Chapter 51

The pasta with minced beef was excellent, and had Rosie been in a better mood Tommy might have brought up that they could increase her food budget if it would let her buy more often from the specialist Italian shops across town, but she was in the same mood as she had been for days now as far as he was concerned and she whisked Lily off up the stairs for her bed not too long after dinner, not reappearing herself as seemed the new custom.

Finn hadn't gone too far behind them himself and Tommy found himself alone in his front room.

He was too weighed down by the whole situation – Rosie, Ada, Campbell – to even go to The Garrison (where he was sure to find at least one of his brothers spending their evening) and pretend all was well. A mantle of exhaustion hung on his shoulders - borne both of pretending all was well in the first place and of a lack of sleep. He had been back in France, back in the tunnels, every night since Rosie had appeared in her strange, ethereal state after she'd seen his sister.

He existed normally on little sleep and it didn't usually bother him too much, but now - now he'd give anything to sleep fitfully. A good night's sleep might help him begin to understand what was going on in her head - and what he could do about it.

The pipe was still by his bed. He hadn't used opium in a while. But he was desperate and so he lit it, inhaling and lying back.

But even the drugs didn't help.

He was too tense, too conscious of the pain her distance was causing him to give over to the pull of the opium and he found himself in the tunnels. Him and Danny Whizzbang and Freddie. Fucking Freddie. Taking on the German who had come through on the other side. Listening to the other shovels from his comrades he'd left behind, wondering if they'd break through too. A bloodbath. And the banging. The banging. The shovels of the other Germans banging. Their death knocking. Literally. Kill or be killed. That was what war was.

The banging was still happening when he sat upright, his own cries mingling with it. But it – it wasn't coming from the walls where it had been a minute ago – it was coming from somewhere else, from below him. He shook his head, trying to understand where he was, what was happening. Someone was calling his name. But who had been banging? Where were the shovels?

The banging came again, and, with a clearer head, he realised it wasn't the wall at all, it wasn't the shovels - it was someone at the door. The sound of his name being called reached his ears again as the banging ceased once more.

He drew back the curtain and looked down to Watery Lane, dingy and barely illuminated by the pathetic street lights, hoping he did see someone there and that his brain hadn't brought phantoms to him that didn't just stay in the tunnels they were supposed to. There was someone. A distressed someone.

"Tom! Tom!" Curly was shouting up at him, seeing him and beckoning him frantically with his hand, "You better come quick Tom! Come!"

Tommy let the curtain go and stood, wondering what in hell had brought Curly to him – wondering if the Lees had arrived at the yard again.

Another figure entered his vision as he pulled open the door. She stood just down the hallway, looking worried. She met his eyes and pulled the expression from her face, letting it become blank.

They had spent many nights downstairs, her in her pyjamas and him in his undershirt and trousers – but there had been a comfort in it and now that comfort was gone. He felt naked, exposed - his sleeves rolled up and his collar undone. He remembered the feel of her hand against that shirt, as she sometimes ran it up and down his suspender, tugging on it to bring his mouth to hers. It didn't feel right, with her not speaking to him, with what she said she was to him, what she had called herself, to be in this state of undress in front of her, but his overcoat was downstairs. He wondered if she felt the same because she drew her arms around herself and disappeared back into the room without a word.

He didn't know what brought her out. His cries. Or Curly. Or maybe she'd just been going to go down for water or go out the back. Maybe he was mad to think it was even anything to do with him.

Curly knocked again and Tommy shook himself, going down the stairs and through the deserted house, grabbing his coat, opening the front door and glancing up and down the street as he did so. Had it been anyone other than Curly who had arrived and banged and shouted at this time, creating a show for his neighbours, he'd have punched them in the mouth. But he could hardly punch Curly – the man was simple and for him to be here, in an agitated state, something was wrong.

"T'h-h-horse Tom, the h-horse!" Curly stuttered, then took off at a jog back in the direction of the yard without any further explanation being offered.

His heart hammered as he followed Curly. Something was wrong with the horse. Christ, he'd have preferred to hear that the Lees had arrived and were demanding one to one combat with him at this very moment. Not the horse. Not Lily's horse.

Curly might have been missing something in his mind, but he was the best horseman in England - that Tommy was sure of. If Curly was here, calling for him, this agitated... Nothing good could come of it.

When they arrived in the stable Tommy saw that the horse's front leg – the one he'd thought it was having trouble putting its weight down on the other day - had been bent up and bandaged. He looked frantically at it, but as with the other day, he couldn't see anything – he couldn't see what was wrong. He felt his uncle's eyes on him, but he didn't bother with the pleasantries of greeting him.

"Curly, tell me," he said, straightening from his examination of the hoof, trying to keep his voice neutral but knowing the fear in his eyes would betray him – the fear in every inch of him.

The horse had to be alright. He couldn't bear it otherwise. It was Lily's horse.

"C-curse Tom," Curly replied, nodding, his own eyes etched with worry too.

The man wouldn't, couldn't, it seemed, stand still – he was shaking his head, his hands, even his eyes seemed to shake in the whites.

Tommy crossed to him, trying to hide his own fear, "Curly, Curly," he said, soothing the man like he would a horse, putting his hands out to lay them on the man's face, to hold him still, "Curly, shh-shh-shh, Curly tell me. Tell me Curly, what's wrong with the horse?"

"You bought him at the fair in bad feeling," Curly replied and Tommy dropped his hands, "The Lee's put a bad seed in the hoof, got an old woman to put a spell!"

He turned back to the beautiful white horse, the horse he had bought for his little love. It wasn't fair. The Lee's wanted to get to him, but they'd got to Lily. Which had got to him, he'd give them it. But why did she have to be collateral? When they'd come with the bullet – that must have been when they'd put the seed in.

"So those Lee bastards cursed her," Tommy said, looking at the horse, remembering Lily so proudly astride it before running his hands through his hair.

"Whatever it is," Charlie said, "He said it's spread to the other feet."

"Going to his heart by tomorrow I'd say!" Curly cried out, his hands frantically shaking up and down again, almost like they were spasming of their own accord. They might have been. Driven by the emotion Curly felt for horses.

"Seen curses like this twice," Curly continued as Tommy pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to figure out what to do, "Can't take them back Tom. No! No! No!"

"I told ya Tommy," Charlie muttered, "Better enemies to have than black blood Gypsies."

Black blood Gypsies. Curses. Black magic. Tommy tried to tell himself he didn't believe in it all – but he did, and that was the truth of it. And Curly did too. And whatever had been done to the horse, it had spread already – and Curly reckoned it would take the beast's heart by the next day. Fuck. There was only one fucking thing to do – one mercy he could show this horse rather than let it be taken by whatever the Lee's had done. The outcome was already decided, that much was clear. Lily's horse was going to be taken from her one way or the other.

"Get out," he ordered quietly.

Curly didn't respond, but Charlie did, going to the quivering and gibbering man and muttering, "Get out Curly," pushing him out of the stable and following in his footsteps.

Tommy pulled his revolver from his pocket.

"I'm sorry," he told the horse – meaning it – then he cocked and fired straight between its eyes.

It was a clean shot. A mercy. But there was nothing clean about it. The horse hadn't fucking done anything. And Lily - his precious little Lily – what was he supposed to say to her? How was he supposed to explain it? She would be heartbroken – and what could he do or say to make it better?

He didn't speak to Charlie or Curly after the horse's scream died with it, just walked out of the yard and towards the Garrison, figuring by now it would only be Harry left – and Harry and a bottle of whisky would tide him over for an hour or so before he had to go home and face what he had just had to do.

But it wasn't Harry – it was her.

"We're closed Mr Shelby," she told him, albeit stepping back to let him in, after she answered the thuds he had rained down on the door.

He closed it behind him, "Just get me a drink."

Hopefully she would go soon. His eyes glanced around the room, looking for Harry. She seemed to be alone.

She passed him a bottle and a glass, which he took and turned to a table, feeling even wearier than he had done earlier. A short sleep interrupted by trips to France. And now Lily's horse added to his mantle.

"Shall I leave you alone?" the barmaid asked.

"Came here for company," he grunted, his tiredness bringing out an honesty in him as he pulled out the chair, "Where's Harry?

"He took the night off and went to the pictures," Grace replied.

Tommy poured the drink, thinking about what had happened on his last trip to the pictures. How had he fucking got here? Where had it all gone so fucking wrong with Ada to lead him here? Freddie fucking Throne, that was how. God, he wanted to put a bullet in Freddie's brain. And according to fucking Polly, it was his fucking fault for picking Freddie as his best friend in the first place. If only he'd picked better back in the day. Ada could have been with a decent bloke. A safe bloke. Been happy. Not said what she did to Rosie. Rosie would be talking to him. Rosie would help him get Lily through this.

"How's your beautiful horse?" Grace asked, settling herself in the seat next to him.

Tommy downed the drink he had just poured, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and sat back, letting the whiskey warm him a little, bring him back to himself, reminding him who and what this woman most likely was.

"I just put a bullet in his head," he told her, watching for her reaction – to see if any sympathy flit across it.

It didn't. Another sign she was no barmaid. Rich girls, gentry – they saw horses killed with no remorse. Saw them, saw all animals, as dumb beasts. Once they'd served their purpose they held no charm for those types of people. He knew he had shown mercy by doing what he had done. But it pained him. If her lack of pain was genuine she was rich. If it wasn't, she was hiding it well, which meant she was trained to hide things.

"Was he lame?" she asked.

"He looked at me the wrong way," he told her, widening his eyes, "It's not a good idea to look at Tommy Shelby the wrong way."

She lowered her eyes a little at that, and he poured another drink just as she said, "What a waste."

"Yep," he nodded in genuine agreement, "A waste is what it is."

A waste was what it all was. Ada. Him and Rosie. Lily's horse. All a waste. He tipped back the newly poured drink.

"You know in France," he said, looking off to the side, seeing Lily in front of him, seeing the horse, "In France I got used to seeing men die. Never got used to seeing horses die. They die badly."

They did. It was a harrowing thing, to watch the beasts lose their lives. That she had shown no flicker of sorrow at the news he had just shot it – that was the thing about rich girls. They threw the horses out when they were done with them. But they didn't do their own dirty work. Had men, men like him, to do that for them. They could be indifferent about their horses being shot for being lame or old or whatever fickle reason, because they didn't have to hear the screams.

He reached for his cigarettes, offering one to her.

"I dug out a dress like you asked," she said, accepting it, "Thanks."

He stuck a match as she asked, "It's Cheltenham you're talking about?"

He gave a nod as he lit both their cigarettes, wondering how much longer he could sustain speaking to this woman for. It didn't usually challenge him to be around people he wanted to put on a show for, but tonight his thoughts were all of Lily.

"Cheltenham's a grand affair is it not?" she pressed.

"The King will be there," he said by way of answer, speaking from the side of his mouth that his freshly lit cigarette wasn't being held in.

"King George," she asked, her voice faint in what seemed almost reverence.

Irish and reverent of the king. That told him she was a unionist. That told him she was on Campbell's side as far as the IRA were concerned.

"Nope," he replied, "King Billy Kimber and all his men."

"And what must I do?" she asked, looking slightly disappointed at his reply.

"For two pounds you'll do what I ask you to do," he told her.

"I want three," she told him.

He raised an eyebrow and scoffed, trying to cover the slight smile that had almost touched his lips then, as he compared this woman to Rosie – to her protestations that two pounds a month was more than the going rate for some ledgers.

She had been so happy with his job offer – except now she didn't want it. That had been just after the last time they'd argued. When she'd given him the silent treatment and they'd agreed in future if they had any quarrels with one another they'd keep it between them - so the rest of the family didn't know. Which they had, he thought, stuck to – this time. But he just didn't understand – the last time she hadn't told him what was going on. This time she'd shouted words at him, but she still, as far as he was concerned, hadn't told him what was going on. And god, wasn't he at least due a civil explanation of what he had done? Not to her mind, it seemed.

"If I'm meeting a king I won't be wearing a cheap dress," Grace said, bringing him back into the room.

Rosie wouldn't give a damn who she was meeting, he thought. She'd wear what she pleased. He thought of her rolling her eyes at the fact he said she had to wear a dress for him to take her for dinner at the hotel in town. The dinner that had never happened. A dinner he didn't think would ever happen.

"And I ask you to let me sing – that's part of the deal now too," Grace added.

Tommy inclined his head and gave a flicker to his eyebrows, "Since when?"

"Since you nearly smiled," she replied.

He hadn't hidden his face so well as he'd thought. He determinedly kept his face still and merely gave a slow blink.

"Saturday nights – open and easy," she continued, taking his silence, wrongly, for encouragement, "Everyone gets to sing their song, just like we did in Dublin."

"You never worked in Dublin so don't lie to me," Tommy told her, letting her know he wasn't to be taken for a fool, "I asked around about that pub you said you used to work in. I have friends over there. No one had heard of you."

He watched her process this, seeing the panic on her face that he knew. But. The thing was. He was right about Ada. About what bringing a child into the world alone would do to her – desperately hoping Freddie would keep his promise and come back to her. It was the main way women had their lives ruined after all, wasn't it?

"My guess is," he supplied, "You're a girl from a good family who got herself pregnant."

She took the offering, "It's not something I want known."

"And bringing a child into the world alone ruined your life, right?"

She gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.

"So, I'm right and Polly is wrong," he said nodding to himself as he lent forward and flicked the excess ash off the end of his cigarette.

Ada bringing a child along into the world would ruin her life. Even the undercover Irish girl knew that was a story worth sticking to.

"Right about what?" she enquired.

"It doesn't matter."

"Looks like it matters to you."

"Family business," he replied, inhaling and shutting her down.

She watched as he laid his hand down, the cigarette resting on the ashtray.

"You won't tell anyone my secret?"

"Do you think I tell people things?" he snapped – and immediately wished he hadn't as soon as the words were out his mouth.

He'd asked Rosie the same thing the night he'd asked her to come live with him.

"So what d'you sing?" he demanded, hoping to move the conversation on before she answered him.

"Anything you want," she replied, clearly taken by surprise at his sudden change in direction but seeming somewhat pleased by it.

"Right," he replied, smacking the table with his hand, "Get up on a chair."

"Okay," she replied, standing from the chair she was sat on and moving around it to stand on another.

He drank and tried to hide his distaste for how happy she was to climb onto her small stage. Rosie wouldn't even sing a fucking Christmas carol.

"Happy or sad?" Grace asked him once she was in position.

He couldn't bear happy. Not right now.

"Sad."

"Okay," she gave him a smile, "But I warn you – I'll break your heart."

He shook his head. This stupid, stupid woman. To presume that what she possessed could touch him. He had shot Lily's horse and tomorrow he'd have to tell her that. He'd failed to look after his sister properly and she was pregnant with a communist's child at fifteen. The woman he loved seemed to think she was nothing more than his whore.

He looked up at the blonde barmaid on her chair, "Already broken."

She opened her mouth and began to sing.

"In a neat little town they called Belfast,
Apprentice to trade I was bound,
Many an hour's sweet happiness
Had I spent in that neat little town.

A sad misfortune came over me
Which caused me to stray from the land,
Far away from me friends and relations
Betrayed by the black velvet band.

Her eyes they shown like diamonds
I thought her the queen of the land
And her hair, it hung over her shoulder
Tied up with a black velvet band."

A million things went through his mind as she sang. He had heard it before - the song was about a young man, an apprentice, who was betrayed by a young woman whose eyes shone like diamonds. She stole a watch in the later verses, if he remembered correctly, and the young apprentice was convicted of the crime and shipped off to Australia. Why had she picked this song? Was she attempting to warn him that she was there to betray him? To get him convicted and sent off – not to Australia but to the noose?

And did she honestly think he gave a damn about her plans anyway?

He couldn't even be bothered to lift his head and look at her as her words washed over him. He had already had his heart broken. He had already been betrayed. By his sister. By his fucking baby sister.

And Rosie? He had betrayed her. If it came down to it, that was the real reason why his heart was already broken.

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

Rosie was gone the next day – back to spending her Saturdays in the tobacco shop as she'd said and he spent the morning in his own shop, thinking nothing of the business at hand and entirely about the business of how he was going to tell Lily about the horse.

Polly had turned up in the morning, making it clear she disapproved of his way of handling things but telling him, after his 'outburst' as Pol termed it, Ada had agreed to let Polly take her to the woman in Cardiff. They were going today. He had stayed silent and nodded, figuring if she came to her senses and went with Polly to Cardiff it didn't matter whether the letter reached Freddie or not – it would be done with. It was just how long it took Ada to lick her wounds afterwards and come home. To come back to him.

By the time he had taken Lily into the front room and got her to sit by him on the sofa it was gone five and the day of preparing hadn't prepared him at all.

He lied through his teeth, refusing to say the horse was dead and telling her he had gone lame and been taken away to a farm in Scotland for lame horses – that she wouldn't be able to see him again. Even without hearing that he was dead, Lily's little heart broke and she sobbed into him as he held her, his heart hurting for her.

"It's alright my little love, I'm so sorry but we'll get you another horse, don't worry," he murmured into her ear, stroking her hair as she pressed her face to his chest and wept.

She cried harder at that, her body shaking with the effort, and he didn't know what else to say, so he simply held her and ran his hands through her hair and cuddled her, shushing her and comforting her as best he could.

She sat back on his lap after a while, trying to catch her breath so she could gasp out, with much effort, "T-Tommy!"

"What is sweetheart?" he asked, wiping at her tears.

"Is it my fault? B-be-because I was – I was b-ba-bad?" she started crying, freshly hysterical.

He gathered her to him again, kissing the top of her head, "No my little love, it's absolutely nothing to do with you. Horses just go lame sometimes, just the way humans get unwell. There was nothing you could have done to cause it or to stop it, eh?"

He didn't even know if she'd heard him over her sobs and he let her go on for another while, rocking her as gently as he could, smoothing her hair.

"Lily, sweetheart," he pressed gently once she had calmed down, "Why do you think you were bad?"

He watched her eyes water again as she went into a set of hiccups, her body spasming with each one and he picked her up, carrying her through to the kitchen with him to fetch a glass, out the back to fill it with water and back in, standing with her in the kitchen, tipping a little water down her throat, hoping to help her get back in control.

Eventually the hiccups died down and he bounced her for a while, her face buried in his neck before he asked her the question again.

He knew Rosie took blame for things onto herself that she wasn't responsible for, knew she took things personally that she had no business taking personally. She had near enough broken his heart that night after they'd bought her and Lily some new things and she'd told him it made her ashamed that she couldn't have provided them for Lily herself. Ashamed. That had been her word. Ashamed that life had handed her the deal it had done, that she'd been left to provide for the girl as best she could alongside living her own life and working part time while she was still at school. And she'd called herself selfish, for keeping Lily in the first place when she couldn't provide what they had. It had made him feel like shit that he'd caused that in her.

But then she'd talked about the smoke and mud in her head. And he'd realised that that shame and self-blame and self-hatred was all just her reaction in the moment to a situation she found overwhelming. A situation she needed time to process properly. And whilst it processed, the smoke and mud in her head meant it wasn't about being pleased about what had been done, it was about her blaming herself for it not having been done already – even though it could never have been done by her. Even though she had no possible way to do it, to access the money to buy all those things, she had taken it as her own shortcoming that she hadn't been able to. When it was nothing of the sort. It was just the hand she'd been dealt.

And he didn't want Lily following in those thought patterns. They weren't healthy for anyone.

"I upset Rosie," Lily eventually whispered.

"How?"

She shook her head, "I've not to tell you."

His heart thudded.

"Lily, sweetheart, is this what you've been upset about for the past few days?"

She paused, then nodded into him, a tiny movement that it seemed she almost didn't want to commit to.

He fought not to let out a noise of exasperation – not so much with the child but with her sister, telling Lily not to tell anyone, stressing her out as much as she obviously had done.

"Lily, you need to tell me what it is you think you've done, alright? Be my best girl and tell me and I'll make sure Rosie knows I told you to tell me, alright?"

She drew her head out of his neck and looked at him, her lip quivering.

"Lily, I promise you – you're not in any trouble and you won't get in any trouble for telling me, but I need to know," he told her.

"I told her about riding home," Lily whispered, then she began to cry again, "I didn't meant to upset her Tommy! I promise I didn't! She asked how our riding had gone and I said it was good and we rode home and the horse stood up on its back legs but you got off and calmed it down, then I told about you meeting the woman and ask-asking her to the r-races and then we came back and Rosie got all quiet and I-I knew she was up-upset and I didn't know why!"

Lily gave over into her sobs and he hugged her tightly again, letting her cry it out.

"I was bad Tommy!" she gasped out in between the sobs, "I was bad and I made Rosie upset and I didn't mean to!"

He pressed his mouth to her head, hoping it would hide the seemingly inappropriate smile that had suddenly begun to play on his lips.

"No sweetheart, you weren't bad – I know what she's upset about and it's nothing to do with you. I promise my little love, you've done nothing wrong, alright?"

"But Rosie's sad!"

"I know Lily, I know she is, but I promise you – you've done nothing wrong, alright? It's me she's upset with – I didn't realise what I'd done – I was so – well – it doesn't matter sweetheart, but you've done nothing bad, you understand?"

He had been so caught up in what had happened after he got home he hadn't thought on what he had done, asking Grace to the races. Lily jabbered to everyone, of course she had told Rosie what had happened. He should have thought – but his thoughts had been of Ada from then on. He hadn't even considered that that was what Rosie was angry about.

And he could weep for joy from knowing it – from the sheer relief of knowing it, of not having to wonder anymore. And from knowing she'd been jealous. Jealous! The madness of it, but there it was – she was jealous he'd asked Grace to the races. She hadn't realised it was just business – how could she, he hadn't told her? God it was all just crossed wires and bad communication and too many things happening at once. She was jealous. And he'd wounded that damned pride of hers. But, if that was what it was, if she was jealous enough to be carrying this on – it meant there was hope.