Page 150 of Pansies

Eventually, though, he was shaken out of his stupor by Greg shrieking, “Stop the car! Oh my God! Stop the car!” and Kitty threatening to leave him in a ditch if he was travel-sick inside the vehicle, and the squeal of tires as they came to a halt at the side of the nearly empty road.

Staring out of the window, Alfie realised the spreading lightness was the sea.

Greg was standing under a map of the coastline bearing the legendWelcome to South Tyneside. By accident or design, it had an extra notice pinned beneath it that read,In despair? Call the Samaritans. 24 Hours. Followed by the number. Of course, Greg was gleefully taking a selfie with it.6

He jumped back into the car. “Ihaveto Insta this.”

Alfie just groaned.

But it meant they were nearly there. And he was coming home to Fen.

They swapped drivers as soon as they arrived on the outskirts of South Shields. Alfie had long since sobered up, and it was probably easier than trying to direct a stranger through an unfamiliar place in the middle of the night. They got to Pansies about five minutes later. The safety grille, still clean somehow, was down, the flat was dark, and there was a For Rent sign outside.

“Well,” said Greg into the silence, “this is a bit of an anticlimax.”

Alfie stared, not quite comprehending.

Then he shoved open the car door and half fell in to the street. Distantly, he heard someone shouting.

Oh. It was him. Rattling on the safety grille. Pointlessly, because it was all too late. He’d fucked it all up. And he was never going to see Fen again.

He felt a touch on his shoulder. Kitty. She was saying some things.

And maybe he was weeping? Hopelessly. Right there in the street.

He pulled away from her, ashamed but too wrecked to do anything about it, and clung to the grille instead, his bowed head partially sheltered by his forearms. He could just about cope with Fen seeing him cry, but that was it. Nobody else.

Suddenly, rapid footsteps, a ferocious yell. “I told you to get the fuck away from there!”

And Kitty shouting his name.

He jerked back and got an arm up just in time to deflect a flying frying pan.

It clonked onto the ground.

And there was Fen, bespectacled, fluffy-haired, dressed in that damn kimono, staring at him, openmouthed. “Alfie…oh my God, Alfie. I thought it was those kids again.”

Shit. Shit.Shit. He tried to wipe his eyes. And his nose. “I thought you’d gone.”

“No. Not yet.”

Fen pushed his glasses back with a thoughtless finger, the gesture so habitual and disregarded and profoundly, beautifullyfamiliar, it made Alfie want to cry again. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I came to say sorry.” It sounded ridiculously inadequate. “And I love you.” And so did that.

A long silence.

“How do you punch someone again?” asked Fen.

“What?”

“You told me how to punch someone. But I’ve forgotten. My thumb needs to go on the outside, doesn’t it?”

“Um. Yeah.” Alfie braced himself. And Fen swept towards him in a billow of satin, pale and furious and gorgeous and perfect. “Knuckles, not flats, remember.” He closed his eyes.

Then Fen’s mouth covered his. Shockingly soft. Made him stagger as if he really had been hit. He reached for him, instinctively, kind of desperately.

But Fen stepped back again. “I’m unbelievably angry with you, Alfie Bell. I’m just also unbelievably glad to see you.”

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