The room smelt of stale beer and scotch. Empty bottles and crushed cans littered the floor surrounding the man's feet. He was oblivious to the state that he was in, with clothes tattered and stained, and hair hanging untamed around his neck. The glazed eyes seemed focused on a particular pile of cans to the right of his feet, the blue labels seemingly appealing to his senses. Suddenly, he threw himself forward, pushing his free hand (the other held an empty bottle) into the mess. After a few moments of rummaging, the man pulled his hand out, revealing the object he was looking for. A faded silver photo frame, with the glass cracked, was clenched in his hand. He examined the back closely, impatiently tugging at the catches that held the photograph in place. After a few moments of drunken struggling, the back came away, and the man pulled the photograph out of the frame. He turned it over, letting the frame drop to the floor. The friendly face in the photograph stared up at him, and the man allowed a tear to trickle down his cheek, becoming lost in the hair that clinged to his chin.

"And I remember everything, everything I loved..."

The man glanced up when he heard the front door slam into the wall. He saw a younger version of himself standing in the doorway, swaying slightly, before staggering into the room. He watched as the man lifted a can from his pocket and began to fumble with the ring pull.
"Don't you dare!"
The man dropped his can on the floor. He watched as the drink began to fizz from the small gap he'd managed to create using the ring pull. He lifted his head and glared at the woman stood across from him in the kitchen doorway, "Yous made me spill me beer, bitch!"
"What a surprise... you're drunk..." she said, ignoring the jibe, but her tone was filled with anger, "You can't live without the stuff, can you?"
"Is just a... just a drink!" The man held up his finger, "One drink!"
The woman shook her head, "And what about the other ten you've had at the pub, huh, Greg?"
"Wasn't ten..." he mumbled, leaning against the wall and closing his eyes for a second.
The woman stormed across the room, slapping his cheek, "You aren't falling asleep on me! I'm talking to you!"
"You ain't talking, Jean! You're shouting! And it hurts my fucking head! Yell at me in the morning or something!" Greg moved to the kitchen, his voice echoing through to them, "What's this?"
A few moments later, he came back into the room, holding a suitcase, "What the hell is this, Jean!"
She sobbed, looking away from him, "I'm leaving. I've had enough. I was going to stay if you'd come home sober, but you're worse than ever," she moved forward, snatching the case from his hands.
"But... but it's only a drink!" He yelled, knocking over a vase. It broke easily, sending water and wilting flowers everywhere.
Jean sobbed louder, "It's me or the drink, Greg," she whispered, looking up at him.

"I gave it away, like it wasn't enough..."

The tension around them increased as Greg said nothing and just stared at his wife.
"Just what I thought..." she whispered, stepping out of the door.
Greg fell to his knees as the door closed. The current-day Greg hoped in vain that he'd shout after her, but he didn't. Instead, he crawled over to the partially opened can on the floor, cradling it as though it was his own child. The vision slowly began to fade, until Greg was all alone again. He felt more tears escape his tired eyes and didn't bother to attempt to stop them. He wrapped his arms around his legs for warmth and sat, numb, waiting for more.
Suddenly, the room was thrown into light, and Greg had to raise his hand to stop it blinding him. The doorbell chimed loudly throughout the house, and Greg saw himself dart from the kitchen doorway to answer the door quickly. He stopped on the way, drawing the curtains, which allowed his current self to lower his hand. In the brief moments before he disappeared into the corridor, Greg examined his former self. For once, he looked smart. He'd made a real effort, and he knew why.
"Jean," he heard himself say, "Thanks for coming..."
There was a moment of silence, before his wife replied, "Are you going to let me in?"
Greg could hear shuffling in the hall, before the two moved into the room in which he sat. He caught his breath as he looked at his wife, standing there.
His younger self did the same, "Wow, Jay, you look good..." he smiled at her, but the action was not returned. He cleared his throat and pointed to the sofa, "Do you want to sit?"
Jean did so without a word. Young-Greg sat on the sofa at the opposite end, watching her carefully as she looked around his house.
"You cleaned."
Greg nodded proudly, "Yeah, I did. It was a mess, so..." he stopped, looking at her carefully, "I'm sorry, Jay... I just..."
Jean smiled sadly, "I know...but..." she paused, drawing her breath in quickly.

"All the words I said and all you forgive. How could I hurt you again?"

Greg watched for a moment, brows knitting together in confusion, "But what?"
She laughed bitterly, standing up and moving towards the pictures on the mantelpiece, "It's not going to change, is it?"
"Why not?" Greg asked defensively, also standing.
"You don't tell me anything, Greg. You never have and never will." She took a few steps towards him, hand raised as though to touch his cheek. She quickly dropped it, "I never know what's going through your head... and I can't help you. I'm your wife, and you won't let me in!"

"What if I let you in? What if I make it right it?"

"I can change!" Greg said, moving towards her, only for her to move back. He paused, watching her movement, "Why'd you move?"
"I can smell the booze, Greg!" Jean shouted, tears rolling down her cheeks, "You said you'd given it up!"
"I can't just go cold turkey! I need a drink every now and then... I needed one before to calm my nerves!"
Jean laughed again, turning away from him, "You'll never be able to give the booze up for anyone. It's a push trying to get you to give it up for me..."
Greg clenched his hands into fists, "But I can give up... I will!"

"What if I give it up? What if I want to try?"

"You haven't got the will power... you just don't want to-"
"How the hell would you know what I want? I do want to give it up... I'm trying but I keep getting knocked down at the starting line..."
She shook her head, moving towards the door, "I've heard this before..." She paused, looking back at him, "You say this every time, and every time I believe you. I keep thinking 'why not give him a chance?' And then it happens again. It's just a vicious cycle." She grabbed the door handle, looking back at him, "I can't go through it again, Greg." She stepped through into the hallway, the door slowly closing behind her.
Greg's younger-self stepped forward, "But, but I love you!" He yelled, stopping the door closing, "I love you... please... stay..."

"What if you take a chance? What if I learn to love?"

Greg could not see past himself as he stood in the way, but he knew the words that were being said, and knew that Jean was going to step through the door and walk out of his life forever. The door slammed shut, and his younger-self came back into the room, anger and pain written on his face. He looked up slowly, walking towards the kitchen, "She didn't even given me a chance..."

"What if, what if we start again?"

The scene once again fades, and is replaced by a room full of young children, running around and screaming at each other. Balloons litter the floor, and a table stands by the window, filled with colourful food. Watching one girl in particular, Greg finds himself smiling, feeling proud of his beautiful daughter on her 10th birthday. She darts to the door as it opens. Greg, looking tired with heavy bags under his eyes, steps through, wincing as the children scream in delight as the cake is brought out.
"Daddy!" the girl yells, throwing her arms around his waist and hugging him.
Greg pushes her away, dumping his briefcase and heading towards the kitchen, "Not now, Car. I've had a bad day."
The girl stares and watches her father walk away.

"All this time, I can make it right, with one more try, can we start again?"

Current-Greg walks over to his daughter, feeling a great deal of pain as a tear rolls down her cheek. He reaches out to wipe it away, his hand touching nothing but the cold air as his daughter's friends drag her off to play hide-and-seek. He watched the group move quickly through to the kitchen, and then to the backyard. He followed them, watching himself grab a beer from the fridge. The glass door leading outside slid shut, separating him from his daughter, and current-Greg leaned against it. He watched his daughter silently, his self-loathing increasing with every glance she throws his way.

"In my eyes, you can see it now, can we start again, can we start again?"

The scene began to fade again, and Greg found himself standing in a now empty kitchen, bar one box. He kicks it, hearing the shattering of plates and bowls. With a sigh, Greg walks back through to the front room. The emptiness seems to scream at him, and he cannot bear it. Almost immediately, he grabbed his wallet from the shelf by the door and walked out. The light was bright outside, with barely a cloud in the sky. He sighed and squinted against the suns brilliant beams, noticing a bus coming down the road.
Quickly, he ran across it, just missing a car coming in the opposite direction. Impatiently, he waited for the bus to reach him, jumping on after a frail old lady. The bus conductor nearly shut the doors on him.
"Oi, watch it, mate!" He said, flashing his bus card and walking to the back to stare out of the window. The cul-de-sac moved slowly by, with children outside playing and parents washing their cars. Greg closed his eyes, waiting until he could hear the sounds of the town before opening them again. The buildings soared high above, and the bus rattled to a stop. Two younger men in hoodies climbed on, also heading to the back of the bus. They began to move again, pulling into the flow of traffic and heading further into the centre.
"Can't wait to head to Jen's tonight! It's gonna be sick, mate!" One of the youths said (quite loudly) to his friend.
The other practically shouted back, "I thought it was tomorrow."
Greg glanced over to see the first shaking his head, "Nah, it's the 18th today, right?" The second nodded, which the first took as a cue to continue, "So it's tonight!" He sat back, grinning widely.
Greg's mind suddenly switched on, and he turned to the boys, "Excuse me-"
"But I was certain it was tomorrow!" The second said, ignoring Greg.
The boy pulled a face, "Nah. She always has her parties on Saturdays."
"It's Saturday," Greg repeated, standing up quickly, ringing the bell on the bus at the same time as a young woman wearing a tracksuit. Slowly, the bus ground to a halt opposite the park, and Greg jumped off.
Walking to the crossing, he walked straight across, again just missing some cars heading his way. He began to run, and came level with the park entrance. Around him, the world began to change, and in the distance, he could see his wife and child playing together. He smiled as he watched them, before slowly beginning to approach. His wife glanced up, her glare froze him on the spot, and he felt he could not intrude on this close family moment that he felt he should have been a part of. However, looking behind him, he saw himself, the same as he was now.

"Emptiness inside me, I wonder if you see..."

He watched as the other-Greg headed towards a nearby bench. He sat down slowly, putting his head in his hands and staring at the ground. Greg sat next to him on the bench, watching as his wife approached.

"It's my mistake and it's hurting me..."

A hand touched other-Greg's shoulder and he slowly lifted his head. Jean stood in front of him, looking quite worried, "What are you doing here, Greg?"
He rubbed the back of his neck, "Well, I was on the way to the shops, and-"
"What were you planning on buying at the shops?"
He met her eyes, "You know what I was going to buy. You know perfectly well what I was planning on buying. So why are you asking me?"
She shook her head, laughing a cold, harsh laugh, "So why are you here? Haven't you got a keg to buy?"
Greg stood up, "Look, I knew it was Saturday, and you and Carrie always come to the park on Saturdays. I just thought..."
"Go on," his wife said, watching him intently.
"I thought I'd come and see her."
"On your way to buying beer?" She shook her head, "You never change, do you?"
"I am trying, Jay. I really am," Greg said, ignoring the glare he received. "Look, can I maybe just take her to the shops, like I used to?"
Jean shuffled from foot to foot, "But it isn't anything like it used to be, Greg. It's all different."

"I know where we've been, how'd we get so far? What if, what if we start again?"

Greg sighed, "Please?"
"I don't think she'll want to-"
"DAD!"
Other-Greg and Current-Greg both turned, smiles spreading across their features as his daughter raced towards them. Other-Greg opened his arms and caught her, swinging her around, "Wow, you've grown so much!" He kissed her on the cheek, looking at his wife, "Please?"
"Mum, why is Dad saying please?" Carrie asked, looking up at her mother.
Jean sighed, looking at her daughter, "Your father was wondering if you fancied spending the day shopping with him."
Carrie's face lit up, "Yes! Oh Dad, can we go to the sweet shop first?"
Greg nodded, turning to Jean, "I'll bring her back her for 3. Is that okay?"
With a sigh, Jean nodded, looking to where her daughter had been, "Carrie?"
Greg turned around, seeing his daughter running towards the road.
"Carrie, stop!" both Other-Greg and Current-Greg yelled.
They both began to run towards the girl who was reaching the side of the road as a large lorry approached.
"CARRIE, WAIT!" Current-Greg yelled, unaware of the fact that she could not hear him.
The girl turned in the road, smiling at her father, before looking in the direction Other-Greg was pointing. She froze.
"CARRIE!!!" Other-Greg yelled, being that little bit quicker that Current-Greg and running ahead of him. He ran into the road, pushing Carrie out of the way.
"DADDY!" she yelled as the lorry hit him.

"I'm lost inside the pain I feel without you..."

Current-Greg watched as the lorry pulled to a stop, the driver climbing out and shaking. Jean ran towards to road, cradling her daughter, who sobbed against her.
"Daddy... let me help Daddy..." she sobbed.

"I can't stop holding on, I need you with me!"

Current-Greg approached his other self as the lorry driver did the same. He looked around, noticing people on their phones, calling the emergency services. Back at the side of the road, his daughter was struggling against her mother's grip.
"DADDY! GET UP, DAD! PLEASE!"
She broke free of her mother, running towards the body in the road and flinging herself onto it, "Dad, get up. Please get up..."

"I'm caught inside the pain, can we ever start again?"

The Greg lying in the road smiled up at his daughter, coughing a little, "I love you," he rasped, slowly closing his eyes as his breathing slowed.
"Dad, don't, please... just keep looking at me... please Dad... please..." Carrie begged, holding onto her father's hand.
Current-Greg knelt next to her, watching as Greg forced his eyes open to look at his daughter. For a second, he thought that the dying Greg had looked at him. He looked over as Jean slowly approached.
"Greg, please just hold on. The ambulance should be here soon. Don't leave us yet," she said, not bothering to wipe her eyes.
The Greg in the road smiled, pointing at Current-Greg, "But I'll be back... I'll be back to watch over you both..." he coughed as the two looked at the space where Current-Greg was, not seeing him, "I love you... both... both of you... and..."
"Don't. Greg, don't. Just keep calm and stay with us."
"Dad, please. Save your strength..."
"I'm sorry... for every... everything..." he stuttered, coughing more, and letting out a long sigh. The hand holding Carrie's stopped squeezing, and Carrie began to cry.
"Daddy..."

"I'm lost without you!"

Suddenly, the scene changed, and Greg found himself in the middle of a funeral procession. The people were all familiar to him, and he moved to the front to see his wife and child there, sobbing. Carrie looked up at road where her father had died, before going to her mother and hugging her. Greg followed the procession and sat through the funeral, noticing all the faces he knew and recognised. Soon, the funeral moved outside. As the vicar began to read from the bible as the coffin was lowered into the ground, Greg read the tombstone.
'Here lies Gregory Peter Holmes. May God forgive his sins and carry him into the next life'
Greg frowned, looking around the congregation. Many were crying, and some were struggling not to. The vicar stopped reading, and handing a box to Carrie. She put her hand into the box, pulling out some flower petals and throwing them into the grave.
"Goodbye Daddy..." she mumbled, watching as others began to throw more petals in.
Soon, the grave began to become filled with soil, and those gathered walked away. Greg sat next to the grave as finally his wife and child walked away.

"One more try... Can we start again?"

The scene faded again, and Greg found himself alone in the winter next to the grave. The cold did not touch him, though the grave was still looking fresh. He sighed, reaching forward and touching the stone. His hand leapt back, shocked. Curious, he picked up a nearby stone.
He could touch.
With the stone in his hand, he began to carve into the grave, and was just finished when he heard the crunch of gravel and snow close by. He looked up, noticing Jean and Carrie walking towards the grave. They both looked slightly older, and were carrying flowers.
Greg stood, watching their approach. Carrie knelt in front of the grave, placing the flowers down, before yelling.
"Mum, look at the gravestone!"
Jean frowned, "Carrie, you need to be quiet..."
"But look! Read it!"
Jean sighed, kneeling beside her daughter and reading the new words on the grave.
The words had been mostly scribbled out. The only words left were 'may' and 'forgive'. The sentence now read 'May my wife and daughter forgive me'.

"In my eyes, can you forgive me now?"

Jean sobbed, touching the letters, "These are fresh..." she whispered, looking around to find the culprit.
Greg moved closer, attempting to resist the urge to touch her. However, the snow at his feet shifted, and Jean's head followed the movement.
"I forgive you, Greg. We both do..." she muttered, hugging her daughter and standing up.
"Come on, Carrie, let's go home..." she said, wrapping one arm around her daughter and smiling in Greg's direction. "Come on," she said again, her smile growing wider.
Greg smiled himself and followed them along the path and out of the graveyard.

"Can we start again?"