The Art of Keeping Faith (18 page)

I went vodka.

Tristan went to bed carrying Meredith who had fallen asleep on the sofa and had missed Beth and Jayne’s weird row.

This left Richard and I. I waited for him to say he was leaving but he didn’t so in the end I got up and went out for a smoke.

He walked out soon after carrying my duvet.

“Fancy star gazing?”

“Are you kidding, it’s bloody freezing?”

“Hence the duvet …”

So we did. We reclined the garden chairs right back and laid the duvet across us and puffed away at our cigarettes making up slurred constellations.

I know what he was trying to do, trying to push my disappointment from my mind, leaving me to pass out with only good birthday thoughts not bad ones.

It worked for a while until I woke up and Richard was gone and all I could hear was Taylor singing “Cold as You Are.”

I was left with one resounding thought. Ben’s not here.

Then I wanted vodka again. I resisted though, I made myself a nice cup of cat piss tea and set about sorting myself out.

Twenty-seven years old and throwing a wobbler because my boyfriend had chosen to do something that realistically was far more important than me.

So what am I going to do about it?

Do I ignore Ben for infinity because he had to make a choice and did not choose me? Or do I act like the grown-up nearly thirty-year-old that I am and sort it out?

25th November

Ben:
Lilah, I know you’re mad and I understand why. I can leave today, do you want me to come home?

Me:
No.

Ben:
Fine.

If he knew me at all then he would not even need to ask. If he knew me at all he would be on the plane and on his way home to me.

December

1st December

It’s been a week.

Ben has not contacted me but then I have not contacted him either.

No midnight phone calls.

No texts

No Skype.

Just a whole big job lot of NOTHING.

2nd December

NOTHING.

3rd December

NOTHING. NOTHING. NOTHING.

4th December

I’ve been a dick.

The realisation hit me at three this morning when I woke from a truly scary nightmare.

It was Christmas Day and Ben was waking up. I thought it was our bedroom because the bedding was the purple set I purchased yesterday when I was moping around Putney after class. I could not face the library and I couldn’t face going home either.

It’s the end of term soon and I know I have essays to do but the thought of the library was enough to turn my depressed thoughts into suicidal ones. So instead I went to Putney where I then got even more depressed at the Chritmassy vibe in the shopping centre. I actually cried when I saw the Christmas tree all lit up in silver and blue. Yes that’s right I cried over a tree.

It’s just I couldn’t stop thinking about last Christmas and the surprise visit from Ben and just how damn perfect it turned out and how this year I have a very bad feeling that it won’t be happening again.

I stropped up to see Baz in the end and relieved him of some Budweiser whilst we played tiddlywinks.

“I’m not paying you for this you know.” He assured me.

I made sure to drink another three bottles of beer before he sent me on my way and shut up the shop.

What was I saying? Oh yes, I was writing down the dream/nightmare.

So anyway there was Ben all stretched out and outrageously handsome on my new bedding and I thought (in my dream) ooh this is going to be a good one. But it wasn’t. Next to him, stretching out like a tigress in all her stark naked glory was Mihraandah.

What a bitch.

Ben had that sleepy sexy smile on his face, which he turned in her direction like a ray of sunlight. Then he slipped his hand under the pillow and pulled out a box, which was clearly designed to hold a ring. It was one of those antique ones with a little brass clasp.

I woke up covered in sweat with a deep sinking sensation settling in my stomach making me realise that I had made a huge error of judgment and once again overreacted in true Lilah McCannon style.

Goddamn it.

5th December

“Why don’t you just call him and admit that you have made a Lilah Fuck-Up?” Beth asks.

She has her head resting on her hand and is looking at me through one eye.

I am also looking at her through one eye.

We are on our third bottle of wine in the pub that smells of old farts. It’s only the two of us, so it is fair to say we are hammered.

We bumped into each other as we dashed through the very wet sleet that was bombarding campus and a drink seemed like a great plan.

Now we are sitting here putting the world to rights but we have run out of steam.

“We need more chips,” I tell her to change the subject from the most recent Lilah Fuck-Up, as it’s apparently called.

“We’ve had two bowls already. I thought you were on a diet.”

“Diet’s off,” I growl.

She does not bother to say anything just shakes her head in slow motion.

“So what went on with you and Jayne the other night?” I ask.

Beth flushes the brightest shade of red I have ever seen. It glows against her black hair like a neon flashing light.

“I mean the row, not the kissing; we all know that was a dare, so that’s, uh, cool.” I stammer to cover up my blush-inducing gaffe.

She is still red so I don’t think I have helped.

“Beth?”

“What? That? Oh it was nothing we always row and strop with each other.”

I take a deep sip of my wine. I may need it as I ask, “Do you?”

“Well yeah. Don’t you and Meredith?”

How do I put this? “Uh, no.” I cringe a little. “I row with Tristan because he is my brother and an arse. But I don’t row with Meredith. Why would I? Although, saying that, she did get a bit humpy the other day when I used her Jean Paul Gaultier body cream.”

Humpy probably doesn’t cover it.

“Really?” asks Beth swirling her wine around her glass.

“Uh, yeah.”

Awkward silence.

Sadly I am too nosey to leave it at that and I need to know more. “So what was the argument about?”

“Oh I don’t know, Lilah,” she sighs. “We were just pissed.”

“Pissed and snogging?”

Just call me Miss Sensitivity.

“It was hardly a snog,” she corrects, but also turns an even brighter shade of red.

“Looked like a snog to me.”

“Well, it’s no big deal.” Her colour is so bright she could be seen via satellite from space.

Ooh, defensive.

“Do you fancy her?”

Beth opens her mouth to say something but then shuts it again. “I don’t think so.”

Not entirely conclusive.

“Have you kissed before?”

She flushes again. “No!”

“Beth, tell Aunty Delilah the truth.”

This makes her spurt her wine everywhere. “Maybe once, but it was silly.”

“Oh my God, what happened?” I squeal.

“Lilah, sometimes I find it very hard to believe you are twenty seven.”

“Me too, love. Now stop stalling and spill.”

“It was nothing really! We’d had too much wine, as usual, and we were talking about her well you know, putting it about last year, because let’s be honest she did and she is the first to admit it.”

This is true.

“Carry on.” I wave my hand at her to get her to hurry up.

“So she asked me how many people I had been with and I told her the truth, and the extra bit where I admitted that I had only kissed one girl before and was starting to doubt if I was even gay after all. Maybe it was all just tied in with my Goth persona.”

My mouth is hanging open. This is exciting stuff. Who needs to watch Eastenders when you have friends that provide this level of entertainment?

“Then what happened?”

“She kissed me.”

“Oh, my God. Then what happened?”

“Well then, after a moment of us just staring at each other, she asked me if I was definitely gay.”

I am squealing with excitement. “No way. What did you say?”

“I said ‘yes,’ which was the truth.”

I have nothing to say.
Nothing.

“Delilah, close your mouth.”

“Sorry.”

I exhale air through my lips and I make a strange horsy sound. “So?”

“So?”

“So you do fancy her a little bit, don’t you? Let’s be honest. I’m not going to tell anyone.”

“Yeah, maybe a little. But I don’t want her to know.”

“Okay, Beth. Have you not been through this exact situation last year, where you fancied someone who was not gay, and then ended up getting hurt when they preferred someone else?”

Beth downs her remaining wine. “Maybe that’s just my thing.”

“Beth, that’s no one’s thing. Well, no sane person’s anyway.”

“So what’s your thing, Lilah? To never communicate with Ben and then get in a strop when things don’t work out the way you want them to?”

“Okay, for the record this situation is not my fault.” I wave my hand around at the absence of Ben joining us for a drink. “He promised me something and then when he could not do it he did not even bother calling to tell me until it was way too late. Too late for me to understand, and too late for me not to be hurt by his actions.”

“Okay, Lilah, have you watched the outtakes from that live session on their website?”

“No, I’m not keen to see anything he is doing right now. Why? Have you?”

“Of course I have. He is my friend, as are you.”

“What are they like?”

“Well I think you should watch yourself.”

“Nope. Not going to,” I proclaim obstinately.

“Are we getting more wine?”

“Yeah why not, I need to throw up those chips.”

“Gross.”

Still, she heads off to the bar and gets another bottle of the house white, which is the cheapest bottle we can find to drink.

6th December

6.30 a.m.

I am not going to class.

Absolutely, most definitely, not.

While Beth was at the bar getting our fourth bottle (oh God, every time I think about it I have to try not to be sick) Meredith and Jayne came in. They had been looking for us when we were not in the library, not in Froebel and not at home. The pub that smells of old farts was their next bet.

They came to tell us Karaoke was on at Froebel and we should go.

So kill me now.

We went.

I can’t think about it and I am absolutely definitely not going into Uni today. I don’t care if it is the end of term and only a few weeks until essays are due. I will just flunk again. That’s fine with me.

My head hurts too much anyway. But then I guess wine followed by about ten vodka & Red Bulls will do that to a girl.

I haven’t been to sleep. I’ve been twitching all night instead, on some sort of Red Bull high.

Ugh. When will I learn?

It seems never.

I had fun though, it was good, although drunk Lilah was out and we all know what she is like, walking around hugging everyone. I probably should have gone home when I busted out the Lilah dancing machine but I waited until I had truly embarrassed myself by singing.

Oh, God.

I sang “Need You Now” with, well, most of the football team.

Oh, God.

Then I sang Taylor Swift “Love Story.” Very, very badly whilst crying. Donkey noises and all.

Shit.

Yep not going into class today or ever.

9.00 a.m.

Meredith is still laughing. She has been chuckling away since I shuffled my way into the lounge half an hour ago.

When I walked in she was laying on the couch (no surprise there) still in last night’s clothes.

“Didn’t you go to bed?”

“It doesn’t seem so,” she confirms glancing down at herself.

“Classy.”

“Speaking of classy, that was great singing last night. I had no idea how talented you are.”

“Kiss my arse.”

That’s when the giggling started and she has not stopped since.

Meredith is also skipping Uni today but that’s not because she is too hung over, although she is also suffering. No, today she and Tristan are heading to Suffolk to stay with her parents (in separate rooms! Ha!) for the weekend.

I am going to be by myself all weekend.

Excellent.

2.00 p.m.

They’ve gone, the bloody traitors.

Too much time on my hands = not good.

Too many Ben thoughts = not good.

I keep thinking of Beth telling me to look at the video and I really want to, but then at the same point I am still feeling pretty mad about the whole thing. I think I should stay strong and stick to my principles.

I wonder what he is doing?

Is he forgetting about me?

I know I am not forgetting about him. He is in every waking thought I have and it seems in every karaoke choice I make.

I might text him. You know, tell him I am sorry for being an arse. Something along those lines.

Maybe I should just wait for tomorrow? I could text him something profound and meaningful then.

7th December

Midnight

Ben:
Nice singing.

What the hell?

It’s midnight and it is not like I can call anyone to find out what he is talking about.

I sit staring at the message. My fingers are burning with the desire to write something back. I sit on my hands instead.

It does not work.

Me:
Sorry, what are you talking about?

The next message from him is a link to YouTube.

That’s weird.

I click on it to see what it is.

Holy shit.

Someone has filmed the “Need You Now,” demented singing. Except this time I am not belting it out in the privacy of my own bedroom, I am standing in Froebel with half the football team and seem to be singing a duet with Richard, all his mates just standing around us like spare parts. Richard has my hand in his.

I do not remember it like that at all.

The terrible tuneless rendition of “Need You Now” is closely followed by my even more tuneless attempt at “Love Story.”

Who the hell has done that? Who would film me singing and then put it on bloody YouTube?

I put myself through the pain of watching it again just to try and work it out, it looks like it was filmed from a far corner of the bar. Who was sitting over there and why would they be so bloody vindictive?

Ah.

Barbie.

No surprise there then.