The Art of Keeping Faith (9 page)

“It’s cool. Go.” I say the words but don’t mean them. I would sit on the cold hallway floor all-night just to hear his voice.

“Okay. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” I tell him, but I know his attention has gone and I can hear the others shouting and moaning that he is not dressed yet.

“Bye,” he whispers.

“Bye,” I whisper back before hanging up the phone and picking myself, and the cat, up off the floor.

My aim is to make it back to my room without waking him. That way I might manage a night’s sleep without him attacking me every half an hour.

No such luck!

24th October

4.00 p.m.

I am stuck in the library. It is pissing rain. Even the autumn leaves have lost their golden glow as they flutter from trees to be mushed to mulch under someone’s foot.

I want to go home, but Deathtrap Cooper is parked streets away. I couldn’t face getting soaked to my underwear trying to reach it so I came to the library instead.

5.15 p.m.

Meredith:
Where the fuck are you? I am concerned you may be in a ditch somewhere?

Me:
Sod off. I am in the library. You know, it’s that place they keep books.

Meredith:
We are at Froebel come over.

Ooh vodka??

No! I must study!

Me:
Nah, I will see you at home later, I am finding this book very interesting.

This is a blatant lie, but Meredith does not respond so I just get on with my study. It’s actually not that bad. Now Professor Johnson has explained the basic principle of research to me studying is genuinely much easier. My notes are almost coherent.

Ben would be super proud of me. He always thought my note-taking was pitiful; which to be fair it was until two days ago.

I give my head a shake and try to push thoughts of Ben away. It’s not easy but I also know that I can’t sit here obsessing about him. He is doing his thing and I am doing mine. That’s just reality for us right now.

5.30 p.m.

I’ve given up pretending to look like an intellectual. Instead I am leaning back in my chair staring at the cracks in the ceiling when I hear footsteps approach my desk. I quickly put all four legs of the chair on the floor, grabbing my book up in my hand again as I wait for whomever it is to walk past. They don’t. The footsteps stop by my chair.

“Don’t think I didn’t see you staring at the ceiling.”

It’s Richard, who is soaking wet, blonde hair stuck flat to his head as he drips water from his jeans over the floor.

“What are you doing here?”

“Meredith has requested your presence at the bar.”

“And you are here because?”

“She said she could not come herself, something to do with her hair?” He gives a small shrug here, but I know what he means. Meredith cannot go out in damp weather because her hair springs up and resembles a Brillo Pad.

“Her exact message was, ‘could you stop fannying around in the library like a geek and come and have a drink with us?’”

“What? Are you her bitch now?”

“No. But I want you to come and have a drink as well. So I figured I could be the messenger and hopefully the delivery guy.”

He gives me a wide smile and pulls a chair over to sit next to me. I shift a little uncomfortably. He is nice and all that, but I don’t feel the need to be wedged into a small study desk with him.

He is tall and well-built, and as a result takes up a lot of space. I try not to stare as he leans back in the chair and crosses his legs at the ankle while linking his fingers behind his head, feigning a relaxed pose.

Another wide smile. “It went like this, didn’t it?” he adds tipping his chair back and shifting the gaze of his brown eyes to the ceiling.

“Very funny.”

“Come on then, Lilah, pack up. Let’s go and have some fun. I remember when you used to be the life and soul of the party!”

“I did not!”

Grinning he starts to pack up my books.

Just then my phone beeps again.

Meredith:
Come on, Delilah. Stop being such a bloody square, your pint’s getting warm.

I give a dramatic sigh and gather my stuff up with more purpose. Five minutes later we are standing at the library door peering out into the rain.

“Ready to run for it?” Richard looks out into the looming darkness.

I start to giggle.

“Race you,” I screech, dashing out into the pelting rain.

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 bang 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.”