Page 120 of Pansies

No answer. And his dad studiously staring at his workbench.

“You might as well just say it. I know you don’t like that I’m gay.”

Yet another interminable silence. And then, “No, Alfie. No, I don’t.”

What the fuck had he been expecting? And how could he ever for a moment have imagined it would feel better to hear it? The Torx screwdriver he’d been holding slipped between his fingers and clattered into the box.

“It’s not,” his dad was saying, “the life I pictured for any son of mine.”

Alfie churned confusedly. He’d felt pretty much disowned since he’d come out, so it was actually really nice to suddenly be his father’s son again. But the problem was he’d also sort of got used to being…not someone else exactly, but someonemore. Maybe the person he’d always wanted to be. Who Fen had believed in long before Alfie’d had the faintest bloody clue. “Yeah, well, mebbe I don’t care.”

Alfred Senior got that look—the tightening about the jaw that turned his face into a wall Alfie couldn’t climb. But then something shifted, crumbled almost. And he sighed. “Ye’d understand, if ye had bairns of your own.”

“I might someday.”

“Ye want ’em happy. That’s all ye want.”

And that was when Alfie recognised what he was seeing, right there in front of him, etched into the lines surrounding that stern mouth, those deep-set eyes. It was sadness. His dad was…sad.

“Hang on”—he blinked back a damp burning in his eyes—“you think being gay means I won’t be happy?”

A shrug. Typical Alfred Senior response.

But, for once, Alfie wasn’t looking or hoping for more. “That’s really messed up, y’know. I mean, how happy do you think I was going to be as a lad so deep in the closet I was practically living in Narnia?”

“Ye could’ve had a normal life.”

“What’s a normal life, Da?3 A home, a job, a partner who loves me, a family who cares about me, kids someday.” He hooked his thumbs over the pockets of his jeans, realising only as he did it how Fen-like a gesture it was. “Just cos I’m gay doesn’t mean Ican’t have those things. Not unless you start taking them away from me.”

Finally, his dad nodded. “Alreet. I’m gan te get a cuppa. Want one?”

That was…it? Alfie wasn’t sure if he’d broken down a wall or tripped over a pebble. If he was relieved or disappointed or if it even mattered. “No, I’m good. Should be getting back to the shop.”

Alfred Senior nodded. Looked like he was about to leave. But then he paused, frowning, as if he wanted to say something else. “You’ll let us know if it’s the transmission? Y’know, wi’ the van.”

“Aye.”

So that was that.

Alfie picked up his impromptu toolbox. Followed his dad out of the garage and into the unexpected radiance of the afternoon.4

He stopped in at the shop to drop off the lasagne, plonking the still-warm dish onto the counter.

Gothshelley stared at it. “What sinister alchemy is this?”

“Uh…”

“Smells like lasagne. Can I have some?”

“No, it’s for us. For later. And, besides, it’s not made from fresh blood and the still-beating hearts of virgins.”

“What the hell is wrong with you? I’msonot into eating the still-beating hearts of virgins.” She paused, lips curled contemptuously. “The limp dicks of people who think they’re funny, however…”

“Well, there’s definitely none of those in there. It’s mainly…whatchamacallit…aubergine.”

“Hashtag Eggplant Wednesdays.”

“You what?”

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