The Art of Keeping Faith
Page 9
He wins by a mile but I am pretty sure that being a member of the football team puts him at an unfair advantage. A fact I tell him in no uncertain terms as we try to squeeze and shake the water out of our hair before heading into the bar.
“Next time I’ll give you a head start.” Richard laughs and wipes a raindrop off my nose.
“It will have to be a ten minute head start,” I retort, heading into the bar to find Meredith, Jayne and Beth firmly wedged into a comfortable sofa.
“Jesus, Lilah, what did you do? Roll in the mud?” Meredith exclaims as I sit next to her and take the drink she is offering.
I have misjudged my landing and have managed to land half in her lap, covering her in a smear of brown, wet goo. I blame my aim and not the size of my arse.
Although saying that, my arse is getting rather large again. “I’m only having one pint. I’m going to go for a jog tomorrow morning,” I announce to the table.
Meredith spurts her beer all over the table. Ha.
“Please tell me we are not about to be reintroduced to Detox Delilah, because to be honest mate, she was a complete bore.”
Cow.
“Kiss my arse.”
“Who is Detox Delilah?” Richard asks as he sits on the opposite sofa with his pint.
“Come on, Richard, you remember Detox Delilah!” Meredith sucks in her cheeks to make her face look all thin and not overly attractive.
“I did not look like that!” I state.
“Uh, yes you did! You are far lovelier when eating cereal three times a day and consuming shit loads of alcohol.”
“Can we change the subject?”
“Nope.”
I just stare at her until she gives in with a shrug. “Blimey, only saying you look better now,” she mumbles.
“One drink,” I warn wiggling my glass at her.
“Whatever, spoil sport.”
25th October
10.30 a.m.
Oh, God. I have woken up to a blinding headache, my right eye appears to be stuck closed and I have a post it note stuck to my forehead.
Who the fuck did that?
It’s a note from Tristan.
Morning, pisshead. Ben called. I told him you were out getting trashed somewhere with the football team. By the way I fed your demented cat. You owe me a new Ralph Lauren jumper.
Oh, shit. Ben.
Oh, shit. The cat.
Just oh, shit.
Sod it. It’s the doorbell.
10.35 a.m.
“Are you ready for our jog?”
“Uh, what? Sorry? Pardon?”
“Our jog, remember? We planned it last night.”
Richard is standing on my doorstop, coffee in hand, dressed in running gear. It all looks a bit pro, which makes me worried for a few reasons.
I don’t remember planning a jog.
I can’t run. Well, I can. But I look demented, and toddlers set a faster pace.
“You don’t remember making the plan, do you?”
I scrunch my face in response. I am pretty sure my right eye is still closed. “No. Sorry.”
“Okay, well don’t worry. Maybe another time,” he says turning back toward the path.
”Listen, it’s silly for you to waste the journey. Do you want to come in while I get sorted?”
What on earth am I saying? Tell him to go away.
I don’t. I hold the door open instead and wait for him to walk through.
“Cool kitten,” he says when he spies Crazy Kit perched on top of the bookcase in the lounge preparing to assault the first moving thing he sees. Thankfully it is Richard and not me.
To Richard’s credit he manages not to scream as the screeching ball of black fur launches itself off the bookcase and lands on his head.
“What’s your name, then?” he asks Kit as he somehow manages to wrestle him into a suitable holding position and scratches under his chin.
“What’s that noise?” I ask.
“What noise?”
“That buzzing noise?”
“It’s your cat purring. Have you never heard it?”
“Um. No. He tends to just make that weird screeching noise.”
“Do you not know anything about looking after cats?”
“Nope.”
“Why’d you get one then?”
“I didn’t. Ben did. And then he buggered off to the States.”
“Oh.”
Oh, indeed.
“I’ll go and get ready then we can fit a quick jog in before class.” I head off to my room. I may as well, now he is here. No one else is going to jog with me, the lazy fuckers.
“I’ll give the cat a bit of attention. What’s its name again?” he calls after me.
“Kit.”
He looks at me as if to say is that the best you can come up with? I offer a rueful smile and a shrug in response.
Pretty much, yes, it is.
11.45 a.m.
That was not quick. It was also very hard. Richard set an easy pace just half step in front of me and stayed there the whole run. No matter how hard I tried I couldn’t edge in front of him or around him. Believe me, I nearly killed myself trying.
We were about two streets away when he gave me a wave telling me that he lived down that road and he was going back for a shower before class.
Ugh, class. What a bitch.
I think I should take the car.
Later
It was a good thing I drove! I can’t move or bend my legs at all.
To make things even worse, this happens as I am struggling down the stairs of the history block.
“Hey, Lilah, how are you?”
Fuck. I recognise that voice.
I turn slowly and see my worst fears confirmed. It is Barbie of the black underwear fame from last year. I hate her, but in many ways I am also indebted to her. If she had not had the guts to come up to me and talk to me at the last exam in June and told me face to face that nothing happened with Ben I never would have understood just how much he loved me. I would never have chased after him and caught him at Trafalgar Square.
I hate owing her anything. I can still all too clearly visualise her lying in Ben’s bed wearing just her skimpy lacy underwear and it still makes me want to punch her. Hard.
“Hi …” Barbie … Barbie … Barbie …
“Becky?” she prompts.
“Hi, Becky,” I mutter.
The lack of warmth in my greeting does not deter her; she adjusts her pace with me down the stairs. This is bad. Beyond bad. I am in complete agony and my legs are shaking with every painful step I take. She is also assaulting my nostrils with her overpowering stench of Popstar perfume.
“So, Ben’s gone then?”
Cow.
“Yes, just for a while.”
“Looks like he is having fun …”
Cow.
“Sorry, what?”
“Nothing!” She feigns innocence. “Just saying that if it was me, and you know, Ben was my boyfriend, well then I would be very interested in the pictures being taken.”
Cow.
Before I can call her a cow to her face she swings her blonde hair at me and takes off down the stairs. I am left hobbling down the stairs in her Popstar perfumed wake listening to Taylor Swift screech, “Better than Revenge,” as I belatedly come up with a few choice words I would like to say.
What a bitch!
More to the point what on earth was she going on about? I checked Facebook yesterday and there were no new pictures.
Later
Text Number 1 to Meredith from me: Meredith, Barbie says we need to look at Facebook … wanna bring the laptop and have a look with me?
Text Number 2: We don’t want her knowing anything that we don’t …
Within three seconds of my second text beeping its arrival on her phone I can hear her clattering about the lounge. Meredith simply cannot resist gossip of any kind. “What did that filthy strumpet say to you?” she screeches as she lands with a hefty ba
ng on my bed.
“Well,” I start, grabbing my laptop out of her hands and beginning to boot the God-forsaken piece of ancient kit. “She said it looked like Ben was having lots of fun and I want to know what she means.”
“Probably nothing, she is a Ho Bag,” Meredith assures me.
When the laptop has finally wheezed to life and I have spent five minutes waiting for Google to come up we get onto Facebook. Truth be known I kind of wish we hadn’t.
There are lots of lovely pictures of Ben. Unfortunately, in every single one he is surrounded by girls. Not just a couple of girls, he is surrounded by masses of them. They all appear to be missing large sections of clothing and they are all skinny, tanned and clinging to him.
“Oooh,” Meredith says breaking the deathly silence that has developed between us as we pour over the pictures.
“Mm, oooh,” I confirm, sitting back on the bed and shutting the lid to the laptop.
“Well, I guess it is not exactly his fault he is surrounded by lots of girls.” Meredith leans back against my pillows.
“Mmm.”
“Guess it is to be expected,” she adds.
“Mmm.”
“I wonder why Barbie has been checking up on him?”
“Mmm?”
“Has your brain shutdown?”
“Mmm.”
“Okay, I am going. See you after work tomorrow. Don’t forget, we are going out.”
Great.
“Mmm.”
I am battling The Green Eyed Monster and I am not sure I can keep her contained.
I need vodka to process this. Well, no. What I need is to be mature, calm and dignified whilst thinking through the developing situation. But I just need a dash of vodka before doing the above.
26th October
Midnight
“Hey, you.”
“Hello.”
“I’ve missed you.”
“Really?”
“Yeah of course. What have you been up to?”
“Surfing the net.”
“Uh. Right, anything else?”
“Nope.”
“Is everything okay, Lilah?”
“Yep, everything is fine.”
“Okaay.”
Silence.
“So have you been working really hard?” I ask.
“Yeah, it has been crazy, we’ve had gigs every night.”
“Yeah, where are you staying?”
“Uh. At hotels. We have been on the road the whole time.”
“Right.”
Silence.
“So where were you the other night when I called? Tristan was trying to tell me you were out with the football team, but I knew he was trying to wind me up!”
“No, I was.”
“Really?”
“Yep.”
“Okay.”
Silence.
“Lilah, is this not a good time.”
“Actually, Ben, it’s not. I am sorry that you have managed to find time in your busy schedule of having your photo taken with half-dressed girls, but right now is not good for me. At all.”
And then I hang up the phone.
I think I can safely say the vodka-crazed-green eyed-monster had more control over that conversation than I did.
27th October
Yesterday sucked. I hate having to chastise myself. Now I am chastising myself while suffering a severe white wine hangover.
Baz gave me the lecture to end all lectures at work. He waited until I was trapped behind the till and then blocked my only exit with his enormous girth. Once I was cornered he spouted on for half an hour that if I am going to get the hump every time I see a picture of Ben with a girl standing next to him then I may as well give in now. He also told me in no uncertain terms that I should be more worried if there were no photos of Ben with girls hanging off him, because the more girls equals how well they are doing.
Musical success, according to Baz, is graded by the following marker:
No Ho’s = total flop
Lots of Ho’s = musical success
8.00 p.m.
Baz was not my only lecturer of the day.
Meredith was waiting for me impatiently after the shop closed. “Are you deranged?”
“It’s always been a possibility, Mer,” I light a cigarette and preparing for the talk.
Meredith decides to go for full impact and waits until the whole ‘gang’ is together and we are positioned at a table in the pub that smells of old farts.
“Are you fucking deranged?” Beth shouts loudly which gets a glare from the landlord.
Play dumb.
“What on earth are you talking about?”
The three of them stare at me unblinkingly. I am the weaker of our group and cave after thirty seconds of ‘know-it-all’ stares.
“Okay, okay.” Sighing I sit on a stool and slide the wine cooler toward me.
“Well?” Beth demands. Jeez, who wound her up?
“What?”
“Well, what is your problem, Lilah? You are one of my best friends, but sometimes you can be a complete bitch.”
Pardon?
“What?!”
“Poor Ben, he is trying to make a living so you guys can have a great life together and you are giving him shit long distance down the phone.”
The others sit and nod their heads in agreement.
“Come on, Lilah. You know he hates all that shit. Have you ever met a guy more uncomfortable with female attention than Ben?”
Well, no.
I don’t get a chance to answer.
“You always knew he was going to get papped. It does not mean anything. It’s just a job.”
“Job with perks,” I mutter, but my heart is not really in it.
“And anyway,” Meredith interrupts, “You’ve been out drinking with Richard and jogging with him, and you have not even told Ben. Just be grateful you have not got anyone taking photos of you!” Meredith’s lips start to curve into a hint of a smile.
The thought of anyone lurking behind bushes waiting to entrap me with a camera is clearly funny. We look at each other and start to laugh. I can see it now, men in trench coats hiding behind the neat privet hedges of Barnes waiting to see who my jogging partner is.
“I just miss him,” I say through my laughter, which quickly turns to tears.
The three of them place their hands over mine.
“We know.”
“I did not expect him to go again.”
“We know.”
“I’ve been a dick.”
“We know.”
“I need to go and make a call.”
“We know.”
I walk out the door into the courtyard garden where Ben and I had our first get-to-know you conversation. Our table is free so I walk over there lighting a cigarette and press his number on my phone. I am breaking all our phone rules but I don’t think it matters in the circumstances. I am so desperate to hear his voice I could explode.
Three rings later Ben answers. “Lilah?”
“Hey,”
“You okay?”
“Yeah.” I take a deep drag of my cigarette. “Listen Ben, I am sorry about last night. I was being a complete dick. You know, Barbie was winding me up, and then I saw the photos and it made me think bad stuff.”
Oh, it really did.
“Lilah, it’s okay. I understand.”
“Do you?”
“Well yeah, I would be pretty pissed if I saw you in photos surrounded by loads of guys.”
“Well that’s not going to happen, is it?!”