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, slamming the glass

a

to drink

*****

and, I

or is it

… bars later…

my body. My legs are definitely

the double malt James just ordered. “Last one,” he says, his voice

“No prubl’m,” I mutter.

we going to

the bar, “Can you call us a

a tap on my shoulder. I turn, one hand gripping the bar

fuck are you doing

a hand under my elbow. “Mr Haswell's orders. To

good

*****

James

Christ Almighty…

My head….

start to sit up, then flop back as my

Where am I?

I examine

Clean white linen…

A clean white ceiling…

cautiously, in case it detaches from

are a plastic tumbler, a pitcher of water and

mine, is Michael, lying on his

Orange juice...

Drink of the gods...

myself from between

I'm naked...

When did I undress?

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

for the water instead, Michael stirs, raising a trembling

“Oh, fuck...”

down his face with a palm and his

My lips are sticking together. I lick them and try again.

juice, he looks across. “Next time I suggest going on a bender with you, remind

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