The Art of Keeping Faith Read online

  “Everything’s fine, Lilah.” The blues hold mine.

  “Liar,” I whisper, turning back around in my seat.

  What’s he done?

  It is all I can think. I do not look at the source. I do not talk to Meredith, who is sitting silently by my side. I do not pay any attention to the lecturer’s wise insight into the diary document from the Industrial Revolution.

  I only have one thought. What has he done?

  Did he do something with Mihraandah? My very worst nightmare. Or did he make a mistake with someone else? It must be something pretty bad for his eyes, more familiar than my own, to turn to ice and look distant.

  As soon as the bell sounds, I jump out of my chair heading for the exit and the cool autumnal air outside. Striding across campus, I head toward the willow tree by the lake; the tree which I like to call ‘mine’ when Ben is kissing me against it and I have my legs clamped around his waist. Not when I feel like something very bad might be about to happen.

  Three minutes later he is in front of me, lighting a cigarette to mirror my own action. I take a deep, long drag on mine while I wait for him to say something. The unsettling knot of apprehension in my stomach starts to grow at an alarming rate as I feel his fingers link with my own.

  “Lilah, look at me.” His voice is low and close by my ear.

  I open my eyes and stare into the blues.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t come home.” He takes a drag of his smoke and the blues watch me intently.

  “That’s okay,” I say. I have a feeling that is the least of my worries.

  “No. I am sorry. I know it must have annoyed you.”

  “Ben, it does not matter. You are a grown man; you can do what you want.”

  His brow creases as the blues continue to scan my face looking for something. “That’s a ridiculous thing to say and you know it.”

  I let a moment of silence pass before I speak again. “So what have you got to tell me?”

  “What?”

  “It’s all over your face, Ben. You have something to tell me, so just say it.”

  Silence.

  “Let me re-phrase that, what have you done?”

  “What?” His frown crinkles even more.

  “Or should I say, ‘Who?’“

  Oh, my God. I need to stop speaking!

  “What?” He looks pretty pissed now. “You think I cheated on you last night just because I didn’t come home?”

  I shrug and stub the ground with the toe of my trainer.

  “Lilah, I would never cheat on you. I can’t believe you would think that.”

  I still don’t have anything to say; his words are not dispersing the knot in my stomach.

  “Is this because of what your mum said the other day?”

  “No!”

  “Liar.” He mirrors my word of earlier and calls my bluff.

  We finish our cigarettes in deathly silence.

  “Sorry I accused you of doing something,” I say after a while, just for the sake of saying something.

  The blues stare at me long and hard without flinching. “Lilah, I would never intentionally hurt you.” The words hang unfinished between us.

  “But?” My voice hikes up a notch.

  He lets out a deep sigh and shoves his hands into his pockets. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he amends, staring at the pond in front of us.

  “But?” I prompt again.

  “I have a feeling I’m going to whether I intend to or not.”

  Oh God. He is going to break up with me because I am an irrational, control-freak girlfriend.

  “Say it, Ben.”

  He runs a hand through his hair and I can see the words battling to escape.

  I brace for impact. Three. Two. One.

  “I need to go.”

  “What? Now?”

  “No. I need to go back to the States. The record label is not very happy with us and we have been called back to L.A.”

  “What? Why?” This is so not what I was expecting.

  He lets out a humourless laugh. “Something to do with us not aggressively promoting the album enough.”

  “But you played that gig?”

  He lets out another short burst of laughter filled with something other than humour. “I don’t think that one gig is going to cut it.”

  “But what about that hard work you did over the summer so you could come home … ?” I falter at the end of my sentence.

  “It was not enough. I thought it would be, but it wasn’t. I don’t think they are going to give me the chance to be a musician and a student.”

  “Oh.”

  Silence.

  Standing there under ‘our’ tree I contemplate him leaving again. I have lived through it once and then he came back and offered me a glimpse of something amazing. A future where we were together every day, where we ran out of socks together and went food shopping together and did, well everything together. “When?”

  “Next weekend.”

  “Oh.”

  Tears start to slide down my face.

  I did not see this coming at all.

  “I don’t want to let the guys down, Lil. They are so close to their dream now.”

  I can’t stop myself from answering, “What about our dream?”

  Ben looks me over as a silence settles between us. What am I asking him? Do I want him to stay, when before I wanted him to go? Would he stay if I asked?

  I hold my breath as I wait for his response.

  “Can you wait for it?” Hesitation colours his tone.

  I stare at the face I love more than any as disappointment settles deep in the pit of my stomach. What am I supposed to say to that?

  Is there an honest answer?

  “Yes. I can,” I tell him as my fingers reach out and link through his.

  “You have faith in us don’t you, Lilah?” He says my name in the low intimate way only he can and my stomach dips.

  Do I?

  I look into the eyes the colour of the sky at midday. “Yeah, I do.”

  “I will do anything to make this work,” he whispers against me as he pulls me in close, raining kisses on my damp face.

  “So will I,” I tell him.

  It hurts though. Having him back and losing him again is a bitter pill to swallow.

  Two weeks. I have less than two weeks left with Ben before we separate our lives from each other once again.

  9th October

  I am not the only one shell-shocked by Ben’s surprise announcement.

  We are standing in the kitchen cooking dinner and Tristan and Meredith are staring at us as if they are waiting for the punch line in a joke. We would have told them yesterday, but we were far too busy having lots and lots of shell-shocked sex.

  Ben is chopping (he is best at it). I am stirring (the only skill I have). Meredith and Tristan are standing, wine glasses in hand, with their mouths hanging agape.

  “But, you’ve only just come back?” says Meredith—Miss State the Obvious.

  “I know, but we need to have an aggressive marketing campaign.” Ben feigns an American accent, and I can hear Mihraandah behind it.

  Fuck, I hate that bitch.

  “What’s an aggressive marketing campaign?”

  It’s Tristan that asks the grown-up question. I am just crying into the sauce and Meredith is still standing there with her mouth open.

  “I have no idea,” Ben tells us, ruefully taking a sip of his bottle of ice-cold Bud. “But I don’t think it involves dossing around on campus pretending to study and just pitching up with my guitar at the weekend.”

  “Kind of makes sense.” Tristan nods. “I guess they have invested lots of money in you so they want to see a return.”

  “Fuck off, Tristan. Why do you have to rationalise everything?” I snap, brandishing the wooden spoon at him.

  “Why do you always overreact? Make your mind up, Lilah. First you wanted him to go. Now you want him to stay. You never know what you want. How is Ben supposed
to keep up?” Tristan shakes his head at me.

  “Whoah, hold on, Trist. That’s a bit unnecessary.” Ben uses his don’t scare the kitten voice he normally reserves for when I am going to head into a full out panic attack.

  WHICH I BLOODY AM.

  “Don’t worry, Ben,” I say before pushing past them and leaving the kitchen.

  Meredith must say something to Tristan because as I slam into our room I can hear Tristan whining, “It’s not my fault she can’t be realistic.”

  Wanker.

  10th October

  I sulked most of last night, but even I cannot keep a good sulk going for that long not when I know Ben has a good reason to go.

  It’s fine he is going. I will just embrace my studies and drink lots. That’s cool. I can cope with that.

  Ben has started stocking the kitchen with food and keeps trying to tell me how to cook various ingredients.

  Yeah right! Who’s he kidding!

  11th October

  7.30 p.m.

  It’s Sound Box’s last London Gig before their whirlwind mini-tour that starts tomorrow. Seven gigs, seven cities, all in one week before they fly back to the States. I am trying very hard (as I have been for the last couple of days) not to think about it. The only silver lining in this nightmare is that I am going on the mini-tour with them. Sod Uni. Pilchard can bite me. I am going to get every moment with Ben while I still can. My aim is to spend every available moment naked with him.

  Right now I am maturely sitting at the bar, attempting to look sophisticated and elegant and therefore worthy of my hot, rock-god boyfriend currently standing on stage using a microphone cable as a lasso. Ben is looking outrageously hot. No surprise. He is still wearing his faded jeans and Converse and I am happy just drooling into my Pinot admiring my view.

  He catches me watching and sends me a wink. I just giggle into my glass.

  I am so mature.

  I have no idea where bloody Meredith is. She promised me, pinkie promised me, that she would be here so I did not have to sit like a complete tit by myself.

  She is not here. And I look like a tit.

  8.10 p.m.

  Meredith has arrived. Completely and utterly shitfaced. “Shthere yous arse,” she slurs trying to sit on the stool next to mine.

  I should point out I am on my third glass of Pinot. It is an isolating experience sitting at the bar by yourself perving at your boyfriend whilst he performs a sound check.

  “Where the hell have you been?” I hiss at her.

  “Shwiths you’rs shmum,” she tells me with a knowing nod before sliding back off her stool.

  Ah. That explains it.

  “What on earth were you doing with my mother, except from getting paralytic on gin?” I help her get up off the floor and balanced on the stool.

  “Shlooking shat shwedding dreshes.”

  “Why wasn’t I bloody invited?”

  “Shure shmum shaid shnots toos supshet shoes shwat shwith Shben shleaving shoes. Shgain.”

  “Uh? What?”

  “Shure shmum shaid …”

  “Oh, don’t bother.” I wave my hand at her to stop her from slurring at me anymore.

  Meredith wobbles alarmingly on her stool. I am not picking her up again. If she falls down she is staying down.

  “For the record.” I state. “He is not ‘shleaving me again!’ It’s simple; Ben is working, that is all.”

  Meredith nods sympathetically at me with one eye closed. “Shoe shknows she shloves shoe rights?” she asks.

  “Who loves who?” Ben asks from behind me as he winds his arms around my waist. I automatically lean myself back against him, removing any unnecessary spare space from between us.

  At last! Sensible conversation!

  I give him a shrug, “Mum and Meredith are planning ‘the big white wedding.’ But they think I am too sensitive or fragile to get involved.”

  Ben kisses under my ear sending a breath of warmth along my neck.

  Waiting for him to say something, a heavy silence settles between us. A silence that feels weighted by something, but before he can speak Meredith slides back off her stool onto the floor.

  “Jesus. What happened to her?”

  “My mum.”

  “Figures.”

  “I’d better call Tristan and tell him to come collect her.”

  “Okay, I’ll get drinks.”

  I duck outside and light a cigarette as I fiddle with my phone to get Tristan’s number to ring.

  “I’m on my way,” he answers.

  I take a drag of my cigarette before replying. “Trist, Mum’s got Mer shitfaced.”

  There is a moment of static air during which I can make out a smattering of strong language coming from my twin. “How bad?” he asks.

  “She’s fallen off her stool twice.” I smirk as I take another drag of my smoke.

  “Lilah-bad then?”

  “Very funny. Now hurry up.”

  “I’m here,” says a voice bizarrely behind me and also in my ear.

  “Ah!” I shout with a start.

  “And ‘ah’ to you, too.” He smiles.

  Tristan is looking at me a bit funny. Well almost friendly. Why is he smiling? It makes me nervous, as a rule we like to glare at each other. Smiling is strictly restricted to Christmas.

  “What’s up?” I ask.

  “Nothing.”

  “Really?” I know he is lying.

  “Well, are you going to be okay when Ben goes?” Tristan looks me directly in the eye. “I know we’ve been through this before and last time I found you drunk and asleep in the bath.”

  I wave my cigarette at him. “Oh shut up. I’ll be fine, but I’d be even better if you and Meredith could stop having sex so bloody loud. It will disturb my studying. I’m going to be doing lots of studying.”

  “Whatever. Right. Where is she?” he sighs.

  9.30 p.m.

  Tristan’s still here. We have left Meredith passed out on a pile of coats. I am sure she will be fine.

  Sound Box is performing another quick sound check. There are several girls screaming. I find that slightly disconcerting. As soon as Ben finishes the sound check, he dumps the Gibson and heads straight for me, bending me back in a swoon-worthy kiss in front of the gawping audience.

  Damn that man.

  This is great, Sound Box is going to rock and I am going to be the proudest girlfriend in the world.

  10.00 p.m.

  I am also going to be the drunkest girlfriend in the whole word. Well, except for Meredith.

  I am just heading off to the bar to grab another bottle of wine and a straw (I’ve given up on girlie glasses) when the worst development possible occurs.

  I hear her before I see her. “Liiilaaah,” calls a slow, sexy southern drawl far louder than necessary. I freeze mid-step.

  Crap balls.

  “Mihraandah!” I turn to face her with a fake smile frozen on my face.

  God damn it. She is skinnier and taller than I remember. And blonder. Ugh.

  Funny Ben did not mention her coming. He is mid-song on stage but I am sure he is watching us with fearful trepidation.

  “Liiilaaah, now I am just soo glaad to see you again.” She places a hand on my arm. The action instantly reminds me of all those pictures of Ben over the summer holiday.

  I’m going to kill her.

  Change the subject quick. “I’m going to the bar, would you like a drink?” I might as well make a stab at civility along with my escape.

  “That would be just darling of you.” She taps a manicured nail against her chin for a long moment.

  It’s a frickin’ drink. Make your mind up.

  “Now, I would just love to have a vodka, better make it on the rocks, gotta watch the waistline.” She pats her stomach, which is not just flat but borderline concave. Bitch.

  I am still clutching my empty bottle of wine with a chewed straw poking out of the top. Mihraandah gives it a withering glance before running her gaze ove
r me, lips pursed in a tight smile.