Chapter Thirty-Four
‘Ben’s definitely straight,’ I tell the ridiculously fit and handsome Toby later that night. He reminds me of Hugh Grant in his heyday. All floppy hair and eye-penetrating charisma.
‘I’m not too sure,’ Toby protests.
‘You’ve got to trust me on this,’ I tell him.
‘I’m normally very good at this,’ Toby says. ‘What about your friend Ollie?’
‘Also not gay. Are you sure you’re very good at this?’
‘Not so much now, no. Have you met your awful neighbour from upstairs? I think he’s some sort of backbench Tory MP.’
I smile. ‘Not yet. But I hear he’s quite a character. And, from the sounds of it, also not gay.’
‘Definitely not gay,’ Toby says, reaching for a bottle of fizz from one of the many ice-buckets dotted around. ‘Or hiding it very well.’ He tops up my glass and his.
The evening is mellowing; my playlist has moved on to Ibiza lounge as only the diehard dwindlers hang on.
Ben and Liv returned after an hour or so and no one was sporting a black eye, so I take that as a win.
I’m desperate to catch up with Liv and find out how it went.
She and Ben spoke for a bit back here too, with Liv introducing James to Ben.
James had got embroiled in a conversation about politics with the MP and hadn’t seemed to notice Liv’s absence.
There are guests outside on the balcony taking in the view, wrapped in coats and smoking.
Some are on the large, sunken white sofas playing on their phones and drinking or chatting idly.
Every now and again someone wanders over, coat in hand, to give me a hug, say bye, how we’ll catch up again soon – good party.
People have made new friends, new connections.
Mum’s definitely been chatted up by one of the guys her age who lives in our building, and I can’t wait for a debrief later as to whether or not she’s interested. I suspect not. She never is.
I’ve had two of my old school friends here, who seemed surprised to be invited, given we’ve hardly spoken throughout these past few years.
We caught up a little tonight, but the guilt is real at having let most of my old friendships slide by.
I realise I could have made more friends at uni if I hadn’t dropped out and then worked so much, or had kept up with those I loved at senior school and sixth form.
I feel I replaced them with Ben, Liv and Ollie. It was too easy.
Ollie. I close my eyes, cringing at how I called him boring. To his face. I don’t even think that. He’s just the sensible one.
Living together, having been thrown together like that … made it easy to stay in our bubble, to live a new kind of life. It was such an easy group friendship. Until it wasn’t.
Toby and I finish chatting and he leaves his drink on the side, gives me a kiss on both cheeks and heads off towards the lift, slightly less of an enigma to me now than he was before.
Liv and James come and give me a hug, taking Toby’s cue, and slowly, one by one, at around half-past two in the morning people leave until it’s just me and Mum surveying the dirty plates and glasses.
The catering staff left long ago. And Ollie must have taken his dad with him.
I didn’t see either of them again all night.
‘Er, Princess?’ Mum says in a stage-whisper.
I turn around and Mum is standing by one of the white sofas, pointing at the one sole remaining guest, who is fast asleep.
‘Oh,’ I say in a surprised laugh, because Ben is still here. Before he was playing on his phone, but now he’s asleep.
I turn off the playlist and wander over. Mum sits on another sofa and kicks off her high heels.
‘Ooof, that’s better,’ she says, sinking into the seat. ‘What shall we do with him? Shall we tuck him in? Leave him to sleep?’
‘Yeah, why not?’ I say, taking a seat next to Mum. I put my head on her shoulder, content that the party went so well, but now ready for bed. And at the back of my mind is that niggling feeling about offending Ollie.
‘What do we think? Tired or boozed up?’ She nods in Ben’s direction.
‘Probably a bit of both?’
‘I thought as much. I think it’s very admirable, Princess, that you want to remain friends with him.’
‘Thanks. I think.’
‘I’m pleased you got out when you did.’
I’m not sure how to reply to this, so I don’t. I just give Mum’s leg a squeeze and watch Ben’s chest rise and fall as he slumbers on.
‘I did love him,’ I confide in a whisper as I don’t want him to hear, although Ben does look like he’s out for the count. ‘I still do. But not – you know …’
‘I know, darling. I’m glad. Plenty more fish.’
I nod, against her shoulder. Ollie said the same thing.
‘But not Toby, though, Princess,’ Mum forges on. ‘Because you know he’s—’
‘Yes, Mum. I know.’
‘All right then, love. I’ll go and grab Ben a blanket. Be right back.’
Mum gets up and goes to the utility room to fetch a blanket I didn’t even know we owned.
She gives me a kiss on the cheek, tells me to leave the mess and we can deal with it in the morning.
Then she goes to bed and I hear her quietly close the door to her bedroom and en suite.
I’ll bet she sleeps well, after running around serving drinks all night.
I’m pleased she got time to chat with people too and to make new friends with some of the people in our block.
I jump suddenly as my phone rings on the kitchen counter.
I stand up to get it, running across the artisan-tiled floor quickly, so that I can stop the noise from waking Ben and Mum, although I suspect she’s diligently removing her smoky eye make-up rather than simply collapsing into bed, which is what I’d intended to do.
It’s Ollie on the phone, so I swipe quickly. ‘Hi. You OK?’ I ask, because of the time of night he’s ringing.
‘Yeah. I left something behind.’
‘Oh, right. What is it? I’ll see if I can find it and keep it safe for you.’
‘It’s Ben,’ he says. ‘I left Ben behind. Is he there?’
I laugh. ‘Yes. He’s asleep.’
I hear Ollie sigh with relief. ‘I went home after – you know … Anyway, I went home without Ben. I remembered my dad, though. I can’t believe I left Ben. I was in charge of him.’
‘In charge?’ I question. It’s late. I’m not sure I’m quite comprehending. ‘Well, I can be in charge of Ben for a bit if you like, because he’s sleeping on the sofa.’
‘OK. I can … go, I guess. If you’re sure?’
‘Go? Are you downstairs?’
‘Yeah, the concierge was very particular about not letting me in at this hour, so I’m in the street calling you,’ he tells me.
‘The concierge is very good,’ I say. ‘Keeps the riff-raff out.’
Ollie laughs. ‘Charming!’
‘Want me to buzz you up?’
‘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 of hot. 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?’
‘I’m not sure. It feels too much. I wish I had the answers. I’m being pulled into a hundred different thought-processes. I want to help, but …’
‘You have your own life too,’ I finish for him.