Mercy Seat by Wayne Price Page A

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 steadilyin 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 afew 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