Page 122 of Pansies

“Yeah, I stole it from St. Bede’s.”6

Alfie sipped the tea tentatively. It didn’t seem infused with holy wrath. “You stole a mug from a church?”

“Yeah, I did enter the house of God and therein I did nick His shit.”

“Why were you even there? You don’t exactly strike me as the religious type.”

She gave a velvety shrug. “I believe in nothing but the waiting dark. And KitKats. But my parents are totally Catholic.”

“Must be a bit weird. What with you being, y’know, you.”

“Not really. I mean, they think I’m going to hell, but they think everyone is going to hell. That’s what being Catholic means.” Her eyes softened. “I used to troll them by pretending to be a Satanist.”

“And they’re really okay with that?”

“Well, they’re notokayokay. They’d rather I wasn’t cheerfully imperilling my immortal soul, but they believe you have to choose faith. And I believe faith is dumb. And I also believe in premarital sex, women’s rights, queer rights, contraception, abortion, and that saying a bunch of Latin over some wine and biscuits doesn’t transform them into blood and flesh because what the fuck, that’s gross.” She reached down and yanked the mug out of his hands.

Alfie whined in protest. “What are you doing? I’m not finished.”

“Well, you should have thought about that before you tried to talk to me. Sheesh.”

“I was just being polite.”

“Polite is bullshit. And I don’t converse. I contemplate the meaninglessness of existence.”

“If I promise not to do it again, can I have the tea back?”

“No. You’re being punished now.”

“Wow.” Alfie gave her a dark look. “You can really tell you were raised by Catholics.”

He was fully expecting her to fuck off with what was left of his tea and so ducked back under the van. But, to his surprise, her boots didn’t move. In fact, she was driving one pointy toe restlessly against the concrete floor. He poked his head out. “Is everything alreet?”

“I just wanted to say that what you’re doing is, well, it’s okay. You can keep doing it.”

“Fixing the van?”

She gave him a look of withering concern. “Yeah, twonk-face, fixing the van.”

“Sorry, you mean—”

“Yeah, I mean.” She attacked the concrete even more viciously. “He was really sad before you came.”

“Well, it’s rough losing someone you care about.”

“Don’t care about people. Problem solved.”

“Did you know his mam?”

“A bit. She was”—Gothshelley rolled her eyes—“nice, I guess. Really nice, okay? Just one of those people who make you feel the world is a teeny tiny bit less shitty for them being in it.”

“Like Fen.”

“Oh shut up.”

She stomped out. Left Alfie grinning.

His dad turned out, as usual, to be right. There was definitely a transmission issue, and it was probably the torque converter. Which meant a mechanic because Alfie had learned his lesson. He wasn’t going to wreck Fen’s van as well as his bathroom out of a messed-up need to prove something that didn’t even matter. Or maybe even exist.

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