Stand By Me: The uplifting and heartbreaking best seller you need to read this year. S.D. Robertson
It had been nice to see him smiling for once, even if it was artificially induced, and she’d assumed he’d only had a couple of beers. It must have been considerably more than that, though, for him to be so far gone now.
It was no secret that her husband liked a tipple; in recent weeks, they’d spoken several times about how the frequency of his drinking had increased since he’d stopped working. She’d voiced her fears that it was getting out of control and he’d argued otherwise. At best, this had come in the form of calm reassurances that he wouldn’t let it escalate too far. At worst, it had been a slanging match, with him shouting at her to get off his back and her calling him an alcoholic. Not that Lisa actually thought he was. Not yet. She just wanted to shock him into cutting back before it really did get out of hand. But maybe she’d misjudged the situation.
‘What’s wrong?’ Mike asked. ‘Don’t you like it here?’
Lisa wanted to point out that he was slurring his words, despite the fact it was barely 8 p.m. and they were still waiting for their starter to arrive at the restaurant. But at the same time she didn’t want to ruin the evening. He’d arranged it as a surprise to celebrate their wedding anniversary: an unusually thoughtful gesture. So much so that when he’d told her this morning, before she’d set off for school, her initial response had been to wonder what he’d done wrong and was trying to make up for. She’d not vocalised this, thankfully. Nor had she expressed her concern about the cost of a decent meal out in Manchester. They could barely afford to get takeaway in their village; never mind get a taxi to and from the city centre for the privilege of enjoying overpriced food and drink. That was the cold hard truth. But she’d weighed up the matter at work, where it had been the final day of term before the summer holidays, and decided to throw caution to the wind for once and enjoy a rare night out.
So Lisa had dug a pair of heels and her favourite black dress out of the wardrobe; she’d used the curling tongs to add some life to her dull, limp blonde hair for the first time in ages, and made more than the usual cursory effort with her make-up. Mike had worn the smart navy shirt she’d bought for his birthday, swapping his usual jeans and trainers for chinos and tan brogues.
But she couldn’t enjoy being with him when he was so plastered. He might be sitting up straight and behaving himself so far, but his eyes had gone – and that was never a good sign. Being out with her husband in that state was like riding in a speeding car without a seatbelt on.
‘Hello? Earth to Lisa.’
‘What was that?’ she replied at last, shaking her head in a bid to focus.
‘I asked whether you liked it here or not, but you were miles away. What’s up?’
‘Oh, nothing. Sorry. I was thinking about work.’
‘Anything I can help with?’
‘No, it’s not important,’ Lisa fudged. ‘It’ll take me a few days to switch off, that’s all.’
‘I apologise if I’m boring you,’ he said before taking a long swig from his pint of lager, his eyes darting around the restaurant, looking everywhere except in her direction.
Lisa took a deep breath. Things were on a knife edge already, which did not bode well. Thankfully, a young female waiter turned up with their starters. She beamed a toothy grin at them. ‘Hi, folks. So who’s having the butternut squash soup tonight?’
Lisa raised her right hand and smiled back as the girl presented her with the large white bowl, two-thirds full with its steaming orange contents and central swirl of sour cream. ‘There you go. Enjoy.’ She turned to Mike. ‘And the beef carpaccio for you, sir?’
He smiled. ‘Thank you.’
Lisa noted her husband’s eyes lingering a moment too long on the waitress’s ample chest, on display in a partly unbuttoned white blouse, as she leaned over the table with his plate. How embarrassing, she thought, her fingers squeezing her thighs under the table. The girl looked young enough to be his daughter, for God’s sake. And Lisa couldn’t remember the last time he’d looked at her with that degree of lust. They’d barely touched each other in months.
She bit her tongue, lowering her nose over the soup bowl instead to breathe in the aroma. ‘Oh, wow,’ she said. ‘That smells delicious. Yours looks lovely too. Excellent choice coming here, love.’
‘Don’t sound so surprised.’
‘Why not? You springing this on me is a lovely surprise. And of course I’m not bored. I just need a little time to get into school holiday mode. You know how it is.’
‘Not any more,’ Mike said.
‘Oh, come on. Let’s focus on the positives and enjoy ourselves. I’m very impressed. You thought of everything, even arranging for the kids to have sleepovers tonight. Anyone would think you were trying to get me alone.’
This made Mike smile, as she’d hoped it would. He’d always been a sucker for flattery. Feeling the tension dissipate, she allowed herself to sit back in her chair and enjoy a sip of her gin and tonic, trying to heed her own advice.
Things were all right for a while. Although it was still obvious to Lisa that Mike was drunk, he managed to behave himself throughout the starter and main course. This was partly down to her efforts to keep the conversation light and chatty, avoiding danger topics and even engaging in some light flirting with him. She did her best to appear relaxed and happy, although in truth she felt like a firefighter tackling a smouldering blaze near a petrol station. She went with his suggestion to get a bottle of red wine to accompany the steaks they’d both ordered, but drank more than she usually would in a bid to reduce his intake. This backfired when, without warning, he grabbed a passing waiter and ordered a second bottle.
Feeling tipsy now, Lisa couldn’t stop herself from intervening. ‘Wait a minute,’ she said, grabbing the waiter’s arm before he had a chance to leave and then looking at her husband. ‘Is that really necessary, love? Don’t you think we’ve had enough?’
The look Mike gave her in return was thunderous. ‘Ignore my wife, please,’ he said with feigned calmness, his eyes locked on to her face, daring her to contradict him again.
The waiter, not much older than his female co-worker and probably also a student, shuffled awkwardly on the spot, looking from one to the other. ‘Um. What, er—’
‘I said to bring me another bottle of red,’ Mike snapped, raising his voice loud enough so that several nearby diners turned to look.
‘Yes, of course, sir. Right away.’ He shot towards the bar without looking at Lisa again and her heart sank.
Mike thumped his right fist into the top of the small dining table, causing a loud clattering sound that drew yet more inquisitive glances. ‘What the hell was that?’ he growled. ‘Are you trying to make me look like an idiot?’
‘You do that all by yourself when you thump tables and raise your voice in public, Mike. Excuse me for daring to question whether we need another bottle of wine or not.’
Lisa realised at this moment, mortified by her husband’s behaviour, that she barely recognised him as the man she’d married sixteen years earlier. Physically he hadn’t changed that much. He still had the same broad shoulders, brown eyes, olive skin and thick stubble she’d fallen in love with when they’d met as trainee teachers. Even his short black hair wasn’t that different, despite receding a little and gaining some flecks of grey. No, these changes were on the inside, which was worse. The very public collapse of Mike’s career had mentally scarred him in all kinds of ways – and Lisa feared that the funny, kind, driven man she’d once adored may have disappeared for good.
‘If I want another bottle, I’ll have one,’ he slurred.
‘Don’t you think that maybe you’ve had enough?’
‘Oh, here we go. I was waiting for this.’
‘Well, I wasn’t going to say anything, but I could tell you were pretty plastered when we arrived