The bar is seamy, dark and disreputable.
Just the place for a grieving man…
James has had two beers with chasers already and looks to be just hitting his stride.
Wonder what he’s eaten today…?
I flag the barman for a bowl of nuts, trying to be subtle about pushing it James’ way. He fails to notice
and simply swills down half a beer in two swallows.
“I suppose I never really believed I’d lost her entirely…” he’s saying. “But the way she looked at me
when I tried to tell her that her mother had lied.”
I put my glass down, trying not to touch the surface of the suspiciously sticky counter. “Who wants to
believe bad things about their mother?”
His nod is microscopic. The tilt of his head as he knocks back another malt chaser is large.
“What did Georgie want?”
We’ve only been here twenty minutes, and he’s already slurring. “Money for her mother.”
“Pretty manipulative on Marlene’s part,” I comment. “You'd think she would have come to ask herself.
Rather than use her own daughter that way.”
James flags the barman for another round…
Do I want to keep up with this?
…. What are friends for…?
We’re both going to pay in the morning…
“She did.”
“What?”
“She did. Marlene came to see me, at the office.”
I try to inject calm into my voice. “When was that?”
“Some weeks ago.”
“And you didn't say anything?”
“I didn't think it was your problem.”
“It becomes my problem when my wife is crying.”
“Yes,” he whispers and knocks back his shot, slamming the glass down on the bar. “Another.”
He’s on a burn tonight…
Wants to drink himself unconscious?
*****
Two hours and, I think, five…
… or is it six…?
… bars later…
… my head is weaving more than my body. My legs are definitely drunk and so is the horizon.
The barman slaps down the double malt James just ordered. “Last one,” he says, his voice short.
“No prubl’m,” I mutter.
How the hell are we going to get home in this state…?
I nod over the bar, “Can you call us a cab, please.”
“No need.” There's a tap on my shoulder. I turn, one hand gripping the bar rail.
“Roshh? Whash the fuck are you doing here?”
Richard’s chauffeur eases a hand under my elbow. “Mr Haswell's orders. To get you both back safely.”
“Thatsh very good of h…”
*****
James
Christ Almighty…
My head….
I start to sit up, then flop back as my stomach rebels and the bed tilts alarmingly.
Where am I?
Crusty-eyed, I examine my surroundings.
Clean white linen…
A clean white ceiling…
Moving my head cautiously, in case it detaches from my neck, I look around.
On a small table beside me are a plastic tumbler, a pitcher of water and another of what looks like
orange juice.
And beyond, in a bed which twins with mine, is Michael, lying on his back, his mouth open, snoring
slightly.
Orange juice...
Drink of the gods...
Scraping myself from between the sheets...
I'm naked...
When did I undress?
Operating limbs and spine in a series of complex manoeuvres designed to sit me upright without
spilling me from the bed, I reach for the juice, gulping down a glass and then another. My throat
blesses me but my stomach somersaults.
As I reach for the water instead, Michael stirs, raising a trembling hand to his forehead.
“Oh, fuck...”
After a moment he wipes down his face with a palm and his eyes peel open.
“There's…” My lips are sticking together. I lick them and try again. “There’s juice by the bed.”
He jolts, his head jerking my way then stopping in mid-movement. Moving with exaggerated caution, he
sits up. As he pours a glass of juice, he looks across. “Next time I suggest going on a bender with you,
remind me not to.” His face is sallow, his eyes bloodshot.
“Fine by me. Any idea where we are?”
He sips juice, shudders then surveys the room. “Not a clue.” He looks around again. “At least it’s not a
police cell. Maybe we booked into a hotel?” He drinks more juice, then gulps it. “Aaahhh…” Then he
pours another.
"If we did, it's a plush hotel."
“The bill's on you then.”
There's a tap at the door and the handle creaks as it turns. A face appears at the crack; Charlotte
“Master? Michael?”
Her voice trembles and as she looks to me, she's gnawing at her lower lip.
Jade… My Jade…
I hurt you.
I hold out my arms to her, resisting the urge to wince at the pounding in my head, and am rewarded by
the smile which blooms across her pale, beautiful face.
“I'm sorry,” I say. “I behaved badly. You didn't deserve it.”
“That's alright, Master.” She moves into the room, pauses to kiss Michael on the lips, then sits beside
me on the bed, stroking my face. “So long as you're better now.”
Am I better now?
“So, where are we?” asks Michael.
Her lips twitch. “You don't know? You don't remember?”
“Um, no. I've lost the evening after about the third or fourth bar.”
“We're in Richard and Beth's house. They brought me back with them last night and Richard sent Ross
out to trail you both and get you back here too.”
When you find out who your friends are...
The door pushes open to reveal Beth carrying a tray. “Good morning,” she smiles. “Coffee and tea.
Whichever you prefer. And something for your heads….” She sets a fizzing glass by my bed, another
by Michael’s. “… Breakfast when you're ready.”
“Thanks, but no breakfast for me,” I say, “but you can keep the coffee coming.”
“Boiled egg?” she suggests. “Something inside would settle your stomach.” She eyes me. “It looks as
though your stomach needs settling.”
“I could manage a boiled egg, yes.”
She nods to a door. “Bathroom. There are robes and towels in there. Come down when you're ready.
There's no hurry.”
“Aren't we in the way?” says Michael. “We’ll get moving as soon as we can.”
“Richard is working from home today. He's on a conference call now. He’ll join us for breakfast when
you're ready.”
*****
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