Ten months earlier
Max could barely see as he downed the last few inches of his pint of beer.
He felt the alcohol swirling around his head, and filling his stomach.
He hadn’t intended to get that drunk and certainly not by himself, but like so often since the accident, he had lost control of himself.
He had ignored phone call after phone call and text messages from Emma, but he wanted to be alone.
Robbie had called and left him a voicemail, but he had even ignored that because he couldn’t deal with people on that day.
Did they even know what day it was? No-one had mentioned it.
It was his mum’s birthday, and to celebrate, he had gone out early to have a few drinks in her honour, but it had escalated and at nearly closing time, Max was blind drunk.
He attempted to get up, staggered, then almost fell over, before he was helped up by a member of staff.
‘Youse all right, pal?’ said the barman with a Scottish accent.
‘Robbie’s Scottish,’ slurred Max. ‘Just like youse!’
‘Maybe go home, eh. Do youse want me to call youse a taxi, pal?’
‘Nah, nah, I’m good, mate. Girlfriend lives round the corner,’ replied Max, before he began walking out of the pub, hitting chairs and tables on the way. ‘See youse later, pal!’ he shouted across the pub, weaving his way towards the exit.
It was cold outside, and a few drops of rain had begun to fall.
Where was he? Max staggered on the spot before he reached into his pocket and pulled out his mobile phone.
Fourteen missed calls, four voicemails and eight text messages.
What was going on? Max knew only two things.
He was hungry and wanted something to eat, and then he was going to see Emma.
He put his phone to his ear, to listen to the last voicemail from Emma.
‘Max, I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep watching you destroy your life like this.
I know what happened to your parents was terrible, the worst thing imaginable, but they wouldn’t want to see this version of you.
Self-destructive, in pain, but not willing to seek help.
I love you, Max, I love you so much, but I can’t keep enabling you and by staying together I am.
So, I’m sorry but I’m breaking up with you.
I don’t want to see you again. It’s too painful, too hard, and I can’t see a happy ending for us.
Please get help, Max. You need professional help.
Talk to someone because you can get over this.
You can have a life again. I’m just sorry it can’t be with me. Bye, Max, bye.’
Then she was gone, and Max stood in the street, swaying from side to side, the brisk evening air mixing with the alcohol in his body, sending him into a spin.
The whole world felt like it was turning and twisting, and he couldn’t comprehend what Emma had been talking about.
He needed to see her. It felt like the only thing that mattered at that moment.
Emma lived in East London, and he was in central London, but he couldn’t get his head around getting on the tube or a bus.
He would get an Uber instead, and then he could be at her flat share in no time.
Maybe then she could explain everything, and they could talk.
He fiddled on his phone, attempting to order an Uber, and then somehow he did and it arrived soon after.
At first the driver was reluctant to let him in, but he managed to somehow talk him around.
He also promised to pay extra if he was sick, and chucked a twenty-pound note in the driver's direction as a sort of downpayment.
The drive to Emma’s flat took around twenty minutes, and he attempted to text her a few times, but she didn’t reply. Instead, Robbie called.
‘Robbie, you old bastard, what’s going on?’ said Max into his phone, seeing the driver watching him suspiciously in his mirror.
‘Emma rang me, pal, and said youse need help. Where are youse?’
‘I don’t need help, pal. I’m heading to see her now. I’ll square it away. No worries, me old Scottish mate. Is fine. Is all fine. No worries.’
‘Can youse just come home?’ asked a concerned Robbie. ‘Sleep it off, and youse can talk with Emma when youse sober.’
‘I’m fine! I am one hundred per cent sober as a judge.’ Max laughed, as the Uber stopped at a light. ‘Can I smoke in here, mate?’
‘No, no smoking!’ said the driver, an Asian man with a stern look on his face. ‘Or you’ll have to get out. No smoke!’
‘OK, OK, keep your hair on, mate. Jesus, Robbie, you’d think I’d asked him to have a wank in the back of the car,’ Max laughed.
‘Just don’t do anything stupid. I’m on my way.’
‘There’s no need. Honestly, mate. Hundred per cent. Right, see you later.’
Max hung-up, and sat back in his seat, waiting to get to Emma’s flat. He opened the window despite the chilly evening to get some fresh air, and it was warm in the car. It would be all right. Everything would be all right.
Eventually the car stopped, and Max stumbled out of it, before he slammed the door and the car drove off.
Max was standing outside Emma’s flat. He would just have a quick cigarette, and then go inside.
He didn’t usually smoke, but it was an old habit he had acquired at university, which had come back since the accident, and mainly when he drank.
He lit a cigarette, and then he smoked on the pavement.
It was dark, and underneath her flat was a small parade of shops, including the Tesco Express he had been in many times when he had stayed over at her flat.
They had popped in to get frozen meals for dinner, bottles of wine, and then in the morning, croissants and coffee, or a pain au chocolat.
So many memories were inside that Tesco Express, but at that moment as he stood outside, smoking his cigarette, it was closed, and all he could think about was that he couldn’t remember the last time he had gone in there with Emma.
When was the last time they had shopped together, and what had they bought?
‘Max?’ said Stacey, one of Emma’s flatmates, appearing suddenly ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Just having a wee fag, then I’ll be up.’
‘No, you can’t come up, Max. Did you get Em’s message?’
‘Yeah, yeah, I can, we can talk about it. Is going to be all right. Promise.’
‘She doesn’t want to see you, Max,’ said Stacey, louder than before.
Stacey worked in PR, was well-spoken and wasn’t afraid of drunken boys, especially after spending a summer during university working the nightclub doors in Spain, where she had dealt with all sorts of disgusting, drunken men.
Stacey was also tall, worked out, and had a black belt in karate.
Stacey could handle herself. Unfortunately, Max was too drunk to care what Stacey thought or said.
‘I’m going to see her,’ said Max, finishing his cigarette before he tossed it on the floor. ‘She’s my girlfriend, and—’
‘Not anymore,’ said Stacey, standing in front of Max, blocking his entrance on the way into the flat.
‘I just want to talk,’ said Max, stepping closer to Stacey. ‘Is all.’
‘But she doesn’t want to talk with you. Just go home and sleep it off, Max, and maybe you can call her tomorrow.’
‘Just move out of the fucking way,’ said Max, walking forwards, and in his mind, past Stacey, but she blocked his way with her body. She wasn’t budging. Their bodies were quickly pressed against each other. ‘Fucking move!’
‘You aren’t going up, Max. She’s upset and the last thing she needs right now is you going up in this state. So, like I said, go home, sleep it off, and maybe tomorrow—’
As she spoke, Max tried to push past her.
His mind was in that drunken state, when he thought he could do whatever he wanted, like the young male, high on Stella Artois outside a nightclub, who suddenly thinks he’s unstoppable, and decides to take on a bouncer twice his size.
Alcohol gave Max the delusion that he could easily brush past Stacey and march into the flat, but instead she stopped him with a straight arm, and Max fell to the floor with a thud.
He felt a searing pain in one of his knees as it hit the floor, but the alcohol gave him the strength and determination to keep going.
‘Just go home, Max. I don’t want to hurt you or have to call the police.’
‘Fuck you, bitch!’ shouted Max, and this time he swung a fist in her direction, but it was weak and poorly aimed, and Stacey grabbed it, twisted his arm around and pushed him back onto the floor with ease.
Another pain hit his shoulder, and Max felt an overwhelming emotion grab him, and tears sprang to his eyes.
An anger swept through him because he just wanted to talk with his girlfriend, and Stacey wouldn’t let him. ‘I’m going to fucking—’
‘Just stop, Max, please, and go home,’ said Stacey, as he tried to get up again, but she easily pushed him down onto the ground.
This time he lost his balance, and fell on his face, a bloody cut appearing on his chin, and the pain was getting worse, but he couldn’t stop.
He cried harder, and then he swore at Stacey, calling her the worst names he could think of because he hated her. She was standing between him and Emma.
As he tried to get up again, drops of blood falling onto the ground, a car pulled up and Robbie got out, before he ran across.
‘Jesus, pal, what the fuck are youse doing?’ said Robbie, looking down at the bloodied mess of Max that was on the floor in front of him.
‘Em doesn’t want to see him, and he won’t take no for an answer,’ said Stacey, who had barely broken a sweat dealing with Max.
‘I’m sorry. I’ll get him home now,’ said Robbie, kneeling down beside Max. ‘Come on, pal. Let’s get youse home, eh?’
Max wanted to fight on, but the energy he had suddenly left him, and as Robbie pulled him into his car, all Max wanted to do was sleep.
His whole body was so heavy, his eyes could barely stay open, but as they pulled away, Max did look up for a moment.
He looked at the window of the flat above Tesco and he saw the figure of Emma that had been watching him, tears streaking down her face.
Then Max closed his eyes, the bumps of the car, sending him off to sleep.
In the morning, he would have to face the physical and emotional pain of the night he’d just had, but at that moment he couldn’t care.
The last thought he had before he drifted off to sleep was a memory he had of his mum, dancing around their kitchen, laughing and singing with Max, to ‘Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go’ by Wham!
. It was then that Max realised that the song was playing on the radio in the car.
A memory sparked in his subconscious from a song he barely heard as he fell asleep.
It was the power of memory that they could still work in a state like that, which made him wonder if it would ever end because as much as he loved his parents, and cherished all the memories he had of them, he knew he couldn’t hold onto them forever.
At some point in the future, he would have to move on, but slumped in that car with Robbie, driving through the dark, desolate streets of late-night London, he couldn’t imagine when that would be.
Everything felt impossible. Everything hurt.