Chapter 120

He walked around the desk to stand opposite her, snapped the briefcase open, took out the deed and handed it to her wordlessly, staying silent whilst she scanned it and looked up to him, as if waiting for him to explain it.

"What is this, Thomas?" she asked through gritted teeth and a tense jaw when he didn't.

"You've seen the deed to a house before, Rosalie. You have one just the same in your possession already."

"Yes and I see this one is just the same - with my bloody name on it - but I recall going and handing over bank notes to obtain the last one. I don't recall anything to do with getting this," she snapped, brandishing it at him.

"No, I did it. For you. I bought it and put it in your name," he growled.

"And how bloody dare you?" she demanded, drawing herself up, her eyes blazing as she continued, advancing around the desk towards him, "Going and putting things in my name without even consulting me, Thomas? Of all the pig headed things I've seen you do, this is one of the worst! The fucking nerve! The fucking audacity of you!" She put her hands on his chest and pushed as she shouted at him and, not expecting it, he took a step backwards - but she closed the distance instantly, speaking right up to his face, "Putting my fucking name on legal documents without even a word in my direction. How dare you Thomas? How fucking dare you?"

He caught her wrists as she raised them again, her hands balled in a way that suggested she had been going to beat them on his chest rather than push him this time, and used his weight to manoeuvre her back, hissing at her, "I was under the - mistaken, obviously - impression it might make you happy. Heaven forbid I thought I might be helping you, actually." He released his hold on her, throwing her a little so that it was her turn to stumble back, "Helping your bloody cause!"

"Helping me?" she snarled, straightening up and rolling her shoulders, readying immediately for return charge, "How does owning the Claytons' house help me, Thomas?"

"Because you were going to offer her your old house and this -"

"Yes!" she cut across him, waving her hand agitatedly, the paper swooping through the air, "I was going to offer her the choice. This - this isn't a choice! This isn't an option! This is you steamrollering in and taking people's autonomy away from them! If my bloody cause - as you call it - is about furthering the emancipation of women, about giving them control and freedom, how in holy hell does buying their homes from under them help that? How does buying peoples homes and putting them in my name without consulting me, help that?"

"Because - because then you can let her have it at a reduced rate!" Tommy spluttered, "Like you were planning to - you can charge less than her current - or old - landlord! Than the previous owner!"

He could feel his own face heating, probably going as red as hers was. It was new to him, anger and - and indignance like this.

Usually he could keep his temper, usually he could control it and then let it go when he needed it to - either to give the kids a good bloody scare when it was necessary or to let his fists fly like he had done when he'd gone for the Lee's on the way to the fayre. Like he planned to do with Kimber and his men when the time was right, once he had secured the Lee's as kin.

But now, under her fiery gaze, his face was heating for other reasons. He knew his own reasoning, his own thought process and his own intention - and he was angry at the way she was - was twisting it, to make it seem like it was something it hadn't been. And for all she was infuriating him in that moment, he hated to think that she might think it had been the way she was saying it had been. He hated that she wouldn't know him better than that.

"And the thing is Rosie - it's better this way," he went on, seizing the fact she was still glaring at him and staying quiet (though she was radiating stony silence more loudly than anyone should have been able to,) seizing the chance to explain, to make her see it his way, "This way she doesn't have to move - doesn't have to uproot her life and move house from the home she's always known."

"Did you consider if she wanted to, Thomas? What if she wanted a fresh start? What if she wanted a house with no memories attached to it to start over in? My way gave her the chance of that if she wanted it - or it gave her the chance to keep things as they are. Your way takes her choice out of it!"

"But what if she'd wanted to stay put and felt she had to move when you gave her that chance because of the finances? This way the boy doesn't have to start anew either, he can stay where he's familiar as well."

"Oh the boy," Rosie snorted derisively, rolling her eyes, "You had his best interest at heart too did you, when you pushed your way in and pissed all over this like a dog marking his territory?"

"No, as a matter of fact you ungrateful little harpy, I had yours!" he snapped, " What exactly was your plan if your mother had returned, eh, Rosie? If Molly got chucked out of her current lodgings and came back and found her house occupied?"

Her mouth dropped open and he took a fleeting moment of pleasure in the look on her face.

She didn't seem to have words though, so he let the quiet hang, let the idea he'd just raised sink in before nodding in grim satisfaction and continuing, "I figured that might have caused a bit of resentment in her, resentment that might have been difficult to contain. If she turns up now and the house is empty, she has a place to live and I can scare her into keeping her mouth shut if need be - but you imagine she turns up and finds her house occupied - she's nowhere to go, nowhere to live. So even if she gets herself put in jail for neglect, it puts a roof over her head - she's nothing much to lose by going to the police and saying you and Lily are here with no legal guardian. And they won't take you, but they'd come for her - and as you've already said, you need to be eighteen before you can adopt her. So the interests I had were keeping Molly contained if she does make any unexpected return, making sure she doesn't feel inspired to run off and report anything before we can get to her… The interests I had at heart were yours' and Lily's - in protecting both of you. Something your plan hadn't taken into account, Rosie."

There were tears - probably both of the angry and of the upset kind - falling down her face and she was red enough that her hair and face blended into one another.

He sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose and went into his desk drawer, fishing out a handkerchief that he'd put there in case Lily might find need of it and throwing it to her, grunting, "Here."

She snatched it and swiped at her face, then buried it into it for a second, hiding herself entirely from him.

"I've promised you before now that I won't ever let Lily be taken from us - and I won't. Not even if it means getting on a boat and putting an ocean between them and us," he told the top of her unruly head, "But it makes things easier if we contain them before they need to become that extreme."

She looked slowly up at him, blotchy and dewy rather than dry, despite the fact she'd shoved her face into the hanky.

"I didn't mean to upset you."

"Yes you did," she said, trying to make her voice blank - but her throat was too thick to carry it off, "You and I both know fine well you meant to upset me so you could make your point about how you were right and I was wrong."

That unfamiliar heat crossed his face again, burning right up into his ears and he found himself eyeing the floor, too ashamed of what she had said - ashamed of knowing she was right - to look at her.

Yes, it was true. He had said it in anger, had lashed out with it. But in that anger, he had meant to upset her with the way he'd put it. Upset her into accepting what he had done, being grateful for it - like he'd expected her to be. None of it was going how he'd expected it to, and he'd said what he had the way he had in a wild attempt to get it nearer to the track he'd wanted it to be on. He'd told her not five minutes prior that her twisting his words was beneath her. Well… what he'd just pulled was beneath him. And he knew she hadn't really deserved it, for all she was being impossible.

He reached for his cigarette case, took one out and lit it, inhaling and letting it dangle at the side of his mouth as he held the case out to her. She glared at him and gave a single shake of her head - not accepting his peace offering.

They were both silent for a minute or so as he inhaled and exhaled, taking his cigarette out of his mouth and concentrating his eyes on the burning tip of it, feeling the burning of her own eyes on him.

Eventually, he jerked up his head to look her in the eye and say, "I shouldn't have said that the way I did. It was a concern but…" he fell off, waving his cigarette around, looking for the words.

"You shouldn't have attacked me with it," she supplied, still glaring.

He scoffed, "Alright. I shouldn't have attacked you, if that's the word you want to use."

It seemed overly dramatic to him but…

"It is," she said, jerking her chin up.

"An animal attacks when it's threatened," he said, trying not to let an edge creep into his voice, "I feel backed into a corner here Rosie. This entire conversation - I don't know what you want from me, I don't know what the right or wrong thing to say to you here is. And I don't reckon you do either but you're being fucking nippy with me no matter what comes out of my mouth. You're being fucking impossible, to be honest."

"It feels fucking impossible, making a decision about what to do," Rosie said - and his attempt at keeping his voice from getting too rattled must have worked because her own tone mirrored his, shifting down in gear, "As far as the university goes - what I want is you to understand that I feel backed into a corner here and I don't feel I have a right choice. I don't appreciate you making out like it's as easy as saying fuck 'em when I talk about the group, because what that group wants - what it's aiming for, what it's working towards - that's what I want. Albeit it's a small, specialised slice of the overall picture that I want to have painted for women in general, it's still part of it and it's not so easy for me to think about walking away from that. And it feels selfish to do so. To put my own individual wants and desires above that. And whether you think that's ridiculous or not, it's how it feels."

She paused, glaring at him still, even if her tone was softening - though she sounded more tired than anything else really, not so much like her fire had been put out but rather that she had been half consumed by it and was needing to recover from herself.

He gave a curt nod, but didn't respond verbally. He still didn't know exactly what to say - anything that came out his mouth seemed only to irritate her, if the start of the conversation was anything to go by, and the thing he had done, buying the house for her, in what had been meant as a good deed, had been taken as him steamrollering in.

She sighed, "Tommy…"

At least the use of Tommy was replacing the earlier Thomases she'd been spitting at him. Hopefully that was a good sign.

"Tommy, I can't - you've - you've never made me feel that wanting what I want - women's equality - you've never made me feel stupid for wanting it," she said, looking at the floor rather than at him as she spoke, "You might be making me feel stupid for feeling torn about going to university or not, but I'm well aware a lot of men think overall that women's emancipation is ridiculous at best and dangerous at worst, rather than seeing it as fair. And you - you've pointed out to me, in the past, that I've sometimes been so focussed on wanting to be able to have opportunities that men do, be able to do the things men do that perhaps I've undervalued things that have always been women's work."

"You do-" he began, but she held up a hand and said, her voice pitching higher than normal, "Tommy - just listen to me, please. Let me speak."

He nodded. Alright. He'd let her speak - as if she'd been doing anything else!

She returned the gesture, then paused and took a deep breath before she went on, her eyes back on the floor, her fingers bending and flexing a little, almost subconsciously seeming, the deed crinkling as they did so, "You've always - you've always made me feel you value what I can do - what I do do, around here. Running the house and cooking and looking out for the kids. But you got the appointment with Arterton in the first place, you didn't try and convince me not to pursue that when you knew it was what I wanted and you helped me get in where I couldn't myself… You've never - or you had never - made me feel like you didn't think I could cope with things - that you didn't think I was smart enough to be included. Even though it's not an easy decision to be making, Tommy, I reckon I could make my peace with working until I was eighteen, then giving it up to adopt Lily and get married - as long as it was to someone who I thought thought of me as equal. I wouldn't even consider giving it up for a man who didn't make me feel that he took me seriously, that he respected me, respected what I want in life - not just for myself but politically, on a wider scale. And telling the group would be horrible and I'd feel horrible thinking I was letting them down, because I know in my bones Tommy - they'll kick me out. If I don't do this for them, I won't be allowed to stay."

Anger twitched in him at that, his left hand flexed instinctively at his side, the fingers on his right pinched his cigarette more tightly, flattening it.

But he stayed quiet as she finally lifted her eyes to look into his as she said, "But this Tommy," she lifted the paper again, "What am I supposed to make of this? The way you've taken my idea off of me and, without even consulting me, gone off and done as you pleased with it. You've put my name on it, and you've bought Mrs Clayton's house, you've - you've just exercised single handed control over both her and I because you can, because you've got the power to do that and because you're used to doing that, without even pausing to think about whether either of us would want that. It's not - it's not respecting me, to put things in my name - legally - without even asking me if it's something I want. And it's not respecting my wider want of women's equality to abuse your financial power by buying people's homes, forcing them into a position where suddenly you're their landlord whether they like it or not... She knows what we did Tommy. She won't say anything and I don't think she grieves him much. But she knows what we did. Did it even occur to you that she might not want to rent from us knowing that the reason she pays that rent now is because of us - because her husband isn't here, because of us? Did it ever cross your mind to think about any of this from anyone's point of view but your own?"

At least it was us she was referring to, not him. They were in it together, in her mind.

"You done?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

She huffed, put the deed - scrunched with the way she'd been gripping it - down on the desk and folded her arms, not pleased with his question, but nodded - the movement sharp and ungracious.

"Good," he nodded, plucking what was left of his cigarette from his mouth, and squashing it out in an ashtray before straightening up and looking at her, "Now I've listened to you without interrupting you - and you'll do me the same courtesy, we clear?"

Her mouth moved and he watched her stick out her jaw, looking thoroughly displeased with him - but she didn't say anything, just gave another nod.

"Good," he said again, "Alright - well - for the record - I didn't do that," he indicated the deed with his eyes before snapping them back to her, "As a way of exercising control, as you've put it."

She opened her mouth and he held his hand up, just as she'd done to him, widening his eyes, warning her to keep quiet, as she'd just agreed to.

"I see what you're saying, I see how it looks to you now that you've said it like that - and I'll try and think on it before I do anything like that again, in case it could be seen like that," he went on, dropping his hand, "If I ever do anything like that again - God knows this might be the last time I ever bother trying given how this has turned out. But I didn't do that thinking about it the way you've laid it out. I do bloody well respect you - and your cause."

He cleared his throat and put his hands behind his back, puffing out his chest in some effort to seem more sure of himself as he told her, "You forget, I think, that I was more or less brought up by my mother. My Uncle Charlie was on hand - and my Grandad, when I was younger. But we never had a man living in the house with us properly, when my dad wasn't there. And when he was here he was a useless piece of shit. I look back now and I understand even more about what my mother went through - what she went through unnecessarily - what he put her through. Made her go through alone by being that useless piece of shit."

He clasped his hands even more tightly, knowing if he freed them he'd wave them about as he reminisced, slamming them down on the desk and probably heating a situation he was trying to diffuse, "And yes, it's given me ideas about what a man should do for his family - seeing what he didn't. Given me ideas about how to step up and provide and be someone you and Ada and Finn and Lily can rely on. But it's not because I don't think you're capable of getting through without me. I watched my mother do what she did, raising the three of us - and Ada for a bit as well. And I've watched Polly go through losing her husband and her kids and seen how she's come out the other side of all of that. I know she ran this business whilst me and Arthur and John were away - kept it going alright without us. And I see you, and all your intelligence, and all the ways you handle yourself up close now - but I saw it before too, in the shop - how you dealt with customers. I've seen you order a man's death - and seen you give that boy from your school a broken nose out behind this very building."

He walked towards her and unclasped his hands so he could grip the tops of her arms, shaking her a little as he told her, "So don't you forget, when you're hauling me over coals for making a mistake like this clearly has been, that you're not talking to a man like Arterton, who probably went to a boy's only school, who only ever interacted with the type of women who were brought up to do - I don't fucking know, needlework or some shit like that. Brought up to become society wives who go to lunches and buy hats and not give their husbands fucking mouthfuls over their actions. Sort of women who probably don't get involved with their husbands' actions and whose own actions the husbands in turn don't get involved in. That's not fucking me. I don't come from the sort of background where after meals the men head off into the smoking room and the women go off and play the piano. I've seen women up close, I know what women are capable of, I know they can be as tough as bloody trench boots when they need to be. And I know first hand that women can step up and replace men when they have to, in a way that men would never be able to pull off if the situations were reversed - look at John, for fuck's sake, look at the state of those kids - and they're vastly improved since you came along and Pol's not as spread thin as she was trying to deal with them all and Ada and Finn whilst we built up the bloody business, knowing fine well that whilst we'd been away she'd been the one to keep it going, along with the houses and the kids."

"Tommy, I-"

"Keep fucking quiet," he growled, still gripping her, "I told you to let me talk. It doesn't exactly come natural to me to spill my guts out, as you well know."

She swallowed and nodded, shutting her mouth.

"So I'm not against your women's emancipation - not at all. Women should get their fucking say in how things go, it affects them. I don't know what my mum would have wanted to change if she could have, I was still too young and stupid and unconcerned with that type of thought when she was - was still with us enough that she might have been able to answer it sensibly. But I know now there must have been things she'd have changed if it had been in her power to do so. And I think maybe being stuck, not being able to change them - I think maybe, towards the end, it didn't fucking help anything. You don't - you don't do what she did if you don't feel trapped and stuck."

"Tommy, I - I don't know that the vote would have helped your mother much," Rosie said softly, her eyes apologising for the fact she was going against him and talking again, but her arms unfolded, and he released his hold on her to let them. She raised one hand to his chest and the other to his face and he took some comfort from her touch - enough that he wasn't going to scold her into silence -, "From - from what I've gathered… From what's been said about her - I think she'd need more help than just what political equality might mean."

He nodded, pressing his face into her hand instinctively, "I know. I'm not saying it would have changed everything. But things might not have gotten as bad as they did - might not have gone the way they did - if some things had been different. If some things had been fairer. Easier. For her. Even if she'd just felt she had some kind of say, some kind of control… I don't know. Maybe it wouldn't have made any difference. But it might have - so I'll never be the man who wants to keep women from having their voices heard."

He lifted a hand to cup over hers where it still rested on his face and threaded his fingers through it, doing the same with the other, bringing their hands together, squeezing hers, shaking them a little, needing her to understand as he told her, "And last night, Rosie, when you were talking about how your options - either at the council, or through offering out your house at a reduced rent to women who might need it - you were talking about how those options are only solutions to the problems created by men like Paul Clayton. By men who ruin women's lives. You were saying undoing the damage done by him will take more than just getting rid of him. I was thinking about him. And about my father. I was thinking how much I don't want to be those men. How much I don't want to bring up Finn or any other boys that come along to be those men. I was thinking about how I can't do much more to fix the problems created by men like Clayton and my father than by being as unlike them as I can be and by doing all that's in my power to make sure the boys in this family turn out better. And I was bargaining with the bloody universe that if it would give me the strength to be the best man I can be - the best head of this family that I can be - that I would use that strength to try and make this bloody world better, to help you - to make it more like how you want it to be. And that was what I was trying to do when I bought that bloody house. I was trying to give you the fucking resource to do what it was you wanted to do - offer Mrs Clayton a more affordable way to live - without risking Molly wanting her old house back and doing something stupid when she finds it occupied. It wasn't about me trying to exercise my fucking power or control - if it had been I'd have put my name on that deed. I see what you're saying and no, I didn't consider it from your point of view or Mrs Clayton's, to be honest. Other than to think you'd be pleased. Because I wanted you to be pleased. It was for you. It was me thinking I was doing some fucking good by trying to make things closer to how you want them to be."

He was breathing quite heavily by the time he finished and for a few moments his breath was the only sound in the room before she said, in a very small voice, "Oh."

"Yes, oh," he replied, still too tense to move his face or adjust his voice yet - the response coming out a throaty growl.

"Tommy," she said, her voice still quiet. He watched her throat move as she swallowed, her eyes leaving his to look at the floor then glance up, travelling round the room rather than looking at him as she went on, "Tommy, I - Shit!"

He flinched as her voice went up several decibels on her panicked exclaim and she wrenched her hands from his, panic on her face as she scrambled to the door.

"What? What is it?" he demanded, reaching for his gun as he followed her - though she had reached the green doors and was dashing through them by the time he had come out into the main shop.

"The bloody biscuits!" she shrieked, "They'll be burnt to a fucking crisp!"

He stared incredulously at the doors she had just disappeared through, then felt the corners of his mouth lift in amusement as he shook his head, his heartbeat slowing back down from where she had just caused it to launch to. The bloody woman would be the death of him.

He tucked his gun back into its holder and began following her up to the kitchen, hearing the back door opening and was just about to ask her if the smoke was billowing that badly when he heard Polly's voice, sounding a little wary, ask, "Where's Thomas?"

His aunt appeared in the green doorway then stood back, seeing he was approaching, waited til he was through then shut them behind him, clearly not wanting to be overheard.

Rosie had the biscuits on a cooling rack on the counter and was standing by them, so he took a lean against the sideboard, the three of them a triangle in the small space.

"Well?" he asked Pol, "Did you see him?"

"You armed?" she returned, ignoring his question.

Though it was enough for him to gather that, evidently, whatever it was she had to say - she didn't think he was going to like it. He glanced at Rosie who was looking concerned, her eyes wide and focussed on Pol.

"Yes."

"Can I ask you to put your weapon somewhere you can't pick it up and do something rash?"

"Have you brought Freddie with you?"

She glared at him.

"If Freddie isn't here for me to shoot at, I'm not going to do anything rash, am I?"

"Sit down at least."

"Pol - get on with it," he ordered, not moving from his stance.

"Alright," she sighed, giving an irritated huff, "Well - the long and the short of it, he still isn't leaving."

"You fucking what?" Tommy snapped, standing up straight, taking his weight off the sideboard.

"That's why I told you to sit down," she snapped back.

"But I thought he'd have to?" Rosie said, "That was what we were telling him, wasn't it? Stanley Chapman-"

"Doesn't know Freddie's address," Pol finished the sentence for her, "That's how it works - none of them know each other's addresses. So he won't be able to give Freddie up."

Rosie bit her lip, "So all we've done-"

"Is sign the death warrant of a good man, according to Freddie."

"I was going to say is irritate him," Rosie replied, "Told him we'd made that plan specifically to force him to do what we wanted. And it's not worked. He still won't leave," she twisted her hands a little, then asked, "Did you have to tell him it was Ada's idea?"

"He asked who told us about the money in the first place."

"Fuck," Rosie cursed under her breath and ran a hand agitatedly through her hair, her eyes going to him.

"We've still given Campbell a sweetener by handing him Chapman," Tommy reminded them, exhaling and relaxing down against the sideboard again, wishing he felt quite as nonchalant as his pose might convey, "Which seems to be enough of a sweetener that he's left it alone about the kids and those files."

Rosie nodded, "I suppose that's true. It's been worth something - but I hope to God it's not Ada who pays the price for it. I'll hunt Freddie Thorne down and kill him myself if she does - and I won't be kind enough to make it a nice clean gun shot if it comes to it either."

She said it in that way that sent something up his spine, in that way that made anyone listening know she wasn't joking.

Polly looked impressed, "I told him more or less the same thing myself. He said if we wanted him out of Birmingham it would need to be in a wooden box."

"Tell him it can be arranged," Rosie snorted.

Polly gave a half smile, one side of her mouth quirking up for a second, before saying, "Told him if he lays a hand on Ada I'll put him in the wooden box myself."

And she'd had the cheek to ask him if he was armed. Fucking women. And Rosie had the audacity to imply he didn't have the brains to respect them, to know what they were capable of. He had no doubt if it came to it that Polly or Rosie would have an easier time of it shooting Freddie than he would himself. As far as Freddie was concerned, he reckoned he was the softest one in the room. He'd do it of course, if he had to - for his sister.

He wondered if Ada even realised how much the people she had left behind to go after Freddie truly cared for her, if she had a clue the lengths they would go to for her. If it would mean anything to her if she did.

Rosie sighed, "Well, we got the kids off his radar to some degree thank God. But Freddie's insisting on staying here, keeping Ada in that rat hole he's got her in. So what's our next move?"

There was a venom in her tone, even though it was quieter and calmer than it had been when she'd been shouting at him, he could sense the anger pulsing through her words.

"Right now Campbell isn't asking for Freddie's address - I spoke to Moss last night," Tommy told them, "Told him if that changes he's to come to me immediately."

"And you trust he will?"

"He's none too pleased with Campbell right now, so yes, I do," Tommy replied, lighting a new cigarette. He exhaled a stream of smoke, before asking, "So, Pol - now you've seen him, any chance you're going to explain exactly how you knew where he'd be today? You mentioned divine fucking providence?"

"It's his mother's birthday today."

"Irene Thorne's dead - has been for a while now."

"I'm well aware, Thomas," Polly retorted acidically, "It was me who arranged things for Freddie when she died if you remember - you boys were all away at war when she went. Probably that that killed her."

Tommy blinked slowly - he hadn't remembered that. In fact, he wasn't sure he'd known it in the first place, that Freddie had asked Polly to deal with it for him.

"He always goes to her grave on her birthday. Asked me to do it when he got leave for the funeral, said he knew he wouldn't get it again before her birthday came round. Wrote me to remind me when it was coming up, told me what flowers to get. Did the same every year until he came back. So I knew he'd be there today."

Tommy gave a curt nod, not quite trusting himself to speak. Yeah, he'd pull the trigger on Freddie if he had to - but he wouldn't find it easy. Irene Thorne had fed him, hugged him, scolded him and loved him right alongside Freddie, same as his mum had done in return. Freddie had been as good as family, and if he hadn't become as bloody entangled with his communist cause as he had done, it might have made sense for Freddie to become a Shelby brother in legal terms. Hell, when his mother had passed, it was Polly who had made the funeral arrangements for him as it turned out. And even though Tommy knew Freddie was entangled with his bloody cause, and that that couldn't be overlooked, the fact Freddie could still be counted upon to turn up at his mum's grave on her birthday every year - that was the Freddie Tommy had known.

He was almost glad of the chaos that ensued as the green door swung open and Katie appeared in it, looked at the three of them before focussing on Rosie and asking, in an inordinately innocent tone, "Well - are the bloody biscuits burnt to a fucking crisp?"

"What did you just say Catherine Martha Shelby?" Polly screeched, advancing on her.

"That's what she said!" Katie protested, pointing at Rosie, who had gone very pink and lifted her hand to her mouth, probably in an effort to cover her laughter.

There was mirth in Katie's own eyes even as she made a dive around the table, deciding to take her chances and skirt by him, Polly hot on her tail. His niece made a beeline for Rosie, pushing herself in behind her, putting the redhead between her and her aunt, poking her head out from behind Rosie's hip to keep half an eye on the advancing Pol, half an eye on the back door, planning her escape.

Tommy felt a tug at his trouser leg and looked down to see Lily grasping at him and looking with worried eyes. He smiled and ruffled her hair.

"What was the shouting about, Tommy?" Lily asked.

"It's about the fact Katie Shelby is asking for a good spanking and I'm going to be only too happy to give her one," Polly said, making a swipe.

"Now, Polly," Rosie said, pushing a madly giggling Katie further behind her, "She's quite right - I said it first, she's only repeating."

"And she knows fine well not to repeat!"

"No, before that - you and Rosie were shouting, we heard you," Lily insisted.

There was an awkward pause as he and Rosie exchanged looks before Rosie said, a little too brightly to be entirely convincing, "We were playing a game, Lily. I'm sorry if it sounded like we were shouting - we just got very involved in it. That was why I lost track of time and got a fright when I thought the biscuits might be burnt, wasn't it, Tommy?"

He nodded, stuck his cigarette in his mouth and bent to pick Lily up onto his hip, "Just a game we were playing bab. Your sister has a big meeting at work next week so we were practising for it because she'll need to be shouting at people who aren't doing their jobs right, eh? Playing pretend, eh?"

"Oh," Lily said, sounding exactly like Rosie had done earlier when he'd finally got to explain things to her. She let out a relieved sounding sigh and laid her head on his shoulder, relaxing against him, "That's ok."

Rosie looked wounded, then, obviously deciding to change the focus, turned to Katie and crouched in front of her, "But the fact I got a fright is why I was using the language I was. You came down here and knew fine well you shouldn't be repeating it. But as it turns out, the biscuits aren't burnt to a crisp, they're salvageable, so lets you and me go out and wash up so we can get on with mixing the icing, hmm?"

She straightened up, put her hands on Katie's shoulders and started moving her towards the back door, stopping only to call, "You too Lily, come on - and bring the soap."

Tommy carried Lily over the basin, put the soap in her hand and placed her gently down so she could follow outside to where Rosie and Katie were firing up the pump.

Polly snorted and Tommy turned to look at her, his eyebrow raised.

"Game was it?" she asked sardonically, "You two shouting at one another?"

"A mild disagreement," Tommy shrugged, blowing smoke.

"Well, I'll presume it's done with - given she's back to putting her energy into protecting those children from well deserved spankings," Polly snorted, "Reminds me of you and Ada when she was little and you'd get in between me and her whenever she knew fine well she had it coming. And Katie knew fine well what she had coming there."

"And she'd obviously decided the fun she was going to have was worth it," Tommy replied, remembering what Lily had told him about Katie saying a spanking was just the cost of having fun sometimes.

"I'd have made her rethink her decisions."

She might think so, but he reckoned he might have got enough amusement out of doing the same thing when he was Katie's age to take Pol's wrath.

He went to the open door and shouted, "Here - you'd best make Katie wash her mouth out with that soap, if only to appease Aunt Pol."

Rosie pulled a face at him and he smirked, which she returned.

Done with - no. Not entirely. But they were over the worst of it, he imagined.

She shook her head when he tried to bring it up as she prepped the dinner, glancing upstairs to where Katie and Lily had returned after the biscuits had been iced and saying, "Later. Evidently there are bigger ears around here than we've realised before."

Finn and Isaiah stayed in too after the dinner had been eaten - the grey day that had turned to the drizzle of earlier had given way that evening to a full blown deluge and Rosie had decreed that neither Finn nor the cushions were going back out in it when he had tried to.

It meant he and Rosie danced around the conversation most of the evening, and when Finn was finally abed and they had the privacy to have it, she threw him off by saying, "We should go speak to Mrs Clayton, Tommy. Do it now so she hears it from us. And before it gets any later."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Well, she seemed grateful," Rosie said after Mrs Clayton had closed the door behind them.

Tommy nodded. She had seemed grateful.

"Of course, maybe she was just too scared to want to seem anything else," Rosie sighed.

"Do you believe that?"

There was a pause before she admitted, "No."

"Do you wish you could say you believed that?"

"Of course I don't."

Well, that seemed an improvement - earlier he'd have thought she might have been pleased if it had been the case, would have been pleased to prove her point.

They walked on in silence and weren't too far from the door of number six when she slid her hand into his and tugged, "Tommy…"

He stopped and turned, looking at her expectantly.

She cocked her head.

"You want to do this now?"

She nodded.

"Out here? In the rain?"

She gave him a small smile, "It's more private than the house."

Private was right - the rain was coming down hard, and no one was about. The sun went down early in November and with the majority of the curtains drawn for the night, meaning even the lights of front rooms and bedrooms weren't reaching them, it could have been three o'clock in the morning rather than half past nine.

"Alright," he nodded, "Here it is then."

He waited for her to speak - she had been the one speaking when she'd remembered about her bloody biscuits and thrown them off earlier. It seemed to him it was up to her to restart it where she'd left off.

"Mrs Clayton said thank you, Tommy."

He nodded.

"I realised I hadn't."

"Hadn't what?"

"Thanked you."

He was a little surprised but he shrugged, "You haven't thanked me, I hadn't thought about how what I had done might seem to you. We're even I suppose."

"You didn't think about it Tommy, no," she agreed, lifting their hands and rearranging their hold slightly, inserting her fingers through the gaps in his rather than the grasp she'd taken earlier, then looking up to him, "But your heart was in the right place. And I didn't thank you for it. But I am grateful that you thought to do it. For the reasons you thought to do it. For the gesture it was. So thank you."

"You're welcome," he replied a little gruffly, but he squeezed his fingers against hers.

"You understand though, Tommy," she went on, her eyes searching his face, "My instinct was one thing - but your version was another. And I'm thanking you because you've explained your version, your reasoning. I'm thanking you because I've made the effort to see it from your point of view."

He nodded, frowning.

"You explained your point of view. I've told you, Tommy, how difficult I'm finding this decision. I know you said I was being impossible earlier - and I was, I suppose. I'll admit that. I was being impossible because it all feels impossible, because I'm so conflicted and I don't see any definite or easy answers of what to do or how to do it. And I'll even apologise for being that way with you. I know I perhaps - perhaps didn't conduct myself very well earlier - I suppose it was my own frustrations coming out, but I'm sorry you bore the brunt of them... But I wanted you to listen to me, acknowledge how difficult it is for me - and you just saying fuck 'em when I explain about the group and what they want… It doesn't help, Tommy. It just makes me feel like you're - like you're belittling my feelings and my concerns and my thoughts. And it is important to me Tommy - the advancement of women. Feeling like I've contributed to it in some way. And when you make out like it's such an easy thing to decide to toss the group aside - it doesn't make me feel you're listening to me, like I am you. It doesn't make me feel like you're making the effort to see things from my point of view."

He simply nodded again - staying quiet for a moment, his eyes scanning her upturned face - recognising in it the signs that she wanted peace between them, her eyes telling him she wanted reconciliation - but the fire in them not able to do that without confronting him about the way he'd made her feel.

It would be easier, he supposed, if he simply apologised. And if that was what she wanted, he'd swallow his pride and do that.

But still…

He considered for a moment if he should say what he wanted to, then clicked his tongue and decided to ask permission instead of making his decision, "Can I tell you something - something about how this situation reads to me? Something that might not make you particularly happy, but which might - which might explain to you why I do find saying fuck 'em easy enough?"

If she said no, he'd apologise. And then they'd move on. But if she said yes…

She frowned, held eye contact with him for a moment, then, her voice holding a little trepidation, "Alright."

So be it, then.

"I went to the war because I thought it was the right thing to do. That was my cause I suppose. I won medals, for the part I played. And maybe on paper that sounds like they recognised what I did and were grateful. But the fact is Rosie, they ticked a box by giving me the medals. They gave me some metal on a ribbon and that was their acknowledgement of the risk I made of myself for that cause. They're at the bottom of The Cut, those medals - or at least, they were. Probably eroded away by now."

He imagined the ribbon half rotted, poking up from between rocks on the waterbed.

"Y'see Rosie, those medals cost them nothing to give - but I had to risk my life to get them. And I risked it every day, over and over. Me and every other man out there. And yeah, we volunteered to do it. Because it seemed the right thing. But they were happy to let us volunteer. Happy to use us as cannon fodder, blowing their whistles and sending us over the top. Me and my tunnelling division going down… Have I told you before about me and Freddie and Danny being in those tunnels one day when this Prussian boy came through from one of their tunnels?"

She shook her head, her eyebrows meeting.

"It was us or them in a tunnel you couldn't even stand straight in. Fighting for our lives, backs sore and bent from being down there, no daylight. Even when no one was coming through, there were chances of the tunnel caving in any time - it did, more than once. Had to dig myself out. Killed those men, whilst we were down there. For a long time I figured I left myself down there too. Or maybe I left myself on that boat, when we were cut off from the retreat, waiting to be picked off and for whatever bloody reason, we were spared and the enemy didn't come. Maybe I left bits of me everywhere - cut myself up into pieces and scattered meself about, some to the fields, some to the tunnels, some on the water, all for my cause… For what I thought was right."

Rosie was frozen as she listened to him, though her grip was tight against his hand.

"I saw men die every day. Saw men's lives get spent for the cause. Saw truckloads of men arrive every other damn day and knew most of them wouldn't live another month. You could sometimes just tell looking at them - so fresh faced and half of them just kids… You could tell looking at some of them that they didn't have enough fight in them, enough meanness like me an' John an' Arthur and the boys from around here had. But not enough of a toff to be a general, to be in the upper ranks, protected from it. Just middle class kids sent off to die for the cause on the orders of the generals and the men in offices. But it's done now. And we won. The war was won. And yet somehow there are men up and down this country taking turns like Danny, or having attacks of the Flanders Blues like Arthur, or lying at the side of the road with missing limbs, begging for change from passers by to keep them alive. And we're all supposed to buy it that lumps of cheap metal on ribbons are adequate thanks for the lives those men lead now."

"Tommy," she breathed his name, the rain almost washing the sound away.

"Your Mrs Pankhurst Rosie - Emmeline Pankhurst. You talked about women in prisons being force fed. Getting arrested. Going on hunger strikes. Risking themselves with their home made bombs too, when they were making them to put in the post boxes and what not. But you admire Sylvia Pankhurst for not considering her job done just because women over thirty got the vote, yes?"

She nodded.

"Seems to me, Mrs Pankhurst is a lot like those generals - handing out orders and whistling to put her women over the top and through tunnels and fields - and then as soon as she gets what she wants, she's done. She was happy to use working class women, and young women, women like you, Rosie, to further her cause when she needed them. And now she's got what suits her and doesn't suit them - she's walked away from it all. In America now, isn't she?"

Rosie nodded, swallowed and said, "She did go to jail herself, alongside the women, Tommy."

"You see what I'm saying though, don't you? How many women who still aren't able to vote did she use to get it on her terms? How many of them were soldiers for her who have been left to beg for change at the side of the road - criminal records and all that might stop them advancing, in exchange for advancing women like her enough that she's satisfied?"

Rosie didn't respond verbally, but she blinked at him - probably not able to commit to condemning a woman she respected, even if her allegiances and admiration lay more with the other...

"Your group - Rosie… You say they'll kick you out if you don't follow their orders. Smacks to me of your Sylvia being chucked out of her original group for not towing the line."

"Sylvia got chucked out because she wanted to help others, not because she wanted to serve her own ends," Rosie reminded him, her voice still soft.

"Still - chucked out for not doing exactly as she was told by those in charge, for whatever reason… Rosie, it's all generals and soldiers. And soldiers aren't individuals. They're not humans with names and families and thoughts. They're machines, who obey orders, as far as the generals are concerned. When not following orders or not conforming to expectation gets you kicked out for insubordination - you're not in a group of equals, you're just part of the company. And they'll send you down those tunnels and they'll say pretty words about you dying with honour if they collapse in on you - but if it comes to that, you've got yourself and, if you're lucky, the people down there with you, to try and dig yourself out with, to help you dig yourself out. As soon as those who give the orders hear about the tunnel collapse, they're just on to finding the replacements to send down in your stead. That's what it all reminds me of, Rosie - this group and how you're feeling about your place in it."

"I'm sorry," she whispered, pressing herself to him, "I'm sorry that it's making you think about that, that it's sending you back there to all that smoke and mud."

"Don't be sorry, my love," he told her, shaking his head, taking his hands from hers so he could place them on her face, "I don't want you to be sorry. I just want you to know that I understand having a cause. And I agree with your cause, like I've already told you. But I don't want to lose you to it. I don't want it to take all your fire and passion and use that for itself, then have it spit you out once it's done with you, like the war did to a lot of good men. I respect your cause, but I respect you more, Rosie. You're far more precious to me than any cause."

"Does that mean you'll be there to help me dig myself out if the tunnel collapses on me?" she whispered.

"Always."

She put her arms around his neck then and tip toed to kiss him forcefully, her mouth pressed to his, her hold on him pressing their bodies together, and he wound his arms around her as he kissed her back.

There was barely an inch between their faces, and no space between their bodies at all, when she tipped her head back to meet his eye.

"We done then? We going back inside where it's dry?" he asked, raising an eyebrow, thinking of all the things they could do where it was dry.

She hummed and smiled, but said, "One last thing, Tommy."

He rolled his eyes, feeling safe enough to do so, "Well we're as soaked through as we would be if we'd jumped in The Cut ourselves at this point so one more thing it is then."

"I was being impossible earlier."

"Mmhmm," he agreed.

"You didn't once threaten me with going over your knee, even when I was shouting at you."

"Did you want me to?" he asked, slightly thrown by her observation.

"No - God - I'd have been ready to kill you if you had done," she said, shaking her head, "It's just - I suppose now I'm a bit calmer, I'm not very proud of the way I was, that's all. I suppose I'm just a little surprise you let me act like that without threatening me…"

"I wouldn't say it was your finest moment - but I could see your frustration," he told her, keeping one hand around her waist, lifting the other to her wet face, stroking it back into rain soaked hair, "And whilst I'll turn you over my knee when I reckon you need it - either because you've earned it or because you're needing that smoke and mud cleared out - I'm not going to redden you for having your political opinions. I mean, act on them in a way that endangers yourself or anyone else in this family and we'll be having a different discussion - and I'll not be spoken to the way you were speaking to me earlier in front of anyone else. Behind closed doors is one thing but there'll be no kicking off like that when there are witnesses, we clear?"

"Yes Tommy," she nodded.

"I'll not have my standing or authority undermined by you being a provocative little brat. And you'll find yourself eating your meals standing up if you do something stupid and rash in the name of your bloody cause. But as far as having your opinions, being involved, even being frustrated or conflicted or torn up about them and lashing out because of it - no. No, when it's something that really matters to you, like your women's liberation does - I'll respect that. Not saying I won't have an itchy right hand, but I'll not act on it. Not when it comes to your politics. Not when it's to do with things that mean as much to you as this does. Alright?"

"Alright."

"So that us - can we go back in now."

"One very, very last thing."

"For fuck's sake, woman!"

She grinned, hugged him tighter and said, "I love you Thomas Shelby. Even when you make me furious. I bloody love you."

He figured he didn't mind being soaked through as he stood there being on the receiving end of another one of those deep, passionate kisses, one of her hands winding up to run through his wet hair.

He was enjoying it so much that between the pounding in his ears from her kissing him and the pounding of the rain, he didn't even hear the approach until a throat being cleared right next to him made Rosie spring back.

"Wouldn't like to see what my wife would make of it if I gave our cleaner that kind of send off at night."

Tommy glared and growled, "What do you want, Moss?"

Thank you for reading!

Just to highlight - I've posted a few one shots recently, one flashback to Shelby childhoods and one flashforward to post WWII. I know the email alerts sometimes don't send/some of you will only get alerts for this story rather than for when I post new things, so thought it was worth mentioning they'd been put up if any of you have missed them and would be interested. (As always, although my extra stories are set in the canon of my take on the Shelby world, they're never required reading to be able to follow this story, they're just extra for those who want them.)