Chapter 95

After walking the trio over to the wash house Tommy had gone back to number six, had called John into his office to try and see what the hell was going on and been palmed off again, so had kicked his wall and then announced he was going to do the rounds.

Ever since they'd burned down the tobacco shop, their customers had been even more polite and accommodating to them when they turned up, pressing the money into his hands with grateful thanks for their work – seeming to realise that being a paying customer of the Peaky Blinders was not a guarantee they had them on side. It was a fine line to balance though, keeping people on edge enough that they didn't get ideas – or loose lips like Evans had done – and making sure they kept their popularity.

He took his time, making the task take near enough the whole day. Rosie had told him conspiratorially that if Lily and Katie did a good job at the wash house that she'd take them for ice cream after and he wasn't expecting them back until nearer dinner time. Not that Rosie being there had been much of a deterrent to his brother and aunt from being snippy with him that morning.

He made sure he was on a lane alone, then kicked the ground, feeling annoyed and childish in it. He did all the thinking so that they didn't have to. Arthur had finally just let him get on with it and stopped fighting him – when would they?

When he'd been out for long enough that he knew they'd soon be closing up for the day, the workers about to fuck off home and give the Shelbys the complete privacy they seemed to need if they were to get John's explanations, he began to make his way back home. He was walking up Garrison Lane when Jeremiah fell unexpectedly into step beside him, giving him a significant look. He had news.

"What do you see?" Tommy asked, keeping his voice as monotone as he could, trying not to let his desperate hope that whatever Jeremiah had to tell him was about Ada.

It was Jeremiah he'd asked to keep an ear out for information about his sister. He trusted the man with his life, and he had never been failed by him yet.

"Your sister and Freddie got back this morning," the preacher told him.

Tommy's heart began to beat so wildly he thought it might make an imprint in his shirt, launch itself from him chest with the vibration of the movement.

"I tried following them," Jeremiah continued, "But Freddie's so good at getting away, he's like a fish."

At least they were back from London. Back to where Tommy had people at his disposal. But, now they were back, Tommy was going to make sure he slipped his net tight before they could wriggle away again. He needed to see Ada, to speak with her.

"Right. Well keep fishing, eh?" he replied.

Jeremiah nodded and disappeared into the smog of Small Heath. For a man as tall and distinctive looking as Jeremiah was, his long dreadlocks nearly at his waist under his hat, the preacher could disappear unsettlingly well into the dark. During the war they'd often posted him on lookout when they were working – Germans would approach without even seeing him watching them – or on scouting duty, for the same reason that the Germans seemed blind to him. Dark skin reflected nothing in dark places.

"That's your starters gentlemen, no more bets," Tommy heard one of the workers boom across the shop through the open door between the kitchen of number six and the shop.

They were finishing for the day. He'd timed it well.

"No!" Scudboat was shouting at someone as Tommy approached the doors.

"Fine," the customer replied, smacking a hat full of money off the desk Scud was sitting behind, the coins clattering to the floor.

Tommy smoked his cigarette and watched, quietly proud, as all their workers stood as one to see the man off.

"Get rid of him," Scud ordered them.

"We said no, now get out," Arthur growled, putting his face close to the customer's.

Arthur was in but, glancing around, Tommy couldn't see his younger brother.

"Alright! Alright, I'm off," the customer replied, backing down.

He'd be back. And more polite the next time, hopefully. Betting brought out something in the men who came to the shop sometimes. A desperation.

It was what Tommy had spent most of January wrestling with – overriding his instinct to take advantage of the desperation with the determination to do the right thing and send them home. Hope their wives and kids weren't left to starve like their father had left them half the time.

And it was the reason why they kept the kids out of the shop most of the time.

He ducked his head and went into his office, shut the door, at at his desk, finished his cigarette and lit a fresh one - trying to figure out what in hell John was playing at, disappearing out of the shop, saying he'd sorted it that George had done a runner and promising him an explanation later.

There were three photographs on his desk - the picture of Lily and Rosie with the elephant at the zoo; the one of him, Rosie and Lily in front of their London hotel and an older one, them when they'd been kids, with their mother. They had had the picture taken before Finn was born. It was him, Arthur, John and Ada with their mother – their father being God only knew where. He gazed at John in the photo, as if wishing the kid could pop out of it and explain to him what was going on in his brother's head.

He had a slightly strange relationship with John. There was the best part of five years between them and he wasn't quite a father figure to John the way he was to Ada and Finn – but he had looked after him a bit too. They changed, really, depending on what John had needed from him. Sometimes John just wanted a brother to lark about with – not that Tommy had done all that much larking of late – and sometimes John would come to him, looking for some kind of reassurance.

Most of the time, when they were young, the latter had been prompted by something of their father's causing – if they were listening to him rail in the shop below, bellowing at workers, or even at their mother. Arthur had excused their father of everything, so it had seemed obvious why it was Tom John had sought out in those occasions. But it had evolved past their father's rages prompting a wish for reassurance to him being the one John always came to, and their older brother remaining firmly in the larking about older brother role.

Where it was frustrating for him though, was when John stepped out of line. When they were kids, and even now, he'd never been above giving John a good cuff around the ear or a kick on the arse. But their mother, and occasionally their father, had always been John's real disciplinarian and he wasn't really used to being the one to have to pull John back in line. He supposed, depending on what John's explanation was later and how satisfactory or non-satisfactory it was, he could go to his Uncle Charlie, get him to have a word. Their uncle had come through a few times when their mother had been too soft with John when they were little.

Pol, being just a few years above him and Arthur, had never been much of a proper aunt to them, but he supposed those few years had been enough to make her a proper aunt to John. He could remember, when she had been fresh married, just before Ada was born, they'd been at her new house and John had been running around and he'd gone and smashed something – one of Pol's many stupid ugly figurine things he imagined, though he couldn't quite remember.

Their mother had shouted at him and struggled to get up off the sofa, being what must have been only a few weeks off her due date, and Polly had said "You stay sitting and I'll deal with him."

She'd caught John by the scruff of the neck and smacked him until he'd been screaming his head off with apologies.

But, if her, "Oh for God's sake Thomas, he's said later. You expect everyone to wait until you're ready to tell us what's going on, you can just wait for him for once," from that morning was anything to go by, it seemed she was on John's side.

Well, perhaps he should try and get her on his side.

The shop was pretty much empty when she appeared and he quickly stubbed his third cigarette out, stood up, cleared his throat and smoothed his face before stepping out his office to see her.

She was staring determinedly down at the ledger on the table and avoiding his eye, greeting him with business news, "It's a good day."

So, she wasn't quite over this morning then.

"Where's John?" he pushed.

"John's in The Garrison," she told him.

She ignored his annoyed exhale and gave him a look that told him quite firmly she wasn't going to be drawn into it again.

"He says he wants a meeting about a family matter," she continued, then, acknowledging the morning and his own mood, she softened her voice a little and told him, "After he's said his piece, he'll come back and take his place with Scudboat."

Not giving him a chance to argue – to point out that the house was supposed to have a man in it at all times since the Lee's had declared war and, that aside, that the end of day count was supposed to always have at least two men present and one to be a Shelby – Polly set off, calling out in a louder voice, "Scudboat – John'll be here in ten minutes."

"Alright," the man nodded.

"Five," Tommy told him, determined to make it the truth.

Calling a bloody family meeting at The Garrison, who in hell did John think he was?

"Where's Arthur?" he grunted as he and Polly rounded the corner off Watery Lane.

"At The Garrison already," she replied shortly.

So, it had been planned. Arthur had been told before he had. And his brother had left the shop without him, left Polly to tell him.

"What in hell's going on Polly?"

"I don't bloody know, do I?" she snapped at him, "Just let him have his meeting, for God's sake Tommy."

"He could've had it at home," Tommy argued, "Why's it in The Garrison? Making a fucking production out of the fact his kids are fucking wild."

"He wanted it private, away from the workers," Polly replied, then, her voice warning, "You don't realise how lucky you've got it with that baby. And you've got that girl too. He's on his own."

He grunted in response, but didn't say anything else. John knew fine well what time the workers would go home at. It was less about making it private, he guessed, than it was about making it public. About whatever John had to say being said where he reckoned they wouldn't make too much of a scene. It was a version of Ada's tactics of running off to town.

But the fact Polly had equated Lily to being his, and Rosie too – though they had still never officially told anyone anything – soothed him a little.

When he walked through the door of the snug Arthur greeted him with a raised eyebrow and a slightly worried expression. He had the feeling Arthur thought he was about to be caught in the middle of something he didn't want to be.

"Alright John," Tommy said, going to stand by the hatch, not sitting at the table – not keen to get too comfortable, a way of making sure he kept this going and had gone back in the five minutes he'd promised Scud, "There's only one man guarding-"

Arthur offered him a drink, but he waved it away with a short "No," – but figured if he wanted to put Arthur's mind at rest that he wasn't going to cause problems that he'd better try and seem like he wanted amends made -, "There's only one man guarding the house. What's troubling you?"

"Right," John said, clearing his throat and turning to Polly for support, "Aunt Polly – you know what it's been like since Martha died."

"God takes the best first," Polly replied, reaching over to touch his hand.

"Truth is," John continued, his voice strange, "My kids have been running bloody rings around me."

Tommy sighed and tried not to roll his eyes. What an understatement. Was this John only just realising? Were they supposed to act surprised? To act like Tommy didn't spend half his bloody days telling John to get them in line, only for John to leave them to it, unlocked doors and all and fuck off to the pub?

"Running barefoot with the dogs until all hours."

And what? What exactly was he wanting them to do about it? Hadn't they all pitched in last night? Weren't they all doing more than he bloody was about his own kids? If they hadn't gone looking for Lily last night the chances were John wouldn't have even noticed his lot were gone.

Tommy rubbed his face with his hand in frustration but managed to keep in control as he said, "Pol, give him ten bob for some new shoes. Is that it John?"

"Tommy – we'd be better to do this without you!" Polly snapped at him.

He sighed but didn't answer her.

She drew her eyes off him then looked back to John, "Now, what's your point?"

"What the kids need is a mother," John said, speaking like he wanted to swallow the words rather than say them.

And hadn't Tommy been telling him that for months?

"So that's why I'm getting married."

Tommy closed his eyes and took a deep inhale. He had been telling John that for months. And who exactly seemed the only possible candidate? Fuck.

He opened his eyes and looked to the heavens, wondering if he'd ever done anything good enough in his life to get him out of the bloody situation he was just about sure he was about to find himself in.

"Does this poor girl know you're going to marry her or are you just going to spring it on her all of a sudden?" Polly asked.

"I've already propose," John said, "And she's – uh – she's said yes."

It was then that he realised the strange tone of John's voice, the way he was hunching his shoulders and twisting his hands – John was nervous. Earlier, he'd been full of it with his 'leave it' but now it had been left and, as the day had gone on, the idea of telling them what he'd known he'd have to hadn't gotten any easier, he'd reckon. It had been the same when he had had to tell them the truth about Ada.

"I think there's a shell about to land and go bang," he said, shoving a cigarette into his mouth and busying his hands with lighting it so he could use it to hide his expressions behind if John said what he reckoned John was about to say.

"It's umm – it's ehh – it's Lizzie Stark," John finally choked out.

Fuck's sake. He had known that was what John was going to say, but it still hit him in the stomach when the words left his brother's mouth.

If only, if fucking only Rosie hadn't asked Lizzie fucking Stark. It could have been like he'd said – come Christmas and at family occasions, he could sit opposite the woman and the two of them would know he'd used her services. It had meant nothing to either of them. It would have been fine. They had already seemed to separately decide it was simpler if John knew nothing. But now Rosie knew. Rosie fucking knew and it was one thing for a man to know he'd slept with a woman, but it was something else for a woman to know it of another woman.

He covered all of his inner turmoil by joining in with the laughing Arthur and Polly were doing following John's words.

"John!" Polly exclaimed, "Lizzie Stark's a… strong woman and I'm sure she provides a fine service for her customers-"

"I won't hear the word!" John shouted over her, his voice trembling a little, "Understand? Do not use that word."

His aunt looked a little perturbed, not used to John showing any kind of temper towards her, and Tommy reckoned if Arthur opened his bloody mouth he'd just make everything worse, so, keeping himself calm, he interjected, "What word is that John?"

His brother was obviously uncomfortable with the choice he had made – and Tommy half admired him, because God knew making uncomfortable choices to do what was best for the kids was something he had long wanted to see John do – but perhaps making him face his discomfort would make John change his mind and, as far as he was concerned, and as far as Rosie was concerned, John changing his mind was what was needed.

"You know what word that is," John growled.

"Everybody bloody knows," Arthur said, giggling like a schoolgirl.

"Everybody can go to hell," John spat.

"Whore – that word?" Tommy pushed, "Or prostitute, how about that one?"

"Right – I want it known," John said, to the room, "If anyone calls her a whore again I will push the barrel of my revolver down their throats and blow the word back down into their hearts."

So, he was expecting them to start protecting Lizzie's reputation now too. Because he was ashamed of what she had used to do, before he had decided to take her on. Rosie would fucking love that.

"Men and their cocks never cease to amaze me," Polly said, rolling her eyes before trying to focus his brother, "John – Lizzie Stark never did a day's work verticle!"

"She's changed!" John bellowed, "Alright? People change!"

His brother banged the table and stood up, his emotions too vivid in him, his temper too hot, to allow him to keep standing. His quick, hot headed little brother – that was bloody John alright.

"Like – like – with – with – religion!" John kept shouting, too worked up to find his words.

"Oh, Lizzie Stark has got religion, eh?" Tommy remarked, raising an eyebrow.

"No! No, she doesn't have religion," John replied, his voice sounding a bit desperate, a touch too high.

John really had known they'd react the way they were, but he'd hoped they wouldn't. His quick, hot headed, idealistic little brother perhaps. John was almost as much of a fucking dreamer as Ada. Tommy was almost jealous, sometimes, of their lack of practicality. He and John both dreamed away the war in their heads – it just meant completely different things.

"But – but, well, she loves me," John continued, swiping his hand through the air, as if sounding out the syllables with the movement would help him get through his words more easily.

There was a pause, during which Polly covered what Tommy was sure was an amused look on her mouth with her hand.

The lack of response seemed to bolster his brother a little, and he spoke more calmly, turning to him, "Now listen – now, Tommy, I won't do it without your blessing. But of all the people in the world – I want you to see it… as brave."

Not so long ago, Tommy might have expected Arthur to blow up at the acknowledgement that it was him who headed the family, whose blessing was wanted for, in place of the oldest brother, but Arthur was too busy smiling and drinking – and, Tommy rather suspected – thanking God that this mess wasn't on him to sort out.

"Oh it's brave alright," was the eldest Shelby's only comment, giving Polly a half laugh and busying himself with tipping the contents of his glass down his throat.

"Brave is going where no man's gone before," Polly said, then, unable to control her amusement, "And with Lizzie Stark John, that is really not what you'll be doing."

His brother reached out his hand and then rested it on the ledge next to Tom – he had the feeling John had almost half wanted to take a grip of him.

"Listen Tommy," he continued, ignoring them and pleading with Tommy with his eyes, "Welcome her to the family, as someone who's had a hard life."

Tommy blinked and averted his gaze a little, not quite able to look John's desperation in the eye as he asked for the same thing for Lizzie as he had done for Rosie.

"Alright? Because I need someone. Alright? The kids need someone."

Tommy felt his mouth soften a little as he looked at his kid brother, grown but somehow not quite grown too. Not handling things at all. Not coping.

And he had said it himself – those kids needed a mother.

Maybe…

Maybe he could talk to Rosie, see what she thought – what she felt?

He didn't have to answer though – he didn't get to.

The door of the snug burst open and Finn, out of breath from having clearly run the whole way, appeared in it and said words that made his blood run cold.

"Tommy – we've been done over."

Thank you as always for reading!