Page 129 of Pansies

“I’m not. I just had no idea you liked making cakes.”

“And I had no idea you liked sucking cock.”

Fen spread his arms in a peace-making gesture. “And you’re both very talented. So there’s no need to start pissing against lampposts.”

“Leyla thinks I should try to get on thatBake Off,” said Pete, after a moment. “I mean, even if I didn’t win, it’d be summin, wouldn’t it?”

Fen nodded. “You should. You really should.”

“Anyway.” Pete passed the swans awkwardly to Alfie. “We’ve kept you long enough. Leyla will be in touch about the van soon as she can. Oh, and there’s a nice coulis in there, too, for the swans. Just didn’t want ’em to get soggy on the way over.”

Somewhat dazed, Alfie carried the box up to the flat.

“You think you know someone, eh?” he said, as he carefullyarranged the swans on a plate and opened the little bottle of raspberry coulis that had, indeed, come with them.

“Careful, Alfie Bell.” Fen braced his hips against the counter. “Bullies in glass houses…”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s just kind of…summin, isn’t it?”

“Isn’t it?” Fen smiled, a little bit sweet, a little bit sardonic. The sort of smile Alfie wanted to kiss from his mouth.

“Do you want to do the honours?”

He passed over the coulis, and Fen poured it out. The swans slipped gracefully across their glistening lake. “They’re so pretty.” He licked a curl of raspberry from his fingertips. “It seems almost a shame to eat them.”

“More of a shame not to.”

Alfie scooped one up and stuffed it into his mouth. Chomped away happily while Fen shrieked and laughed and called him a monster.

21

Fen spent the next day torturing Alfie by explaining—in extreme detail, sometimes with reenactments—exactly whatLegally Blondewas about. By the time they stopped for a mid-morning cuppa, the jig was up.

“Blummin’ hell,” groaned Alfie. “It’s a chick flick, isn’t it?”

But it wasn’t that bad. Yes, there wasn’t exactly an equal gender-balance in the audience, and maybe he was just stupid-happy from his native local lobster and his date with Fen, but Alfie quite enjoyed himself. And for all his “there’s musicals and ‘musicals,’” Fen seemed pretty into it too. Alfie even caught him humming “Omigod You Guys” in the interval. He tried to tease him about it, but Fen just gave him this too-bright look and said, “This is a feel-good musical, and I am in no position to turn my nose up at feeling good.”

Which made Alfie take his hand—right there, in public. And nothing bad happened at all. Although if holding hands with a bloke was going to be okay anywhere, in a theatre bar was probably only just below in a gay bar.

Afterwards, they strolled back to the car, still holding hands, with Fen talking animatedly about the differences between the movie and the musical—a subject he had long since abandonedany pretence of having no strong feelings about. Alfie was a bit lost, but it didn’t matter. He just liked listening to Fen, especially when he was all bouncy and excited.

They were passing the Londonderry pub when a group of lads, three of ’em—who had obviously spent most of the evening inside—came tumbling out. Fen quickened his pace a little and might have pulled his hand away, but Alfie wouldn’t let him. The stares made the back of his neck prickle, though.

“And in the movie,” Fen was saying, like he didn’t quite dare stop, “Emmett is incidental rather than directly inspirational.”

Footsteps behind them.

“I can see why they wanted to centralise him a bit more, but I did feel it interfered with Elle’s agency a bit…”

Jeers now. Laughter. A mutter of “Puffs.”

Alfie whirled round. “Just fuck off, okay?”

“Leave it.” Fen tugged at his hand. “They’re not worth it.”

One of them gave a long, derisive “Oooh,” even though Fen had spoken perfectly normally. That was when Alfie realised he wasn’t intimidated or hurt or embarrassed. He was annoyed. Not even angry. Just stubbed-your-toe, tripped-over-something-pointless, ran-out-of-milkannoyed. Like he shouldn’t have to deal with something this stupid.

He strode forwards, hands clenched.

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