the wall and put all her weight on them.
Cancer? Was that it? It might explain her demeanour, the way that she didn’t seem to care, and that faintly hostile coldness behind her eyes.
“It’s nice to see a new face around these parts,” she said, as if continuing some conversation the precise details of which he’d missed. “You get sick of these mardy bastards around here.” She twitched her head, indicating everyone else in the pub. “Sometimes I want to smash their faces in just to see what they’d do.” She smiled at last, but it was a bitter expression that didn’t quite suit her long face. “Do you know what I mean, or am I scaring you?” The question was a challenge. He could feel it. She was testing him, feeling him out.
“No, I knew exactly what you mean. Sometimes I get like that myself.” But it ran deeper than that. He knew it even if he was unable to vocalise his feelings. This place – it lent force to the everyday negative emotions people had, and it amplified them. He didn’t know how, or why, it happened, but here in the Grove bad thoughts took on substance, became even worse deeds-in-waiting. All it took was a trigger, and sometimes the finger pulling that trigger was the last one you expected.
There was a pause, then, and she looked around the room, her face resuming its previous set expression of mild distaste. Marc tried to judge the true shape of her body underneath her clothing, and he was left with the off-putting impression of skin and bones. Usually he was attracted to women with a fuller figure, and he failed to understand what it was about Abby that he found so appealing. Was he simply drunk and horny and had seen an opportunity here, or did the attraction run deeper than merely the possibility of a quick fix of empty sex? He couldn’t be sure; his thoughts refused to settle and his emotions were unfamiliar.
“How about another?” he said, draining his bottle. He’d abandoned the whisky in favour of sticking to beer. He was already too drunk to repair the damage, but at least he could prevent drinking himself insensate.
“Yeah,” she said. “Thanks.” Gratitude – this was new. He felt like he might be getting somewhere.
His journey to the bar this time was fraught with anxiety. Although the pub was quieter now, and he knew that he wouldn’t collide with anyone, he felt too exposed. His drunkenness was a badge of dishonour; it was difficult putting one foot in front of the other without stumbling.
He made it to the bar and clung on for dear life. He looked down at his hands. The knuckles were red.
“Yer in there, mate.”
He turned to his left and examined the owner of the voice. It was a short, fat man dressed in jeans and a ripped black T-shirt that was pulled out of shape and faded from being washed too many times. “Sorry?”
“The lass,” said the man. “She’ll go with anyone, her. Yer in for a shag the neet.”
Marc blinked. His eyes felt gritty. The man’s smile was wide and vaguely threatening, as if he were pushing for a fight.
“We’re just chatting,” he said, wondering why he felt the need to justify his actions to this stranger. “You know, a bit of harmless fun.”
The man shook his head. The muscles in his neck bulged and there was a blue tattoo of a swallow on his throat.
How witty, thought Marc, resisting the urge to grin.
The man turned slightly, so that he was facing Marc head-on. He was broad; his biceps were large and hard. More tattoos snaked down his wide forearms. “Don’t worry, mate. I’m only havin’ you on. Bit of a laugh, like. But, seriously, if you play it right she’ll take you home with her the neet. Game on, like.”
The barmaid – a different one this time; they must have changed shifts – came over and Marc ordered another bottle of Becks and a white wine and soda. He glanced back at Abby. She was slumped against the wall, her eyes heavy-lidded, starting to close, and her hips swayed gently to the music. She was even drunker than he felt. Now that she’d let her guard down, he could see how far gone she really was.
He carried the drinks over to the jukebox. Johnny Cash was singing about a Ring of Fire. Behind him, the short, fat man and his friends started to laugh.