Mercy Seat (10 page)

We haven't been there for years.

No, she agreed. Not since we were courting.

Courting, Christine laughed. That sounds so old-fashioned.

We
are
old-fashioned, Jenny insisted. Aren't we? she said, nudging her shoulders into my chest.

Looking ahead along the pavement I could see the blue lamps marking the steps down to the cellar, about fifty yards on. A light mist had come in with the tide and the lamps, along with the orange streetlights stretching down the prom, were haloed by it and seemed to be floating in mid-air.

We used to drink there a lot, she said, talking to Christine now. It was where we always used to meet. None of my other friends went there, so we could hide ourselves away.

I nodded, feeling awkward now. I could sense Christine's eyes on me, searching my face.

Come on, Jenny urged, and linked arms with us both until we reached the hazy blue lamps and the steps down to the bar.

A wooden signboard advertising a vodka promotion lay flat on its back at the foot of the steps. It was scuffed in the middle where someone had booted it down from the pavement.

Do you like vodka? Jenny asked Christine.

I don't know, she said. I've never drunk it.

Jenny laughed delightedly. You're joking! she said. My own sister, and she's never had vodka! What kind of life is that?

A couple of students appeared above us at the top of the steps. I pulled Jenny aside to let them get past then caught the door and held it open as it swung back after them.

Thanks, Christine said, and led the way in.

Not much had changed since we'd last been there – it
was still loud with piped rock music, dark, low-ceilinged and smoky. The wall lights were the only things that had altered. They still struggled to light anything past their own fittings but they were ultra-violet now and anyone wearing white in the bar was glowing faintly with a blueish phosphorescence. Maybe it was meant to liven the atmosphere up and suggest a nightclub ambience, but it gave the place a kind of sunken, submarine quality.

What do you want? I asked them both.

Jenny frowned and cupped her ear so I shouted the question again.

Get us a vodka and lime each, she barked back into the side of my head. With ice.

I pushed through to the bar, leaving Jenny yelling something to Christine about the lighting. Clapton's
Layla
suddenly started up through the speakers around the walls and a knot of drinkers blocking my way to the bar started jerking and swaying in time to the riff. One of them was Alex, the student teacher from the room next door. He'd obviously been drinking for quite a while. His hair was plastered to his forehead and his eyes were glassy-looking. He hadn't seen me so I ducked away from him and worked my way through another cluster of bodies to the far end of the bar.

Jenny and Christine had managed to find a table in one of the recesses along the back wall. There were four abandoned highball glasses already on it, three of them still half-f. Jenny took both vodkas from me and handed one to her sister. I perched myself on a stool alongside Jenny and sipped at my lager.

Well, what do you think? Jenny asked Christine.

Christine shrugged and tilted the drink to her lips for a
second taste. The light from the wall lamp above us made the vodka glow for an instant as it moved in the glass. I saw her throat relax and a measure of the fluid slipping down. Then she set the glass on the table and swirled the drink quickly, skipping the ice along the walls of the glass. It just tastes of lime juice, she said. I can't taste anything else at all.

Jenny laughed. You're not supposed to taste it; that's why it's great. I haven't had it since I fell pregnant, but I always drank vodka when I was a girl. Everyone did.

Christine shrugged again, though she seemed to consider this for a while. Well, I wouldn't know, she said. Then, do you remember Rosehip syrup? she asked.

Jenny looked puzzled.

When we were little, Christine prompted, staring at her now. It was pale red, and sweet. It sort of tasted like roses.

Recognition lit up Jenny's face and she nodded, smiling. Yes! she said. When we were really little. It smelt like perfume. We used to fight over it because we only got it if we were sick. And you always lied and said you were sick too if I was poorly and allowed to have some. She started laughing again. Mam kept it in the medicine cupboard, didn't she? I remember it perfectly now. Isn't that stupid? I hadn't thought about that for twenty years, but I can see her opening the cupboard and lifting it down for me.

Christine nodded, but she seemed lost in her own thoughts suddenly, just the ghost of a smile on her lips.

I can just picture it, Jenny went on, in amongst the brown cough medicine bottles. I used to think it was such a lovely colour, in the middle of them all. And that smell. Didn't we love the smell?

Christine took a long drink from her glass, letting one
of the ice cubes pass through and then sucking it hard while her sister spoke.

Where would you get that now? Jenny asked us both. Could you still get it? We should get some for Michael. She sipped her drink. Do you think they still make it? Maybe it's bad for a baby's teeth though. It must have been liquid sugar, it was so sweet.

I saw it in a chemist's window once, Christine said. She crunched on the ice cube and swallowed the shards. I nearly bought it for myself. I wanted to, she said.

Jenny laughed again, but Christine seemed to have grown sad, or distant, and soon we were all drinking wordlessly again.

I saw Alex at the bar, I told Jenny. He didn't see me.

The boy next door?

I nodded.

You didn't say hello?

He was pissed.

You could have said hello. She turned to Christine. He helps me out with Michael sometimes. If I need a babysitter for a little while when Luke's at work. He's really good like that. She turned back to me. You should have said hello, she insisted, disappointed with me. If I see him I'll say hello, she said. I might even ask him over. I'm going to the loo and then I'll get another round.

Christ, steady on, I said. I'm still fine with this.

We haven't got much time. Drink up, she ordered Christine. You need to make up for your boring teens.

Why do you call him the boy next door? Christine asked as soon as Jenny slipped away.

I shrugged. Because he lives next door.

She smiled. He's a fool, isn't he?

I must have looked surprised because she laughed at me, delighted. I met him, she said. With Jenny. We were in the kitchen. He took us down to his room and made a pot of herbal tea. She leered at me.

Why is he a fool?

She laughed again, as if the question was a huge joke. But she was right: secretly, and for no good reason at all, I despised him. I'd never thought much about it, but something in his harmless, easy-going friendliness made me angry and contemptuous. It was petty jealousy, I suppose. I understood instinctively, the first time I met him, that he belonged completely and sincerely in the world, in his skin, in his rickety Victorian room at Bethesda. It would have been impossible for him to live anywhere and not belong. He made me feel I was back at school or in the colliery again, resentful in the presence of so many comfortable Martians who breathed my own air better than me, and left me gasping. He was stronger than me, and everything that floated in from the world to the tiny pocket of place and time we randomly shared must, I felt at some deep level, belong to him.

I opened my mouth to speak again but Christine shook her head. Don't, she said simply, then reached out and took a long gulp from one of the highball glasses that had been left on the table. It was dark and flat – some kind of Coke mix. Ugh, she said and set it deftly back in the same spot she'd taken it from. So when is this party you're taking me to?

It took me a moment to understand what she meant. My mind was still on Alex and the way Christine had cut so effortlessly, so casually, to the truth. I knew Jenny would never have suspected the meanness of my contempt; not
in a hundred years.
Yes, Jenny's a different species too
, I half-expected Christine to say.
And Michael too. They don't belong with you. You must hand them back
. I was almost waiting for it, and it terrified me.

Well? she said, and I realised I'd been lost in thought.

You mean Bill Kerrigan's party?

She nodded. I've been looking forward to it, she said, and her mouth pursed a little in the same way it just had when she'd tasted the flat, sweet drink in front of her.

Wednesday night.

She ran the tip of her tongue along her lips. She seemed distracted again suddenly. Then she smiled, focusing on me again. Kerrigan, she said. He's a fool too, isn't he? And despite the bright smile there was something intense in the way she said it, as if there was something suggestive in the idea.

No, he's fine, I protested. He's a nice guy.

Jenny called him a prick. When we were talking after you'd met him that time. Why does she think that?

I shrugged, uncomfortable. As far as I knew, Jenny still felt nothing more complicated than affection for Bill. I don't know. He's let us down a few times, promising things and then forgetting, you know? And I think Jenny and him were closer once, before I came on the scene. But he's never done anything bad to either of us. He's fine, I said again. I was confused at the way the conversation was going, and could feel my face becoming warm.

A prick, she repeated. Why is he a prick? Her lips parted a fraction, showing a glimpse of white.

I laughed and shrugged, trying to shake off a pressure I could feel building inside me. I needed air. I don't know. I don't think he is.

Her lips pursed back together, but tighter this time. Don't just tease, she said, and folded her arms loosely across her stomach.

A drunk girl flopped into the seat next to Christine, talking to a friend who remained standing at her side. Christine leaned over and spoke into her ear. The girl listened, stared at Christine a short while, then tugged at the friend's arm, stood up a little unsteadily, and left for another part of the bar.

I need the Gents, I said. I'll be back in a minute. I knew there'd be an open window there, and cool wet air blowing in from the sea.

Jenny and Christine were both at the table staring at fresh drinks when I was finally ready to go back through. The other glasses were all more or less empty and I knew Christine had swilled them down as soon as my back was turned, though why I couldn't guess. She ignored me when I sat down but Jenny leaned over and told me she'd talked to Alex and I was right, he was in a bad way.

I nodded just to show I'd heard her over the music and babble, then motioned for her to lean a little closer so I could put my mouth to her ear. Is everything alright? I asked. I mean with Christine.

Jenny pulled a face and shrugged subtly.

Is she upset?

Another tiny shrug. It's okay, I think. I don't know. Maybe she's just tired. Or maybe the vodka's going to her head. She's not used to it, is she?

I sat back and started on the fresh pint Jenny had bought for me, not needing it. Every so often Christine and Jenny exchanged words but mainly just drank steadily
in short, compulsive sips. I nursed my pint through several of their rounds. At one point Jenny yelled to her over the music, with forced cheerfulness: has it hit you yet? Are you feeling the magic?

Christine smiled into space, then got up wordlessly and left the table to make for the bar again. It was getting crowded now and a local band had started setting up their gear in a far corner.

Jenny frowned, watching her go, then shifted her seat closer. She keeps staring around, Jenny shouted over the din. I think she's out of it. Should we take her home?

Yes, I shouted back. This is terrible.

I know. Sorry. It was a bad idea coming here. She moved her stool back then took another sip of whatever vodka mix she'd bought for the last round. She looked at me, swallowed and exaggerated a deep sigh.

Christine seemed a long time coming back with the drinks, and when she did she handed them to us wearing the same vacant expression that she'd left with.

Are you feeling ok? I yelled over the music as she set the glass down in front of me, spilling a little.

She turned a puzzled glance on me, then sat down and stared at the strangers milling about the table and moving to the music. They're like clumps of seaweed, swaying around underwater, she announced loudly.

I looked at Jenny and she raised her eyebrows. Drink up, she mouthed at me, and I nodded.

We shouldn't be too much longer, I heard her bark at Christine. We'd better not be late for Michael. She drained off the whole of her new drink in one and set the empty glass down firmly in front of her.

Christine peered down at her watch, studying it for a
few moments before dropping her arm to her side again. We could have one more, and then go, she said.

I could feel Jenny's frown bearing down on me from across the table, but it was my round so I avoided catching her eye. I think Jenny and me are fine, I said. I'll get you another one if you want though.

Have a vodka and lime with me – keep me company, she said, struggling to make herself heard and slurring quite badly now.

We can have a drink when we get back, Jenny interrupted. We've got more elderflower wine.

Christine grimaced. Go on, she pressed, ignoring Jenny. Have one with me. She almost touched my arm, but drew back and stirred a fingertip in the spilled beer instead.

Well, ok. But I'll have a whisky, not vodka, I said, still avoiding Jenny's glare.

Have something, Jennifer, she shouted at her sister, but Jenny shook her head, eyes fixed angrily on me.

Alex was still around and this time he caught my eye as I stood waiting at the taps. He wormed his way through to me and I noticed three young girls had tagged along behind him.