**The Return**
Oliver climbed the narrow stairs into the courtyard. The basement of the terraced house had been converted into a workshop for repairing office equipment, where hed worked the last two months. The sky was grey and overcast, but no rain fell. The October weather was unseasonably warm. It was already growing dark, though it was only five in the evening.
He didnt own a caronly took the bus in bad weather. Oliver shrugged his shoulders and walked out of the yard. He used to work in IT, earning decent money, with a family to come home to. But after a string of absurd and tragic events, he lost them all. Then came the drinking, then the job An old university mate took pity and gave him work fixing computers in his shop.
He drank. Showed up late. Sometimes not at all. Today, Simon told him that even though Oliver was a naturalcapable of better work drunk than most were soberhis patience wasnt endless. One more slip, and hed have to let him go. Oliver knew he was spiralling, sinking to the bottom. The thought terrified him. If Simon kicked him out, where would he go?
Darkness fell fast. Streetlights flickered on. His body screamed for a drink, his jaw clenching with the craving. Passing cafés, corner shops, pubshe kept his eyes down, shoulders hunched, walking briskly. He could resist. Hed promised Simon.
Oliver didnt think of himself as an alcoholic, but he rarely lasted two days dry. Nights were the worst. Without alcohol, sleep was impossible.
There it wasthe little off-license where hed often stopped on his way home. Better to nip in for a quick one now than buy a whole bottle and drink alone. Except he knew himself: it wouldnt stop at one. Hed bump into someone, linger, drink himself senseless. Wake up with a splitting head, wretched guilt. After a brief hesitation, he walked on.
There. Hed done it. Felt almost heroic. Until the next pub loomed ahead.
His building was in sight now. Just one last shop. Oliver paused before the bright window display. Rows of bottles gleamed inside, calling to him like a lighthouse through fog.
His feet moved on their own. But halfway to the door, he veered away, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. Gritting his teeth, he hurried past.
*”Still time to turn back,”* whispered the desperate voice in his head. Oliver broke into a run, breath ragged. Only when the stairwell door slammed behind him did he stop, gasping.
He rarely came home sober. Stepping into his bachelors den, the mess horrified him.
The fridge was nearly bare: a tin of sardines, a stale quarter-loaf, hardened cheese. He ought to pop out for pasta and eggsbut then hed buy a bottle too. Fine. He wouldnt starve.
To distract himself until the shops closed, he cleaned. Tossed laundry in the machine, scrubbed dishes, wiped the crumb-strewn table, mopped the sticky floor. Better. But the lemon-scented detergent couldnt mask the stale reek of booze and smoke.
He checked the clock. Ten more trips to the shop before closingcould even go in his pyjamas. Then Simons stern face flashed in his mind. Oliver went to the window.
The house opposite glowed with yellow squares of light. Some family gathered around a kitchen table A couple on the sofa watching telly A boy pretending to study while secretly listening to musicjust like Oliver had done as a teen.
Loneliness hit like a fist. He nearly howled.
The washing machine beeped. He hung the laundry, drank tea with the rock-hard cheese. Ten minutes until the shop shut. He could still make it. Instead, he dialled his wifes number.
*”Oliver, I told you not to call in the evenings.”*
*”Nice to hear your voice too. Put Sophie on.”*
*”Are you drunk? Shes been asleep for ages.”*
*”No. Im sober.”*
A sigh crackled down the line. *”Sleep it off first. Dont call again. And leave Sophie alone. Shes just starting to get used to Mark”*
He wanted to say Mark wasnt her father, that she was *his* daughter, that he missed herbut the line went dead.
Odd that Emily hadnt blocked his number yet. That fragile hopemaybe not all was lost. Womens *”no”* often meant *”maybe.”*
He made the bed with fresh sheets, lay down knowing sleep wouldnt come. The craving gnawed at him. But there was nothing left to drink.
***
Hed met Emily 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.
*”Why pick this degree? Shouldve done something easier. How will you work in this field?”* hed often ask.
*”Youll work. Ill raise the baby,”* Emily laughed. Thats how he learned she was pregnant. She cooked well, kept house. Marriage seemed natural. In time, Sophie was born.
When she started nursery, Emily got a job as a PA at a construction firmher computer skills came in handy. She dressed smarter, wore makeup. Sometimes Oliver saw cars dropping her off.
*”I want a car,”* she announced once.
Oliver dreamed of one too, but couldnt afford it. The flat had left him drowning in debt.
Then his mum died. They rented out her place, but Emily took a loan for a car. Oliver lost it.
*”Im tired, Oliver. Tired of scraping by. I cant live like this,”* she yelled.
*”Is there someone else?”* he demanded.
*”Yes. Im sorrybut I have to think of Sophie.”*
As if he didnt? He slammed the door, left. Thank God for his mums empty flat. He wasnt used to living alone. Nights were the worst. The drinking started.
He tortured himself imagining another man in his placedrinking from his mug, sleeping in his bed Maybe shed never loved him. Just used him for his brains. The booze helped him stop thinking. Then came the job loss
***
Somehow, he slept. Dreamt of wandering through fog, trying to call out, but no sound came. Then a voice: *”Oliver!”* But Emily only ever used his surname. He woke, heart hammering.
Took a moment to remember where he was. No more sleep. He sat chain-smoking in the kitchenone perk of bachelor life. Emily wouldve banished him to the landing.
Simon raised an eyebrow at his early arrival, sniffed the air.
*”Havent touched a drop,”* Oliver said. *”Can I pop out at lunch?”*
*”That desperate for a drink?”* Simon scowled.
*”Want to see my daughter. Before she forgets me.”*
*”Fine. But youll make up the time.”*
Oliver waited on a bench by the school gates. From here, he wouldnt miss Sophie. Didnt dare go closerno need to bump into Mark, who always looked at him like something scraped off a shoe.
No sign of either mans car today. Kids streamed out. No Sophie. Maybe she was ill? Thena flash of pink coat. He leapt up, rushing forward, arm raised to wave
A black SUV screeched to a halt, blocking his view. Sudden panic. Why had it stopped?
He sprinted around the car. The rear door was open. A glimpse of pink fabricor was it? A hooded figure slammed the doorOlivers hand shot out. The impact crushed his fingers.
White-hot pain shot up his arm, black spots dancing in his vision.
*”Daddy!”* Sophie shoved the door open, tumbling onto him. The car roared off, clipping his hip.
Oliver sat on the wet tarmac, his hand throbbing, heavy as concrete.
*”Broad daylight”*
*”Call the police”*
*”Some bloke tried to take her”*
*”Daddy!”* Sophie sobbed into his shoulder.
Voices reached him as if through cotton wool.
An ambulance took them to hospital. Sophie mustve called Emily, because when he emerged from treatment, they both rushed over.
*”Daddy!”* She clung to him.
*”Broken?”* Emily asked.
*”Just bruised.”*
*”Thank you,”* she whispered. *”If you hadnt been there”* Sophie buried her face in his chest.
*”I told Mum everything,”* she said.
*”Mark was supposed to collect her. If Id known”* Emilys voice cracked.
*”Its alright. Shes safe.”* He tried to hug her, but she stiffened.
*”Well drive you home,”* she said.
In the backseat, Sophie eyed his bandaged fingers. *”Does it hurt?”*
*”Hardly at all.”*
*”How will you work?”* Emily asked, meeting his gaze in the mirror. Hed have chopped the hand off to keep her looking at him like thatnot the icy stare from before.
At his door, he offered to collect Sophie from school while he recovered.
*”Well manage,”* Emily said. They drove off.
But that evening, she called. *”Does it still hurt? You cant cook like that. Ill bring soup tomorrow.”*
Pity was the last thing he wanted. *”Dont bother. Ill cope.”*
*”Actually if its no trouble, could you meet Sophie at noon?”*
*”What about Mark?”* He bit his tongue.
Next morning, he didnt call in sickwent straight to the workshop. Simon took one look at his swollen fingers and sent him home.
Oliver waited by the school gates, not hiding.
*”Mum and Uncle Mark had a huge row yesterday,”* Sophie chattered on the walk home. *”Dad are you coming back?”*
*”What about Uncle Mark?”*
*”Mum kicked him out. He wasnt at a meetinghe was with his girlfriend. I heard. Shes not home yet, come on.”* She dragged him inside.
First time back since the split. Nothing much had changedjust little things. A new kettle.
*”The old one broke. Glad Uncle Marks gone. I never liked him.”*
Strange, sitting in his old spot yet feeling like a guest.
He helped with her homework. Only when the front door slammed did he realise how late it was.
Emily didnt seem surprised to see him. *”Dinner soon,”* she said, vanishing into the kitchen.
They ate together, just like before. Oliver felt hed returned from some distant place.
*”Homework done?”* Emily asked.
*”Dad helped.”*
*”I should go.”* He stood. *”Dinner was lovely.”*
Emily rose too. They stood awkwardly, avoiding each others eyes.
*”Its late. Ill make up the sofa.”*
He lay stiffly, afraid to move. She wasnt sleeping eithertoo still.
Morning came. Emily and Sophie were leaving when he stirred.
*”Why are you up? Youre not working.”* She hesitated. *”Sophie finishes at one. Meet her?”*
He wandered the flat, ate the toast shed left, washed up wincingly.
Yesterday, hed seen Marks toothbrush in the bathroom. Today, only two: Sophies pink one, Emilys green. The third was gonejust as his had been when he left.
How he wanted to stay. What if she told him to go? Should he leave first? What if she didnt? *”What if”*always *”what if.”* If she let him stay, hed crawl over broken glass to prove himself. Find a proper job. He *was* good at what he did.
In his jeansa crumpled tenner. He bought pale pink roses from the corner stall.
Emily noticed. Said nothing. That was something. He still slept on the sofa. But that evening, over dinner, she started chatting about worklike old times.
*”That secretary still jealous of you and the boss?”* he ventured.
*”No. She quit. The new girls nice.”*
How good it feltthe three of them at the table. Oliver realised he hadnt thought about drinking once since moving back.
Maybe things could mend. Hed stay dry, earn her trust. Keep renting his mums place Hed do whatever it took.
