we ate pancakes together and explored the extensive gardens even though it was drizzling, and spent the afternoon back in the four-poster. When the time came to leave, Ben insisted on giving me a lift back to Woodgate instead of catching the train and when he said he’d call me, I believed him.
Ben was everything I wanted in a boyfriend; kind, attentive and reliable. If he said he would call on Sunday at eight, he would call on Sunday at eight. There were no games with Ben, no deciphering the boy code to figure out what he meant. It was easy with Ben. We fit.
‘Ben’s smitten with you, you know,’ Francesca had whispered to me the next time we met. We’d got together as a foursome with Jeremy and Ben, which we would do quite a bit over the next three years.
‘I’m smitten with Ben.’
And I was. I really was. I thought we’d be together forever. This was it, my very own The One. I wanted to break out in song like my favourite musical heroines. Life with Ben was perfect. Until nine months ago, when he decided it was no longer working for us.
‘But it’s working for me,’ I’d pointed out. Nothing had changed. We fit just as much as we always had.
‘But it isn’t working for me, Delilah.’ I was no longer fascinating Delilah James to Ben. Just plain old Delilah. ‘I want more from life than a stale relationship.’
Ben may as well have slugged me in the stomach. ‘You think our relationship is stale?’
Ben had snorted. ‘Don’t you?’
‘No!’ It was perfect. Had been perfect until two minutes ago. ‘What do you want me to do? I’ll do it. Anything.’
‘I don’t want you to do anything,’ Ben said. ‘I don’t want you at all.’
And then he’d gone. Left without a goodbye or even a parting glance. Ben didn’t want me. But I wanted him and I still do, which is why I’m dreading the words that are about to come out of Francesca’s mouth as we sit in the café.
‘What about Ben?’ Why did I ask? Why didn’t I just get up from my seat and walk out of the café in blissful ignorance?
‘He’s met someone else.’ The words I had been dreading for the past nine months made my head swim. But there was more. ‘And they’re engaged.’
Engaged? In the measly nine months we’d been apart, Ben had found, dated and proposed to another woman? While I’d been daydreaming about our reunion, he’d been marching full steam ahead into a new life without me?
We weren’t getting back together, were we? Not at Francesca’s wedding. Not ever.
‘Delilah, darling?’ Francesca’s hand was back on my arm, squeezing gently. ‘I’m so sorry. I thought you knew. It’s been all over Facebook.’
‘I’m not friends with Ben on Facebook.’ He’d wanted a clean break. No phone calls or texts, no contact on social media. He’d erased me from his life completely.
‘I feel terrible,’ Francesca says, her grip tightening on my arm so much it starts to hurt a little. The sharpness helps me to focus.
‘Don’t.’ I shake my head, attempting to dislodge all the old feelings that are whooshing to the surface and threatening to topple me off my chair. ‘Of course he’s moved on. It’s been nine months.’ Nine months, eight days and seventeen hours, to be exact. ‘Like you said, we’ve both moved on.’
Lie number three of the day, but this one is absolutely necessary. Ben and Francesca are clearly still chummy and I don’t want word getting back to him that I’m a complete mess without him. I won’t weep, even though I think Ben is a great, big turding scumbag for getting engaged so soon after ditching me. I will remain strong and poised, even if it means lying through my teeth.
‘You have?’ Francesca’s hand is snatched away from my arm as she claps her hands together. ‘That is brilliant news, darling! I thought it would be awkward, you know, with Ben and Eden and everything, but now you’re with someone too it won’t be awkward at all!’ Eden? Ben’s new fiancée – ugh – is called Eden? ‘I’m so happy for you, darling. So happy. You will bring him, won’t you?’
‘Bring him where?’
‘To the wedding.’ Francesca giggles. ‘I can’t wait to meet him. I’ll rejig the seating plan, so it won’t be a problem.’
‘You don’t have to do that.’ Really, there’s no need at all. My imaginary boyfriend doesn’t take up much space at all.
‘Nonsense! You are one of my oldest friends and I want to see you happy and settled. I’ve always felt a bit guilty about Ben, you know. You met him through me and ended up heartbroken, so I’m glad you’ve found somebody else. Is this it, do you think? Is he The One?’
Francesca’s eyes sparkle as she leans across the table towards me, eager for details of my fictitious boyfriend.
‘Could be.’ I grin at Francesca, the lie slipping off my tongue quite easily. ‘He’s amazing and gorgeous and we’re having so much fun together.’
‘I can tell. Look at you – you’re glowing!’
Fictitious men have that effect on me.
‘So what’s his name?’
My grin slips a little. What is his name? What name screams sexy and gorgeous and a million times better than Ben Martin?
‘Oh.’ Francesca pounces on her handbag as it begins to buzz. She whips out her mobile and yelps. ‘I have to take this. Excuse me.’ Francesca dashes away, giving me a bit of breathing space to conjure a suitable name. Danny is the obvious choice. Danny is cool, he has swagger and looks very much like John Travolta in his heyday. Or how about Billy? In Chicago, Billy Flynn is suave and successful and pretty damn irresistible. And then there’s bad boy Cry-Baby, but I don’t think I’d get away with that one, no matter how hot Johnny Depp is.
‘I’m so sorry but I have to dash.’ Francesca returns – briefly – for one final sip of coffee and to grab her jacket and magazine. ‘But let’s meet up again soon, yes? I want all the details. Bye, darling!’ Francesca drops a kiss onto each cheek before she scuttles from the café.
So I need a boyfriend to take to Francesca’s wedding then. And I have six months to bag one.
The BFFs
Text Message:
Delilah: I am dying, Lauren. Head is going to explode. Stomach is going to explode. I feel explode-y
Lauren: Germs or beer?
Delilah: Beer. Too much beer. Can’t get out of my pyjamas. Super-glued on
Lauren: Want me to come over in my pyjamas? We can slob out and watch Bedknobs and Broomsticks
Delilah: This is why you are my very best friend (but don’t tell Ryan I said that)
Lauren McIntosh is one of my best friends (I’m greedy and have two. Ryan is the other – more about him in a minute). We’ve known each other since our first day of secondary school, when we were shaking in our knee-length skirts (and they really were knee-length back then. We hadn’t discovered that they were totally uncool and we must roll them up to bum-cheek-skimming length to survive school). I was sitting at a table at the front of our form room (like the skirt situation, I didn’t know that you must endeavour to sit as close to the back of the room as possible yet) when a girl stopped by my desk. She was quite short and skinny with her ginger hair plaited into pigtails at the side of her head.
‘Scary, isn’t it?’
I was bloody terrified but I gave my own hair