Chapter 50

Tommy clocked inspector, standing in the back corner of the room, agitated and on his feet – clearly on edge. That worked for him, he could work with an on edge man.

He ignored the woman at the door, keeping his eyes on Campbell as he crossed the room, refusing to shrink from him or look away. He stopped in front of the man and exhaled loudly as the inspector's eyes swept up and down him, each of them with hands firmly in pockets, sizing the other up.

"I chose this place because it is outside both of our jurisdictions," the inspector told him, skipping the pleasantries neither of them had the will to pretend they cared for.

He was here for one reason – to get this man away from his family.

"D'ya want tea?" the inspector added – betraying even through his thick northern Irish accent the middle-class upbringing he had had. No pleasantries of hello, but some inbuilt reflex to offer tea. Some kind of politeness had to be at least feigned as far as this man was concerned.

Well, Tommy wasn't going to bring politeness – feigned or otherwise.

"Inspector I responded to your invitation," he told him, ignoring the offer of tea, "Because I want us to understand each other. I am a businessman. I want to make my business successful."

It was one of the things people knew about him. He was a businessman. And a good one.

Arthur could postulate all he liked, but everyone knew Tommy was the one who had dragged the Shelby's up in the world, expanding their various business pursuits – the shop, the protection, the selling on of stolen items. And it was useful, to cover whatever he needed to – because people intrinsically believed that he would do anything for good business. They didn't often realise it was being left with the two younger Shelby siblings in his care that had given him the drive to succeed in the first place. And after he had started, it hadn't seemed natural to stop. Until the war. And that had only flamed the fire in him to outstrip the bastards who stood and blew the whistles at them all. Hell, even his family, his own brothers, had accepted his explanation of Rosie being good for business as his reason, initially, for arriving home with her and Lily in tow.

"And I want my city run peacefully," the inspector replied, taking a step forwards as if to try and tower over him.

Tommy nodded his head, unperturbed, "Well if the city is peaceful, business can thrive."

"So, we are on the same side?" the inspector asked, narrowing his eyes as if he couldn't quite believe Tommy was suggesting such a thing.

Well, he going to have to make him believe it, or believe it was a possibility, "I think perhaps we could be."

They stared at one another for a second before Campbell started towards the table that had been laid for them, sitting himself down at it. Tommy mirrored him, aware that this was usually the position the inspector would take in the police station to interrogate someone. But he'd been across that table from other policemen often enough that it didn't bother him.

"How can we be on the same side when I see things like this?" Campbell asked, producing a piece of paper from his pocket, unfolding it and sliding it across the table for Tommy to read, "My men found this in the bedroom of a known communist. It has your sister's name on it."

It did have his sister's name on it. A prescription for iron tablets, the ones Rosie had dragged her to the doctor to get, against Ada's own protestations. God, she had really thought Ada's sickness was an iron deficiency – and he had demanded of her whether she had known, had kept it from him. He had been so angry his logic, the logic he was so known for, the logic that made him a good businessman, had deserted him. And now she had too. He could only pray that she'd return to him, like his logic had done, with time and calm.

"It was obvious she'd been sleeping in his bed," the inspector continued talking about Ada, "Are you also in bed with the communists, Mr Shelby?"

Tommy shook his head, "I do not share their fantasy," he assured the man, then added, "And as for my sister, I've already dealt with the situation."

He hoped that was true. After he'd taken Lily to town and got her a swimming costume and a new spring coat the day before (stopping by the yard as promised on the way home and remembering only then what Rosie had said about how she'd need some riding clothes to stop her legs chafing, cursing himself for forgetting it when they'd been at the shops just before) he'd dropped her off at home and made himself scarce for the night – which he imagined was to Rosie's joy.

He'd gone to the home of one of the striking BSA factory workers and asked when they'd last heard of Freddie being around. They hadn't seen him since before the raids, but Tommy learned from the man that one of the other union convenors had returned. He had gone to see him, giving him the letter he had typed to pass on. The letter telling Freddie about Ada's pregnancy and telling Freddie to take his sister and get out of town, to start somewhere fresh with her and to treat her right, or he'd come for him.

"Freddie Thorne is at the very top of my list," the inspector told him, sitting back and crossing his arms.

"Well cross him off," Tommy said, to which the inspector raised one eyebrow, "He won't be returning to the city. I'll make him part of our deal."

"What deal?" Campbell asked.

He wanted to play games, to make Tommy spell it out.

Well, he'd spell it out. Very clearly.

"You and your specials will leave my businesses alone from now on," Tommy ordered, keeping his voice calm, "No more raids into our territory. No more smashing up pubs. No more lifting my runners. You will turn a blind eye to all of my gambling operations."

Essentially – you will come nowhere near my family. You will not undertake any action that my kids could be caught up in. You will not anger people who might take their frustrations with me out on anyone living under my roof. You will not inconvenience me in any way, shape or form. Therefore, you will not inconvenience my family in any way, shape or form.

The inspector made a move to speak but Tommy cut straight across him, not allowing him to interfere.

"Also," he continued, "I am planning an expansion onto the race tracks. I intend to do business with Billy Kimber."

He realised that, being from out of town and with most of Kimber's business pursuits being, these days, above board, the name might mean nothing to Campbell.

"He runs most of the legal track side betting outside o' London. He has policemen on his payroll," he explained, "I want you to put in a word with the Chief Inspector of Gloucestershire that his men should leave me alone when I make my move."

Campbell considered this then, determined not to give in too easily said sarcastically, "Forgive me, I don't seem to have a pen to write down this rather long list of demands."

Tommy produced his fountain pen from his inside pocket. It was the one Rosie had given him for Christmas, which he had carried on his person every day since. He hadn't let anyone else touch it and it made his skin crawl to think of the Inspector's hands on it. But still, it was the only one he had. Ironic that even with their current distance she had been the one who equipped him for this physically, as well as provided the emotional motivation, without knowing.

Campbell glanced at the pen, not touching it, before asking, "And what do I get in return?"

Well, here it was. His bargaining chip.

"I have what you're looking for," he told him, letting it hang in the air and watching the realisation seep into the man's eyes before nodding, "I have the guns."

"What guns?" Campbell asked.

Making him spell out his demands was one thing. This was another.

"I'm not here to play games," he told him, standing and making to go.

"Wait! Wait…" Campbell said.

Tommy turned slowly on the spot, making it look like he was considering whether to sit back down or not, making Campbell work for it, his hand beckoning Tommy back down.

He deigned to return to his seat before fixing his eyes on Campbell and flicking his eyebrows.

"Twenty-five Lewis machine guns, fifty carbines, ten thousand rounds of ammunition," he listed off, "All in a crate bound for Libya. Stolen from the BSA factory proofing bay. I'm guessing they sent you to Birmingham to get those guns back. Well, it's me that has 'em."

He watched the absolute realisation sink into the inspector that Tommy wasn't bluffing.

"I have left word with men I trust," Tommy lied smoothly, "That if I am taken in police custody, for whatever reason, those guns will be shipped to Liverpool – from there they will be sent directly to Belfast and sold to the Irish Republican Army. All your good work in Ireland would be undone."

There it was, the man's worst fear spoken aloud. Tommy just had to get word out enough that he might have the guns for the IRA to come sniffing about him – ideally to arrange a meeting at The Garrison where the blonde barmaid could report back on it. Shouldn't be hard. He thought of the stolen goods, all but one of them buried in the conveniently empty grave of Danny Whizzbang. No one would find them, he was sure of that.

"Each stolen weapon is numbered and marked," he reminded the inspector, "If I sell them to the IRA it won't be long before Mr Churchill finds out. I imagine you got into enough trouble over the burning of the King's photographs."

He felt a frisson of satisfaction in the flicker that crossed the man's face, proving him right. He had the upper hand, easily. Campbell knew now that he knew who had sent him in the first place and for what. And he knew Tommy knew exactly how to manipulate him.

"That was just a taster," Tommy warned him, "If those guns reach Belfast – your life in the force is over."

He could see the fear in the man's eyes, but he had to be careful, fear drove people to be rash.

"When I have achieved what I have set out to achieve, I will let you know where to find the guns," he promised, softening his previous words.

Once he had got his business turned legal. Built it further to generate the income that would get them out of Small Heath. Some bitter part of him hoped that even if Rosie never spoke to him again, if he got them a nice enough house that Lily would never want to leave, that her sister never would either. He'd put it in her name, if she wanted. And if she truly wanted, once Lily didn't need him anymore, he'd leave them to have it to themselves. But he didn't want that. He could only hope by then that she wouldn't either. That he'd have fixed this, made it up to her.

"You'll be a hero, you'll probably get a medal," he enticed the inspector with the ideas of the glory it would bring him, hoping it would be enough to make him play the game, thinking at the same time of his own collection of medals, chucked in the cut and left to rot, "I'm a fair man. It's a fair offer. Do we have a deal?"

The inspector didn't, as far as Tommy could see, have much choice. But the man was proud. Just like Rosie, insistent on taking her caning in silence, Campbell didn't want to be seen to be too happy to succumb to the deal, didn't want to give the person with the upper hand any satisfaction. Didn't want to be seen to be too happy to be sinking to working with the Peaky Blinders.

"I need an answer. Right now," Thomas demanded.

The inspector met his eyes and was silent for a moment further before giving in.

"Very well," the man told him through gritted teeth, "But I'd prefer if we don't shake hands on it."

Tommy sat back in his chair, relaxed, looking coldly at the man opposite him. This inspector didn't want to shake his hand, thought himself too above the likes of the Shelby's, even when they had him on a hook.

He stood and made his way around the table, standing over Campbell and growling, "Now why would I shake the hand of a man who didn't even fight for his country."

He picked up his cherished pen and tucked it back safely into his inner pocket, where it belonged, leaving the Chief Inspector, he was sure, fuming – but helpless.

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

His morning meeting had gone to plan, but it left a taste he didn't care for in his mouth. Still, he had done the right thing, he was sure of that. And he could keep an eye on that barmaid now - since he'd told the inspector he had the guns, he could see how she was around him now that that information was out in the world.

When he returned to Watery Lane it was to find his kitchen full of kids, and he raised an eyebrow at the scene – George, Isaiah and Finn sitting at the table playing cards, Katie pushing Lily's pram back and forward the same few paces but seeming to be thoroughly enjoying doing so, and Lily standing in front of the sink having her new coat scrubbed at by her sister, tears in her eyes.

"What's going on here then?" he asked her, coming around the table – as close as he dared, really.

"I spilt ice cream on my coat!" Lily wailed at him, pointing unnecessarily at the dark patch on the beige coat that her sister was rubbing a cloth against.

"Oh no!" he sympathised, "How did you manage that?"

"Rosie took us all to the Italian shops but I took too long to eat it and it melted," she told him, tears running down her cheeks, "No one else spilt theirs!"

"Oh sweetheart, we'll get you another ice cream another day, eh?" he said, fighting his smile.

"She's upset about the coat!" Rosie told him, feigning some level of , admittedly acidic, civility in front of the kids, "Though if she'd just worn the old one instead of insisting on wearing the new one this wouldn't be a problem, would it? Wouldn't have shown up on the old one."

Lily cried harder at her sister's words – delivered as they were in none too gentle a tone.

He figured Rosie was angrier about the coat being bought, angrier at him, than she was about any marks on it.

"It's too warm for her other coat," he told the redhead, as gently as he could.

"Hmm," was the return acknowledgement, as she sat back on her heels and looked at the patch, silently assessing whether she had done enough to it to save it.

"Did you all get ice cream?" he asked the general room, which was affirmed, before he asked, "And where are Jack and Alfie?"

"In their room," Katie told him, "They were cheeky to Lizzie and daddy told them they had to stay in their room all day today."

So, Lizzie was still looking after John's kids some of the time. He supposed, if it suited John and her, it wasn't an issue.

He turned back to Rosie, eager even to engage her in forced conversation, just wanting her eyes to meet his, to hear her voice, "How much did that cost?"

She turned those eyes on him, gold and illuminated by the sun shining in the back door, "Came out the food budget, receipts are in my coat pocket."

"As long as you've got enough money."

"I walked by the tobacco shop today," she said, her eyes focussed on him, watching him, "Evans is happy to give me my Saturday shifts back."

He pulled out a cigarette and lit it, taking his time to think before answering her.

He wanted to shake her and tell her to stop her nonsense, to just tell him what it was that lay underneath it all. But he wanted things to be alright, wanted not to upset her further by being angry with her. And either way, he wasn't going to let her break his promise to her about not telling her off, not undermining her in front of her sister – or indeed in front of any of the kids, who had all come to respect her as an adult member of the family, speaking to her differently to how they spoke – how they'd spoken - to Ada, listening to Rosie and obeying her.

"Do you want them back?" he asked eventually.

She raised an eyebrow, "I think it's for the best."

"What about the money from the horse?" he asked, wondering why she'd go back to an underpaid Saturday job when he'd given her five hundred pounds in cash two nights ago. Sure, she'd given him five months of rent back – but at three pounds a month, she'd still left herself with four hundred and eighty five quid.

"Spent most of it, or near enough," she replied, standing up and brushing herself down, appearing nonchalant. He figured her nonchalance was as affected as his.

He raised an eyebrow, inviting her to explain.

"I made an investment - bought my old house," she told him, raising her chin defiantly, "I went yesterday and got it started. Any rent that comes through will come to me now."

She had bought her old fucking house. Christ. So that she'd always have somewhere to go, somewhere that was hers, whenever she wanted away from him, whenever she decided to go. Still, though his heart thudded, she had said she'd stay for Lily. So, he had time. He had time. He needed to use it well.

"What about the rest of it?" he asked, keeping his voice neutral and not betraying the clenching he was doing internally at the news.

Her old house, even if they'd ripped the shit out of her – and he'd find out if they had and make sure they fixed it if need be – it couldn't have cost her any more than three hundred. Not a pokey house like that, two bedrooms and the same two rooms downstairs as number six had had before they'd knocked through into next door.

"I put it in the bank – half in an account for Lily, half in an account for me."

"Should do you for a while then, you'll still be getting paid for your work here," he told her.

"I'm thinking I'll use the money in mine to send Lily to one of the girl's schools around here – after I turn eighteen."

After she could adopt her and act as her lawful parent. Because a private school would ask questions if she turned up to pay for her sister's education in place of their mother. She'd put the money into securing Lily's future. That made sense.

"And I'll do the ledgers, as agreed Thomas," she told him, "But I thought I'd made it perfectly clear I wasn't doing the other stuff again."

He frowned at that – had made it perfectly clear, had she? When exactly had she made it perfectly clear? She'd made everything as perfectly clear as fucking mud as far as he was concerned, shouting about how he'd made a whore of her and how she'd screwed Ada over and been his lapdog. Where in any of that had she mentioned not wanting to do any more of the undercover stuff?

Well, it wasn't a conversation for that moment.

He turned his gaze on Lily, who was standing watching them with her fingers in her mouth.

"C'mere bab," he said to her, holding out his arms and picking her up into them when she came to him, her head turned over her shoulder to her sister as if to check she had permission to go to him.

"You don't need to be upset about the coat," he told her, bouncing her a little, "If it's ruined we'll get you a new one, alright?"

"No, she'll learn to look after her things, she's not getting new things left right and centre," Rosie said before Lily could reply.

He kissed the child's head, before addressing her sister, "It's hardly her fault if it melted."

"She wasn't paying attention," Katie said, clearly parroting whatever Rosie had said whenever it had happened.

"Enough from you Katie," he told her, turning and frowning.

"Well she's right, she wasn't paying attention, too busy going on about that horse," Rosie said, defending his niece.

"You're alright my little love," he told Lily, stroking her hair and deciding to ignore the other two females in the room.

Bloody females.

The female in his arms wound hers around his neck, buried her face into his shoulder and started a fresh set of tears, her little body shaking with the effort.

Katie threw back her head and made an "eurgh" noise before asking Rosie, "Can I take the pram out the back myself if she's going to be crying for ages again?"

Rosie sighed before answering, "Yes but be careful with it please."

His niece smiled widely and promptly began to push the pram across the kitchen.

"Katie," he said, getting her to turn her head to him, "You're heading for a smacked backside as it is – you get one mark on that pram and you won't sit for a week, you understand me?"

"Why?" Katie demanded, her mouth falling open.

"Because you're being an inconsiderate little madam who has too much attitude," he told her.

"I don't know what inconsiseate means Uncle Tommy."

"Inconsiderate," he corrected, "And it means you're not thinking about the fact Lily is upset."

"Lily's always upset," Katie replied, rolling her eyes.

"You get out the back before I make you upset," he retorted.

Katie's eyes flicked to Rosie, who laid a gentle hand on his niece's head and smiled down at her, "You're alright Katie love, you go on out. Just be careful."

Katie disappeared out through the door without looking at him again, and he met Rosie's eye over Lily's shoulder. Katie, like her father, exaggerated her points. Lily wasn't remotely always upset. And even when she was, she was easily consoled, whereas since he had arrived in the kitchen her tears seemed to subside only to then start afresh. Something more than her sister being overly sharp with her about a melted ice cream had to be bothering her and he wondered if, as much as he did reckon they'd successfully co-existed in the house for the past few days in a way that wouldn't have seemed out of place to anyone else, Lily had picked up on her sister's grievance.

He broke off looking at the redhead, her face was impassive anyway, to chance a glance at his younger brother. Finn, it appeared, had been so busy paying attention to them that he had been put out of their game of snap and was sitting, cardless, watching them whilst Isaiah and George continued, unperturbed by the coats, crying or inconsideration that was going on around them.

"You still want that bike?" he asked Finn, continuing to bounce Lily gently as she sobbed with gusto into him.

The boy nodded, his eyes flicking to Rosie as he did so before resting back on him.

"Alright, we'll go this afternoon, eh?"

"Rosie's making pasta," Finn replied.

"For dinner?" Tommy asked.

"Yeah," Finn nodded.

"Well we'll take the car anyway. Go about half two, be back by four at the latest, how's that? We be back in time?" he directed his question at Rosie this time.

She gave a curt nod.

"Pasta from the book?" he asked.

She nodded again.

"We liked that last time, eh Lily?" he said to the child, hoping to distract her from her misery, "I'd never had pasta before that, remember? You and me both liked it, didn't we?"

She nodded into him, her cries quietening a little.

"She's a good cook that sister of yours, eh?" he pressed, hoping both to go a little way towards winning the older sister over and distract the younger one from her tears at the same time.

Lily nodded again.

Rosie busied herself with grabbing the book in question off of its place on the sideboard and sitting at the table, burying her nose in it and ignoring his praise.

"I liked the pasta too," Finn offered.

She looked up and gave him a smile, "Good. I'm making pasta with minced beef through it tonight, it's a bit different but hopefully it'll turn out well."

"I'm sure it'll turn out great," Tommy said.

Her nose went firmly back into the book.

As always, thank you for reading, reviewing, messaging me etc! x