‘No. I’ll let you all sleep.’
‘I’m not sleeping,’ I tell Ollie quickly, because I don’t want him to go. ‘If you want to come up … it’s OK. Ben’s asleep. Mum’s gone to bed, and I’m too wired to sleep.’
He’s quiet and I wait. I want Ollie to come up. I want to talk to him, explain.
‘You sure?’ he asks.
‘I’ll tell the concierge to let you in,’ I say before signing off and hanging up.
Moments later the lift doors open and Ollie stands looking awkward, hands in pockets. He also looks tired, dishevelled and, dare I say it, kind ofhot.I’m clearly tired after all. I’d never normally think this.
‘Hi,’ I say as if I haven’t seen him a few hours ago.
‘Hi,’ he replies awkwardly and steps out of the doors. ‘I still think it’s really cool the lift opens directly into your apartment.’
‘Only if the concierge taps the button to take you to the right floor.’
‘Imagine if I ended up in the MP’s flat at this hour, by mistake. Doors opening up into … God knows what.’
I shudder. So does Ollie. Then we both smile. Maybe it will be all right between us, after what I said.
‘Cup of tea?’
‘Party over then? Champagne forgotten?’ he says as he looks over to the sofa. I see his shoulders drop a little as he sees that Ben’s safe.
‘Doesn’t have to be. Want a glass of fizz? Loads of bottles are open.’
‘I didn’t mean that. I meant everyone’s gone? But … fuck it, why not? It’s been that kind of a night.’
‘Has it?’ I ask, worried. ‘Because of …?’ Ollie’s eyebrow rises, but he won’t commit to an answer, so I push him. ‘Because of what I said?’
‘No,’ he says, followed by, ‘maybe. A bit.’
He looks at me for more and I pour two glasses of champagne and hand him one. We stand in the kitchen, because I don’t want to wake Ben. Somehow, without me noticing, he’s gone from asleep with his head lolled against the back of the sofa to being totally horizontal, arm tucked under his head, blanket askew, but mostly over him.
‘He’s out,’ Ollie says, watching me watch Ben. ‘Totally gone.’
‘How much did he drink?’ I ask.
Ollie shrugs. ‘I kept an eye on him for as long as I could. A few. Then a few more. But it’s a party, so … I don’t know. He won’t change.’
I nod, sadly. ‘I know,’ I say.
Ollie takes a large glug of champagne. ‘I only drink at weekends,’ he says. ‘And I’m not on shift tomorrow.’
‘It’s OK,’ I reply. ‘I’m not judging you. Or me, in fact.’ I take a sip of my own fizz. ‘Or Ben. Not really. I feel sad for him. It doesn’t affect him now, not really. But it will do, one day. When he can’t handle it any more. When he lets it take control of him.’
‘I think it already has. He can’t stop drinking, so he’s not in control. The addiction is in control of him.’
I nod, look at the floor.
‘I’ve been thinking about taking Ben away for a week. Self-catering. No alcohol,’ Ollie confesses.
‘Like, cold turkey?’
‘I think he needs some downtime,’ Ollie says. ‘He needs a break. An alcohol-free break. He’s miserable. Drinking is the only thing he looks forward to.’
‘That’s so awful. So sad,’ I answer unhappily. Then I ponder for a moment. ‘What about rehab?’
