Diary of a Crush: Kiss and Make Up (6 page)

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.

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 outside 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Asha died last night.

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.

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 smirking 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.

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:

Because ‘Merry Christmas and a happy new year’ would have just been too bloody simple.

The New Year started with a bang and an ‘Oh dear’ and very possibly a ‘Bloody hell’ too. Nat had promised that we’d stay in until he heard that Trent was in town and going to the lads’ party. I absolutely refused to go but, after tears and tantrums and Nat threatening to tell everyone we knew that it actually said Edith on my birth certificate, there I was hiding behind Dylan’s Crimbo tree/art installation/whatever in my new vintage cocktail dress and wishing I wasn’t.

I was just helping myself to another glass of punch when Dylan came up behind me.

‘Hey,’ he muttered.

‘Hey,’ I said.

‘The card…’ he trailed off.

‘Was another of your little mind games,’ I finished for him.

‘Look, Edie, I just want to be friends with you…’ He said it so smooth as well, like he was the most reasonable boy on the planet.

Just to have him standing there in his stupid jeans and his stupid Trash T-shirt filled me with an indescribable fury. Which made me want to hurt him like he always managed to hurt me. I was fed up with being miserable and moping after him. And I was so, so, so sick of the way that he’d act like me being mad at him was silly. I’d made a rational and sanity-protecting decision to keep away from him and he should have respected that. Plus, the sight of him and her together always made me want to yak all over the floor.

‘Why don’t you get it, Dylan?’ I asked and my voice was as cold as the ice cubes in my drink. ‘I don’t want to have a friend like you. Y’know, friends implies that you actually get on with someone and you want to spend time with them and they make you feel good about yourself. And, hey, when it comes to me and you – none of the above apply.’

Finally I’d said it and the fact that his face sort of crumpled at least meant that the message was beginning to sink in. Or so I thought until he said, ‘You don’t mean that.’

He tried to stroke my arm but I flinched away from him and then he attempted the whole staring into my eyes routine but I’ve grown a pair since last year. ‘God, were you even listening to me?’ I exclaimed angrily. ‘Just leave me alone.’

Dylan was definitely pouting now and I was at a loss to fathom out why an Edieless existence was something that he had such trouble coming to terms with and that’s when it hit me.

‘You might be going out with
her
, you might be sleeping with her but I bet you can’t get me out of your head,’ I announced triumphantly. ‘That’s what this is all about. You still want me!’

My raised voice had cleared the kitchen and Dylan shifted uncomfortably.

‘When you talk like that Edie,’ he was saying, ‘I’m so glad we’re not going out any more.’

I felt like he’d punched me in the stomach.

‘No you don’t,’ I insisted, forgetting the whole get out of my life and don’t let the door hit you in the arse speech of five minutes ago. ‘I know you still want me.’

‘Yeah, like a freakin’ hole in the head.’

Something had changed. Dylan was the hunted and I was like the hunter. I reached up and kissed him. He tried to hold back but for one delicious moment he gave in, really gave in and kissed me back so passionately that I knew that whatever he had with Veronique, didn’t come close to what he had with me. Then he was pushing me away.

‘I can’t do this to her,’ he mumbled and walked out.

There was the sound of a slow handclap from the doorway. I whirled round to see Carter standing there.

‘What do you do for an encore?’ he wanted to know.

‘How long were you standing there?’ I demanded.

‘Long enough.’ He slowly looked me up and down. ‘I haven’t known you for very long, but are you always such a bitch?’

‘What’s it to you?’ It was like some evil demon had taken me over. I was drunk on my own Dylan-seducing power.

‘Veronique’s my sister,’ Carter said very calmly. ‘If you mess with her, you mess with me.’

I pushed past him. ‘Ooooh! I’m really scared – not!’ was my parting shot.

He caught up with me in the lounge as the countdown to midnight started. ‘You really are a little cow,’ he said tauntingly. ‘What did Dylan ever see in you?’

I’m hazy about what happened next. I think I called him a stickboy loser and then we were kissing but it was total war. Eventually we came up for air. I scraped a hand across my tingling mouth and looked at him.

‘Well, it’s one way to shut you up,’ Carter said a little unsteadily.

There was a collective gasp and I looked round to see everyone, including Dylan, looking at me and Carter in shocked silence.