Florence Fenton wasn't an unfamiliar face in Small Heath. In fact, she had lived there for most of her life, spending her childhood running barefoot on the cobblestones and her teenage years rolling on them. Yet the walk from the train station to The Garrison pub couldn't have felt more alien to her. A lot had happened in the six years since she'd last set foot in Birmingham. As she walked, the fact dawned on her that maybe it was her that was now alien to Small Heath. Her face was about the same. She still had the striking features, long thin nose, full lips, hazel eyes that seemed both dark and light at the same time. Her hair was dark and thick and long, but shone auburn in sunlight. She wasn't your stereotypical beauty, but she was something different, and she knew that. What had changed the most since she last set foot in Small Heath was her mind. She was changed by what she had been through and the things she had seen, the men she had tried to save but couldn't. Florence had spent the years of the war nursing on the frontline in France, driven by the guilt of staying at home while men risked their lives. Men she loved. Her father, Harry, was not able to fight, but there were others she was close to. They all made it back, but her heart had broken more every time she had held the hand of a dying man.
Florence Fenton knew she had to return to Small Heath at some point. She had left the year before the war began when she was only 18. Her father couldn't cope with her reckless behaviour any more and she had been forced to leave the dear friends she loved behind without a word. Regret didn't come close to what she felt about her decision to not say goodbye to them. Six years on, and she knew things would never be the same. But for the sake of her family, she had to come home. Her stepmother was sick, very sick. Her father needed support, someone to trust who knew how to run his pub for him. Her little brother needed his big sister.
Florence Fenton assumed she'd be safe on the familiar streets, but that didn't stop her from wrapping her fingers around the unloaded pistol in her pocket. A chill passed through the air and she wrapped her bottle-green trench coat around her a little tighter. She carried a single suitcase, which held the majority of her belongings, and walked with a purpose that was rarely seen in women in those days, the sound of her boots echoing down the lane. Despite her circumstances, to any passerby she looked proud to be living the life she was. Except no one saw her. It was the early hours of the morning when she arrived in Small Heath and no one was awake yet, or so she thought.
A man watched from his window at the woman passing on the road below. He couldn't sleep, plagued by dreams of war and suffering. Taking a deep breath to calm his stormy mind as he observed her passing, Thomas Shelby recognised Florence Fenton immediately. He knew that long dark hair, that bottle-green coat, that self-assured gait from a mile off. It was her, certainly. He hadn't seen the woman since long before the war and back then she was only a girl. A girl who disappeared into the night without a word, after years of being so close to the family. Running a hand through his hair, the first rays of sunlight began to appear through the window as he reflected on his past friendship with her. Little Miss Fenton. His Flo. There was a time he called her his best friend. She knew all of his secrets and he knew all of hers. He'd spent more nights than he could count sneaking her out of her house and then tucking her back into her bed again hours later, drunk and giggly. They'd spent so much time riding horses into the country and talking and talking and talking. Thomas Shelby hadn't talked like that since she left. Stepping away from the window, he made a mental note to stop by at The Garrison later that morning. He knew that was where she'd be, with her father running the pub. She would be trouble, he thought, but he needed to know exactly how much trouble she was worth.
She stopped in her tracks as The Garrison came into sight in the glow of early morning. Florence was struck by the emotion that welled inside her upon seeing the place where she'd spent her childhood once again. She recalled the times her mother was sick that her dad would sit her on the bar while he worked - the regulars would bring her sweets. He tried so hard to keep her out of trouble. So much for his effort. Taking out her cigarette case, Florence took a seat on the front step of the pub. Her dad wouldn't arrive for another hour or so.
Harry was shocked, to say the least, to find his eldest child sitting on the front steps of his establishment as the sun rose over Small Heath. For a split second, he thought the ghost of Florence's mother had appeared to him. Though they'd exchanged letters, this was the first time he had seen his daughter face to face in nearly six years.
She looked up at him, a smile gracing her lips, "Hi, Dad." It was the first phrase she had uttered aloud for hours, and she felt her voice catch in her throat. Under the eyes of her father, she felt like a little girl again.
He didn't say anything, only staring in shock, but she stepped forward and embraced him all the same. Harry pressed his face into his daughter's hair. "You look just like your mother did", was all he could manage in that overwhelming moment. But Florence already knew. She had always kept pictures of her mother.
Once they had pulled away, the pub was unlocked and they were warm inside, Harry took the time to really speak to Florence about what was going on. They sat at the bar together, just like they used to. Stepping into the pub felt like stepping into the past for Florence, a grown woman in an almost child-like state next to her father.
"Flo, love, I didn't think you'd actually come back," he uttered, shaking his head.
"To be honest, Dad, neither did I," she took a deep breath and closed her eyes, "but things sounded really bad in your letters. I want to be here to help with whatever I can. I know how this place works," she gestured to the structure surrounding them. Florence gave him a small smile, "I'll do whatever you need me to. London was getting to be a bit much for me anyway."
"Well, Helen's not doing too well. I know the two of you have never seen eye to eye, but she'll be happy you're here. Ed's missed you the most, though."
"I've missed all of you too, Dad. Ed will probably want me to disappear again when I insist he learns to read and write properly." She giggled, but her smile quickly faltered. "Look, do you mind if I stay in the room upstairs here? I don't want to invade anyone's privacy, not with Helen being ill and all."
Harry sighed. "Flo, you know you're welcome to come and live in the house with us, you-"
Florence cut him off, "I don't really feel like sharing a room with my baby brother at the age of 25, thanks. Also, you and I both know that Helen wouldn't be comfortable with me staying in the house." Florence stopped to take out her cigarettes. "It makes sense for me to just stay here, that way I can work whenever you need me to-"
This time Harry stopped Florence. "I don't have a problem with it, Flo. It's the Shelby boys. What they say goes in these parts nowadays, especially when it comes to this pub. It's their meeting place, you see," Harry stops to point to the snug room on their right. "A lot of bad business happens in that room, so you'll have to check it's alright with them for you to be living upstairs, love."
Florence huffed in exasperation, "But Dad! I-".
"No buts, Flo. You want to keep yourself out of trouble, so the last thing you want to do is cross them. I know you used to be close with them, but things have changed around here since the war. We all have to work to stay on their good side, including you. Now, let's get started, shall we…" Harry wandered off into the room behind the bar.
Florence didn't bother arguing with her father, but more for his sake than her own. She knew he'd be disappointed in her if she started going against him from the moment she arrived. So, for the time being, she decided to let it go. But what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him. She found the thought of having to ask the Shelby's for permission to live in her own Dad's pub laughable. Why would they care if Florence was upstairs? Yes, the ceiling was probably paper thin, but she didn't care to get involved in their 'business'. The fondness she had felt for her memories of them were slowly bubbling into anger and confusion. Florence didn't want to get on their bad side, but they didn't want to get on hers either.
"Alright, Dad. Where do you want me first?" Florence followed after him.
"Freddie Thorne, you cheeky bastard!" Florence smiled as she dragged herself out from behind the bar to greet her old friend. He looked just as shocked to see her as everyone else in The Garrison had that day. "Flo? Where did you come from?" He wrapped his arms around her frame as she approached him, planting a sloppy kiss on her cheek.
The morning had been long for Florence, to say the least. After years of working in the pub as a teenager, she'd assumed it'd be easy work, especially compared to her nursing, and it was. But all morning, Harry had taken the time to show her off to each and everyone of his patrons. One of two conversations would ensue: "I never knew you had a daughter, Harry!" to which he would give them a breakdown of her life achievements - "She was a nurse on the front, you know!". Or "I remember you, little Florence" and she would get an unwelcome pat on the head, or from one happy chap, a pinch of her cheeks. In any other instance, she would have bitten someone's head off for patronising her in such a way, but she knew it made her dad happy and that was most important to her today. Her dad had finally left to go and check on her stepmother, so she was making the most of the peace of the late afternoon in the pub before the men left work for the day.
Florence had almost forgotten about the existence of Freddie Thorne. When she was a teenager, when they were friends, he was one of the people that just sort of faded into the background. He was a sweet boy, followed Tommy around and hung off his every word, and he had a good heart, if she remembered correctly. And as he hugged her to his chest, she remembered them dancing together one time or another. An instance she was too drunk to remember properly, just a flash back to a second of a long night she'd forgotten. Freddie was part of their crowd that would sneak off to the dances at night. If there weren't any dances, they would be riding off to the forest with booze Florence had stolen from the pub.
Freddie snapped her out of her thoughts, pulling away from her. "When did you get back? Or more like where did you go in the first place?" He shook his head at her, seeing in front of him the impossible girl that had left chaos in her wake when she first left Small Heath. She took the carefree parties with her and left a string of broken hearts behind her.
She smiled at him as she made her way behind the bar. "Well, I was in France for a while. I was a nurse on the front." As she said it, both of their smiles slowly dropped. Florence was kicking herself. She should have known better than to mention France. Just like that their lovely moment reminiscing in their youth was gone. It's all shit, she thought.
Florence looked up at Freddie, with a slight shake of her head. "Anyway, what can I get you?" Florence said, but before Freddie could respond, the pub door swung open and a gust of wind blew through the pub.
Thomas Shelby entered the premises and it felt as though his eyes pierced straight through her, as though she couldn't take a breath as long as she held his gaze. It had been so long since she'd beheld that face that she once held so dear. It was overwhelming; as though she felt every emotion all at once, gripping the edge of the bar. He approached slowly, not taking his eyes off her until he settled on the barstool next to Freddie.
He cleared his throat awkwardly and looked up at her again. "Florence," He said, his tone seething. He nodded in acknowledgement, before turning to talk to Freddie.
Florence wasn't having any of it, interrupting their conversation. "Nice to see you too, Tommy." Her lips were pursed together, her eyes intense and unwavering. She had expected a comfortable reunion between the two of them and for him at least to be happy to see her. They had once been each others' closest confidante's and now he couldn't even afford her a proper hello after so long. She really wasn't having any of it.
And likewise, Tommy hadn't expected himself to be so dumbfounded in Florence's presence. He had pictured it, how he was going to confront her, tell her he wanted nothing to do with her now, but as soon as he set eyes on her he was lost for words. Up close, she looked just as he had envisioned her in his mind in the years she'd been gone. Granted, her hair was longer, and her face looked a little tired, but nonetheless, she was the same girl he remembered, albeit a woman now. And a woman she was - maybe he just wasn't looking before, but he hadn't remembered the curves to her frame that her dress clung to now. Her hips a little wider, her body a little more fleshy than before. Before Florence could notice, Tommy raked his eyes up to her face, to look into those strange eyes he'd always wondered at.
"It'll be two whiskies for us, Florence. Irish." He said, turning to Freddie once again to continue their conversation. Florence didn't bother listening in, she didn't care for getting involved when she didn't need to be. She huffed and turned to grab the bottle for them. She already knew it was on the house. Her ears pricked up as she heard Freddie mention her name.
"…well, Flo here was in France too, weren't you, darling? A nurse she says." Freddie raises his glass to her and drinks.
"A nurse, eh? I must say you've never struck me as the nurturing type, Florence." Tommy said, a torturous glint in his eye. He knew his comment would rile her up, striking a nerve in her she'd long forgotten about. Florence felt her temper flare as she looked at the two men, but she bit her tongue. Here he was, insulting her, after years apart from one another. 'You never struck me as an arsehole, Thomas, now fuck off', she wanted to say, but she didn't want to give him the satisfaction of troubling her. Instead, she chose to change the subject to something that she knew would piss him off.
"Yeah, I was. Who knew I would end up back here, living in The Garrison? Times are changing again, Tommy…", she drawled, raising an eyebrow as her lips bent into a smirk.
Tommy looked at her, right at her. "And when were you thinking of letting me know about this arrangement, hm? I'm sure your dad has let you know how things work around here now." Florence knew exactly how to wear his patience thin, and after his cold reception, she found some pleasure in seeing him break a little.
"I didn't think it was any of your business, Thomas. I'll live where I want, and I don't need your permission. I couldn't give a fuck about what goes on down here, so long as you clean up after yourselves," Florence said, her smirk still present on her lips as she began to busy herself with cleaning the bar.
Tommy looked dumbfounded. She knew from the way he looked at her that he was furious, but he wouldn't let it show. "You know, I would have thought after all of these years you would have learned a bit of fucking respect by now," he clicked his tongue at her, "shame." Tommy shook his head at her, as though he was disappointed, but Florence knew it was all an act, that he was just trying to push her one step further, to see who would crack first. Freddie sniggered beside them, but neither of them noticed.
Florence crossed her arms, her blood boiling at the audacity of the man she thought would always be her friend. "You should know already that I only respect those who'll show me the same courtesy." She jutted her chin out at him like a defiant child.
Before Tommy could muster another word, the conversation was interrupted by the noise of a man hurtling into the pub, creating chaos in his wake, crashing into a table. Florence didn't recognise him, but she recognised what was happening; she'd seen it in men she'd treated. War was nasty; it destroyed everything it touched, and this man's mind was no exception.
Before anyone else could jump into action, Florence reacted quickly, rushing over to the man who clearly had no clue what he was doing. "Alright," she said, but before she could say anything else he struck her across the face, hard. Florence fell to the floor, her ears ringing, her vision blurred as her eyes filled with tears. It felt like everything was going in slow motion. She felt blood trickle from her nose. It had been a while since she'd last been punched in the face, and she was determined not to cry in front of everyone in the pub. Gripping onto the bar, she pulled herself up and went to grab for a rag to wipe her bloodied nose, but someone else got there first. When she turned her head to look around, the pub was significantly calmer, the crazy man was gone, and Thomas Shelby was grabbing her chin, studying her face so carefully she could see his pupils dilating.
In her confused state, he guided her to the barstool and wiped the blood from her nose. There wasn't a lot, but enough to smear the rag red. Tommy dumped it behind the bar, his eyes still on her face. He tilted her chin from side to side, observing the damage.
"You're alright." He said. Florence nodded quickly even though she knew it wasn't a question, but she felt like she was dreaming. And with that, he grabbed his hat, turned, and left.
The year was 1912. It wasn't rare for Tommy and Florence to ride out to the country together, just the two of them. It wasn't too far, and they had their favourite spot atop a hill that looked like a little piece of heaven, as Florence referred to it. She had managed to steal a bottle of gin from the pub, and there they laid together in the grass, smoking and drinking and talking. Their trips into the country first began when Tommy taught Florence how to ride a horse. When she was a kid, she was terrified of them and swore she'd never touch one. But by the time she'd turned 15, Tommy had her riding as if she had been her whole life. To outsiders, their friendship would seem an unconventional one, with their four-year age gap seeming too big to make up for in their teenage years. But they found solace in each other. A comfort that neither of them had ever felt in their sorry lives on the streets of Small Heath. And they both knew their friendship was special.
"It was four years last week." Tommy took a swig from the bottle before passing it to Florence and lying back on the grass. Florence stayed sitting, admiring the vast expanse beyond.
"I know, Tom. I remembered. I didn't want to say anything. I didn't want to remind you…," she trailed off. Despite her own mother being dead, Florence never knew what to say about these sorts of things. She herself took her own swig from the bottle before lying back next to him. "I know you don't like to talk about it much. It's hard, isn't it, you want to talk and remember, but you don't want to be reminded of all the sad parts."
Tommy didn't respond right away, just brought his cigarette away from his lips and exhaled deeply. "I still think of her every day, you know."
"And you will. You'll probably think of her every day for the rest of your life. I feel bad when I forget to think about my mum some days. You and I both know that she's here with you. It's a wonder you're still alive, but she's protecting you from all the shit in the world." Florence sighed, passing the bottle back to Tommy.
Tommy pinched the bridge of his nose. Florence could talk nonsense sometimes, but Tommy revelled in it. Her insights into the way the world worked provided him with endless amusement. "You're talking like an old woman again, Flo," he chuckled to himself. He would only chuckle like that when he was with her.
Florence raised her eyebrows, sitting up to tie her long hair back before settling back on the ground with Tommy. "Well, you know I'm right. And everyone says I've got an old soul, whatever that means."
"It means you talk like an old woman." Tommy discarded the bottle and the cigarette, grabbing Florence's hand and bringing her fingers to his lips, kissing them tenderly. They had always had an overly affectionate friendship, finding comfort in the innocent touch of one another.
Florence was quick to snatch them away. "Well, John doesn't think so. Apparently he thinks I'm 'gorgeous' and hangs onto every word that falls out of my mouth." She rolled her eyes. Florence had never done well with love. She wasn't the prettiest girl in Small Heath, but always managed to have a boy trailing behind her. And she never knew how to handle it. She felt like she didn't know how to love properly when she couldn't reciprocate the infatuation Tommy's brother John showed her.
"He's in love with you, Flo," Tommy teased, a small smile appearing on his lips. He found Florence and his brother's little relationship endearing to say the least. He knew it wouldn't last forever, but the sex-crazed teenagers seemed to make each other happy for now.
"Just like you're in love with Greta?" Florence goaded back at him. Tommy and Greta had been together for a few months at that point, and Florence knew that he was completely besotted with her. But their relationship confused her. She could tell he was happy, she was glad he was happy, but a small part of her felt jealous of the love the couple shared. Though she was friends with Greta too, she felt like she had stolen Tommy from her. At the beginning of the relationship, her jealousy was so obvious that had Tommy confronted her about it. 'Don't start, Flo,' he had said, kissing her forehead, 'I've always had time for you, and I always will. Just be happy for me, will you….' So Florence tried, and was still trying.
"I wouldn't say that. If he loved you properly, you'd really know about it, and you'd feel the same way." Tommy sat up and looked at her now. "With me and Greta, things just feel right-." Florence cut him off. She couldn't deal with any more of his gushing about Greta.
"You want to marry her, you want her babies, blah blah blah, I've heard it all before." Florence rolled her eyes. "I wish I could just love John. But he deserves better than me." Her face fell as she said it, a thought she'd been holding the thought in her mind for a while. She stared out at the landscape beyond, unable to meet Tommy's gaze.
He grabbed her chin, turning her face to look her in the eye. The pouting made her look younger than her 17 years. It reminded him of when she was little, back when they both had mothers and refused to wear shoes. "Eh, where'd that come from? Come on, Flo, don't be silly. It's him who doesn't deserve you." He kissed the top of her head, pulling her into his chest.
Florence tried to pull away from him, frustrated that he wasn't taking her seriously, but he held her close to him. "I'm bad news, Tommy. I'm a bad person. I cause trouble," she spouted. She felt tears prick at her eyes as she expressed her self-doubt. She would never let anyone else see her this vulnerable, and Tommy knew this as he sighed into her hair.
"Bad things have happened to you and me, but that doesn't mean we're bad people," he murmured into her hair just loud enough for her to hear. He pulled her away from him so he could look at her. "And John's right, you're gorgeous, Flo."