‘I was having a good time and now you’ve ruined it,’ he tells me.
I stare at him. He needs to apologise, but I’m not going to take back my request. ‘You’ve drunk so much that you don’t need any more. You shouldn’t need any more to have a better time, if you’re already having a good time.’
His face shows confusion as he tries to work out what I’ve said. I watch him, wait for him to apologise, wait for him to understand I’m worried about him. This isn’t how it should be. It isn’t. I’ve had so long with this erratic behaviour of his. I can change Ben. Ican. I just need him tosee.
‘I’m concerned,’ I confess. This is nothing he doesn’t already know. ‘I’m worried. Ages ago we all spoke about your drinking and you said you were going to cut down.’
‘I did,’ he interjects.
‘For a while,’ I protest. ‘And now it’s non-stop again. You rely on it. You’re …’
‘I’m what? Go on. Say it!’
Ollie arrives at my side. ‘Don’t say it,’ he says. ‘Not here. Not now. I can hear you from over there.’ He points to the doorway where he and Liv were standing.
‘Where’s Liv?’ I ask.
‘Toilet,’ Ollie says. ‘Ben, I’m not going to say it, either. And you’re right, it’s your parents’ party, so we need to tone this down right now.’
Ben offers no objection. He clearly doesn’t want to look like a child. But instead he says nothing at all. He won’t even look at me. ‘I’m going to the toilet too.’
He leaves Ollie and me in the hallway and stomps up the old creaking wooden stairs so loudly.
Ollie looks at me. ‘I know why you did it, but why did you have to do it now?’
‘He’s drunk.’
‘He is. Yes.’
‘He’s loud. And abusive. And he’s becoming unbearable and I’m pretending it’s rare, but it’s not. It’s all the time,’ I say.
‘I know,’ Ollie replies. ‘But we can’t do any more than we have done. Perhaps you can talk to his parents.’
‘Maybe,’ I say, feeling cowardice creep over me. ‘They’re just as bad, though. They won’t see the problem. Because then they’ll have to look at themselves.’
‘So what do we do – let Ben go? Leave him to it?’
‘No,’ I protest. ‘That’s the wrong thing too. I can change him,’ I say and, when the words leave my mouth, I feel like an idiot.
Ollie says nothing. He pulls at his tie and undoes his topbutton, moving his neck around. I hear a click somewhere in his spine.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘You have so much going on with uni. You don’t need this drama.’
‘He’s one of my best friends,’ Ollie replies. ‘Who am I going to play Xbox with if Ben drinks himself to death.’ It’s a joke, but there’s truth behind it. ‘I’ll think about what to do, but if it’s going to have to be us who help – his closest friends – then we’ll need to work together.’
‘Thanks,’ I say and reach out and touch Ollie’s suit-jacket sleeve. He looks down at my hand on his arm as if it’s burning him and I remove it. ‘Sorry,’ I go on. ‘I didn’t mean to …’ I’m not sure what I’ve done.
‘No, it’s me,’ he blusters. ‘I don’t know why I looked at it.’
‘Oh. OK.’ Well, this is awkward. ‘How are you and Liv these days?’ Why have I asked that? And why now?
‘I think OK,’ Ollie offers tentatively. ‘Jogging along.’
‘Good,’ I say.
‘You’d probably know more than me, though.’
‘Would I?’ I ask.
