Page 72 of One Night With You

‘Like: men like me don’t get to make it in places like this. I got too big for my boots. Who am I to think I could escape anything? Who am I to imagine I deserved adventure, a new start, everything my heart desires?’

‘Mate,’ Jackson starts. ‘No. Don’t think like that.’

‘This has ruined everything,’ I say. ‘This has ruined my whole life. I’m screwed. I can’t be a dad. Can I?’

Jackson doesn’t speak for a moment, and we continue our drinking. Eventually he says: ‘You did the right thing to text me.’

‘You’ve been a good friend to me,’ I say. And then I burst into tears. ‘God, I’m sorry,’ I say, wiping them away as fast as I can. ‘It’s just – everything was going so great. I didn’t even tell you – I mean, it felt grubby to talk about it or whatever,but Ruby and me, we hooked up. After our date. I got about three hours to think that it could all be the beginning of something and then bam.’

‘Don’t be worrying about Ruby,’ Jackson insists. ‘She can wait. She’s a separate issue. Let’s unpick the pregnancy, first. Also: let me get us some water.’

‘I know self-pity is boring,’ I tell him. ‘I just … this isn’t what I signed up for, you know? I’ve been loving it down here. It’s hard to make friends and tough on the tube and to be honest I preferred my old office, but there’s a vibe here that isn’t like anywhere else in the world, and Ifeeldifferent. I feel so much closer to how I’ve always wanted to. That sounds so stupid, but I’ve had two pints and a shock, so I’m just going to go on ahead and pour out all my feelings, okay?’

‘Exactly the point,’ says Jackson. ‘We can go for pint number three if you need it. I can see it’s helping.’

I raise my almost-empty glass in a salute of cheers.

‘It feels unfair,’ I say. ‘This is a decision out of my hands. I’m not saying she shouldn’t have the baby – I don’t mean that. The baby is coming, fine. But, like, Jesus. I didn’t think it would all happen this way, you know? I feel so helpless, and I’d only just started tonotfeel that way. It’s one step forward, two steps back.’

‘It took a lot for you to move here, mate, I know that. The bloke who bought Ruby’s sofa is worlds away from the bloke sat in front of me now – you’ve fuckingbloomed,mate. Like a flower.’

I look up at him, tears in my eyes. That’s exactly how it feels.

‘Have I?’ I say, and it’s not lost on either of us that my voice is quivering.

‘Yeah,’ he says.

‘I don’t want responsibilities,’ I say, sadly. ‘I wanted to justbefor a while. Have one of those movie montages of crazy nights where people snort vodka out of the belly buttons of lithe models in their underwear and swing around poles on bridges, the twinkling lights of the city behind them. I wanted to be piled into the back of a cab with a bunch of mates and laugh hysterically as we have to pull over so one of us can be sick. I wanted to run up a bar tab that’s higher than my monthly rent, and do a runner on it – just once. I wanted to make friends with the table next to me at a pub and end up at a warehouse party in a part of London where the tube stops running until the next morning, and I wanted to have to fake being sick for work when really I’m on the Isle of Man with no idea of how I got there.’

‘You wanted your twenties back then, basically.’

‘Yeah. The twenties I never had. I was so sensible. It’s a horrible feeling, knowing I wasted them. I’ve never even got a last-minute plane ticket to a new place or been slapped by a woman in the street because I never called when I said I would. I just wanted to laugh and feel free. Unburdened. Really properly laugh and not feel so weighed down by who I am and all the responsibility I feel that other people – Ollie, you, the guys at dodgeball – just don’t seem to suffer from. Why am I like this?’

‘You’re bloody wonderful, mate. You’re a proper sort. Don’t shit-talk yourself.’

‘It’s been four months of finding my way, like I might actually be able to loosen up a bit after all, and now I feel like I’ve been building hollow dreams. To think I could change who I fundamentally am just because I live somewhere else seems laughable to me.’

‘You’re already changed,’ he says. ‘No matter what happens next.’

‘Yeah,’ I lament.

‘Nothing is over. You have choices.’

‘It doesn’t feel like it.’

‘That’s the shock talking,’ he says. ‘I’ll help you, all right? We’ll make a list – when we’re sober – and think about all the ways this could pan out, and we will NOT panic, okay? No good actions were made from fear.’

‘Okay,’ I say glumly.

‘But for now – more beer.’ He nods his head towards the third glass I’ve drained. ‘And some chips, too. If you’re going to drink like this, you need to line your stomach.’

‘Can you just make it all go away?’ I say, sadly.

‘Afraid not, pal,’ he replies. ‘But I can sit opposite you and let you know you’re not alone, and that’s not nothing.’

‘You’re right,’ I say. ‘It’s not. Thank you.’

31

---