Page 20 of Pansies

There was a long silence.

“Well”—Greg turned to Kitty—“I feel illuminated, how about you?”

“Like I was there.”

“Sorry.” Alfie held up his hands. “That was crap. Sorry. You know how I feel about feelings.”

“Can you tell us what was weird?” asked Kitty, who had developed a sort of talent over the years for getting Alfie to talk about things. Even feelings.

“Just being home again. Everything being the same. And I…” God. How was he supposed to explain Fen? “I need a proper drink.”

He extricated himself, shoved his way to the bar, and flagged down one of the bow tie-sporting bartenders.

“What would you like?” The man had bright eyes, even in the gloom, and a brighter smile.

“Uhh…” Alfie scoured the cocktail menu in a panic. “Look, just make me something.”

“Of course. Do you normally go for—”

“I really don’t care.”

Five minutes later, Alfie was handing over twelve quid and receiving, in return, an austere tumbler, untouched by cherries or umbrellas or other slices of crap. “What is it?”

The bartender smirked. “An Old Fashioned.”

“Okay.” That was something Alfie could live with. He took a sip and found himself surprised. Possibly pissed off. “That’s not an Old Fashioned.”

“It’s a pink peppercorn Old Fashioned.”

“Do I look like the kind of bloke who wants pink peppercorns in his Old Fashioned?”

The bartender leaned towards him. Alfie wasn’t sure, but his eyes might have been greenish. “Maybe. Why don’t you let me know?”

He picked up his drink and went back to his table, unsure whether he was being mocked or hit on. Or both at once.

“Oh, what’s that?” Greg pounced on the drink and took a sip.4 “It’s gorgeous. Smoky and sweet and a little bit spicy. Just like you.”

“Yeah, right.”

“If you don’t want it, I’ll have it.” His eyes were on the bartender.

Alfie reclaimed his drink. “Get your own.”

“So what happened in South Shields?” Kitty nudged him.

“Well, first off, I sort of came out by accident.”

A moment of silence. Then Greg was laughing. “So you fell out?”

“Don’t laugh. It’s all right for you, you were born gay.”

“Um, so were you, sweetie.”

“Yes, but I didn’t notice, okay? It’s different. There’s not, like,spacefor that stuff up there. But then I sort of met this guy in a bar—”

“I do love stories with a happy ending.”

“Greg, will you shut the fuck up for like two minutes? I’m trying to talk about my feelings.” Probably Alfie shouldn’t have bellowed that like an emo teenager. “Which you asked about,” he finished, lowering his voice. “And which I could just as easily bottle up forever like I’m supposed to.”

---