Page 42 of Pansies

“Does that help?” he asked blankly.

She just smirked.

“Look.” Alfie gave up trying to understand what on earth was going on. “I really have come to fix your shower rail.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“It’s not a big deal. Won’t take me long.”

Gothshelley had been watching them like someone at a tennis match. “I’ve lost track of this euphemism.”

“God, it’s not a euphemism. It’s, you know”—Alfie waved his hands wildly—“literally the thing you hang the shower curtain off.”

She mimed being blown backwards by an overwhelming force. “Wow, hello outside voice.”

“Look,” interrupted Fen, “thanks for the thought and everything, but I’m not your project. I can take care of myself.”

“I’m not saying you can’t. I just want to help.”

“Well.” Fen’s chin got all pointy and stubborn. “I don’t need your help.”

Gothshelley heaved a theatrical sigh. “Oh come on, Fenimore James. Let the man get his hands on your rod. This is getting boring and he’s standing in my light.”

Alfie was tempted to point out that he was also standing right there. But he didn’t want to alienate his unexpected ally.

“It’s complicated,” protested Fen. “You couldn’t possibly—”

“Yes, I can. Because it’s not actually complicated. You like having the hot guy who bullied you at school practically begging for the privilege of doing you a favour.”

Fen flushed the same colour as the tips of his hair. “I…I…”

“It’s fine, it’s not a crime. I’d be the same if it was Trent Reznor maybe. In those opera gloves he wears in the ‘Closer’ video.5 And if he wasn’t like fifty. But”—Gothshelley seemed to remember herself—“what is totally a crime is the fact he’s messing with My Muse.”

Fen, who was still very pink, threw up his hands in a gesture of grudging surrender. “All right, all right. Come in, Alfie, DIY away. Shelley’s Muse must, after all, remain unmessed with, so she can get back to her—Oh holy Christ, what is that?”

Alfie had been meaning to ask the very same question.

“Fen,” Gothshelley explained wearily, “is a traditionalist. He only ever wants to make things that are…pretty. But I’m an Artist. And Art is Pain.” She gestured proudly to the thing on the counter. “This is an experiment in negative space and triadic disharmony. I call itSuffering.”

Alfie glanced away, conscious of a measurable sense of relief now he was no longer obliged to witness Gothshelley’sSuffering. “Sounds about right.”

Fen made a sound that he tried to turn into a cough, but Alfie had heard Fen’s laugh enough to recognise it. He grinned, and for a moment, Fen was looking right at him, his eyes still full of light. But all he said was, “I need to get back to work.” Then turned away abruptly and disappeared into the back room.

Alfie picked up his bags and made his way up the twisty littlestaircase to the flat. When he’d been hustled through here on the way to his nondunking, he hadn’t realised the state it was in. He had to turn a light on, even though it was the middle of the day, and the dull glow from the bare bulb showed him peeling paint, damp walls, and bits of old furniture shoved into random corners. This was a place you stored shit, not a place you lived. It smelled kind of mouldy too, like stale air layered on stale air. Why was Fen staying here? Or, at least, why didn’t he clean it up a bit? He really didn’t seem like the slovenly type.

He shoved the bathroom door open with his hip and dumped everything on the floor. It looked even worse in there than he remembered. Not dirty precisely—well, apart from plaster dust—but old and uncared for. There were rust stains at the bottom of the bath and a pinkish tidemark. A spiral of pale hair in the plughole.

Now he had come to the actual Doing It Yourself bit of DIY, Alfie discovered he was at a bit of a loss. But it wasn’t enough to really dampen his enthusiasm for trying. Maybe in a bit he could take a break and have a cup of tea with Fen, just like at home. Alfie had usually been shooed off because he tended to knock things over and get in the way, but he had good memories of his dad fixing things for his mam. There was a bit in the middle when everything was slightly chaotic, so it was like the normal rules got suspended, and it felt almost like a holiday, and they’d eat cheese sandwiches sitting on the stairs, Alfie wedged in between his parents, his dad in his coveralls, smelling of paint and dust and chemicals. Afterwards, it would all get put to rights again, better than before. And now Alfie was doing that for someone else. Making things right.

Reassured, he took a closer look at the shower rail, and then at the hole in the wall. The edges were ragged, which he was sure was bad, and he poked at them a bit, trying to smooth them down.Which made quite a bit more of the wall fall off. So he stopped doing that. It probably wasn’t helping.

He closed the toilet lid, sat down, and read the instructions on the plaster mix very carefully. Water and plaster—hah, easy—in a bucket. Oh shit.

He went back into the shop to see if they had one.

Gothshelley gazed at him and then shook her head sadly. “Sorry, no.”6

Alfie was just getting into his car in order to drive back to B&Q when Fen came running after him, pulled him back inside, and pointed wordlessly at the main display.

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