Page 111 of 56 Days
Oliver pulls the phone from his ear to check the screen; it’s crowded withmissed-callnotifications and unread texts.
“Are you all right?” Kenneth asks.
“Yeah, I ah... I think I just overdid it last night.”
“At home alone?”
“One too many beers,” Oliver says. “Should’ve quit while I was ahead. That’s all.”
Silence.
Then Kenneth asks, “You holding up okay over there?”
Oliver forces himself to smile, so the other man will hear it in his voice. “Yes. Fine. Thanks.”
“Did you see the email we sent around yesterday? It looks like this lockdown thing is going to be extended for another three weeks, and I’m hearing it could go on all summer. We’ve got projects teetering on the brink left and right. There’s even a rumor Google are going to pull out of the Sorting Office, the new build down by the docks, and if they do, that could trigger a mass exodus. We’re all right for now, in the short term, but just to plug a few holes in the immediate future, we’re offering everyone two weeks unpaid leave, if they want it—”
“I’ll take it,” Oliver says. He can’t possibly focus on work right now, and he’s in no fit state to do it.
“You sure?” Kenneth asks. “I saidunpaid. You heard that bit, right?”
“Yeah, it’s fine. When does it start?”
Kenneth laughs. “All right, Mr. Eager Beaver. Monday is a Bank Holiday so how about we say Tuesday?”
“Great.”
“Just do me a favor and email Louise, will you? Keep her in the loop.”
“I will.”
One less problem to deal with.
“And let me know if you need anything. I know you’re on your own over—”
“It’s fine,” Oliver says again. And then, in case he sounds ungrateful for Kenneth’s concern, he adds a, “Thanks.”
“Look after yourself, Ollie.”
Ollie.
Oliver just about manages to hang up the phone before something in his chest breaks apart.
The only people who ever call him that are the ones who’ve known him since then, sincebefore.
These days, that’s just Kenneth and Rich.
It used to be comforting. It used to make him feel safe, that people could know the whole truth of who he is and still want him in their lives, still love him, stilllikehim. But now it just makes him feel trapped, a man forever imprisoned by the actions of his own self as a child.
Things he did without thinking, in the moment.
Things he’s been wishing every single second since he could take back.
Oliver lets the phone drop onto the floor, curls up on the couch, and starts to cry.
His body racks with sobs; he loses track for how long. He cries until he feels empty, until a pain in his chest begs him to stop.
Until it gets dark outside.
