A week had passed since Thomas had very boldly demanded that Florence attend the races with him, and since then she had been spending more time at the house on Watery Lane. Not that she'd seen much of him since then, she'd barely had a chance to question him about it. It was the third time in a week she'd popped in for breakfast with Polly and Ada, fed up of spending mornings shut up in her little room alone. Her brief stint watching John's kids had given her the green light that things were on the mend for her and the Shelby family. Finally, she felt comfortable spending time at the house like she used to. It gave her the old sense of normality she had been craving since she had returned, gossiping with Ada in the mornings with the occasional intervention from Polly. The two had started to become thick as thieves. Before, their age gap had meant the two women had never had much in common. Now, on the other hand, it was a different story. For some reason, Ada saw Florence as someone she could trust and she took to Florence from the moment of their reintroduction.

On that morning in particular, Florence sat with Polly in the kitchen, the two sipping on tea in a comfortable silence while Polly read the morning newspaper. Florence looked around the room, her impatience getting the better of her after ten minutes of silence. She placed her teacup down on the table. "Shall I just go and wake her up?" She asked Polly. Before Polly could respond, Ada came waltzing down the stairs. Polly nodded at her. "Speak of the devil," she said, before returning to her newspaper.

"Flo, I didn't realise you'd be here so early." Ada stumbled into the kitchen, still in her night clothes.

"Early? Have you seen the time?" Ada shrugged at the sight of Florence's wristwatch. "Alright for some I suppose. I have things to be getting on with today. You know, that thing called work?" Florence folded her arms as she watched Ada help herself to some bread and jam.

"I work too. I work for the cause." Ada sat down presumptuously at the kitchen table with her breakfast.

Florence gasped mockingly at her, knowing full well that Ada's work for the cause extended to fooling around with Freddie Thorne and absolutely nothing else. "I wouldn't call frolicking-"

"Ada, stand up." Their bickering was interrupted by Polly giving Ada a look of seriousness. Ada and Florence looked at each other amused before returning their attention to Polly.

"What?" Ada asked in disbelief, as if she hadn't heard her correctly.

"You heard me. Stand up." Ada did as she was told, grumbling as she did so. "Side on."

Florence had to stifle a giggle as she watched Polly grabbing at Ada and Ada shrug away from the woman, wondering what on earth was going on to conjure such nonsense so early in the day. Just as she was about to intervene, Florence heard Polly's words.

"Ada, how late are you?" Florence's eyes widened at Polly's suggestion. The question took her by surprise, but it seemed Ada was expecting it. It transported Florence back to a memory she didn't like to think about. It had been years since that question was asked of her, yet in that moment she felt eighteen and terrified again.

"… five weeks. Seven if you count Sundays."

"Shit, Ada." Florence whispered, mainly to herself. Pinching the bridge of her nose as tightly as she could, she felt her breathing quicken and her face suddenly felt hot. She needed air, but didn't feel like she had the energy to move. Instead, she remained rooted to the spot, staring down at the table, trying desperately and quietly to slow her breathing before anyone noticed. It had been years since one of these episodes had last occurred, and she couldn't let this happen here in front of people who would ask questions.

"You alright, Flo?" Polly and Ada had stopped talking and were both looking at her in concern.

"I don't feel well…" she whispered, before her eyes rolled back. Polly caught her by the shoulders as she slumped back in her chair.

"Are you sure she's not pregnant as well?!"

Tommy was fuming, but anger seemed to be his default emotion that week so it wasn't a shock to Polly. She'd broken the news to him of Ada's pregnancy as gently as she could, but it didn't take much to rile up Tommy. He turned to the door, eager to confront his sister, yet another problem he had to deal with. Polly stopped him as he reached for the handle.

"Wait, Thomas. Florence had a bit of fainting spell in the kitchen this morning. She's asleep in Ada's room upstairs. Thought you might like to know." Polly knew she didn't need to tell Tommy of the incident with Florence that morning, but it gave her satisfaction to see the colour drain from his face and him turn towards the stairs, forgetting Ada for a moment. Seeing him care about Florence gave her hope that some of the old Tommy was still there. The way they had cared about each other years ago was something she hoped would be reignited; she knew they both needed it.

The door to Ada's room was ajar and Tommy wasted no time pushing it open further, revealing a sleeping Florence. She lay on top of the sheets, her hands curled at her sides, hair splayed out across the pillow, her boots still on. He had seen her like this many times before, his mind flashing back to years prior. The desire he felt to look after Florence confused him to no end; he was used to being in control, but when it came to her his mind was all over the place. He only knew one thing for certain, that he never wanted to see anything bad happen to her, that he'd put himself in harm's way before seeing her hurt.

As Tommy stepped into the room, her eyes fluttered open, and she brought her arms up in an effort to block the light coming from the window. It took her a moment to notice Tommy leaning on the doorframe, watching her. With a groan, she sat up.

"I think you gave Pol a scare." Tommy stepped into the room, moving to sit on the edge of the bed, observing Florence closely as he usually did.

"I didn't give you a scare then?" Her voice came out rough and she tried to clear her throat. Tommy reached for the glass of water sitting on the bedside table and handed it to her, watching as she took a long drink before handing the glass back to him. "I've been wanting to talk to you, about your courteous invite to the races. What on earth are you up to, Tommy?"

Tommy made the wise choice of ignoring Florence's question, instead changing the subject. "I've been trying to trace you, find out where you went before the war." He confessed, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it swiftly.

Florence rolled her eyes at him, pulling her legs over the edge of the bed so she was sitting beside him. "Well don't bother, I used a different name," she confessed, regretting her words as they left her mouth.

"What are you trying to hide, eh?" Tommy looked her dead in the eye as they sat shoulder to shoulder on the bed. Florence stared back at him, taking in the ruthless edges of his face and the hurt that always seemed to be present in his eyes.

"I could ask the same of you." She replied as he looked away, taking a drag from his cigarette. She thought of reaching for his hand, but she knew better than to push his limits. "There never used to be secrets between us, Tommy." Florence thought aloud. She always spoke her mind with him.

Annoyed by her honesty, he rose from the bed, turning to face her. "I'll pick you up at 10 on Saturday, make sure you're ready on time." He said, before turning to the door.

"Tommy." He stopped in his tracks as Florence called his name. "Go easy on Ada."

Tommy scoffed at her request. "I'm always easy on Ada."

Florence headed downstairs not long after Tommy, but she knew from the telltale slam of the front door that he would already be gone. It was late in the day and she thought she'd been left alone in the house, so it was a shock to see Polly standing at the bottom of the stairs. Clearly waiting for her. Florence managed to get halfway down before Polly opened her mouth.

"I've worked it out, why you were gone. There was a baby, wasn't there, Flo?" She ignored her, pushing past her and scrambling into the kitchen to collect her belongings. "I knew there was something different about you."

Florence gave her a pleading look. "Please, Pol. Not now, I've got to get to work. I feel much better now, thanks for your help." She wouldn't meet her eye.

Florence rushed outside without looking back, carrying her coat instead of wearing it. She wasn't ready to be confronted with so many questions and she certainly wasn't prepared to be letting everyone know what had really happened to her all those years ago. It was something she was yet to come to terms with, something she had tried so hard to forget. Dragging it all up now would mean all of that effort wasted, years of pushing the feelings away gone.

Florence stopped for a moment, diverting into a quiet alley to catch her breath. She was glad she found some privacy as she emptied her stomach in the street.

It was the revelation that her secrets might not stay secret forever that led Florence to finally visit her father and stepmother's house. The place she had called home in her early childhood. It had been a few days since she was unwell and she still wasn't feeling much better, unable to sleep or eat or think straight. Her visit wasn't for their sake but for her own peace of mind. She needed answers to the questions that had been burdening her. She needed her family to know how much they had hurt her. Sitting in the house she had spent the first years of her life in left a bad taste in her mouth. This was her mother's house, yet no trace of her mother except from Florence herself remained. She knew this was partly down to her dad's heartbreak at her death. He had gotten rid of most of her belongings not long after she died, keeping a small collection to pass on to Florence. Out of sight, out of mind, some might say.

Florence had gotten through the first hour of her visit just making small talk while she built up the nerve to confront them. For a while she thought she wouldn't go through with it. Helen looked better than she'd expected her to, hardly a woman on her deathbed. But Florence knew how quickly death could creep up on someone. The three of them drank tea and talked about her brother and the pub and anything else they could muster. Anything but what Florence was really thinking about. Her thoughts felt like a dark cloud hanging over her. The rain could break at any moment.

"How have you been keeping in that little room, Florence?" Helen asked, but Florence didn't hear the question. She suddenly felt suffocated by the facade of her so-called family. They liked to pretend everything was perfect and fine, when in reality things were much darker. They had been the ones to teach Florence the feelings of shame and guilt. They had been the ones to force secrecy upon her. They were the people who made the decision that would turn her life upside-down. She had to do it, and she had to do it now.

"Why did you send me away?" Florence was shocked at how strong her voice sounded when she spoke, expecting no more than a whisper. She watched as Helen's jaw dropped. Her dad simply sighed at the question. Nobody ever talked about that time, years ago. Florence never even brought it up in her letters, instead wanting nothing more than to forget. But her conversation with the Shelby's and the memories that living in Small Heath brought back to her made her realise that forgetting such a significant part of her life wasn't an option. "When I needed you." Her words punctuated the silence.

Her dad sighed once again. "I didn't know what else to do with you, Flo. I thought I was doing what was best for you." She knew that the decision to send her away haunted Harry. Her mother was always the parent that knew what was best and without her he had struggled to be what Florence needed. Part of the reason why he had married Helen was to give Florence a mother, but even that had backfired.

"I think about what happened every day, you know. It never leaves my mind… and it wasn't even my choice." Florence stared at the two of them, her eyes wide, shoulders back, hands folded neatly on her lap. She could feel her emotions bubbling inside of her, but her face was as hard as stone.

Helen pointed a slender hand at her and Florence noticed her wedding ring hanging loosely from her ring finger. "Now, that's not fair, Florence. Let's leave the past in the past, shall we?" She knew Helen pushed her dad to send her away. She had been looking for an excuse to get rid of her since the day she and her dad were married.

In that moment, Florence felt free. Free to speak her mind in a way she never had before. Deep down she knew that if she didn't say it now, she would never get the chance to again. "I don't know… I don't know if I'll ever be able to forgive you. You were meant to be my family, you were meant to care about me. What you did, it nearly killed me. But thanks to you, I'll never let anyone make decisions for me again."

She felt a shiver down her spine as she rose from her chair, refusing to look at the pair as they watched her leave.

"Florence, where are you going?" she heard her stepmother calling her name.

She shook her head. "Oh, fuck off, Helen," she said, before exiting the house.

Florence was thankful to have that evening off, but not so thankful that her dad was working in the pub that night. She'd cried herself to sleep with a bottle of whiskey in her room, and when she awoke she had continued drinking for the rest of the afternoon. It was safe to say she hadn't been this drunk for years. After a few days of remembering everything so vividly, she would do anything to forget. Florence was so drunk, in fact, she thought it would be wise to go down to the pub to find some company.

That was how she found herself chatting with factory workers in for a drink on their way home, parading around the pub and batting her eyelids at any man that looked in her direction. The reckless behaviour was something she had left behind in her youth, but this was turning into the best evening she'd had for years. She returned to the bar as one of the men brought her a drink, eyes bright with intoxication.

Her dad's face was pale and deep in concern. He had been watching her all evening, watching her spiral out of control. "I think you should stop now, Flo," he said, gesturing to the drink in her hand.

Florence turned to face him, seething. "You don't get to decide when I stop," she spat back at him, her eyes darkening, before smiling at the man next to her and returning to her conversation.

It didn't take long for the Shelby's to show up, as they did almost every evening at The Garrison. It was late for most patrons but early for them. Florence didn't see them enter, deep in conversation with the man who had been buying her drinks all night, a man she couldn't remember the name of. "Shit, the Peaky Blinders are here," he said, as his eyes darted over Florence's shoulder and he rose from his seat to leave.

Florence turned to look behind her and saw the small group of men heading towards the snug room, a few familiar faces among them. She had reached a point where she wasn't able to control herself as she found herself skipping towards them.

"John!" She shouted as she stumbled towards him, clearly inebriated as she fell into his chest. The group turned to watch her, jeering as she tripped. However, with one look from Tommy they all scattered, leaving only Florence and the two brothers.

"Hello sweetheart," John smirked down at Florence, holding her against his body to stop her from stumbling further.

"Come and dance with me, John. Like we used to." She tried her best to pull him away from Tommy but he stayed put, instead watching her with a look of amusement on his face.

At John's side, Tommy shook his head at Florence's state. "You're showing yourself up, Florence." There was warning in his tone, like a parent scolding a child.

With that, Florence turned, a finger pointed in Tommy's face. "Did I fucking ask for your opinion, Thomas? Come on, John" Catching him off guard, she grabbed John's hand and dragged him towards the door of the pub. She knew Tommy wouldn't be far behind. The air was colder than she expected it to be, but the warmth of the whiskey in her system stopped her from shivering.

Leaning against the wall of the building, she pulled John close to her, a sudden sadness washing over her. Standing together outside The Garrison, memories of moments passed came flooding back to her. She and John weren't right for each other, but remembering how he used to love her, how he once doted on her, brought tears to her eyes. He deserved to know the truth.

"What's wrong, Flo? What's happened?" He whispered, brushing her hair out of her face, a look of deep concern gracing his features.

"I need you to listen to me, John. Things could have been so different," Florence stopped, swallowing the lump in her throat in an effort to stop the tears. "It could have turned out so different between you and me. And I fucked it up all those years ago, everything that happened, it's my fault... I just, I didn't want to drag you into my shit, I thought it would be better for you if I just left."

Florence didn't know what came over her as the words tumbled from her mouth, she just knew that she couldn't keep it to herself any longer. Lying to everyone was ruining her life

"What do you mean?" John grabbed her face, forcing her to look him in the eye. "What are you trying to tell me, Flo?"

Florence shook her head. "I'm so sorry, John. I didn't mean to hurt you. I was-" She slurred, but was interrupted by a pair of hands at her waist, pulling her away from a desperate John. Desperate to know the truth.

"Come on now, Florence, that's enough," she heard Tommy's voice in her ear, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist. That's enough . The words echoed in her head. For a second, she forgot about John.

"Get off me!" In a moment of drunken rage, she ripped Tommy's arms from her waist, turned, and slapped him hard across the face. "Just fuck off!"

The world slipped into slow motion as she realised what she had done. She only watched as he rubbed a hand over the red mark on his cheek, eyes ablaze. Wrenching the pub door open, Florence could hear his footsteps behind her as she raced through and up the stairs to her room. She tried to slam her door, but she wasn't quick enough.

Florence watched him with his hands poised against the doorframe, breathing heavily, trying to calm himself. She could see the anger radiating from his body as he observed her with dark eyes. Though most people may have been, she could never be scared of Tommy. She knew he'd never do anything to hurt her. She knew he'd place himself between her and harm if it came to it. Suddenly, the moment that had just passed came flooding back to her. It felt as though another person had almost spoken the words to John that she had sworn she would never say, and raw emotion overcame her as she felt her bottom lip begin to tremble.

Approaching him slowly, she brought her fingers up to stroke the mark on his cheek. "I'm sorry," she whispered, taking a breath to steady herself, "please go, Tommy." The first of her tears had already fallen. As he watched her, his anger melted away. It was as though he could feel her pain. He brought his hands up to her face, brushing away the fat tears on her cheeks. She leaned into his touch, his hands warm and welcome. As he pulled her into his arms, she let out the first of many loud, guttural sobs as he held her. He shushed her as he stroked her hair and came to the realisation that she too had experienced things that had broken her.

"You're alright," Tommy muttered as he felt her knees buckle beneath them and they lowered to the floor together. "You're alright, Flo." Their transition from standing to sitting on the floor saw their legs become tangled together. Tommy could feel her tears wet on his neck. In all the years he had known Florence, he had never seen her like this. Yes, she had moments of despair, but she had always had a light inside of her. The girl, no, woman, that was now bawling in his arms was a shadow of the person he had known before. Much like he was.

"No, I'm not. I'm not alright, Tom," she spluttered in response, pulling her head away from where it was resting on his shoulder. It was there, gazing into his eyes as he consoled her during one of her darkest moments, that she felt it. And part of her knew that he felt it, too.