The Return
Up the narrow staircase, Oliver stepped into the courtyard. In the basement of the terraced house was the small workshop where hed been repairing office equipment for the past two months. The sky was heavy with grey clouds, but no rain fell. For October, the weather was unseasonably mild. Though it was barely five in the afternoon, the light was already fading.
Oliver didnt own a carhe only took the bus in foul weather. He shrugged his shoulders and walked out of the yard. Once, hed worked in IT, earning a decent wage, with a family to come home to. But a string of absurd, tragic events had cost him everythinghis wife, his child, and finally, his job. An old university mate had taken pity on him, offering work fixing computers in his little repair shop.
But Oliver drank. He was late often, sometimes skipping work altogether. That afternoon, Simon had warned himthough Oliver was a natural with machines, able to fix anything even when half-cut, patience had its limits. If he kept this up, Simon would have to let him go. Oliver knew he was spiralling, teetering on the edge. The thought terrified him. If Simon threw him out, where would he go?
The streetlamps flickered to life as darkness fell quickly. His body ached for a drink, his jaw tight with craving. Passing cafés, corner shops, and pubs with their glowing windows, Oliver kept his head down, shoulders hunched, forcing himself to walk faster. He could hold out. Hed promised Simon.
He didnt consider himself an alcoholic, but two days without a drink was his limit. Nights were the worstwithout it, sleep was impossible.
There was the little off-licence he often stopped at on his way home. Better to nip in for a quick half-pint than buy a whole bottle at the supermarket. But he knew himselfa few drinks would lead to meeting a mate, and he wouldnt leave until he was legless. Then morning would come with its pounding head, the guilt, the shame. Hesitating only a moment, Oliver strode past.
See? Hed done it. He almost felt like a hero. Until the next pub came into view.
His flat wasnt far now. One last shop stood between him and home. Oliver stopped before the bright window, shelves of bottles stacked neatly inside, calling to him like a lighthouse to a ship lost in fog.
His feet carried him toward the doorthen, halfway there, he veered away, shoving his hands deep into his coat pockets. Jaw clenched, he forced himself to walk on.
«You could still turn back,» a desperate voice whispered in his head. Oliver broke into a run, breath ragged, only stopping when the door of his building slammed shut behind him.
He rarely returned home sober, so when he stepped into his bachelors den, the mess struck him like a slap.
The fridge was nearly emptya tin of sardines, a quarter-loaf of stale bread, a hardened lump of cheddar. He ought to nip out for pasta and eggs, but that meant passing the off-licence again. No, hed manage.
To distract himself until the shops closed, he cleaned. Tossed laundry into the machine, scrubbed sticky plates, wiped down the crumb-covered table, mopped the floor. The flat smelled better now, though the sharp scent of washing powder couldnt mask the stale reek of booze and cigarettes.
A glance at the clock. The shops wouldnt shut for hours. He could still run outwouldnt even need his coat. But then Simons disapproving frown flashed in his mind. Oliver moved to the window.
The house across the street glowed with warm yellow squares of light. He imagined a family gathered around a kitchen table a couple on the sofa, watching telly, their son in the next room pretending to study while listening to music through headphones. Just as Oliver had done when he was young.
A wave of loneliness crashed over him so violently he nearly groaned aloud.
The washing machine beeped. He hung the laundry, drank tea with the last of the stale cheese, but the clock still showed ten minutes until closing. He could make it Instead, he picked up the phone and dialled his wifes number.
«Oliver, I told you not to call in the evenings.»
«Lovely to hear your voice too. Put Emily on.»
«Are you drunk? Shes been asleep for hours.»
«Im sober.»
A sigh. «Sleep it off. And dont call again. Emilys just starting to warm to Daniel»
He wanted to say Daniel wasnt her father, that she was his daughter, that he missed herbut the line went dead.
Odd that Sarah hadnt blocked his number yet. That fragile hope flickeredmaybe not all was lost. After all, a womans «never» often meant «maybe.»
Oliver made up the sofa with fresh sheets and lay down, knowing sleep wouldnt come. The craving gnawed at him, but there was nothing left to drink.
***
Hed met Sarah at university. Theyd stayed up all night in the library, her laughing as he struggled through a programming assignment, his chest tight with something he couldnt name. Years later, shed look at him the same way when he fixed the toaster with a screwdriver and a prayer. He closed his eyes, the silence of the flat pressing in, and for the first time in months, he let himself remember her hand in his, warm and sure, before all the good things slipped away. Outside, a bus passed, its headlights sweeping across the ceiling like a promise he wasnt ready to believe in yet. But he didnt get up. He just lay there, breathing slowly, waiting for morning.
