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.”

and knocks back his shot,

on a burn

to drink

*****

hours and, I think,

is it

… bars later…

weaving more than my body. My legs are definitely

James just ordered. “Last

“No prubl’m,” I mutter.

the hell are we going to get home in this

“Can you call us a cab,

There's a tap on my shoulder. I turn, one hand gripping the

fuck are you doing

“Mr Haswell's orders. To get you

very good

*****

James

Christ Almighty…

My head….

then flop back as my stomach rebels and the bed

Where am I?

I examine my

Clean white linen…

A clean white ceiling…

head cautiously, in case it detaches

plastic tumbler, a pitcher of water

in a bed which twins with mine, is Michael, lying on his back, his mouth

Orange juice...

Drink of the gods...

from

I'm naked...

When did I undress?

manoeuvres designed to sit me upright without spilling me from the bed, I reach for

for the water instead, Michael stirs, raising

“Oh, fuck...”

wipes down his face with a palm and his eyes peel

sticking together. I lick them

juice, he looks across. “Next time I suggest going on a

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