The Art of Letting Go (The Uni Files)

by Bloom, Anna

  “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 a
ny 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.