Clara stopped short, suddenly cutting herself off in the middle of a long and winding recount of something relating to one of the paintings they'd seen at the museum. Tommy couldn't be sure, he'd been more focused on their venture down Henley Street than Clara's specific words.
"This isn't the way Aunt Polly goes," she offered, nothing more than a statement of a well-known fact. This wasn't the way back to Watery Lane and a small distance grew between Tommy and Clara, just a pace or so as the girl slowed her already stunted steps.
They had long ago ventured off the prescribed path back to Small Heath, so it was the lilt of Clara's voice that snapped Tommy out of his own thoughts as he recognized the need for something more than a hum or a nod to move the conversation along. He cleared his throat, reaffirming the grip that had grown limp on Clara's hand, grateful to find that this type of exchange still felt familiar.
"We've got an errand to run first." Tommy gave Clara's hand a gentle tug and she came along with him without rebuke, remaining quiet though her hand squirmed in his.
It was the first quiet they'd had since entering the museum. Clara had talked for nearly the whole time, keeping their conversation confined to the safe topic of the artwork they had seen. She distanced herself from the filing of her usual complaints or questions or observations. Tommy idly wondered how long the most recent proclamation had been waiting to be voiced. And he wondered how long the girl would last before asking after the details of the errand he'd announced, too. He assumed it would come not long after, before they reached the end of the next block, probably, but the only sound that passed between them as they walked was the scuff of their shoes on the sidewalk.
The quiet had Tommy quickly missing her talk of colors and scenes, her telling of the stories she prescribed to the people in the paintings, sharing the tidbits she'd gleaned from the small placards beside each canvas. Clara had dragged him around the museum for close to an hour with little more passing between them than the girl reading off from the plaques accompanying the paintings and Tommy humming in acknowledgment, both of them using the art to fill the hesitant silence that had somehow settled between them in the short blocks between the station and the museum.
Tommy wasn't used to them needing any sort of crutch to fill the quiet between them. Moments like that had always been effortlessly filled with Clara's never-ending questions or the musings far too insightful for a child her age or his jokes or as had happened just as often, the pair had simply been comfortable being together for long stretches in near silence.
Tommy had had little interest in the museum's exhibits himself. He didn't particularly care to see the statues or paintings or pottery, but he hadn't minded being tugged along as his sister moved from display to display. The words had come out of her more easily the more she read to him and benign, vaguely related comments that reached toward something more personal emerged in her talk here and there as they went. Even if it wasn't her usual style, even if Tommy could tell Clara was still a bit unnerved by him, it had been tolerable...manageable. And even though Tommy had grown used to labeling the uncomfortable as manageable, an expert with showing no external cues to suggest he felt otherwise, Tommy was unnerved too, entirely unsure of the child in front of him even though things were going well enough.
Tommy wasn't reciprocating in the ways Clara probably expected. He knew he wasn't as responsive to her attempts at engaging him in safe conversations about the things directly in front of them or the inconsequential tales her mind spun. He had to keep reminding himself to mind his facial expressions. Part of him wondered if Clara had to do the same, if she was even capable of such a thing. She was still just a kid, after all. Not the very same one he'd left behind, but Clara still fit well enough in his arms, and tears still sprung to her eyes when she was overwhelmed. She still pleaded for treats and told silly tales and tugged on his hand, following Tommy's lead when he did the same.
Clara did all sorts of things that reminded Tommy of life before, but she mentioned nothing about the four years away, nothing about what was new or different, nothing about their lives before he went away, nothing of the past aside from the pocket watch and the way he'd looked sad at the station. The Clara from before wouldn't have held back. Tommy wasn't quite sure if she would have been able to. He could feel those types of comments settled at the edge of Clara's chatter now though, a handful of questions queuing in the forefront of her mind and on the tip of her tongue, held back by a certain restraint that had Tommy curious.
She was purposely holding back, and the fact that she was even doing it, the fact that his sister was engaging in a wary, calculated dance, manipulating them both and calling it natural conversation…it was all a bit unnerving and Tommy wasn't entirely sure who she was protecting—herself or him.
Maybe it was both, but unnerving or not, Tommy found his sister's protective chatter more agreeable than any sort of silence between them so he had continued to nod and hum at all the correct points, showing not that he was paying attention to the specific words, but he was at least following the cadence of her voice, following her.
"Tommy?" He hummed as Clara's sweaty hand reaffirmed its grip and she sped up her pace a bit so she could overtake him and try for eye contact. "What kind of errand?"
Tommy felt something tug at the corner of his mouth as he looked down at her. "I have a few things to get rid of."
Clara nodded her head a few times as she considered it and Tommy was already preparing himself for the next question, deciding it was better to just go ahead and tell her rather than wait a couple of blocks for her to build up enough courage to ask another question.
"We're getting rid of these."
Tommy stopped and fished the medals from his pocket. They weren't anything he wanted to have, just a bit of tin and a ribbon traded as repayment for a life. He had decided what he was doing with them as soon as they'd been given.
Clara pulled one of the medals into her hand, the weight of it heavy as it was smooth against her palm. The metal surface shone brighter than any of the smog-tinged surfaces in Birmingham, brighter even than the old pocket watch she had buffed for hours ahead of her brother's homecoming. Clara ran a finger over King George's face and dangled it, the red, white, and blue ribbon weaved in her fingers as she turned it over.
Tommy watched her as he fumbled to find and light a cigarette.
"For bravery in the field," she read aloud, pulling her eyes up to look at the one waiting in Tommy's hand. "What's the other?"
Tommy puffed deeply, holding the other medal out towards her. Clara took in both sides of decoration in silence, Tommy heaving a grateful sigh when she didn't read those words aloud as well. He could see she was busy sorting things in her mind, half a dozen questions already fully formed behind her eyes as Tommy reached out to take the medals back.
"Did John and Arthur—"
Tommy nodded, the final pull of the Military Medal from her grasp stopping Clara's question short. "C'mon," he said as he started walking, tugging Clara along beside him.
Tommy found himself once again grateful for the lack of protest. They were only half a block from where he intended to launch them into the Cut, a spot of the canal he never came across, a place he'd never have reason to walk by or think about, a grown-over stretch at the dead-end of a sparsely populated lane. It seemed neat and tidy, that.
When they made it to the edge of the canal, Clara switched to Tommy's opposite side, veering closer to the line of stone marking the perimeter, balancing herself out over the water as she leaned away from him, holding tightly to Tommy's hand for leverage. "Aunt Polly says we're not supposed to play by the Cut."
Tommy glanced down at his sister, bringing her back from the edge as he let a puff of air out of the side of his mouth. "And Aunt Polly's right."
Clara's mouth twitched, but she didn't fight him. Clara didn't tell her brother that she and Finn had played by the Cut plenty without any sort of repercussions. She didn't tell him that they ran all sorts of errands for their aunt. She didn't share that they ran money and messages, doing anything that needed doing. Clara didn't tell Tommy that the streets of Small Heath were a glorified playground for the Shelby twins. Some part of Clara thought maybe it was better Tommy didn't know she ran all around Small Heath with Finn to take care of things that needed taking care of and that for four long years, no one had been paying much attention.
Clara allowed the momentum of Tommy's tug to pull her right around the front of him. He set his cigarette in his mouth and his free hand fumbled in the pocket holding the medals. Clara stretched a bit against his hold, longing to venture along the water's edge again.
Tommy tried to ignore her pulling. He remembered a time when his sister shied away from the water, a whole season dedicated to the girl concocting routes that kept her free of the canal's view, free of her memories and fears.
It had troubled them all back then, annoyed them, really, but Tommy understood it now, how the mere sight of the water had reminded her of being tossed in, made her cold and damp and paralyzed through to her bones despite the warm weather of the present moment. He understood the ways just looking at the canal must've made the little girl feel like the breath was being pressed out from her lungs.
Clara's eyes focused on her brother's hands as he pulled the medals from his pocket.
"Did you get the medals because you're real heroes?"
The question pulled Tommy from his thoughts and he realized he was fumbling with the medals once again, his fingers idly gliding over the surface. He stilled his hands and Clara reached for the medals. Tommy let both slide into her grasp, more focused on the way the breath was being pressed from his lungs.
Clara pulled her eyes from the medals to look at Tommy's face, but all she caught was his grimace as he looked out at the water instead of meeting his sister's eye, the slow and deliberate rise of his chest.
Clara stayed quiet as she waited. She didn't really need his answer. She already considered her brothers to be heroes. She had considered them as such since long before they left to fight in a war. But even if she hadn't fashioned them heroes of her own accord—the brothers who righted wrongs and told bedtime stories and let her perch high above crowds on their shoulders so she could see the world—everyone knew the boys fighting in France were heroes. Everyone at school and in the shop and in the streets said so. But not all of the men who came back had been awarded medals. Clara imagined her brothers were a special sort of heroes to be afforded that honor. Maybe their four years away were worth something more. Clara liked the thought of that, of it all being worth something.
Tommy puffed on his cigarette before glancing down at her, shaking his head once.
"No, Clara."
Clara furrowed her brow. "But they gave you medals and—"
"And they gave us medals," Tommy echoed, sarcasm edging into his voice as he cast his cigarette into the water. He plucked both medals from Clara's hand in one motion, his arm swinging back just a bit as he prepared to launch them both into the canal, willing his mind to send his memories of France into the depths right along with them.
Tommy didn't have any real hope that it would be so simple. Leaving the memories of war behind would be no easier than it had been to leave the kids behind in Birmingham years earlier. It was safer if he didn't think of them while he was away, safer to avoid the distraction, but he hadn't been able to manage it. Birmingham had never been far from his mind, though it hadn't been a comfort.
Tommy snorted. He almost thought it funny how something you loved and something you hated could leave you feeling the same amount of gutted, but it didn't matter. Easy or hard, Tommy only intended to bring one thing back to Watery Lane today and it wouldn't be his memories of the war or the mollifying commendations.
"Tommy, wait!" Clara caught his arm as he swung it forward, her feet skidding across the stones as Tommy's arm arched toward the water. "Let me keep them for you. Maybe…maybe you'll want them later. I can… I'll keep 'em safe."
He could've tossed them even with Clara weighing down his arm, but he didn't, the distinct thought passing through his mind that despite the lingering features of childhood, the girl had grown quite strong, both in mind and body. He supposed that was Clara's way, though. She'd always seemed younger outside than in, her questions and the connections her mind made too mature for the one they thought of as the baby, always taking people off guard, him included.
"Please, Tommy," she said as one of her hands slid down to work the medals free.
They were the type of thing Tommy knew Clara loved to collect, something she could add to the little box she used to keep tucked beneath his bed, left there and not in her own room to keep her treasures safe from her curious twin brother. It was the type of thing she'd pull out and sit with, just as he imagined her doing with his pocket watch all these years, keeping it safe and looked after, providing her with a bit of comfort in his absence, a bit of pride.
There would be no need for that sort of comfort though, no more absences she'd need to weather. Tommy would see to that and he would make sure his sister understood as much, but how could Tommy explain that he didn't want her to keep these things safe? How could he explain that the medals he'd been awarded didn't afford him any comfort or pride? That he didn't want them to be important to her?
Tommy didn't have the words to explain that the mere idea of his sister coveting them and protecting them and caring for them made a sickness swell inside because above all, Tommy strived to keep her separate from all of that, to keep one of the things he loved best from that which he hated. His sister would accompany him back to Watery Lane, back to their life, but Tommy would make sure the medals settled on the bottom of the Grand Union. He planned to leave them and all they represented behind, and the deed would be done today.
Tommy's hand found Clara's cheek and he tilted her face up to his, exhaling at her misty eyes, the slight quiver in her lip.
"What if I keep just one of 'em?" she asked.
Tommy knelt down in front of her, setting his pocket watch into her hand. "You keep this instead. More useful than a silly bit of decoration. Focus on the future instead of the past. How does that sound, eh?"
Clara's lips pulled down into a frown, but she nodded, focusing on the familiar gleam of her brother's watch as she rubbed her finger over it, flipping it open to study the watch face.
Without celebration, Tommy dropped the medals into the Cut, the sound of it not nearly as satisfying as he imagined, nothing in him made whole or different, no part of him made to feel better by relinquishing their empty honor in the water.
Tommy should have expected as much. He should have known that things couldn't just be left behind, that just because something sat out of view didn't mean it wasn't there waiting to be dealt with, but oh how he wished it could be true.
Tommy flinched when Clara's cool hand pressed against his, the gentle pull bringing Tommy back from the water, back from France, back from the tunnels.
"Let's go home, Tommy."
Tommy looked at the water for a moment longer, nodding his head as if the movement could help coax the words along, help coax him along. He squeezed his sister's hand before pulling them both from the edge.
"Let's go home, my girl."
