‘Weekends became a total shitshow, Friday night, Saturday night, you’d never know what was going to happen. Fights. Like, actual fists, with strangers. Or she’d disappear and not come back until the next day. Then she, Tegan and some of the other girls started this brunch thing on Sunday. Harlie would come home at like, one a.m., in absolute tatters.’ He flinched at the memory.

‘She said she was depressed so we went to her doctor and she got tablets. I really wanted to believe her reasons for drinking because it meant there was a solution. But nothing worked and everything was going to hell. We were behind on our credit cards and we hate owing money—well, she used to hate it…She’d stopped going to the gym. She’d lost all interest in buying the Drill.’

Even though I knew how this story ended, listening to the inexorable downward spiral had my stomach clenched in knots.

‘When did you realize she was an alcoholic?’

‘Took a long time. Like, she’s beautiful and young, always looked after herself, her hair and clothes. Nothing like old men on benches in the park. And I didn’t want it to be true, I admit that. A few times she quit weekday drinking, maybe for three or four days, she said it proved that she wasn’t an alcoholic because alcoholics drink every day.’ With a shrug of the gigantic shoulders. ‘I guess that’s not true.’

‘It’s not,’ I said. ‘So you loved Harlie?’

‘I loved her so much. Like, I mean it, no one else ever came close.’ He paused and took a breath. ‘She loved me too. For a while we were happy, really happy.’

There was a lump in my throat. Addiction destroyed so much that was good and pure.

‘Why did you leave her?’