Goodnight Steve McQueen Read Free

squeezes my arm and heads over towards the fridge.
    “Sorry,” she says, “I didn’t mean to shout at you like that. Long day at the mill.”
    “Yeah, well, you didn’t have to bite my head off, I was only asking why you didn’t come out.”
    “You drank all my Breezers again, didn’t you?” she says, peering into the fridge.
    “Y’what?”
    “My Bacardi Breezers. There were two left this morning. What happened to them?”
    “Shit, Alison. Sorry. I meant to buy you some more.”
    “But you didn’t, though, did you? You never do.”
    “I do, I got you some on Sunday.”
    “You didn’t, Danny. I bought them.”
    “Right, you’re right, I’ll go now. I’ll go down the Seven Eleven and get you a couple.”
    “It’s too late. It’s too late to buy booze now, and anyway I’ve still got some wine left.”
    And then she starts to cry.
    “What’s the matter?” I say, putting my arm round her. “Did something happen at work?”
    “No.”
    “Well what then, what’s wrong?” I can’t believe she’s getting this worked up over a couple of alcopops.
    “It’s everything.”
    “Everything? Everything like what? Everything like us everything?” She pulls away and reaches for her wineglass.
    “We’ve got to talk, Danny.”
    “Fine, let’s talk then. I mean, I’ve been trying to talk to you for the last hour but you couldn’t take your eyes off the TV set. I’ve been trying to talk to you since I came in.”
    She looks exasperated. She looks tired.
    “I don’t mean like that. I don’t mean sitting on the sofa listening to your bloody pub anecdotes that I’ve heard a hundred thousand times. I mean properly. You and me. You and me, Danny. We really have to talk.”
    And I’m not stupid. Even I know what that means.
    “I’ve been offered a new job.”
    “Well… that’s good… isn’t it?”
    “It’s in Bruges.”
    “Bruges?”
    “It’s in Belgium.”
    “I know where it is. It’s thousands of bloody miles away.”
    “Four and a half hours on the Eurostar.”
    “Four and a half hours? What do you mean? You’re not thinking of taking it, are you?”
    She starts to pick her nails.
    “I’ve been asked to work as a marketing consultant for Thorstans. They make posh chocolates, you know, the ones with all the cream in the middle.”
    I’m about to say something fantastically lurid about fondant fancies but I decide this probably isn’t the time.
    They’re planning to launch over here at the end of the year and they want someone with experience of UK markets to oversee the initial campaign. It’ll be six months tops. It’s really good money.”
    “But you can’t,” I say. “It’ll be full of Belgians. They put mayonnaise on their chips.”
    “I think it would be a good idea, Danny. Give us some space from one another. I’ll be home at weekends.”
    “I can’t believe it. I can’t believe you’re actually thinking of taking it. When did they offer you this job exactly?”
    “Last Wednesday.”
    “You’ve known about this for a week? Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”
    “I wanted to decide by myself. On my own.”
    “You’ve decided, then? Already? Without even speaking to me. Your boyfriend.”
    “Yes. And there’s something else.”
    My heart actually stops beating. I’m so wound up I think she’s said someone else instead of something else and I’m already imagining Alison having anal sex with a donkey knobbed, moustachioed Belgian when she says:
    “I want you to get a job.”
    I can barely hide the relief on my face.
    The first time I saw Alison I knew I loved her. Granted, she was a pixie-nosed blonde with fantastic tits and legs the length of the Mi, but I like to tell myself it wasn’t just her looks. I flatter myself I’m a better man than that.
    “Hey, Vince, take a look at her… stacked or what?”
    It was in the Camden Falcon. The headline act had just come off-stage and Alison was over by the bar chatting to her mates. I couldn’t take my