Page 23 of How We Began

She and Ben and have gone to class. I wonder if they’ll slide their notes under the door and I can pretend to have bird flu or swine flu (or wine flu, more likely).

I look like a hedgehog.

A hedgehog that has been run over. Twice.

So after class yesterday, I sped into Putney.

I’ve hardly used Deathtrap Cooper, the ancient and unreliable Mini I bought when I sold my posh car—bought with Dad’s money—before term started. But yesterday, speed was of the essence, so I squished myself into that coffin on wheels, cranked the engine to the max, and drove as fast as the south London traffic would allow: approximately twenty-two miles an hour.

I rushed down the High Street and flung the car into a parking space at Waitrose. I then dashed into a hairdresser’s (that shall remain unnamed) where a guy with questionable abilities completely massacred my hair.

Okay, it may have been partly my fault. I didn’t know what I wanted, a piece of information that caused “Simon” to have a near heart attack of excitement.

“Soooo,” said Simon, hand on hip, gesticulating wildly with the other whilst brandishing a pair of scissors. “You’ve no idea what you want? At all?”

“Um, nope, I just want a change, please.”

“Well, my girl, you have come to the right place!” he declared as he threw his head back with an evil laugh.

He then proceeded to hack off my long brown waves, replacing them with a style that a patient in a long-term residence psych ward might have given herself, afterwards proclaiming that the devil told her to do it with the nail scissors.

10th October

“Oh my god. Did you use fucking nail scissors?” Meredith asked, open mouthed and staring at my hair.

I fucking knew it. I had the exact thought yesterday so it must be true.

Ben and Mer practically hammered the door down, threatening to ask the student nurse to pay me an ‘in dorm’ visit after I pretended to be sick all day yesterday. So of course, I had to open up.

Ben’s greeting was stony, with his lips crimped into a firm line. “You lied and said you were sick? Seriously?”

I rubbed at my hair. “Don’t look, it’s hideous.”

“Lilah, seriously?”

He was proper angry, and I washed in guilt, something I hadn’t expected to feel so early into our informal, let’s see where this goes.

“Your hair is perfect, you don’t understand,” I grumbled childishly, scowling up at his perfectly tousled inkiness.

“I honestly…” He stared at me hard and I waited. I really thought we were going to have our first argument about me hiding because my hair cut was bad! Okay, I can admit, I sounded like a child. But I’ve good reason, I’ve barely got confidence on my side at the best of times and definitely not sober.

His lips cracked, hitching at the edge. “Oh dear, God. Come here.”

I sank into his embrace, pretty sure the smell of him alone could heal world poverty let alone my dead hedgehog hair.

After the best hug in the world—I swear Ben was trying to make my ovaries burst—he cooked!

Well, bacon butties. Ben makes the best buttie ever, crispy bacon squidged between a soft floury roll; bacon buttie heaven! That’s one of the reasons I love him.

What? I did not just write that, did I? Surely not! That would be crazy. CRAZYTRAIN!

Oh crap. I did write it and now it’s here, in black and white, for all eternity.

I can’t be in love with him. I barely know him. We haven’t even seen each other naked yet, although I’ve thought about it quite a lot—a lot a lot.

Being in love is for when you’re grown up and have a life plan.

Anyway, I digress… Meredith took her personal taxi, otherwise known as a red double-decker, and sped back into Putney to buy emergency hair wax. Ben didn’t leave me alone whilst she was gone. I think he was scared I would lock the door to my room again. He filled me in on my day of missed lectures and tried very hard not to stare at my hair.