The Art of Keeping Faith (32 page)

The doorbell rings again.

You have got to be kidding me.

I am never going to get to the bit when Darcy chases after Lizzie Bennett across Pemberly all dripping wet and sexy.

“Richard,” Beth and Jayne proclaim at once.

“No chance, he’s in hiding,” I tell them.

No, he is not. He is standing on my doorstep, hands stuffed in his pockets and a very sheepish look on his face.

“Hey.”

“Hey to you. I am very busy right now,” I tell him.

“I know. You are drinking wine and watching Mr Darcy.”

“Are you stalking me?”

“No, Jayne told me earlier.”

Cow.

“Listen, Lilah. I just wanted to say sorry for the other night. I had a bit to drink, that is not my normal style.”

I laugh out loud.

LOL.

“Rich, it does not bother me either way. You and I are just friends. You can do what you want. I just wish you had been slightly more selective with your choice of tonsil tennis partner.”

He scrunches his face up. “So do you not want to hang out anymore?”

“I’m not five, I’m not going to fall out with you because you want to play with someone else.”

“Listen, Lilah, I’m sorry about what I said the other day. I did not really mean it. You know, about not being there if you needed me again. The truth is I care a lot for you and I was pretty angry with you. I feel like Ben does not deserve you.”

“Yeah and I used to feel like Fi did not deserve you, now I am thinking that it might be the other way around.”

Oh, my God. I am on fire.

“Guess I deserve that.”

I give one of those weird one shoulder lift things which says ‘guess you do.’

“So I don’t suppose you fancy doing something to—”

“Noooooo, don’t say it. I can’t afford to give Tristan ten quid.”

Richard looks at me blankly and then starts to turn to walk down the path.

“Happy Valentine’s, Lilah.”

“Uh, yeah you, too. I guess.”

I shut the door and walk back in to find Beth and Jayne standing in the hallway blatantly listening.

“Guys!”

“Whaaaaat?”

“Oh forget it, let’s get drunk.”

14th February

Valentine’s Bloody Day

It’s not a great start to the day of hell; the thudding white wine headache is enough to put anyone in a foul mood. I stayed up far too late drinking with the girls and Meredith and Tristan who arrived home from somewhere or another.

I was secretly waiting up hoping Ben might call.

He didn’t.

Now I am in a mood. A bad one.

Ugh! Fucking Tristan, there is a Post-it stuck to my forehead. I swear on my life I am going to staple one onto his knob one of these days.

What the hell!

It just says Trafalgar in Ben’s handwriting.

I scramble into their room.

“What is this?” I scream at ear splitting volume.

They both shrug but Meredith is grinning so wide that she has to hide her face under the duvet.

“Is Ben here?”

Tristan shrugs. “Guess you’ll have to go and find out.”

Oh, my fucking God. Ben is here.

I am halfway down the garden path when I realise I still have my pyjama’s on.

Fuck it.

Ten minutes later

Major wardrobe malfunction. I have no clean clothes at all, so I am wearing jeans with a smelly milk (cereal) stain down the front and one of Ben’s old hoodies that I have kept stashed.

Who gives a shit, Ben is here.

One hour later

It has taken me the best part of an hour to get to Trafalgar. The London Transport system did everything that it could to stand in my way but I am not to be defeated.

I run from Victoria in the end. It was either that or commandeer a tube, or, punch one of those useless London Underground operatives in their fluorescent orange jackets. But I figured both of these may end in me being taken down to the local nick as opposed to seeing Ben.

I am dashing across the square. I know exactly where he will be, on the fountain. The fountain where we have had so many important conversations. But as I limp closer I see an enormous crowd around where I think he is going to be.

I scan the rest of the square but cannot see him.

I didn’t make a mistake, did I? It wasn’t an old Post-it note that fluttered down from who knows where and stuck itself to my forehead whilst I was in my white wine coma.

No. Can’t be. Meredith was grinning like a buffoon.

Then it’s my turn to grin like a buffoon as the crowd shifts slightly and I can see Ben sitting in the middle of it, his long legs stretched out, a baseball cap pulled low over his dark hair, and the Gibson across his lap.

My mouth goes dry and I automatically start to walk toward him. The blues find me instantly, flicking over my outfit as they watch me approach. His lips curve into a small half lip hitch.

I make my way through the crowd using my elbows to push people out of the way until I am standing right in front of him.

My mouth is so dry I can’t even speak, but he reaches his right hand toward mine and stands, pulling me in close. Slowly his free hand slides along my throat, his thumb tracing under my chin and grazing my lower lip as he leans in toward me.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Delilah,” he says, lips against my own.

I don’t bother saying anything back. Let’s be honest. I couldn’t even if I tried. I just kiss him, wedging the Gibson between us as I move myself closer and closer entwining my fingers in the hair at the base of his neck.

The crowd doesn’t move. They just stand there and gawp.

Eventually after what feels like a lifetime he pulls away and the blues dance in the sunlight as a full on smile lights up his face.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Ben,” I say at last.

We both start to giggle and his fingers link their way through mine. Home.

It’s perfect.

Well it’s perfect until a fifteen-year-old with braces pushes her head between us and thrusts a piece of paper under Ben’s nose and blabbers something about a signature.

“Did you bring your fans?” I ask.

He laughs as he scribbles his name and shoves the paper back at her. “Apparently so.” He grins and the blues flash at me.

It’s only been a few weeks since I last saw him, but it’s like I am looking at him for the first time and am blinded by his beauty. The freckles crinkle as he watches me stand and stare.

“Well, I’m here so I guess you did.” I tell him.

He shoots me a wink and pulls me in by our joined hands. “I promised these guys a quick gig for waiting so patiently with me while you clearly spent a lot of time putting on the most attractive outfit you could find.” The blues twinkle and crinkle and my stomach flips over.

I tug at the oversized jumper.

“I’m kidding, Lilah, you look amazing.” He leans right into my ear, his breath warm on my neck. “But that outfit will look far better on the bedroom floor later,” he whispers, his voice low and purposeful.

“Benjamin!” I say flushing beetroot.

So cool.

He just gives a low chuckle. “Fancy some busking?”

“Sure, why not, I have nothing else planned today.”

Ben starts to pick out the notes, ‘Hey There, Delilah’

I am expecting it. I know he is going to do it, but it still makes me blush with the pleasure of the moment. Damn, that man.

The twenty girls thronging around us all give a little squeal and then go dead quiet to hear Ben sing.

My knickers explode at the sound of his voice.
Ping.
And I sit there like the proudest woman in the entire world. Which I am.

After Ben finishes his little acoustic set in the freezing cold, signed all the pieces of paper, and had his photo taken with countless young strumpets he starts to pack up his guitar.

“Thank you,” I say. It’s a massive understatement but I am still getting my head around the fact he is here and has just sung live to me in Trafalgar Square. That’s going to take some processing.

“You’re welcome, Delilah.”

I scoot myself along the fountain and pull him in toward me. He slides his knees in between my legs and moves in close, leaning down to give me a lingering kiss. His lips against mine feel electric, all warm and delicious in the freezing weather conditions. I want more. More, more, more.

“What are you doing here?” I ask after a couple of minutes. I know the entire square is watching us but I can’t seem to care.

“Showing you that just because I can’t be with you all the time does not mean that we can’t make this work. We can make anything work, if we want it to.” The blues watch me as he speaks.

My mouth goes dry again and my knees start to do the Elvis wobble despite sitting down.

“I am going to need more convincing,” I say against his mouth.

“I was hoping you would say that.”

“Hey, Ben,” a voice calls.

We both turn to face it, cheeks still touching in the stinging cold, my hands still looped around his neck.

A camera clicks and the cheery fellow behind it gives us a wink.

“That your girlfriend, mate?”

Ben turns back to face me again his cold nose sliding across my cheek as he kisses me full on the mouth.

The camera clicks again.

“Sure is,” Ben announces. He turns back to the photographer with his full wattage rock star smile on his face.

The guy just laughs and puts his lens cap back on. “Thanks for the scoop, Ben,” he calls as he slouches away across the square.

“What did he mean, Ben?”

Ben reaches down and picks up his guitar case. “He meant that I am fed up with living a lie, and I want to start putting it right.”

Oh.

Linking his hand with mine Ben walks us away across the crowded tourist trap, his step in perfect time with mine.

“Where we going now? Home?” I ask.

“Sort of.” He smiles and my stomach gives a little flip at the unexpected turn of events Valentine’s Day has taken.

After we leave the square we walk along until we are standing by a brand new Mercedes.

“So I take it you are not opposed to missing Uni for a day.”

I glance at my watch. “Nah, I have missed it anyway.”

“Excellent, I figured you would say that and tomorrow, any plans?”

“None. Oh hold on, I have work.”

Ben smirks a little. “Already taken care of. Come on then, get in.”

“What? Into that?” I motion to the huge sleek silver car.

“Yes, Lilah. Into that!”

“That is not yours, is it?” I’m slightly shocked. The car, while lovely, is not Ben’s style at all. He is more into banged up aubergine coloured Mini Coopers like me. Or at least I thought he was.

“Don’t panic, and don’t tell Deathtrap. I just rented this from the airport. It was the quickest way to get to you and still keep it a surprise.”

“Jesus, didn’t they have a Clio or a 106? This is so not your style.”

“Really? That’s a shame. I have a black one in L.A.”

My mouth pops open.

“Nah only joking, Lilah.”

“Very bloody funny. The day you get a car like this I know you are way out of my league.”

“Just as well I have a preference for banged-up Mini’s then.”

We get in and Ben fiddles with all the dials and knobs that make it look like an aeroplane cockpit before he pulls out into the traffic.

“So where are we going?” I clutch my hand onto his knee. I still can’t believe he is here.

“It’s Valentine’s Day. There is only one place to go, Lilah,” he says my name in the way only he can. I literally have to hold in my squeal of delight.

“Does it involve a pea-green bidet and matching bath?” I bounce in my seat with excitement.

“Only the best for you, Lilah, remember.” He grins turning to me from the driver’s side.

In that very moment it feels like he has never been gone, that we have not spent a large percentage of the last year in different countries and that we really and truly are just meant to be.

“Ah, man, I’ve not got any clothes with me.”

He shoots me a wink. “Valentine’s packing has been taken care of.”

I don’t need to look in the bag on the back seat to know that it only contains red underwear and a toothbrush. Exactly the same as I packed last year.

Two hours later (the Mercedes goes very, very fast) we are standing in the pea green room looking at each other, the atmosphere is close and heavy between us.

Checking in is a bit different this year; the girl on the check-out nearly faints when Ben comes in. She looks at him suspiciously when he asks specifically for the pea green room—it must be their worst room. That explains why we got it on our last visit.

“I am sure we have a more suitable room for you, Mr. Chambers,” she says, batting her eyelashes.