Read Online The Art of Keeping Faith by Anna Bloom - Free Book Online

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