Diary of a Crush: Kiss and Make Up

by Sarra Manning

  28th October

  I spent all day working on my ‘I just threw this stuff on’ look. I had my highlights re-done and got the hairdresser to put my hair up in this messy bun thing. I’d blown my entire week’s wages on new Top Shop jeans and a 1940s black satin top from the really expensive vintage shop in town. I looked about as good as it’s humanly possible for me to look but I was still shaking as I pushed open the door of the bar.

  I spent several moments feeling like a complete prat as I frantically searched around for Dylan before I saw him and his mates chilling out on some sofas.

  Walking towards ten people who are staring at you is very off-putting. I kept my head up and tried not to bite my lip.

  Then Shona jumped up and was hugging me, and Dylan was introducing me as ‘the coolest girl I’ve ever known’.

  Veronique looked unimpressed while this lanky boy with a quiff called Carter (Carter!) had the audacity to say, ‘Edie? What kind of a weird name is that?’

  I looked to Dylan for support but he was too busy kissing Veronique to notice. As evenings go, it wasn’t too bad. If, like, your only other option was to have your eyes gouged out or something.

  Turned out that Carter is actually Veronique’s brother, which explains why a) he had a stupid name and b) he was so aggravating. He asked me if I called myself Edie because of Edie Sedgwick and when I pulled a face to suggest that I didn’t know what the hell he was talking about he had the nerve to say, ‘I’m sorry, I guess the 1960s New York underground scene is a little too sophisticated for your tastes.’

  I would have worked up to a really crushing reply but I still didn’t have any idea what he was banging on about, ’cept he was managing to make me look like an idiot in front of five people I didn’t know. Shona shrugged apologetically and Paul started this long, complicated explanation to do with Andy Warhol, and Veronique and Dylan were still investigating each other’s back molars.

  I had one drink and then pretended that I had an elsewhere to be, which was actually home to my bed, where I curled up with Pudding who could tell that I was down and didn’t try to claw me to pieces when I cried into her fur.

  31st October

  I’ve finally got a clue. I am not going anywhere near Dylan again. If he comes into the café, which he does with alarming regularity, I’m going to be polite but apart from that, I am avoiding him. As far as I’m concerned, he should have a ‘Warning! Haz Chem!’ label tattooed on his forehead. He’s out of bounds as a friend, as someone who may or may not still be in love with me, as someone who is sucking face with another girl. He is out of my life, once and for all. I mean it, this time. I might not have meant it the other times, but I’m serious. No more Dylan.

  1st November

  I’ve been Dylan-free for forty-eight hours. It’s going pretty well.

  5th November

  Still Dylan-free. He came into the café today but I got Poppy, the other waitress, to serve him. And I managed not to make eye contact the whole time he was in there. I pretty much rock!

  8th November

  Still Dylan-free and thank God that I can screen his calls on my mobile. I wish he’d get the message to just leave me the fuck alone.

  14th November

  Turns out that Dylan doesn’t just play games with my heart when I’m with him. Oh no. He can do it via the medium of email too.

  To: cutiesnowgirl@hotmail.com

  From: artboy@hotmail.com

  Oh Edie, Edie, Edie

  You seem to have fallen off the face of the earth. After our trip to Blackpool I thought we’d agreed to be friends but after one hanging-out session with my mates, you disappeared and left no clues.

  Shona’s being annoyingly unhelpful about the whole business. I think she feels guilty about having to side with me out of long-term loyalty when she’d rather side with you out of some kind of misguided sisterly solidarity. But she did put forward the theory that seeing Veronique and me together was like ‘someone cutting out your heart without an anaesthetic’. But I don’t get it. ’Cause sometimes, Edie, I think you’re all heart and I worry about how you get hurt by everything from sad puppies on YouTube to reckless art boys who won’t fall into line. And then there are the other times when you act like you don’t have a heart at all. Maybe I shouldn’t even go there. But there were so many times when you brushed me aside without even listening to what I had to say. Like, as if I’d ever want Mia again after I’d had you in my arms.

  So, anyway I don’t think it was seeing me and Veronique together that’s caused your complete absence from my life. I did hear you having an angry exchange with Carter (when I heard you hissing at him it brought back memories of that awful argument we had in the dining room of the hideous Hôtel Du Lac) but I can’t believe that one sardonic sculpture student with a love of stirring it up could send you scurrying into hibernation. (He thought you were a complete babe, by the way.)

  The only explanation I can have for the way the girl I formerly knew as Edie is never in when I call or has always just gone on her lunch when I go to the café where she works (why do you take your lunch-break at 5pm anyway?) or has already made plans with Shona is that she hates me. Irrevocably hates me and there’s no cure.

  But I don’t hate you, Edie. You bug the hell out of me but I still miss you like mad. Don’t get me wrong, I’m really into Veronique but there’ll always be a little part of me that’s yours alone. I think you must have cast a spell on me. I miss the way you pull the caramel off a Twix and then nibble the chocolate round the edges before finally eating the rest of the bar in three decisive bites. I miss you reading books about crazy girls (they always reminded me of you) while I lay on your bed and looked up at the cloudy sky that you’d painted on your bedroom ceiling. And I miss the way you’d bite your lip and blush when you wanted me to kiss you. But, most of all, I miss those kisses and how right it felt to hold you.

  Like I said when we went to Blackpool I’ll always love you but I just can’t be with you, Edie. When we were together I spent all my time walking on eggshells while you suspected me of chasing other girls. And those glimpses of that other Edie, the one who doesn’t have a heart, became more and more frequent. I s’pose what really finished us off was the way you disappeared to Brighton for weeks after sending me that email, that was like an exercise in doublespeak. I needed a codebreaker just to understand what you were talking about and before I could even ask you, you’d gone. And for the record, I always thought it was you who chucked me.

  Those weeks that you were in Brighton were some of the worst weeks of my life. I felt like you’d stolen half my soul away and then I met Veronique. I’m not just going out with her on the rebound, I really like her. She gets me. I get her. There’s no confusion. And I think the two of you would really get on if you gave each other a chance. But I guess that’s the last thing you want to hear. What I’m really writing to tell you is that I’m finally moving out of my mum’s house (I can’t take the stress any more) and getting a flat with Simon, Carter and Paul. All the details are at the bottom of this email so you know where to find me.

  I guess you still think that I treated you terribly and that I was only interested in getting you into bed (which is only slightly true) but I’ll tell you one thing, ten years from now when you’re doing fabulous things and making the world weep with wonder, I’m going to come and find you so we can go on that road trip we always talked about and raise a family of beautiful, artistically precocious little freaks.

  Come back wherever you are.

  Toxically yours

  Dylan

  Why does he always do this? Just when I want him to let me go, he always finds a way to come hurtling back into my life with all the velocity of a freakin’ bullet.

  20th November

  I’ve read that email from Dylan a million times and I can’t work out whether I should be hating his guts or still pining after him. I think the pining will win out in the end. I saw him the day after he sent it as I was standing out
side the café waiting for Anna to open up. He came out of Rhythm with a mug of coffee, which he handed to me.

  ‘What’s this for?’ I asked him, but it wasn’t in a bitchy way, I was just curious.

  ‘It’s too cold to wait outside,’ he murmured, pulling his jumper closer around him. ‘Thought you might need something to warm you up.’ The annoying thing was he didn’t even sound remotely leery.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said. I took a sip of coffee and tried not to pull a face. Dylan makes terrible coffee. He can never get the right ratio of Kenco, hot water and milk.

  ‘Did you get my email?’ he demanded after an awkward pause that seemed to last several millennia.

  I nodded.

  ‘So…’ Dylan prompted.

  I took another sip of coffee, mainly for something to do with my mouth that didn’t involve speaking. ‘It sort of knocked me for six,’ I said eventually. ‘I’m still deciding what I think about it.’

  Dylan got quite agitated then. Started shuffling his feet and moving closer to me, like he was going to touch me. I stepped out of his reach. ‘But did you…?’

  God! What was his problem? ‘I’ll get back to you, Dylan,’ I snapped. Really snapped. Even I’d never heard that kind of edge to my voice before. ‘Just leave it, will you?’

  He turned and walked back into Rhythm without saying another word. And slammed the door just for good measure.

  I got Poppy to return the empty mug.

  7th December

  I’ve been the busiest of little bees. I’ve volunteered to help out at the local hospital’s children’s ward Christmas Party thing. It wasn’t even Mum’s idea. And I’m not doing it because it will look good on my UCAS form. There was a notice up at college and Nat and I decided we should ‘give something back’. And possibly meet some good-looking medical students. Which is just me being glib because actually hanging out with some ill kids who might not even make it through to Christmas puts everything in perspective. And keeps me occupied.

  12th December

  I’ve spent all day making Christmas decorations with the kids. It was actually very cool. They think I’m, like, a proper adult. One of them asked me if I was thirty. Note to self: Look into anti- ageing creams.

  But it’s also kind of depressing. One of the kids, Asha, is so poorly she just lies in bed and hardly moves. I went and sat with her and made her a little angel to put on her medical chart.

  Nat and I are going to do a collection at college to raise some money to buy them all a Christmas present. I think I’m finally getting a social conscience.

  14th December

  I bumped into Shona and Dylan in town. On a scale of one to ten of sheer awfulness, it was only about an eleven.

  ‘Hello stranger,’ was Shona’s greeting when I collided with them as I was going into Paperchase and they were coming out.

  ‘Oh, hi,’ I muttered. ‘Um, hey Dylan.’

  ‘Edie,’ he said, shoving his hands into the pocket of his coat. He had a really cool Big Black Records hat on and his face was pink with the cold.

  ‘Where you been hiding?’ Shona asked as we stepped to one side so we weren’t getting in the way.

  I started telling them about helping out at the hospital. God, I talked for England. Then when I got on to the subject of Asha, I began to cry. I just couldn’t help it. ’Cause it’s Christmas and she’s just a little kid and she’s got cancer which sucks beyond the telling of it.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I spluttered. ‘Just ignore me.’

  ‘Do you want to get a coffee?’ Shona squeezed my hand. ‘We’re just done, aren’t we, Dylan?’

  Dylan nodded. ‘Don’t cry, Edie,’ he murmured, stroking my wet cheeks with the back of his hand, which just made me cry harder. ‘Maybe you should give the hospital a miss today.’

  They were both giving me concerned looks and tilting their heads to the side. I dug in my coat pockets for a slightly grubby tissue and wiped my eyes. ‘No, I have to go. I’m just, y’know, Christmas and PMS and sick children. Not a good combination.’

  ‘Well, I don’t…’ Shona began to say but I gave her a quick hug and picked up the bags I’d put on the pavement.

  ‘I need to get going,’ I said quickly. ‘I’ll see you soon. OK?’ And I dashed off as Dylan shouted something about a Christmas party at me.

  17th December

  Today I deleted the email from Dylan because I need to stop reading it every hour and theorising about what every word means. All that stuff he wrote about me being heartless and hard has really wounded me. I have too much heart, if anything. It gets me into trouble all the time.

  18th December

  It was the Christmas Party at the children’s ward today. One of the doctors dressed up as Father Christmas and we sang carols and handed out presents.

  Nat and I managed to raise just under thirty quid and my dad rounded it up to fifty. We bought all the kids a book and one of those stockings stuffed full of chocolate each. Aw! In return we got this home-made card that they’d all signed with a picture of me and Nat on it (I had yellow hair, I was pleased to see) by a Christmas tree. I think it was a Christmas tree. Either that, or a really strange-looking reindeer.

  I sat and held Asha’s hand for a little bit and she tried to sit up. Her parents were there and they thanked me for making the angel and for spending time with her. Her mum seemed really reined in, like she was trying to hold herself together and when I went to say goodbye and gave Asha a kiss on the forehead, her mum hugged me so hard, I thought she was going to break one of my ribs.

  19th December

  Asha died last night.

  20th December

  Nat has gone down in history as the only boy who’s ever going to be allowed to spend the night in my room. I phoned him in tears yesterday to tell him about Asha and he came over and we both cried a lot and ate too many mince pies.

  And then I asked if he could stay over and Mum went and got a pair of Dad’s pyjamas for him to sleep in and then I laughed so hard that I was one pelvic floor exercise away from completely wetting myself.

  The only other person that I really wanted to call was… not on my speed dial any more.

  23rd December

  Nat and I spent the day delivering our Christmas cards. He’s all about being busy to take our minds off being sad about Asha and depressed about toxic ex-boyfriends. The postman thing didn’t take very long actually. But it did take an hour for him and Shona (who was the only other person on our delivery route) to persuade me to go round to Dylan’s new flat.

  ‘So we’ll just pretend that we were passing,’ Shona said.

  ‘We’ve got to deliver some Christmas cards anyway,’ Nat reckoned.

  ‘But we are just passing. And we do have to deliver Christmas cards,’ I pointed out as they dragged me up the garden path.

  I had never been privileged enough to actually get an invitation to Dylan’s home when we were, like, dating but there I was standing nervously on his doorstep with Nat and Shona each grabbing one of my arms so I couldn’t make a run for it.

  Paul answered the door and led us into the lounge. I thought I was going to throw up. There was Dylan with Veronique sitting on his lap. Do they have to be surgically attached to each other all the time? Then there was Simon, who I hadn’t seen since I got drunk and ended up snogging him, and that lanky git Carter who looked up and said, ‘Oh, it’s Eddie, no longer an officially missing person.’

  ‘Oh it’s Cartman,’ I hissed. ‘The rudest boy in the world.’

  ‘It’s Carter, sweetheart,’ he said.

  ‘And it’s Edie, dickweed,’ I snarled while Shona shot me a warning look.

  I had to sit there for a very painful hour while Veronique wittered on about her Performance Art piece. I don’t know what Dylan sees in her. He kept sneaking looks at me like he couldn’t believe that I was sitting there on his sofa after my disappearing act. I pretended everything was cool but seeing him with Veronique tore me apart. And what with Simon’s s
mirking and Carter’s sneering the whole thing was just horrible.

  Dylan asked me how the children’s party had gone when he finally came up for air and all I could do was shrug while Shona made ‘shut your mouth right the hell now’ motions at him.

  He didn’t get it. And finally Nat bellowed, ‘It was fine, OK? Can we talk about something else now?’

  I don’t think we’re going to be invited back there any time soon.

  25th December

  Christmas sucks. Fact. The grand’rents were doting on me and I even got a sweet silver pendant from Tiffany’s as my big present, which was all kinds of good. Then I realised that Dylan had been dating Veronique for longer than he’d dated me. And all the Quality Street and mixed nuts in the world couldn’t change that. I’d got a Christmas card from him the day before. Another charming message: