Chapter 46

He knew Lily would be aching, but when he mentioned the next morning that he was going to go see the horse again she had immediately asked if she could accompany him – then reminded him it was her horse and not the horse.

Her enthusiasm pleased him; neither Finn nor Ada had ever been particularly interested in horses and the idea of being able to teach her to ride and care for horses as he'd been taught by his mother and his grandfather – along with Charlie and Curly – was one he enjoyed. Her pride in owning the horse amused him, and Rosie seemed to heed the smack – or if not that smack, which she'd simply snorted at and kissed him for - the lecture he'd given her the night before about letting Lily be excited about having the horse, about having things in general. Although she caught his eye and raised an eyebrow at Lily's, "And Tommy, it's not the horse, it's my horse!" she didn't say anything.

"As long as Rosie's happy I'm happy to take you along for a ride. Won't be long though, I'll need to be about today – the shop will be busy," he told the child.

Monaghan Boy's third race – the one he'd lose – was tomorrow and Easter Monday had been quiet. They'd taken money from all over the city in advance already, but he knew there would be plenty more to come.

"Rosie, can I?" Lily asked her sister, her eyes wide and hopeful.

Rosie gave her permission, but when asked if she would come along shook her head and said, "No, you two go but I'll wait for Polly to get here, see how Ada is and maybe go along to see her."

He nodded, disappointed that she didn't want to come but understanding. She had come the day before, against her own instincts and at Polly's pushing. Besides, he was also curious to hear from his aunt. He glanced at his pocket watch, confirming that Polly was later appearing than usual. He hoped that wasn't a bad sign. But it couldn't be – she'd have been along if it was urgent.

"Just us then bab," he said to Lily, who nodded as she slurped at her breakfast.

It was one of the few things Rosie made that he didn't care for. Porridge. He could eat it, but he'd rather not. Arthur was always unhappy when that was what she'd made for breakfast – but she was adamant that they weren't to eat bacon and eggs every morning, decreeing that fried food wasn't good for them and insisting that porridge was "much more nutritious." He was sure she was right, she was the one who read the books after all, but it didn't make the stuff good to eat. If Lily had complained about it he'd have pushed himself through it to set a good example, but Lily seemed quite fond of the stuff – though he did reckon the amount of sugar she spooned into it cancelled out whatever nutrition Rosie thought she was getting from it.

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

Unlike the previous day, he decided to trust her to stay upright of her own accord - he had no plans to let her ride for very long, not wanting her discomfort to sink in enough that it began to outweigh the excitement, and so he figured she'd manage fifteen or twenty minutes without needing him to hold or catch her. He went slowly though, one hand on the horse, one in his jacket pocket, fingering the bullet that lay there, running his fingers over the ridges that formed his name, crudely etched into it.

Charlie had passed it on. He seemed to think it was something to do with the bloody horse, which Tommy didn't follow.

"Fine beast you got there Thomas," Charlie had said when Tommy stood with the horse waiting on Curly fetching down the saddle, Lily having followed the man in to see the equipment all hung up, "But is he worth falling out with the Lee family over?"

What Johnny Dog's horse would have had to do with the Lees Tommy wasn't sure. He'd picked the fight with the Lees exactly as planned – using the coin toss with Johnny to make Arthur think he was gambling with the car, getting the Lees to have a laugh at his brother and then picking the fight with them over it. They'd called his mother a whore, which had turned it in the moment from a fight he was picking to a fight he wanted to have. But still, the fight had been the point. The bullet, in his pocket was the point. After tomorrow, Billy Kimber would be in touch, he was sure.

Charlie had told him the bullet was, "A declaration of war – the whole Lee clan."

He had known that would be the case. The Lees didn't do anything by halves. He wasn't worried though. The Lees had numbers. They had brains. Or, well, he had brains. And Rosie had brains. And soon he'd have Billy Kimber too and together their numbers would be sufficient.

"Tommy," Lily's voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Uhuh?"

"When will I be able to ride fast?" she asked.

"When I say so," he replied, suppressing a smile, still walking the horse on slowly.

"When will that be?"

"When you're ready."

"When will I be ready?" she persisted.

He stopped and turned to look up at her, stilling the horse, "Not for a while yet my little love, now where are you getting the notion of wanting to ride fast from anyway? You only started yesterday."

"Finn says the only reason for riding is to race and that it's a waste of time otherwise."

"Don't you be listening to Finn – and when did he say this?"

"Last night. Finn comes into my room and talks to me sometimes when he's going to bed if I'm still awake."

"Does he indeed?" Tommy replied, turning that over in his mind, "I hope he's not keeping you up too late."

She shook her head, "I like it when he talks to me."

"What does he talk to you about?" Tommy asked, knowing she would be likely to fill him in unless she'd been specifically told to keep it a secret – and Finn was a bad liar and a bad secret keeper, which he knew himself and which meant he didn't usually go to the bother of having too many secrets. Still, he figured his brother probably didn't want him to know about his visits.

She shrugged, "Just stuff. He came in to ask if I was ok after you spanked me that day at the shops."

His heart swelled a little with pride at the boy when she said that. And the flicker of a laugh played on his face as he realised that 'that day at the shops' already seemed so long ago to Lily, when in reality it had been the Saturday before last.

"What did you say?"

"I was fine, it didn't hurt afterwards. Finn said after Aunt Polly spanked him he was sore all night and slept on his stomach. I didn't though."

"You'll be sleeping on your stomach if I ever catch you wandering away again or being where you shouldn't be," he assured her, "Then you and Finn can have that in common."

"I'm not going to wander away Tommy, I promise!" she said, shaking her head emphatically.

He smiled and reached back to squeeze her leg, "That's my girl. So what else do you and Finn talk about?"

"He came in to ask if I was okay after the day you all went to the fayre. And he came in last night to ask me about riding," Lily said.

Just like with her child's view of time, Lily had a child's view of how often something needed to happen before it was something that happened 'sometimes.' Though, he supposed, three visits in around ten days was pretty good going.

"When can we go swimming again Tommy? Finn said he's going to come and teach me with you."

"Soon, sweetheart, we'll go soon I promise," he told her.

They'd left the shops without buying her any swimming things after she'd wandered away whilst he paid for Finn's things. He needed to take her back in for them and a lighter waterproof coat for the spring showers.

"Tomorrow will be busy," he told her, "But we'll go to town to get you some things for swimming maybe on Thursday or Friday, how does that sound?"

She smiled and nodded.

"Alright, swing your leg over so we can go for a walk to shake your legs out," he told her, reaching up to her.

"Tommy, do we have to stop?"

"Yup," he nodded, "You'll be sorry if we don't, you'll be aching for days – your muscles aren't used to being on a horse and having to rise and fall with it. And I have to go to work."

"Five more minutes?"

"Lily what did I say yesterday about obeying me at the yard and not arguing with me?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

She swung her leg over immediately and he lifted her down, though he wrapped his left arm around her waist and landed a few swats on her with his right before he placed her feet back on the ground, his hands in hers the same as he had done the previous day.

She looked up at him with watery eyes.

"That was for making me repeat myself Lily," he told her with a flinty look down, "I expect my best girl to do as I say, you understand?"

She nodded wordlessly, tears swimming in her eyes but not quite falling over. He hadn't smacked her hard at all, just firmly enough that she'd get the point and he knew fine well that the tears she was on the verge of were far more about the idea of being in trouble with him than they were about any soreness he had caused.

"That's my girl - alright, let's have a walk to shake your legs off," he said, moving the conversation on quickly before she could decide to work herself up and let them fall, "If you're feeling up to it after that we could ride back to Watery Lane on the horse, eh? Finn will be out by now, he'll see what a good rider you are even if you're not going fast."

She smiled up at him then and nodded in response. Sensitive, but easily consoled – the tears drying up when she realised he wasn't holding any grudge. After they walked up and down he got her to physically shake herself, which made her laugh and he picked her up into his arms, settling her on his hip.

"You're doing so well my little love, I'm so proud of you," he told her, walking back to the horse.

"Love you Tommy," she told him, laying her head on his shoulder, "Even though you're very strict."

He gripped her tightly, but snorted, "I love you too Lily – but let me tell you, Arthur and John are always laughing at me for being soft with you, I can assure you you don't know the meaning of strict. Right, up on the horse again then – there we go. I'm going to use the stirrups, so you just hold the reigns for me and sit right forward so I can fit on behind you, don't worry about your feet."

He altered the length on the stirrups for his own and swung up behind her, his hands going around hers to take a wider hold of the reigns, letting her keep her own hold on them too.

"You thought of a name for your horse yet Lily?" he asked her as he clicked his heels in and set them off at a gentle pace.

She shook her head, "I was thinking about Charlie, but then I thought maybe it would be confusing for Curly to have two Charlies at the yard and he might not know who we were talking about."

He smiled at her considered little thought process, "I think you're probably right."

Charlie wasn't in a good mood with him at that moment - he imagined the Lees had caused a bit of a raucous when they turned up with the bullet for him to pass on, presumably that was where the wires had got crossed with his uncle thinking it was something to do with the horse that caused the bullet delivery - but he imagined Charlie would like to hear that his name had been in the running for being used once he was in a better mood.

"I know more girl's names than boy names," she sighed.

"Well there's no rush, you just keep thinking."

Lily was at ease as she sat in front of him, resting her back to his front and letting him steer the horse. He genuinely did think she'd turn into an excellent rider in time. As he took her down Garrison Lane, past the blacksmith's, one of the workings let out a bang and a billow of fire. It wasn't anywhere near them, just the usual from the machinery, and no danger to anyone who wasn't where they shouldn't be – but it was enough to spook the horse. It reared up and Tommy threw an arm around Lily's stomach, holding her as the beast lifted onto its hind legs and stomped back down again, its head tossing, frantic neighing coming from it.

"Whoa! Easy! Easy!" Tommy said to the horse, keeping one eye on it and one eye on the bab, "Lily, you hold on tight, I'm sliding off to calm him, eh? It'll be alright, he just got a fright," he said to the child once the horse had seemed to want to keep all four of its hooves on the ground.

She gave a shaky nod, her eyes wide and locked on him as he dismounted – but he saw a little of the determination her older sister so often exhibited in the baby then as she curled her fingers tightly around the reigns and straightened her back like he'd shown her.

"Easy boy," he murmured to the horse, placing one hand on its nose, the other holding the bridle, "Shh! Shh!" he comforted, "In France we used to say – shh – in France we used to say it's just the music hall band turning up. It's just trombones and tubas, that's all. It's just noise – shh shh shh – it's just noise, eh? It's just noise." The horse's head had calmed it's twisting and he continued, keeping his voice low, "You get used to it. It's just noise. Good boy," he turned to start leading it on, with a glance up to Lily to make sure she was still alright, then back to the horse, "Good boy."

He hadn't noticed it in the yard, maybe because the ground was softer, but as he began to lead the horse, and Lily still astride it, he noticed the animal seeming to not want to put its weight on one of its hooves, "Some pain there boy, eh?" he asked it – noting it so he could point it out to Curly on his return.

They carried on, him leading the horse, Lily on its back, holding the reigns, until his path was interrupted by the contents of a bucket being flung across it. He backed up and looked up from under his hat to see the barmaid.

"I'm so sorry Mr Shelby," she stuttered.

He didn't reply, wondering if she was genuinely sorry or if she'd stopped him deliberately.

"I'm Grace, by the way," she continued.

"I know who you are," he told her, cutting her off.

She looked to the horse then, asking, "What's his name?"

"He doesn't have a name," Tommy replied, hoping Lily would keep quiet – which thankfully she did.

"Poor boy deserves a name," the barmaid replied.

He decided he had been stopped on purpose, anyone who had got in his way by accident would have stuttered their apologies and been relieved if he'd walked on without incident – not tried to keep a conversation of some sort going.

"You have something to say to me?" he asked, figuring that, although Lily was still fairly shy around people she didn't know, he should move this on before anything was said that could lead to Rosie's name being brought up – and her relative anonymity and the candour the barmaid may afford her because of it was lost.

"The night – you came into the pub when I was singing," she said.

He remembered it – he'd gone home after it to find Rosie reading the fucking communist manifesto and then he'd had to give Ada the worst spanking of her life in order to try and make her see sense.

"You said singing wasn't allowed," Grace pushed.

He still didn't give her any response, continuing to stare at her, letting her get to her point.

He watched her swallow before she did, telling him, "I'd like there to be one night a week when there's singing. I think it would be good for everyone – Saturday nights. Harry was too afraid to ask you, so…"

She trailed off and he stated, "But you're not."

"I am," she replied, taking it as a question, adding, "But I love to sing."

It hadn't been a question. She was asking him, afraid she might have known she should be, but not too afraid to ask. And was it honesty, in that she wanted to sing – or was it a way for her to talk to him? The Inspector had told Polly he wanted to talk to him. "He knows you're the boss," Polly had told him.

He hadn't heard back from Johnny yet to know if she had ever worked at The Whistling Kettle in Dublin. But his instincts told him this woman wasn't simply an Irish barmaid who had turned up in Garrison Lane by chance at the same time a new Irish Chief Inspector had been appointed to the city following the gun robbery. And her sudden stopping of him in the street coinciding with the Chief Inspector realising his intimidation of Arthur had been a waste of time and demanding a meeting with Tommy? It was all slotting too easily into place.

Still, if she thought she could get close to him, get whatever information she wanted from him – he could let her think that. Moss had been shifty with him when he'd gone in about the runner the day before. He couldn't rely on Moss alone anyway. If she was looking for information – he could give her it. Give her whatever information he saw fit to give her. And besides, from what he'd heard about Billy Kimber, she was just his type.

"You sound like one of those rich girls who comes over from Dublin for the races," he told her, "Do you like horses?"

He turned and walked around the horse, not waiting for an answer one way or the other, "How do you fancy earning some extra money?" he asked as he pulled himself back up and settled behind Lily, who looked up to him, even though he kept his eyes on Grace.

"Doing what?" she asked, a hint of nervousness creeping into her voice.

"Dig out a nice dress," he told her, digging his feels in to get the horse going, "I wanna take you to the races."

He urged the horse off before she had a chance to reply. If she was what he thought she was, she'd want to come to get close to him – it was a good opportunity for her to see him outside of her work place, on what would seem for her a social occasion. People were more relaxed, more pliable, at social occasions. More likely to let things slip. She just wouldn't realise it wasn't a social occasion for him – it was his workplace. And if she wasn't what he thought she was, she'd earn some money and she'd still be Billy Kimber's type.

"Who was that?" Lily asked once they had rounded the corner.

"No one you need to worry about," he told her.

She frowned at him but didn't say anything else – the memory of her swats for pushing him back in the yard probably still fresh enough to stop her. The frown disappeared when they turned into Watery Lane though and she got to wave excitedly at Katie and some of the other girls.

"This is my horse," she told them proudly once he had dismounted and lifted her off.

It was amusing really, since she couldn't even reach the horse without him lifting her, but the others were suitably impressed, crowding around the horse and stroking him where they could reach – down his legs and across his belly.

Finn and some of the boys had been kicking a ball further down the street and had slowly stilled their game to look over, not wanting to seem too keen or easily impressed. Kids these days. He caught his brother's eye and Finn gave him a half smile, then, not wanting to be seen to be seeing the horse, turned and kicked the ball energetically so that it smacked into the face of a boy whose attention was entirely on the white stallion.

Tommy bit back his laugh and turned back to the horse, saying, "Alright, I better get this lad back to the stables and get to work if you ladies will excuse us."

The shop door had already opened and closed several times with a stream of people in the few minutes since they had arrived in the lane – and it was still early.

The girls giggled and stood back, letting him swing himself up onto the horse.

"Go in and tell Rosie you're back, even if you're staying out so she knows where you are," he told Lily before he turned the horse around.

Finn appeared down at his side then, something seeming suddenly to have struck him that outweighed the importance of not seeming too interested in the animal.

"Tommy," his brother said, slightly breathless, having run over before Tommy could leave, "See since Lily got a horse and a pram, can I have a bike?"

Tommy grinned down at him and nodded.

"That seems fair, you got one in mind?" he asked, pulling out a cigarette and rolling it across his lip before lighting it.

Finn shook his head, "No, just a bike. Any bike."

"Alright," Tommy nodded, inhaling, and setting the horse off, "I'll get you a bike."

He figured it was probably only fair since the kid had just seen Lily get two new things in her life – and he was proud of Finn for going in to check on Lily at night, though he figured his brother probably wouldn't have appreciated it if he had known that Tommy knew, so he wouldn't mention it for now.

He rode quickly back to Charlie's, his mind on Finn's bike and Grace and Billy Kimber, forgetting to mention the hoof as he handed the reigns back over to Curly and left.

He was in a good mood, one not even the filthy look Charlie had thrown him could dampen - Lily was taking well to riding, he'd had a nice night the night before with Rosie curled up on his lap, they were going to make a lot of money that day and even his worries about Ada weren't concerning him too much – he trusted Polly, or, if need be, Polly's hairbrush to get through to his sister.

"Alright Mr Shelby, how's it goin'?" one of their regulars greeted him as he pushed open the shop door.

Men were crowded into the waiting area, queuing up to put their money down on Monaghan Boy.

"Alright Frank, how's the leg?" he replied, tossing his jacket on a nearby table and shaking the man's hand.

"Not bad."

"Good," he said, pushing through the throng, "Nice to see you son," he said in acknowledgement of another waiting customer.

Voices were shouting over one another - the whole place was abuzz in the way that it always was before a big race. Everyone liked a gamble. The cigarette smoke hung in thick clouds above the hubub, giving a haze to everything, making the lights shimmer, the sounds of coins clinking as they were pushed across the desks and counted making quite the pretty song. He wondered where Rosie was – he'd like to dance her to the sound of money being counted.

"Morning Charlie," he greeted another man before pushing behind a desk and clapping the sitting Scud on the shoulder, "Alright Scudboat, how we lookin'?" he asked, glancing down at the book open on Scud's desk.

"Lookin' good Tommy," Scud replied, glancing up from the slip he was writing out for the customer at the front of the queue.

"Grand stuff," Tommy said, about to settle himself on Scud's desk to take a proper look at his book when John pulled his attention.

"Tommy! Tommy!" John shouted, crossing the shop quickly to him, almost stumbling to stop himself, "They're all here for Monaghan Boy."

"That's what I like to hear Johnny-boy," Tommy replied, giving John a heavy pat on the back, resting his hand there.

"And Aunt Pol wants to see ya," John added, dropping his voice slightly.

Tommy looked up through the open doors between the shop and the kitchen to see Polly staring down, her face dark. He dropped his hand from John and walked through the shop, ignoring Nipper and Lovelock and the piles of money on the third desk – his heart suddenly thumping, providing a sudden deepening to the soundtrack of money jingling. Polly's face being dark when the shop was this busy - it wasn't a good sign.

"What is it?" he demanded of her as soon as he reached her, keeping his voice low, his eyes searching hers, hands going into his pockets so no one would see him nervously twisting or flexing them.

"It's Ada, Tommy, you know she's not been well?" Polly said.

He gave a slight incline of his head.

"She's not not well," his aunt said, "She's pregnant."

He started, his hands leaving his pockets, his feet turning to go back out immediately.

"Tommy, she's-" Pol was saying, but he didn't stop, didn't hear.

She was fifteen. That was what she was. Fifteen and pregnant. Christ. How had he let this happen? He'd tried. He'd tried his damndest. To keep her safe, to look after her, to keep her happy. And he'd let this happen. He'd failed her. He felt sick.

As he pushed back through the shop, not bothering with any pleasantries this time, it was like the entire world had tilted, like he was walking on the side of a steep hill, like he might topple at any point.

His baby sister was – was going to have a baby. She was a baby herself. She was fifteen. She wasn't equipped. How had it happened? Well, he knew how. But Ada – Ada doing – doing that. It wasn't conceivable. Ada was concerned with giggling and picture shows and shoes. Not sex. Although, by Christ, wasn't sex what all of her interests were leading to?

But she was more innocent than that – he was sure of it. Or he had been sure of it. Ada just loved the idea of love. Loved excitement. It was like Rosie had said, wasn't it? Ada wanted life to be like a picture show. Full of glamour and thrill and frenzy.

Anger stabbed through him. Someone had taken advantage of her, to get her like this. And he was sure he knew who. And - god dammit - why had she gone back to him? He had given her the hiding of her life to make sure she didn't. He had done all he could to get through to her.

Rosie had assured him his iron hand would win out over Freddie Thorne's silver tongue. Well, Rosie had been wrong. His stomach churned as he slammed the door, his jacket in his hand. Had Rosie known? Had she known all along? She had argued for it the day they went to the woods – argued that he let Ada stay behind, argued that he let her go end things with Freddie. This was where that had got them, wasn't it? He had gone soft. He should have stuck to his guns, dragged Ada with them and told her if she didn't just ignore Freddie on the street he'd give her a proper leathering.

Rosie with her theories of iron deficiency, with her waiting around on Ada. Had it all been a cover? Had she known the whole time?

He was in Polly's front door in a minute and through the house in less than that – finding it quiet and empty. So, Ada would lie in bed all day at home but once Polly had found out – and once she knew Polly would tell him – she could find the energy to move.

Where had she gone?

She had no money, Freddie hadn't been seen since the raid on Saturday. Christ, had she gone to one of their safe houses? Surely she wasn't stupid enough to try and hide from him? He wouldn't have thought so. But until five minutes ago there were other things he'd never have thought about his sister.

He was angrier than he could ever remember being. Angry with his sister. Angry with his aunt – how long had Polly known? She'd said she had an idea of what was ailing Ada – how long had she had her suspicions and kept them from him? Angry with Rosie for making him soft, for making him give Ada the leeway he never would have done before that had led to this. For knowing. Surely she'd known – she had to have known? They were too close for her not to have known. Beyond angry with Freddie – and he was sure it was Freddie's. He was sure Freddie had been the one to take advantage of Ada, of her innocence and malleability. And it hurt. His anger hurt. It was underlined by a gut punching betrayal. Betrayed by his family – by his baby sister. By his aunt. Betrayed by the woman he loved. Betrayed by someone who had once upon a time been his best friend. God, he had been angry before, but never like this. Never been this combination of wounded and determined to wound. Not like this.

"Finn!" he barked at his brother as he emerged from Polly's.

Finn heard his tone and came nervously to him, chewing his lip.

Tommy didn't have the energy to spend softening his tone, "Do you know where Ada is?"

"She went to town, Tommy," Finn said, gesturing the way with his head.

"This morning?"

"Just before you and Lily came in on the horse."

He set off, striding in the direction of the town, wishing he had the fucking horse so he could canter the whole way there.

She had gone to town. Ada was pregnant and knew he was about to know. She wasn't stupid enough to have gone to – or hopefully, she wasn't in deep enough yet with the commies to the privilege of going to – one of their little rat hole safe houses. She had gone to fucking town. She had gone where she thought maybe he wouldn't make a scene.

He had scolded her and Finn when they were out and about, and just like with Lily going her wandering in the shops last week, he hadn't given much care to who was around when he had done so – and they'd both had the odd smack when the scolding hadn't been enough. But he had never felt any flavour for humiliating either of them in public. Polly had pulled Ada into a fitting room and delivered a proper spanking once when his sister had been having a tantrum and had yanked clothing off of the rails to throw around the shop when Polly had said she wasn't getting the dress she wanted, but that was as far as it had ever gone – and even then there had been a degree of privacy to it. He'd never gone for being like those parents that he sometimes saw putting a child over their knee on a public bench. He'd always taken them home if he had to. Admittedly he didn't care once they got home – he didn't care which brothers, sisters, aunts, nieces, nephews, cousins, uncles or even friends of the family were around at that point, he'd just get on with it. Not like Rosie, throwing Finn, Isaiah, Katie and George out because Lily was for it. But from an early age Ada and Finn had both realised that even if they acted up in public, they didn't get punished, properly, in public.

And, similarly to the current situation, last summer Ada had run off to town and gone to the pictures for the day because she knew she was for it. She had cheeked Polly all morning, refused to strip her bed and bring the things down for their aunt to wash and then slapped Finn for some reason Tommy couldn't even remember now. "You wait till I tell your brother, we'll see what he has to say about you!" Polly had told her, too busy with what she had to do for the day to stop and deal with it at that moment. They had both known exactly what Tommy would have to say – or do – about her and Ada had gone where she knew her arse would be relatively safe.

God, even the fact she had followed that logic now, it just underlined what a child she was. Afraid of what punishment he had in store and going where she knew he wouldn't deliver it.

"Is my sister in there?" he demanded of the man at the ticket desk of the cinema, who nodded meekly, knowing better than to question him as he strode past the desk and up the stairs, throwing the doors into the dark room wide open.

She was down at the front, alone. He walked slowly down. There had been a roar in his brain when Polly told him, he had just turned and gone to find her. He hadn't actually thought about what he wanted to say to her.

God, he wanted to apologise for letting this happen to her. And he wanted to wring her neck for her letting it happen. He didn't know whether he was angrier with her or with himself. And he felt like she'd done it deliberately, as if to prove she could. And he felt like he wanted to take her in his arms and tell her it would be alright, that she would be alright. That he would make sure she was alright.

But was she his to look after anymore? Or was he to lose her to Freddie fucking Thorne? Lose her to the very type of person he wanted to protect her from, because he'd done such a bad job of looking after her.

There was only a minute glimmer of hope he could cling to – that it wasn't Freddie's. That it had been an accident. That this wasn't Freddie and Ada teaming up to fuck him over.

He let out a breath as he took the seat next to her before deciding to either extinguish that hope or cling to it.

"Tell me the man's name Ada," he ordered, his eyes on the screen, unable to look at her for fear he'd close his hands around her throat and shake her.

"Rudolf Valentino," she said.

The actor on the screen. That was how she wanted to play it. She thought she was safe here. Thought he wouldn't cause a scene.

He got up and strode out to the desk.

"Get that stopped – now," he growled, his voice as threatening as he could make it.

By the time he had turned on his heel and entered the theatre again, the screen had gone dark and the lights had come on.

"Get out!" he raised his voice over the room, "All of you! Go on! Now!"

Ada didn't look at him, but he saw her breathing become heavier. She hadn't bargained on this. He didn't take the seat this time, just stood at the end of the row, glaring down at her.

"I said tell me his fucking name."

She finally turned her head and met his eyes, hers scared but somehow defiant, "Freddie fucking Thorne," she confirmed.

He stared at her, not moving his face as his insides fell apart. He might have been liquid – or gas. He didn't feel solid. He didn't feel real. This – this was happening. And it couldn't be. Or it shouldn't be. But it was.

"Yeah," she nodded, "Your best mate since school, the man who saved your life in France! So go on - go on and cut him!"

He turned and started to walk out. The fear in her eyes – it hadn't even been of him, of his anger or his ire. She didn't care for that.

"Cut him up and chuck him in the cut!" Ada shouted after him as he strode out.

Was that her fear? That he would cut Freddie. And would he cut Freddie? Or was her fear for her own state, and the fact Freddie hadn't been seen since Saturday? Christ, did Freddie even know?

His mind raced the entire way as he retraced his steps, heading home. Heading back to Watery Lane. What was he going to do? Would Polly have told the rest of them by now? Would they all know? Was he supposed to go in and hang his head and say, "Well lads, I thought I was the best one to look after Finn and Ada and I've gone and let Ada get pregnant at fifteen, so maybe one of you best take Finn in before I fuck that up too?" And Lily. God, his tiny little Lily – she'd be fifteen one day too and was he going to do the same to her? He had thought himself so high and fucking mighty, so able to support Rosie, to offer the two of them a stable home.

And Rosie - Christ, what was he fucking doing? If Freddie had been in front of him in that moment he probably would have cut him, he was so livid. But Rosie – she had turned sixteen a few months ago, in February. Ada would be sixteen in November. Ironically, there was nine months between them. There was a baby between them. Nine months wasn't enough, Ada wouldn't be prepared for a baby in nine months. If she even had nine months, god, he didn't even know how pregnant she was! But nine months – it was nothing. It wasn't enough time to make a difference. What if he lost control, what if he got her pregnant? Pregnant at sixteen wasn't much different to pregnant at fifteen, was it? And Ada wanted romance and men and dresses. Rosie wanted to go help fucking suffragettes. She wanted to do things with her life and he – he was in the way of that. Fantasising about putting a fucking baby in her every time he saw her be tender with Lily or push a fucking toy pram about. What was he playing at? Playing at houses, that was the jist of it. He was playing a kid's game with her life and Ada – Ada had brought the truth of it to the forefront.

God, he was so utterly fucked. But he loved her. That was the truth of it. He loved her and he loved Lily and he wanted a life with them. And yet – if she'd known about this, about Ada… If she had kept that, encouraged it, enabled it… How could he even look at her again if she had betrayed him like that? And what did it matter – because he shouldn't look at her again anyway. Not like he had been. She was sixteen. She had her life ahead of her. He didn't want to be like Freddie. He didn't want to do what Freddie had done, to snatch it away from her.

He didn't know what to do – what to think. He just had to know first if she'd known.

He wanted her not to have known though. He wanted to tell her and for her to put her arms around him and tell him that it would be alright – that he would be alright. He wanted her to comfort him. And he wanted to not be a selfish cunt who wanted that from a sixteen year old at all.

He shoved the door to number six open, ignoring the shop door and the kids on the street. He could hear movement in the kitchen – sounded like Lily and Finn were eating their lunch. So she was probably in there.

She was in there, she appeared then in the kitchen doorway, her eyes blazing at him. She slammed the door behind her and came into the front room, slamming its door behind her too.

His anger flared. She wanted to slam doors and glare at him? God he'd fucking shake her till her teeth rattled!

She stood in front of the slammed door, glaring, her arms crossed and her chin tilted up at him.

He looked her up and down, then took a step forward so he could close the front door behind him. He didn't slam it as she had done her doors, he closed it with a click and let his hand rest on the handle for a moment, gathering his thoughts and trying to simmer himself before he turned and faced her.

"Do you have anything you want to tell me?" he asked, keeping his voice low, quiet, tight.

She let out a hiss – and if he had been in any other type of mood he might have noticed, and marvelled, that her eyes, which were made of such fire and warmth, had somehow managed to turn to ice.

Cold fury dripped off of every syllable that came out her mouth then, slow and controlled and yet shaking as she returned his question, "Do you have anything you want to tell me?"

As always thank you for taking the time to read along and to send me messages and reviews, I thoroughly appreciate it!