The Art of Keeping Faith Page 23

  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 silenc
e 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?”

  “I will not! He would say yes with no hesitation at all.”

  “Maybe you should feed him more.”

  “Look, he gets Cheerios and milk. What more does a lazy cat need?”

  “Uh, Whiskers?”

  “Whiskers is grossly overrated and grossly overpriced, isn’t it?” I croon at the cat, not Ben.

  He turns his back.

  Charming.

  “So anyway back to your essay dilemma. How do you plan to write four three thousand word essays in five days?”

  Ooh that actually makes it sound bad.

  “Um, I don’t know. Do you have any good ideas?”

  “Why don’t you call Richard? He is in most of your classes and is actually quite smart, not just a football-playing pisshead.”

  “I can’t ring him!” I screech.

  “Shit, Lilah, my ears. Why on earth can’t you ring him?”

  “Well you know, New Years? It’s embarrassing after what Fiona did.”

  “I thought you did not care about that?”

  “When did I say that?”

  “At about half one when you announced that Richard was one of your best friends and you didn’t care about his shitty girlfriend.”

  “Oh shit. Did I?”

  “Yep.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Nah, it’s cool. Don’t worry about it. I think he got the full impact of Lilah and Ben’s picture of perfection that can’t be messed with. I’m not worried about him anymore.”

  I hesitate for a moment unsure what he means. “Is that why you said to invite him around?”

  “Yep, just wanted to make it clear that you are mine.”

  “And did you?”

  “I reckon.” Ben sounds very smug.

  “Oh, well, that is all right then!” I giggle.

  “Yep, I think so. Call him. I am sure he will help.”

  “Maybe. Listen, Ben, I’ve got to go. I’m sorry but I have got to try and get some sleep so I can study tomorrow.”

  Silence.

  “Yeah, I know. I miss you, Lilah.”

  “I miss you. Love you.”

  “Love you.”

  Putting the phone down I climb back under my duvet. I really, really need to go to sleep because I really, really need to study tomorrow.

  Like really, really.

  One Hour Later

  Still not asleep

  Another Hour Later

  Fucking hell this is ridiculous.

  Another Hour Later

  Still awake. I have counted five hundred sheep. They got bored of jumping over the fence in the end so I just let them graze on the field while I sat nearby and had a picnic.

  I may have been asleep and dreaming at this point because the sheep all started carrying swords and axes and were heading toward a town that I would imagine was meant to be Jerusalem and I woke up in a panic.

  Damn it. I have got to write that essay tomorrow. This is crazy.

  6th January

  6.30 a.m.

  Oh, my God.

  I have not slept a wink; instead I have been speed reading through every relevant section in my books to find stuff for my essays. I have Post-it notes everywhere. Hell, I am probably wearing a few on my arse. I am just too tired to bother bending over to check.

  I have also been searching the Internet. Wikipedia is surprisingly informative although I have serious doubts as to its historical credentials. Especially as the sections I was avidly scouring through were updated three months ago by a guy called Jim-Bob.

  I don’t know who Jim-Bob is, but his name doesn’t sound very scholarly. Not unless Jim-Bob from The Waltons suddenly decided to become a Historian.

  I feel it is safe to assume that through the course of the night I have managed to catch up on all the reading I should have done this term. Unfortunately it still does not bring me any closer to an essay or even an essay title.

  It’s no good. I am going to have to beg for help.

  7.00 a.m.

  Me: Please, please, please come and help me. I can’t do this … I know nothing about nothing.

  8.10 a.m.