Page 71 of Pansies

There was a pause. Alfie watched the wavering shadows from the street moving across the sky like an upside-down reflection. There was a little piece of fading moon tucked between the clouds like it was falling out of someone’s pocket.2

He’d almost forgotten he was still on the phone when Greg spoke again. “I’m sorry, Alfie. I really am. I don’t know what to say. I mean, if you were half as into me as you are into this random South Shields guy, I’d never have let you go. Not in a gazillion years.”

A gazillion years sounded like a long time. And Greg sounded like he meant it. But there were lots of things you meant at four in the morning. “What about all the gay firemen?”

“Oh. Them.”

“We have to think of the firemen.”

There was another long silence. This time, it wasn’t quite as comfortable.

“I’m such a fucking idiot,” muttered Alfie at last. “Still making the same fucking mistakes.”

“But you tried. Most people wouldn’t.”

“It’s not that. It’s not about Fen.” There was a needly draught spilling from the place the window met the sill. Alfie’s dad wouldprobably have known how to fix it. Alfie made a half-arsed attempt to push the frame into place with one hand and then gave up. “All my life I’ve been telling myself if I only found the right person, it would all make sense somehow.”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

“Maybe, but it’s bollocks. Finding the right girl was never going to fix the fact I’m as gay as a chaise longue. And finding the right bloke isn’t going to fix the fact that…I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing with my life.”

Greg drew in a sharp breath. “Aren’t you overreacting a bit?”

“Probably.”

“Oh, Alfie, please come home. I’ll wrap you up in my fluffiest blanket, and we can watch the worst movies I can think of and eat ice cream straight out the tub and generally be abject stereotypes. I’ll even give you the best comfort fuck of your life.”

“Uh, ice cream’s good.”

“Okay. I’ve got pralines and cream, dulce de leche, white chocolate raspberry truffle, rocky road, and rum raisin.”

Alfie did his best to smile, because he had read somewhere that you could hear that sort of thing in someone’s voice. “That’s a lot of ice cream to keep on standby.”

“I like ice cream. And sometimes I need comforting. When will you be back?”

What had he told Fen? “Probably Sunday.”

“You’re not going to do anything stupid in the meantime, are you?”

“What sort of stupid?”

“I don’t know. Hiring a mariachi band and standing under his window singing ‘Can’t Take My Eyes Off You’?”

Out of nowhere, Alfie laughed and felt a little bit closer to human again. “I’ll see you on Sunday, okay?”

“Okay.”

He hung up and sat by the window a while longer, his thoughts circling around nothing in particular. Bits of memory, old and new, and Fen, still a little magical, with his rough hands and restlessness. Fragility and fierce eyes.

Dawn had sort of happened somehow, in that invisible way it did sometimes up north, just ever-increasing shades of light until you were getting up and calling it daytime. Everything was still and silver, but he could hear the gulls and the deeper rush of the tide going out. He thought about going down to the beach, just because he could, but he was tired and…and small-feeling and sad.

Stripping down to T-shirt and boxers, he crawled into bed and pulled the covers over him and round him as tightly as he could. And there, in that secret, private darkness, where nobody could see, and nobody would ever know, he absolutely didn’t cry.

Waking up to brightness, he knew instinctively he’d slept past noon. He’d left his phone on the window ledge after talking to Greg, and he went scrambling to get it. Just in case. Just on the off chance.

Nothing.

No messages. No missed calls. Exactly what he’d expected, so why the hell was he disappointed? What a stupid way to start the day.

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