The Art of Keeping Faith

by Anna Bloom

  Ben! I instantly think.

  Baz. Not quite the same thing.

  “Are you coming in?”

  “Oh, shit. Sorry. Yes, can I bring the cat?”

  “Cat? Fucking hell, Lilah, it’s a music shop not a bloody vet.”

  “Oh stop moaning, we will be there in an hour. Hide the tiddly winks in case he tries to eat them.”

  “I give up,” I hear him grumbling as he puts down the phone.

  I think he should be grateful that at least I won’t be drinking all his Budweiser due to my new parenting role.

  20th October

  I may have drunk a few too many of Baz’s Bud’s. I have a blinding headache and no clue where the cat is. The headache is being made dramatically worse by the reappearance of Taylor Swift who is belting out “Come Back … Be Here,” very loudly.

  I came home from work to a voicemail from Ben on the landline. It was not a romantic “I miss you,” voicemail it went like this:

  “Lilah. Is the cat still alive? It worries me you should be home from work but you are not answering the phone. Don’t leave the cat alone for too long and don’t let him out yet, he is too young. There is cat food under the sink. He needs feeding three times a day. I will call tomorrow to check on you guys. Speak soon. Bye. Oh, I love you.”

  Charming.

  I was the afterthought at the end of that message.

  Now where is that bloody cat?

  21st October

  Oh my God, the cat has got to go.

  I have had two hours sleep. I am pretty sure that looking after a kitten is worse than having a baby. Kit the Demon Cat has sat on my chest all night. Every time I dared dose off to sleep he patted my cheek with his paw. When that failed to keep me awake he clawed back the duvet and climbed into the bed with me.

  I gave in at three and just put my arm around him. He then went to sleep but I was awake because I was petrified I was going to suffocate him.

  I texted Ben at four this morning. We are not supposed to be texting each other due to an unfortunate incident in July where we texted merrily away and it cost two hundred quid.

  Me: Ben, next time you can take the kitten with you.

  Ben’s reply came through five minutes later.

  Ben: Don’t be so dramatic, Lilah. It’s a kitten, how hard can it be?

  This was followed by another one two minutes later.

  Ben: Why on earth are you awake at 4.30? xxx

  I did not bother typing a response I just took a photo of Kit the Demon Cat sound asleep spread across my pillow.

  Ben: Ah I see. Miss you, I hope you miss me xx

  Me: Not right now no.

  Ben: Really … ?

  Me: Maybe a little bit …

  Ben: Well so long as it is only a little bit …

  Me: Go away this has probably cost a hundred quid!

  Ben: Conversation with Lilah = Priceless …

  Sarcastic shit.

  Right, I had better get up for Uni. At least I will be able to have a nice snooze at my desk without a furry paw patting me on the face.

  22nd October

  I am slouching down the corridor of the history building after an afternoon of death with Pilchard when I hear a voice call “Delilah.” There are no students about, they have all dashed to freedom.

  “Hi, Professor Johnson,” I say turning around meekly.

  I genuinely like this guy and I know his disappointment in my exceptionally poor start to the term will be immense. Let’s be honest I have not been here. I’ve had man-flu and I have been trailing my hot, rock-god boyfriend around on tour. Not the best way to get a First or even a Third for that matter.

  “Ben’s gone again, then?” he asks getting straight to the point as he ushers me into his over-filled office crammed with books and a crazy, messy desk.

  “Yeah, it’s cool though,” I tell him and myself.

  He gestures for me to sit. I would rather not.

  “So how are your modules going this year?”

  “Fine,” I reply with an audible sigh as I sit on one of the low chairs. They are the same style as the ones we had in Halls of Residence. They look comfy and inviting but they are really designed to give you severe backache and stop you from lounging about procrastinating.

  “Crusades okay?”

  ”Mm.”

  “A few of the course texts are hard going.”

  “A few of them? How about all of them!” I try not to grimace, but fail.

  He jumps up with a start, which makes me jump.

  “Come on, Delilah, let’s go to the library together and have a look at the texts. I will treat you to a coffee on the way.”

  You have got to be kidding me.

  His face is so enthusiastic I don’t want to be rude and hurt his feelings.

  “That’s a very kind offer but I need to get home, my kitten is probably scratching the house to bits.

  “I am sure he will be okay for a little longer. Anyway, don’t you live with Meredith? I am sure she will be on her way home by now, the bell rang a good ten minutes ago.” He chuckles at his own humour and I try not to pull a face in response.

  I am not going to win this. I may as well just give in with good grace. “Okay, then. Let’s go.” I huff and sling my bag over my shoulder.

  Well it is an attempt at good grace.

  Okay, I hate to admit this. In fact it pains me to say it, but my little one-to-one session was incredibly helpful. Professor Johnson pulled out all of the books I needed before sitting next to me. He leafed through them at great speed turning to the relevant chapters and the correct paragraphs.

  This is clearly where I have been going wrong.

  “You make this look so easy.” I gasp as I take a sip of the scorching hot cappuccino he bought me at the cafe.

  “Well, I’ve had years of practice! The trick is to only focus on the information you need and not get side-tracked.”

  “Well, I always start at the beginning.” Surely you’re meant to start a book at the beginning?

  He looks at me over his varifocals. “Delilah, never try to read a whole history book unless you are researching your specialist subject, otherwise you will fry your brain.”

  I think it is fair to say we don’t need to worry about me finding a specialist subject.

  “Is that what you were trying to do last year?” he asks.

  “Uh, yeah.”

  “Well. No wonder you found it so hard! Even historians just scan for the small bit of information that they need! Ha! Imagine reading a whole book just for one sentence!”

  Yes, yes. Imagine doing that …

  Afterwards, as we walk down the library stairs we have one of those awkward ‘adult’ conversations. The one where they try and talk like you are an adult yourself, while at the same time borderline patronising you.

  “Do you have faith in yourself, Lilah?” he questions me in a low voice, which makes me realise he is being serious and as a result I slip down two steps.

  Faith? Of course I bloody don’t. Has he even met me?

  “Uh, well, uh, I don’t know,” is my intellectual reply.

  He grabs me by the elbow to steady me on the last couple of steps. “Well I do, I believe you are a bright spark.”

  I stop on the bottom stair. He must be taking the piss surely. The only bright spark I have is when I am lighting a cigarette.

  He smiles at me and gives me a shrug.

  “Uh, thanks,” I say. Finally we are through the exit.

  “You’re welcome,” he grins, nodding back.

  “Oh, Delilah,” he calls as I walk away, “Stay off the vodka, it’s better for the old grey matter.”

  I smile in response but it may be more of a grimace.

  23rd October

  Midnight

  “What have you been doing?”

  “Oh you know, yesterday I had a hot date in the library. Today I amazed my fellow students and lecturer with my insightful and highly intelligent observations on a pri
mary source. Then I came home and created a gourmet feast before playing with my pussy.”

  Ben who has just taken a deep drag of his cigarette on the other end of the line proceeds to have a full scale coughing fit.

  I take a long drag of my own cigarette while I wait for him to finish, wafting the smoke away from Crazy Kit who is curled up on my lap. It’s the quietest he has been since I got home from Uni and poured my cereal.

  I am sitting in the hallway my back against one wall and my feet against the other. Black cat wedged on my lap. I try to visualise Ben sitting in his hotel room, phone hooked under his ear.

  “What you wearing?” I ask.

  “Navy T-shirt and my sweats.”

  Damn it. That’s my favourite outfit. There is a low stab in my stomach to confirm this.

  “What you wearing?” he asks.

  “Nothing.”

  “In the hallway?”

  “Yep.”

  “I like it.”

  I hear him blow out another lungful of smoke. We both know we need to give up but knowing it and doing it are two completely different things. I did give up in January for five whole minutes.

  “So who was your hot date with? I feel I should be jealous.”

  “And you’re not?”

  “I am a little, I hope you didn’t let him sit at my desk and play footsie with you.”

  “No chance, I squeezed him into my booth instead.”

  “Well, now I am definitely jealous.”

  I can hear the smile in his voice and I can visualise it playing on his lips. It makes the stab of longing in my stomach even more intense. “It was Professor Johnson, he is determined to make a decent student out of me so he decided to give me a one-on-one lecture.”

  “Well so long as that was all he was trying to give you!”

  “Oh, my God, that’s disgusting. He is really old.”

  Ben chuckles across the long distance.

  “So what was the one-on-one for?”

  “I think he is attempting to save me from the wrath of Pratty Pilchard and to keep me off the vodka.”

  “Well then, he has my complete respect.”

  “For the record, Chambers, I have not touched a drop of the stuff since you left. Contrary to popular belief I do not rely solely on high-proof alcohol to maintain my mental stability.”

  “Budweiser?”

  I think for a moment. Baz! What a shit.

  “When did you speak to Baz?”

  “Haha, the other day.” Ben is smirking, I know it.

  “Are you checking up on me?”

  “No, Miss Paranoia. We need new kit and I have refused to use anything that does not come from your shop.”

  Silence.

  “Thank you,” I say eventually around a massive lump that has formed in my throat.

  “You’re welcome.”

  Silence.

  “I miss you,” I say.

  “I miss you, too.”

  “So where are you?”

  “Truthfully?”

  “Well, yes?”

  Please don’t be at Mihraandah’s.

  “I have absolutely no idea where we are, all I know is that we are playing a gig in a couple of hours.”

  Just then I hear a lot of noise from Ben’s end of the phone.

  “Shit, it’s the others,” he grumbles.

  “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.