Page 17 of How We Loved

“Ben. It’s okay.”

“What about this is okay?”

“Well, when’s the tour? Realistically, it’s not going to be in the next couple of months. You can’t mill around the place with me all the time? Writing and playing is your work, your job. And if you’re being offered a good deal with the label as a solo artist, I say, take it. It is what you want isn’t it?”

I don’t know who looked more scared at the reasonable thought I was articulating, me or him.

“What if something goes wrong, Lilah.”

“What can possibly go wrong? It’s a tour, a small UK one at that. It’s not like they are asking you to go and live in LA again.” My gaze narrowed. “Are they?”

“No, not at all.” He met my inquisitive stare dead on. “They want me to do a one-off live lounge for the BBC, though. Next week.”

I stared at him wide-eyed. I would have jumped up and down, but I didn’t want to go through Meredith and Tristan’s ceiling. “Oh my God, that’s amazing.”

“It’s at Abbey Road.”

“What the Fuck!!!” I put my hands over the bump so the baby couldn’t hear. “What the fuck! That’s amazing! Oh my god.”

“It’s next week.”

“Oh my God. Hang on. I’m going to pee myself.”

How amazing is that, though? BBC? Abbey Road? If this doesn’t kick him out of this funk he’s got going on, I don’t know what will.

21st October

Ben has a new game. He plays with the baby while I'm asleep. They play a little game of "you poke me, and I'll poke you back," which sounds wrong on so many levels but is kind of cute.

He doesn't want to go and do Abbey Road without me tomorrow, but I don't want to be uncomfortable all day. And, okay, maybe I don't want to be Benjamin Chambers' enormously pregnant girlfriend on show to lots of arty super cool people either. Maybe that's selfish of me, and I really don't want to be a selfish girlfriend, but I'm just so uncomfortable; I'm pretty sure my lungs are no longer inhaling at full capacity.

It's the BBC.

22nd October

Ben's gone. I'm going to have a day of just relaxing and not being watched like a hawk.

"I'll call you every half an hour," he said as he kissed me and then kissed the bump and then kissed me again.

"Please don't."

He smirked, his sexy little lip hitched, and then went out into the waiting car. The BBC sent some swanky, sleek black car for him. I watched him go, guitar case in hand.

Yep, that's my famous guitar-playing boyfriend, alright.

Right, time to relax.

Netflix.

Alone time.

Yes, please.

Just noticed how dirty the blinds are. I'm going to give them a quick wipe-over.

Later

I got Mum'd. “Yoohoo,” she called through the letterbox. And I’m not talking about our internal door either - nope, she was outside on the street, and I could still hear her. That was after ignoring the buzzing of the doorbell for a solid two minutes.