Page 27 of Common People

‘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 wantedsomething 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 comeback 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.’