Page 121 of Pansies

She sighed. “It amazes me how you manage to live inanything that small.” Then she half turned towards the workroom and bellowed: “Oh Fenimore, your boyfriend’s here with his aubergine.”

“I told you,” said Fen, emerging, looking all shiny in the sunlight, “he’s not my boyfriend.”

“Right, he’s just the bloke who sleeps with you and cooks for you.”

“You cooked for me?” Fen wiped his hands on his jeans and lifted a corner of the tinfoil to peek underneath. “Wow, you did.”

Alfie tried not to sound too proud of himself. “It’s a lasagne. A vegetarian lasagne.”

“I…I… This… I…” Fen had gone pink and flustered and adorable.

“I just didn’t want to live on takeaway, y’know?”

“I didn’t even know you could cook.”

“Well, mebbe I can’t. But I guess we’ll find out.”

“I don’t care if it’s awful. This was really sweet of you.”

“Are you going to kiss with tongues?” asked Gothshelley.

“Maybe later.” Fen scowled at her. “When we’re not being scrutinised by a shonen ai–obsessed teenager.”

Alfie had pretty much no idea what they were talking about, so he ignored it. “I’m going to get back to the van.”

“What about the food, though? Won’t it get cold?”

“It’s fine, just reheat it later.”

Fen gave him big, helpless puppy eyes.

“It’s easy.” Never mind that Alfie’d had pretty much the exact same conversation with his mam less than an hour ago. “All you have to do is set the oven to about two hundred degrees—”

“How do I do that?”

“There’s a knob. Just turn it like.”

“There are five or six knobs.”

“Blummin’ heck, how can you not know how to turn on an oven?”

“I told you, I don’t do domestic.” Fen gave him a wicked look from beneath his lashes. “I will, however, make it up to you later.”

“Oh aye? Going to do the washing up, are you?”

That earned him a yelp of giggling outrage and a poke in the arm.

Gothshelley gagged. “You two are so adorable I just threw up in my mouth.”

Which was Alfie’s cue to get back to the van. He got it jacked up and was hard at work poking around in its innards when he heard the clack of major heels on the concrete floor. He rolled out and found Gothshelley standing over him.

“I made you tea. I didn’t spit in it.”5

“Er, thanks.”

She plonked a mug down beside him. It was black and was covered in jagged red script which read:And fear not them which kill the body, but are not able to kill the soul: but rather fear him which is able to destroy both soul and body in hell. Watching Alfie turn it in his hands, she gave a toothy, purple grin. “You like it?”

“This is yours?”

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