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flat in
Putney, she has never technically opened the door to me. So I haven’t been able
to speak to her. Touch her. Kiss her. Have sex with her. Definitely, definitely
not have sex with her. And damn, I miss that bad. I have spent a lifetime
running away from girls and all types of physical contact (unless completely
shit-faced and not able to control my bodily functions).
    Two and a bit months ago Lilah opened up my mind to just how it can be
with someone and now I can’t stop thinking abou t it. In a few short weeks I ’ ve turned into a
stereotypical, sex obsessed Neanderthal specimen of the male species with the
single word ‘ Sex ’ running through my head on average every thirty
seconds. The slight difference being that I only want to have sex with her. And I want to only have sex
with her forever.
    Fuck. Need to stop thinking about it. It’s making it worse.
    I have got a huge decision to make and I don’t feel that I can make it
without talking to her first. I can’t visualise my future without Lilah in it,
so how am I supposed to make crazy big life choices without discussing them
with her?
    The band has been offered the chance to go to the States next summer to
make an album. So that would mean leaving her. Not that we are together right
now, but I have a semi-formed plan in place where I intend to wear her down
until she finally gives in and accepts the inevitable – that we are just meant
to be together. There is no way I will be able to do that if I’m not in the
country annoying her by following her around and pestering her. What I really
want to do is ask her to come with me.  
    My phone starts to ring and I instantly think ‘Lilah!’
    Of course it’s not. But it is the other McCannon .
    Tristan, Lilah’s brother, is the last person I am expecting to hear from
the night before Christmas. It’s fair to say the McCannon twins don’t get on well.
    “Fancy Christmas dinner?” Is Tristan’s opening line.
    “What do you mean?”
    “Delilah’s cooking Christmas dinner.” He leaves his words dangling and
there is a moment of silence whilst I wait for him to clarify just what it is
he is suggesting. “If Lil’s cooking then I think we should gate-crash.”
    Lilah. Lilah. Lilah.
    Lilah is cooking? Really?
    “She hates me. There is no way she will let me in.” I sigh and glare up
at the ceiling just for the hell of it.
    “And you listen to her because?”
    I have to think about this. Why do
I listen to her? Why don’t I just march in there and get right into her
space and make her kiss me so I can feel the ‘Lilah Effect’ just one more time. “I’m in Dorset.” This is my explanation as to why I can’t go. Fuck, why did I come back to Dorset?
    “So am I you knob head. Give me your address and pack a bag. Then we are
going to get Meredith.”
    “Really?”
    “Really. Come on Ben, I’m driving around Lyme Regis like an idiot. I’m
going to get stopped by the police for curb crawling soon.”
    Fifteen minutes later he is at the door. Obviously, Mum makes him come
in and have a cup of tea. No one can escape that. But as soon as we can we dash
for the car, me with just my guitar and a change of clothes. The next stop is
Suffolk to pick up Meredith, Tristan’s girlfriend and Lilah’s best friend. The
stop after that is Lilah herself.
    This is it. I am going to make Lilah forgive me, and I am also going to
ask her to come to the States with me. Well, I am going to try to – if she lets
me in the door.

 
 
 
 
 
 
    Christmas Day

 
 
    We are pulling into the underground parking at a huge swanky block of
flats in Putney. It’s been a strained journey from Suffolk. Tristan and I had
to stay overnight in a B&B in the end, which cost Tristan a small fortune what
with it being Christmas Eve. Meredith’s Dad went completely mental when we
turned up on the door step asking if Meredith fancied coming on a Christmas
adventure. Meredith’s Dad opened up the door probably