It is not hard to find out where Tommy is staying. Alfie knows for professional purposes; nothing is a secret to that man, mostly because of the information she feeds him, but sometimes simply because he is a smart man who likes to be in the know. And thank God, for she had urgently visited his offices earlier to find out where Tommy's staying during his visit to London. Somewhere quiet, she thinks, and she is right. The area she stands in is a dark and quaint street, with glowing amber streetlights guiding her way to the door.
She hesitates a little before she knocks, but eventually sighs at herself - don't be so silly - and knocks loudly three times.
He doesn't answer the first time; it takes her three tries, each attempt getting louder than the last. He eventually answers the door, not fully dressed - he wears his trousers and a white vest, his braces hanging uselessly down his legs. She tries - and fails - not to look at his lean but muscular arms or the expanse of his chest on show. She remembers a time she fell asleep on it, and he'd told her later than it was calming to him listening to her breathe so closely to him. He used to match his breathing with hers. He didn't think she noticed, but she did. She noticed everything he did.
He doesn't look pleased to see her. He doesn't say anything, just continues to look at her with an expression that clearly says, "What do you want?" and not in a nice way. He is always looking at her, she thinks self-consciously. She used to love it but now it only unsettles her - does he hate looking at her? Does she remind him of the people they used to be?
She clears her throat and remembers why she is here: for answers. She is not leaving without them.
"You got your part out of your system last week Tommy. It's my turn now. Why? Why did you not let me know you were alive?" Her teeth are clenched trying to hold back her emotion but in the end, she unfortunately hears the tremor in her voice.
He stares blankly at her as though she didn't speak, before looking away to the floor and sighing a little. He opens the door wider in an invitation to come in and her spirits lift a little - he is, she hopes, cooperating.
"Want some tea?" He asks, all civilly, as though the last time he spoke to her he hadn't broken her in a way she hadn't even known she could break.
"I want some answers, Tommy."
He unclips his suspenders and throws them carelessly on the back of a sofa that he then indicates she sits on. She slowly takes the seat, and he sits opposite her, pulling out a cigarette and a packet of matches before lighting up.
"I didn't contact you after the war because of the stories I'd 'eard. Men speak about their conquests but soldiers speak more. Everyone on the front lines had 'eard of you by the time 1918 came around, Daisy. The greatest whore in England, they called you. A small girl with no family, bright red curls and from the north, from Birmingham. It could have been anyone, but I knew…" He trails off, his expressionless tone quietening. He says this all like he is reciting the news rather than the tale of tragedy he is revealing to her. Having to hear that when at the front… she can't even imagine it. If she'd heard stories of Tommy sleeping with hundreds of girls, she isn't sure she wouldn't have hated him either.
"I thought you were dead," she repeats again, as though it makes it okay. Does it? Does it make it okay? When torn between sleeping with wealthy men and starving to death, homeless and cold and alone… could anyone begrudge her?
"So you say."
It's strange, she thinks… his tone is disbelieving.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
He breathes out. "I was high up in the army, Daisy. I never even went missin'."
She frowns confusedly. "What?"
He doesn't respond and just lets her sit and think this through. He was never even missing? But…
"But Polly said…Polly told me…"
He looks up at her. "Polly told you what? That I was dead?" He scoffs, rolling his eyes slightly as he takes another drag.
Her life is continuing to fall apart around her and he's rolling his eyes.
"Yes!" She chokes, staring at the floor now. What on earth did this mean? Polly…what? Lied to her? Received faulty information that he was dead? What had happened? If Polly had been told falsely, why hadn't she written to Daisy letting her know? She had a right to know.
Now it is his turn to frown. "She never told me she thought I was dead." He says it to himself, not to her.
She exhales shakily, bringing a hand to her neck and wiping the sweat that has formed along the back of it. That was the problem of having long thick hair - the heat. The heaviness. It seemed to be a trend at the moment for women to cut their hair short - a liberation, almost. She had thought about it, but she wasn't sure she could ever part with her hair. She loved it long and flowing, like it always had been.
"Well she told me."
He smokes again, always smoking, always watching, before saying, "Tell me."
He doesn't clarify what he means and he doesn't need to - she knows. He wants the whole story, from the second he left to the moment they reunited.
She tells him everything. From the bone-deep sadness when he'd left her and her determination to do whatever she could to help him and the war effort in his absence. How she'd made uniforms, helped within the factories and tried to help look after Ada and Tommy's family; they'd had a new addition to their clan in the form of young Finn who at the time had been a terrible toddler. She had played with him when Ada or Polly needed a break, much to Polly's dismay since she didn't like Daisy and had never made any pretences about it. She had done everything she could think of to help. She'd stopped talking back to Joe, who (naturally) hadn't left for the front, so he didn't have any excuse to beat her which would hinder her help.
She tells him about the gut-wrenching despair she'd felt when Polly had told her. The tears she'd cried, the way she'd wailed and vomitted. The way she had seen the park where they met, and the orphanage he'd walked her to every night, and the Garrison where they'd laughed and kissed and the city where they had loved… and how she didn't recognise any of it. Didn't want to be around any of it. Couldn't bear to have any reminders of what she had lost - her family. All her friends apart from Ada, who was so focused on her family at that time. And then Tommy.
She tells him of her time in London, helping at hospitals and talking to the wounded soldiers and how she pretended that they were him. She tells him of her room in Camden which had rats and damp and more than once, men had broken into it and taken what little she had, and even tried to rape her once. She tells him of meeting Alfie in the hospital, tells him of the hunger she faced and the cold, and the loneliness of the last two years.
And she tells him of how Alfie had put forward the idea that she sleep with someone for money. How upset and horrified she'd been. How desperate she had been, how desperate they had all been. How, for once in her life, Daisy Smith was the answer, the solution. She tells him, not in detail because she didn't think he'd want to hear, the way she'd sobbed through her first time. How uncaring the man had been for her wellbeing at the time. How empty she'd felt after, but how, for a split second during it, he'd sighed into her ear and she had imagined it was Tommy… and that had made it bearable. It hadn't broken her, only cracked the facade of indifference she'd created around herself.
She tells him of the friends of the man after him, how he had told everyone how beautiful she was. How… unconquerable her emotions were to everyone in London. Men love a challenge, Alfie had said. She was that challenge. And she tells him how she did it over and over, trying to find something to fill the hole inside of her heart, and how the sighs, the needing, the groaning of her companions could temporarily do so… all because she could imagine they were him.
Her voice is monotonous throughout; she has to tell the story like it isn't even her story to tell. She must disconnect herself, otherwise she will break down and sob right here in his living room.
"And then you were there, Tommy…" She whispers at last. "You were there and alive and everything I had ever done came crashing around my ears. You knew… I could see it in your eyes that you knew what I'd done in your absence. I had thought… thought that maybe you would understand. After all, it was war. I had held out hope for two years that you were actually alive. I was so tired, Tommy. So hungry and cold and alone and tired. But you didn't understand… you were disgusted with me. You are disgusted with me." She feels a lone tear streak down her face and she quickly wipes it away with a trembling hand.
"Didn't you think it odd that I wasn't in Birmingham when you got back, Tommy? Didn't you think I might've wanted to know that you were okay, even if you hated me for what I'd done? Didn't Ada? Didn't Polly? I loved you with all of my heart, all of my body and all of my soul… and you didn't even write me a letter. Not even an angry one," she laughed a little, her eyes filling with even more water. Christ, if the men of London could see her now, she thinks.
He clears his throat, his cigarette long forgotten on the ashtray upon the coffee table. "And what if I 'ad? Hm? Would it have been any different?"
"Of course it would have!" She declared fiercely. "I would have rushed back to Birmingham two years ago and by force or coercion, I would have made you forgive me and love me again."
"I wouldn't have let you stay in my city."
"I wouldn't have given you a choice."
They are quiet.
"I came back," he starts, his voice almost a whisper it is so quiet, "from Hell, Daisy, to hear that you were in London fuckin' other men for money. That you'd left early on in the war… and you'd not bothered to stick around and wait for me. Pol said you couldn't handle the uncertainty. That you'd left with another man."
She swallows thickly. "And you believed her?"
"I told you I heard stories. Hearin' that the girl you spent the last four years plannin' on marryin' is fuckin' half of London isn't… nice."
She closes her eyes in pain. Marrying? He wanted to marry her? She'd have said yes in a heartbeat. They both know it.
There is a long pause. "What would you have done in my position?" She has to know. Would he have stayed in the place that was haunted with memories? With the ghosts of their past?
He lets out a long breath and says, "I don't know, Daisy."
Silence again, until she whispers, "How long would you have waited for me after hearing I was dead before you found someone else to ease your discomfort?"
"Is that what it was?"
"No. I told you… I was desperate. I needed money, and yes, I admit, I needed someone to care, even if just for five minutes."
"I'd have waited."
"For how long?" She pushes, wanting some form of justification for her actions.
"I'd have waited," he replied simply, not answering her question at all.
"Emotionally, maybe. But we both know you'd have sought out the likes of Lizzie Poole soon enough." She says it softly, trying to ease the pain her words cause her. They both know he'd have taken up a lover, maybe not one he was emotionally connected with, but someone to care for his needs.
"Maybe."
"So it would have been okay for you to fuck Lizzie Poole but I am shunned and disgraced for taking lovers as well?"
"You didn't take up a lover, Daisy, you became Lizzie Poole! Worse than her! At least she still 'as 'er integrity!" He is shouting almost now, but she is used to his anger… he has never frightened her and he likely never will.
She stands up out of anger and snaps, "I was lonely and starving, Tommy!"
"I was lonely too! I didn't fuck the whores that were offered in France!"
"Well good for you!"
"You waited two years! I waited four and you still want me to feel sorry for you!"
"Why do you hate me for being like Lizzie, who I'm sure eventually got her turn since you got back?"
"Because you're Daisy!" He yells this, reaching down to bang his fists against the table in front of them. He exhales sharply as he stands up, towering over her with a face like thunder. His voice is quieter and more controlled when he expands, "You were my Daisy. The only innocent thing in our dirty city. The only thing I'd ever loved. And you ruined it."
"I did what I had to do, Tommy. Don't you dare judge me for that."
"You lost everything good about you the second you decided to sleep with Alfie's friend." He sneers the words at her, his eyes blazing. At least he is not indifferent anymore, she thinks to herself sadly.
"I lost everything good about me the second Polly told me you were dead."
That stumps him. He stares hard at her, not quite sure he heard her correctly. "I was the worst thing about you Daisy, we both always knew that."
She swallows again, and involuntarily mutters, "Not to me."
As he walks over to the window, she hears him sigh, "No. Not to you."
She is slowly asking, "So what now?" when they both hear a knock on the door. Neither of them move to answer it; they both just look at each other, both trying to reconcile the people they once knew to the people in this room.
The door sounds again and Tommy shakes his head. "It doesn't matter now, Dais. You're not my Daisy anymore. You're Fleur now."
She walks quickly over to him. She looks him dead in the eye before saying fiercely, meaning every word, "Of course it matters, Tommy."
Again, the door sounds, this time more insistently.
She gathers her handbag and turns to face him again. "I'll see you soon. This isn't over."
She thinks he'll say something cruel again, just to hurt her some more, but instead he surprises her with a nod. At least neither of them are pretending any more.
She says goodbye with her eyes, not able to say anything else - she's said all she has to say for now - before walking down the stairs, him trailing behind her to walk her out and greet his guest.
The air is cold when the door opens and it takes her breath away. So does the pretty blonde girl standing on the other side of it.
Both girls are surprised to see the other.
They both hear Tommy reluctantly mutter, "Grace," in greeting but they don't look at him. They simply examine each other, as though on some level, they both recognise the same thing: this is the competition. This is the other one Tommy has loved.
Daisy's heart, gut and soul, clench painfully when she sees the look between Grace and Tommy. He has loved her too, she sees. She hadn't expected this.
Why? He is loveable and kind and smart and handsome and strong and you lost any claim you had on him when you fucked a man for money.
She knows this. She knows this all too well, hence why she is at this house trying to make it up to him, trying to understand what happened to them. He is the only person she has ever loved and she will be damned if she lets that go without a fight.
She also knows that this girl, this innocent looking girl with the spark of strength in her stance and her eyes, is better suited for someone like Tommy. She, too, is smart and a fighter. Daisy can tell; it is her job to read people. She can tell that this woman has loved Tommy too, loved the new Tommy. She wonders how that love compares to the love they had when they were younger. The young, innocent love they had shared… did it hold a candle to adult passion?
She thinks she is going to be sick.
Instead, she does what she does best. She plasters on a fake smile, hoping like hell Grace doesn't know it is fake (Tommy will, he knows every nuance about her), and tremulously says, "I'm just leaving. It's nice to meet you, Grace."
And she walks off down the darkened street, ignoring Tommy calling her name and ignoring the bitter chill of the wind. She walks confidently all the way down the street, her heels clapping against the floor rhythmically. She turns the corner, braces herself against the wall of the building and throws up all over the mud splattered concrete.
Thank you for your lovely comments! Updates may be coming a little more sporadically as of now due to work commitments and studying (damn that postgrad work).
Hope you enjoyed the chapter!