Do Not Read

The Slug and Lettuce

Before he knew it, Alfred had his coat on and was peddling his bike around the village. Where would his father be at this time of night? It was a Sunday so he obviously wouldn't be at the office. He checked his watch which told him that it was eight.
Just then, as luck would have it, he recognized his father's metallic audi driving down the village road. Alfred peddled as near to the car as he could. Through the back window, he could just about make out that there was a passenger in the car. It was dark, but he was pretty certain.

After a while, the car pulled over to the 'Slug and Lettuce' pub. Alfred crouched behind a rose bush with his bike as he saw his father and a slightly younger man leave the car. Alfred was puzzled. He recognized the man's large head, but couldn't think where from. Suddenly he remembered; the thought almost physically knocking him over. It was Horace, the one who his mother had had an affair with! Why on earth was Alfred's father out with him? Alfred looked through his binoculars that he had bought along in case of an emergency, and saw that they were holding hands.

Alfred didn't know what to do with himself. He didn't want to watch, yet he couldn't tear his eyes away as he watched his father and the man that his mother had had an affair with walk towards an outdoor table, and quickly kiss. His father was gay?

But it didn't make sense.

Since last year, his father had thrown himself into the manliest sport there was, creating his own team. Yes he had been out a lot more, yes he had grown quieter, yes he didn't act exited when Alfred thought he could finally prove his manhood-maybe it did make sense. Maybe the rugby was a cover up. Maybe his mother knew all along.
His mother!
Alfred threw up in the bush when he thought of his mother. Of course it made sense. She knew. She knew this whole time.

Without even hesitating, Alfred stood up and marched over to where his father and Horace were sitting. Alfred's father rose as soon as he saw Alfred, his eyes wide, obviously speechless and unable to provide him with an explanation.
Alfred turned to the other man.

"Thanks for destroying my family." And with that, he picked up his father's beer and threw it at the both of them, drenching them.

"Alfred. Alfred!" His father called, but Alfred had already got back on his bike and was peddling into the night.