Page 149 of Pansies

Kitty’s eyes flicked towards Greg. “See, why on earth would you want a relationship? It’s nothing but a confederacy of dunces.”

“Maybe I’d like someone to be idiotic over me.”

Charles smiled, somewhat mysteriously. “He has a point. I’ve rarely found love to be a particularly dignified emotion.”

There was more. But Alfie wasn’t listening. He was on his feet.

“Alfie?” asked Greg. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going back.”

“Right now? You know it’ll be one in the morning by the time you get there, right?”

“I don’t care.” Alfie ran his hands distractedly through his hair. “I’ve got to fix this. Or try anyway. Can you see yourselves out? I mean, when you’re ready. No rush.”

“Absolutely not.” Kitty jumped up, skirting the broken bottle. “I’m coming with you.”

Charles shrugged. “I’m game. As long as you don’t mind a complete stranger accompanying you to…wherever it is you’re going, to…see whoever it is you’re seeing, to do…whatever it is you’re doing.” He gave Alfie an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, your personal situation seems quite complicated. But this is exciting.”

“It’s not always like this,” Kitty warned him.

“That’s all right. Romantic, cross-country dashes probably lose their charm if you do them all the time.”5

Greg scrambled off the sofa. “Hang on. If you’re all going, you can’t leave me behind.”

“Look, everybody calm down,” said Alfie, not particularly calmly. “My car’s a two-seater, and I’m in a rush.”

“We’ll take mine.” Kitty jangled her keys. “Also, I’m not halfway to plastered.”

“You’re serious?”

“Yes, I haven’t touched a drop.”

“No, I mean about coming with me?”

They all nodded.

Alfie had no idea how to deal with this. Couldn’t even tell if it was nice or completely insane. But that probably didn’t matter. Because it was happening regardless. He turned to Greg. “Don’t you dissolve or something if you go past Barnet?”

“I suppose”—Greg was tying his scarf into an elegant knot—“we’re about to find out.”

They took the lift down to the basement car park, piled into Kitty’s silver Porsche Cayenne—a vehicle Alfie had previously found utterly ridiculous—and then they were off, zooming, as much as a four-by-four keeping strictly to the speed limit could zoom, through the thin, late-evening traffic. Once they were out of London, it was straight north up the A1.

Greg did not dissolve.

Though he did make them play a wide range of travel games.

It would have been quicker if Alfie had been on his own, but then he would probably have wrapped himself drunkenly around a lamppost, and God, if that happened, how would Fen know? Who would think to tell him? Would he care?

That was when he remembered he owned a phone. And that probably the civilised thing to do was to give a person some kind of warning when you were driving across the country to try to undo the pig’s ear you’d made of the relationship. His hands were trembly as he found Fen in his address book. But it went straight to voice mail.

Probably that didn’t mean anything except that it was late. Or that Fen had blocked him. Or was being sad all on his own, because Alfie had left him.

Wow. He felt terrible. And he deserved to.

They stopped at a service station. It was only for half an hour, but it was all Alfie could do not to run up the walls. He was pronounced too jittery to drive, and Kitty didn’t trust Greg, so Charles took over.

He tried to sleep but couldn’t. The night got darker and time seemed to get slower. And he found himself sincerely wishing for thoseLord of the Ringscassettes.

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