Page 16 of Pansies

He left the bathroom, couldn’t face the bed again, and crossed to the window instead. Pulled back the curtains. Across the bay, the lights from North Shields cast shining shadows over the still, black sea.7

Alfie let his head fall forward against the cold glass with a pathetic littlethunk. He couldn’t go back to London. Not until he’d sorted this out somehow and made things right with Fen. Maybe it shouldn’t have mattered so much, but it did. It really did. And, yes, it was a bit selfish—not wanting to leave this bad memory of himself in South Shields—but there was more to it than that. Because under Fen’s anger and the pain there’d beensomething. Something Fen had wanted from him and had given in return, perhaps even without intending it. A sort of…understanding. Well, that, and the mind-blowing sex.

Except he had no idea where Fen was now. Where he might have gone. Surely he knew someone who knew Fen? It was a small town. Except he couldn’t think of anyone. Maybe his family would be able to help, but there was no way he was admitting he was interested in someone like Fen. It would confirm all his father’s worst fears about the sort of man his son was on his wayto becoming. Could he ask Kev? Kev was bound to know or know how to find out. But how would that go?I ran away in the middle of your wedding to sleep with the kid we used to pick on at school. Any idea how I could get back in touch with him?

That was when he remembered: Fen’s mother owned a flower shop on Prince Edward Road. It was part of a parade of shops locals called the Nook after a pub that had closed down ages ago.8 When Alfie had been growing up, there’d just been the Cranny on the corner, and the Black Prince, which became the Prince Edward, which was supposed to be the roughest pub in the area. Kev had dared Alfie to have a drink in there once. He had been absolutely shitting himself the whole time, but nothing bad had happened at all. Everyone had just ignored him.

So. There. A plan. That he’d planned. As soon as it was morning, Alfie would drive down to the Nook, and hopefully, the shop would still be there.

Now he’d started thinking about this stuff, the memories came back far more strongly than he would have expected. Details he hadn’t even noticed at the time, like the sweet-dusty smell of the place, and the way the sunlight fell in thick golden strips over the floor. The hand-painted sign and the spill of bright flowers over the pavement.

His mam used to go there every Saturday for the week’s flowers.9 Even though it was out of her way. Dragging with her, occasionally, a resentful Alfie.

He remembered Fen’s mother. Her coils and coils of sun-yellow braids. And Fen too, sometimes perched on the edge of the counter, wary-eyed behind his glasses, listening to whatever he listened to on that Sony Walkman he carried everywhere.

The hours dragged by. Alfie slept a little. Thought too much. Watched the grey light creep between the sea and the sky.

He checked out of the hotel at 9:00 a.m., hair still damp from the shower he’d taken to try and wash away the night. Then he stuffed his case into the boot of his car and made for the Nook.

It was a heavy sort of morning, the kind of morning you only really got up north, so close to the sea. The air was thick with salt and spray, and the cloud-churned sky sagged low like the belly of some monstrous beast. The sea was sullen too, the waves turning over and over each other in clots of dirty white spume. Alfie watched the old lighthouse recede in his rearview mirror, its redness dulled to the shade of an old wine stain against the horizon.

The Prince Edward roundabout had always been terrible for traffic snarls, but it was early enough that Alfie glided straight over, turned into the parallel access road that ran alongside the shopfronts. He managed to find a prime parking space right in front of the Ocean Pearl Chop Suey House,10 which used to be one of the few Chinese takeaways in South Shields. It looked exactly the same as it always had: dirty yellow sign with blue lettering, two Chinese lanterns hanging in the window. It reminded Alfie that there was a time when kung po and spare ribs had seemed unbelievably exotic to him.

There’d been a handful of changes, here and there. They had a Subway now, though the sea air had dimmed the glowing green paintwork. And a Tesco Express, open every day from six in the morning until eleven at night. He could have gone there for condoms. Alfie wanted to laugh about it. But there was nobody to share the joke.

Most things were pretty much as they’d been before he left. The salon where he’d gone with Kev to get his tan done before a night on the town. The paper shop. The post office. The butcher. The bookies. The dodgy place that promised to buy your gold andcash your cheques. God, even Munchies, the tiny little takeaway sandwich shop where you could buy soft, floury stotties as big as your head.11

Alfie hurried along the pavement feeling like he was in that movie about the birds turning evil. Except it was memories pelting him from all sides.

He was starting to think maybe he’d got it wrong, or the shop had closed down, when he saw the familiar florist racks up ahead. They were different. Not like he remembered. He remembered flowers everywhere, jostling for space, practically pushing pedestrians off the pavement, gleaming even on the darkest of winter days. These were fine. But neat. Modest.

The door and the sign had faded to mustard. The painted purple flowers to dusty lilac.

But the letters were still just about readable:Pansies.

How had he forgotten? They’d certainly never let Fen forget. It wasn’t even funny. He couldn’t believe he’d ever thought it was.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed open the door. The bell jangled. So familiar, ringing across the years, cutting across whatever music was playing. Jazz or something. Some angry women singing about murder.

And there was Fen. Right in the middle of the shop, his back to Alfie, manhandling a big plastic bucket full of water and dead plant bits.

“Can I help—” He turned. Went white. “What the fuck?”

Alfie just stared. This was the last thing he had expected.

“Get out.” Fen’s voice swooped up at least an octave. “Leave me alone.”

“I just wanted to—”

“I don’t care. If…if you don’t leave, I’m calling the police.”

“But”—Alfie blinked—“why?”

Fen hefted the bucket into his arms, as if he wanted to put something between them. “You stalked me. And you’re harassing me.”

“I didn’t expect to see you. I was looking for your mam.”

There was something, something Alfie couldn’t read. A pause or a look. A flicker in Fen’s eyes. “Well, she’s not here.”

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