been applying my gold sparkly makeup and white dress,
I could never have imagined how much things would change. How within a
short couple of hours I would meet someone who would transform my life,
would transform me, would make me feel emotions both good and bad that I
never would have believed I was capable of experiencing.
Here I am again, getting ready to go to another Ball, but this time I am not
excited with nerves and anticipation. Instead, my heart feels like it is struggling
to beat. I look at the gown that took me ages to find. I trailed every dress shop I
could think of trying to find the perfect one. At last I did. A floor-length, silk
dress the colour of cornflowers, the colour of the sky at midday, and the colour
of Ben’s eyes. My little farewell gesture.
He is knocking on the door.
I can do this, can’t I? I am sure I can.
Deep breath.
Midnight.
I did it. I did it. I may be broken forever, but I survived the Leaver’s Ball. I
have survived our goodbye.
Summer Ball
 “Hey.”
The blues appraise me. I got the colour spot on. His cheeks flush a little as
he looks me over.
“Hey, handsome.”
He looks amazing, decked out all in black, making his pale skin and the
dazzling blues stand out in contrast.
“You ready?”
He holds his arm out and I link mine through.
I will never be ready. I will never be ready for our long goodbye.
I allow him to lead me through the door as we stroll into the late evening
dusk.
When we get to Froebel, everyone is already there. Meredith is in the most
amazing pale-green chiffon dress. Jayne looks awesome in a figure-hugging
black number and Beth is wearing her shit-kicker boots and a 50s style tea-dress.
I laugh and give her a wave. Tristan has his arm firmly clamped around
Meredith’s waist. He gives me his traditional eyebrow raise.
“Blue suits you, sis.”
I flush scarlet, which I am pretty sure clashes.
Ben kisses under my ear.
The little voice in my head says, Curse you, you fool! This all could have
been yours! But I ignore it and let Ben pull me onto the dance floor where we
effectively just stand hugging regardless of the music’s tempo. For the longest
time we just stand there like a living statue for others to dance around until he
finally eases away and looks me in the eyes.
“I’ve got to go and join the others,” he whispers.
“I know.”
I can see them setting up on stage, glancing around for him.
Sound Box are about to play their second and last University gig, part of
Ben’s bribery to get into Halls of Residence, the bribery that put him in the room
next to mine. An unexpected twist of fate.
I watch as he bro-hugs his friends and picks up his Gibson. He gives me a
wink as he strums his fingers over the strings. My stomach does a spectacular
somersault and my left leg starts its Elvis wobble.
Tristan comes up and slides his arm around my waist. I am not sure if he is
being comforting or if he is actually there to hold me up, nevertheless I lean into
him and take something from the comfort he provides. Beth and Jayne are
prancing about grinning like crazy and cheering Ben’s name as loud as they can
and Meredith is performing her demented chimpanzee twirl.
Sound Box rock, again. I watch them with this immense feeling of pride but
also with relief. I have never been surer than I am this moment that I have made
the right decision.
At the end of the set, I can see his eyes scanning the crowd for me. I know
that in a few short minutes he will be back standing there with his arms around
me, and that will be it. It will be over.
To my complete surprise, Ben leans into his microphone and gives a grin,
his wicked one, the one that I first saw.
“Somebody once told me that she felt she was living her life to a Taylor
Swift soundtrack.”
There is a loud roar from the crowd and everyone starts looking around at
each other. Meredith grins at me. It makes me worried.
“I had no idea what she was talking about,” he continues, “so I had to do a
bit of research. At first I didn’t get it, but then I found one song that made me
understand. So tonight for one night only, Sound Box are going to do some
Taylor.”
He grins as the crowd erupts.
“This song is dedicated to that certain somebody: "‘Long Live.’”
Oh, my god! He is going to sing Taylor fucking Swift!
All because once I had shouted at him and told him that he was making me
live my life by her songs. My knees give and I realise why Tristan has been
standing with his arm around me.
Ben starts to sing, and I begin to slowly come apart at the seams. There is
nothing in this world that can keep me together now. Nothing.
When he gets to the last verse, the sad one: the one where you know that
whatever it is Taylor is singing about did not have a happy ending, it feels like
my heart in actually going to stop beating. I can feel it thud slowly in my chest.
On the last line, his voice breaks on the word “You,” and we both just stand
there pointing at each other.
The moment he finishes, he jumps off the stage, much to amusement of the
audience, most of whom have already seen him jump off a stage once before to
chase after me. He comes through the crowd and grabs me.
We both stand there hugging and crying and finally he pulls away and says
for the very last time ever, “Let’s go home.”

23rd June
 This morning I gave him a kiss on the cheek and left his room. I have locked
myself in my room and sat in shock for the entire day, I am wearing the T-shirt I
have stolen, which still smells of his laundry powder and smoke. Still smells of
Ben.
I wish I could write that after we got home last night and had made love the
way only two people as desperate as we felt could, I had told him how much I
loved him and begged him to stay.
Except, I didn’t.
This is real life, my real life, and unfortunately you cannot put a happy
ending in where it is not meant to be.
Eventually I have learnt the art of letting go.
11:23 a.m.
Text from Meredith.
Meredith: Are you okay?
Me: No.
Meredith: Can I come in?
I get up and unlock my door. Then sit back down staring at the wall again. I
dare not look anywhere else. Everything in here is in some way layered in
memories that at the moment I can’t face.
2.00 p.m.
Meredith comes in and sits next to me. After an age, I put my head in her
lap. She smoothes my hair, like I, only a few short months ago, did for her.
“It’s going to be okay,” she whispers.
“No it’s not,” I reply, “I can’t breathe.”
Taylor Swift is singing "Last Kiss," and I think she may be right.

24th June
8.00 a.m.
It is the last exam, for which I have done no preparation at all. I am going to
leg it out of the dorm when it is time to go. I have not seen Ben. It is a good
thing, because I could not say another goodbye. I spent the whole of yesterday
evening fighting the urge to knock on his door and be with him one last time. I
also sat there desperately wishing that he would knock on my door, but he
didn’t. I wonder if he is struggling to breathe like I am?
When I get back from the exam he will probably be gone, and then so will I.
 The Exam of Truth
Meredith and I stand in the queue for the exam room. I have my head on the
wall and am about to turn and ask Meredith what the hell the exam is about
when I notice Barbie is standing next to me. She is looking at me a bit strangely.
“Where’s Ben?”
Jeez, this girl has no shame.
“He’s gone, you know, to America.” I can’t be bothered to be polite.
“Why’d you let him go?”
“Get lost.”
She stares at me for the longest moment. “Listen, Lilah, I am sorry about
that night, well, you know . . .”
I don’t answer. It is not possible without punching her.
But she can’t let it go. “That night, I was really pissed, and all he kept
talking about was you. How excited he was that you were going to be officially
his the next day and how in love he was with you, how he never thought he was
going to find you, and how he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you.”
I stare at her.
“It made me get really mad. I was standing there practically throwing myself
at him and all he could do was talk about you, like a lovesick puppy.”
I am still staring.
“So I stripped. It’s kind of embarrassing, but I stripped and tried to show
him what he could have with me, but he just looked at me in disgust and told me
to grow up. That is all I remember I must have passed out.”
I continue to stare at her like a wild-eyed crazy person.
What?
I have always believed him when he said he had not done anything. I just
thought that he must have been interested a little bit for it to get that far. Instead,
she is telling me that all he was doing was talking about me; that he wanted to be
with me forever. He was telling that to a complete stranger, a complete stranger
who was standing there in her underwear trying to tempt him, but he could not
be tempted because he was in love with me.
Oh FUCK!
I have learnt the art of letting go. But I have let go of the wrong thing.
I have let go of Ben, the single best thing to ever happen to me, when,
instead, I should have let go of all my issues and negativities. He never saw
them, he only saw me for exactly what I am—crazy behaviour included— and
loved me for it.
Oh, fuck.
Meredith looks at me her nose is wrinkled into an ‘I told you so’ expression.
Then it hits me, like a sledgehammer—just what it is that I have forgotten to
do—what that niggle at the back of my mind has been the whole time. I was
supposed to just ask him to stay. It would have been so easy and so right. Two
simple words.
Please stay.
I think I am processing this quickly but a couple of minutes have probably
passed.
Crap.
I am just standing there with my mouth hanging open, and the intelligent
thought of huh? running through my mind. I’m about to turn and tell Meredith
that I’m going to go and try to catch him when Professor Johnson starts leading
us into the hall where we have to walk to our desks in silence to sit the end of
term paper. I want to bolt but Crazy Johnson catches my eye and watches me
walk in, his ‘drop-out student’ radar must be on full alert.
The Longest Two Hours . . . Ever
This is the longest two hours of my life.
Tick, Tock. Tick, Tock. Tick, Tock.
It feels like it is never going to end. I don’t even know what I am supposed
to be writing about. I cannot even read the damn questions. They just swim in a
blur in front of my eyes every time I try. Instead, I just sit and watch the clock
tick by at the slowest pace ever. Can you freeze time? Because it sure feels like
someone has.
Tick, Tock. Tick, Tock. Tick, Tock.
My legs are jigging up and down like a jackhammer, desperate to be out of
the room and chasing to find Ben. My heart is beating so fast and so loud I’m
surprised the other students cannot hear.
I glance at my ring, which winks blue at me like a flash of torture. As I
watch the facets hit the light, I realise the complete stupidity of my actions.
I am going to let history repeat itself.
I am going to achieve the one thing that I wanted to stop. What a complete,
bloody idiot.
I am going to let him go. We will live our lives apart, and all for what?
Ben’s Gran was kept from the love of her life by her family. The only thing
keeping me from mine is my own stupidity. Am I going to wait however many
years to see the flash of blue again wherever I may find it? Will the ring move
on to another owner who will also repeat the same cycle?
Sod it, I may as well look at the questions while I am here and see what they
are about.
Hold on a minute! These are easy. This is the stuff that Ben and I were
reading about in the library the other day. The other day when he sat in the
library with me, determined that I was going to pass my exams.
Ben. Ben. Ben. Ben.
Then I start to write, like my life and sanity depend on it.
Finally we are told that we can leave if we are ready and I jump out of my
chair as if someone has set a fire under my arse. I dash out of the exam hall and
sprint across campus as fast as my legs will take me.
Taylor is singing "Change," and so am I as my legs pace faster and faster to
the beat of the song in my head. This time I know she has got it right, the perfect
song for me, because I know I can walk away and take the easy path or I can
change myself and get all the things that I want and deserve. I choose change.
Sing “Hallelujah”. Yes, I bloody am.
Please don’t be gone. Please don’t be gone. Please don’t be gone. I just
need to tell you that I have been a dick and that even though I know you need to
go anyway, I want you to know that I love you and that I want you to stay, so at
least you know, and one day you may come back.
I fly up the stairs of the dorm, my legs screaming in agony as I take them
two at a time. I fall through the door trying to push the memories of Ben and I
crashing through it on many occasions together out of my mind.
I barge through his door and come to a stop, staring in shock at his empty
room. There is nothing left that would ever show that he had been there.
He has done what I asked. He has left.
I turn and enter through the door to my room, my heart already heavy and
struggling to beat. Ben has been here. There are traces of him everywhere, but he
is not here now.
It’s too late. He’s gone. I let the love of my life leave.
I just sit on my bed. I have no idea what to do.
Then I notice an iPod box on my bed. There is a Post-it on top. ‘For You,’ it
says, in Ben’s handwriting.
I take the iPod out and look at the track listings. There is just one track,
without a name. It just comes up as ‘Sound Box, untitled.’
 I jam the headphones into my ears and listen to Ben pick out the notes to
"Hey There, Delilah," on his Gibson.
His voice makes my legs go wobbly the way it always does, and I listen to
him sing the words with a longing in his tone I have never heard before.
I just sit and allow the tears to fall. I do not need to hide them from myself. I
deserve them for being so completely blind. For never having faith in myself like
I should have had. If someone can love you that much, then you should be able
to love yourself as well, because you deserve it.
If someone can see the best in you, then you should believe it is there too.
If someone can accept your crazy behaviour, obsessive impulses, and can
lovingly squeeze your squidgy bits and want you all the more for them, then you
have to accept them, too. How can you not?
This is a lesson I have learnt too late.
Through my tears I can see another Post-it note folded up inside the box.
On it, in Ben’s handwriting, is a destination and a question mark. I don’t
know what it means. I don’t know what anything means. All I do know is that I
am going to find out.
 Contact the author: Fancy a chat with Anna or want to find out more about
The Uni Files?
You can contact Anna by visiting Anna’s website at annabloomwrites.com
By following @annabloombooks on twitter.
Or by good old fashioned email: annabloomwrites@gmail.com
A Uni Files Novella The Saving of Benjamin Chambers
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