The Art of Keeping Faith (7 page)

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 over me, lips pursed in a tight smile.

I don’t bother to hang around for a cutting comment on my rather large tipple of choice or the size of my waistline.

I am three steps away when I feel a hand link around my elbow.

“I’ll come with you.” She smiles at me, blinding me with her pearly whites.

“Lovely.”

Three-quarters of a bottle of wine later

“Isn’t Ben an exceptional cook?”

“Uh, yes he is. How do you know?”

“Well he stayed at mine during the summer.” She rolls her eyes a little as if to say ‘Duh, don’t you know.’

“Gosh, you must have a big place if you had room for all four of them.”

“Oh, Liiilaaah, you are so funny, it was only Ben. He found the partying lifestyle too much. I am surprised he didn’t tell you.” She giggles, “I offered him a place at mine so he could get a little peace and quiet and, you know, use my facilities.”

“Uh. Pardon? What facilities?”

Is she calling her fanny ‘facilities?’

“Like my gym and all.” She tinkles her annoying girly laugh.

That explains the abs.

“Well, thank you for putting him up. I guess he will be somewhere more permanent this time.”

“Well, honey, that boy is always welcome at mine, especially if he carries on cooking like that.”

Hm.

I have just placed another order with the barman but when he returns with my drink I grab him desperately by the arm. “Better make it two bottles,” I tell him before plastering my fake smile back onto my face.

Half a bottle of wine later

“So, did Ben tell you about the time I accidentally walked in on him in the shower?”

Accident my arse.

One quarter of a second bottle of wine later

“So did Ben tell you about that really funny time when the Chief Executive of the record label thought we were together, like ya know together, together?”

Yes that’s really, really funny. My sides are splitting from laughing.

Three gulps of wine and five homicidal thoughts later

“Did Ben tell you about my parents inviting him to their ranch for a weekend with all the family?”

It’s no good. I’m going to strangle her.

12th October

“Did I kill her?”

I ache all over which begs me to believe I may have been dancing or murdering someone.

Ben’s arms tighten around me and he pulls me back toward him, one leg sliding between mine, his chin resting on my shoulder.

We appear to be naked, sadly I cannot recall getting into a state of undress. I am taking the fact I am not wearing my fluffy ‘I’m in a strop’ Christmas pyjama’s as a good sign. I don’t think I killed the skinny blonde American no matter how much I may have wanted to do.

“It was a close call, but the music distracted you and instead you decided to show her how to shake some moves.” He breathes into my ear, warm air sliding along my hairline. I wriggle back closer.

“Shit.”

“She was mighty impressed and decided to show some moves of her own.”

“Shit.”

“It was like being in Step Up Five Hundred but the main characters were all nearly thirty and couldn’t dance.

“Shit.”

“Then you threw up over yourself, that’s why you’re naked.”

“Shit.”

“My head hurts,” I groan loudly after a few moments reflecting on my not-very-mature behaviour. Again.

“So should your ego after that dancing last night.”

We lie in silence for a minute before he speaks again. “Lilah, can I ask a question?”

“If you have to, I am dealing with a headache.”

He chuckles against me. “Do you plan on getting that drunk at every gig this week?”

I think about this. “Am I going to find out you lived with a skinny American again?”

“Lilah, I already explained that.” Ben sighs a little which makes me giggle.

“Yeah, yeah I know. Now shh, I’ve got a very bad headache.”

Last night Ben found me sulking outside and assured me that it was not like the descriptive visual picture Mihraandah was taking delight in painting for me. He explained that he had only stayed at her place for four days just because he wanted a break from the endless cycle of hotel living. He was missing home and wanted a little home comfort.

“Turns out,” he told me, a slow smile lifting up one corner of his lips while one absent minded hand tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. “Nowhere is home without you. After a few days I went back to the hotel and just carried on hanging out with the boys. When they decided to have their wild nights I just stayed in my room and wrote songs about you.”

The blues stared at me intently and I knew he was telling me the truth.

“You wrote songs for me? Are you sure you didn’t sit there having dirty thoughts about me?”

“Well, I had those too but I found they were counterproductive to song writing.”

I nodded my head in solemn agreement. Dirty thoughts are counterproductive to my studying as well. Well, let’s be honest, thinking in general is normally counterproductive, it’s not limited just to dirty thoughts.

Two hours later

We are packed and ready to go.

One Hour Later

On the road with my hot, rock-god boyfriend—minibus and all. Whoopwhoop!

One Hour Later

Stuck on the M1. It’s grid-locked.

Dave is pissed.

Ian (Mondeo-man as he is called) is farting.

Graham is snoring.

Ben … well Ben is lovely and tracing circles on the palm of my hand with his thumb.

13th October

Oh shit.

I’ve done it again.

Drank too much.

Danced too much.

Wanted to kill Skinny American a little too much.

Last night it was a sing-off, as opposed to dance-off.

Problem is I cannot sing to save my life.

14th October

Leeds. Or is it Birmingham? Or is it, oh, who the hell knows? I officially have no idea where I am.

It’s starting to dawn on me just how big this venture Ben’s undertaking is. Last time when he left he was going to make an album; he was going to be in one place for a duration of time. On this trip they are going to be touring the whole of America. As far as my knowledge goes, America is rather large. Sound Box is going to be stuck on a bus going around it trying to convince people that they are the best British band to come out of the UK since, well, I don’t know when.

My gorgeous Ben is going to be stuck on a bus for his indefinite future. There is something a little sad about that.

My gorgeous Ben is not looking overly sad right now. We have managed to find half an hour of alone time and are sitting together in our hotel room. He has the Gibson across his lap and I am lying with my head propped on his legs as I contemplate the enormity of the situation ahead of us.

18th October

Home.

What a crazy week.

We have a few hours for some quality ‘alone time.’

Ben has a taxi booked for five o’clock tomorrow morning. I am trying very, very hard not to think about it. I have a bad feeling Taylor Swift may return tomorrow. Ben has kept her at bay the last few weeks, but I am sure she is working on a comeback tour.

Five minutes later

“Shall we go to Asda and stock up on food for you?”

“What? You want to go to Asda now? We’ve only got a couple of hours left.”

“Well, I’m worried you’re only going to eat cheese dipped in pickle for the next few weeks.”

“How about no to Asda and yes to getting naked?”

Ben widens his eyes in apparent shock. “Delilah, my mother is going to be here soon, I hope you’re not suggesting what I think you are.”

Oh, God, his Mum.

“How long?”

He looks at his watch for an agonisingly long time. “Forty minutes.”

“Forty minutes,” I screech. “Come the fuck along, Benjamin.” I wave my hand at his clothes. “No time to play, strip now.”

I dive onto the bed headfirst.

“You are so romantic,” he tells me starting to wriggle out of his jeans.

“Better believe it.”

Twenty Minutes Later

Ding dong.

I look at Ben and he looks at me. His hair is standing on end, mine can’t be much better.

“It’s probably a parcel delivery.”

“Probably,” he agrees, his mouth against my own.

Ding dong.

“It’s your mum, isn’t it?”

“Probably, yeah.”

He gives a little sigh and starts to get up before thinking better of it. His eyes flash blue and the freckles crinkle as he kisses me on the mouth in one of his knee wobbling smackers instead. “I love you, Lilah McCannon.”

“I love you, Benjamin Chambers.”

“Ben, Lilah. We know you are in there open the door, it’s freezing out here.”

Damn it.

19th October

4.00 a.m
.

“I’ve got to get up.”

“No.” I tighten my arms to make my feelings clear.

“Okay, five more minutes.”

We have not been asleep. Sleeping would have been a tragic waste of time.

4.05 a.m.

“I’ve got to get up.”

“No.”

“Okay, three more minutes.”

I wrap my arms around him so tight that even if he tries to get up he can’t.

4.08 a.m.

“I really need to get up, I have a gift for you and if you don’t let me up then you won’t get it.”

This is a catch twenty-two. I want a present but I also want Ben to stay in bed with me for as long as physically possible, preferably until the taxi driver knocks.

“How did you get me a present, we have been together all week?” I ask.

“I have my ways.”

“Tell me.” I wiggle even closer, if that’s humanly possible, and plant a kiss on his neck feeling the warmth of his skin under my lips.

“Mum and I have been sorting it out.”

“Your mum?”

“Yes, Lilah, are you going to let me out of bed so I can go and get it?”

“Yes.” I release my death grip.

My excitement levels sky-rocket as soon as he leaves the room. What can it be? A small idea takes hold the moment it enters my brain. Maybe he is going to give me an engagement ring? Maybe he wants to ask me to marry him before he leaves so everything is more finalised and settled between us during his absence.

Oh my God he is going to propose.

Right. Better act surprised.

4.15 a.m.

Surprised? I’d say.

Ring? No.

Jet black kitten with blue eyes? Yes.

That’s right, Ben and his Mum have clearly forgotten the simple fact I cannot look after or feed myself and have bought me a kitten. Admittedly it is a very cute kitten. The kitten has been stashed in Tristan’s room since yesterday afternoon and is now going barmy climbing my curtains.

“I thought we could share ownership, joint parenting almost.” Ben is laughing so I guess I got my surprised expression down.

“Okay. Um. Quick question. How can it be a shared pet when you are leaving the country in a couple of hours?”

He flashes me his wicked smile.

“I will be coming home to the both of you and I like that.” His voice lowers a notch and he leans over and kisses me swiftly on my lips.

“Am I not enough?”

He laughs getting up from the bed and detaches the kitten from the curtain.

“Come on, Lilah, how cute is he? Mum rang me weeks ago to say she had found a kitten with black hair and blue eyes. I didn’t realise then I would be leaving, but look at it. It’s so cute.”

It kind of is. I can see where Ben’s mum was going with the colouring, with its jet-black fur and bright blue eyes, this cat was born to be owned by Ben—or me apparently.

“It is cute, Ben, but not as cute as you.”

He kisses the kitten and covers its ears. “Don’t listen. She doesn’t mean it.”

“What you going to call him?” I ask.

“You’ve got to name him,” he says with a smile before putting the ball of fluff in my lap. “I’m jumping in the shower, the taxi will be here soon.”

“Okay.”

It does not matter how cute a surprise the kitten is, nothing is going to make this any easier.

I am lying on the bed playing with the kitten when he walks back in, disappointingly dressed. I can sense a bubble of emotion welling inside of me. I ignore it, determined not to let it overwhelm me, or worse, pop.

“Got your passport?”

“Yep.”

“Got clean pants?”

“Yep.”

“Got a book for the plane?”

“Yep.”

“Got the Gibson?”

He motions to his guitar case by our bedroom door.

“Right, then.” My throat is so tight it is a miracle I can speak.

In two steps he is across the room. “I’m going to miss you so much, Lilah.”

He kisses me full on the mouth and I run my hand through his still damp hair before letting my fingertips trace over his face one last time.