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405 pages, Paperback
First published October 8, 2016
“I think about my life, and it should be a great life, cos I’ve got everything I’m supposed to have, except I’m pretty sure I’m not happy.”
“Oh, Alfie. How can you know something like that?”
“Because of how I feel when I’m with you.”
And Alfie, desperate, a little bit dizzy, a little bit shocked. Because he loved Fen like this, so hot and straining, and lost and found, and his. He still smelled a little bit of flowers and tasted a little bit like salt. And the words scattering at their feet with the shells and sea glass were yes, and oh, and God, and yes, and please, and that last one was maybe Alfie, because he wanted it so badly, Fen’s pleasure, not taken but given, and nothing between them but this, and the things they chose to build together.
And we could listen to musicals. And you could drive my car sometimes. And I could suck you off in the mornings and fall asleep next to you ever night . . . And we could walk on the beach and maybe get a dog. I'd quite like a dog if you would. But not if you wouldn't. Only let's not get a cat because they're snooty buggers. And maybe we could do this all the time . . . Cos . . . well . . . that's what love means to me. But it doesn't mean anything at all really, without you.
Mum always said there’s no such thing as a weed.”
“Um, what are weeds, then?”
“Flowers where you don’t expect them.”
“It can be one of the most difficult things in the world, I think. To accept yourself.”
“You’re wrong, Alfie Bell. You haven’t changed. Maybe you suck cock these days, but you’re still a coward and a bully, and that’s all you’ll ever be.”
I think Alfie Bell has decided I’m his butterfly. And some part of me desperately wants to be. I would love to be held in his hands, sheltered and made precious, especially now, when I feel so very alone.
”Look,” he said, as calmly as he could, “I get that we weren’t exactly friends back then, but—”
“You made my life a living hell.”
“I was a kid. It was just a bit of fun.”
“A bit of fun? Are you a fucking sociopath?” Fen wrapped his arms tightly around his own body. “Every day. For six years.”
Alfie made a frustrated gesture, nearly losing the sheet. “It wasn’t just me.”
“That’s the best justification you can find? God, you’re pathetic.”
...
“Well, it didn’t stop you making my life miserable.”
Alfie was still feeling too unexpectedly wounded to be capable of controlling what came out of his mouth. “Yeah, but you didn’t exactly help yourself either.”
Silence. Again.
“What,” asked Fen very quietly, “the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“I mean, you could have kept your head down. You didn’t have to make a big deal about it.”
And, you know, all I thought was that it’s been something like fifteen years, and he was still finding new and special ways to make me feel worthless.
I never told you how bad it was. And how much I dreaded, God, I dreaded everything. Waking up in the morning, knowing he would be waiting for me, him and his friends, and all the rest of them. Old taunts or new ones, it didn’t matter, I never learned to shrug them off. I never learned not to care. I didn’t dare tell you.
I don’t know if it was because of or in spite of, but I really thought I was in love with him back then. For all those years. Because he was the only boy who touched me. He was all I had. His hand on the back of my neck, forcing my head down the toilet. Or his body shoved against mine to stop me fighting. His bruises on my skin. His fingers in my hair.
I’d lie awake in bed, terrified of tomorrow, and I’d think about him touching me. I’d dream about him and want him. And imagine how it would feel if he was gentle with me.
“Bent as a nine-bob note, of course.”
Nothing happened. The sky didn’t cave in or fire burst up from under the pavement.
In the end, it was Billy who broke the silence. “Howay, Da. Ye knaa Alfie . . .”
“Aye, ah do, but it’s not the same. Ye divvent see wor Alfie meking posies, wi’ pink in his hair.”
“No,” said Alfie quickly, “and you won’t. I’m not like that.”
⭐️the tinfoil hedgehog made of pineapple and cheese skewers😭
The centrepiece of the whole arrangement was a tinfoil hedgehog skewered with cheese and pineapple pieces on cocktail sticks. This was as close as North East England got to a canapé. childhood memory unlocked.
⭐️characters shouting “EH?” any time they didn’t hear what you said😭
⭐️going on a night out without a coat on (only southerners do that shit)— even if it’s the middle of winter with arctic temperatures.
⭐️the dialect and humour was pretty perfect— it felt like things i would say to my friends and made me giggle a time or two.
“An’ wharraboot ye, pet?”= “and what about you, pet?”
“Howay” = “away”, which basically means come on/come off it, to describe your disbelief of something.
”Let us choose fer mesel. And I’ll tek the roses.” = “let me choose for myself. And I’ll take the roses.” – we tend to say “us” when we’re just referring to ourselves singularly... idk why we do that lol😭 – the book truly had me reflecting on how strange i must sound from an outside perspective.
“Kissing like Alfie had always imagined it was supposed to be. Movie-star-magic-silver-screen-fireworks-in-the-sky kissing. Endless and restless, like the sea beating in the distance. Like listening to a shell, except it was everything and everywhere, the taste of salt water rich and sharp between their lips.
And a strange sort of sweetness too. It took him a moment to place it.
“Hey,” he whispered, breaking the kiss. “Hey, you smell of flowers.”
He was shaking—shaking, really shaking—in his arms, his fingers curled urgently against Alfie. A rock climber trying not to fall.”