**The Return**
Oliver climbed the narrow stairs into the courtyard. The basement of the block of flats housed a repair shop for office equipment, where hed been working the last two months. The sky was smothered in grey, but no rain fell. Unseasonably warm for October. Already the light was fading, though it was only five in the evening.
He didnt own a car, only took the bus in foul weather. Oliver rolled his shoulders and walked out into the street. Once, hed been an IT specialist, earning well, with a family. But a string of absurd and tragic events had taken them from him, sent him spiralling into drink, cost him his job An old uni mate had given him work fixing computers in his little shop.
He drank. He was late. Sometimes he didnt show at all. Today, Simon had told himthough Oliver was a natural, better drunk than most were sobereven his patience had limits. If this kept up, hed have to let him go. Oliver knew he was slipping, falling toward the abyss. And it terrified him. Where would he go if Simon threw him out?
The streetlights flickered on as darkness rushed in. His body screamed for a drink, the craving clenching his jaw like a vice. But as he passed cafés, shops, pubs, and takeaways, he kept his eyes off the glowing windows, hunched his shoulders, and quickened his pace. He could do this. He had to. Hed promised Simon.
Oliver didnt think himself an alcoholic, but he couldnt last more than two days without a drink. Nights were the worst. Without it, sleep was impossible.
There, the little kebab shop where he often stopped on his way home. Better to nip in for a quick one here than buy a whole bottle at the off-licence. Only he knew it wouldnt stop at one. Hed bump into someone, stay till he was legless. Wake with a splitting head, a sick gut, and shame gnawing at him. After a pause, he marched on.
There. Hed done it. Felt almost heroic. Until the next pub.
His flat was in sight now. Just one last shop. Oliver halted before its bright window. Inside, rows of bottles glittered on the shelves, calling to him like a lighthouse beam through fog.
His feet carried him toward the door. Halfway there, he veered off, shoved his hands in his jacket pockets. Clenched his fists. Literally. And scurried past.
*You could still turn back.* The desperate voice hissed in his skull. Oliver broke into a run, breath ragged. Only when the stairwell door slammed behind him did he stop, gasping.
He rarely came home sober, so stepping into his bachelors den now, the mess struck him like a slap.
The fridge was bare: a tin of sardines, a quarter of stale bread, a rock-hard wedge of cheddar. He ought to nip out for pasta and eggsbut then hed buy a bottle. Fine. He wouldnt starve.
To distract himself until the shops closed, he cleaned. Tossed scattered clothes into the washer, scrubbed dishes, wiped the crumb-strewn table sticky with old spills, then mopped the floor. Better. But the detergents artificial lemon couldnt mask the stale reek of booze and cigarettes.
He checked the time. Shops wouldnt shut for hours. He could still dash outwouldnt even need a coat. Then Simons disapproving frown rose in his mind. Oliver went to the window.
The block opposite glowed with yellow squares of light. He imagined families gathered around kitchen tables a couple on their sofa watching telly a boy in the next room pretending to study while secretly listening to music through headphones. Just like Oliver had done as a teen.
A wave of loneliness hit so hard he nearly howled.
The washing machine beeped. He hung the laundry, drank tea with the hardened cheese. The clock still said ten minutes till closing. He could make it Instead, Oliver dialled his ex-wifes number.
“Oliver, I told you not to call in the evenings.”
“Nice to hear your voice too. Put Emily on.”
“Are you drunk? Shes asleep.”
“Not drunk.”
A sigh hissed down the line. “Sleep it off first. Dont call again. And leave Emily alone. Shes just starting to get used to David”
He wanted to say David wasnt her father, that she was *his* daughter, that he missed herbut the line went dead.
Odd she hadnt blocked his number yet. That fragile hopemaybe not all was lost. Womens *no*s often meant *maybe*.
He made up the sofa with fresh sheets, lay down knowing sleep wouldnt come. The craving gnawed at him. But there was nothing left to drink.
***
Hed met Lydia at uni. She was a year below. One day in the canteen, shed asked to skip the queue. He didnt mind. She saved him a seat, watching him with interest. Back then, hed been top of his class, the lecturers golden boy.
They started dating. Oliver helped with her essays, even wrote her dissertation.
“Whyd you pick this degree? Shouldve gone for something easier. Howll you work in this field?”
“Youll work. Ill raise the baby,” shed laughed. Thats how he found out she was pregnant. She cooked well, kept house. Marriage seemed natural. In time, Emily was born.
When she started nursery, Lydia got a job as a PA at a construction firm, where her computer skills came in handy. Started dressing smart, wearing makeup. Sometimes Oliver glimpsed her being dropped off by car.
“I want to buy a car,” shed announced once.
Oliver dreamed of one too, but couldnt afford it. Hed taken loans for their flatno room for luxuries.
While repaying debts, his mum died. They rented out her flat, but Lydia took a car loan anyway. Oliver lost it.
“Im *tired*, Oliver. I cant live like this anymore,” shed screamed.
“Is there someone else?”
“Yes. Im sorry. But I have to think of Emily”
Oh? And he didnt? He slammed the door, left. Thank God he had somewhere to go. Mums flat was empty. Good thing hed refused to sell it. Unused to living alone, he drank evenings away, drowning the ache.
He tortured himself imagining another man in his placedrinking from his mug, sharing his bed. Had she ever loved him? Just used him for his brains? The drink stopped him thinking. Then it swallowed him whole. Got him sacked.
***
He mustve slept. Dreamt of wandering through fog, searching for someone, voice trapped in his throat. Then”Oliver!” But Lydia only ever used his surname. He woke, heart hammering.
Took a moment to remember where he was. No more sleep. He sat smoking in the kitchen. One perk of bachelor lifeLydia wouldve banished him to the stairwell.
Simon raised an eyebrow at his early arrival, sniffed the air.
“Havent been drinking,” Oliver said. “Can I nip out at lunch?”
“Thirsty already?” Simon frowned.
“Want to see my daughter. Before she forgets me.”
“Fine. But youll make up the time.”
Oliver promised.
He waited on a bench by the school gates, watching the exit. Didnt dare go closerdidnt want to run into David, who always looked at him like something scraped off a shoe.
No sign of Davids car today. Kids streamed out. No Emily. Was she ill? Thena flash of pink coat. He jumped up, hurrying forward, arm raised to wave
A black SUV screeched to a halt, blocking his view. His stomach lurched. Why had it stopped?
He sprinted round the bonnet. The rear door hung open. A glimpse of pinkor just his eyes? A hooded figure slammed the doorOliver thrust out his hand. The impact crushed his fingers.
Pain shot up his arm, exploded in his skull. Darkness swam in his vision.
“Daddy!” Emily shoved the door open, tumbling onto him. The SUV roared off, clipping his hip.
Oliver sat on wet tarmac, hand throbbing, impossibly heavy, like concrete had set around it.
“broad daylight!”
“call the police!”
“drunk, blind idiots”
“some bloke tried to grab her”
“Daddy!” Emily sobbed into his ear.
Voices reached him as if through cotton wool.
An ambulance took them to hospital. Emily mustve called Lydiawhen he emerged from treatment, they rushed to him.
“Daddy!” She clung to him.
“Broken?” Lydia asked.
“X-rays clear,” he reported.
“Thank you. If you hadnt been there” Emily buried her face in his shoulder.
“I told Mum everything,” she said.
“David was supposed to pick her up. If Id known” Lydias voice cracked.
“Hey. Shes safe.” He reached to hug her, but she stiffened.
“Come on. Well drive you home.”
They sat in the back.
“Does it hurt?” Emily eyed his bandaged fingers, already purpling.
“Hardly at all.”
“How will you work?” Lydias reflection in the rear-view mirror looked anxious. Hed have cut the hand off to keep her watching him like that, not with the old ice.
At his flat, he offered to collect Emily from school while he recovered.
“Well manage,” Lydia said, driving off.
But that evening, she called. Asked about the pain.
“You cant cook. Ill bring soup tomorrow.”
Pity? No thanks. “Dont bother. Ill cope.”
“I was thinking if its no trouble, meet Emily at twelve tomorrow.”
*What about David?* He didnt ask.
Next morning, he went to the shop instead of calling. Simon eyed his swollen fingers and sent him home.
Oliver waited openly by the school gates.
“Mum and Uncle David had a huge row yesterday,” Emily chattered on the walk home. “Dad are you coming back?”
“What about Uncle David?”
“Mum kicked him out. He wasnt at a meetinghe was with his girlfriend. I heard. Shes not home yet, come on” At the door, she tugged him inside.
First time back since the split. Nothing had changedjust little things. The kettle was new.
“Old one broke. Mum bought this. Glad Uncle Davids gone. I didnt like him.”
Strange, sitting in his old spot, feeling like a guest.
He helped Emily with homework. Only when the front door slammed did he realise how late it was.
Lydia didnt seem surprised to see him.
“Dinner soon,” she said, vanishing into the kitchen.
They ate together, just like before. Oliver felt as if hed returned from a long trip, another life.
“Finished your homework?” Lydia asked Emily.
“Dad helped.”
“I should go.” Oliver stood. “Dinner was great.”
Lydia rose too. They stood close, not looking at each other.
“Its late. Stay. Ill make up the sofa.”
He lay rigid, afraid to move, to wake her. But she lay too stillawake, surely.
Morning. Lydia and Emily were leaving when he stirred.
“Whyre you up? Youre not working,” she said. “Emilys got five lessons today. Meet her at one.”
He wandered the flat, ate the toast and tea left out. Washed up, wincing.
Yesterday, hed seen Davids toothbrush in the bathroom. Today, only two: Emilys pink one, Lydias green. Had she thrown the third away? Like shed thrown his out when he left.
How he wanted to stay. What if she told him to go? Should he leave first? What if she didnt? *If, if, if.* If she let him stay, hed crawl over broken glass, stay sober, find proper work. He *was* good at what he did.
In his jeans: a fiver. He bought pale pink carnations from the corner shop.
Lydia noticed. Said nothing. Didnt tell him to leave. That was something. He still slept on the sofa. But over dinner, she started talking about work. Like old times.
“That secretary still jealous of you and the boss?” he ventured.
“Left. The new girls nice.”
How good it felt, the three of them at the table. Oddsince moving back in, he hadnt craved a drink. Not once.
Maybe things could mend. He was sober. She hadnt thrown him out. Hed work like a dog to earn her trust. The rental income from Mums flat would help
