Page 115 of Pansies

“Yes, I had a baguette. But I ate it on the way back to the shop because I was starving. It’s nearly three.”

“Shit, really? Well, thanks for lunch.”

Fen cleared a little space on the desk and squeezed himself onto it. “I’m not much for the domestic, but I can buy my man a sandwich and make him a cup of tea.”

“Good enough for me.”

“So.” Fen swung his feet a little. “I feel brave. What’s the damage?”

Alfie stuffed the last piece of stottie into his mouth and swallowed. Dusted off his hands. “It’s not…it’s not good, pet.”

“Yeah, I don’t need a master’s from the LSE to figure that out.”

“Something’s got to give. Even if you let David buy you out of your London place, you’re still not going to make the rent on Pansies. And even if you did…your business model is, well, it’s nonexistent, mate. You’re running at a pretty substantial deficit here.”

Fen squeezed his eyes shut. “I know.”

“It’s not unsalvageable though.”4 Alfie reached out and patted Fen’s knee consolingly. “Especially if we start controllingcosts again. And thought about suppliers a bit—I mean, local is always best, and you’re importing most of your stock. There’s also a bunch of revenue streams you just don’t seem to be exploiting anymore. Like Teleflora, and you’ve got a really amazing website—”

“David made the website. And I just don’t have the manpower to cope with that volume of orders.”

“What about local deliveries, then? Your mam used to provide flowers for all these local supermarkets and churches and funeral homes.”

Fen mumbled something.

“What?”

“The van broke down, okay? And I can’t afford to get it repaired.”

“I’ll cover it,” Alfie offered.

“I’m not taking your money.”

Alfie gritted his teeth, trying not to let too much of his frustration show. “Look, I get it. My dad’s allno charitytoo. But this can be a loan or whatever.”

“More debt?” Fen gave him sceptical eyebrows.

“You’re going to have to do something, pet. You’re in a hole here. And, honestly, when you get right down to it, the thing that makes money is…more money.”

“This is a flower shop, not an investment bank.”

“A flower shop with most of its revenue streams compromised.” Alfie leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I can run the numbers for you, but I reckon that if we take care of the van, you can pay me back from the increased income and still come out with a bit of profit.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really.”

Fen was biting his lip. “Okay, but even if you lend the money, Peter—you do remember him, right?—runs the garage now.”

“Peter? You mean Pete? Pete Brown? He used to be one of my best mates, I bet—” Alfie stopped abruptly. “Oh wait, no. I’m gay. I forgot. So I guess that’s out.”

“See. He was worse than you. I bet he’s grown into the sort of person who thinks having a swastika tattoo is a good laugh.”

Alfie frowned. “What kind of van is it?”

“A…white one?”

“Fen, come on.”

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