The Art of Keeping Faith (39 page)

Oh, my fucking God.

It was after I had dialled his voicemail about ten times that I realised why he had left. He thinks he made me lose the baby.

Shit. And then a little bit more shit.

Ben has gone.

All those times I thought he would go and he never did. He kept hanging on for me, waiting for me to realise that I deserved him. The day I finally realise that we can be something perfect together is the day that he decides to let me go.

I have called him all day and there is no response at all. Not to one of my voicemails or texts.

I have a very bad feeling that he has gone for good and that it is all my fault.

I can’t stop thinking about it, and every time I do I throw up.

22nd April

“Holy shit!”

I have just barged into Tristan and Meredith’s bedroom; it is only four in the morning but who gives a crap.

“Holy shit!” I announce again but louder.

Tristan lifts his head from its hiding place under the duvet.

“Did you just realise that you are going to be a single mum, because you told Ben to leave and for once he listened?”

Wanker.

“Holy shit.” I screech again before dashing back out of the door again to track down Kit so we can have a responsible talk about co-operative parenting.

Two minutes later I am back in their room to lift his meowing form off their bed, marching him back to my own room and barricading the door behind me so he cannot escape again.

The cat will learn to love me. I will make it. If I can’t make a cat love me then what hope do I have with an actual child.

HOLY SHIT!!!!!!!

April 23
rd

No Ben. No text, no voicemail. Nothing. I have no idea where he is and part of me can’t believe he has not contacted me to find out how I am. He thinks I just lost our baby—surely that merits a phone call or a text. I have tried calling him seventy-five times. And, no, this is not me exaggerating. I have checked the recent calls on my phone and it states seventy-five outgoing calls. That means I made seventy-five calls that Ben has not answered.

Fuck that hurts.

I am thinking about calling his Mum to see if she knows where he is, but at the same time I don’t want to tell anyone else about the baby I haven’t lost until I have told him … The most important person.

So now I have created a plan.

The plan involves me not throwing up—so far I am failing at this but the good news is that I am going to stay thinner for longer, and this is important because it will be necessary for the other part of my plan.

Meredith and Tristan think I am crazy but I have decided not to tell anyone at Uni or actually any of my friends about the alien splodge residing in my nether regions; at least until the end of the academic year. Then I will be out of the sight of prying eyes and gossipy people, who may be only too willing to put two and two together and tell Ben about the baby that still is before I get a chance to tell him myself. I do firmly believe that news of that magnitude should come from me and not a newspaper I would willingly wipe my arse on.

I do appreciate that after the sickness stops (theoretically this could be weeks away), it is going to become more obvious, and less easy to conceal. But once term starts again, there are only a few short weeks left in the academic year and then once it is over I will leave Uni for the summer holidays and probably never go back.

How can I? It looks like I am going to be a single mum.

Ben’s gone. I am going to be a single mum.

Oh shit.

24th April

BREAKING NEWS

I managed a cup of tea.

There was a moment of extreme excitement as Meredith and Tristan watched me take a tentative sip of the sweet, warm, goodness. They both smiled and gave me encouraging nods as I gulped down five more big mouthfuls. Then Tristan grabbed the mixing bowl which is now named ‘Lilah’s Upchuck Catcher’ and Meredith rubbed my back as I hurled the whole lot back up again.

Meredith keeps eyeing me up and down.

“What’s the matter?” I asked her in the kitchen last night while I watched her attempt to make Tristan a sandwich (laughable). No one is allowed to cook anything—not that there is ever a desperate desire for any resident of this house to cook. But even if they wanted to I’d rather they didn’t. The smell of anything cooking makes me feel incredibly ill.

“I’m a bit worried you’re going to be thinner than me soon.” she pouts with a critical glare at my currently concave tummy.

It’s official this is the thinnest I have ever been. Even thinner than when I lost all that weight this time last year. It’s excellent.

The bad news is that I am unable to leave the house to show it off to anyone.

“Can I borrow some of your clothes?” I ask. It’s worth a shot.

“What! No bloody way!”

“Come on, this is going to be my only chance ever to fit even one of my legs in a pair of your jeans.”

She thinks about this as she layers an inch of butter on a slice of bread.

I have to force my eyes away; the sight of that much butter is guaranteed to cause a bad reaction.

“That’s true. Okay, let’s go play dress up after I’ve finished this.” She motions to her sandwich.

I wander off, leaving her to her gastronomic disaster.

I never did get to try on her clothes; I was sound asleep before she finished in the kitchen. I just woke up this morning with Kit asleep on my chest and the iPod that Ben gave me clutched in my hands.

I don’t even remember picking it up but apparently I did.

Seems that being pregnant is a bit like being hung-over; you wake up feeling dog rough and unable to remember much from the night before.

I should be a natural.

Me:
Ben, please call me…

25th April

Ben:
Nothing

“It’s the doorbell,” Tristan announces from his horizontal position on the couch.

“No shit.”

I am on the other couch and determined not to move.

Meredith stares at us both. “You know, Lilah, your sickness is not going to last forever and then you will have to actually do stuff.”

I scrunch my face.

“And you, Tristan,” she continues, “will just have to stop being a lazy shit.”

“Well said.” I clap my hands in a heartfelt round of applause.

“Button it, Lilah.” She gets up to answer the door grumbling the whole way there.

“Busted!” I can’t help but grin as I tease Tristan.

“Busted yourself, just because you’re pregnant doesn’t mean you get to give up everything.”

“Shh, for fuck’s sake. We don’t know who’s at the door.”

For a split second I think it might be Ben. Maybe he is coming to say that he didn’t really walk away from me and that he has quit the band and will no longer be seen with skinny stick insects …

… Then I will tell him that we are going to be parents together and we will live the rest of our lives happily forever after …

… No.

Fuck it. It’s just Beth and Jayne, coming to see how I am recovering from my bug and to find out how our Easter went.

Crap.

They don’t know the big news.

Crap again.

One Hour Later

The news has not gone down well. After staring at me for about fifteen minutes with their mouths catching flies, Beth burst into tears and Jayne had to down half a bottle of wine in one hit, no glass or anything.

“So what do you mean he left?” Beth asks again.

“I don’t know,” my voice starts to wobble a little bit. “We had a row about that picture of him and Mihraandah, then I had to go out suddenly. When I got back he was just gone. A note left in his place.”

That really does sound terrible when I say it out loud like that.

Jayne launches herself forward and hits her face on the side of the sofa as she grabs hold of me.

“I can’t believe it,” she says again. I think she feels that if she says it enough she may be able to believe it.

I know what she means. I keep thinking ‘oh, Ben might call.’ The last two mornings I have woken up in a panic and had to remind myself that Ben did eventually walk away from me. Then I remember that I do not know where he is, and that he does know he is going to be a dad and I feel physically sick. Well, even sicker.

“It was one picture too many, hey.” I shrug, attempting a nonchalance that I certainly do not feel on the inside, not when I remember my almighty strop, which resulted in the emergency trip to the hospital and the resulting ‘Sorry’ note.

“Hmph,” Beth grunts in response.

This is far, far better than what she initially said which went something along the lines of wanting to kick the head in of whichever motherfucker had left the envelope in my trellising.

Very ladylike.

Sentiments I kind of understand.

I reckon I know who it was though. There is only person I know with that level of vindictiveness and she is blonde with a plastic fanny.

“Come on, guys, yeah it was a mean thing to do, but at the end of the day it was Ben who walked away.” After I shouted at him and told him to go. “So, I guess he was just always planning on leaving anyway.”

“Nope, no way,” Beth asserts, “Ben may be many things, apparently one of which is to be a complete dick, but he would never cheat on you with that stick insect and he would never just walk away from you. Not without a good reason.”

I squirm under her scrutiny as Jayne decides to jump into the battle of wills.

“Yeah, Beth is right. There is no way he would have gone to all the bother of preparing that busking gig in Trafalgar and getting you guys papped if he thought you were nearly over. It was almost like he felt the opposite.” She stops to think up some more arguments.

She does not need to. I have been through this a million times in my head since Easter Monday. I can’t stop thinking about Valentine’s and the way he was that day and the few days we spent together. He was like the old Ben again. Completely here with me, focused on us and there was this feeling he was giving off, a vibe that he was onto something, on the edge of something.

I just did not know what it was.

I guess I never will.

“Well we will soon find out one way or the other if more pictures come up on the Internet and in the papers. I am sure my friendly concerned private delivery person will make sure I will see all the latest developments in Ben’s private life.”

Oh God. That’s only just sunk in: Ben’s private life, which is now private from my own.

“Fucker,” Beth announces very loudly grabbing for the bottle of wine.

“Shall I get you a glass?” Jayne asks, noticing that I don’t have a glass of wine in my hand for the first time in our entire friendship.

Aha. I have prepared for this.

“Ah, no I can’t. Bloody antibiotics my doctor gave me for that bug. It’s a complete bitch,” I assure them with as much sincerity I can manage.

Tristan snorts his drink up his nose.

Beth and Jayne stare at each other for a second and then back at me.

“So, let me get this straight,” Beth quizzes. “You have been sober through the whole break up?” Beth sounds astounded. As she quite rightly should. Vodka Lilah normally take control of most emotional situations.

“Yep. Sober as a judge.”

“Shit.”

“Yep.”

“How long is the course?”

“Uh? What course?”

“The antibiotics? How long do you have left before we can go out and get wankered?” Beth asks with her delightful way with words.

Not prepared for this.

“Um, I’m not sure, uh, couple more weeks maybe?”

Beth looks a trifle confused, but then busies herself reloading her own glass.

“I’ll have yours then, Lil.”

“Marvellous, thank you for being so thoughtful.”

Hmm.

Later

Me:
Ben I really need to talk to you … please call …

26th April

Ben:
Nothing

8.30 a.m.

I’ve got to go to work. I have not been for weeks and I genuinely feel that I can’t leave Baz high and dry for much longer, especially as it is my business idea that is causing him the headaches.

Last Saturday, the one where I was still sick but I also still had a boyfriend, Baz left me an erratic phone message.

The message went something like, “Lilah, I know you are like sick, or dying, or something equally Lilah Dramatic but we are a tad busy and I could do with you getting your arse to the shop pronto.”

Ben called him back to assure him that I was really sick, but I think Baz probably thought we were just at home having sex, which I guess is in part true as well.

9.30 a.m.

I have made it.

I am a sweaty, gagging mess but I have made it nonetheless.

Well, at least I think I have. But I am not entirely sure I recognise the shop anymore. It is packed full of people for one thing and secondly most of the instruments are missing.

“Lilah! Lilah!” calls Baz from where he is being accosted behind the counter by a line of harassed-looking mums.

“Hey Baz,” I say swallowing down the saliva that is trying to escape through its exit route of compulsive chucking.

“Lilah,” he barks at me, “we need a first-come-first-served ticket system; you organise that.”

Yes, thank you, I am feeling much better. How kind of you to ask.

“Sure, I’ve just got to nip to the loo first.”

To be violently sick.

Later

“How was work?” Meredith calls from the kitchen.

What the hell is she cooking? It smells all things bad and then just a little bit worse.