The Art of Keeping Faith Read online

  “Well, why were you drinking that much anyway?”

  Like I haven’t asked myself this a hundred times since Saturday morning.

  “Well I don’t know.” Uh-oh. Sulky Lilah is out to play. “I was bored, it’s not like I had to drive home or anything.”

  He stares at me for another long moment, which makes me squirm and rather annoyingly flush.

  “It’s all right. You won’t be drinking that much on campus again,” he finally says.

  I look up at him, waiting for him to explain.

  “I haven’t been sulking the entire day,” he tells me. The blues start to crinkle.

  “Most of it,” pipes in Tristan the Arse from his front-row spectator seat on the sofa where he is avidly watching the evening entertainment Ben and I are providing.

  “Button it, Trist,” Ben tells his friend.

  “Still waiting here?” I prompt, although I am probably not in the position to make any demands right now.

  “Here you go.” Ben places something in my hands and I break eye contact to glance down at it.

  My car keys.

  “Ben, it’s dead. We have had this discussion. Deathtrap is dead and will be forever.”

  “Not anymore.”

  The blues twinkle and the freckles crinkle as he flashes me his rock star grin.

  “But the engine has blown.”

  “Yeah, I know. She has a new one.”

  “You replaced the engine?”

  “Yep.”

  “Wouldn’t it have been cheaper to get a new car?”

  “Maybe? But it wouldn’t have been the same.”

  “You fixed our car?” I am completely astounded.

  He gives my hand a squeeze at the word ‘our.’

  “Wanna go for a drive?”

  “Hell, yes.”

  We dash for the car. Our argument forgotten as we drive the car at its maximum speed (still sixty-six miles an hour) down the A3 to Richmond Park. Once there, we stroll around the park hand in hand, enjoying the last few hours of daylight left in September.

  I never thought I would admit it but I think I have missed Deathtrap Cooper nearly as much as I missed Ben over the summer.

  Ben’s completely right. If I drive Deathtrap Cooper everywhere then I will never get drunk enough to lose an entire twelve hours of my life again.

  I also need to make a mental note that Day Nurse and Kronenburg are not a good mix at all.

  October

  October

  1st October

  Two weeks into my second year at University and what have I managed to achieve? Not a whole lot. Well not academically. I have on the other hand been through a whole Eastenders episode worth of emotional drama.

  No Boyfriend

  Boyfriend back

  Relationship status changed to ‘live-in’

  First row due to time-keeping

  Second row due to withholding information

  Suspected elbow breakage and personal injury due to exiting a cab headfirst

  Not a great start to the year, is it? Last year I was a stalking, obsessing mess by this point. But I was still achieving more than I am at the moment.

  I must at least try to read a book. Maybe I should limit sex time with Ben to twice a day. I don’t think Pratty Pilchard will be impressed if the only information I know for my essay is the location of Ben’s sensitive spots.

  Right. Where is that damn Crusades book?

  3rd October

  “Um, Ben, can I ask you a question?”

  Ben is sat propped on the sofa, an opened book on his lap. He looks up and I catch the blues flick over me. “Yes, Delilah.” He is smirking and I am not sure why.

  I’m taking a break from my dedicated Ben study and getting two beers out of the well-stocked fridge.

  “Can I go out with the girls on Saturday after work, assuming we don’t have plans of our own?” The words gush out of my mouth with a gale force.

  Ben carefully slots a piece of paper into his book, marking his place, before gently placing the book on the floor at his feet. “Well, I am not sure, Delilah. Do you plan to end the night face first on the hallway floor again?”

  Excuse me?

  I look for a trace of his familiar sarcastic smirk but I can’t find it. “Uh, well, no,” I start to stammer in response. “I’ve explained that was the Day Nurse.”

  Slowly getting up from the sofa he unfolds his long legs and steps toward me. “The Day Nurse? Are you sure it wasn’t the countless Kronenburgs?” I watch him approach with a sense of trepidation. There is a chance I may be grounded. I can’t say I blame him.

  He is looking mighty fine, hair disheveled, blues flashing to match the T-shirt he has on under a navy hoodie. Watching him approach me with his lithe artistic grace is doing nothing to put me off being grounded. Nothing at all.

  “I just don’t think you can be trusted to go out at the moment.” He tilts my chin up to meet his gaze and kisses me on the lips. His teeth gently tug at my bottom lip as his hands smooth down my bare shoulders.

  Yep. Grounded is good.

  No. This conversation is ridiculous. I am a grown woman, for goodness’ sake. “Ben. I do think you are being slightly unfair,” I tell him. He does not respond he just hoists me up onto the kitchen counter and his firm hands edge my knees apart so he can move himself in between my legs.

  I try to keep my thought processes in place. Not as easy as you’d think. His lips tease a trail along the edge of my vest top, creating a rash of goose bumps as his hands start to undo my jeans.

  “Beth!” I shout out like I suffer with Tourette’s. My words were supposed to be, ‘Beth will be with me.’

  Ben’s mouth curves into a slow smile as he uses a finger to slide the strap to my top off my shoulder; his lips skim down my neck and along my collarbone. My skin catches fire under his touch. “Meredith!” I shout.

  This time he chuckles as he kisses his lips against my collarbone his hands sliding under the waistband of my jeans.

  “But, Ben,” I try again.

  He pulls away from me and I glimpse the flash of blue and wicked smirk, which confirms I have been played.

  “Lilah.” His voice is low, which makes my stomach take a dive. I can think of much better uses of the kitchen counter than just boring cooking. “Do you honestly think you have to ask permission to go out?”

  “Well, no. I was just trying to be polite.”

  “Go have a good time. I’m planning on catching up with Dave tomorrow.”

  “What? So you have something planned without asking me?”

  How rude.

  “No. Meredith told me yesterday you were going out, I’ve just been waiting for you to summon the nerve to ask me.”

  Bastards.

  “Very bloody funny.”

  “Lilah,” he says. His voice lowers another notch. “I know it’s not precisely your fault what happened last week. I just ask if you can be more careful? I would be stuck if something happened to you.”

  Sliding my hips toward the edge of the counter he pushes against me.

  “I know,” I say back against his lips.

  I know I would be stuck without him too.

  Five minutes later

  “Don’t forget Meredith has arranged for us to go to your mum’s Sunday, so try not to get too hammered.”

  A guaranteed passion killer is the simple mention of my gin-swilling mother. Mum and I are not in a good place again. It’s no big surprise.

  ”I am going to kill Meredith,” I announce.

  “I didn’t think you’d be pleased.” Ben chuckles against my ear. “For the record I can’t wait for a day at the McCannon’s.”

  Hmm.

  I scrunch my face at him. “I’m going to prove just how mature and grown-up I am. There’s no chance I will be enjoying a night on the floor any time soon.”

  “Well that, Delilah, I cannot wait to see.”

  Ben chuckles again which makes me even more determined to prove
that I can do it.

  I, Lilah McCannon, can go out for the night without getting completely shitfaced and injuring myself or someone else.

  6th October

  7.30 a.m.

  Oh, my God, my head.

  8.20 a.m.

  Shitting hell.

  9.30 a.m.

  “Delilah? Delilah? Are you alive?”

  “No.”

  “We have to be at your mum’s at midday.”

  “Go away.”

  “I love you, too.”

  10.45 a.m.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “What for, Delilah?” Ben’s voice, while still sleepy, is teasing and damn sexy.

  “Calling you.”

  “Not for attacking me and demanding we have sex?”

  “Did we?”

  “You don’t remember?”

  I sneak a peek under the duvet. I am naked but that could mean anything. I cannot recall a single moment from when we got into the Fez Club. My last clear recollection is that it was my idea to go to the Fez Club—shit.

  “Was it good?” I ask.

  “It’s always good.”

  I have one eye open through which I can see Ben. He is naked with a sleepy smirk on his face and looking mighty fine. Unfortunately, my personal locomotive is back in my head and my ability to take advantage of the naked situation is severely limited.

  “I think I am too old for this,” I sigh, managing to maneuver myself over to him so I can rest my head on his chest.

  “No! Never. What are you talking about? You’re only twenty-six.”

  “So are you. But you manage not to lose most of your evenings due to extreme alcohol induced memory loss.”

  “That’s because I can handle my booze, unlike your fine lightweight self.” He smiles a slow sexy smile and kisses the top of my head.

  “Do you think I’m ever going to grow-up?”

  “Yeah, one day. Possibly when you’re sixty and wrinkly.”

  “Uh, you won’t fancy me then.”

  He chuckles and kisses me, his arms winding tight around my waist. “Lilah, I will always fancy you.”

  “Shit, Ben. Move quick. I’m going to be sick.”

  I manage to make it to the bathroom before I throw up half of my stomach lining.

  God. I am so classy.

  “Yep, always going to fancy you.” He smirks as I make the walk of shame back into the room.

  ”I think I might need to try harder at growing up,” I tell him when my brain has stopped bashing around in my skull.

  He doesn’t respond. He just chuckles and pulls me in for a snuggle.

  10.00 p.m.

  Okay, it might take more than one day to achieve my goal. Especially a day like today. I am blaming my mum; she drove me to it.

  Lunch at Chez McCannon was planned for noon. My head stopped pounding at around eleven forty-five, but maintained a steady niggle. This was a bad start.

  Tristan had to pull the car over six times down the A3 so Meredith could decorate the hedgerow with her sick. This practically sent me over the edge but I managed to maturely restrain myself and instead I just turned up green. To make matters worse, Tristan drove at eighty miles an hour the whole way because he had the arse, and was trying to blame me for Meredith getting so wasted. Rubbish.

  I then got well and truly Mum’d.

  She was on fire and I only survived her barrage of insults by drinking a bottle of gin. Yes, a whole bottle. This is why I am going to restart my growing-up effort tomorrow!

  Mum’s Insult List:

  “You’re late. Delilah, what on earth have you done to poor Meredith?”

  “Delilah, have you given up exercising completely?”

  “So the University decided to take you back after your rather lacklustre results?”

  “I must say, Dharling, I am surprised Ben has not proposed since he has been back from the States.”

  “Do you really need that extra potato, Dharling? You are looking a little tubby around the middle.”

  “Dharling, did Daddy tell you the good news? John has proposed to his girlfriend and is getting married in April. He has invited us to the wedding, it’s going to be a frightfully posh affair. She is having eight bridesmaids.”

  “Ben is looking rather handsome at the moment, let’s hope he does not attract a new girlfriend.”

  My Responses:

  “I did nothing to Meredith. Why does everyone try and blame me when alcohol is involved?”

  “No, mother I haven’t.” (It just involves being naked)

  “I think I actually did fairly well. You know, considering the circumstances.”

  “Thanks for bringing that up at the table, Mum, in front of everyone.”

  “I don’t think one is going to make a huge amount of difference. Maybe you shouldn’t have another gin because you are a looking a little bit squiffy around the edges.”

  “He is getting what! We only split up a few months ago, how bloody rude! Eight bridesmaids, my frickin’ arse.”

  “Shtistan, shy shwant shto shgo shome.”

  Valerie McCannon strikes again.

  Taylor Swift is singing “Never Grow Up,” and to be honest I don’t think she is far from wrong.

  7th October

  I’ve been searching around for ten minutes trying to find matching socks amongst our dirty washing on the floor.

  Ben is watching me from the bed, his head propped in his hand, a wicked smirk on his face. “Lilah why have you been walking around stark naked for ten full minutes?”

  “Why? Is it a scary sight?”

  “Nope, I am just wondering what you are doing?”

  “Looking for socks.” I state. Surely it’s bloody obvious what I am doing.

  “Is there any reason you are doing it naked?”

  “I have to put my socks on first.”

  Ben crinkles the freckles at me. “I know, that’s why I have hidden all the clean socks.” He reaches into his drawer and pulls out a clean matching pair.

  “Very funny, Chambers.”

  I am living in a state of perfect undomestic bliss. I would never wear clean socks again if it meant that I could spend every moment the way I am with Ben right now.

  A state of undomestic bliss. There is no greater state to be in.

  8th October

  Undomestic bliss leaves a lot to be desired. End of.

  Ben did not come home last night. Off he went to meet Dave and the others and he never came back. I got a cryptic phone call just as I was power bleaching the kitchen.

  I was keen not to sound like a control freak, irrational girlfriend and I knew his mates would be listening so I just answered something along the lines of, “That’s nice, dear, you guys have lots of fun. I will see you tomorrow.”

  It was after I hung up the phone I realised Ben had forgotten to mention where he was.

  At this point I became a control freak, irrational girlfriend.

  9.35 a.m.

  In class. Still no Ben.

  Where the hell is he?

  10.03 a.m.

  Ben’s just trooped in looking incredibly sheepish as he apologised to the lecturer before going straight to his desk.

  The blues have not looked my way once. What does that mean?

  I elbow Meredith and shoot her a questioning look. She just shrugs back. Very helpful.

  When everyone starts to look at the sources and conversation opens up in the room I swivel in my seat to look at Ben.

  My plan is to be angry but the moment I look at him I feel something else. Worry. A knot of it starts to tighten in the pit of my stomach. The blues stare at me, waiting for me to speak or shout.

  “What’s up?” I ask attempting nonchalance, but my voice tightens as I speak.