The Art of Keeping Faith Read online

  “It’s not a bad thing, Ben, we are both just busy. Uni is crazy. Work is completely mental, a fact Baz is never going to forgive me for. And what with me having this bug for the last few weeks, it has all been a bit of a nightmare.” I want to add that I have been trying to talk to him for two weeks with some pretty important news but could not get through, but I bite it back down. I want to cuddle him for just a moment longer.

  “I guess.”

  “I still miss you, though.”

  It feels strange that it is me trying to convince him.

  “How much?”

  I can hear a mischievous note in his voice, which is closely followed by his hand sliding up my t-shirt.

  I giggle, I can’t help it. Maybe I want to do a little more than cuddle.

  He rolls onto his side and the blues glint at me.

  “You haven’t been sick for a while. I think I may have induced a spontaneous recovery in you.”

  He is right, I am feeling much better but that could be because I have not moved an inch as he has been waiting on me hand and foot.

  “I do feel a little better,” I agree as his fingers trail along my stomach.

  “How much better?” His voice is low against my ear.

  “Much better.”

  I’m going to tell him, tomorrow.

  Tomorrow will definitely be the day.

  Today I am going to enjoy not being sick incessantly. I am going to enjoy having my boyfriend here, which, let’s be honest, does not happen often enough. And, I am going to enjoy any moment of normality that we can get, because despite what Meredith says, I know that from tomorrow on, Ben and I will never be the same again.

  20th April

  Easter Sunday

  I am still feeling suspiciously fine.

  Ben is the miracle cure to morning sickness, Sorry, I mean All Day Sickness.

  I would lend him out to other women in need but I wouldn’t want him to do the things he did to me yesterday to anyone else.

  Call me selfish.

  I’m feeling considerably upbeat and strangely in need of bacon. Crispy bacon.

  Ben isn’t awake so I edge out from under the duvet and slide on my tracksuit pants and t-shirt before padding down to the kitchen on a bacon-find reccy.

  As I walk down the corridor everything seems strangely alien like I am walking out of a dark cave into daylight after years lost in blackness.

  “Holy fuck, who the hell are you?”

  I give a scream as Tristan scares the life out of me. “What the hell, Tristan! What on earth are you doing in here?”

  “Having my morning coffee. What are you doing in here?”

  Watching me with an amused look on his face, he waits for me to find out if I am going to be sick.

  Strangely I am not.

  That’s weird.

  Coffee is my go to for instant upchuck.

  Tristan looks almost as impressed as I feel. “Wow, that’s a huge improvement, although I have to say nowhere near as amusing to watch.”

  “Oh stop being such an arse. Have we got any food?”

  Tristan raises his eyebrow even higher. One of these days he is going to lose it in his hairline. “Food as well? Blimey, you’re on a roll.”

  I ignore him and walk to the fridge. There is everything (which makes me realise Ben must have been shopping during one of my snoozes) apart from bacon.

  “I’m going to the petrol garage.” I announce.

  “Be careful, you may burst into flames outside.”

  I flip a finger at him before sneaking back into the bedroom and giving Ben a kiss on the lips.

  ”I’m going to the shops,” I whisper in his ear. He sits bolt upright one hand automatically snaking around my waist.

  “What time is it?” he asks in Ben sleep talk. Oh how I love Ben sleep talk.

  “Early, I fancy something to eat, I will be back soon. Any requests?”

  “Bacon,” he mumbles before flopping back down on the bed.

  And that is why I love him.

  Shuffling into my flip flops I head down the street to the local garage. I am keeping my fingers crossed they are still open, there is a strong chance they may have gone into administration what with my lack of Cheerios purchasing over the last few weeks.

  Nope still open; this is good. I am feeling strongly that if I don’t get some crispy bacon soon I may cry or stab someone.

  It’s just the hormones, Lilah. Calm the fuck down.

  I take a deep breath and walk through the door receiving a cheery wave from my friends behind the counter.

  Ah, bacon. Thank goodness for that.

  I clear the bacon section of the fridge and walk toward the till.

  Ooh, Minstrels. I fancy some of those too.

  Heading back along the road to the flat, swinging my massive bag of bacon by my side, I feel the most upbeat I have done for, well, since I found out about the little bean residing in my womb.

  I am going to tell Ben right now, pre-bacon cooking. I am going to tell Ben, and I can’t wait.

  I am sliding my key in the door when I notice a brown manila envelope stashed behind the trellis next to the door.

  That’s a bit odd.

  I ease it out with a serious level of caution and have a look at the front. For the life of me I cannot think why the postman would put an envelope there instead of through the post-box.

  Closer inspection shows me why this is not a failed postal delivery. The envelope is blank apart from my name scrawled across the front.

  Goodness knows how long it has been there. I have not left the flat in what feels like a year.

  It’s been there since yesterday.

  I know this because inside the obscure envelope is a torn out page from yesterday’s Daily Star tabloid rag. I don’t know anyone who reads the paper but someone who knows me clearly does, because they have very kindly left me a picture of Ben and Mihraandah, walking arms tight around each other’s waist, through what seems to be an airport.

  I stare at the picture, not quite seeing it, or not quite registering the content. It makes no sense. Ben is asleep in my bed right now. Where he has been since Friday. This must be an awful mistake, or the most serious case of photo-shop I ever did see.

  The small print tells me all I need to know, ‘Sound Box lead singer Ben Chambers saying a long and tender farewell to girlfriend Miranda Mason at LAX before flying home for an Easter family emergency.’

  What the hell?

  What emergency… ?

  … Unless of course I am the emergency and he was really on his way here to break up with me, but instead found me being violently sick and therefore could not go through with it.

  Then it clicks. Something that has not crossed my mind until this very moment. That is why he was sitting in the bedroom chair on Good Friday. On any other occasion he would have climbed straight into bed with me upon getting home, but he was sitting there with his head in his hands before I’d even woken up and called for Richard.

  Oh, my God.

  He was coming home to break up with me. Why else would he have been sitting in the chair?

  I automatically throw up all over the privet hedge lining the path.

  Then … well then I get really, really mad. I look again at the picture in my hand and feel like I am so close to combusting. I am going to explode or implode.

  I storm straight back into the house and into the bedroom slamming every door on my way.

  “What the hell is this?” I scream so loud it feels like my lungs are going to burst. I can’t see straight, everything is black and fuzzy around the edges but I know where he is though, on the bed, my bed, just where I left him ten short blissful minutes of ignorance ago.

  “What the hell, Lilah?” he sits up and stares at me, well at least I think he does. My vision is now entirely dark and I clutch onto the bedframe sure that I am about to pass out.

  He must see the picture in my hand because I can feel it being removed from my gra
sp. “Shit,” is all he says.

  Shit, bloody shit.

  I inhale through my nose trying to slow my breathing down so I can control the rolls of nausea and the darkness that is still dominating my vision. Slowly it fades to grey and I can see him kneeling on the bed one hand holding the picture the other reaching out for me like he is going to catch me.

  He can’t. He will never be able to catch me again.

  Just like that my vision clears.

  “Ben, on Friday when you came home, why did you sit in the chair and wait for me to wake up instead of getting into bed with me?”

  “Lilah it’s no …”

  I hold my hand out to stop him.

  “Was it because you had something to tell me?” I demand.

  “Lilah, I had something to tell you but it is not what you think,” he sighs.

  “So why have you not told me whatever it was since?”

  “Because I saw how sick you were and did not want to stress you out. I have all the time in the word to tell you.”

  I stare at him; my gaze unflinching as it looks him over for what I know will more than likely be the last time in the flesh.

  This is going to end now; I know this because I am going to be the one to do it.

  “What did you have to tell me, Ben?”

  His hand reaches for me again but I dodge it.

  “It’s not what you think, Lilah.”

  “Stop saying that!” I screech as loud as I can possibly manage; so loud that the words burn my throat on their way out. “It’s all we ever say to one another, it’s not what you think. But maybe it is, maybe this –” I motion my hand between us, “is not what we think.”

  His mouth opens in surprise.

  “Come on, Ben, you came home to break up with me, but then felt guilty when you saw me.” Our activities of yesterday come back to me in a flash. “Oh, my God, you had sex with me yesterday even when you did not want to.”

  “What? Lilah? What the hell are you talking about? I had sex with you yesterday because I love you and I’ve missed you.”

  I snatch the paper out of his hand again and brandish it in his face.

  “So why the fuck does this keep happening? I thought after Valentine’s we were over all this shit?”

  He runs a rueful hand through his hair. “Lilah, I never mean for this to happen, I don’t know why it does.”

  I laugh. A short burst of something hurtful and angry.

  “Because you keep fucking hugging and kissing the wrong girl,” I shout before giving an unexpected sigh. I suddenly feel exhausted, all the months of pretending and trying so damn hard finally catch up with me and smack me around my head and heart.

  I can’t have a famous rock God for a boyfriend. It was just never meant to be. Pretending anything else is a foolish waste of time.

  There. That is the truth.

  I stand there and glare, but quickly realise that he is glaring right back.

  “How dare you, Lilah. How fucking dare you accuse me of hugging the wrong person, when I keep getting messages like this!” Ben is turning a worrying shade of red in front of my eyes, but I have no idea what he is talking about.

  “What messages?” I ask. He doesn’t respond but instead, practically throws his phone at me. I take a glance at the screen and see the message that he has opened.

  What the hell?

  It’s Richard and I at the Fez Club, and whereas I always thought we were in no way reproducing Dirty Dancing moves, apparently we were.

  I don’t know what to say, but I don’t need to.

  “There is more,” he says. His voice is nothing more than a whisper.

  I scroll through more messages, and it is just Rich and I in various locations. Always together. Always laughing. Normally touching.

  That is so not the way I remember any of those events.

  Fuck.

  “Ben, it’s not like that.” It is me who reaches for him.

  “So, Lilah. Is it one rule for you, one for me?” Ben practically sneers and it’s a sound I have never heard him make before.

  “Ben, I would never cheat on you.”

  “I know, Lilah. I trust you and I love you, but I don’t know what you want me to say now. You can’t keep getting angry every time I get seen with a girl. That’s kind of going to happen. They are everywhere I turn.”

  Although I am still holding his phone that has pictures of Richard and I plastered all over it, his words make me feel crazy jealous.

  Fuck those girls he gets to be with instead of me.

  “You need to leave, Ben. Right now, and I don’t think you should come back. Go and live your life. Go and be famous and stroll through airports with other girls. Just leave me to my life here.”

  He relaxes the taunt stance he has been maintaining and pulls me down onto the bed next to him, placing firm hands on my shoulders.

  “Lilah, this is not at all what I planned for this weekend.”

  I start to answer but before I can, I feel a dull ache deep in the pit of my stomach, it reminds me of something and I wince a little.

  Ben watches me wince and alarm crosses his face. “Lilah, are you okay?” He ’smoothes an unwanted hand across my hair, tucking it behind my ear.

  The pain comes again, this time more intense and I suddenly recognise it for what it is. Period pain. But I am not supposed to be having a period because I am pregnant.

  Just like that my entire existence shifts, and something more important than Ben, something more important than me takes precedence.

  My baby.

  As the pain sears again deep and low in my stomach, I realise that the one thing in my entire world that I don’t want to lose is my baby. Then it hits me. This pain means that I probably am.

  “Get, Meredith,” I shout at Ben. “And then get out. I don’t want you here anymore.”

  “Lilah, I’m not leaving you like this,” Ben says, trying to pull me in toward him. I push him away, giving a little groan as the pain throbs again.

  “Please, Ben. If you ever loved me at all then get Meredith and then give me some bloody space.”

  He casts one last look at me before getting up from the bed, then does a double take.

  “Lilah the bed,” he cries, in a tone I have never heard from him before.

  I don’t need to look down to know that there is blood on my white bedding. I really don’t need to look to know that my baby is gone. Ben made me lose my baby and I will never forgive him for that. Not ever.

  I don’t have to ask him to get Meredith again. As if in slow motion Meredith and Tristan barge through my bedroom door.

  “You guys need to row quieter,” Meredith tells me with a reassuring smile as she glances about the scene. I know she is only calm on the surface; this must be her very worst nightmare, a nightmare she has lived through once already and surely does not want to again.

  “Lilah,” Ben asks, trying to edge closer to me but Tristan blocks his way. “Lilah, are you expecting a baby?”

  My eyes find his and register the look of complete shock on his beautiful face. The blues are crinkled in concern for once and not laughter. Racking sobs start to escape out of me.

  “No, Ben, I don’t think I am. Not anymore.”

  We stare at each other with tears running down our faces.

  “You need to go,” I tell him.

  “No. I will not,” he states firmly.

  “Just go, Ben,” I repeat as another dull ache pulls my stomach inside out.

  Trist turns to face Ben. “I’m sorry, Ben, but I think you should go. You’re just going to make it worse. I’ll call you later, okay?”

  Ben looks like he is going to argue. Part of me wants him to; somewhere deep inside me I want him to fight for me, for us. But it is buried beneath the anxiety for the baby that right now I want more than I want him.

  Grabbing his jeans and jumper off the chair he walks across the room. Turning at the door the blues penetrate through the haze that is startin
g to blur my vision again.

  “I’m sorry, Lilah. I am sorry for everything.”