Read Online Goodnight Steve McQueen by Louise Wener - Free Book Online Page A

mostly I just want to run away.
    “What are you doing?”
    “Watching.”
    “Watching?”
    “Yeah, take a look. I’m an hour and a half late for Alison’s party. I think she wants to stab me. What do you think?”
    Vince gets to work. He doesn’t bother asking me why I’m an hour and a half late for my own girlfriend’s party1 doubt the question even crosses his mind he doesn’t bother asking me why I’m stood outside spying on her from the pavement,
    he just recognises that I’m in the shit and sets about giving my predicament his full attention.
    We make an odd tableau, the pair of us: hands in pockets, noses pressed up against the plate glass, immune to the scornful looks from the polenta posse making their Upper Street passeggiata behind us, immune to the braying trendies who flicker in and out of focus in front of us, immune to everything but the problem in hand.
    After a while Vince turns back to me and shakes his head. He takes a short, sharp breath through his nostrils and he says:
    “You’re dead meat. Everyone knows what you done: the girls think you’re a bastard; the blokes think you’re a tosser and the git in the beige is trying to take advantage of your girlfriend’s weakened emotional state.”
    “That’s what I thought,” I say, rolling up my sleeves and heading for the door. “That’s exactly what I thought.”
    It’s hot inside. The bar is heaving with lumped-up twenty somethings doing the Saturday night shuffle, and I can feel tiny beads of sweat beginning to break out across my forehead. I feel dizzy, dizzy from the heat and the adrenalin, and I’m quite relieved when Vince steps in and advises me not to bother with the whole punch-up thing.
    “It’s not like I wouldn’t be right behind you, mate,” he says, offering me a roll-up. “It’s just that you might end up making things worse.”
    “How could it be any worse?” I say, wiping my forehead on my sleeve. “And anyway, Alison would love it if I got into a fight over her. Women love that kind of thing.”
    “Come off it, you’d just embarrass her.”
    What he really means is that I’d just embarrass myself, but he’s too loyal to say so.
    “All right,” I say, noticing Kate and Matty over by the bar, ‘we’ll have a couple of beers and then I’ll go over and make the peace. After I’ve calmed down a bit.”
    Vince thinks this is a good idea.
    “Danny! Where’ve you been? Come over here and give me a big sloppy snog!”
    Matty’s girlfriend is your classic squealer; the kind of girl who makes you wonder what she sounds like when she comes. She’s short and thin and pretty if you like that no bra, pierced navel, glittery make-up kind of thing and she’s one of those overly affectionate people who always insist on greeting everyone they meet by kissing them full on the mouth. It doesn’t matter if she knows you or not: a moment’s hesitation and you’re over; a second’s indecision and she’s lunging at you with her pouty red lips and smearing makeup all over your evening stubble.
    Just my luck: the moment our lips meet and she starts to wind her skinny arms round my neck I suddenly notice Beige Jumper Man pointing me out from across the room. He knows exactly what he’s doing. He times it perfectly: holds out his finger like a dagger and waits for Alison to turn round and clock me. Our eyes meet. She holds my gaze for a split second and then she turns away.
    Vince was right. I’m a dead man.
    “I’m sorry,” I say, squeezing in next to her. “I completely screwed up.”
    “So what’s new?” she says, draining her glass.
    “That’s a bit harsh,” I say. “I mean, things just got away from me, that’s all.”
    “How could you do this?” she says, reaching for my beer. “Where have you been all this time?”
    “Look, don’t make a scene, OK. I’m sorry, everything just got out of—’
    “Don’t make a scene! Fuck you,” she says quietly. And then she gets up and says she needs to