It had been years since Florence and Polly had sat down for a cup of tea at the kitchen table together. There was once a time when Florence would pop in to see Polly every few days. They too shared something of a bond, with Polly playing the role of Florence's surrogate mother, watching over her after Mary Fenton passed away. As the pot began to boil on the stove, Polly reflected on the years she'd known Florence, as well as the years she hadn't. From the tiny girl with the dirty face and scraped up knees, to the woman that now sat in the kitchen, Polly never could have predicted her leaving Small Heath so many years prior. It was a blow to the family that took everyone by surprise. It had hurt them all deeply and left a scar that had never really healed. Polly often found her mind wandering to the different what ifs. What if Florence had stayed? Would she and John have been married eventually, or would she have found her way to Tommy? Polly had been waiting for the latter to happen for a couple of years before Florence had left. From the way Tommy and Florence were with each other, it was obvious to anyone that it was blind love. But the two of them refused to accept it. If Florence had accepted it, would she still have gone? Questions circled Polly's mind as she poured their tea.
Florence sat quietly behind Polly. She too was deep in thought. It had been a taxing day for her and the sun hadn't even set yet. There was no problem patching Arthur up, just basic first aid and a couple of stitches, but she always took her time with those she cared for. It took her back to her days in France, working hard to put broken men back together again. Most of the time she couldn't do it. It was a comfort to know that she could help Arthur. Being preoccupied with cleaning him up had distracted Florence from the muffled shouts of John and Tommy in the adjacent room. John's reaction to her was as expected - she knew him too well to think that he would take her return well. He had always been a bubbling pot of emotions and Florence found comfort in the fact that hadn't changed. France hadn't turned him into an emotionless shell like Tommy.
Polly turned to face her with two cups of tea, pushing one towards her across the table. The house was now quiet, empty in comparison to the bustling chaos not an hour earlier.
Polly cleared her throat. "So, where have you been?" Polly's eyes were stern, as if trying to read Florence's mind.
Florence sipped at her tea. "I went to France." She said, a polite smile on her face.
"You're not stupid, Flo. You know what I meant." Polly watched as the smile dropped from Florence's face. "Where did you go before the war? Did you think you could just up and leave and not have anyone ask questions?" Her eyes held a seriousness Florence hadn't experienced before.
"I just had to go. My dad had enough of me misbehaving and he sent me away." Florence said quickly, resisting the question. It was as if telling the truth would make the nightmare she had experienced before the war real.
"Where? Where did he send you?" Polly demanded, raising her voice. It was desperation that drove Polly's attempts to unveil Florence's secrets. She knew it had to be something bad for Florence to be covering it up in such a way.
Florence just looked at her for a moment, before closing her eyes to ward away the tears she felt coming. "I can't tell you. And you know I can't lie to you. I'm really sorry that I left… I wish I could've stayed. I didn't have a choice." She gulped, looking up at her once she was sure the tears were gone.
Polly let it go. She knew if she pushed the girl too far she'd never be able to get through to her. But little by little, she planned to chip away at Florence until she discovered the truth. A truth that had caused so much chaos had to be worth something.
"What happened, after I left? It seems no one can stand to be around me for too long now," Florence spoke up, although part of her already knew what the answer would be.
Polly shook her head at her. "What do you expect? You left so much hurt behind you when you left. John was inconsolable, absolutely fucking heartbroken. He thought the world of you. Had plans to ask you to marry him, you know? For the past few years he's had one heartbreak after another. I assume you've heard about what happened to Martha."
Florence nodded. "She was my friend, remember? The last thing I wanted to do was hurt anyone. Especially John. He was always too good for me."
Polly continued. "And you let Tommy down when he needed you. He thought you were always the person he could count on, and then suddenly he couldn't find you anywhere. He actually went out searching for you, nearly tore the whole bloody neighbourhood apart. He threatened your dad to try and find out where you'd gone and I had to stop him from doing him some serious harm." Polly stopped to take a sip of her tea. "Eventually something changed. The love he has for you turned to resentment at some point. He's fighting that love now. I think he's realising how much he's missed you."
"We always needed each other. Me and Tom." Florence said, her mind wandering to the friendship they once shared.
"You still need each other." Polly said it with such conviction that it took Florence by surprise. Her head shot up to look at her, eyes wide.
Florence's strong facade began to crumble under the pressure of the conversation. Her face dropped into her hands, and Polly rushed to the other side of the table to pull her in for a hug.
"I didn't mean it. I know I've hurt him bad. He's so angry with me, Pol. Everyone is so fucking angry." She choked back a sob.
Polly couldn't remember the last time she had seen Florence like this. By nature she was a hard person when it came to showing emotion, and yet here she was near enough having a breakdown at the kitchen table. It was something Polly was unaccustomed to, and yet it felt natural as she walked to the opposite side of the table and held Florence's face in her hands.
"Unless you're going to tell me what happened to make you leave, I can't help you. It's up to you to fix this yourself." Polly said, trying her best to comfort the broken girl before her. The sound of a door opening interrupted the two women as John slipped into the kitchen, a toothpick between his lips and fire in his eyes.
Taking the hint, Polly stood, leaving Florence sitting with her back to John. She knew it was him from the sound of his tread on the floor. His footsteps had always been the heaviest of the family and it was never a secret when he was stalking about the house.
Polly wandered over to John, whispering, "Go easy on her," before exiting the room.
Florence knew this confrontation was coming from the moment she'd arrived back in Small Heath. Luckily she'd managed to avoid him so far, by some small miracle she'd had the evening off every time he'd come to The Garrison.
John cleared his throat and Florence turned to look at him. She was the one to speak up first. "I'm really sorry." Her apology was sincere, but that didn't stop John's face from contorting into a frustrated expression she was unfamiliar with.
"You're sorry - that's all you've got to say? You're fucking sorry?!" The volume of John's voice rose exponentially as he spoke, his fists clenched by his sides. Florence knew he was trying to contain his anger. She knew this was too much for him and yet she didn't know what to say. She had gone over this conversation hundreds of times in her head, but now faced with it she was speechless. Nothing she could say would make things better, and she knew that.
"Yeah, I am." Florence remained calm as she spoke. "I know you're angry with me, I left you without an explanation. I shouldn't have done it, but at the time I didn't have a choice. My dad needed me to go and for once in my life I did as I was told." She blurted it out all at once and stood from her chair. It took courage to approach him, but she did. She took note of the fact that he was slightly taller than he was at 18 - he now towered over her and it made her feel small. She didn't like feeling small.
Florence watched his nostrils flare as she reached for him. She knew it was wrong to do this to him, but she wanted to calm him somehow. She could practically feel the fury radiating from him. Reaching up, she stroked his arm with the lightest of touches. He stood as if frozen to the spot.
"Do you know you leaving was the start of everything going wrong?" He said. "You were gone, then there was the war, then fucking…" He trailed off.
"I know. I already know everything that happened." Florence had been kept updated about her old friends through letters from her father, who knew everything about everyone through working in the pub. She had heard about John and her friend Martha's short engagement and marriage six months after she left. She knew about their four children. She knew that Martha had died of consumption not long after the birth of the last one. She gulped at the thought of her old friend going to an early grave, but she felt more so for John. She could tell he was a broken man like the rest, no longer the smiling boy that kissed her at every opportunity and told her he'd give her the world. That person was gone, changed, just as she was.
"All of the shit, it started with you, poisoning my life. You're to blame for all of it, Florence. Now fuck off." John's words were full of venom but Florence could tell he was conflicted. He wanted to go to her and let her make things better, but at the same time it was her fault he felt like this in the first place. John and Florence may have shared feelings for each other once, but that didn't mean they were ever any good for each other.
Florence jerked away from John, finishing her gentle caress at his shoulder. She would accept that she'd done him wrong, but she wouldn't let him blame her for all of the tragedy in his life. "I didn't make anything bad happen, John. That's just life. Shit happens, and then you get over it, and then more shit happens. That's just the way it is." With that, Florence turned away from him and moved to grab her discarded apron from the kitchen table. "I won't have you blaming me for everything. I didn't kill her, John."
Florence didn't look back as she exited the Shelby residence, infuriated by John's words. She should've known he'd react like that. Their relationship had always been fiery, fuelled by the thrill of their kiss-and-make-up routine they had. She should've known he'd still be mad at her six years after the fact. John had never been one to let go until the deal was well and truly done.
Arriving back at The Garrison, her face red and her hair all over the place, Florence resumed her shift as if she hadn't just skipped work for a couple of hours. She was thankful that the pub was now quiet and her dad had already left, meaning she wouldn't have to take any sour words from him until the following day. Wordlessly, Florence joined Grace behind the bar, and she appreciated the fact that Grace didn't question where she'd been or what exactly had her looking in such a state.
It wasn't until that night when they were closing the pub that Grace really started to step on Florence's toes. The two women had been sharing menial small talk, mainly Florence quizzing Grace about her life in Ireland, when Grace chose to bring up the Shelby's once more.
"The Shelby's, why don't they pay?" She had asked Florence as they mopped the pub together. Florence stopped in her movements, turning to look at Grace with narrowed eyes.
"It doesn't matter. Don't ask questions about them. And you'd be doing yourself a favour if you stay away from them. God knows why I can't…" Florence shook her head at herself. Grace didn't respond to her, instead moving to dispose of the mop water outside.
Florence took a deep breath. It felt like it was the only moment she'd had to herself all day. In the privacy of the dimly lit pub, she helped herself to a swig from an open bottle of whiskey from behind the bar before Grace came back inside. All she wanted was to go to sleep and wake up as far away from here as possible. She reminded herself that she was the one that made the decision to come back, but she didn't realise how difficult it would be to face the mess she'd left behind. By then, she'd forgotten it was her mum's birthday.
Before her morning shift began the following day, Florence made sure to pop in on Arthur. She'd promised him she would, even though there wasn't much to be done. Florence thought Arthur just liked her company, despite all of the conflict she'd managed to cause. Luckily, there seemed to be nobody else in the house early that morning, so she tended to him in peace.
He was slumped in the same kitchen chair as before, looking slightly less dishevelled.
"You're here," Arthur said as she let herself into the house. She knew he'd leave the door unlocked for her, and it was always left unlocked for most of the day anyway.
"Of course I'm here. Said I'd be here, didn't I?" Florence huffed. She'd awoken in a mood to match the devil, still reeling from the previous day. Florence had never been one to hold a grudge, but it just took a while for her anger to subside.
She placed her basket of medical supplies on the kitchen table. She thought his wounds could do with some proper cleaning and not just with a rinse of whiskey, so she'd taken the time to gather some things together.
"Couldn't crack a smile for me today, could you love?" Arthur said, watching Florence as she removed items from the basket in a huff. A small smile twisted on her lips.
"Sorry, Arthur," she said as she began removing his bandages. "I suppose you heard about everything that went on yesterday?"
"I heard every fucking word. You can hear everything through the walls in this house, you should know that." He winced as she began dabbing at the gash on his face with a cloth. Her brow creased at his comments. He could tell she was hurt by what John had said, but Arthur was never any good with words. He tried to comfort her anyhow. "If it makes any difference, I'm happy you're back. We could do with some good news around here after… you know, everything."
Florence scoffed at his words. "Well, no one else is particularly happy about it, it seems. But it doesn't matter. I came back here to help my family." It was a white lie. She did come back to help her dad out, but also because she was lonely. She longed to feel the way she did years earlier, when she was surrounded by friends and was troubled by nothing.
"We were your family once, Flo. Let the dust settle, it'll be alright." We were your family once, Flo. Arthur's words echoed in her mind. There was a time when she had considered them more her family than her own dad. There was a small part of her then that felt comforted knowing that eventually, things would be alright. At some point, they'd have to forgive her. At some point after all of the bad, things would be okay. That was how life worked, so Florence thought.
"Since when did you get so full of wisdom, eh?" She said as she began packing her things back into the basket.
"Since I started drinking whiskey at 5 o'clock this morning." Arthur held up his glass to her before taking a sip.
Florence let a chuckle slip. "Me too," She muttered under her breath. "Good news, looks like you're going to live after all. Just keep it clean. I'm sure I'll see you soon, Arthur." With that, she let herself out.
For the first time since she'd arrived in Small Heath weeks ago, Florence found herself drawn to the church. She hadn't always been religious, but her mother had. Florence found herself turning to God in France, where prayer comforted her about the horrors she had witnessed. She wasn't strictly religious, but it made her feel better to believe there was a higher power watching over her. It was only occasionally that she'd find herself wandering to a place of worship, but it was normally when she felt she needed guidance. So she let her feet carry her to where she needed to go. There was still some time before she had to open the pub.
Florence was alone in the church. The pew was cold when she sat down. The whole church was cold, but Florence didn't even shiver. She just sat, staring towards the altar, thinking and thinking and thinking. She spent a lot of time doing that, her thoughts confined only to her mind. It was at this point she realised how truly alone she felt. In the war, the nurses had always confided in each other, and Florence had taken comfort in the fact that she always had someone she could trust nearby. Now, here she was, sitting in a dark, cold church, completely lost from herself. At that moment, there was nobody to turn to.
She shook the forbidding feeling from her frame, standing from the pew and walking towards the altar of the church. She took a match from her pocket and lit three candles; one for her step-mother, one for the men she had cared for, and a final candle for the person that she thought of the most.
"For you, little one," she whispered.