Chapter Nineteen
I take a second glass of champagne as I stand next to Ben at his parents’ party.
He’s talking animatedly about us, our life, his hopes, my work.
He’s so good in a room, working a crowd.
Life and soul. Chrissie and David have caterers, and a young woman in a black-and-white waitressing uniform patrols the room with a tray, offering up fresh glasses of fizz and discreetly removing dead glasses.
Canapés do the rounds too and, as this is a drinks party, there won’t be much food after this.
The cosy lounge – I mean drawing room (I’ll never get used to calling it that) – with its low beams and twinkling candles feels even cosier tonight, now it’s full of their friends.
Ollie and Liv are here too, ensconced in the corner, talking and avoiding the other guests.
Ollie hates small talk, and I think Liv’s merely pleased she and Ollie are spending a weekend away, although she says she doesn’t trust herself near the swimming pool, once she’s had a drink.
And neither do Chrissie and David, who I overheard when Ben was on the phone to them that he and his friends were categorically not allowed anywhere near the pool, because they couldn’t deal with ‘that girl’s drama on a weekend like this’.
I assume they meant Liv. Despite her cut-glass accent, they don’t like Liv, either.
So perhaps they’re not snobs. Perhaps they’re just not nice people.
Ben and I look good together and, despite the fact he’s still at university, friends of his parents – people I’ve met maybe only a handful of times – keep asking if we might get married.
I try to hide my aghast expression, as we are both so young.
Ben laughs it off, asking if people are ‘high’ or ‘drunk’ in order to deflect it.
‘We’re only just twenty,’ I say – a bit more articulately than calling people inebriated.
I glance at Ben. Actually I think he’s inebriated.
‘Are you OK?’ I ask, when I get him on his own at the bottom of the stairs in the large entrance hall. The flickering candle-vibe continues out here and fresh flowers are littered liberally in little vases. I think Chrissie’s had a florist come in and do all this.
‘Of course I’m OK,’ Ben says loudly. ‘You?’ He sounds pissy. Annoyed. He doesn’t normally get drunk. Sort of absorbs it discreetly into his system.
‘How much have you had?’ The words slip out and sound accusing.
‘It’s a party,’ he replies through gritted teeth.
‘You look drunk, though,’ I say and those words have even more of an accusing tone than the previous sentence. ‘I don’t mean that. I mean …’ No, I do mean that. ‘I wonder if you should have a glass of water or a coffee or—’
‘What are you doing?’ he hisses. ‘It’s my parents’ party.’
‘Exactly,’ I annunciate slowly. ‘You’re being really loud.’
Chrissie walks past, gives us a happy look. ‘Having a good time?’ she asks and thankfully doesn’t wait for a response.
I smile and nod anyway, but I doubt she sees, or cares if I’m having a good time, which I’m not, despite the fact that I am trying.
‘I want you to cut back and stop being so loud,’ I say as if we’re in our mid-fifties and I’m a long-suffering wife.
Ben inhales and exhales and looks at me hard the whole time. God, will this be our life? Are we going to turn into Chrissie and David? Will we snipe at each other passive-aggressively until we die?
I swallow. I’m not taking any shit on this. ‘Stop drinking.’
‘Fuck off,’ Ben says and my mouth drops open.
‘What?’ I whisper. I’m so shocked I can’t even speak properly.
‘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. I can. I just need him to see.
‘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 top button, 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.
‘You talk, no?’
‘A bit,’ I reply warily.
‘Am I doing OK?’
My heart goes out to him. ‘Are you doing OK? With Liv?’
‘Yeah,’ he says, looking nervous. ‘I get told off quite a lot, so I imagine not. I’m not sure I’m quite what Liv had in mind for a boyfriend, and I’m trying to change to fit what I think she wants, and she’s not telling me off quite so much any more, so I must be doing OK.’
My mouth drops a bit. Oh, wow! Poor Ollie.
This is a little weird, hearing it from his point of view.
It made perfect sense to me when Liv was telling me her side of it.
I wonder if this is how Ben feels. I want to change Ben.
But it’s for his own health. Liv wants to change Ollie. But into what? And why?
‘She just wants you to be more loving, affectionate. I think that’s it. But I do also think she’s accepted now that you’re not really like that. So … I wouldn’t worry.’
‘Sometimes I feel we’re so grown-up, and then at other times I feel like I’m still a kid,’ Ollie confesses. ‘Getting it all wrong, but expected to get it all right.’
‘I know what you mean.’
‘It’ll work out in the end, won’t it?’ Ollie asks. I really hope he’s not looking for an honest answer. ‘For all of us,’ he states.
‘I hope so.’ Although I feel the gulf between Ben and me widening. I need to fix it, close the chasm back up again.
‘Have you spoken to Liv about this?’ I ask.
‘I feel that’s all we talk about,’ Ollie says with a sigh. ‘And when I speak to Liv about it, it doesn’t end well. She gets defensive and then it sort of ends in a row or with her crying, and I feel awful.’
He looks so vulnerable, his brown eyes so open and honest.
‘Sometimes I think it’s better just to keep quiet,’ he says despondently.
I glance upstairs, to where Ben has stomped off to queue for the bathroom. ‘Yeah,’ I say, returning my gaze to Ollie. ‘I think you might be right.’