Page 135 of Pansies

“Is there much call for that in South Shields?”

“Uh. No.” He laughed nervously. “I live and work in London.”

“He’s just visiting, Dadaí,” added Fen.

And, to Alfie’s relief, the conversation moved on. He couldn’t entirely keep up, but that was fine. It was way better than having to try to explain himself to Aidan. They did talk about the shop a bit, though, and Fen got all excited and hand-wavey as heexplained some of Alfie’s ideas. Aidan nodded and mmm-ed in all the right places, but he didn’t seem exactly thrilled. Not that Fen noticed. Or perhaps Alfie was worrying about nothing.

They had omelettes for dinner, which Fen said—not entirely joking—was the only thing his dad could cook. But they were good omelettes, fluffy and gooey with cheese. And when they were done eating, genetics or not, Fen insisted on doing the washing up. Alfie tried to help, but he was forbidden on account of being a guest.

Which left him, once again, alone with Aidan. He turned slightly apprehensively back to his host and crashed straight into a frown.

So. That sense he’d got that Aidan didn’t like him? Not paranoia after all.

Though, when Aidan finally spoke to him, his voice was low and pretty calm. Maybe because all his anger was held in his eyes, turning them icy. “What are you doing with my boy, Alfie Bell?”

Sleeping with him? Wanting to be with him? Falling in love with him? “Uh…doing?”

“Do you think I don’t remember? Don’t know how you treated him?”

Oh shitting fucking shit fuck. “I didn’t… I’m not… I never…” He stopped. Gave up. Tried something else. “Then why didn’t you put a stop to it?”

“Because he never told me.” Aidan stood and moved across the room, restless the same way Fen was restless. Except there was no one to soothe him. “If someone hates you, they can hurt you in so many ways. But that’s nothing compared to what someone who loves you can do. Fenimore has his pride. When he has nothing else, he has that. I won’t ever be the one to take it from him.”

Alfie felt sick. Mainly at himself. “I never hated him. I was just young and stupid, and I didn’t know who I was or what I was doing.” No answer from Aidan, so he blundered on. “I’ve changed… I’ve changed a lot. I’m trying to be better. And Fen is more important to me than anything. I just want to make him happy.”

There was another awful silence. Alfie found himself staring hopefully at the flower pattern on the carpet, just on the off chance they decided to twist up his ankles and devour him.

“If that’s true,” said Aidan at last, very slowly, as if he didn’t quite believe it, “if you really do have feelings for my boy, why are you trying to keep him here?”

“Uh.” Alfie, once again, found himself reduced to monosyllables. And, having made the mistake of looking up, he couldn’t look away. There was something so fierce and so desperate (and so familiar) in the way Aidan’s eyes held his.

“Nora had a good life. A life she chose.” Now there was the faintest tremor in Aidan’s voice, and somehow that was even worse. “But it’s over. He can’t live it for her. Don’t make me lose both of them, Alfie Bell.”

Alfie could feel sweat gathering under his shirt. “But what can I do?”

“Make him give up that bloody shop. God knows I’ve tried. Maybe he’ll listen to you.”

“Um, I’m not sure he does a lot of listening to other people.”

Out of nowhere, Aidan smiled. Though it was for Fen, not for Alfie. “He gets that from Nora.”

Alfie tried not to visibly squirm. This was far worse than anything he could have imagined, up to and including the possibility that Fen’s dad had a small dog he could accidentally throw out of a second-storey window, like in that old lager advert.

“Okay, but look,” he tried, “shouldn’t this be up to Fen? Isn’t Pansies all he’s got left like?”

The smile vanished, and Aidan was glaring at him again. Though Alfie saw the grief now, stark in his eyes like an unfading shadow. “Our Nora was not her things.”

“I know. But mebbe there’s more to it than that? He says he likes working with flowers cos it reminds him of her.”

“You haven’t had to watch him disappear.”

It felt like a bruise inside, thinking of Fen being so lost. But wasn’t he happier now? Hadn’t Alfie made him happy? “You don’t think he’s coming back a bit?”

“I think,” snapped Aidan, “that my son is throwing his life away. And I think you’re helping him do it.”

Alfie opened his mouth. Had nothing to say.

“This was never what he wanted.” Another of those sharp, too-shrewd looks. “But it’s what you want, isn’t it? Oh, you walk and talk like a big man these days, but you’ll always be a small-town boy, Alfie Bell.”4

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