Pure embarrassment was the only way to describe what Florence felt when she awoke. She had been tucked into bed, fully clothed, with no recollection of how she had gotten there. Her boots were left neatly at the end of her bed and the light was still on. Her throbbing head made getting out of bed hard work, but walking to the window she could see that the sun was only just rising, the smoke just beginning to appear from the chimneys of the factories. The streets were quiet. Florence loved the time of day when the world was just beginning to wake up. Ignoring the pounding in her head, she made a spontaneous decision, shrugging on her coat and setting off on a walk through the city. She needed to think, and for Florence, there was no better way to clear her head.
It was as though her drunken spell had snapped her out of whatever kind of trance she was under, and suddenly she could see more clearly than she ever had in her life. She was in pain, and she needed a solution. A solution that deep down she knew she would never find. Florence regretted the words she had spoken to John and knew he'd now be looking for answers from her, answers she wasn't ready to give. Florence didn't know what she needed, but she knew what she wanted. She wanted to be happy. But she knew there were fleeting moments when she felt truly happy, and most of those moments had been with Tommy. A wave of nervousness washed over her as she remembered the look they had shared the night previously. She couldn't remember anything after that, as though his eyes had impeded everything else from her memory. He must have helped her to bed, she thought to herself. She stopped walking, and as she looked out over the Cut, she realised she longed for his presence. Even after all these years, he still made her feel safe. If there was anyone she could confide in, it would be him. Whereas before she felt only fondness when she thought of Tommy, now she felt a delicious excitement. The idea of attending the races with him the following week left her mind reeling. And as soon as she let herself feel it, it was gone, pushed to the bottom of the overflowing barrel with her other emotions. She couldn't allow herself to appear weak, she couldn't allow someone else control over her. She was broken, and she knew he was too. That they needed to avoid each other, was her final conclusion. However, Florence knew the difference between what you need and what you want. It was up to her to decide which way to go.
Little did she know, their next encounter would be sooner than she hoped. She had made the responsible decision of turning in early that night, leaving Grace to close the pub alone. Even though she had known her for only a matter of weeks, she trusted Grace with the money and locking up. Florence was clad in only her night shirt when she heard banging on the door and muffled voices downstairs after she knew everyone had left for the night. Quickly grabbing her gun from the drawer, she peered out of the window to find nobody on the doorstep. The storm was thrashing at her windowpane, the street below barely visible through the torrent. Her bare feet soundless on the floorboards, she headed downstairs, gun raised, breathing uneven. This was the first time she had felt she was in danger since she had moved in. Moving to the door that opened to the pub, she pulled it open slightly, peering curiously through the crack.
"Happy or sad?" The words became clear once she had opened the door, and she saw Grace standing atop a table. Florence was about to interrupt, but then noticed who was sitting in front of her. Tommy had his back to her but she knew from the harsh lines of his haircut that it was him. He was soaked through from the rain and although she couldn't see his face, he could tell he was gazing up at Grace. From her angle, she could see raindrops trailing down the back of his neck. Lowering her gun, Florence could only watch the moment unfold. Grace began to sing, beautifully, and Florence took note of the fact that when she was singing she seemed to glow like an angel. For the first time in a long time, she felt jealousy creeping in. Witnessing Grace's beauty, she knew Tommy could see it too, and it infuriated her knowing that Grace must have her sights set on him. She had done everything she could ward her away from the Peaky Blinders, but it was clear Grace couldn't resist what was dark and mysterious. Imagining the two of them together made Florence feel sick to her stomach. Grace was trying to reel him in and it seemed to be working. If that was the case, she was in no position to compete with the beautiful blonde barmaid for Tommy's affections. And she wouldn't. Her pride wouldn't allow it. And with the thought of the development of Tommy and Grace's relationship fresh in her mind, she left it alone and turned in for the night.
"It's Helen, love. Things are getting really bad." Harry had come to visit Florence that morning as she was getting the pub ready for the day, any trace of Tommy and Grace from the night before long gone. "I'm going to need you to take charge for a while. Can you do that for me? I really think this might be it this time." Florence didn't need him to elaborate. She knew what he meant. Helen had taken a turn for the worse and this time she wasn't going to recover.
"Of course I will, Dad. I'll keep everything running smoothly… you know you can trust me." Harry nodded at her words, turning to leave.
"And Florence? Apologise to her. You don't need to apologise to me, but please, just to keep things peaceful." Florence was struck by his desperation, but also deeply frustrated by it. She wasn't going to be apologising to anyone for voicing her feelings and she wouldn't be made to feel bad about it just because Helen was ill.
"No." Her tone was firm. "If anything, the two of you should be apologising to me." She was always one to stand by her word. Some might call her stubborn, but others would recognise her resilience.
Harry sighed, not willing to put up a fight before making his exit.
It wasn't that she didn't want to make amends with her stepmother, it was that she didn't think it was worth it. Unless Helen was going to realise the ways she had wronged her after years of justifying it to herself, Florence wasn't going to budge in her stand against her. As she unstacked chairs from atop the tables, she heard the high-pitched voices of children playing in the street outside and thought of her own little brother. The two had never been close, with Florence being away for most of his life, but she thought about how his life was about to be turned upside down. Once Helen was gone, the world would never be the same for little Eddie, just had it had been for little Flo so many years ago. And her dad, now losing his second wife in the same way he lost his first. Florence knew life was unfair, but she didn't know what her family had done to deserve all of this hurt.
After taking a few large gulps of whiskey to get her through the morning, she untied her apron and headed out the door, locking it behind her. With thirty minutes before she had to open, she found herself in the church, whispering prayers for her family from a cold seat in the pews. Florence knew it was ridiculous, but she would swear on her life that she felt her mother's presence whenever she entered a church. Her prayers always turned into conversations with her. Caught up in her own whispers, she was taken by surprise when she felt a warm body settle next to her.
"Polly!" Florence held a hand to chest, her heart pounding. "You scared the shit out of me."
"I didn't realise you came to church anymore," Polly said nonchalantly, eyeing Florence suspiciously.
"I don't. Just when I feel like it. You know my mum always did." Florence looked around, feeling uneasy after being surprised by Polly, but it appeared they were alone.
"Every Sunday, without fail…" Polly sighed, remembering the God-fearing Mary Fenton. Florence was fierce yet pure of heart like she was, but they never shared the same faith. Florence only went to Sunday school willingly because the priest gave the children a biscuit each.
"How's Ada doing?" She had been thinking about her friend all week, and felt disappointed in herself that she hadn't found the time to check in on her.
"Freddie came back. Says they're going to get married, but Tommy wants him dead."
"Fucking hell," Florence shook her head. Polly turned and slapped her hard around the back of the head.
"You're in a church, Florence!" Florence rubbed at the back of her head, whispering a sorry. Polly's tone suddenly changed. "I heard about the little show you put on in The Garrison the other night. John's mad at you, again," she muttered disapprovingly.
"What about Tommy?" Polly smirked at Florence's mention of her nephew.
"Listen to me, Flo." Polly gripped her hand tightly, forcing the younger woman to look her in the eye. "I know that you're hurting inside, but drinking yourself bloody silly isn't going to make you feel better."
Florence sighed. What Polly was saying made sense. "You don't understand, Pol. I've seen a lot of things over these past few years. Terrible things. Sometimes whiskey helps me fall asleep when I can't stand it. And sometimes I overdo it a bit. But it's fine. No harm done," she said. She rose from her seat, approaching the altar to light a candle.
"Do you see your baby?" Polly's words echoed around the church, and the memories that rushed into Florence's mind disappeared just as quickly.
Florence whipped around quickly to face her. "What?" She said, almost in disbelief.
Polly rose from the pew. "It's John's, isn't it?" From the serious look on her face, Florence knew she wouldn't get Polly off her back any time soon.
She walked towards her slowly, her eyes unwavering. "I don't know what you're talking about," she uttered, her lie as certain as she could make it, putting an end to their conversation.
Florence gave Grace the day off after witnessing the events of the previous night. All it took was a shifty interaction with Tommy and just like that, all trust Florence had in Grace was gone. Luckily, it was an easy day, and she didn't mind the extra work. In fact, after her conversation with Polly that morning, she welcomed it. Anything to distract herself. At some point in the evening, the Shelby's had made themselves comfortable in the snug room but Florence had just handed them a bottle of whiskey and left them to it. Expecting a difficult conversation with at least one of the Shelby men, she was shocked when they didn't even spare her a second glance. The air felt thick and heavy, humid on account of the storm the evening prior. There was something that made Florence feel weary. Maybe it was the news of her stepmother's decline, but she felt uneasy as she went about working that evening. Something had put her on edge, some danger was coming.
In a moment of quiet at the bar while the patrons were busying themselves singing, Florence took the time to head out the back to bring out more beer. As she was doing so, she was struck down by a sound that took her back to her days in France. A single gunshot rang out. It was loud enough for her to know that it come from inside the pub. Before she had time to feel anything, she had brandished her gun from beneath the bar and was pointing it at the intruder.
"What the fuck is going on?!" Florence cried out, fuelled by both fear and anger, looking up quickly to observe the bullet hole in the ceiling. In spite of her racing mind, her face remained stoic, her eyes locked on the man with the gun, her own cocked and ready. Silence cloaked the room, the singing had ceased and the patrons cowered in fear as the door of the snug opened and Tommy, John and Arthur appeared.
"Who the fuck are you?" The man's face twitched in amusement as he inconspicuously looked her up and down. She could tell that this man was bad news. She'd come across more than a few slimy bastards in her lifetime and he would definitely be up there with them.
"The person in charge of this establishment," Florence uttered, her chin held high. The gun felt heavy and unfamiliar in her hands but she didn't waver. She would fight for her dignity and for her place.
The man let out a loud, bellowing laugh. "You? Fucking running this place?"
Inside Florence was writhing with anger, but on the outside she remained calm, her eyes fixed on the man that had just insulted her. Despite her supposed inferiority as a woman, she had never accepted such comments. Her pride had always gotten the better of her, leading to many a fight that could have resulted in something sinister happening to her. However, she'd always come out the other side, the occasional black eye heavier but with her pride intact. Florence moved to open her mouth but was interrupted.
"Florence," she heard Tommy say, his tone warning her.
"Tommy," she replied, unmoving, her eyes still trained on the man. Tommy suddenly came into view, intervening in Florence's one-sided staring contest.
"Better get these men a drink." He whispered to her. There was something frantic in his expression that she couldn't place. What Florence didn't realise was the terror Tommy had felt, opening the door of the snug to find her with a gun pointed at one of the most powerful gangsters in the country. He'd felt his heart in his throat as he'd crossed the room towards her, wanting nothing more than to throw himself between the pair before Kimber could so much as touch a hair on her head. Just the thought of it filled him with rage, and it was that rage that was driving him now. Tommy pulled the gun from her hand, placing it on the bar. "Back to work. Now." His tone had gone from warning to menacing. "Everyone else, go home."
Exasperated but still cautious about the men at the door, Florence tried to question Tommy. "What the fuck-"
"Right fucking now." With just the look he gave her, she knew not to push him any further.
Florence had reluctantly brought the men drinks as Tommy had asked, and as she did so she looked to him for guidance, but it was Arthur who told her to get back to work.
"I don't normally agree with women in pubs, but when they look like that…" She heard the drawl of the man she'd now learned was Billy Kimber as she went to fetch the ledger, and made sure to slam it down extra hard on the bar to make sure he knew she heard him.
"Feisty, that one. She needs telling what's what. You lot need to learn to keep your women in line."
A glance from Tommy was all it took to stop Florence from opening her mouth in protest. "You said you wanted men called Shelby. You got three of 'em," Tommy said, lighting a cigarette.
Florence observed the men from her place behind the bar, her arms folded and a scowl on her face. She was furious at Tommy for bringing this sort of business into her place of work. She knew he did bad things and she had the gun for a reason, but she didn't think she'd ever have to use it, at least not here.
Watching the exchange silently, pretending to be filling out the books, she listened in. The conversation was amusing to her to say the least, the back and forth between the Shelby's and Kimber seeming absolutely ridiculous. Why do men take so long to get to the point, she thought to herself. A small smirk appearing on her face, she snickered to herself silently. She didn't expect anyone to notice.
Florence heard the footsteps approach her before she saw him there. "What the fuck do you think you're laughing at, you dumb whore?" Kimber sneered at her, pointing his gun at her face. It was John who quickly rose from his seat, putting himself between Kimber and Florence, giving him a menacing stare. However, Tommy quickly continued the conversation, seemingly unbothered by the threat to Florence.
"Sit down, John." He stood from his chair. "Mr Kimber," he said, throwing him an item from his pocket that Florence recognised as a bullet. "It has my name on it. It's from the Lee family."
Shaking her head, Florence shut her ledger and headed out the back, where her life wouldn't be at risk. Coming to her senses, she knew she didn't want to be involved in any of this bad business, so she didn't want to hear about it. Yes, she would protect her pub and patrons from bad men, but she refused to be the woman that was kidnapped and tortured for information about what the Blinders were up to. She knew they did bad things, she knew that they killed people, but so long as she didn't know what or who, it didn't concern her.
Hearing a heavy door slam and the bolt slide across, she emerged from her hiding place. "Are they gone?" She asked, her eyes locked on Tommy who was standing by the door.
There were only the four of them in the pub now, and they all waited with baited breath as an engine started outside and moved away slowly. Letting out a long sigh, Tommy headed towards the snug, gesturing for Florence to follow and shutting the door on John and Arthur behind her.
Tommy turned to her, pointing his lit cigarette at her. "What the fuck were you thinking?" His eyebrows were raised at her; he wanted an answer. His tone was harsh, his face drawn, any concern he had morphing into anger towards the woman.
"Funny that, Tom. I was about to ask you the same question." She folded her arms across her chest, looking him up and down expectantly.
"You should have left," he said, taking a step towards her.
"Then why didn't you make me?"
"Because I knew you'd say no." Tommy sat down and poured himself a glass of whiskey.
Florence watched as he downed it in one. "I don't want this bad business in the pub," she shook her head, "at least not in daylight. It's not fair."
"Well, we don't always get what we want, do we, Florence? I decide what happens here, who we meet here, not you. It's your choice if you want to put yourself in the firing line," he said quietly, but ominously.
Tommy watched her as she sat down next to him and took a swig of whiskey from the bottle. "He could have killed me, Tommy. I don't want to be involved in this shit." She looked to him with pleading eyes. She knew there was a man with a heart in there somewhere.
He took a long drag from his cigarette. "Well, that's too fucking bad, because you just involved yourself. Kimber'll be at Cheltenham and I've promised him a dance with you as an apology for you disrespecting him." Deep down he knew he shouldn't have done it. But in that moment, he would have done anything to keep the peace. Anything to stick to his plan, even if it meant involving Florence in it.
Florence shook her head at him slowly, standing from her seat. "You're a fucking prick, you know that?."
Tommy stood too after putting out his cigarette, towering over her. "You need to learn your place, Florence. If you don't want these men to notice you, you have to keep quiet. Otherwise, they'll all want to dance with you." His voice was dripping with mockery, a hint of amusement in his eyes.
"Are you actually taking the piss out of me right now? After what just happened out there?" Her eyes glistened with angry, unshed tears.
Florence turned to leave, but was stopped by a hand gripping her wrist, pulling her back, and she collided with Tommy. He had both hands on her waist, holding her in place as she peered up at him with those eyes. He had taken it one step too far and he knew it. Since the night he had consoled her, Florence had been on his mind constantly. He had come to the pub the following night looking for her, but instead had found Grace, who had acted as a welcome substitute. But at the same time as caring about her, he found her infuriating. It was as if Florence had never let go of the rebellious streak she used to have. A woman who wouldn't be told, end of. She frustrated him to no end, but he just wanted her to be alright.
"Listen to me, I won't let anything happen to you. If I thought for a moment he was actually going to shoot you, I'd have taken the bullet myself. Alright?" He whispered, his eyes scanning her face for some response, his hands tightening on her waist.
Florence nodded, inhaling the sweet smell of whiskey on his breath and leaning into his touch. It was as though the warmth of his body calmed her and stirred something up inside her at the same time. She brought a hand up to caress the curve of his cheekbone gently, a featherlight touch. Tommy closed his eyes as she did so.
"I'm sorry about the other night," she said, before regrettably slipping away.