Page 118 of Pansies

The next day, Alfie insisted on being allowed to help open the shop because that way Fen didn’t have to get up as early, and so they had longer in bed together. There was something especially sexy about Fen in the morning when he was all warm and fluffy, this strange mixture of hard—very specifically—and sleepily lax. It gave Alfie lots of ideas, though some of them were sufficiently lavish they’d probably have to wait until the weekend. So it was a tangly wank instead, bodies pressed together, crossed-over hands wrapped around each other’s cocks, Fen’s moans hot and wet, like kisses against his neck.

They were still a bit later than they should have been. But since it was one of Gothshelley’s days, there was much less for Alfie to do. She was wearing a black velvet cloak with a hood over what looked like a tutu, and pink-and-black stripy stockings. And when he asked how she was, she answered, “Entropy is the inevitable consequence of the human condition.” So he left her to the window display, got the keys he needed from Fen, and went to see about the van.

It looked a bit tragic, hunched in what might once have been a garage, but was now obviously a dumping ground for unwanted floristry stuff. He cleared some space as best he could, kickingaside boxes and buckets and crumbly foam blocks, and then ran through the usual checks—the battery and the terminal cable, the fuel supply and the spark plugs—but there was only so much he could do with the tools he kept in the Sagaris. And obviously Fen wasn’t going to have any. Which meant he could either buy everything he needed for a one-off job. Or…

Half an hour later he was pulling into his parents’ driveway. His mam looked genuinely startled to see him again as he stomped into the kitchen.

“Just wanted to borrow summin from Dad,” he explained.

“Eee, sorry, pet. He’s just nipped down the betting shop. Dunno how long he’ll be. Y’knaa what he’s like when he gets talking.”

“Oh yeah. He’s totally voluble, is Da.” She didn’t seem to notice the sarcasm—which was probably for the best. It was generally accounted the lowest form of wit in the Bell household. Unless either of his parents deployed it, in which case it was hilarious and appropriate. “Is it okay if I wait?” he asked.

“Course it is, love. I’ll put the kettle on.”

Alfie plonked himself at the kitchen table. It felt slightly unreal being back here yet again, his mam pottering about and acting normal, after she’d basically told him she thought the whole idea of a man falling in love with a man was some kind of weird, impossible mistake. Which basically meanthewas. And that what he felt for Fen was—

Too quick, he knew that. But if this butterfly thing, beating its bright wings so strongly inside him, wasn’t love, what was?

“Ma?” he asked.

“Yes, love?”

“You know cooking like?”

“Yes, Alfie, I know cooking.”

“It’s not that hard, right? You just follow the recipe?”

“Well, there’s a bit more to it than that.”

“What would you make for a vegetarian?”

She turned away from the tea things, frowning slightly. “Well, I wouldn’t. I don’t hold with those fancy southern fads.”

“It’s like you said the other day,” Alfie went on doggedly. “I want to cook for Fen. And he’s a vegetarian.” Well, a little bit for Fen and a little bit for himself, because a toast and takeaway diet wasn’t doing him any favours.

“Why can’t he be the one who does the cooking?”

“Because he doesn’t like to. And I don’t know if I like to or not cos I’ve never tried.”

His mam gave him a wary look.

“Ma, I’m not playing housemaid. If you must know, I only really came round cos I needed to borrow some tools from Dad so I can fix a van.”

“It sounds like you’re doing a lot for him, Alfie.”

“He’s working.” Alfie drummed his fingers impatiently on the table. “I just can’t win, can I? Either what we’ve got isn’t real, or I’m turning into some kind of limp-wristed nancy, or he’s somehow taking advantage of me. Will you just pick one, mebbe?”

She didn’t answer. Hurt, probably. Which was fair enough. But, also, not fair. Because wasn’t he allowed to be hurt too?

“What about lasagne?” she said, finally. “With vegetables instead of meat? I think I’ve got some peppers and aubergines.”

“Sounds good.” Actually, it sounded terrible. Lasagne was supposed to have meat in it. But that was Fen’s fault, not his mam’s.

And so, without either of them exactly intending to, they ended up cooking together, Alfie chopping up vegetables whilehis mam talked him through how to make tomato sauce and then white sauce, neither of which seemed too complicated. From there, it was basically an assembly job, layers of vegetables, and pasta sheets, and sauce, and cheese—of which Alfie snuck in extra when his mam wasn’t looking, thinking it would probably compensate for the vegetables. He felt a lot more confident in the whole process than he had about plastering the wall. And nothing ended up covered in concrete, so that was definitely a plus.

His dad came home when they were halfway done, grunted, and disappeared into the garage. Once the lasagne was in the oven and bubbling cheesily, Alfie headed out after him.

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