Chapter 107

"I read somewhere once that whatever you expect of people, they'll deliver it," Rosie remarked as the two of them sat at the kitchen table the following morning, enjoying companionable time alone whilst Lily and Finn were at mass with Pol.

Neither he nor the redhead had gone since that first September weekend when she had refused. It was the last weekend of the month now - and both Polly and Rosie were proving as stubborn as each other. Not a word had passed between them directly.

Despite the iron that obviously was in her to allow for a battle of wills with Polly bloody Gray, Rosie was at a rather soft and domestic task in that particular moment - making two matching dresses out of what seemed to be an old table runner for Lily and Katie's dolls, who lay side by side on the table. Lily's pristine and like new, as if it had come from the shop mere hours ago, Katie's as cleaned up as Rosie had managed to make it, with faint traces of ink still visible on it from her 'tattooing' episode and with a ribbon around its neck to try and cover the join where Rosie had glued the head back on in the first place after their game of 'executioners.'

Despite the mundanity of it, he was rather enjoying watching her work.

"Uhuh?"

"You know what I'm saying," she said, her words and face even and placid as she concentrated on her needle, not looking over at him, "Doesn't matter if you expect people to rise to them or fall to them, they'll deliver what you expect them to."

"I thought you were playing dressmaker, not philosopher," he snorted, raising an eyebrow.

She looked up, finally, meeting his eye and raising an eyebrow right back at him, "I think I'll do a big stew for the Sunday lunch, use all the leftovers. And there's the cake that went uneaten last night. I'm going to say to John to bring his lot over and help us eat it - maybe you could open up the shop, like we did at Christmas."

"Hmm," was all he replied.

They both knew fine well she'd phrased it like a question - maybe he could open up the shop - but that there was no question involved.

Still, when he was sitting at the table later that afternoon, stomach full and a glass of whisky in his hand, watching rather than partaking as Rosie allowed Finn and George to 'teach' her how to play rummy - a game he knew she knew fine well how to play - with them and John, whilst listening to Lily and Katie and the twins shrieking in delight as Arthur gave them all turns at riding on his back around the shop, he wasn't complaining.

He did try and complain later, when he stuck his head out the back to see what was taking the redhead so long to reappear after she'd gone to walk John and his lot down and he'd been faced with the sight of her and his younger brother embracing one another. They'd stood there a good while, then Rosie had released him, pressed a kiss to his cheek and smiled, waving him in his own back door before she'd come back up.

She noticed Tommy watching her and approached with mirth in her eyes, nudging him with her hip as she pushed by him to get back into number six and asking, "What're you gawping at?"

"Sometimes I think you like him better than you like me," he retorted, trying to sound annoyed and ending up sounding petulant.

She pretended to consider then, speaking slowly, nodded as she said, "Well… he is less of a grumpy old man than you," but her eyes warmed as she admitted, turning back to lay a hand on his chest and tip toe up to press a kiss to his lips, "Despite that, you've got my heart as well you know it, Thomas Shelby."

"I do,do I?" he murmured, closing his arms around her, trapping her to him.

She nodded, "Mhmm."

"Then what need have you got for hugging my brother, eh?"

"He's got more need for hugging me than me him, you jealous little bugger. I was simply reminding said brother - who is terrified that his shortcomings make him worthless, by the way, so a little bit of responsibility, something to show you're willing to rely on him and him alone at times wouldn't go amiss - that you valued him enough to give him a third of the Shelby Brothers Limited and that if you thought of him like he thinks you do, you'd not have bothered," she chided him, raising an eyebrow, "You heard what I said earlier - give him an expectation, let him rise. And do it before this wedding, Tom, make sure Esme gets the best version of him, eh? She deserves that, at the very least."

"Times I think I might like it better if I found myself a woman who didn't have so many opinions and offer so much unsolicited advice," he lied, pretending to grumble even as he tightened his hold on her waist, enjoying the curve of it under his fingers.

"Ah, you might like it better, but you wouldn't get very far with it."

"You think not?"

She snorted, "Leaving you to make all the decisions unchecked, Tommy? You'd go barreling off into all sorts of things with no one to temper you - probably end up bringing the bloody New York mafia down on us or something."

"What would you know about the New York mafia?"

"That they're the hoi polloi of the gangster world," she replied, cocking an eyebrow and smirking, "But it's more what I know about you that's the thing."

"Oh aye? What's that then?"

"That you're enough of a nuisance to make them trek all the way to bloody Birmingham if left to your own devices."

"Nuisance, eh?"

"Aye, a great big one," she smiled softly at him, tiptoeing again to capture his mouth - and keep it this time - before he could answer.

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

Though she had declined the invitation to lunch - issued through John rather than directly - Polly appeared the next morning dressed for the second day in a row in her Sunday best, ready to do her family duty even if she wasn't willing to speak to him.

Not that it bothered him, he was used to Pol's moods. But he hadn't realised until it ceased just how much chatter had passed between his aunt and Rosie and he suspected both of them felt its absence keenly. Until such times as his aunt offered an olive branch though, they were all going to have to endure it, and he had never yet known Polly Gray to back down when she was convinced she was in the right. He had no intentions of encouraging Rosie to do the apologising and, even if he had done, he didn't reckon she was much inclined herself and whilst she'd answer to him for certain things, he knew well enough to let her hold her own without interference when it came to women's business. As far as he saw it, Ada was family business, Rosie and Pol arguing over her was their own.

The plan was to go at lunch time, when there'd most likely be only one copper on the desk.

Rosie was at work, the kids were in school, Tommy trusted Scudboat and Lovelock to keep the place in order whilst the Shelbys went and so, when noon arrived, he, John, Arthur and Polly were walking four abreast down Watery Lane, making for the police station.

People scattered to make way for them to pass, children too young for school were whipped behind their mother's aprons, steps were taken straight back across doorways that had just been opened, eyes were averted and bodies were flattened to walls.

They still looked dangerous.

And they still were. Despite spending the day before in their slightly chaotic version of family harmony, he still had a gun in his pocket, a knife in his sock and a blade in his cap. He presumed Arthur and John did too. And Pol probably had more weapons on her than they did.

He still had Campbell's guns, mainly in the grave he'd stuck a headstone with Danny's name on, one stashed in his Uncle Charlie's yard. One he had no intentions of giving back, despite their deal.

He noted with satisfaction the way the poor sod on the desk's face drained of blood when they walked in, noticed the pronounced bob of the adam's apple as the unfortunate fellow swallowed before stuttering, "Err good - morning - afternoon - day! How - how may I help?"

Some pen pusher from the looks of it. Not even a real copper.

"We're here to settle some accounts, on behalf of the people of Small Heath," he growled.

"On behalf of the parents of the kids of Small Heath that you lot waste your time chasing after because you don't have the balls to face up to people your own size," Pol added from her place at his side, the two of them central, Arthur and John flanking them.

The man at the desk let out a squeak before clearing his throat, breathing heavily and saying, "Do you have a name?"

"Ours or the names on the accounts?" Tommy asked, leaning his head down a little so as to look up at the man from under his hat, flashing just the hint of the blade.

Implied consequences with no actual threat.

As if the man didn't know their name. Everyone knew their name.

"On the accounts sir."

Sir. Well, at least they weren't going to dance around who was in charge here at least.

"Arthur," Tommy commanded.

His elder brother stepped forward, drawing from his pocket the list Rosie had typed up, the legible version of Finn's scrawls, with his own name and George's added in.

"Fourteen all in, save yourself the walks and get all the files at once. We got it in alphabetical order for you, nice an' easy, save you having to think too much," Arthur said, flashing his teeth in what could mistakenly be construed as a grin, as he put the list down heavily on the counter, then slid it across with a single finger towards the copper.

They waited whilst the man disappeared through a door at the back, Tommy taking a side on lean against the counter and lighting a cigarette, John draping himself against the wall, kicking out his feet and chewing on his toothpick, Arthur hoisting himself up to sit on the desk, the three of them leaving the one chair on their side of the counter for their aunt to take (because they weren't fucking animals. Unlike Campbell, who had cornered Pol in the church when they'd been off to the fayre, they had a bit of bloody respect.) Other than the dark flash in Pol's eyes - undoubtedly she was reliving another moment she'd been at this police station, screaming for access to files, wanting to know where her children had been taken - they looked relaxed, like they just happened to be spending their lunch at the station, as if it was a convenient place for them to take a rest.

Tommy's position was comfortable enough - until five full minutes had ticked by. He surrendered to the dull pain and moved slightly, leaning his weight on the other arm, catching John's eye as his brother shifted to swap his own stance, bending a knee and putting a foot against the wall, undoubtedly stamping a black imprint of his sole onto the paintwork.

"How fuckin' long does it take to find bloody files? She even typed them alphabetical," Arthur growled out the question Tommy was asking in his head.

He shook his head, the smallest fraction of a movement, at Arthur. Didn't do to talk. Didn't know who was listening. Didn't want anyone to know they were at all frustrated at being kept waiting, knowing their goal was so close.

Or at least, it should have been.

Another five minutes. And then another.

Another pen pusher appeared in the doorway behind the desk, took in the sight of the four of them waiting and disappeared, then someone else tried to come in from the outside and also changed their mind.

They exchanged glances, all of them, even him and Pol, their animosity over Ada and Rosie's argument forgotten as uncertainty gnawed at them.

This should have been simple. Easy.

The first man reappeared, his arms laden with files.

"Wha' took you so fucking long?" Arthur growled, not moving from his spot on the desk.

"There's a problem," the man replied weakly, his face white, looking like he wished more than they did that there wasn't a problem.

"What kind of problem?" John hissed, narrowing his eyes, standing a little straighter off the wall.

Behind him, Tom heard Pol's skirt rustle as she stood up.

"N-not - eh - not all the files I n-need are here," the man whispered, "T-two are missing."

"Which two?" Tommy asked, knowing the answer.

"The Shelby files, sir. Finn and George Shelby."

"Fuck d'you mean?" John demanded, striding forward, him, Tommy and Arthur making a solid wall of dark suits and glinting blades.

The man flinched at the sudden movement, obviously not feeling protected enough by the desk, and dropped the files he was holding, scattering their contents.

"I - they're - the files aren't - aren't there," he replied, his voice pleading as he took a few steps back, his eyes flashing between them.

"Then where are they?" Tommy growled, "Disappear into thin air, did they?"

"Please - I - I don't know."

"And how exactly do we pay their fines and close their files off if you don't have them, eh? Or does the fact the files have vanished mean the fine has also vanished?"

"I don't know - please - I'm just new," the man replied.

New. Well, he'd be retired by the time the day was out, Tommy reckoned. Didn't have the stomach for a friendly encounter like this, he didn't have the stomach for policing the streets of Birmingham.

"They - they might have been taken for processing - I've - please - I've asked."

"Asked who?" Arthur growled down at the newbie, his position on the desk giving him the height advantage to do so.

"Someone who has worked here longer," Moss' voice entered the conversation.

All eyes went to him as he came through the door behind the desk.

"On you go, I've got this," he told the pen pusher.

Moss waited until the other man had gone - which didn't take too long, a grateful glance in Moss' direction and he was gone, a magician's assistant, with an exit covered by a puff of smoke, couldn't have vanished more quickly.

Tommy gave a very slow blink, waiting for Moss to offer him an explanation.

"Inspector Campbell has the files you're looking for."

"Then you bring him here."

"He's not here."

"Where?" Tommy demanded, too seething, too worried, his mind too busy going to a million and one places, to even phrase the question properly.

"I don't know, Tom. Doesn't see fit to tell me all his plans. He is the Chief Inspector after all," Moss replied, a self-satisfied smirk playing about his mouth, "He did mention something about making sure you didn't have all the cards though."

Tommy surveyed the man. They were in police territory and he still didn't know who was listening.

So, he leant forward getting himself as close as he could across the desk to the copper and speaking very quietly, promised him, "You will see those files destroyed Moss. Or I will destroy you. You understand?"

"Anything you want from me that I can actually do?" Moss replied, looking too relaxed for Tommy's liking.

"Polly," he barked, standing back and waving her forward with his hand, nodding towards the door, "John."

There was a vein pulsing in John's temple as he stood, glaring at Moss, poised to spring. Tommy repeated his brother's name and nodded to the door again.

This time, John blinked, met his eye and nodded, turning on his heel and falling into step by his side as they headed out, albeit with a growl, leaving Polly inside to pay the fines and collect what receipts they could, Arthur staying with her. They wouldn't leave Pol alone, not even with just Moss.

He never quite knew which side Moss' loyalties lay with at any given moment, no matter what he was paying him. A man who could be bought could be bought either way.

"You have a gun on you?" Tommy asked as soon as they were on the street.

He had presumed earlier. Now he needed to know.

"Course," John replied with a nod, his voice hoarse and strangled sounding, "Fuck Tommy, what are we gonna do? What can Campbell want with a couple o' kids?"

Leverage.

"What we're going to do is keep people on side. Polly's in there paying the fines. Me and Rosie will deliver the receipts tonight as planned. We use the community to protect the kids. People believe that no matter what happens, kids are sacred, untouchable. It won't be good for him if Campbell breaches that and he should know it."

Should know it.

"Not enough Tom," John shook his head, his eyes wild, "We need them files."

"I know, John - I know. But I need to think, alright?"

"Think fucking fast Tommy."

Because what was anyone else going to fucking do if he didn't? Tommy pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I'll meet with Campbell."

"And say what?"

Tommy didn't answer. He didn't quite know what yet.

Part of him wanted to give the inspector the guns and get him and his barmaid gone from the city. But there was a line being crossed here. Bringing kids into it. It made him feel sick. But it showed exactly what type of man Campbell was. Showed he had no rules, no morals.

There was another race on the horizon, where they were doing security for Kimber. He didn't know how long he'd need to dangle before Kimber would give him a licence for a legal pitch. But he wanted that legal licence in his hand before he gave an inch to Campbell. Wanted the protection of it. Because if Campbell would go after the kids just to show he could, when the blinders did have the guns, did have the upper hand, they needed the protection of their legal businesses so that Campbell had nothing to pin on them, or take from them, once they did give him the weapons back. He made a mental note to sit down with Rosie that night after they'd delivered the receipts, look through the books, think about what more they could put through The Garrison, what more they could protect.

A meeting with Campbell, just to remind him that those guns could be in Belfast within a week if Tommy wanted it so was needed. But Campbell was a rabid dog. Putting him down for good was their only guarantee of anything. His show of force being met with one of their own was important - they couldn't let him get too sure of himself - but it had to be delicately handled. What they didn't want, especially when Campbell did have the files, was to prompt more of a show of force.

He'd kill the man, with no regrets. But it would be work to frame someone else convincingly. And they'd send a replacement. Maybe even more of a force behind the replacement than they already had with Campbell and his Ulster Volunteers.

Every minute that they waited, John grew more agitated. Cursing under his breath in Romani and English, kicking the ground, spitting… Tommy could practically hear their mother's voice protesting that she'd brought him up better than that.

But he couldn't work himself up to say anything either because they wouldn't be here if he hadn't kept the guns in the first place. Alright, it was for the benefit of them all. And the protection he was getting from Campbell - or at least, the peace he was getting from the police as far as the shop and protection operations went - had been useful, in allowing him to grow those businesses, bring in more money, make the preparations to move the family up in the world.

But for all his bargain with Campbell had included the police ceasing all raids on Small Heath, he hadn't even thought to make it part of it that Campbell stayed away from the kids. Hadn't occurred to him that Campbell would stoop that low.

They had left Watery Lane just after noon. By the time the fines had all been paid and the four of them were grouped on the pavement outside the station it was gone two.

"John an' me'll go and get the kids from school. From now on they all get walked there and back, same as Lily, alright? That includes Finn. We see them to the gates in the morning, we get them from them in the afternoon."

"They'll not be happy," Polly noted.

Katie sometimes walked with them, depending on her mood and Alfie could've be persuaded on a few occasions to tag along if Jack hadn't been so vehemently against it, but George, Tommy suspected, would throw a strop about it.

"Tough shit, it's not up for discussion," was all he said.

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

Pol was quite right of course.

"Uncle Tommy!" Katie protested, stamping her foot as she stood in front of him, having been caught by the scruff of her neck as she made to run off, "I can't! I've got stuff to do!"

"Like what?"

"Well, I've been practising the skipping so I think I can beat Sarah now and I told her I would so she said we'd see after school and she'll think I've chickened out if I'm late. And Gillian says Richard's got a frog in his pocket so I want to see that cause his mum'll make him leave it outside when he goes in and it'll run away, I just know it will. And Rosie said we can take Lily's pram out when it's not raining and it's going to start raining soon so this is some of our last days! And-"

Having heard enough, he cut across her, "Well you can do all that once we're back from picking up Finn."

"Daddy!" she shouted, moving her eyes to John.

"Catherine," John surprised him by growling, "Hold your tongue - you're walking with us and one more word about it and I'll keep you in once we get back to Watery Lane, alright?"

It seemed Katie was surprised too.

The tone and the use of her full name caused her eyes to go wide in shock and her mouth hung open a little before a subdued, "Yes, Daddy," left her mouth.

Lily shuffled a little closer to him at the cross words and Tommy laid a hand on her hair, his thumb brushing over the braiding Rosie had done that morning, pulling her against his side. He was quietly pleased to see Katie also decide to seek some form of comfort after John's chiding, nudging herself into his side and reaching to put her hand in his. Aye, she talked a good game, Katie, but she was a little kid at the end of the day. John took the proffered hand and squeezed, but his brother's eyes remained trained on the gate, waiting for his eldest to join them, not relaxing until George's face appeared in the sea of kids coming out for the day.

John had found George on the roof of a warehouse down by The Cut on Saturday night. Tommy didn't know exactly what had transpired, and he had the impression the day before, when George had sat at the table to play cards with Finn and Rosie and his father, that the kid was sitting far too easily to have been doing so on a recently tanned arse like he should have been.

"Still, the boy seemed to be happy to be near John today, eh?" he'd remarked to Rosie as they'd lain on the sofa together after putting Lily and Finn to bed, "Got to be an improvement on him running away."

Rosie had sighed, not entirely seeming to agree.

"You'd rather he'd spent today on that roof?"

"Obviously not - but…"

"But what?" he'd prompted, realising she was turning over her words before saying them, probably not wanting to run the risk of upsetting him with them.

"John needs to be a father to those kids. Today he was their friend. And that's not a bad thing, it's nice - nice to see and it feels nice for him and them. But there's plenty of people out there willing to be their friend, he's the one who needs to step up and be their father - around the clock. Not just the horrible times he does decide to come down on them, which he hates more than they do, I reckon. And not just when they're all getting along. You're supposed to raise kids so they can become functioning adults, raise them to know right from wrong and how to handle things - and there's emotional support required in that, of course there is! But loving your kids, being loving towards them, being there to support them no matter what that support involves, that's not the same as being their friend. Friends are for figuring things out together with - they need to feel their father is someone who has things figured out," she said, all her words a great rush, then trailing off as she looked up at him.

"What you getting at?"

"I reckon last night John's had an emotional chat with George, talked about how he's struggling - as a way to get him on side. Which is honest. But it's not right," she said, shaking her head, "George shouldn't behave because he knows his Dad's struggling, shouldn't behave out of some kind of… of pity he might be feeling for him. He should behave because John should be his guide, should be setting clear boundaries and rules for him, rules and boundaries there to keep him safe, to teach him what's alright or not alright. Should behave because he should understand that he is the kid in this family and John is the adult and that there are functions and roles there for a reason. If John's unloading emotionally onto that kid - that's blurring all those boundaries for both of them and, Christ, John's not emotionally handling himself, how is a kid meant to handle that? George is a boy, he's not - he's not an adult. He's not got the emotional maturity to cope with what his father's putting on him just because John would feel better if he got to be his kids' friend instead of their parent. I mean, Christ, Tommy, I'm an adult and I don't know if I've got the emotional maturity to handle John. I'm saying all this to you because I've been going over and over it in my head and I don't know how to say it to John without making him spiral. I try my best with him, I really do, but he admires you too much to ever let me in completely - he's too worried if he ever does that that I'll feed it back to you and you'll see him. Reckon he thinks we don't see him through that bravado. "

Tommy rubbed circles on her back as she let it out, hoping to soothe her a little with his touch.

He didn't reckon he'd ever fallen so far on the scale as John had in that he'd ever tried to be Finn or Ada's friend more than he'd been their parent. But he reckoned he'd failed on the emotional support altogether for a while. Then, with Lily, he'd been too enchanted, too taken with the notion of a second chance to make it right, that he'd gone to the other side - hadn't been firm enough with her at first.

But he thought, finally, thanks to the support of the woman in his arms, he might be getting it about right - as far as Finn and Lily were concerned, at least.

"Things'll be better when Esme comes, I think," he offered - hoping he was right.

The redhead sighed and nestled her body against his, moving her face as if she hoped to burrow right down into his chest and physically rest in his heart, "I think you're right Tommy."

Thank you so much for reading along and commenting and messaging - it really does make my day, and motivate me to keep writing, when I see those emails coming through! I'm so appreciative of how many of you are with me 107 chapters and just short of 600,000 words in. I know I say it all the time but although I planned this story out I seriously underestimated how many words were actually going to be required to execute those plans, and it blows my mind that I've actually got people still invested this far down the line! Much love to you all xx