Page 142 of Pansies

Fen’s smile was all pieces of brightness. “Can we go faster?”

So they went faster, climbing the notches steadily until they were going about three quarters of the ride’s full speed. Fen had been right—it did feel weirdly like dancing, following each other between the carts, moving apart and coming together, Alfie sometimes steadying Fen when he wobbled. Until, eventually, they weren’t moving at all, just turning with the ride, Fen folded in Alfie’s arms, leaning back against him, their bodies pressed together by the rise and fall of the platforms as they spun and spun through the light-encrusted dark.

Only this time, Alfie knew he wasn’t free and couldn’t even pretend. He belonged to love and time, and neither of them would let him go, no matter how hard he bargained.

Another day.

Another hour.

Half an hour then. Fifteen minutes. Ten. Eventually, with every second clinging to him like coal dust, Alfie turned off the ride, and they sat in one of the carts, snuggled under his coat.

“That your mum’s?” he asked, as Fen wriggled the piece of wire out of his pocket and wrapped it round his finger again.

“Yes. Dad gave it to her for a love token, since they never married. Pretty scandalous back in the eighties.”

“Wow, yeah. How come?”

“Mum didn’t really see the point of marriage.”

“I think it’s important,” said Alfie firmly.

“Love is certainly legally complicated without it.” Fen faffed with the band. “I mean, officially I’m my mother’s next of kin, not my dad. Or, rather, I was.”

“Yeah, there’s definitely that side of it. But there’s also what it means to other people. I wouldn’t want there to be any…any doubt like, that whoever I was with was the most important person in my life. Especially cos, well, he’s going to be a man. And people are stupid about that.”

There was a brief, slightly uncertain silence.

And then Alfie said, “Fen, look—” at the same time Fen said, “Alfie, I’ve been thinking—” which made them laugh, fall silent again, and then get entangled in an abortive sequence of “Oh sorry” and “After you” and “No, you go.”

Finally, Alfie got a full sentence out: “You first.”

“Well. Okay.” Fen drew in a quick, sharp breath. “But it’s…um…it’s kind of a bit…oh, I don’t know. But I think I might hate myself forever if I don’t try.”

“Is this a proposal?” It was supposed to lighten the mood—calm Fen down—but it didn’t work at all. In fact, as soon it was out, Alfie couldn’t have imagined a worse thing to say.

Hooking his fingers into his pocket again, Fen drew out what looked like a tightly folded newspaper clipping and handed it shakily to Alfie.

“What’s this?”

“It’s a job. Part-time. It’s doing outreach for this tiny company called the Shoestring Theatre. They got a lottery grant, and they’re all about bringing theatre into local communities through collaboration with—Alfie, it’s in Newcastle.”

The newsprint was hieroglyphics, and Alfie’s heart was spinning like the Waltzers were still on. His voice floated out of him as if didn’t belong to him anymore. “It seems quite a long way from lighting design.”

“Well. Yes. And I’m slightly scared of children, but they can’t all be homophobic little shits, right?”

“Probably not all of them, no.”

“I might not get it, but I think I have a decent shot.” Fen was talking very quickly or Alfie’s head was working very slowly. “And because it’s part-time, I’d still be able to work in the shop a bit. If…if you—oh God, I warned you this was crazy—if you wanted to run it with me.”

No words were in Alfie’s mouth. At least none he could say. None that weren’tyes.

Fen covered his face with his hands. Squirmed in a helplessly embarrassed kind of way. “It sounds even worse now I’ve said it aloud. I don’t know what I was thinking except that I did. Think it, I mean.”

There was sandpaper in Alfie’s throat. He made a croaking sound.

“Can you say something, Alfie? Even if it’s just…‘Man, you’re nuts.’” A sound that was probably meant to be a laugh, except it came out all shrill and wobbly. “Although it’s not as nuts as…as well, it could be. You actually like South Shields and you seem very—to my mind, bewilderingly—interested in flower shop management.”

“Yeah, but”—Alfie forced the words out—“what about what you want?”

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