52
Kieran parks his car up outside my house and we just sit there. Minutes pass, but neither of us says anything. Both of us knows what the other is thinking, because that’s what we’re thinking too.
‘What are you going to do?’ he asks me.
‘I’m going to go inside and get absolutely shitfaced,’ I reply. And the weird thing is, it’s not that I want to drink to forget, or drink to de-stress. It’s because I no longer give a f**k. I want to down a bottle of wine and enjoy it. Because I deserve to. Because whatever comes next is not going to be enjoyable, so I might as well make the most of it.
‘Are you sure that’s wise?’
I shrug. ‘Probably not, but when did wisdom ever do me any good?’
‘When did drink ever do you any good,’ he says, more as a statement than a question. He pauses for a mome
