Chapter 60

The next morning seemed noisier than usual, though he was sure he'd just got used to the quiet civility of the Waldorf's breakfast room. Rosie made breakfast before she went to work and Finn opened his London presents before he ate, with Lily watching with bated breath to see if he liked them – which he assured her he did.

Tommy sat smoking in the kitchen, glad when Isaiah appeared to get Finn to go to the sweet shop with him ("Fine, but Harrisons and straight back to the lane – no wandering!") and Lily settled down in the front room with her new colouring pencils and some paper.

"Polly – a word," he demanded of his aunt, albeit with his usual monotone voice, when she came into the kitchen to pour some tea, nodding at the door for her to shut it.

She raised an eyebrow but shut the doors obediently enough before turning to face him – her eyes telling him to spit it out.

"Finn's face," he stated first, looking for an explanation.

"I reckon they're fighting the Irish kids," Polly told him, "No proof though."

Polly's instincts were generally sound – she had an uncanny ability to guess correctly what the kids were up to most of the time, and she'd successfully predicted the sex of every baby that had been born in the family after her.

"I need anyone with the surname Shelby to stay away from Sparkbrook," he told her, "Including the kids."

She raised an eyebrow in question.

"Business."

She looked to the back window, checking no one was around, before she crossed her arms and addressed him tersely, "Thomas – you're not thinking of selling those guns to the Irish are you? I told you – you sell those guns and you will hang!"

He exhaled placidly, "No, I'm not thinking of selling them to the Irish."

"Is that your way of saying you're not thinking of it because you've made up your bloody mind to do it?" she demanded.

"No. I'm not selling them to the Irish. I'm just making it known I could sell them to the Irish."

"For Christs' sake Thomas!"

"I have it under control," he told her coolly, raising an eyebrow.

She snorted in response.

"What I don't have under control, apparently," he continued, his voice moving from cool to downright cold, "Is you letting Katie and Lily into your house when Ada is supposed to be there as far as the rest of this family is concerned."

He watched realisation set into her face.

"I didn't think," she sighed, uncrossing her arms, "I don't see that they'll say anything."

"Lily said something – in London. That's how I know about it," he pointed out – widening his eyes to indicate he should have heard about it from Polly.

"I said I didn't think Thomas," she snapped.

"Yeah, well I can't have you not thinking – Christ knows there's enough of that in this family."

"Arthur?"

He gave her a hard look, inhaled slowly, exhaled, then nodded. It was bubbling with Arthur – they all knew it. He was heading for one of his turns. The drinking had ramped up. And he had appeared later than usual that morning, kicked a chair over and bellowed at staff and customers alike before he'd shut himself in his office – probably with a bottle for company.

"Not much we can do but let it come and let it pass," Polly stated.

That was the truth, as much as he didn't care for it.

"Have you heard from her?"

Polly pursed her lips – which meant she had heard from his sister and didn't want to tell him.

He sighed, "Polly – I just want to know if she's alright."

His aunt sat down and lit one of her own long, thin cigarettes, taking her time about it and exhaling before replying, "She's excited at the idea of marrying Freddie."

"So she's planning to go through with it?"

"I reckon so."

So, if she wanted to go through with it, she'd have to come back to him – to get his permission.

"Tommy – she's better married to the baby's father than giving birth to a bastard. She's a Shelby. Everyone will know about it, everyone will have an opinion. You know Ada – she won't cope if she's got people muttering that she's a whore every time her back is turned."

"She should have kept her legs shut then," he answered, raising an eyebrow.

Polly glared at him, "Not everyone is made of stone like you Thomas, some of us have feelings and urges."

He raised an eyebrow. Really?

"Plenty of urges in me Pol," he told her, keeping his voice even, "I just have some self-control alongside 'em."

She snorted. He finished his cigarette and lit another one, both of them sitting in silent clouds for a minute before he voiced what Rosie had pointed out to him.

"If she marries him, she'll be a Thorne, not a Shelby. Her loyalties will lie with him."

"Is that what it is that you can't stand? The idea of her being someone else's before she's yours?"

"What I can't stand Polly," he spat, "Is the idea of her being caught up in his politics. Of being hurt by the fact she's caught up in them."

Freddie Thorne is at the very top of my list. That was what Campbell has said to him when they'd met. The only reason Freddie wasn't being chased down at this very moment was because Tommy had promised he'd take care of it as part of their deal. His best hope was that the IRA would get in touch soon – that Danny would get the word out to the right people in London. Then he could stage a meeting in the Garrison, which the barmaid would report back to the inspector about. When he didn't sell to them, it would confirm to Campbell both that he would deliver on their deal as promised – and that there would be nothing Campbell could do about it if he chose to do otherwise anyway. It was a fine line to be playing with.

Or he could have gotten it all wrong, the barmaid could be a coincidental Irish arrival who had run away from home because she'd brought a baby into the world alone. In which case the meeting with the Irish would be for nothing. But he doubted it.

"Keep me posted on Ada, Pol," he said, stubbing out the half-smoked cigarette, "And don't be so fucking stupid again, y'hear?"

"And I suppose telling the rest of the bloody family the truth wouldn't have occurred to you as being the simplest thing to do by any chance?" she replied sarcastically.

"With Arthur about to spiral?" he replied, pulling a face to indicate his opinion of her suggestion.

He was going to have to tell them, that was the thing. But he'd have preferred to tell them after it had been sorted – after she'd come home. Not to have to tell them that not only had she gotten pregnant on his watch, but that she'd gone and run off with Freddie too and that he currently had no idea of their whereabouts.

He stood and went into the shop, leaving Polly at the table so he could stand by the doors and survey the scene in front of him. They were busy. It was noisy. There were too many piles of cash lying around on desks for how busy they were. He stuck his head back through the door and instructed Polly to come and help him get it in the boxes and into his office, locked and out of the way. She glared at him - but stood and did as he bid.

It was after he'd locked his office that he walked by Arthur's and noticed the smell. He glanced around. If anyone else had noticed it, they hadn't said anything. With it being busy – and a Saturday - the smell of smoke and men and wool and sweat and alcohol probably masked it – he hadn't noticed it himself till he was right at the door. Better that way.

He wasn't surprised when he slid through the door to find Arthur slumped over his desk – his forehead resting in the puddle of vomit that he'd clearly expelled at some point in the morning. He crossed and threaded his hand through the top of his brother's hair, grasping it and using his hold on the longer strands to yank his face up and out of the sick.

"Wha's goin' on?" Arthur slurred, "Ah'm not sleep."

"Good. You need to stay awake Arthur. Stay sitting, you've been sick," Tommy told his brother, thumping him in between his shoulder blades.

Their grandfather had died the night of their grandmother's funeral. The family liked to say it was grief that had carried him off because he couldn't bear to be parted from his wife. The truth was, he'd downed bottle after bottle the whole day, had passed out on his back and choked on his own vomit.

He could well imagine his older brother going in the same fashion if he didn't sort himself out. And he'd have to sort himself out because Christ knew Tommy didn't have the fucking answer.

He went to the door and beckoned Polly over. She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at him and he thought she might be on the verge of telling him where to go – so he nodded almost imperceptibly over his shoulder into the office – telling her it was Arthur he needed her for. She frowned but came – and sighed when he stood back to let her see into the room.

Wordlessly she disappeared through to the kitchen, appearing back visually looking the same, but he knew she'd have cloths up her sleeves and tucked into the waist band of her skirt – she knew how to do this without attracting attention. Christ knew she'd done it enough times. He wandered through to the kitchen, keeping his pace slow and unbothered, grabbed a mug, filled it with water and wandered back to the shop – only pausing to lock the door between the house and it as he did so before meandering slowly to Polly's desk, appearing to swig from the mug then setting it down as he pretended to run his eyes over the book she'd left open on it.

It was all easier than perfecting this routine should have been. He managed to make small talk with a few of their regulars while he was at it. Even John didn't seem to have noticed anything was amiss.

But it was amiss. So he went upstairs into the room Rosie and Lily shared, found the shoes they'd bought for Katie and the swimming things he'd got for Lily, grabbed his own old swimming things and ambled back down the stairs with it all in two bags.

He'd managed to time it so that he was going through the shop as Polly was pretending to casually hover at her desk, the mug in her hand.

"Where are you going?" she hissed at him, glancing around to make sure they weren't being overheard.

"Taking Lily swimming – she adores Arthur, she doesn't need to see this," he muttered back, then pushed his way through the throngs back to the door.

"Alright my little love, what have you been drawing this morning?" he said, coming into the front room and crouching down by her.

"This is you and me and Rosie in London," she told him, pointing at a picture that had what was clearly meant to be the Harrods building in the background, "And this is me and Arthur with a horse. He said he'd put one of my drawings up in his office."

"I'm sure he will – can I put this one in my office?" he asked, tapping at the London one.

She nodded, "Can we go to the shop and give this one to Arthur?"

"Not just now sweetheart – it's busy," he told her, shaking his head, "But I'll tell you what, I got all my work done so how about you and me go for a day out, eh? Go get Katie to try on these shoes, and then get some lunch and go swimming before we go to get your sister from work, eh? How does that sound?"

She smiled widely, "Can we?"

"Wouldn't be offering if we couldn't."

"Can I wear my new dress?"

He shook his head, "Your sister'll give me a hiding if I take you out in your new dresses without her saying so – don't try and get me into trouble with her, eh?"

"Rosie doesn't give hidings."

"Not to you maybe," he said, reaching out to tickle her, eliciting her merry little laugh, "But I don't fancy my chances. What you're wearing is fine, c'mon."

She put her pencils back in their tin and picked up her papers, like he knew her sister would want her too, before making to go through to the kitchen with them.

"Give them here, it's too busy through there for them," he said, taking them from her and putting them up on the side table before taking her hand and walking her firmly out the front door, away from his brother's meltdown.

She didn't seem to question his hurry though, going along with him down to John's. The door opened when he grasped the handle – he had told John a million times to keep the bloody doors locked, but his warnings went in one ear and out the other as far as he could tell.

"Katie?" he shouted.

There was no answer and he frowned a little – she wasn't on the street, he'd have seen her on their way down.

"You sit down here a minute, keep an eye on the things," he told Lily, putting their bags down at the sofa.

He went through and was relieved to find Katie out the back, having a game of whipping her own legs with a skipping rope as far as he could see.

"You're supposed to jump over it," he told her with a raised eyebrow, "It hurts less that way."

"I'm trying," she replied, trying – and failing – again.

"How long you been practising?" he asked, leaning against the wall.

"Lizzie gave me it," she replied, frowning and looping the rope over her head again, managing to lift her right foot but not her left and tangling it, "As a birthday present."

"Lizzie gave you it, eh?"

"Uhuh."

"I notice you have shoes on," he pointed out.

She stopped moving the rope and turned her eyes on him, wide and slightly nervous, as if she was expecting him to tell her off.

"Where'd you get them then?"

She shrugged.

"Stole them from someone?"

"Borrowed them," she muttered, "From Gillian next door."

"Do they fit you?"

"No."

"Probably isn't helping with the skipping then, eh?"

She didn't answer and just stared at him for a moment, obviously trying to work out what he was at and whether he was going to tell her dad that she'd lost her own shoes.

"Come in the house a minute," he told her, holding the door open for her and motioning her in with his eyes.

She sighed, her shoulders slumping, but went.

"What you sighing about?"

"Am I in trouble?"

"Should you be?"

"I don't know," she replied.

He raised his eyes to the ceiling and shook his head, "Well not as far as I know either at the moment – into the front room, come on."

He waited as Katie headed through and her and Lily said hello to one another, before Katie started asking about London and Lily started to jabber away, telling her all about the shops and the zoo and the fancy breakfast room at the hotel and about her pictures.

"Can I see?"

"Tommy, can we go back and get my book?"

"No," he said, perhaps a little too quickly and harshly, adding on as a softener, "Katie can look at it tomorrow during her birthday tea."

The girls looked disappointed so he moved them on quickly, "Did you tell Katie about the shoes?"

Lily shook her head and smiled widely at Katie, practically bouncing on the sofa. He didn't think he'd ever seen anyone so excited to give someone a gift.

He knelt on the floor, went into the bag and pulled out the box.

"Heard you lost yours," he told his niece, "And Lily didn't have any you could borrow, so we got you these."

He opened the box and pulled out the first shoe, removing the tissue that had been stuffed into it to keep the shape and passing it to Katie.

She stared at it for a long moment before taking it from him and clutching it.

"You need to try it on," he told her, slightly confused as to why she wasn't doing that already, "I didn't know your shoe size so if they don't fit we need to send them back and get a different size."

Her mouth was a perfect little 'o' shape as she listened to him, her eyes mirroring them, wide and seemingly uncomprehending. She put the shoe down very gently on the sofa and proceeded to yank the shoes she'd borrowed from the girl next door off very ungently, before returning to the new shoe, taking it in her hands as though it was the finest of china and putting her foot slowly into it.

"How does it feel?" he asked, mimicking the questions the sales assistant in Harrods had asked Lily.

Katie stuck her leg out straight in front of her, almost kicking him in the face as she did so and stared at her foot encased in the shoe before saying, "It feels alright Uncle Tommy."

"Okay," he said slowly, eyebrow raised, holding the second shoe out to her with the stuffing removed, "Try this one on too."

"And then you need to walk up and down in them," Lily told her, also seeming perplexed by Katie's reaction to the shoes.

She looked silently to Lily, then put the second shoe on and sat with both feet stretched out in front of her, staring at the shoes.

"You need to walk up and down in them," Lily repeated, "To see if they're comfy. That's what the lady in the shop said."

Katie put her feet very delicately on the floor and pushed herself to the edge of the sofa, as if to add her weight in a very slow way, lest the shoes disintegrate under her, before slowly standing up and hesitantly taking a few steps.

"How do they feel?" he asked again.

"Good Uncle Tommy," she told him, not taking her eyes off the shoes.

"We have the same ones now," Lily told her, jumping up and standing next to his niece, putting her foot beside Katie's.

"You got me the same shoes as Lily?" Katie asked him, chewing her lip.

He nodded, frowning.

"What's wrong? Don't you want the same shoes as me?" Lily asked, sounding slightly hurt.

If Katie gave him any attitude about having the same shoes he was going to turn her over his knee and teach her to be grateful – and not to lose her shoes in the first place.

"We have the same shoes," Katie told Lily, as if it was information the child hadn't given her in the first place.

Lily nodded.

"You got me and Lily the same shoes," she told him, again as if it was new information.

He nodded, frowning more deeply, "Yes, Katie, I did."

"Okay."

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Why the child had to be so difficult he didn't know.

"And I'll tell you something else Katie," he began to tell her sternly, "If you take those shoes off to climb a fence or whatever nonsense it was that you were doing to lose the other shoes in the first place, it'll be me you answer to – you understand?"

She nodded, then said, "Okay. Thank you for the shoes. Bye," and headed into the kitchen.

Tommy exchanged a look with Lily. The child looked confused and slightly hurt.

"Did she not like the shoes?" Lily asked him, worry in her little voice.

"Katie! Get back in here, right now!" he shouted.

She didn't appear and he stood up, striding through to the kitchen and berating her, "You have got to be the most ungrateful child I ever came across, I've got a good mind to give you a damn good spanking – do you know how excited Lily was to give you those-"

He broke off as she turned her face to him and he realised she was crying.

"Katie – what are you crying for?" he asked, trying to soften his tone a little.

"You got me the same shoes as Lily!" she told him.

"I don't understand what the problem is," he snapped.

"You got me the same as Lily," she repeated back to him.

He ran his hand through his hair, perplexed and a little agitated, "Do you not like them?"

"Yes, I like them," she nodded, still crying.

"Then what's the problem?"

She ran at him and put her arms around him and he stood for a minute, not sure what was going on.

"Alright," he settled for saying, crouching down to slip his arms under hers and pick her up, balancing her on his hip, "You're alright. I'm not following what you're crying for but you cry it out."

"You like Lily better than me! Everyone likes Lily better than me!" she sobbed, "But you got the same shoes for us!"

He frowned at that and sat himself on one of the kitchen chairs, swinging her around to sit on his lap.

"Now, where did you get an idea like that from? We love you Katie, all of us."

"Daddy said so at Christmas!"

He was going to bloody kill John. He remembered Christmas – that Katie had gotten herself pulled over Pol's knee and then they'd poked fun at Lily for not getting spanked.

She doesn't get spanked because she's a cry baby who chews her fingers, Jack had said, then Arthur had shouted at them and Katie had grumbled I bet she doesn't get spanked cause they like her better.

Aye well she's nicer than you – that was what John had said. That was John, always had been quick to answer back – especially when he felt under strain. And Tommy supposed he had put the strain on his brother by asking why in hell he was letting his kids run riot. He sighed.

"Katie, your Dad was making a joke – a bad one, I admit – but he didn't mean it. He loves you – and likes you – more than anyone else in the world, eh? Didn't he come tell you that?"

Rosie had snapped at him to go tell Katie that as soon as it had been out of his mouth. She had known as soon as it was out that it was going to do whatever bloody damage it clearly had done. His gut twisted as he reflected on why she'd know exactly how much it would hurt a child to hear their parent say they liked someone else better than you, to think you'd come up short in their eyes.

"But you're always angry with me," Katie told him, clutching at him and burying her face into him even as she proclaimed this, ignoring his question.

"Katie – hey – Katie, look at me, eh?" he cajoled, trying to pull her head back, to get her eyes on him, "I hear you think I have a pouty face – and maybe I do. But I'm not always angry with you. You worry me – eh? When I hear you're climbing up on the rooftops or running around in your bare feet, it worries me that you could get hurt. And I think you're too cheeky for your own good, and I won't sit here and be cheeked by my six year old niece."

"I'm seven now," she told him, obviously insulted by the fact he had de-aged her by a whole four days.

"Seven then, makes no damn difference because if I won't be cheeked by Ada or Finn who are both older than you, I'll certainly not be taking it from you, madam. Am I clear?"

She nodded and hiccupped, tears still coming from her eyes.

"Good. But when you're not endangering yourself or answering back, I'm not angry with you. And when I am angry with you it's because I love you and I care about you and I want you to grow up into a nice young woman and not a wild ragamuffin, alright? If I didn't love you I wouldn't care how wild you ran."

She processed this slowly, chewing on her lip and hiccupping in rotation.

"Come on, dry those eyes," he said, reaching for a cloth that had been abandoned on the table and patting at her face with it.

She wrinkled her nose, "That's the cleaning cloth."

"Well it'll clean your face."

"It's for cleaning the table Uncle Tommy," she told him, rolling her eyes, "Not for faces."

"See – that eye rolling. That right there is an example of you being cheeky."

She sighed and squirmed on his lap before asking, "When will I be a grown up?"

"In a hundred years," he told her, "Why?"

She raised an eyebrow at him as if it were entirely obvious before telling him, "Because you roll your eyes all the time and no one tells you off!"

I have no idea how many of you will actually be seeing this as there seems to have been various technical issues with ff this week, I've uploaded this chapter and the last as I normally do but I'm aware the links haven't been working for a lot of people. It has happened to me with stories I'm subscribed to, so it seems to be a site wide issue and hopefully it will be resolved ASAP, but for those of you who have seen this and the last chapters and who have read along, reviewed or messaged me about them - thank you so much, particularly in the face of all the issues of the past week with this your messages have kept me wanting to plug away at this!

Also - YOU GO AMERICA! I cried so much when the election was called and felt such an intense relief, even though the UK government is still a riot, it's given me hope. Big love to all of you who voted for the new president and vice president elect.