He puts his hand over his eyes, and wills himself to have control. Falling apart is not going to help anything. It'll just make him feel weak, and he is done with feeling weak.

So, eventually, he takes a deep breath and has another drink. Stubs his fag out.

'That the sort of thing you want me to talk about? What good's it goin' to do, Alex? I can't change any of it. It's too late to fix it for any of us. Only the people who come after, an' - well, they fix it for themselves if they want to.'

They do it for themselves. He does it for himself. That's what he's used to. This, here, this is abnormal. Unnatural, even, for him.