Douglas Richardson was staring at the bottom of his glass, contemplating the utter failure that was his life.
He was going to be sixty tomorrow, and what had he achieved so far? Three failed marriages, with Helena walking away on him for a t'ai chi instructor; over the last five years he'd been fired from Air England, demoted to First Officer, and risked losing his job countless times since MJN Air could fold at any given moment.
The miniature of Talisker he'd stolen from Carolyn on Birling Day was a siren call he found increasingly hard to resist. He needed a drink, craved the familiar taste of alcohol burning at the back of his throat.
Desperately he tried to cling onto the thought of his daughter. Emily didn't deserve this, she loved her Dad and trusted him with the innocence inherent to her young age.
He couldn't betray her, and yet he wasn't sure he was strong enough to resist the temptation tonight.
It was the ring of the doorbell that called a temporary truce, and he unwillingly dragged himself to his feet. He wasn't entirely pleased to find Martin on his doorstep; he wasn't in the mood for visitors this fine evening.
"To what do I owe the pleasure, sir?" he quipped sarcastically, and the smile on Martin's face quickly faded away.
"I – hum – I happened to be in the neighbourhood, and I thought –"
"Did you really?"
His friend nervously bit at his lower lip, clearly unsure what to do next. He was making a fool of himself, Douglas decided at last; he might as well let Martin in, it would sound suspicious if he didn't.
"Tea?" he asked flatly, but Martin simply shook his head and slumped into the nearest chair, his features freezing in horror as soon as he noticed the glass of whisky sitting on the coffee table.
"Douglas?" the younger man prompted in an urgent whisper, causing a pang of guilt to clutch at his stomach.
"It's not what sir might think," he sneered, his disdainful façade now firmly in place. "I was waiting for a friend."
"Douglas, please."
Anger bubbled in his chest at the look of pity that flashed across the other's eyes; the last thing he needed was anyone's pity. "A lady friend, as a matter of fact. Now, if you excuse me…"
Concerned eyes stared at him for a long moment as Martin considered his options. "I actually stopped by to give you this," he murmured, handing him a package wrapped in plain brown paper. "Happy birthday."
A lump settled in Douglas' throat as his fingers tore at the paper revealing a bottle of his favourite cologne, one that Martin couldn't really afford on his non-existent salary.
"Could you – could you please pour that stuff down the kitchen sink?" he said at last, gesturing towards the damned Talisker.
Martin gave him a lopsided smile before doing as asked. An unspoken 'thank you' hung in the air, but Douglas felt too emotionally drained to actually say it out loud.
"Come here, you idiot," his friend muttered, pulling in for a somewhat awkward embrace.
A sarcastic remark danced on the tip of his tongue, but in the end he simply gave in to the comfort he was being offered. He would tease Martin tomorrow, he decided; for now he would simply enjoy the company of a friend, and forget about everything else.