‘What’s the point of letters? Tell me that. Letters are fucking redundant. Letters deserve a place in a fucking museum for examples of shitty communication.’

‘What’s he rambling on about?’ Mark said as he banged the fuck out of my shoulder with his shovel hands, jerking my groin into the curve of the bar.

‘I haven’t a clue. Something about letters,’ Clara replied with a laugh. ‘I can only imagine he’s suddenly realising the horror that is instant communication and its place in twenty-first century social work.’

‘Don’t get him on the subject of letters. Touchy subject,’ Mark said, scrunching his face and downing half of his pint of Guinness.

‘Do you want to say any more?’ I asked with a leave it there stare.

It had been three days since Abi’s letter. Three days of torture. Three days of drowning my sorrows in alcohol. It was the only way I could forget. I was angry at first. Angry at Abi. Mainly for taking the step forward that I had been dreading since I left.

Seeing someone else.

I was angry that she hadn’t held on, that what we had wasn’t enough to keep her with me even if it was only through a letter every week. But how could I be angry with her? Who carried out a relationship through letters? Angry was the only way to cover it. I was angry that it was the only letter she hadn’t signed with our infinity symbol. I was angry with Mum, believing that if I hadn’t felt the unwavering need to care for her through her battle with cancer, I would still be sleeping with Abi beside me. How was that her fault?

Fucking hell, Dawson.

Alcohol helped. It helped me forget I was an arsehole.

Every time I downed a whiskey, it was like tipping a glass of water over the tiny flicker of spark in my heart, essentially putting it out, numbing every part of me and the pain of realising that I’d been the one to set us on the road to separation. Not Abi, not my mum, and not the cancer that was eating away at her.

The day I walked away, believing I was the good guy for letting her go, was the day we lost our way, the day I forced us to lose our way. I wasn’t the good guy who knew it would be easier for us both to finish it. I was the bad guy who just couldn’t let her go completely. Selfishly, I tried to keep a link through the only form of communication that I thought wouldn’t give false hope when I didn’t know if there was anything to be hopeful for.

Fucking, shitting, pissing letters.

‘Come on, mate. It’s your birthday. Cheer up. Have you seen how many people have turned up tonight?’ Mark said, turning to the crowd in the bar.

‘I don’t give a flying fuck. The one person who should be here isn’t.’

‘Aww, Jamie, that’s so sweet, but you need to relax tonight. Stop worrying about your mum. She wants you to enjoy yourself, ’ Clara said, putting her hand on my shoulder, which I shrugged off with a roll.

‘Pass me a fucking beer.’ I was pissed that she had totally missed the point.

I took the first swig, pulling back my top lip in disgust. Beer was never my first choice drink to obliteration. Whiskey normally did the trick, but tonight I didn’t care. I would have drunk anything if it helped me forget at a quicker pace.

I noticed Mark put his arm around Clara’s shoulders, kissing her neck and causing a flit of giggles.

‘So when did this happen?’ I asked, pulling my head back in disbelief. Mark had always had a thing for Clara, but after many near misses, they had never made it as a couple. Clara smiled and shrugged whilst Mark gave me the biggest shit-eating grin.

‘It hasn’t, but I’m hoping it will tonight.’

‘Fuck me. Even my best mates are getting it on.’ I was swaying and feeling more than worse for wear, and it was only 9 p.m. I shook my head and took off. Mark followed me to the other side of the bar.

‘Listen, you’ve got it made here. You have a great job and you’re caring for your mum. That’s always been so important to you. You have mates that give a fuck and think the world of you. Isn’t that enough? She’s obviously realised that you can’t make long distance relationships work. Why the hell should she wait for you when you have no fucking plans to go back? I’m surprised it’s taken her so long.’

‘Three months. It’s only taken her three months to find someone else.’

‘Like I said, why the fuck should she wait for someone who told her he wasn’t going to ring or text? You made no plans to see each other and had no discussions about the future. What did you tell her would happen when your mum isn’t around anymore?’

‘Do you think I want to talk about that?’ I said, slugging back the beer.

‘I’m sorry, mate. I just need you to see it from her point of view. How fair was it on her, huh? You might as well have left her a vibrator with a picture of your face stuck to it and said knock yourself out whenever you feel lonely.’

‘Fuck you. You don’t know anything about us.’

‘I know she’s had the sense to move on,’ he said, pushing his finger into my chest. ‘You can’t hold a girl like Abi back.’

I pushed him back and looked him square in the eye before stalking back to the bar ready to order a whiskey. I faintly heard him shouting something about it being a joke and that he was sorry he went too far, but I couldn’t look at him. Apart from Mum, he was the only person who had the balls to tell me the truth. I’d been side stepping it for the last three months.

Clara sat down on an empty barstool beside me. We’d been friends for years after meeting at uni when I stumbled across her eating her bodyweight in crisps in the canteen because she was homesick. She was an Irish bombshell, all flowing red hair and long legs, and I would happily admit that the main reason I sat with her that day was because I was interested in taking her back to my room and fucking her homesickness away. We seemed to have a mutual appreciation for uncomplicated hook-ups, but I never found my way into her bed. Once friendship had taken over, I didn’t want to lose that friendship for a quick shag.

‘Hey, what was all that about?’

‘Nothing a whiskey won’t cure,’ I said, raising my glass and pushing it forward to her in mid-air. ‘Cheers.’

‘What do you think to me and Mark then?’

‘I’m not surprised. It was bound to happen eventually. He’s been admiring you for years. Good luck to you,’ I said a little too blandly. I really didn’t give a fuck about other people’s happiness.

‘He needs to stop thinking it’s a sure thing,’ she smiled.

‘Don’t tell him that. He’ll probably put you in a headlock to make sure you leave with him tonight.’

‘I think he’s a softy under that grizzly bear rugby charade. He has to keep up the pretence, doesn’t he? But I’ve seen him at work. Give him a toddler to act as a corporate parent to and he’s mush.’

‘He’s more koala bear than grizzly bear,’ I said.

‘You need to slow down or you’ll need a chaperone to take you home.’

‘Clara, either join me in obliteration or stop the lectures. I’m not in the mood tonight,’ I said pulling out my wallet from my back pocket. ‘I’ll order you another wine.’ The barman walked closer. ‘I’ll have a whiskey, mate. No. Wait. A jug of Pimm’s.’ A pain hit me in the chest as I handed over the money.

‘What’s got into you tonight? Drowning your sorrows? Trying to forget reality?’ Clara asked, arching her eyebrow.

‘Something like that.’

‘That means only one thing. It’s a woman, isn’t it?’ I nodded once and took another drink. ‘Tell me about her.’

‘I’m not in the mood. In fact, I think I should go home. I’m beginning to smell the alcohol escaping through my pores. That’s a good time to stop.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me you had a girl in your life?’ Clara asked as I stood to leave. I caught glimpses of myself in the mirror behind the bar obscured by bottles of the hard stuff. I knew I had to admit that I was the one that let Abi go after holding her in my hand for so long. She had prized my fingers open and was saying goodbye.

I looked at Clara, who was taking a sip of her wine.

‘I don’t have a girl in my life,’ I said, shaking my head. ‘Not anymore.’