Lightning flashed across the darkened sky followed by a rumble of thunder that made Cyril whine and nestle against Alfie's neck. Patting the dog reassuringly, Alfie chuckled to himself thinking it highly ridiculous that his beast of a mutt was terrified of a bit of bad weather. He rolled onto his side, reaching for Niamh and he frowned when he found her side of the bed empty. He had realised over the course of the last two weeks, as long as his boys had been in Liverpool tailing Janowicz with nothing to report of any concern, that when Niamh wasn't around he felt… incomplete. Her scent seemed to linger, overriding the smell of the bread in the air at the bakery and he could hear her dirty little laugh even when she was nowhere near him. Cuddling up to Cyril, Alfie waited patiently for Niamh to return and his mind wandered, thinking about just what a strange turn of events his life had taken. Niamh had wormed her way into every part of him without even trying, and it didn't displease him at all. Somehow it strengthened him in a way he hadn't even known he needed it.

"Come on, mate," he mumbled eventually, urging Cyril to come with him on his search for his missing wife who still had yet to return more than fifteen minutes later.

The bathroom was clear as was Niamh's old bedroom, although they had never actually discussed the fact that his bedroom was now hers. One day it had been his and the next her things had slowly began to move there until it was most definitely their room.

Heading downstairs he expected to find her in either the kitchen or the living room. Both locations turned out to be void of any women having a middle of the night wander, but when Alfie caught sight of the back door which was open just a tiny bit he frowned to himself.

The rain was coming down heavily, the sound pattering on the roof and the windows and only interrupted by the intermittent claps of thunder moving steadily to the north, further away from the house. Squinting in the dark, Alfie caught sight of a figure clad in only a pale blue nightgown sitting beneath the shelter of the glass summer house.

"What the bloody hell are you doin' out here?" Alfie padded over, his hip still stiff from being laid in bed and his feet freezing on the cold stone steps that were spread out across the grass, leading to the small building.

Niamh looked up and smiled as he approached, bending down to stroke Cyril who wagged his tail excitedly upon seeing her.

"Come and sit with Mummy," she cooed, grabbing his face and kissing him in between the eyes.

"Yeah, Cyril, go and sit with your mum, the absolute nutter who's sittin' in the freezin' cold with barely any clothes on in the middle of a storm," Alfie muttered sarcastically. "Come inside the house, both of you, how about that?"

"Not yet," Niamh frowned. "When the rain stops."

"When the rain- what on earth is wrong with you, woman?" he scoffed. "It's freezin' cold and you're pissed wet through."

"I'm only a tiny bit wet," Niamh rolled her eyes. "And it's not that cold, Alfie; you're being dramatic."

"Love, your lips are as fuckin' blue as your nightie."

"Then come closer and warm me up," she reached for him, smiling when he picked her up so that he could sit down on her chair even though there were plenty of others close by.

Settling herself comfortably on Alfie's lap, Niamh hummed contentedly as his arms wrapped themselves around her. Closing her eyes, she didn't speak, only listened to the rain and Alfie's steady breathing, the thunder claps coming further and further apart. She had been out in the summer house for an hour just listening to the weather, letting the rain pour in through the open door and thinking. Storms always brought out her melancholia; her thoughts of her childhood and of her mother.

"My mum loved storms," she murmured quietly and Alfie looked down at her, stroking her caramel hair back from her face so he could see her properly. There was a sadness in her eyes that he'd never seen before; one that he imagined was mirrored in his own whenever he thought of his mother.

"And that's why you're sittin' out here?"

"Yeah," she sighed, wiping away a stray tear that dribbled down her cheek. "Makes me feel close to her, you know."

"What was she like, your mum?" Alfie kissed her forehead and rested his cheek on the top of her head, finding a strange solace of his own in the pouring down rain and the cold night air with Niamh in his arms.

Niamh hesitated for a moment, smiling to herself before answering. "She was beautiful. I always remember how she used to let me brush her hair in front of the camp fire whenever we were off travelling with Johnny Dogs and his family. It was so long and dark, like the colour of crows feathers. She had the loveliest hair; straight and soft, not like mine with its annoying kinks and curls. I used to love watching the hair brush glide through it and then I'd run my hands over it and feel a sort of calmness. And her smell. She always smelled of lavender and her voice was so quiet and gentle. She never shouted at us; not like our dad. He would scream and hit her and hit us for the slightest thing, but she never raised her voice to us ever. Not even to Tommy and Arthur when they were playing with a ball in the house and they smashed her favourite vase; the one that had belonged to her mum. She was upset but she just told them that they could help her mend it, and that in doing so they would learn that the things we love sometimes break but that we still love them all the same."

"How did she die?" Alfie asked quietly.

"Killed herself. I never really noticed it as a kid but she had sad eyes. Even when she smiled they looked sad. They didn't crinkle at the corners, you know? It was only when I was older, after she had gone, that I realised it. I blame my dad. My aunt Pol does too. Says he broke her heart and then broke her spirit. She tried to keep going for us kids; tried to pretend that she wasn't hurting every day from my dad's beatings, or that her heart didn't ache for the man who fucked around with other women when he had the loveliest one waiting at home for him. After Finn was born she got worse. She went travelling for months and didn't take us with her. Aunt Pol said it was because she needed to get better and then she could come home. But she didn't get better and she didn't come home," Niamh bit on her lip as it began to tremble. "Then my dad fucked off; left us without a father just like we no longer had a mother. Only unlike her he could come back. Never stopped wishing he was the one who was dead instead."

"My old man fucked off when I were a kid and all. 'Good riddance to bad rubbish' my mum used to say. Don't reckon she ever really loved him; she was just relieved that he married her when he found out they was expectin' me. Don't reckon she cared all that much about his whorin' and his drinkin' 'cause she didn't love him any more than he loved her. But she loved me alright; fuckin' worshipped the ground I walked on, didn't she? Spoilt me rotten and worked all the hours she could to give me everythin' my old man should have. I was a right fuckin' tearaway too; angry at the world, angry 'cause I had to watch my mum cry because she was so tired and watch her cry 'cause she didn't know how she was gonna afford to buy me new shoes for the winter. That was when I started misbehavin', tryin' to make money and make a name for myself. I'd come home scuffed up and bruised, dragged home sometimes by coppers who couldn't stand to see a dirty Jew thinkin' he could do better than them. I could see how disappointed she was but I didn't care. All I cared about was tryin' to make her life easier. Didn't realise the worryin' I caused her was just makin' her life harder, did I?" he sighed. "'You come home in one piece'. Those was her last words to me, just as I was leavin' for the war. 'You come home, my Alfie'. I made it home but she was long gone. Consumption."

"Oh Alfie," Niamh's heart hurt for him.

"Just one of them things, aint it?" he sniffed, entangling his fingers with Niamh's and brushing his thumb across her knuckles. "I used to feel so alone when I came back from France and she was gone. Felt even more alone when I got this big house on this posh street. Sometimes I'd go to Ollie and Karina's for dinner and I'd just watch them, you know. I'd wonder if there was somethin' like that out there for me; somethin' more than just the bakery and Cyril and nameless faceless women. Never fuckin' thought I'd find that somethin' in a Shelby. But I did and now I don't really feel alone no more."

I love you.

That was what he wanted to say.

I don't really feel alone no more because I love you.

It didn't matter that they'd only been married less than three months. He loved her. His soul had known it before his brain did. But for some reason he just couldn't tell her. Not yet.

"You're not alone any more, Alfie," Niamh took his face in her hands and kissed him softly on the lips, pulling back to look into his eyes.

Alfie nodded as Niamh slid off of his knee and held out her hand to help him to his feet. Ignoring her hand, he tugged her slightly so that she stood in between his knees. He held her to him, his face pressed against her chest right, his mouth above her beating heart.

I love you even though I weren't meant to.

I love you and I think I'm a better man for it.