Chapter 79

"I think Lily got it worse than you this time actually," Rosie was saying as he approached the door.

"Was m-my fault!" Katie cried in response.

"No, no – you listen to me Katie – it was not your fault. Might have been your idea but Lily made up her own mind. You're responsible for what you did and she's responsible for what she did, you hear me? You don't take her actions on you, same as she doesn't take yours on her, you understand?"

Katie sniffled and mumbled something he couldn't make out.

He was slightly surprised to hear that she was still crying. When she'd cried over the shoes it was the first time he reckoned he'd seen her cry in about a year. When he'd first got home from the war she'd been…

He tried to think – Easter, April, 1919 he'd been sent home. War had ended 1918 and they'd all thought at first they'd be home for Christmas - but demobilisation hadn't been instant. It was July 1921 now.

God, it had been longer and shorter than he realised. A year and a bit, he and Rosie had told Ada they'd known one another before he brought her home. And that had been October last year. The time between him coming home and October, that time seemed to stretch out, it felt like it had taken years of his life, dragging out, always on edge, always going – ending up in the tunnels whenever he stopped. But since October – he both wondered how the best part of a year had passed and yet he was surprised it hadn't been longer at the same time, because he was so accustomed to his life, to Rosie and Lily being in his family, to his routine of staying in at night with the redhead…

He shook his head and tried to focus – Katie had just turned seven the previous month, that meant she'd been four when he got home, just a few months short of turning five. She'd cried a little more back then. John – newly single and trying to cope – had started her in school, too early really, and he vaguely remembered her coming home crying over being smacked by her teacher for not spelling things right. And he definitely remembered a few instances that summer where Polly had produced tears from her, and she'd run away and stayed in her room the whole day afterwards.

But once that summer was gone, Pol's attention had been turned more to helping with the twins, who had left their toddling and cooing behind and were starting to find their own ways into mischief, and Katie, for her part, had spent more time outside playing with other kids and less time inside getting into trouble. She'd learned to handle herself, she'd toughened up. Even when Pol smacked her now – hell, even when he'd smacked her himself, like he had done at her birthday tea when she'd given him all her cheek, she'd been bothered enough by it that she'd let him have a hold of her afterwards, but there had still been no sign of tears.

She was just a little girl though, underneath how much she reminded him of John… And of his mother. He pushed that aside. She hadn't planned…

She needed to be comforted and told she was forgiven. And Rosie was in there doing more than it was her duty to do. He had thought of it, from the start, as him – as his family – taking her and Lily on. But she had taken his whole family on alright, far beyond what he would have expected. He ran a hand through his hair. He had to man up and go do his part.

He pushed the door open and stopped in it, slightly surprised by how much the sight of Rosie sitting on Katie's bed with the kid on her lap, couried in and crying, winded him.

It made him want her to some extent every minute of the day that she looked after Lily, made him think of how she'd be as the mother to his kids – to their kids. But looking at her holding his dark haired little niece, who looked very little like her own mother and far more like typical Shelby stock with her colouring – it was like being shown the future. This was exactly how she'd look holding their daughter – if the kid took after him, that was.

Rosie met his eyes over Katie's head and he cleared his throat, trying to gather himself. Katie moved slightly, one eye appearing to blink at him.

"Katie – you scared the shit out of me," he told her, his voice rough, not like he wanted to come across but there didn't seem to be much he was capable of doing in this moment, "Do you understand?"

She gave a small nod and he saw Rosie hug her slightly more tightly.

"You know you're not allowed out of the lane and I'd have been giving you a spanking for leaving it regardless of where you'd gone – but going down The Cut is bloody dangerous. And you didn't just go down by it, you followed it right along until you were nearly at bloody Digbeth. That's nearly two miles from here, Katie – each way. Do you realise how easily you could have gotten hurt? And how difficult it would have been to get help if you did?"

She stopped looking at him and pushed her face back into Rosie's front, her crying renewed. The redhead laid a hand on the back of her head. He wished she'd lay a hand on the back of his head, be that calming presence for him, tell him what the right bloody thing to say here was. She was giving him a look, but it wasn't particularly comforting or calming.

He sighed, ran a hand through his hair and then came to sit by Rosie on the bed.

"Katie," he tried again, trying to soften his voice and coax her, unsure if he was managing it, "Katie – do you realise why I was so angry?"

She nodded into Rosie, still not looking at him.

"I love you, you scared me," he said, reaching over to squeeze at her arm since he couldn't really get at any other part of her.

She moved her head back, looked up at Rosie, who smiled down at her, and then looked slowly around to him.

"You'll not go near The Cut again, am I clear?"

She nodded.

"If I ever catch you down there so help you God chavi, I'll take the back of a hairbrush to you every night for a week, alright?" he told her, reaching out to run the back of his finger gently across her cheek, pushing her hair back a little.

She gave him an imitation of a flicker of a smile. Well, he'd take that.

"But we're done for now, with this, aren't we Thomas?" Rosie prompted him, "That's your way of it, isn't it?"

He glanced up to her eyes, then back to Katie's and nodded, "Yeah. That's how it goes. You got your spanking, we'll move on. But we both agree there will be no repeats of this one – you've learned your lesson haven't you?"

He was lecturing more than he usually did. But his stomach still wasn't settled. He still wasn't ready to let it go. He was nearer to it, as far as Katie was concerned, but he was determinedly focussing on the child in front of him and pushing the child at number six out of his mind.

The child in front of him nodded.

"Alright," he nodded back, then held out his palms, "Can I have a hold now, eh? To make up for you giving me a heart attack?"

She nodded, though he got the impression she wasn't entirely thrilled at the idea.

Still, she settled in his arms for a minute or so, him murmuring, "Thata girl, Katie," in her ear, and stroking her hair, feeling himself calm a little.

The noise of someone coming in the back door ended it, with Katie squirming off his lap to scrub at her face and then nearly shooting off to investigate the newcomer, only prohibited by the grab he made for her collar.

"You don't know who that is, your Dad needs to start locking the bloody doors," he told her, pulling her back, gesturing for Rosie to take hold of her and leading the way down the stairs himself.

It was only Polly, in with a pie, rattling around as she put it in the oven. She raised an eyebrow at him as he appeared.

"I had words to have with my niece," he told her.

Her eyebrows went higher as Rosie and Katie appeared behind him.

"Full meeting, eh?"

He lit a cigarette and didn't reply, watching her run her eyes over the child, probably working out he had been having more than words with her.

"What's for dinner Aunt Pol?" Katie asked.

"Pie."

"Kind of pie?"

"The kind you'll eat."

Katie glowered at the answer, not finding it acceptable.

Well, he figured she couldn't be all that upset if she was back to glowering. He tutted and walked by her, making his way to the door Polly had come in, looking expectantly at Rosie.

She took a few steps, then turned from him and crouched in front of Katie.

"You alright?" she asked, pushing Katie's hair back.

The child nodded.

"Good girl," Rosie replied, settling her hands on his niece's waist, "Listen, what are your plans for tomorrow, eh?"

Katie shrugged.

"Well, how about you come to me for your breakfast in the morning?"

"I don't get breakfast if I don't come to you," Katie replied.

"Lizzie not make you anything?" Rosie asked and Tommy frowned, wondering why Rosie would think Lizzie would be making breakfasts.

"Daddy doesn't have her watch us much anymore, says you're here for that."

She snorted, "Does he indeed?"

Katie nodded.

"Nice of him to run it by me – though I suppose I said you could share me, didn't I?"

Another nod.

"Alright, well you come over for breakfast tomorrow and then how do you fancy going to town? Me and Lily are going to go shopping for Finn's birthday, you want to come with us?"

Katie thought it over, then asked, "Can we get lunch again?"

"I suppose I could agree to that," Rosie replied, standing up and running a hand over Katie's head, "I'll see you in the morning then?"

"Yeah."

"Good," she nodded and made to follow him out the back door, exchanging a look with his aunt that he didn't quite follow.

He looked in the direction of the stairs when he got back to number six, saw Rosie looking at him looking at them, then cleared his throat and went through to the front room, sitting down and picking up the paper. Not reading it.

He felt exactly like he had done when he had gone to Charlie's, when he had run away from her. When John had made a joke and he had lost control of the situation, when his brother's joke had hit too close to the truth, to the truth he hadn't yet had the courage to admit out loud himself about how he felt about Rosie.

He had wanted to go straight back to her that time too. But facing her, figuring out what to say – it had been too much and he had buried his head in the yard, until Charlie had given him a bloody talking to. And then he'd gone to The Garrison, somewhere in between the yard and home, still not sure how he was going to make the final journey. What was it Arthur had said to him?

"Tom – we came through the war. We know what it's like – you make plans an' they get fucked. Sometimes it's whistles that call you up an' push you over the top. Sometimes it's your brother an' – well – it doesn't matter what else. But you get pushed over just the same – an' the plan doesn't fuckin' matter anymore, you've come over the line an' it's not what it was meant to be an' there's rats an' wires an' bodies an' you reckon you've found yourself in hell. But we made it through. We crossed the fucking fields an' the wires an' the bodies an' came back. So cross the fuckin' field, eh brother?"

It was the same again. He had to cross a field to get to her. Had to wade through the mud and the dirt and the rats and the wires and the bodies and get to her. And he wanted to. He did want to.

But he didn't want to either. Because the girl on the other side of the field – she had lied to him. She had concealed things from him. And he hadn't thought her capable of that.

What he wanted was to go across the field and find the sweet, innocent little babbling kid he'd brought to Watery Lane that first night, who'd hidden behind his legs and clung to him. The one who wasn't taller than she had been.

It was his fault for bringing her here. He had corrupted her.

"Thomas," Rosie's voice brought him back into the room.

He looked over the top of the paper at her.

"The dinner won't be long – are you wanting to go speak to her?"

He held her gaze for a minute then went back to the paper, "No. I'll bring her down for dinner, I told her that."

He'd put off seeing her until he couldn't avoid it.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

She went back through to the kitchen without saying anything.

He went back to staring at the paper, watching the black ink melt and reform into different shapes and patterns. Lily holding on to him the night he'd first brought her home. Lily coming running to him with her tears and her problems. Lily going down the cut. Lily drowning in the cut. Lily coming back to life and choosing not to tell him about what had happened. Lily's face becoming Katie's becoming…. His mother's.

He threw the paper across the room, not wanting to see it. Not able to stop seeing it. The pages separated and fluttered down - far more softly than he wanted them to. He wanted to smash something. Kick something. Shout. Scream.

Polly's husband. They talked, occasionally, about Polly's husband. Told the kids they weren't to go near the water because of Polly's husband.

They didn't talk about his mother. None of them ever talked about the fact his Uncle Charlie had pulled her from he cut. None of them ever gave voice to anything to indicate that it had been anything other than an accident. Cause it was easier to pretend that it had been.

The cut had taken Polly's husband. His medals. And his mother. It wasn't going to take his kids.

The door opened and Finn came wandering in, not noticing the mess of the paper.

"Good timing, dinner's about ready," Rosie said, coming to stand in the doorway.

Tommy stared resolutely in front of him. She'd notice the mess of the papers, he was sure. But she didn't comment.

He skulked until Rosie had put Lily's plate down.

"Do you want me to go get her?"

"No. I said I'd get her."

"Well her dinner's out."

"What's going on?" Finn asked, looking between them.

"It turns out Lily and Katie went wandering down to the cut yesterday," Rosie told him, her eyes still on Tommy, still searching for something, "Lily was put to bed earlier and told not to get out of it until your brother went to fetch her."

"She got her arse tanned too," Tommy added, in case Finn was in any doubt.

The boy smiled a little, unable to hide his pleasure at the news. Tommy remembered how Lily's earlier problems had been to do with Finn not talking to her because she'd told Katie whatever she had.

He wanted to tell the kid to be nice to her. But instead, he left the room.

"Right. Come on. Dinner's on the table," he said after he pushed the door open and found her in exactly the position he had left her in.

Guilt shot through him as he noted how red she still was. The shot was chased by a feeling of satisfaction, some slight relief that he had done a thorough enough job to leave an impression. He wasn't entirely sure he liked either feeling.

She didn't look up at him.

"Lily," he said, his voice harsh and rough.

She shook her head and spoke into the cover, "Not hungry."

He flared. So, the little madam thought she was going to dictate how things were going to go, did she indeed?

"Tough. Up."

"No!"

"Do you need another spanking? Is that it?" he demanded, tempted to go and land a smack on her to give her a reminder of the feeling.

"No," she told him, quickly.

Thank god. She had learned something at least – even if it was only that she disliked the consequences that awaited her if she disobeyed him.

"Then do as you're told."

"Don't want dinner."

"Tough. I don't believe in starving children, regardless of how badly behaved they've been so you'll be coming down to eat it - you can bring a pillow down to sit or you can eat it standing, I don't care, but you'll be eating."

He wasn't crossing the field so much as he was in the field. He'd had his minute, to make a plan. Hadn't made a plan, because he didn't want to face it and now he was out of his body, watching himself growling and barking at the child and disgusted with himself for it.

She shook her head at him.

"Right, I'm not having this, you chose to go to The Cut, you chose to break the rules, you don't get to sulk up here because you didn't like the consequences," he snapped, striding forward and tucking her up under his arm, "You don't like the consequences, you change your actions, you don't sulk."

"Tommy! Tommy no!" she squealed, suddenly animated and wriggling.

He couldn't make up his mind as to whether he was relieved by the movement or not. But still, he was not going to be taking any more defiance from her.

"Don't you tell me no my girl," he growled, pushing the door between the shop and the kitchen open further, manoeuvring her through and setting her on her feet.

She pulled at her dress, getting it back down to her knees and blushed furiously. He felt more guilt that he hadn't thought to fix it for her before he picked her up – he'd just been watching himself trying and failing to cross the field and she'd refused him and so he'd done all he'd known to do – he'd picked her up, taken her own choices out of it and taken control of the situation. He had just done it without considering whether or not her attire – or, specifically, the placement of it - was important. Rosie would have been better going to get her. Rosie would have handled it all better. But she had offered to and he had said no.

"Eat your dinner," he told the child, sitting down to his own plate.

She was crying again and Rosie gave him a very hard look before she spoke gently to her sister, "Lily - you need to eat your dinner. Come on."

She stood up and picked the bab up, placing her on the chair and eliciting a yelp that broke his heart.

Which he promptly covered by snapping, "Stand if you have to, but you'll eat."

She did stand – but despite the fact she had grown, maybe she wasn't as tall as he'd made her in his head, because she couldn't reach the table to eat standing. Maybe she was closer to being the little kid he'd brought home than being the gangling monster he'd created in his head earlier.

"Kneel up on the chair," Rosie suggested.

The child shook her head and her sister picked her up and put her back on the chair, pushing it in.

"Lily, I'll turn you over my knee for another round right here," Tommy heard himself say, "Unless you pick up your knife and fork and eat the dinner your sister has gone to the trouble of making. Now, stop this carry on or I'll give you something to cry about."

Stop the carry on and stop making him feel guilty. She'd deserved it. She'd earned it. And if her having to kneel up to eat her dinner was a side effect then so be it. Except he felt like an arsehole.

"Good girl," Rosie said, putting her hand Lily's head for a second, then sitting back down.

Tommy watched Lily's face, watched her narrow her eyes and look confused at the accolade. Then she caught his eye and looked quickly back down at her plate.

"Eat," he ordered her.

Rather like her sister, the direct orders seemed to produce less overthinking – the child picked up her fork and stuck it into her pile of mashed potatoes.

"Finn – your birthday's coming up," Tommy said, turning to the kid, trying to distract himself, "You got any ideas of what you want?"

Finn shrugged and stuck some chicken in his mouth, chewed thoughtfully and then got a look on his face as inspiration seemed to strike.

"Tommy…"

"What?"

"Arthur and John – they were saying there's a big boxing match happening in town soon."

Tommy raised an eyebrow. There was a big boxing match – Harry Mallin, who had taken a gold medal at the Olympics the previous year, was fighting. Tickets were a small fortune and they'd already taken in slips for the event, people sure that a gold medallist was a safe bet.

"Yeah?"

"They're planning to go – can I go? For my birthday? And Isaiah too? Please?"

Tommy sat back in his chair and considered it. The boy had never seemed all that interested in boxing. Arthur and John had liked it. He didn't mind it himself. Wasn't mad keen on going to the fight, but he'd probably go if the boys were going. He glanced at Rosie, who was watching her sister take tiny bites of potato and probably not listening to them.

"I'll see if there are any tickets left," he eventually said, searing some chicken onto his fork.

Finn grinned widely.

"I never said yes," Tommy pointed out, "I just said I'd see if there were any tickets left. There might not be. Don't get attached."

"Alright," Finn nodded, his spirits not dampened.

Boxing was on the rise again. It had always been popular, but, post war, there had suddenly been slightly less taste amongst men for the sport. Some men, anyway. But after the Olympic gold had been taken for Britain, it had steadily found its way into the favour of the public again.

He was a racing man, himself. At heart, horses would always interest him more than sport amongst men. But Finn wasn't interested in horses. And it was good for the boy to have some kind of interest.

Finn blabbered enough about the boxing and what him and Isaiah had heard about it for long enough to fill the majority of the meal, until Rosie was replacing the dinner plates with dessert.

"I'm not punishing you twice," she said in reply to Lily's confused look.

He tensed, figuring the fact the child was still expecting further punishment was to do with the fact he hadn't yet told her she was forgiven. But he also couldn't say what wasn't true. He finished his own slice of the bread and butter pudding as quickly as he could and returned to the front room, to avoid looking at her.

"Do you understand what could have happened down at The Cut?" he heard Rosie ask after Finn had gone back out and they were alone in the kitchen, "You could have drowned Lily, you could have died."

She was doing what he had done with Katie. She wasn't prepared to wait on him any longer.

"I didn't go in though," Lily said, her voice a bit wobbly as if she was on the verge of crying again.

"And Katie did?" Rosie asked, her voice sharpening with concern.

There was a pause, whilst Rosie seemed to be waiting for an answer, then, when it appeared she wasn't going to get one, she continued, "Oh you needn't worry, Katie's had her spanking too. But even if you didn't go in, you could have fallen in. The ground was soft yesterday because of the rain, it was slippy and it could have given way beneath you quite easily. Do you realise how dangerous that was?"

There was another pause, then he heard the redhead sigh and say, "Alright, we're not going to keep talking about it. You've had your spanking and you won't do it again, will you?"

She was bringing the close to it herself. He was sitting listening to what he should be partaking in. All he had to do was get to his feet and go stand in the room and agree with her, he didn't even need to come up with his own words. And yet, going through just to thoughtlessly nod along didn't seem like the right thing to do either. He had blinded men. Killed men. Taken tongues. People scattered out of his way on the street. And he held his head up through all of it. But he couldn't bring himself to face the six year old next door.

"If you go anywhere without permission Lily, I'll turn you over my own knee, you understand?" Rosie's voice floated through.

There was another pause, then, "Good. Finish your pudding and we'll get you ready for bed."

He sat where he was, listening to the sounds of the child scraping cutlery across her plate, then listening to her small feet heading up the stairs.

Like he thought the ghost of her might still be in the kitchen he went through to it, wanting to feel some semblance of her spirit, wanting to feel some sort of connection to her and yet still unable to cross the field to where he knew she was. He lit a cigarette and sat down heavily at the table, his eyes fixed on the stairs he could see through the doors.

His frustration was back in full swing when Rosie came down, shut the doors and fixed him with a look.

"What?" he growled.

"You know bloody well what," she retorted, putting her hands on her hips, "You spoke to Katie – why not her?"

"Cause I don't bloody well have it in me right now woman, alright?" he shouted, standing up and glaring at her.

"No Thomas, not alright. Not alright at all," she shouted back, "She's a child! You're the adult! Or you're bloody well supposed to be."

"You mind your tongue."

"Don't you start on me Thomas Shelby just because you know you're in the wrong."

"What do you want me to do Rosie?" he roared, slamming his fist on the table, causing her to flinch, "How am I supposed to make this alright? It's not fucking alright!"

He thought he might be on the verge of bloody tears himself.

She had flinched, but she stood still, her eyes taking him in.

He didn't like the silence. He balled his hands into fists and put them on the table, shifting his weight onto them, squeezing his eyes shut and letting his head hang.

"I'm supposed to cross the field Rosie – and I don't know how," he said, his voice catching a bit.

He kept his eyes closed until he felt her arms go around him, pushing him back, up to standing, on to the chair.

"Sit down Tommy," she murmured, her voice seeming to have lost its bite.

He less sat as he did fall back into the chair.

She slid onto his lap and put her arms around him, pulling his head to her chest, her hands on the back of his head like he'd wanted them to be earlier, stroking at that curve at the base of his skull.

"Listen to me, Tommy," she said, speaking quietly into his ear, "You did the right thing, alright? You did. I'd have done the exact same if we'd still been back in the old house and she'd gone wandering that far and by the water, alright?"

He nodded slightly.

"Good," she replied, scratching at his head, "And you did the right thing by Katie afterwards. I know you didn't find it easy, but you did it. But you're not doing the right thing now Tommy. She needs you."

He didn't reply.

"So why aren't you doing the right thing by her when you could by Katie, Tommy, eh?" she questioned.

Her voice was gentle but the question was demanding.

He tried to figure it out.

Yes he had memories attached to that cut that had reared up and brought out fear in him, that he had channelled into turning each of the offenders up and reddening them to ensure they wouldn't do it again. But that wasn't what was blocking him now, it couldn't be – because he'd managed to pull it together for Katie.

It was the fact she'd come in and let him clean her dress and then she'd come to him again earlier that day crying about something else. It was the fact she had played innocent with him, whilst knowing what she'd done. That was what he couldn't quite forgive. It was Ada all over again, seeing Freddie, growing his baby and pretending to be his little sister at the same time.

Rosie sighed and hummed against him, when he voiced it, kissing his head gently and saying, "Oh but you are an idiot at times Tommy, aren't you?"

He pulled his head out from her chest to half glare at and half question her with his eyes.

"Thomas – she's a child. Put Ada out of your mind for a minute and focus on Lily, eh? She's a baby. She came crying to you today with her problems because she doesn't know how to solve them herself yet – she sees you as being the one with the answers. And you like that. And it's not playing innocent, it's the truth – she loves you, she admires you, she sees you as being the one who'll help her. But that can all be true and it can still be true that she doesn't want to get into trouble with you. You want everything to fit into a box Tommy, you want everything to be tidy and life isn't tidy – people aren't tidy. They're messy and contradictory and confusing and that's just how it is. You always talk about Lily's simple little ways of seeing things and talking about things – and you like it because it keeps it simple for you to see her like that. And you know the real irony?"

He blinked up at her, not giving her a verbal answer.

"The things you get most upset about in other people Tommy are the things that are most like you that are in them. It's one rule for you and one for everyone else. It's human to want to avoid trouble, to avoid confronting your mistakes Thomas. Everyone does that. I don't see you down at the police station offering a full confession of every law you've broken, do I?"

"That's hardly the same."

"Then take it back to Ada, Tommy – how long did you cover up what had happened to everyone else, even your own brothers, just because you felt it was your fault, your mistake? And you know I don't think it was yours to take on yourself, but you did. You buried yourself in blame and shame and you wallowed in it and god knows I was worried sick about you over it, but whatever it was you were terrified everyone was going to think or say, you didn't face it – you didn't tell them."

"That's – that's not the same either!" he spluttered indignantly, "She's a child. It's different stakes."

"Tommy – she could have died, they both could have, if they'd fallen in and got pulled under. It's actually worse stakes, all Ada's going to do is have a baby."

He glared up at her and she sighed, "Alright then – remember what you told me about your grandmother?"

He shrugged.

"About how you'd tell her the adult friendly version of what you'd been up to and she'd scare the shit out of you because she'd just look at you and you'd know she knew you were lying?"

She paused and regarded him, waiting for an answer or an acknowledgement he didn't give.

"Tommy – do you remember telling Lily she was a real Watery Lane kid after you'd made your agreement with her?"

He nodded curtly.

"Well – real Watery Lane kids, Thomas Shelby included, don't go home and confess their day's misdeeds voluntarily. Christ, you'd hear nothing but a cacophony of adults shouting and kids crying all day every day up and down this street if they did. Nobody would get anything done."

"She's better than that though," he replied, the vision of her as an angel floating in his mind.

"No, she's not," Rosie said, her voice full of exasperation, "It's not her job to be better than that – it's her job to be a kid. And she doesn't want to be better than the rest of them, she wants to be the same. Jesus, Tommy, that's what you promised her – that she'd be a real Watery Lane kid and then you get like this when she acts like one. Christ knows, I was furious when Charlie told me he'd seen them, but, thank God, nothing happened and at least she's a part of something now. Give it some time and this'll become one of those stories her and Katie will tell their own kids. Do you know how many stories like that I have? None, Tommy. Not a single one. And her childhood was shaping up just the same before we came here – too scared and withdrawn to have friends or go places or do anything. That's not what life's meant to be. You're always on at me for wanting her to keep her things good, telling me kids get messy and get into scrapes and that that's natural. Well, she's been in a scrape, Tommy, just like you got into when you were a kid, she's been punished – she needs you to let her know she's forgiven and that you're not going to hold it against her and that you'll still be there for her to go running to with her problems. Because that is your job."

By the time she was done speaking, the knot in his chest had loosened, "You're a smart woman, eh?" he murmured, picking up her hand and drawing it to his mouth, kissing the back of it lightly.

"Yeah, I'm not bad like that sometimes," she replied, half smirking and half rolling her eyes, then, more seriously, "But I mean it Tommy. You don't forgive people things and you need to learn to. Forgive people and forgive yourself."

"You forgive me?" he asked.

"Always," she nodded, pressing her lips to his forehead, "Only because I know you get there in the end, though."

"Who else am I not forgiving by the way?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow, "With my rules for me and rules for them?"

She raised one right back, "You want the short list or the long?"

"The ones I'll give a fuck about."

"Well, you did forgive me I reckon," she replied, "But the only time I think I've really disappointed you was when I didn't come to you about Ada."

He nodded, "Yeah."

"But," she rushed on, "I was trying to figure it out and fix it myself. And that's what you do every day Tommy, you look after us all and you make your decisions about what to do about business and guns and inspectors and fixing races and everything else and you don't confide in anyone."

"I confide in you."

"Sometimes," she snorted, "But I'm not thick enough to think it's all the time. We're both people used to being on our own and doing things on our own, not consulting anyone. You remember when we had that fight and you told me off, telling me you knew I was used to my actions only impacting on me and Lily, that I had to remember we were part of a bigger family now? It's been an adjustment, Tommy, I won't pretend it hasn't been, but I've done my best. But you expect me to just adjust and you don't always set the best example of what you expect from me, you know."

He blinked slowly, trying to figure out how to argue with her then settled for a nod and a vaguely amused, "Alright then, I'll keep that in mind."

"It's all related you know Tommy – you're independent but you like everyone dependent on you. Ada…"

She trailed off and looked at him, seeming to consider whether to push on or not before she did.

"Ada backed herself into a corner, getting pregnant. I don't think she ever meant to get herself there - you've protected her her entire life and I reckon Ada thought of herself as being the exception to every rule because of it. Because she always got away with ordering people about and doing as she liked because she was a Shelby. But biology won out and then she didn't know what to do about it. So she came out of it fighting, refused to do what you wanted her to do. Did exactly what you would do – did as she thought best with no regard for anyone else's input. Wouldn't be dictated to. And she ran away from you to get herself the space she needed to think to do it. Same as you ran away to Charlie's, same as you've been running away from facing Lily all night."

She stopped again, taking her time watching his face, waiting to see if he would respond.

He didn't, thinking instead of what she'd said about forgiveness. When he'd come back from running away to Charlie's, he had been thinking on how to face Rosie. But it was Lily who had come running across the room to him on his return.

"Aunt Polly said you go away sometimes, Tommy, said it's just something you do," Lily told him.

"No Lily, it was something I used to do but that was the last time – the last time I ever do that again, I promise you," he gave the child his words, but he looked to her sister's flame lit eyes when he said them.

"Good, because it wasn't very nice and I didn't like it," Lily replied.

"I know – I know it wasn't. I'm sorry Lily, I'm really sorry. Will you please forgive me?" he asked her, his arms tight around her body, realising he needed her to forgive him.

"I forgive you Tommy," he said, her voice slightly muffled as he held her so tightly against him.

"And as for Katie," Rosie said, interrupting his memories, "You see John's hot headedness in her but there's a streak of your stubbornness and bossiness and you're terrified she'll be running riot out with your control soon enough – that's why you're always so quick to come down hard on her."

She sighed, put her hands on his face and kissed him, though he didn't respond as he turned her words over, "But I know Tommy, I understand… It comes from the way you love – that you think you know best – that you think you're best placed to protect everyone when they're in your control. But you're not always right you know."

"Like how I've not been right tonight," he muttered.

Like how Lily had forgiven him unreservedly and he hadn't repaid her the favour.

"Exactly," she nodded, a look of relief on her face – as if she'd been worried what she'd said would have pushed him over.

He supposed there was no one else he would have taken it from.

"Well, I suppose you'd best let me up so I can get on with trying to make my amends, eh?"

She kissed him again, which he returned this time, and stood, smiling at him.

He shook his head and went to go by her, through the doors, but she caught his hand before he could and asked, "Still love me?"

"After all that criticism?"

"Tommy – I mean it…"

"Of course I still bloody love you you silly girl. Stop doubting it, eh?" he said, taking a step back to pull her against him and run a hand through the wild tangles of her hair.

He wasn't ready to hear any more of her thoughts on his short comings. But he loved her.

Same as he loved Lily.

He sat on the bed by the child, who was lying on her stomach, her face pushed into the pillow. He wondered if she was asleep – though her breathing didn't suggest so – and put his hand on the back of her head, running his finger tips in small circles.

She turned her face, saw his and widened her eyes. His heart gave a lurch. He didn't want this relationship with her. Didn't want her scared of him.

"Alright?" he managed to offer her.

She shrugged, still staring at him with wide eyes, waiting for him to say or do something.

He swallowed, trying to think of what to say. Of how to explain himself. And how to make it up to her that it had taken him this long to come speak to her, how to let her know that he knew it wasn't okay without making it appear that he thought what she had done was okay, without giving any impression that he regretted the fact he'd turned her over his knee.

"I wasn't alright earlier, when I got visions of you drowning in The Cut," he said, deciding to opt for the truth, "I was not fucking alright at all."

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Good," he nodded back at her.

It was good. He wanted her to be sorry. He wanted her never to do it again.

He stoked his thumb across her cheek, nodded and repeated the word, "Good."

It sounded so small, so useless. Good. What good was good to him.

"If I lost you Lily," he said, suddenly, trying to make her understand – but he couldn't quite manage it.

But he had to manage it.

He took a deep breath to settle himself and tried again, "I couldn't stand it, you understand? You're my best girl."

"Still?" she asked.

His heart thudded, wondering how she felt about it, "Yeah. Still."

She smiled at him – and he figured that whilst maybe he did like to think of her as simple, as straight forward and easy and whilst it maybe wasn't always the case, the fact was she was able to take his words as they were, trust him and smile at him made her a lot simpler and easier than he was to deal with himself. Rosie deserved a bloody medal.

The child put her fingers around his and moved onto her side, pulling his hand into her and curling her whole body around it, as if to be anchored to him.

He didn't leave until she was fast sleep, until well after he'd heard Finn climb the steps and go to his own room. Didn't leave until Rosie appeared in the room and claimed his hand for her own, pulling him down the stairs with her.