Chapter 47

"Are you going to pretend you need me to tell you what's going on in Ada's life?" he growled.

"Ada's life?" she asked, jerking her head back, "What the fuck are you on about?"

Something slight unclenched in him. He was still furious – with Ada. With Polly. With himself. With Freddie. But he knew in that moment, in that small jerk of her head that she didn't know.

God, his rage had gotten the better of him. She had promised, the night of Ada's hiding, of her own trip across his knee, to come to him with everything. And she had told him about Ada not being home during the raid the minute she had him alone and had been sure he was calm. She had proven herself. And here he was throwing it back in her face.

He dropped his eyes to the floor for a minute and exhaled the bit of his tension that had come from believing her to have betrayed him, feeling guilt replace it.

He looked back up to meet her eyes – still cold with whatever her own fury was rooted in, "Ada's pregnant."

He watched as her mouth moved wordlessly while she processed it, her eyes holding his, wide and disbelieving, before she swallowed and asked, "Whose?"

"Freddie Thorne's."

She didn't say anything to that, just dropped her own gaze and nodded, almost to herself.

"You didn't know?" he asked – just needing the verbal confirmation.

Needing to hear her say it aloud. Needing to know that he had could trust her. And hating himself for needing it and for indulging his need of it. This needed to end – that was all that was needed here. He needed to protect her, from himself. From ending up like Ada, whom he hadn't been able to protect.

"No," she replied, not looking at him, something that looked almost like pain crossing her face, "I didn't know."

He didn't say anything to that, just stood and watched as she also stood in silence, thinking, processing. Not shooting off on instinct like he had done, not striding out the door with no further questions.

"Rosie?" Lily's voice came, small and quiet as the door pushed open gently.

The redhead's eyes flicked to meet the bab's, who popped her head nervously around and looked to her sister, then to Tommy. Her fingers went to her mouth as they looked back at her, waiting for her to speak – which she didn't.

Rosie sighed and broke the silence, "What is it Lily?"

"Nothing," the child mumbled, almost swallowing the word and shaking her head, her eyes still going between them.

It was clearly something.

"Away out and play with Katie," Rosie directed.

Lily looked back to him, still sucking on her fingers, her eyes wide and nervous.

"Out you go bab, go have some fun – back to school next week," he told her.

He didn't want her in the house for this. For whatever this was - or would be. She obeyed him, but her fingers didn't leave her mouth even as he opened the door for her and watched her go through it.

"Finn," he called through, realising his brother should probably be cleared out too.

"Yeah?" Finn asked, his tone forced to sound nonchalant.

"Out – the shop's too busy for you to be in the house, out and play while you're still on holiday."

There was no sound for a minute whilst Finn decided on whether or not to argue, then the scraping of a chair came, and the boy passed through the room a minute later, going through the door Tommy was still holding open.

For the second time he shut the door and turned back to face the redhead.

She ran a hand through her already unruly hair and asked, "Where is she?"

"The picture house."

She didn't acknowledge him, just picked up her coat and bag from where they rested on the chair – she'd obviously been out to get whatever they'd had for lunch and had left them in the front room on her return.

"Where exactly do you think you're going?" he demanded, stepping into her path as she reached for the door.

"I think I'm going to see your pregnant sister whose alone in a fucking picture house," she snarled at him, venom back in her voice now that her shock had worn off.

"And what good do you think that's going to do?" he snapped, reaching for her wrist.

He caught a hold of it for a second before she wrenched it out of his grasp, growling, "You get your fucking hands off of me Thomas Shelby. And get the fuck out of my way."

He knew she was short, but in that instant as she drew herself up and glared at him, he could have sworn she dwarfed him. He knew what it was to be hated and feared – but what she looked at him with on her face now was a mixture of hatred and disgust. He was too taken aback by it to question it and he took a step away from the door, leaving her to yank it open and disappear out of it.

He came to a second later and opened it behind her, looking out onto the street – but she had already disappeared.

"Where did you go?" Polly's voice came across the front room, pulling him back in to the house. He moved away from the door, into the room, lighting a cigarette for the sake of having something to do, hoping it might calm him.

"What's she angry about?" he demanded, ignoring Polly's question.

"Rosie?"

He flicked his eyes and blew smoke in confirmation.

"I don't know if you've noticed or not Thomas," his aunt snapped at him, "But she's not the biggest of talkers – you'll know better than me what you've done to upset her."

"All I did was ask her if she knew about Ada – and she was fuming before I did anyway."

Polly snorted, "Instead of questioning me maybe you should question yourself about why you would even think to ask that girl that. Ada didn't even fucking know about Ada until last night."

He raised an eyebrow.

"I had my suspicions," Polly admitted, "But I didn't get a chance to ask her until yesterday – she was seven weeks late and seemed to think it was a lack of iron. Took her to a woman last night and after the exam Ada sits up and goes 'So am I or not?'"

"She's a fucking child."

"She was – but whether you or her like it or not she's not anymore."

"Your woman, does she…?"

"Yes, but I only took her there to get an answer fast. People talk. If she wants I'll take her away – there's a woman in Cardiff," his aunt met his eyes and studied his face for a moment before adding, "But she says, just now, she doesn't want."

He snorted, "It's Freddie Thorne's. I'm not having her having a communist's baby."

"I guessed it was his – she wouldn't tell me in case I told you."

"Freddie's not been in town since the raids."

"She said he'd gone away, and she didn't know where he was – but that he'd come back. He promised her he'd come back."

"He'll have to fucking come back, he's the fucking convenor of all these bloody strikes," Tommy snarled, "But if she didn't know then he doesn't know yet. We get this dealt with and it'll be done before he's back."

"Are you hearing me Thomas? She says she doesn't want it dealt with! She wants to have it."

"She's not. Going. To," he replied, waving his cigarette in emphasis.

"Are you going to hold her down?"

"If need be," he growled, then shoved his cigarette back in his mouth.

Polly threw up her hands, "People talk Thomas. Keep your mouth shut, don't make another scene – since I'm presuming to have learned that it's Freddie's you've already made one?"

He ignored her and dragged on his cigarette.

Polly sighed, "You leave this to me. She's vulnerable and emotional. You're not going to fucking help anything. I wish I'd never fucking told you."

"And I wish I had people I could trust," he snarled, unable to help himself from lashing out at her, "Instead I've got you."

His aunt glared at him, then, her voice forced into an eerie calm, "I'm going home. Since I'll presume Ada won't want to come back here after whatever you've done already, I'll make sure she's not alone if she comes back to mine. And I'll pretend - since you're upset - that I didn't hear what you just said. I'll be by tomorrow night, I'll let you know then where her head's at."

He fought not to snort as Polly walked by him to leave the house. Where Ada's head was at. He didn't care where Ada's head was at – if Ada even had a brain in her head to be anywhere. Ada wasn't ready to have a child. And even if she was – her having Freddie Thorne's child would happen over his cold, dead body.

"Or maybe Thomas," Polly said, turning in the doorway, her eyes dark, "You should be going to get someone to find out where your head is at. If you're going to question anyone as dedicated to you as that girl clearly is, I suppose I shouldn't be fucking surprised at you questioning me. Will there ever be a time where what anyone does will prove enough for the great Thomas Shelby?"

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

He had thrown himself into working in the shop for the rest of the day, desperate to be busy. Desperate not to think. It didn't work of course, every time the door went he looked up wanting it to be Polly or Ada or Rosie. Someone with answers. And it never was. The false hope of the door in the shop moving was almost worse than sitting in the heavy silence of the front room, with no movement. Almost.

Finn and Lily stayed out even after the shop had been shut up. Like they didn't want to come into the space beside him either. It was like death had descended in the house.

It was like when their grandfather had died, and they'd had the coffin in the kitchen and they'd all been hushed and quiet around it, even though it was a dead body that couldn't hear anything. It had been like they were scared any loud noise or sudden movement would cause their grandfather to sit up and open his eyes, and probably clout them for disturbing his peace. They had all held themselves back, on the edge of some unknown terror that they didn't want to awaken. It was like there was a sign on the door, some kind of ward that stopped people coming near it. The silence was deafening, pressing and unwelcome.

He had finished all of his own cigarettes, and all the ones he'd pilfered from Arthur's desk, before he gave up expecting Rosie back to make dinner and called the kids in – giving them bread and jam and realising how completely fucking clueless and useless he was when Lily bit off more than she could chew and choked, only for him to realise he hadn't given them anything to drink. He rushed her out the back with a mug and alternated between getting her to drink to try and push it down and thumping her on the back to try and bring it up – anything that might clear her throat. Her little face was bright red by the time she was done coughing and he held her to him, murmuring his apologies.

"Did Rosie go away like you did? Is she coming back?" Lily asked him later as he tucked her into bed.

"She'll be back sweetheart, Ada's staying with Polly for a while because she's not feeling well, and your sister's gone to make sure she's alright, eh?" he lied, hoping he was convincing.

Lily nodded but still seemed discontented. He sat with her a while, kissing her head and smoothing her hair until she finally drifted off into what he thought was an uneasy sleep.

Rosie did come back, later.

She seemed… empty. She looked grey. Ghastly, even. She stood motionless in front of the door as he came to stand in the one that led through to the kitchen. Their earlier positions reversed.

He tried to speak to her, realised he couldn't, and had to clear his throat before trying again, "Where did you go?"

She met his eye, and he didn't recognise hers - there wasn't fire or ice in them now, it was like blank slates had replaced them, "The old house. I wanted to make sure it was alright in case Ada wants to go there."

"In case Ada wants to go there?"

"Yeah. I figured she might want somewhere she can go and be alone. Since you pay the rent half the time anyway."

He flinched at that. How did she know? He had made it clear that no one was to know.

"She doesn't want to though. She doesn't want my help. Nothing from me," Rosie continued.

He didn't know what to say to that, so he said nothing. Nothing from him.

"Ada didn't tell anyone because she thought you'd cut him if you knew. Are you going to Thomas?" she asked, her voice still emotionless, "Is that what you're going to do to my landlord too? Cut him because I managed to get the truth from him about why my rent was suddenly getting paid on time and every month? Him and Freddie, on your list now, are they?"

"How long have you known?" he managed to ask, stricken.

She let out a quick exhale, "Can I even be surprised?"

"Surprised at what?" he asked, waiting for an answer that didn't come, before he added, "You're not making any sense."

"Surprised at any of it," she eventually returned, "God – you really didn't think I knew did you? No fucking wonder. Did you think anyone would just turn up and ask me to come live with them and I'd jump at the chance Thomas?"

Thomas. Sometimes she called him Thomas to be sarcastic. Sometimes it was to make a point. This – this didn't seem to be either of those things. She was talking to him in some emotionless, blank way, like they were strangers. Like she was calling him Thomas because she didn't know everyone called him Tommy. Like she'd read his name on a letter or something.

"Rosie, what's going on? Look – I was angry when I found out about Ada. I wasn't thinking straight, I thought you knew and had kept it from me – I…"

He trailed off, unsure of what else to say.

"No," she replied, shaking her head, "No I didn't know. She didn't tell me. D'you know why?"

He shook his head.

"Because she thinks I'm your fucking lap dog. That's what she said. And no wonder. No fucking wonder. It's what I've made myself, isn't it Thomas? And you honestly thought I didn't know about the money when I came to stay with you? I thought you were just trying to let me pretend I had some dignity in the situation."

"You do have dignity," he cut across her, alarmed by her words, by her calm tone.

This wasn't his Rosie at all. This was like some shell of her that had returned, the fire he knew in her extinguished by ice and then the ice warmed enough to be melted, by not warming her enough to catch flame again.

"No. No. I don't. All that nonsense I fed myself about keeping my job and running the house, so I wouldn't be beholden to you. Wanting to feel we were somehow equal. Wanting it to be real."

"We are equal," he spat, not knowing what to say or do – not knowing how to react to this at all "This is real. What are you saying?"

"No. We're not. We never were."

"We are!" he insisted.

"We're not – but it doesn't matter really, does it, Thomas? You didn't offer me equality, it wasn't in our arrangement. And I signed up to that arrangement, didn't I? And – Christ – you thought I didn't know about the rent when I signed up. What must you have thought of me? But it doesn't matter, does it?"

"What are you saying? What doesn't matter, Rosie? What I think of you?"

"Nothing matters," she said, still deathly calm, shaking her head, "I sacrificed every scrap of self-respect I had to make myself your little lap dog. How in hell could I expect any respect from you when I had no self-respect left?"

"I respect you," he told her, wondering wildly what the fuck any of this was leading to.

She snorted at that, her voice breaking slightly as she said, "Alright then. Let's keep playing that game. It's nice. I like it. Nice to pretend there's one of us left in this room who does."

"Rosie – Rosie, you're – you're saying things I don't understand. Talk to me, normally, eh?"

"If we can pretend like that Tommy," she said, not acknowledging what he'd said, "Pretend like you respect me – will you grant me something that lets me pretend it better?"

"Rosie, I'll give you anything you want if you just talk nor-" he started saying, but she cut blithely across him.

"Good. So, give me this amendment then. I told you you could do what you liked with me as long as you treated Lily well. I'll stand by it because if there's any respect I can win back with myself after signing up for that – signing up for you to use me as you pleased – then all it can lie in is that I can say I stuck to my word and saw it through for the sake of my sister. But let me add your sister on to it. I'll be what you need me to be, Thomas. I'll do what you need me to do. I'll be your fucking lapdog who reports back and doesn't question you. But you make this right with Ada. You can use me how you see fit, I'll stand by it – but only when my sister and yours are happy. Then at least the sacrifice of my dignity and self-respect will be in the pursuit of something decent."

"You signed up to let me take care of. I told you," he growled, "I told you you had to know I didn't bring you here for anything other than that. I told you – I wanted you. I told you I should have known asking you here when I wanted you like I did was like signing myself up to be driven mad with my own desire. I told you if nothing had ever happened between us, but I felt I'd helped you in some way - if I'd provided for you and made things a bit easier for you – that that would have been enough. Christ Rosie, you sound fucking mad."

He ran his fingers desperately through his hair, "Rosie – I'll never lay a fucking finger on you that you don't want laid on you, alright? But you're scaring me. I need you Rosie, I need you. Fuck everyone else. But I need you – not this – this version of you. I don't know who you fucking are right now. I don't know what Ada's said to you, I don't know what's going on in your head – but I need you to be alright. I need you back."

He was scared. She was reminding him too much now of his mother. He wanted to go to her, to shake her, to look into her eyes and search them with his, hoping that close up there would be a glimmer of something he recognised in them. But he was too scared to, in case there wasn't.

"I do sound a bit mad, don't I?" she said, a wry smile touching her mouth, "You know those books you got me Thomas – the ones I love? Well there's one of them - it's my least favourite of the three, but I still like it. The thing is Thomas, you read that book and you think of yourself as Jane. No one envisions themselves as being the mad first wife in the attic. But then, no one really wants to confront how completely replaceable they are, do they?"

"Replaceable?" he spluttered, "You think you're replaceable to me? Christ Rosie, what did Ada say to you? You are not replaceable to me – the furthest thing from it! You are-"

"Your loyal little lapdog," she cut across him to finish the sentence.

"No!"

"It's fine Thomas," she said, "But let's just be honest about what it is, eh?"

She walked by him then, in the direction of the kitchen.

He followed her, "Rosie! Rosie – please – what the fuck is this? What's going on? Can you just – just be you… Be normal. Please?"

She turned, and something flickered in her eye, "What's going on is that I'm going to bed Thomas. And in the morning, we will be normal. It will all be normal – for Lily's sake. And Finn's. And you will make an effort with Ada. And when she forgives you, I will be your lapdog."

"I don't want you to be my lapdog!" he said through gritted teeth.

She turned and made her way up the stairs, ignoring him then as he tried to get her attention, repeating her name over and over, "Rosie! Rosie! Rosalie!"

Nothing worked. She wandered away like she was in a trance of some sort, not acknowledging him in the slightest.

He watched her disappear, then threw over the desk nearest to him, scattering coins and books and papers across the place, kicking the papers that had landed in piles, dissatisfied with how quietly they fluttered apart at his touch. He stormed out the back, slamming the kitchen door and let out a howl, an expression he had never made before, that came from a place in him that had never been wounded before. But – but it still wasn't enough – he didn't feel better for letting it out. He wanted noise and chaos. He wanted a cacophony to drown out his own thoughts. He wanted to not be able to hear himself, or his erratic heartbeat, even though it was in his ears, deafening him. He pulled his gun out and fired it off to the sky – using every bullet it in and then some - not caring what time of night it was or who he was disturbing. He had been disturbed. So let the whole damn world be disturbed.

He kicked the door, then the wall, slammed his fists against it for good measure, then took several steps back, tossing his head up to look at her window. She was there. She met his eyes and held them then, looking ghostly – her pale face shimmering in the moonlight. Ethereal and other worldly. Locked behind the pane, where he couldn't reach her.

He held up his arms to her, like a man possessed. Like he wanted her to try and jump and he was going to catch her. Then he bent his elbows back and laced his fingers through his hair, staring up at her, pallid and shadowed. Not herself. Not full of life and fire.

This, perhaps, was how everyone else saw her. How reticent, taciturn and aloof she was. Like she didn't operate on the same plane that the rest of them did.

He could remember feeling closed off from her before, at the beginning. The first days he'd come into the shop. And he could remember noticing the unfamiliar feeling of caring about it, of wanting to investigate why. But no. Even then, even before… It wasn't like this. Then she'd been closed off and clammed up, like a rose that hadn't bloomed yet. And over time he had unfurled each bit of her, taken the time and been rewarded with beauty that no one else was privy to. This was… was like she had died. Like she'd been unfurled, seen and plucked. Like she'd been put in enough water to keep her vaguely alive but unanchored from the ground.

She walked away from the window and turned out the light.

He stood still for what might have been minutes or hours – he didn't know. Just staring at her window, willing her to reappear – to reappear with more colour in her – to give him some sign. Some way of understanding.

When he finally went back into the house and climbed the stairs himself, his feet heavy and his mind still not made up as to whether or not he'd use the opium to try and lull himself into some form of sleep, he recognised a sound coming from her room. Recognised it as one he had made himself. A sobbing, a screaming, muffled by a pillow shoved in the mouth so as to try and not be overheard. The sound of a broken person.

Soz guys - path of true love never did run smooth and all that, eh?