You Had Me at Hello (32 page)

‘Sod pool then, quiet sounds good.'

‘I don't want to ruin a house night out.'

‘Nah, we're going to the ball tomorrow. We'll see plenty of each other there.'

‘OK then. The Woodstock? For old times' sake?'

‘Can you have old times at twenty-one?' Ben asked, sounding pleased.

I got to The Woodstock first, bought a round and found a picnic table in the beer garden. I started drinking too quickly in the muggy heat, enjoying the feel of the grass tickling my bare legs in my summer dress and sandals. I knew the worst way to deal with breaking up with Rhys was by waking up to the reality of it tomorrow with a blinding hangover, but that absolutely wasn't going to stop me for a second.

I wondered what Ben was going to say. I didn't want him to declare open season, to say
I told you so
,
to reveal he'd thought it needed doing for the last three years. Mind you, I didn't want him to exclaim
you idiot
either. In fact, I didn't know what I wanted him to say. He appeared on the other side of the lawn, holding another two drinks, grinning broadly when he saw we'd doubled up. I smiled back. In Ben's company, I was going to feel fine. This wasn't what you were supposed to do when you'd dumped your long-term boyfriend, was it? Where was the chocolate binge, the recriminations, Gloria Gaynor? It was as if without the echo chamber of my female friends around, I was free to invent new protocol.

‘Shall we park the finals talk? Is that what's making you anti-social?' Ben asked, after the greeting. ‘If so, you've got nothing to worry about. You're the essay queen.'

Princess Rachel crowned as essay queen. I wasn't sure I liked the way the men in my life saw me.

‘Mmm …' I lifted and dropped my shoulders to indicate
maybe
, not yet able to get the words out.

Ben rubbed the condensation off his pint glass with his index finger. I fiddled with the stem of my wine glass, enjoying the feeling of the first half glass-full hitting home.

‘How's Pippa?'

‘Not sure. We split up.'

I was taken aback. I thought Pippa was going to be the game changer.

‘Oh, God. Sorry to hear that. How come?'

‘When I really thought about it, I knew I wasn't going to be flying back and forth to Ireland when I got back from my trip. Seemed fairer to finish it.'

‘How did she take it?'

Ben shook his head. ‘Not brilliantly. Still. Better done now rather than later.'

‘I'm sorry. You two were good together.'

Wow. He'd not taken the option on Pippa. She was the kind of uni-pull most boys parade around their home town like the Champion's League Cup. For a second, my imagination spooled forward to the Cleopatra-esque, peerless goddess who'd see Ben finally commit.

‘Still – now you're clear to hit on Polly-Annas from Richmond-upon-Thames,' I added.

‘Who?'

‘Rich girl “gappers” at Thailand's Full Moon parties, discovering a world beyond materialism while spending daddy's dollars.'

‘Ah. Them.' Ben shrugged and put a hand on the back of his head.

‘So we're both enjoying the single life,' I said.

‘I wouldn't say enjoying, especially.'

I paused to let the penny drop.

‘Did you say “we”?'

‘Yep. I finished with Rhys.'

Ben looked as if he was waiting for me to say
Aha, not really, had you fooled
. He stared in astonishment, mouth open. ‘You did? When?'

‘On the phone, earlier. He piked out of the graduation ball for no good reason. We've been arguing a lot lately. I lost it and told him it was over. In a shouty sort of way.'

I knew why I exaggerated. I wanted to make the point I could stick up for myself.

‘For good?'

‘Pretty much.'

‘I'm sorry,' Ben said, eyes downcast.

‘No worries,' I said.

I dodged further questions by swerving into superficial chatter. I looked and sounded like myself. Inside I was wondering who I was now I wasn't Rhys's Rachel
. Rhys and Rachel, Rachel and Rhys
. Ben looked like his mind was ticking over too, his view of me undergoing some adjustment. I wasn't sure if I was imagining we held each other's gaze for longer, in the gaps between speech, or if it was the potent combination of dehydration, nostalgia and pub quality Pinot Grigio.

‘If I'm single I'll have more time to visit friends at the other end of the country,' I said, halfway through the evening, once the sun had gone down and the lamps had gone on.

‘Yeah, that once-a-year get together's going to be a
blast
,' Ben said, with a sour edge.

‘Ow. We might manage more than one,' I said, nudging him.

‘Two?'

‘Why so negative?'

‘Not the same as this though, is it?'

‘Nothing will be. University's like this little world, a bubble of time separate from everything before and everything after.'

Ben walked me home that night through quiet, suburban tree-lined streets, the sodium orange glow of the streetlights buried among their leaves. The air still and thick, even late at night, as if we were in the Med. It was as though Manchester itself was laying on a farewell party for us and had ordered in special weather. We reached my front gate.

‘Urgh, I don't want to go in,' I whispered to Ben. ‘I don't know whether creepy Derek's left or not. He's locked his door. He'll probably start bumping around and growling at three a.m.'

‘You're on your own? The girls have gone?'

‘They're only coming back for the ball tomorrow.'

We looked at the house. An interior light was switched off somewhere and it plunged into darkness.

‘Brrr,' I said to Ben.

‘If you're that bothered about Derek, I can crash here,' Ben said.

‘Yeah?'

‘Yeah. Have you got sofa cushions, a spare blanket?'

‘I've got a sleeping bag, somewhere.'

‘I'll kip on your floor, then.'

‘You would? Really?'

‘As long as you don't snore.'

‘Great!'

Ben pretended to be grudging and I grinned like a fool. The house looked strange, a husk stripped bare of our décor and emptied of Mindy's multi-coloured swap shop heap of shoes in the hallway. It was our End Times. Though Derek would probably live on, like the cockroach after a nuclear war.

‘I think I have a bottle of Pernod with a gummy screw-top if you want a nightcap?' I said.

‘Pernod? I'm good, thanks. Ball tomorrow. Probably shouldn't encourage a filthy hangover.'

‘Agreed.'

I got ready for bed in the upstairs bathroom, changing into my animal pyjamas and brushing my teeth. I contemplated my nightie but it was far too short and anyway, I consoled myself, Ben had seen me in these horrors before. I got a wave of self-loathing at being clad in something so silly, sharing my bedroom with someone so good-looking. Child's mittens, cartoon pants, toddler PJs.
If you were my girlfriend, I'd be desperate for you to take them off.
I cringed, rinsed, spat.

On my return to the bedroom, I crossed my arms and hurtled towards the covers, eager not to be seen. Ben had arranged a makeshift bunk-down. Increasingly, the wine ebbing away, the situation felt more intimate than I'd anticipated.

‘Can I borrow something to sleep in?'

I swerved off course and rummaged in my chest of drawers. I could only come up with a size XL grey t-shirt, creased from the cardboard insert, with a real ale festival advertised across its not inconsiderable width. I shook it out to its full proportions.

‘I won this in a pub quiz and haven't got round to throwing it away.'

‘What did the losers get?'

‘OK, sleep in your clothes then.'

I threw it at him. He caught it.

‘No, no, beggars can't be choosers. They have to be' – he studied the back of the shirt – ‘hog wild for the hops.'

I switched the main light off. The room was lit by my rocket-shaped red lava lamp.

‘You gonna leave that on?' Ben asked.

‘Usually, is that OK?'

‘Sure.
Rooxxxaannnnee
…'

I giggled, watched the globules of scarlet goo lazily separating, colliding and bouncing in the Martian water.

‘Shut your eyes then, I'm not changed.'

I obliged, slapping a pillow over my eyes so there could be no doubt I had, and heard the soft noises of clothes dropping on the carpet, the clink of a buckle, the sound of him pulling the t-shirt over his head. It was proof of our intensely platonic nature we could do this. I had a strong tingly impulse to look because, you know, it was only human.

‘Are you decent?'

I crawled across the bed and looked down. Ben was cocooned up to the armpits in navy blue nylon.

‘How is it?' I asked.

‘Like lying on the floor, Ron.' He shifted around.

‘We can swap if you want.'

‘No need.'

I wriggled over so I was lying on the edge of the bed, as near to him as possible.

‘What a weird day,' I sighed. ‘I'm single. Best get used to it.'

‘Mmm.'

Pause. ‘Hey, d'you know, I'm absolutely terrified about being single again.'

I expected an avalanche of
you'll be fine
platitudes and they didn't come.

‘You're so good at falling in and out of relationships. And then look at me,' I said.

Still nothing from Ben.

‘I mean, you were prepared to let Pippa go,' I blundered on.

‘What does that mean?'

‘Nothing, only, Pippa's beautiful and bright and has that amazing Irish accent going for her, and she still got dumped. What are the chances of anyone persisting with me?'

Ben said, noticeably coldly: ‘I'm not following your logic, sorry. Different woman has different situation shock?'

‘She's amazing. I'm less amazing. I'm hardly going to fare any better.'

‘What are you on about?'

‘And,' I had a sense this was a very stupid thing to say and I'd regret it in sobriety, but the words were already tumbling out of my mouth, ‘back when we did that kiss in the Och Aye The No pub, you said yourself it was like snogging a sister. Shit. I'm going to be useless.'

A creaking silence ensued. What did I want or expect Ben to say? I knew I was being unfair and embarrassing us both. Nevertheless I suddenly craved the ego boost of a demonstrably attractive person of the opposite sex confirming I wasn't at least revolting.

‘Stop pushing,' he said, flatly.

‘What?'

‘Stop pushing me and fishing for compliments.'

‘I'm not!'
I wasn't. Was I? Oh. Yes, I was.

Another funny pause.

‘There's no need for the low self-esteem schtick.'

‘Easy for you to say.'

‘Why?' Ben had an edge to his voice. I guessed I must've said something to particularly offend to him in all of this, I couldn't put my finger on quite what it was. Perhaps it wasn't very tactful of me to bring up Pippa when it was still raw.

‘You have naturally high self-esteem. The same way some people have good teeth or congenitally raised cholesterol.'

Ben sighed, exasperated.

‘I don't understand you, sometimes. But I don't think you understand me ever.'

I wondered why we were talking at cross purposes and when we were going to chat easily about how I would be fine as a single girl.

‘I'm being dumb,' I said, and Ben grunted in assent. ‘But if you do have any hunting tips that I could apply to northern boys and enjoy the same success you've had with southern girls, I'd appreciate them.'

‘I'm not gonna do that.'

‘Why not? Selfish! From the Don Juan of Withington.'

‘What do you mean by that? I have no standards? I'm a slag?'

‘No! You're just very popular with the laydeez. Hey, if you won't help me score – fine.'

‘Ron, you're a girl. You won't have any trouble.'

‘Yeah,' I sighed. ‘It's meeting the good 'uns, isn't it.'

‘You'll be fine,' he said, again.

‘If I
do
do any wildly off-putting stuff to a potential mate, as my best male friend, I'm counting on you to tell me.'

‘Do you actually want me to answer these questions? If you keep asking me them, I will. Final warning.'

‘Which questions?'

‘Questions about that kiss, my ex-girlfriend and you being on the pull.'

‘Yeah, I guess I did ask those questions,' I said, suddenly all bold and casual and more than a little bit frightened. His irritation made me wonder if he was about to say I'd effectively tasked him with being the one to tell me I ponged like a rabbit hutch.

A very noisy silence.

‘Right, I'm sorry if this makes you uncomfortable. There's only so much I can take,' Ben said. ‘Did I say kissing you was like kissing a sister? Yes I did, because we were being goaded into getting off with each other. Was it like kissing a sister? No, it was bloody amazing, like kissing someone you fancy very very badly usually is …'