Masters & Lovers Box Set Three

Chapter 14

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.”

knocks back his shot, slamming the glass down on the

on a burn

to drink himself

*****

hours and, I

or is

… bars later…

than my body. My

barman slaps down the double malt James just

“No prubl’m,” I mutter.

going to get home in this

nod over the bar, “Can you call us

my shoulder. I turn, one hand

the fuck

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

good of

*****

 

James

Christ Almighty…

My head….

to sit up, then flop back as my

Where am I?

I examine my

Clean white linen…

A clean white ceiling…

my head cautiously, in case it detaches from

me are a plastic tumbler, a pitcher of water and another of what looks

beyond, in a bed which twins with mine, is Michael, lying

Orange juice...

Drink of the gods...

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,

water instead, Michael stirs, raising a

“Oh, fuck...”

down his face

them

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

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