The Art of Keeping Faith (24 page)

“What a wanker.”

“Yep.”

“What do you do?”

“I give him money and then tell him to fuck off again.”

I roll over and tighten my arms around Ben’s waist like I don’t ever want to let him go, which I don’t.

“I’m sorry,” I say again for lack of anything better to say.

In response his hands loosen my grasp and he slides me up so we are level, our noses touching.

“Lilah, I just have to hope that I am stronger than him and that when the time comes I make the right decisions.”

He kisses me again, with a fierce determination that eats into my very soul.

Just before things get too far and I know I am passed the point of talking I pull away.

“I know you will, Ben.”

He looks at me in the darkness, we can barely see each other but I know he is reading me.

“I hope so, Lilah.”

I pull his mouth down to mine, conversation over for now.

29th December

“Beeeennnn!!! Wake up you’ve over slept.”

He should be gone, but he is not. He is still lying curled around me, gripping me in a vice-like hug as he has the whole night since our chat in the darkness.

“I’m not going.”

What, like, ever?

Fuck it.

“What, like, ever?”

He kisses under my ear.

“No, I am just not going today. Screw the band and screw the New Year’s gig. I am staying here with you, for a couple more days at least.”

I sit up and am about to pounce on him when he continues with, “Last year I sat by myself the whole night wondering what you were doing to bring in the New Year. I don’t want to be thinking the same thing this year. I just want to be with you.”

Nope, that does it. I am up off the bed and running around the bedroom in a stark naked streak of excitement.

“Oh, my God, Ben. You have just made my year.”

“What this year or next year?” he smiles, freckles crinkling.

“Both. Bloody both.” I shout and then I do pounce on him.

Later

“For the record, last year I sat by myself, sober, wondering what you were doing.”

“Well, then. It will be a pleasant change for you, too.”

Naked streak number two.

30th December

Meredith and Tristan are back.

Well Tristan is back. He has brought along with him a crispy piece of skin which is peeling all over the floor and furniture.

Supposedly Meredith got so badly sunburned on Christmas day that she has been unable to leave the hotel room since. She even had to hide under an umbrella on the short run from the front door of the hotel to the minibus taking them to the airport and then again from the bus to the air conditioned sanctuary of the departures terminal.

Tristan does not look impressed.

Luckily they have been distracted from their holiday woes by Ben still being here. There was major excitement and screaming, mainly from Meredith who showered us all with dead skin while giving us a hug.

Yummy.

Now they are planning a New Year’s ‘to remember.’ This leaves me a bit worried. I have a feeling that unlike the last New Year when I awoke refreshed and ready for the gym the next day this time I will be nursing a hangover and more than likely throwing up.

I’d better write my resolution list now instead of leaving it for the last moment.

Later

Beth and Jayne have confirmed their attendance at our soiree. Ben is going to cook us all a civilised dinner party and then he has promised us all some tunes.

Earlier, Ben spoke to his manager Alan. There was shouting involved. I don’t think the news of his delayed return went down very well.

I feel bad that he is changing all this stuff for me, but at the same time I can’t help to be thrilled that he actually wants to do it. He really does love me, doesn’t he?

I am going to have to work out a payback system.

Even Later

“What did you say to Alan?”

Ben pulls me in toward him. We have escaped from the wafts of Meredith’s dead skin by hiding in our room. I am about to initiate the payback but I feel we should do that talking thing first.

“I told him I had a sore throat and did not feel well enough to travel and sing.”

I clamber onto his lap. “Oh you poor thing, do you need some looking after?”

“Well I have heard that blow jobs are very good at healing sore throats.”

I think about this. “Nope, I don’t think so; I don’t have a sore throat so I don’t think that’s going to work.” Ha. Like I’m not going to anyway.

“Damn it.”

“But we could find out…”

I can’t help but laugh as I wiggle myself down under the duvet to conduct a medical experiment to find out if blow jobs really do fix sore throats, even imaginary ones.

Even Later

“Lilah, your phone.”

“Huh, what?”

“Your phone, it’s beeping.”

I sit and reach for my phone and spot a text notification.

Richard:
hey, how was Christmas? Suitably depressing? Mine was shit. What you doing tomorrow? My plans have fallen through.

Ah.

I have no reason to feel guilty but I do.

Guilty for not contacting Rich. Guilty for having another guy texting me when I am in bed with Ben.

A whole job lot of guilty.

“Who is it?” Ben murmurs into my ear. “And why are they waking me up?”

“Uh, Richard, he wanted to know what I am doing tomorrow. I guess he doesn’t know you are home.”

“Guess not.”

“I’m going to reply, okay?”

“Sure.”

Ben’s tone is guarded and it makes me feel very awkward.

“Actually,” he puts a hand over mine to stop me texting. “Why don’t you invite him along? That would be the politest thing to do. He is your jogging, karaoke buddy.”

“Um. Okay,” I say hesitating for a moment. Ben’s tone is confusing so I shoot a quick glance his way. He has his cocky smirk plastered all over his face. What to do? Don’t text and look like I may be keeping secrets or text and let Ben hash out whatever plan he is currently cooking up.

Okay text.

“Yep, that sounds like a lot of fun,” says Ben as he settles back down again to sleep.

I scrunch my face in the darkness.

Call me a pessimist but that does not sound like fun at all.

January

1st January

Shit.

My head is killing me and I can’t stop being sick.

New Year’s Eve 2013 = an unmitigated disaster.

New Years Eve 2013

It wasn’t the best New Years I have ever survived. I am just grateful that out of all the rows that took place that night, Ben and I were not the ones to have them.

Meredith decided to start early. At three yesterday afternoon she decided to announce that she was bored of waiting for New Year’s Eve to start properly and that she was going to have a glass of wine. Although Tristan tried to blame me for this, I took no part in it at all. In fact if I recall correctly, I actually made a cup of tea at this point.

Ben was playing guitar and I was loving it. It was like the old days, him sitting there looking outrageously sexy whilst playing the Gibson; me lying next to him pretending to read books but really just trying to read and memorise him.

At this point I was still optimistic that we could still have a grown up, civilised evening. However, as Meredith’s glass soon turned into a bottle my optimism was short lived; especially when at seven Richard texted to say there had been another change of plan and Fiona was now going to be at home and could they both come?

Great, Meredith is battered. I had about twelve hours left with Ben. And now Richard wanted to bring around his super-duper high achieving girlfriend to meet all us down-and-out student types.

Or not.

Fi is a bouncy brunette and I am not talking mousy brown locks like mine. Her espresso dark curls hung in perfect glossy ringlets down her back, bouncing and swishing with every bouncy step she took.

Bouncy. Bouncy. Bouncy.

Bouncy boobs as well.

Fi also has a major crush on my boyfriend. As we all found out when she bounced across the room to give him a bouncy hug with her bouncy boobs somehow squished into his face.

I think she actually launched herself at him, grabbed him around the neck, pulled him down to her level (five foot four) and managed to end the whole maneuver with his face firmly wedged between her breasts.

Not a bad trick! I may have to learn that one myself.

Anyway it was embarrassing and incredibly uncomfortable, but for the whole evening Fiona made a deliberate and determined play for Ben.

By midnight Ben was actually hiding just in case she tried to snog him and Richard, well poor Richard was just totally mortified.

“Wow Ben, you really are so talented. I would love to hear you play one on one.” Fi bounced with her words.

Beth who had arrived with Jayne back from their Christmas break, snorted her wine up her nose.

“Well, I am all packed up and ready to fly so no requests this evening,” Ben told her while trying to edge around the other side of the sofa.

This was not strictly true, the guitar was still laid out on our bed but Ben clearly did not want to take any chances.

And that was pretty much it. Bouncy Fiona bounced after Ben the entire evening.

Jayne and Beth had another one of their weird rows at about half past eleven. Jayne was trying to get Richard to invite some of his football buddies along, which gave Beth the raving hump. They had a proper screaming match in the garden but I couldn’t stop to listen because I was too busy trying to keep Fiona’s bouncy cleavage away from Ben’s face.

Meredith threw up at twelve-thirty, sadly all over Tristan. She then had to be carried to bed by Ben and Tristan because she was so drunk she was like a rag doll. Every time Tristan tried to pick her up by himself he kept bopping her head on the floor and walls.

“Take her sodding legs,” he instructed Ben after four failed attempts and a lot of head banging—and not of the heavy metal music variety.

It was not the classiest exit Meredith has ever made from a party.

Tristan then decided to start knocking back straight vodkas and muse very loudly on why he thought it was a good idea to date a teenager in the first place.

I don’t think he was technically talking to us, but every time Ben and I tried to make our excuses to leave the room and go to bed because you know it was three in the morning and we had better things to do, he managed to switch back on to the fact we were there in the first place, grabbing us by the arm and insisting that we sit down and join him for another glass of the ‘good stuff.’

Neither of us had the heart to tell him that he had run out of the good stuff two hours before and was now sitting there necking back Asda Smart price vodka. I am pretty sure his headache told him that this morning.

So that was New Years Eve.

I wonder what delights next year can bring? Ben has made me promise that next year we will bring it in just by ourselves somewhere deeply romantic, like our bedroom.

Shit.

Worst bit; I have not even written my New Year’s Resolutions to keep me on the straight and narrow for 2014. This is not good at all, I need a list of rules to follow otherwise things can get dangerously out of control.

Shit.

Can’t worry about it now. I only have today left with Ben and I plan not to waste one moment of it.

2nd January

7.00 a.m.

He’s gone.

It’s probably for the best because I woke up at four this morning covered in sweat having a full-scale panic attack.

I sat there in the dark for a good few minutes wondering what could be causing the panic, apart from the obvious of course, Ben leaving.

“You’ve just remembered your essays haven’t you?”

Crap.

“Well now I have.”

Ben pulled me back down next to him and succeeded in pushing the thought of essays out of my mind again.

Right, then. No more distractions. I have what, eight days to write four essays?

I am sure that is more than possible.

12.00 p.m.

“Essaaaaaaays!”

Meredith has just bounded through my door and landed on my bed with an almighty bump, clattering my precarious balance of books onto the floor.

“Did you just remember?” I ask.

“Essaaaaaaays!” she screeches again before dashing back out again.

12.10 p.m.

“I am stuck.” Meredith tells me in a small voice from my bedroom door.

“Me, too. Come in.”

Meredith walks in, calmly this time, but clutching a party bag of Doritos. It must be bad.

“First bag?”

“Second.”

“What you stuck on?” I ask. Not that I actually expect to be able to help.

“Well I am having a few problems coming up with any essay titles.”

“Meredith!”

Obviously I am being deeply sarcastic. I have not come up with any titles either.

“Can I borrow yours?”

“No! We are not even on the same modules anyway.”

She sticks her tongue out.

“Fancy a glass of wine?”

“It’s midday?”

“So?”

“Well just the one, I’ve got lots of very important work to do.”

I am pretty sure that no alcohol is supposed to be one of my New Year’s resolutions but as I have not written them yet I am just going to ignore it. One small glass will not do any harm at all.

6.00 p.m.

We ran out of wine.

We are at the pub that smells of old farts.

It was Tristan’s idea. He is still in holiday mode.

So am I.

I wish Ben was here.

3rd January

The plan for today:

Barricade the door—therefore less chance of being led astray

Come up with two essay titles

Write New Year’s resolutions and work out a way to stick to them

Eat something other than Cheerios. It’s been a whole day since Ben left, I need to have a go at feeding myself

Should be easy to achieve.

4th January

Rubbish. Rubbish and yet more rubbish.

I did not barricade my door quick enough. I was just on my way back from the kitchen with my first bowl of cereal (Coco pops not Cheerios) to the study sanctuary, otherwise known as my room, when I was accosted by Meredith and Tristan having an enormous row which had clearly spiralled out of their room.

“Lilah, explain to her that she needs to have proper lessons,” shouted Tristan.

This is new territory; I have never actually been dragged into one of their rows before. Normally, I just unwillingly listen to them through the wall and then Meredith ends up sulking in my room for the rest of the day/evening.

Obviously 2014 had brought on a whole new row game plan.

“I have no idea what you are both shouting about but I am very busy thinking of essay ideas.”

“Tell Tristan I think he is being a selfish bastard.”

Whoa. Those are my words.

“What on earth is going on? Did he leave the toilet seat up again? For goodness’ sake, Tristan, I have told you it’s disgusting.”

Tristan by this point has stropped over to the sofa like a teenager being told off by his mum.

”I am NOT teaching you to drive Meredith and that is the end of the argument,” he says arms folded.

Suddenly I realise what I have walked into.

There is no escape. Tristan is blocking the path to the kitchen and the garden, not that I am keen to go out there in the melting slush but I would if pressed. Meredith is blocking my exit back to my room.

“Tell him he should,” whines Meredith.

“Um.”

“See!” shouts Tristan. “Even Lilah, who is completely demented, knows it would be a big mistake for me to teach you to drive.”

I think about this.

“Truthfully, Mer, I don’t think Tristan has the patience to teach anyone anything at all. He’s a bad tempered bastard.”

Tristan sends me a zap sign, which I return pronto.

“Our Dad taught us a little and he made me cry every time. It was brutal.” I try to explain.

It so was, I still have nightmares about those lessons.

Tristan gives a little snort clearly remembering his own lessons with psycho Dad.

Meredith doesn’t say anything. She just stands there in silence chewing her lip contemplating her next move.

I so should have seen it coming.

“Lilah! You’d be perfect. You can teach me in Deathtrap Cooper, we can go around the park, it will be great fun!”

“Um.”

I want to say something more, something along the lines of, ‘What the fuck? Do you think I am crazy? There is no way I am getting in a car with you behind the wheel,’ but she launches herself at me before I have the chance and hugs me tight.

“I knew you would not let me down. Not like old misery guts over there.”

Tristan pulls a face.

“Okay, guys, this is great and all to be participating in your domestics but I really do have to get back to my essays.”

I didn’t.

I tidied my room, all of it, even under the bed.

I alphabetised my CD’s.

I sang to Sound Box.

I debated whether it would be weird to put a poster of Ben up.

I polished my toenails—who knows why in January.

I did not write any essays, or even come up with any titles.

And I did not write any New Year’s Resolutions. I may as well not bother, it is probably way too late what with it being the 4th of the bloody new year.

I am completely shit.

Actually I have thought of one.

I WILL NOT BE LATE FOR WORK AGAIN THIS YEAR.

I was half an hour behind schedule this morning. Thankfully Baz was not there and I was supposed to be opening up anyway.

I spent the day polishing guitars and thinking of essay titles.

I wish I could work out what the hell Richard was talking about at that cheese and wine thing. It sounded very intellectual which unfortunately means that I didn’t understand a word of it.

I don’t really want to text Richard, I am still waiting for the awful memories of New Years from hell to fade.

5th January

“So are you really going to teach her to drive?”

Ben blows some smoke down the telephone line and I snuggle deeper under my duvet clutching the phone to my ear so tight it hurts.

“Nah. Don’t be daft.”

“How’re your essays going? Nearly finished?” He takes another drag of his smoke.

“Um.”

“Lilah, how are your essays?”

“Um.”

“So your assurances a few days ago that you were going to study and only study have not been upheld?”

“Um.”

“Lilah, you are the worst student ever. How long have you got?”

“I don’t know, ages, like, um, five days.”

This time Ben chokes on his lungful of smoke.

“That’s rubbish,” he tells me. Like I don’t bloody know.

“I know. I just can’t think of anything.”

“Can’t Meredith help?”

“No, she is too busy picking off her peeling skin and moaning at us to take her driving.”

“Blimey is she still peeling?”

“Everywhere.”

I light a cigarette of my own and pick up Kit and walk to the window.

Kit has the hump because Ben who cooks lovely food has left and he is stuck with me who only remembers to feed him on an ad hoc basis.

Ben reads my mind. “How’s Crazy Kit?”

“Sulking.”

Ben chuckles down the line. “Ask him if he wants to come and live with me?”