Last Chance Read Free

the living room I could feel it there, accusing me of being a neglectful son. Steve, to his credit, put up with my stinking moods and did his best to distract me with sex, but I must have been hell to live with. After a week of my monosyllabic replies, he started finding excuses to work late, not coming home until I’d had a chance to chill for a bit and take the edge off my temper. Then, when he was home, he always seemed to be clacking away at his bloody sock knitting. It was full of these pointy needles and I couldn’t even cuddle up to him on the sofa without risking getting stuck with one of them. The bastard thing looked as spiky as I felt.
    I decided two could play at that game, and I spent longer at the studio each day, pouring my guilt onto the canvas in a series of stark self-portraits that no one in their right mind would want to display anywhere. Why pay good money to have a pissed off man glare at you from your walls?
    I knew I’d overstepped some kind of mark, though, when Kathy called by to take me out for an afternoon beer. We normally went for lunch in a café ‘round the corner from her dance studio, so the pub was an ominous sign. In all the years I’d known her, first as my life model, then my friend, she’d only ever suggested a daytime drink when I’d been dumped by my latest arsehole of a boyfriend. For a long, terrible moment I thought maybe Steve was getting her to do his dirty work. I wouldn’t blame him, but then again, I really didn’t think that was his style. He’d always been honest and direct with me. As far as I knew, anyway.
    “So, what’s going on?” Kathy demanded once we were seated in the booth of the Victorian boozer nearest my studio.
    I attempted to avoid her question by taking a long draught of beer, but it only bought me a few seconds thinking time. I decided to go for surly denial.
    “Dunno what you mean.” I kept my eyes fixed on the stained glass panels above the door, but I just knew Kathy would be rolling her eyes and pulling that exasperated face she does so well.
    “Come on, Jez, I’m not stupid. You’ve been walking around with a face like thunder for the last fortnight, and whenever I call your better half to try and arrange a night out, he stalls and tells me I’d better ask you. That’s not like Steve, is it?”
    I had to agree that it wasn’t. Since he’d breezed into my life, Steve’d been in charge of my social diary, transforming it overnight from empty to crowded. Not that I’d been complaining. I might not have enjoyed going out much as a single man, but with Steve by my side it was different. He had this effortless way of making people smile and laugh -- even grumpy gits like me.
    “So? Are you going to tell me what crawled into your cornflakes and died?”
    She must have seen something change in my face with her unfortunate choice of words, because the next thing I knew I had a skinny arm wrapped around me and five foot nothing of bubblegum shampoo-scented woman pressed up to my side. To my surprise I didn’t push her away like I always used to -- no, I pulled her in tight. All that cuddling with Steve must have broken down some of my defenses.
    “I’m sorry, hon,” Kathy mumbled into my armpit, “but unless you tell me what’s going on I’ll probably keep putting my foot in it. Please don’t tell me you’re splitting up with Steve. I don’t think I could bear it.”
    At least this was one aspect where I could reassure her. “I swear this has nothing to do with me and Steve. This is all my shit. Family shit. Ancient history.” And so I told her the whole sorry story. This was another thing I was getting better at since Steve had come along. Emotional vulnerability -- yeah, I could now spill my guts with the best of them. I should go on the Jeremy fucking Kyle show or something, along with all the other losers.
    “Oh sweetie, that’s just awful. What a mean old bastard.”
    Here was another surprise, because for some