Page 40 of Common People

In the living room, Robbie had made a sign that said in big bold letters: INTERVENTION! He hadn’t been sure about the exclamation mark, but had decided to go with it.

‘It’s an intervention, pal. I made a wee sign because I thought it needed it. It’s time we talked about getting youse sober. I cannae keep watching you drink yourself to death like this, so we’re having an intervention.’

‘That’s mental. I’m fine,’ grumbled Max, walking into the kitchen towards the fridge.

‘All the alcohol's gone. I got rid of it.’

‘You what?’ said an angry Max, turning to face Robbie. ‘What the fuck’s wrong with you?’

‘There’s nothing wrong with me, pal, but there’s a lot wrong with youse. Will youse just sit down for a moment.’

‘I need to go out and buy some more booze because some fucking idiot got rid of mine.’

‘Max! Youse a fucking mess, pal, and you need to sort your life out!’ Robbie wasn’t messing around and shouted at Max, which took him by surprise. Robbie wasn’t usually one for shouting, being aggressive or overly emotional, but clearly this was important. ‘So, please just sit the fuck down and shut the fuck up, eh.’

Max was caught off-guard, and didn’t quite know what to do when faced with a very domineering Robbie. So, after a moment's hesitation, Max walked across and sat on the sofa. He would still head out to the local supermarket for some alcohol, but he would listen to Robbie first. Max sat down, and then Robbie came across and sat next to him. Neither of them were mentally prepared for this. Both of them preferred to stay away from difficult or emotional subject matter, and if they could just keep things surface level and full of typical bloke humour, they would. Talking about feelings and the dark thoughts that kept them awake at night, wasn’t a part of their relationship DNA, but Robbie was sufficiently worried he had crossed over that threshold. He knew that if he didn’t do something then their entire relationship would fall apart within a month. The lease on the flat was up, and Robbie couldn’t keep living with him unless he changed.

‘Max, pal, the drinking has gotten out of hand. Youse look terrible, youse can barely function, and if youse keep going down this pathway, it’s only a matter of time before youse lose your job, which is probably the only thing keeping youse from becoming a homeless, drunken fucking tramp, turning to drugs because alcohols no strong enough anymore.’

‘That’s a bit of an exaggeration. I’m in my twenties, in London, and I’m having a good time—’

‘But that’s the thing, pal, youse not having a good time. You only drink to numb the pain. It’s not alcohol, it’s medicine.’

‘You don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said Max, about to get up, but Robbie stopped him.

‘I know your parents dying destroyed youse. I know the pain of what happened, of losing Emma, all of it has made youse miserable, so youse drink because you cannae face reality. You cannae deal with the idea of moving on, but youse have to move on. It’s what your parents would’ve wanted.’

‘Don’t fucking tell me what my parents wanted, Robbie. You barely knew them.’

‘Och, I knew them enough, pal.’

‘So, you think you know exactly what they would’ve wanted, do you?’

‘I know it would have broken their hearts to see youse like this, on the verge of becoming a fucking alcoholic. It cannae go on, Max.’

‘You’ve no idea what I’ve been through, Robbie,’ said Max loudly, standing up because he needed more room to move around. ‘The pain of losing them, Emma leaving me, and yes, I’m drinking a lot but it fucking helps. It’s the only thing that fucking helps!’

Robbie stood up too and walked across to Max. ‘But don’t youse see, pal, it’s no helping. It’s only making everything worse. The only way youse is going to be able to move on and get your shit together, is if youse give up drinking. It’s the only way.’

‘I don’t agree. It does help, Robbie, and whether you like it or not, I can’t just give up. I don’t want to stop.’

‘Then youse leave me no choice.’

‘And what are you going to do?’ said Max with an air of disbelief in his voice.

‘The lease on the flat is almost up, and when it is, I’m moving out,’ said Robbie firmly, and he really meant it. It felt like the only way to get his message across.

‘You what? You’re moving out?’

‘Aye. I cannae watch you fuck up your life, Max, so if youse won’t listen to me, then I’m out. I don’t need this. I cannae spend all my waking fucking hours taking care of youse!’

Robbie was deadly serious and Max could see it in his face, and hear it in his voice. Robbie was never like that, and for the first time since he had arrived home, Max knew that this wasn’t Robbie overreacting or calling his bluff, it was actually happening. If he didn’t change and agreed to stop drinking then Robbie was going to move out. The idea of it terrified Max because since the accident, Robbie had been the only person in his life who had stayed. Emma had left when the going got too hard, and other friends and work colleagues had begun to pull away because it was all too much, but Robbie had always been there for him…until now. Now he was at a tipping point. He could tell Robbie to fuck off, get drunk, and see what happened next, whether he would go through with it, or he could actually change. They both slumped down on the sofa again. Neither of them wanted to really face the reality of the situation, but they both realised they had no choice.

‘I just don’t know if I can do it,’ said Max after a moment of uneasy silence.

‘Max, I know youse can do it, pal, and I’ll help. If youse stop drinking, and instead pour all of that pain and suffering into work, into rebuilding your life, maybe some sort of exercise, I know youse will feel so much better. Drinking isnae the answer, pal, and youse know it.’

Max leant forwards, his fingers massaging his forehead, and he knew that Robbie was right. He also wanted to do it. The days of horrible hangovers, of going into work and barelyscraping through the day, and all the time, just thinking about his next drink. At that moment, Max couldn’t see a future for himself, other than one where he drank himself into oblivion, and he didn’t want that, but he also didn’t know if he was strong enough to stop it. It was like he had jumped on a rollercoaster sometime after his parents had died, and he was desperate to get off, to stop the constant highs and lows, the bumps and the high-speed corners that threw him around, causing a constant feeling of movement and uneasiness. He wanted to feel calm again. He longed for some boring, normal, slow-paced weeks where he didn't have to worry about the next dizzying high or the crashing, horrible low. He was exhausted by it, but no-one would let him off the ride, and so he kept going around and around, praying that one day it would stop.