Mercy Seat Read online

  They killed him, really, she said. They hounded him into illness, then into his grave. All their lies. They didn’t know anything, but they said they did. They tried to make me turn against him, like a Judas. There wasn’t the slightest tremor of passion in her voice. It would have been less unnerving, less frightening, in fact, if there had been. It wasn’t any of their business, his life, she went on in the same low, disengaged tone, and they killed him.

  Who did? I said, knowing I was being obtuse, but wanting to respond in some way that would keep her talking. Jenny and her mother? The sound of a big vehicle driving by on the road outside filtered in through the stained glass. A tractor, I thought. The engine had the same throaty pitch and rhythm as the old Massey Ferguson on Pugh’s farm.

  These windowsills are filthy, she said at last. I want to go out now.

  I didn’t reply, but she turned anyway and waited for me to start back toward the door.

  Jenny was sitting on the graveyard wall with her back to us. She was holding Michael upright and he was staring over her shoulder at Christine as she approached. Along the road I could see the boy and the old man wandering away from the bridge, trailing their fishing gear. The boy held the rod low and carelessly behind him and with each step the rod flexed a little and the tip kissed the road with a whispered tsk.

  Jenny asked Christine if she’d liked the church and the carvings, explaining some of the things I’d already told her about them, but Christine didn’t give any sign, she just let Jenny talk. It made me vaguely sad and irritable. I went through the wicket gate into the churchyard and sat on the warm stone wall, listening to Jenny carrying on her monologue to Christine. When she finished there was silence except for birdsong out of the cemetery, the wind in the tops of the yew trees, and the occasional distant screech of a gull. The fact that we were sat at a crossroads seemed to make the emptiness more desolate than peaceful. I found myself wondering how old the roads might be; the drovers’ route into the hills and the coastal way running north and south past farmhouses dotted on headlands and empty shingle beaches. There were heat shimmers rippling off the road now where the man and the boy had disappeared. I thought of questioning Christine again, and wondered if a chance would come now before she left. What are you doing here? I wanted to say. What is it you want?

  Luke?

  I realised that the two of them were standing beside the wall now, waiting for me to move.

  Ok? Jenny asked.

  I nodded and pushed myself forward off the fat stone lip.

  Can you hold him while I put the sling on you? I want to make sure it’s fastened right.

  I held Michael and turned for Jenny as she clipped the straps into place around my shoulders and chest, tugging them tighter than they’d been. It’s like saddling a horse, she said, then lifted Michael from me and slotted him in. Gee up, she said, and smacked a buttock. Let’s go across the beach to the caves. We’ve got time before your shift starts. There’s a smuggler’s cave, she said to Christine. We can go past it on the way back.

  The wind had freshened and was whipping into our faces each time we turned seawards. The dogs I’d seen earlier were still around but they’d stopped playing and were quartering the wide beach now, noses to the sand. They worked separately, though every so often one would glance up unerringly at the other, however far apart they’d wandered. Their owner was stood some way ahead of us in the shelter of the cliffs, smoking and gazing out into the bay. As we drew near him the dogs came bounding in from their patrols, tongues lolling. The first to arrive, a heavy black Labrador, made straight for Michael. He reached me, panting, and lunged up, balancing on his hind legs, his paws scraping the back of my arm.

  Hey! Stop that! I heard Jenny yell, but there was nothing fierce in its big, dull face.

  I turned and pushed it back with my forearm, but it kept its balance and a warm string of saliva swung onto my wrist as it jostled to stay upright. Get off, I ordered, pushing again, and this time it gave way and let its sandy forepaws drag down along my body to the ground.

  Don’t worry, the owner called over to us, he’s just wondering if it’s food you’ve got.

  Well it’s bloody well not. It’s a baby, Jenny snapped back.

  He strode toward us, raising a hand to pacify Jenny, and winked at me.

  Jenny was at the dog’s flank now, urging it from us. Go on, piss off, she was hissing, but the dog just nuzzled her thighs, then spun away and jumped up at my back again.

  Luther! The man intervened at last, yanking it down by its collar. Come away.

  It loped off, reluctant, and joined the other dog, a German Shepherd, which had ignored us and was nosing around the debris washed up under the cliffs. Good boy, the owner enthused, then turned to apologise. Too friendly by half, isn’t he? He lifted his hand again in a kind of wave, a stubby cigar lodged between its fingers. Jenny muttered something that sounded far from friendly back but I couldn’t make out the words.

  Christine had carried on ahead of us, and by the time Jenny had finished checking Michael over and I’d finished wiping the drool off my wrist with a dod of damp sand, she was out of sight behind a tall outcrop. Jenny was still cursing the dog and its owner, but I wasn’t listening.

  As we rounded the outlying rocks Christine was already returning from the small inlet it concealed. It wasn’t really much of a cave – more just a fissure in the rocks. Most of it was open to the sky though a few big boulders had broken off the cliff and wedged high up, partly roofing the sand and strips of kelp below.

  Any pirate gold? I asked her, wanting to slow her down and bring her alongside us.

  She nodded a fraction. Go and see, she said.

  Jenny began to follow me but Christine called her back. Come to the rock pools with me, she told her, and set off quickly so that Jenny had to break into a jog to catch up.

  The air inside the inlet smelled salty and rotten. Fresh graffiti had been spray-painted white on a slab of dark stone near the back of the cavity: the outline of a couple fucking. The woman was on her hands and knees, the man also on his knees but upright behind her. Though just a crude outline it was done unusually well – every line, from the tilt of her neck to the curve of her buttocks nested in his groin seemed accurate in a way that made my stomach fold. I thought of Christine looking at it; lips parting just a little maybe, the white of her teeth behind them. Go and see.

  I found them both in the lee of the next promontory, standing over something in the sand, Christine teasing it with the toe of her plimsoll. They both glanced up as I came near.

  Look, said Jen, and pointed at the sand.

  Christine kept her eyes fixed on me, and her face wore the same triumphant expression I’d seen earlier on the cliff-path. There was something childlike in her pleasure, which made it seem worse. It was a relief to stare down at whatever it was Jenny wanted me to see.

  It’s a skate, she said. Look at the length of it. She was still pointing and now with her fingertip she traced the long whip of its tail bones. The skeleton was half sunk into the coarse sand, a few shreds of grey, leathery skin still clinging to the ribs.

  Look at the teeth, said Christine, though now she was playing with Michael behind my back. I felt him wriggling in his seat. Towards or away from her? I wondered.

  There was something prehistoric-looking about the skull of the fish. The bared teeth seemed out of proportion to the rest of the head. They lay flat in the open jaws like cased knives and their flatness reminded me of the teeth in the carvings. The biggest were over an inch long. I thought of the Labrador jumping at Michael’s soft legs. He was moving at my back again, keening out an unfamiliar sound.

  Don’t do that to him, Jenny said, an edge in her voice which I hadn’t heard her use with her sister before.

  She joined Christine behind me. He didn’t like that, she murmured. Then: Let me wipe you, she said to Michael. Keep still for me. Good boy.

  Was it here we found the seal? I asked her over my shoulder.


  I heard Jenny’s lips smack a kiss on Michael’s head. That’s right, she said. I’d forgotten about that. It was up against the rocks, she told Christine, just back from here I think.

  Christine didn’t respond.

  At first we thought it was a body, Jenny went on, ignoring her sister’s silence. It looked like a man in a wet overcoat, hunched up, didn’t it, Luke? And we could smell that it was dead. I didn’t want to look and find out.

  I nodded, remembering. When I’d first seen the big, sodden heap, the rain tapping on the dark hump of its shoulders, I’d been convinced it was human. It seemed inevitable, somehow.

  We got caught in a storm that day, Jenny said, to no one in particular. In the end we had to shelter in the cave from lightning. She finished adjusting Michael and moved alongside me, slipping a hand into mine.

  Let’s go back, Christine said, and started walking.

  Five

  I hung back and let Jenny and Christine go on ahead of me for most of the walk back along the cliffs from Clarach. Now and then they paused and I watched them exchange a few words, but for the most part we trudged on in single file and I was glad to be left to my own thoughts. I left Michael with them at the door to Bethesda and carried on to the warehouse, taking the longer way past the pier and the cormorants drying their wings on the black rocks beside it.

  A couple of big deliveries were due and once they arrived the time passed quickly. Most of my tiredness from the days before seemed to have passed and it was calming to tick off the delivery sheets, stacking the boxes onto the hand truck and wheeling them into their places. Anzani’s son slipped away with nothing more than a nod soon after I arrived, and apart from the drivers I worked alone.

  By the time I got home the sun was already westering and facing full on to Bethesda, filling the sitting room with warm yellow blocks of light. Jenny was sitting slumped on the sofa, Michael awake but peaceful in her arms. She looked up and smiled. Can you take him for a while? she said. I lifted him free and settled him against my shoulder. Where’s Christine? I asked.

  She went upstairs to take a bath. Jenny closed her eyes, laid her head against the armrest of the couch and yawned. She hardly said a word to me on the way back.

  No. Nor to me.

  I tried to get her talking, but it was no good. Maybe she’s just tired. It must be strange for her, spending time with me now after so many years. I know it’s strange for me.

  I almost spoke, but didn’t.

  The sea air makes you tired too if you’re not used to it, she said drowsily. She yawned again and seemed to think for a while, her eyes still closed. Do you think she’s bored? she went on at last.

  No, just tired, I said. You’re right. It must be strange for her.

  She nodded and opened her eyes at last. We’ll take her out tonight. Just for a quiet drink. Is that a good idea? Do you think she’d like that? Even if she’s tired? It might help her to relax. I think she gets tense being inside all evening. She must feel like she’s on show or something.

  It would be something to do, I agreed.

  We’ll get Mrs Clement to look after Michael. She’ll like that. Then Jenny was quiet again for a time. We were both waiting for Christine. I had a strong impulse to yawn, just as a way of feigning normality and indifference. The door to the hall was open and the sound of a radio was drifting up the stairs from one of the students’ rooms below ours. My mouth is so dry, said Jenny.

  I’ll get a drink, I said.

  Will you pour one for Chris, too? She’ll be down soon.

  Without meaning to we all slept until dusk, as if the late sunshine pouring through the window had drugged us – Jenny cradling Michael on the sofa, myself bolstered on cushions next to her and Christine upright in the armchair. I woke first, disorientated by the new, cool twilight. There was a faint whistling from either Jenny’s nostrils or Michael’s, but otherwise no sound at all. I looked across through the gloom at Christine. Her ankles were crossed at the foot of the chair, her knees parted, her hands folded in the lap of her denim skirt. She seemed almost to be meditating. I got up off the sofa and walked softly to the light switch, but Jenny was awake before I reached it.

  Luke, what’s the time? Her voice was thickened by sleep and didn’t sound like her own.

  I don’t know.

  Is it too late to go out?

  I switched the light on and squinted at my watch. No. It’s just half past eight. Must have clouded over.

  My arm’s gone dead. Can you come and take Michael off it?

  I glanced over at Christine as I moved back to the sofa. Her eyes were half open, hooded against the light. She was watching Jenny. I took Michael and rocked him while he grizzled awake. He must be starving, I said.

  I know. Poor thing. She flexed her arm back and forth a few times. I know, she said again, this time to Michael who was already starting to bawl. I know, I know, she soothed. Just wait a second. You’ll get your bottle in a minute. Mammy’s a lazy cow and she’s just waking up. She knows you’re hungry.

  Will he be okay to leave with Mrs Clement?

  He’ll be fine once he’s fed. If he isn’t, you and Chris go anyway.

  I waited for Christine to say something but she just sat still, not even changing the posture she’d slept in. No, I said. If he plays up we’ll stay in together. There’s always tomorrow night.

  Well, said Jen.

  Look, I said. He’s getting quieter already.

  Let him suck your finger. I’ll sort out the bottle.

  While Jenny went up to the kitchen to prepare the milk, Christine stretched her whole body, catlike, in the armchair. She sighed as she relaxed again, then stood up and smoothed her denim skirt.

  Look, I said to Michael. Here’s Auntie Chris coming to say hello.

  She smiled crookedly, as if to decline, but then came over to us anyway.

  As soon as he realised she was near, Michael’s attention was fixed. I drew my fingertip from his mouth.

  Hello, little man, she said quietly. She touched his cheek with the backs of her fingernails and over her bent head I saw Jenny come back in from the corridor, shaking the bottle, still sleepy. Are you hungry? Christine murmured. Are you? Her head was close to my face now, her hair brushing my cheek as softly as she brushed his with her nails. As she spoke she slipped the tip of her index finger between his lips and at once his mouth closed tight and accepted it. Are you hungry? she whispered, and as he sucked hard, eyes fixed wide on her, she answered yes you are; yes you are.

  The bottle’s ready now, Jenny said a little sharply, moving toward us.

  Christine stepped away, wiping her finger on his bib. She didn’t look up as Jenny approached.

  I’ll take him, Jenny told me, standing in front of the sofa now, ready to sit with the bottle. Set him in my lap.

  It was gone nine when we finally left Bethesda, and Mrs Clement looked startled to be asked to babysit so late. Babies seemed to be one of the very few things she took any pleasure in, though, so it wasn’t hard for Jenny to win her round with the promise that we’d be back before eleven. We were taking Christine to a choral concert at the campus Arts Centre, she lied, knowing from experience that both the Clements disapproved of drink. The night air was chilly and a high tide was slapping against the promenade wall, but both Jenny and Christine seemed glad to be out. They set off ahead of me up the crescent of the bay, linking arms as they walked.

  Most of the seafront bars were quiet. Small huddles of students who’d lingered on through the long holiday or drifted back already for the autumn term sat at some of the bay-window tables and stared moodily out at us as we passed. I overheard Jenny apologising for the terrible nightlife and Christine laughed – going out drinking anywhere was a novelty, she said, so she had nothing much to compare it to.

  Eventually they both turned to face me. I stopped in front of them and Jenny disengaged her arm from Christine’s to take hold of both my hands. Where do you want to go? she asked. She swung my arms apart, th
en brought my hands together again, clasped in hers. I drew them back, embarrassed, and she let her own fall back to her sides. I shrugged.

  Well, we could try the Cellar Bar, she suggested. That’s pretty close by at least.

  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.