Chapter Content Warning: canon-typical content, mention of/ reference to physical punishment/ discipline methods typical of the time period.

Somewhere In Between

1919

Clara prided herself on being the Shelby family secret keeper, the one they all told things to. Her brothers, her sister. Her aunt, her uncle. Her cousins, Henry and Nipper. Her nieces and nephews. They all lowered their voices as they delivered their secrets, both big and small, always paired with a wink or conspirational smirk, and occasionally with a threat or a desperate plea.

Don't tell anyone else.

This stays between you and me, eh?

Aunt Polly'll give us both the boot if…

Your brothers have no need of knowing this…

The pleas weren't necessary. Clara always kept their secrets. She didn't betray trust. She didn't gossip. She held so many things for so many people, and she never told, but it still seemed that most of it came out, eventually. And it was that fact that preoccupied her mind as she lay in her bed with tired eyes closed despite being wide awake for several hours. Was there a single thing that happened in Small Heath that stayed secret? Anything that people didn't see?

Even if people didn't readily share their secrets with her, Clara was always watching, always listening. And people often acted and talked as if she wasn't there. They assumed she was too young to care, too dumb. Just a silly little girl. People assumed what they did and said held no meaning for her, especially when she had a book propped up in front of her face, seemingly lost in another world, enthralled with words on a page rather than the stories unfolding around her.

People forgot she was halfway between eleven and twelve because she didn't look it. She was small for her age, and Clara looked smaller and smaller the more her twin grew, so it made sense. The war years were almost like a void, twisting people's perceptions. They'd dragged on for too long and passed by too quick, almost as if those years had never happened. It was easy to forget how old kids were especially when they were skinny and short and baby-faced.

They somehow forgot she was a Shelby, too. Because she was quiet. Because she didn't cause much trouble. They forgot, or maybe they never knew. People didn't realize that she listened for information of interest without really thinking on doing it. It came naturally to her, more natural than it did to any of the others, even.

Surely, she wasn't the only one seeing and hearing things that were none of her business though. Surely, there wasn't much that went unseen in Small Heath. There wasn't much that went unnoticed. There wasn't much that could stay hidden.

Clara had spent hours working with that particular thought, turning it over and over in her mind while the light outside her window grew brighter. She didn't want to be thinking about that. She didn't want her mind to be compiling evidence to support it. She didn't want to think about what had happened with Finn and the Cheapside Boys. She didn't want to think about Lizzie Stark or school or consequences. Clara didn't want to be thinking about anything, really. She wanted to sleep. She wanted to drift off into nothingness and wake up for dinner only to go back to sleep again for another round.

It felt like she had some catching up to do. She had only been tossing and turning for a few nights, but it felt like weeks she'd gone without decent sleep. She'd passed too many hours with her mind far too busy. She focused on keeping her body still and hoped that the mere act of not moving would feel like sleep even though her mind was still busy.

When Clara tried to quiet the concerns about the inspector's threat of coppers and the parish authorities, the damning words passed to her through Tommy's harsh mouth, she found her thoughts gone to her sister. To Ada and Freddie and the baby. Clara longed for fighting with Tommy over Ada's situation. She longed for an alliance with her sister. She longed for a fight that concerned only the people housed within their own four walls.

She longed for her sister, but Ada and Freddie were in London now. It was information Clara suspected was meant to be a secret though she knew of at least three in her household who knew. It had been Polly who told Clara, swearing her to secrecy though she uttered the same words to Tommy later in the evening. Clara had heard it from her perch at the top of the stairs, Polly and Tommy's lowered voices filtering up the stairs for several minutes before the sudden sound of Tommy's footsteps sent Clara scurrying back to her bedroom.

Tommy had stopped to look in her doorway on the way to his room, lingering at the threshold as Clara decided whether or not to continue feigning sleep. She'd turned on her back and met Tommy's eye when he ran a hand through her hair and made to pull up her covers.

Tommy had been some gentle version of himself after that. Clara scooted against the wall and Tommy sat with her. He'd tried to ease her toward sleep by talking, his low voice telling her about the pony their mother had bought him when Clara was still too little to remember.

When that hadn't done the trick, Tommy told her a bit about Cheltenham. He kept his words to innocent descriptions. He talked about the horses and a deal to be done. He told her they were moving up in the world. He didn't talk of Grace's role or the fight they were expecting with the Lee boys. He kept it clean, but Tommy imagined the picture he painted of race day wouldn't linger much past Finn's return to Watery Lane. Finn wouldn't spare his sister the details.

After all that, Clara still looked at him with tired eyes that wouldn't allow themselves to close. Clara held back from sharing the worry she was holding, hoping a night of sleep—if she was able to achieve it—would push the concern of being left behind aside. She knew it was an important day for her brother, for the family. She knew he couldn't be worrying about her. Even if Clara knew he was letting Finn go, even though she felt it was unfair, Clara didn't feel able to voice it. It felt as selfish as voicing her questions about Ada would have. And Tommy looked so tired. And he felt so warm. She didn't want to fight.

Tommy could tell there was something more she was looking for though, something else she needed before she'd let sleep take her. Without Clara asking, Tommy started sharing the logistics of the day—when they'd go, when they'd be back, who'd be left behind. His words sought to soothe a bit of the anxiety he sensed there. Tommy tried to answer the questions he imagined she wasn't willing herself to ask and at some point, Clara fell asleep, her curiosity and anxieties quelled just enough by Tommy's presence and his words that she closed her eyes.

The sleep had been fleeting and her first thought upon waking in an empty bed, with Tommy presumably gone off to his own room, was that it was race day. Cheltenham. And she didn't feel any better about them going than she'd felt the night before. Months ago, that would have been a welcome thing. Race days had made it easy for Clara to run off and find Ada and Freddie in their small room on the second-floor flat on the other side of town, but Clara didn't even know where her sister and Freddie stayed these days. London, apparently. But even if Ada and Freddie were home, Clara wouldn't have dared to traverse the city by herself. Not now.

Now, she would stick close to home. And even in doing that, she wouldn't be free from worry. The boys would all be gone by nine. Aunt Polly would be out and about running errands. They might leave a few men behind to watch the shop, but it wasn't the same as knowing John or Arthur or Tommy was close by. Clara always felt better knowing that.

She didn't know what time it was, but the sun was rising outside her window. The house was still quiet, but Clara knew Tommy was already up. She'd heard him take to the stairs close to an hour before. She'd heard him lugging hot water up to bathe. He'd had a restless night, too, after leaving her. She always knew because those were the days Tommy left his room far before the sun.

Feeling far too alert to waste any more time in bed, Clara pushed her covers aside and slipped into her sister's room across the hall. She eased one of the drawers open, digging through the piles until she found what she was looking for—one of Ada's sweaters. It was an old one, something Ada never wore out of the house, something she wouldn't miss too much, something Clara figured she wouldn't get too much hell for borrowing if—by some miracle—Ada came through the door of no. 6. Clara slipped her arms into the sweater and rolled the sleeves until they sat at her wrists. It smelled like Ada, like her expensive perfumes and soaps. Her eyes lingered on her sister's neatly made bed—Polly's doing, Clara assumed.

If Ada had been home, her bed would have been an unmade tangle of sheets and blankets—well, at this time of day, Ada would still have been tangled up there. And she would have been shouting at Clara both for interrupting her at this early hour and for stealing her clothes.

Clara would've welcomed her shouting. Clara would have even welcomed Ada's rough handling as she tugged the stolen sweater off her limbs and set her out through the door with a sharp smack or a shove. Clara missed the way they fought, the way they teased. She missed having someone else around who understood that part of her—what it was to be a Shelby girl.

There weren't many people in the world who understood that particular predicament.

Clara had been close to asking after her sister the night before while Tommy lounged beside her in bed. With her head next to his while they both stared at the ceiling, a small part of Clara felt like she could almost get away with it. A small part of her thought he might just sigh and tell her the truth if she asked him what had happened the day she'd ended up at the police station. It was something she'd tucked in the back of her mind, letting it sit while everything else settled around her, waiting for the right time.

Last night might've been the right time. The conversation with Tommy had been gentle and easy and he might have told her something of substance if she had had the gall to ask. The words were right there, but she'd stopped herself short. Tommy was being gentle and soft, but Clara could see the tiredness in her brother's eyes, the heaviness of him as he sat beside her on his bed. Suddenly, the idea of asking those types of questions had felt a bit selfish to her.

Clara didn't feel much better about it now, the morning's light doing nothing to sort out her questions and worries. Selfish or not, it all still lingered in her mind, nagging at her, a handful of things begging to be voiced. Clara climbed down the front steps, tiptoeing past the open shop doors to make it to the kitchen. She moved about the room quietly as she could manage, pulling together a simple breakfast—bread and jam and tea. Clara knew her brother wouldn't have bothered to feed himself. He very rarely did.

Clara stood at the threshold of the shop for an extended moment, breakfast tray heavy in her hands. She took a deep breath before pushing herself over the threshold, moving across the dusty hardwood floors to Tommy's office. The door was shut and through the smudged windows, she could see he was busy with something. Some paperwork.

Clara tapped the window with the edge of the tray and waited for him to notice her. Tommy set down his pen when he saw her and Clara filled with a heavy unease, cementing her to the floor until Tommy shook his head, a smile sneaking into his features as he rose.

Tommy glanced at his pocket watch as he walked to the door. It was still early for his sister to be up, especially on a day when she didn't have to be to school and when he knew she'd been up late the night prior.

Tommy propped the door open. He was already ready for the day—freshly bathed and shaved, dressed in his newly acquired suit, but Clara was still in a long, white nightgown, her arms covered by a purple cardigan. By its length, and the way it was rolled at the sleeves, Tommy assumed it belonged to Ada. She looked tired, the same as she'd looked the night before.

"I brought you breakfast," Clara offered before Tommy could ask after her reasons for being awake or her reasons for being in the shop. Tommy took the tray from her, settling it on the desk as she came into his office. He watched Clara as she took in her surroundings. He knew she was in the shop more often than he liked. He knew John had her visit his own office regularly, but she wasn't often in Tommy's office. He wasn't often in his own office, not lately.

Clara moved behind Tommy's desk, peering out the window into the back alleyway before kneeling in her brother's chair in order to look over the contents of his desk. Once satisfied with her observations, she reached for the tray and set out their breakfast.

Tommy leaned against the wall and watched as Clara worked, shaking his head as she took a bite of the jam-covered bread.

"You like it back there in the boss's chair, eh?" Tommy asked.

Clara smirked, nodding her head as she repositioned herself in Tommy's chair. She put her sock-clad feet up on Tommy's desk. It was a position she'd frequently seen John take while he relaxed in his own office, but Clara's feet were barely able to reach and she was left looking thoroughly uncomfortable.

"Well, maybe someday you'll have an office and a chair of your own, but until then, up you get."

Tommy pushed off the wall and shooed Clara's feet off his desk. She set down her bread, wiping her hands as she bounced up from her spot. Clara waited only long enough for Tommy to get settled before hopping up onto his lap.

Clara reached for the bread again. She hadn't realized she was hungry until she swallowed down the first bite.

"Aren't you hungry?" she mumbled around a bite nearly too big for her mouth. Clara ripped a piece of crust from her bread, offering it to her brother.

"What are you after, Clara?" he asked.

Clara glanced at the bread pinched between two fingers. Tommy sighed as he collected the small morsel she held out for him, placing it in his mouth. Clara took another bite while Tommy chewed.

Tommy swallowed and repeated his question. "What are you after?"

Still chewing, Clara exhaled deeply through her nose. She placed what little was left of the bread down on her plate and brushed the crumbs from her lap. Tommy waited patiently for her to be ready, the hint of a smile on his face as he watched her.

"Finn's going with you today?" she said, the word poised as a question though it wasn't, not really. And they both knew it.

"He is," Tommy confirmed. He watched Clara wrestle with the question he already felt coming. He'd intentionally left it out of their chat the night before, but he supposed he shouldn't have been surprised to find she'd already known Finn was coming. The boy couldn't keep his mouth shut, especially not about something like this. "You can come to the races another time."

Clara's shoulders heaved with a breath—a steadying, power-leeching breath that sought to fortify her for fighting Tommy. "But why not this time?"

"Because this time we're taking Finn and you're going to stay home." Tommy shifted in the chair and Clara slid off his knee to stand in front of him. "Clara, it's not—"

"But I don't want to stay. I want to go with you. Why can't I go with you?"

Tommy had been about to say that it wasn't a discussion. He wouldn't be entertaining questions or pleas or arguments. He quite frankly didn't have time for it. There was too much hinging on the day for a battle with Clara at daybreak.

"I've already said you're not—"

"But that's not fair! Finn hasn't even been good and you're takin—"

"What have I told you about telling on your brother?" Tommy interrupted.

Hot tears prickled at the edge of Clara's eyes. She knew very well that she wasn't meant to tattle on Finn. She knew very well it wouldn't help at a moment like this. It wouldn't help to tell that Finn had been bad at school or that there had been a fight, especially not a fight she didn't want Tommy knowing about in the first place. She knew all of that rationally, but a wave of emotion had taken her over now. She wasn't in control—not quite.

Tommy clasped her chin, forcing her eyes up to his. "What have I said?"

"I don't care!" Clara said, the frustration coming through as she pushed Tommy's hand away, her fist slamming down against Tommy's knee. "He—"

Clara's fist rose again. Tommy caught her hand, stopping both the arc of her punch and the delivery of her words. It didn't hurt but that wasn't nearly close to being the point of the matter. There were times when he allowed his sister to freely exercise her independence. There were times when he courted that sort of behavior from her, but not when she was this emotional. Not when she was slamming her fists about and telling family secrets, even if the secret was as inconsequential as some stupid business Finn had been getting up to.

In truth, Tommy wasn't particularly pleased about bringing Finn to the races, but John and Arthur kept insisting the boy was ready. And Polly wasn't fighting them on it, so Tommy let it go. There were only so many fights he could engage in at once and Finn going to the races just wasn't worth it. Tommy, Arthur, and John had been doing far worse things at Finn's age.

Ada, too—Tommy was sure—but Clara was different. Tommy wanted her to be different. She still didn't know the real reason why she couldn't join her brothers for the day. She knew some of what they did wasn't strictly legal, but she didn't know about the brutality of it all. She didn't know the scale of it. Tommy wanted it to stay that way. He wanted Clara to stay out of it, even if he was half-tempted to let her in on the secret just to stop her from looking like she was feeling so hurt at being left out.

Clara's lip started to do something close to quivering. Tommy dropped his hold on her wrist. He cupped her chin with a gentle hand, turning her to look at him. Tommy sighed. She was tired. He was tired.

Tommy couldn't start letting his sister get the idea that crying would help her get her way. He needed Clara to be able to hear something she didn't want to hear without dissolving into a fit, without fighting him on it. He couldn't be sure of exactly what was laid out ahead on the journey he was taking his family on, but he knew that the rest of them doing anything other than as they were told wouldn't be helpful.

"What do you think those tears will do for you, eh?" he asked. His voice was gentle, but the words only served to make Clara's lip quiver faster. A stream of uncontrollable tears fell down her face.

"I don't want to stay here," Clara mumbled, struggling to get the words out around the quickly forming lump in her throat. "Finn's going and…and you're taking Grace. I could…Tommy, I can…why can't I go?"

Tommy had a few easy reasons as to why he could tell her she couldn't come, especially now that she had lashed out at him. He could've cited a handful of things over the past six months. He didn't even owe her a reason. Tommy was the adult and Clara was the child, but Tommy knew his sister. She wasn't likely to accept that and he didn't want to be dealing with this at every turn.

Maybe the tears were just a phase she was going through. Maybe, hopefully. If that was the case, Tommy wanted to move her through it quickly. He wanted her to see the futility, to think things through.

Tommy wiped his thumbs over Clara's cheeks, rubbing away her tears. "Clara, stop. What's gotten into you, eh?"

Clara was crying harder now, pushing away his hands and attempting to bury herself against Tommy's chest.

"Alright, Clara. C'mon now. Stop the tears," Tommy said as his hands helplessly moved to hold her, "You can tell me what all this is about or you can go up to your room for the rest of the day."

Part of Tommy was thinking that sending her up the staircase to settle might be easier. That way she could get whatever this was out of her system and he could deal with it when he got home. Or better yet, Polly could deal with it while he was out.

But it could never be that easy. Tommy knew as much. The mere suggestion sent Clara's wailing a step louder. Tommy stood up with Clara in his arms. He deposited her in a chair on the other side of the room. She fought him when he tried to leave her there, gripping him, her fingers sliding down his biceps, his elbows, and his forearms, until all she had to hold was his fingers as she fought to keep him from leaving her. Tommy hissed as Clara's fingernails pressed into his hands.

"Clara, so help me, I will give you something to be upset about if that's what's needed."

Tommy hadn't meant it, not really, the frustration and sudden flash of pain had gotten the better of him. Clara flinched at the threat and he wrenched one hand free. He said her name and she released Tommy's other hand. Clara pulled her knees up to her chest, holding herself tightly instead.

Tommy shook out his hands as he moved back to his desk. He knew there was something more to this than his sister wanting to go with him. He knew there was probably a lot more, this show couldn't have a simple explanation, but Tommy wasn't going to pry whatever it was out of her. She could tell him when she was ready but Tommy wasn't going to deal with her blubbering tears or whining about the unfairness of the world. For one, he didn't have the time for it. For two, Tommy wanted his sister to know that it wasn't an effective means of communication. He needed her to know it.

"You can tell me what this is really about when you've gotten control of yourself," Tommy said. Clara's face was still buried in her arms. "Did you hear me, Clara?"

"Yes," she mumbled. The word was barely loud enough to hear and it was clear Clara was making every attempt to keep the tears from her small voice, some part of her still unsure whether Tommy's threat was real or not. She'd gotten whacked before for doing less.

Tommy went back to his work, ignoring his sister and sipping from the cup of tea as he did so. Several minutes passed before he looked at her. By the visible heaving of her small body, Tommy could see that Clara was still working to get herself under control. He sighed, unsure of how long this would take. He glanced at his pocket watch. Tommy still had a few hours before they needed to leave but he hoped to wrap this up with her sooner.

Clara peeked over the edge of her arms. Tommy was watching her, his icy stare considering her.

"Are you finished?" he asked.

Clara immediately looked away. She looked pitiful. Sad and scared and hurt. Tommy almost regretted his tone. He nearly regretted putting her on the other side of the room on her own. He didn't remember Ada ever being like this, not when she was a child. Not when she was eleven. Not now. Ada had done her fair share of crying and whining and yelling, but whatever he had seen had almost always been superficial or a counterpart of pure anger.

Even their most recent exchange had ended with Ada's tears, but they had been nothing more than ire. Ada had made it perfectly clear that she was angry with him. She hated him and wanted nothing to do with being a Shelby. Even when upset, Ada's thoughts and feelings were always made clear to him.

But this wasn't that. Clara wasn't quite so straightforward, but she'd settled a bit. Not all the way, but enough to explain herself, at least.

"Alright," Tommy said. He shifted in his chair and pushed the papers aside. "Sit up and come out with it."

Clara hesitantly let her legs down. She settled her arms over the arms of the chair. She looked so small to Tommy then, with her skinny legs dangling over the edge. She still wasn't quite tall enough to reach the floor. She'd done half of what he asked, but Tommy's words hadn't been enough. Clara still wasn't able to come out with it. Her lip quivered again as she tried.

"Alright, my girl, that's enough. Come here," Tommy said. With a slight nod of his head, Tommy beckoned her over. "Come on, come here," he said, his words even softer than they had been with the first request. Clara obediently stood up, wiping her eyes as she crossed the room.

Clara stopped a few paces away from Tommy, hesitating at the corner of his desk. She pulled Ada's sweater tight and wrapped her arms around herself.

"Come here," Tommy repeated. Clara shook her head, just once, fearing he'd decided to follow through on his threat after all. Tommy reached out for her, grasping an arm as he tugged her around the corner of the desk. Clara struggled against him when he lifted her but all the same, Tommy eased his sister on top of the desk so she was facing him.

"You're not in any trouble," he said, "but I'll have an explanation."

Tommy leaned back in his chair, his chin resting on his left hand as he waited.

Clara was still holding herself with arms wrapped around her chest. Tommy sat up and held out a hand to her. Clara eventually took hold of Tommy's rough hand with both of her own hands, settling them in her lap.

"I just want to go with you," she mumbled.

"And I've already told you that's not an option today. I told you last night, so what's this really about?"

"I want Ada," Clara finally said, the words coming out no louder than a whisper as she fiddled with the golden ring on Tommy's finger.

Tommy sighed and closed his hand around one of Clara's. "She'll come back around when she gets some sense back in that head of hers, eh?" he answered. "Don't you worry about that."

Tommy hadn't felt Ada's absence in the home all that much. He didn't miss Ada so much as he worried about her and her wellbeing, but then again, Tommy had been busy as of late. Clara missed her sister though. She had more time to miss her. Aside from the lessons she'd been having with Grace, Clara spent day in and day out at home with a simple cast of Aunt Polly and Finn and a smattering of Blinders for her only regular company.

"Why did you make her go away to London, Tommy?"

Tommy closed his eyes for a moment, taking a steadying breath at his sister's words, an accusation he attributed not to Clara, but to their aunt. Polly had given him some similar words the night before and he assumed Clara must've been listening.

"No one made your sister do anything," Tommy answered. He pulled back his hand and readjusted his jacket.

"But you—"

"But I what, Clara?" Tommy interrupted as he leaned forward in the chair. "All I did was try to give Ada a chance at a better life, but she chose Freddie fucking Thorne. She chose him over her own family."

Clara gulped, wishing she could hop off the desk. Tommy was too close and he was suddenly angry again. Clara wanted to put a bit of distance between herself and her brother's too sharp tone. She wanted them both to forget about her half-delivered accusation, especially since she hadn't even been quite sure what she had intended to accuse him of, just that she felt he was connected with Ada being gone, that something he'd done or said was the reason why their sister still refused to come home. After all, Tommy had said months before that he wanted Ada and Freddie out of the city. And now they were.

And it had all been a distraction anyway, or only a piece of the puzzle. She was upset about Ada, but she was upset about more than Ada. She was upset about a lot of things though she hadn't worked up the courage to tell him what she was really worried about. She hadn't worked up the courage to out herself and Finn and tell him why she was worried about that more today than she had been the day before.

And it was too late now, anyway. Tommy was too upset about her bringing up Ada that now she'd never be able to tell him what else she was holding, the other pain that was nestled in her heart.

Tommy's voice wasn't raised anymore, but she could hear something in his tone, some bit of false laughter. It was just as dangerous as a bit of shouting as far as Clara was concerned. "I tried to help her and she didn't want it, so she's done this to herself. And you can tell whoever is telling you otherwise just that. Ada did this herself. And I don't want to hear about any more of your crying over her not being here or you not being able to go to the races. You're eleven now. It's time you act like it."

Clara stared at her brother, their eye contact steady as they both searched for something, some shred of understanding or maybe just a way back, a retreat from the conversation…a way to reset and go back to jam-slathered slices of bread and quips about Clara being in charge one day. Both of them wanted it, a return to the ease that had once readily resided between them, but neither was ever certain how to go about getting back there.

With all that had passed for Tommy—for the business, and for their family—it had been almost too easy for him to forget that, in recent months, Clara had been through a lot, too. And it was almost too easy for him to forget that she wasn't him. At eleven, Clara was still a kid even if he hadn't been when he'd been her age.

And that was what he wanted, wasn't it? A different life for the kids…something easier, something softer, a life where Clara could still be a kid even though she'd leaned toward adulthood in many ways for much of her young life. It was a mixed bag, the ways in which she was too clever, too aware, and yet, so naive and young and innocent. Such a kid.

Tommy sighed and offered his hand up for his sister to hold again. He was grateful when she accepted it. He wasn't sure she would this time.

Clara wasn't sure if she was taking it more for him or for herself, but it calmed them both. Clara focused on Tommy's ring again while she considered his words. They had been a little mean. They were biting. They hurt, but that didn't mean they weren't true.

Clara was eleven now. She was halfway to twelve. Maybe Tommy was right. Maybe she was being childish. She certainly felt small and weak and silly sitting up there on her brother's desk. She felt silly for crying about being left behind. She felt stupid for crying about Ada being gone, but as childish as it all felt, it also felt right. It felt true.

It all felt familiar. It felt like the way of things. Clara was feeling out of sorts and scared and when she felt that way, her brother had always told her it was alright to cry. Tommy had always tolerated it. He had encouraged her to get it out. He had always been able to wait out her emotions and help her wade through them. He had always been able to help put her back together with his words and his gestures. By the simple fact of knowing her and seeing her. He was able to calm her the way he was able to calm spooked horses, like it was all the most natural thing in the world.

"Clara?" Tommy moved his free hand to tilt her face towards him. "Clara, I'm sorry our Ada's not here, but there's not a thing you or I can do about it, eh?" Tommy sighed. He wished there was something. He really did, but he'd thought it through. Options were limited. "She'll come back when she's ready."

Clara didn't know if she believed him. Some part of her was stuck in between holding on to her own convictions and accepting her brother's words, but she nodded anyway, swallowing the hard lump in her throat, swallowing the rest of the tears that threatened their way out of her. She swallowed the rest of her explanation too, the rest of her worries, because Clara knew Tommy was already starting to consider whatever had passed between them good and settled. Somehow, he'd missed that there was more, a pain that stung more than being shouted at or swatted at or any other hurt he could wield ever could.

"How about you go to the yard today? See the horses?" Tommy said. It felt like a compromise. It wasn't the races, but it was horses. It wasn't Watery Lane. "I'm sure Curly and Uncle Charlie could use your help with the horses."

Clara had yet to answer when John shouted out a morning greeting. It broke them both from the moment though Clara wished she and Tommy could have stayed there in that precise moment for a bit longer. Clara wished John would've stayed away long enough that she could climb back into Tommy's arms for a few minutes. Maybe if she did, she would have been able to work up enough courage to tell him the rest of it.

And maybe with a few more minutes, Tommy could have really convinced Clara that everything would be alright, but not now. Not with John shaking them both out of their moment. Not with the day starting, not with the gears starting to turn. Before she knew it, they'd all be gone. They'd be gone and Clara would be left alone.

"What'd she do now?" John asked. He smirked around a toothpick as he looked at the two, coming through the door and leaning against the frame.

It looked like trouble, like Clara had been giving Tommy trouble, or maybe it was the other way around. It was always something. John had come to simply expect the two of them to be at odds. He tried to help when he could, but if Clara was dead set on causing enough trouble to get herself in trouble this early in the morning, there was little he could do to save her. And part of him was too tired to try because he'd been up half of the night dealing with his own kids. Maybe it was something in the moon cycles. John's own kids had been driving him mad ever since he got home the night before, acting up worse than he'd seen in ages. The lot of them had stayed up until past three in the morning, even little Robbie.

The room stayed quiet. John shifted, pushing his hands into his pockets. "Whatever it is, can't be worse than spending all the family money on a tophat and a coconut like our Tommy here, eh Clara?"

The room remained silent once again. Clara set her gaze out the window, her back to John, and Tommy stared at his brother for a few seconds, a whole lot of meaning tied up there in a few seconds of glaring. John was left feeling like he'd interrupted something he shouldn't have, like both Tommy and Clara didn't want him there, like he was the one who'd done something wrong. John gritted his teeth as Tommy turned his attention back to Clara, both of them acting almost as if John wasn't there.

John couldn't follow it, the shifts and twists of what was permitted and what wasn't, who Clara was happy with and who she wasn't. Tommy seemed to be unhappy with most people most of the time. At least that was predictable. But Clara…they'd been in a good place when he sent her off with Finn the day before. And Finn said they'd delivered their letter. There'd been no problems when he came to collect the second half of the pay the night before.

"Give me a minute with John, alright, Clara?" Tommy squeezed Clara's hand before nudging her off his desk. "Go get dressed."

Clara quickly slid to the floor. She turned away without a word, but Tommy stopped her. "And no listening at the top of the stairs, eh?"

Tommy knew that was where Clara had heard about Ada being in London. He assumed John was there to ask after the plans for the day. Tommy didn't need Clara hearing that. And if he was going to get her settled at the yard and be on time for Grace, there would be no room for her dallying at the top of the stairs. He needed her dressed and ready to go. He moved a strand of hair from her face, tugging on her earlobe after tucking the hair away. He hoped for a smile, but all he got was a nod before she turned away, marching towards the exit. John stayed leaning against the doorjamb as Clara moved toward him. He reached out to tickle under her chin, the start of some teasing comment about her borrowed sweater coming out before Clara swatted John's hand away. She usually like John's jokes, but Clara didn't want to laugh. She wanted John to shut up and she wanted to be away from him.

John caught Clara's arm as she tried to squeeze past him. He yanked her back to stand in front of him and Clara tried to kick him in the struggle. "Oi! What's your problem?"

"Let her be, John," Tommy answered, his voice tired. He met John's eye for only a moment directing the rest of his words at their sister. "Clara, go on. We'll leave for the yard in a few minutes."

"No," John said, still holding Clara there beside him. "Tom, I need her today. I've got someone to sit with the kids, but she could use a—"

"Fine," Tommy cut him off. "That's fine, John. She'll be over to help out by the time you need to leave, right Clara?"

Clara was listening to her brothers' negotiation, but she was more focused on prying John's fingers from her arm.

"Clara?" Tommy prompted when she remained silent.

Clara nodded once at Tommy. Tommy nodded back and turned his gaze to John.

"Good enough for you?"

John nodded though he still seemed reluctant to let her go. "Good. It's decided," Tommy continued, his words gentle, but not a request. An order. "Let her be, John."

John did as Tommy asked without ceremony, dropping his hold on the arm Clara was trying to wrestle free. She stumbled into one of the tables just outside the office. Tears welled in Clara's eyes on account of the throbbing in her stubbed toe, but she kept quiet and moved through the shop towards the back staircase.

"What the hell was that about?" John asked, no attention paid to the fact that Clara was not yet halfway up the stairs. "Acting like a real fucking brat."

The door closed a moment later at Tommy's suggestion. Clara felt the swell of a sob rising in her as she mounted the second floor. Her brothers wouldn't hear if she broke down now, but Clara pushed those tears away as well. It wasn't as if the tears would do anything to help her. It wouldn't fix anything. Her brothers wouldn't solve anything. And she was nearly twelve now. Somewhere in between a child and an adult. It was time she started acting like it.