The Art of Keeping Faith (25 page)

“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.

Richard:
Do you have any food?

Me:
Cheerios?

Richard:
Give me half an hour

Me:
I love you

Me:
In a completely platonic non sexy way

I could kiss Richard when he turns up at half nine with a box of books, a laptop that is far better than mine, and two carrier bags of food. But I manage to restrain myself. I also manage to completely avoid talking about New Year’s Eve in any way whatsoever; praise the lord for that! That would have been hideous. What do you say? “So does your girlfriend try and hump every famous person she meets?”

I don’t think so.

Right. It’s time to crack these damn essays.

7th January

One essay complete!

Richard is still here, it was another all-nighter but at least I have managed to get something down on paper.

He was going to go home at midnight but I literally threw myself across the room and barricaded the door.

“Do not leave! I actually do study when you are here.”

“Well, what would you do if I was not here?”

I scanned through my mind for possible scenarios.

“I have no idea but I am pretty sure it would not involve studying.”

Richard gave a shrug and settled back on the end of my bed where he was precariously perched with his laptop.

“Okay, but you had better make some more of that awful stuff you call coffee.”

8th January

I am on fire!

Second essay complete, it does not make a huge amount of sense but I hit thirty footnote references, which is an all-time personal best. I don’t know what it is about footnotes but they make me feel very important and super intelligent.

More the better if you ask me, even if they bear no relevance to the essay at all.

I had to release Richard from my temporary prison when Fi started to track him down because she was back from wherever she had been and wanted to know why he was not home and had not done the laundry.

What a bitch.

I tried very hard to keep my expression neutral as he packed up his stuff but I don’t think I was overly successful, the lip twitch he left with makes me think that I failed.

Right then. Two days, two essays. I can do this.

9th January

“Are you alive?”

It’s Meredith.

“No. And don’t come in, I don’t have time to stop.”

She comes in anyway and perches on the end of my bed in the only free space she can find. There are books everywhere, post it notes all over the walls, half of the contents of our kitchen cupboards are dirty and on the floor and I have not washed since, well, I cannot remember.

“How much more?” she asks with a sympathetic pat of my leg.

“One.”

“That’s good.”

“No, it’s not. I have left the hard one until last.”

“Ah, that’s a shame. So when can you take me driving?”

“Are you being serious?”

“Maybe, are you going to shout?”

“Out! Out, get out!”

“Jeez, all right. Keep your hair on.”

Meredith, the bloody swat, has already handed in her work. I don’t understand how, because I am pretty sure she was in as equal a panic as me the other day about a lack of essay titles. Now, they are done and handed in.

I’m thinking foul play? Tristan maybe? Although I am not sure that he knows anything about history. It is a mystery to me.

Driving my bloody arse. Hmph.

10th January

Done.

I have not slept in the best part of five days and I feel like I have been run over by a very large truck. I don’t plan to write anything again for a very long time!

Just need to sleep. For about a year.

I’d better pop into the kitchen to tell my flatmates I am still alive just in case they are interested. And then I am going to bed.

It’s only Tristan. He is sitting at the desk in the lounge, the desk that strangely neither of the students in the house bothers to use. Mrs Morgan left it for me when she moved out, but I haven’t used it yet.

“I’m alive!” I announce.

“Oh, good.”

He does not sound overly thrilled at the confirmation of my existence.

“What ya doing?” I plonk myself down on the sofa. Tristan doesn’t seem to want to be interrupted which means I should do it more.

“Working, Lilah, remember that thing that grownups do to pay the bills?”

I stick my tongue out and try to peek over his shoulder; he is just staring at a blank screen.

Working my sodding arse.

“Oh.” He lifts his head a little. “Meredith said to remind you about Ben’s birthday because it would be dead embarrassing if you forgot two years in a row.”

“Duh, Ben’s birthday is ages away.”

“Monday.”

“Monday! Fucking Monday and you are reminding me now!”

Smirking he turns and looks at me, one eyebrow raised. I could quite happily punch him but I am too busy embracing a full on state of panic.

“Oh, my God! I am the world’s crappest girlfriend.”

“I’d say. You’ve spent the last five days holed up in your room with another man. Now you have forgotten your real boyfriend’s birthday.”

“Not helping, Trist. What on earth am I going to do?”

“I don’t know, what did you do last year?”

I think for a moment.

“Bought a crazy expensive guitar and gave him a blow job. Twice.”

Tristan just laughs in response before something obviously crosses his mind.

“You could do my work for me?” he suggests.

“What! Are you bloody kidding? I don’t know how to write anything. Did you see my essays this week?”

He thinks about this for a moment. “Well, I bet you could write about Ben.”

He leaves his words dangling there like a carrot.

Could I? Could I write about Ben?

“Okay, I’ll do it,” I shout before running off to my room to work on ideas.

“I need it by Monday,” he calls after me, followed by something unintelligible along the lines of otherwise he is going to get sacked.

Right then. What can I write about Ben for his birthday surprise?

11th January

“What can I write about Ben?”

I’ve walked into the shop and flung my bag down. I’m late, but who gives a shit? I can think of nothing to write about Ben, which is far more important than forty minutes of tardiness.

“And, hello to you, too.”

“Don’t mess about, Baz. I haven’t slept in a week. I am feeling a little bit cranky and I need to think of something to write about Ben by Monday morning at the latest.”

“You’ve forgotten his birthday again haven’t you?”

Apparently I am the only one who has. “No, not exactly.”

It was embarrassing enough admitting to Tristan and Meredith that I forgot again, I don’t think Baz needs to know my forgetfulness as well.

“So what can I write about?” I ask again.

“How much you miss him?”

“Rubbish.”

“How much you love him?”

“Rubbish.”

“What a great musician he is?”

“Rubbish.”

Baz grabs a beer and hands me one, it is only ten but who gives a shit, these are desperate times.

“What abou …” he starts.

“Shh, stop. Wait a minute.” I wave my hands at him.

I have an idea. It is swirling around my brain like a bit of wispy cloud. I just need to grab it before it floats off.

Desperate … desperate times … why does that ring a bell?

Desperate times! It’s back. That’s how I felt before I met Ben. I don’t think about it very often, but that’s how I used to feel before I came to Uni and before I met him. The moment I unlock the memories they all come flooding back; that first day, the apprehension; meeting Meredith; my first trip to the lake on campus that wouldn’t be my last. Then the following day at the ’Freshers’ Ball and my first sight of Ben and the first kiss before passing out. The embarrassment of waking up the next day and finding him in the kitchen and then that first day of lectures when he sat behind me and tapped my chair with his foot the whole time, before later that evening, back by the lake when he kissed me again and made my entire existence spin on its head.

“I’ve got to go,” I tell Baz, grabbing my bag off the floor where I threw it only a few minutes earlier.

“But you’ve only just got here,” he starts before changing his mind. “Oh go on, I don’t know why I bother.”

I step over and give him a massive hug. “Love you, Baz, thanks for saving me twice.”

“Oh, get out of here,” he tells me. So I do. I dash home and start writing for what feels like the millionth time this week. But this time the words flow easily because it is something that I know as well as I know myself.

Ben.

12th January

“Is. It. Any. Good?” I manage to mutter.

My capacity for speech ended about an hour ago, half an hour before my capacity for typing.

Tristan looks up from the sofa where he is sat reading through the article I have written for him. “Yeah, it is. Lilah, it really is.”

I don’t bother trying to ascertain if he is taking the piss. I just shuffle back to my room where I collapse in a heap on the floor, never to get up again.