‘What should I do?’ Aury asks me after Liv leaves us to join in the fun.
Aury’s eyes are wide with sadness, tears gathering, and I wipe them away. She looks directly into my own eyes as if I have all the answers, as if I can make this go away. I wish I could. I wish I could make Ben stop. I wish, back at uni on that first day, I’d had the courage to step forward – bemoreto her. I wish I’d done something to let her know I liked her, before Ben did. But I didn’t. And now look where we are. Although I don’t know if she’d have felt the same, if anything would have come of it and if it would have made the blindest bit of difference. The fates might still have pushed Ben and Aury together anyway and we might still be standing here together, having this God-awful conversation.
‘I can’t tell you what to do,’ I say, knowing full well what’s about to happen. Aury has to leave Ben – she has to. For her own mental well-being. This can’t go on, although a small part of me doesn’t want her to dump him. Because I know what that will bring. She’ll leave. She won’t stay here foranother year. We’ll fragment. We’ll fall apart. We haven’t signed the tenancy for this place yet. We’re due to next month and we’ve told the estate agent we will. But that’s all over now, isn’t it? Because tomorrow Aury is going to dump Ben. I know this is what’s going to happen. It’ll be awful. There will be tears. I think we’ll all cry. And then she’ll leave. By the end of the day she’ll be gone. I know it. She’ll pay her rent until the end of the summer and she’ll leave with dignity, but she’ll leave nonetheless.
I can talk her out of it. I can tell Aury to keep trying – that I’ll help more with Ben. Or … if she hangs on, we can think of something. But I can’t say it. It wouldn’t be honest. Because I don’t know what to do about Ben. I don’t. Not right now. Maybe his parents need to be told. Maybe his tutors? I have no idea. The counsellors at uni can help. But I can’t. And neither can Aury, because Ben has to want to help himself and, right now, he doesn’t. He just doesn’t want to help himself.
‘One, two, three: drink!’ everyone shouts. I wince. Ben’s unending self-destruction is painful to watch, to hear. I can see him from my position in the hallway. He’s oblivious to what’s going on around him, to what he’s doing to his girlfriend, to what he’s doing to all of us and to himself. He told me he was on track for a third-class degree and I couldn’t say I was surprised. I watch him now, having the time of his life. He never goes to lectures. He won’t say it, but he’s relying on his dad to find him a job. But I wonder if his father knows his son is failing and doesn’t seem to care. Will he be so willing to help then?
‘I’m so sorry,’ I tell her. And I know this sparks the end, thedeath of our foursome: Aury leaving this house, my world. I want to ask her to stay in touch, but I don’t want to voice what I know is about to happen. For a moment longer I want to stay like this, with her in my arms and the four of us still together. Liv watches us miserably. She must know what’s coming too.
‘Get the fuck off the table,’ they all shout and I close my eyes, wish it away.
Aury tenses at Ben’s voice and then lets herself relax into my embrace, loosen in my arms, and I hold her tighter, her head resting against me; and for a moment, just a moment, it feels so right – her being in my arms like this. But it’s not. Despite the anxiety, now feels the right time to let go. And then, because we both know what’s coming, I say, ‘Go and do what you have to do. I’ll always be here for you if you need me. For whatever you decide.’
It’s hard to watch Aury cry, but silent tears roll down her face as she gives me a final resolute look, leaves my arms and goes upstairs, presumably towards her bed, to wait for Ben. Maybe she’ll break up with him tonight. Maybe she’ll do it tomorrow morning. Either way, once she’s made a decision, she goes through with it, if Aury dropping out of uni was anything to go by. I know this for sure: this time tomorrow everything will have changed.
I turn back and look into the kitchen, and Ben’s staring right at me. How much of that did he see? Or hear? He can’t have heard anything over the partying, over the shouting, the swearing, the drinking. I don’t want to hurt him. But, right now, he’s hurting all of us.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Aurora
I wait for Ben in his room for what feels like an eternity. The noise from downstairs slowly diminishes, the front door opening and closing periodically as guests start to leave. I hear people come upstairs to use the loo and every time there’s a tread on the stairs Iwillit to be Ben. Or Liv, so I can talk to her. Or Ollie, so he can hold me tight and tell me everything will be OK. I think I want it to be Ollie more than any of them. But that would only put off the inevitable.
I really need Ben to come to bed so we can talk and, eventually, he does. He staggers in and I should be nervous, given what I’m going to do. But I’m not. I’m strangely calm. I’ve had a couple of hours to plan what I’m going to say and how I’m going to deliver it.
‘You’re awake,’ he says. He’s not smiling. He looks disappointed I’m not asleep, and I wonder if he’s been hanging out downstairs so he could purposely avoid me. He must think I’m cross, think I’m fuming at how he’s behaved – at how terribly he’s fallen off the wagon. But I’m not. I’m just disappointed.
‘I love you,’ I tell him.
Because I do. And because it’s important that he knows this when I say what I say next. I remember the first time I told him this. Alcohol had been the cause of Liv’s near-death experience, of Ben doing something incredible and saving her; of his terrible parents making me hate them, making me fall in love with their son. And then I told Ben I loved him. Because I did. I still do. But although this declaration of love follows another alcohol-fuelled disaster, this is a different kind of love being spoken about, because it’s not the start of something. It’s the end.
‘I love you,’ I tell him again. He’s drunk. But not so drunk that he can’t sustain a conversation. He must know what’s coming, because he doesn’t say it back. Instead he looks forlornly at the floor.
‘I sense a “but” coming,’ he replies. His gaze lifts, his eyes are bloodshot.
‘I can’t do this any more.’
Ben nods, slowly. Resigned. He doesn’t even pretend he didn’t see it coming, and I think this surprises me more than anything. Because if he’d known this was on the cards, why didn’t he do anything to stop it? Did he provoke me into this reaction? Is that what tonight was all about? I shake my head sadly. I thought this would be difficult, but if anything, Ben’s just made it a hundred times easier. He’s not putting up a fight and this saddens me so much. He’s not fighting for us. Not any more.
I want to list all the reasons why. But it’s as if he doesn’tcare. Or as if he already knows and doesn’t want a list of his failings read out to him. I can’t blame him for that.
‘I’m going to leave,’ I say. I’ve spent the last couple of hours packing up some of my clothes and toiletries. Everything I need is in two holdalls inside my room. I knew, in my heart of hearts, that whatever Ben said in here wouldn’t undo my decision. I knew I’d leave. But I didn’t expect zero fight while I did it.
I want to move towards Ben and hold him one final time. I’m not sure what it will do to me, because Idostill love him. I just don’t love the man he’s turned into. Perhaps he was always going to be this way and I didn’t see the signs. This mess is mostly my fault.
‘Is it because of Ollie?’ Ben surprises me by asking, before I even get the chance to step forward and hug him.
‘What?’ I ask with genuine surprise.
‘Is it because of Ollie?’ he asks again. ‘Are you two cheating on me and Liv?’ Ben’s eyes look into mine with an unnerving sense of purpose.
‘Oh my God,’ I say, still stunned. ‘No. Why would you think that?’
‘Because I’ve seen the two of you. Small, snatched moments. Blink and you’d miss it – moments of … close proximity, of you touching him or Ollie touching you. Tonight was a case in point.’
‘What on earth are you talking about? “Proximity”?’
