Chapter Five
"I don't hate you as much as you think I do."

The doors to the Garrison opened with an overwhelmingly loud crash, startling Arabella from her light sleep. Harry took a step inside, the early morning sunlight spilling in after him.

Arabella, who sat slumped in a chair, head rested against the table, groaned at the sudden noise, slowly lifting her pounding head to see what all the fuss was about. The brightness of the light made her draw back slightly, and she quickly threw her hands in front of her eyes to shield them, squinting slightly as she tried to make out who the figure was, and where she actually was.

"Bloody hell, Arabella," Harry commented in surprise. "What are you doin' here?"

Arabella rubbed her tired eyes, trying to register her surroundings properly through the hazy fog in her mind. "Where am I?" She mumbled, her eyes slowly following him round the room, and then to the bar.

"The bloody Garrison," he answered, bending out of sight for a moment to reach into the cupboards. Arabella winced as she heard the clanging of glasses. "What the hell happened?" He questioned, running the glass under the tap and filling it with water. "You were s'pose to close up and then go home."

Arabella groaned again, slumping over the table once more. "I did the first bit," she mumbled, the sound becoming muffled as she pressed her cheek against the table. Harry sighed heavily and grabbed a clean rag from the bar, heading over to Arabella and hitting her lightly with it. "Ow!" She yelped, jolting upwards again to push him away.

Harry shook his head, placing the glass of water down in front of her. "Drink this." Arabella fell back against her chair, but obliged, picking up the drink and taking a sip. She swallowed thickly, feeling a little nauseous. "You're a bloody nightmare, you," he told her with a shake of his head.

"Please don't fire me," she muttered, her head falling into her hands again in exhaustion. She could barely remember any of what happened the night before. Other than the fact she got absolutely plastered.

"I don't do the firing anymore, love," he reminded her. Arabella had forgotten that, of course, as the pub now belonged to the Shelby's, it was down to them to do the firing. She decided that her head hurt too bloody much to think anymore.

As if on queue, the door swung open again, the light blinding Arabella once more. "Ugh," she murmured, her head falling against the table with a light thud, a little harder than she'd intended. "Ow."

"Mr Shelby," Harry greeted warmly, as he always did. Arabella sunk lower in her chair, not caring what Shelby it was, whoever they were, she really didn't want to see them. "What can I get you?"

"Just a word with this one," Tommy Shelby replies, indicating to Arabella, who didn't even bother moving. Instead, she prayed for the ground to swallow her whole.

"Right, yes," Harry said, sensing the tone. "I'll head out back."

Once Harry had disappeared out of sight, Tommy pulled out the empty seat beside Arabella, the loud noise of the chair legs scraping against the floor making her wince again. "You're starting on the drink early," he commented teasingly as he sat down.

Slowly, Arabella lifted her head, watching him through half-opened eyes. "What do you want?"

Tommy took in her appearance. Her brown hair, which looked like it had been originally tied up, was disheveled, large strands sticking out everywhere. The makeup around her eyes had smudged, highlighting her exhaustion even more, and the corners of her mouth were tainted slightly by smudged pink lipstick. There was a large stain on her grey dress, which he could only assume was a spilt drink. To put it simply, Arabella looked a mess.

"Heard you lost your job," Tommy began, resting his hands in front of him on the table.

"Yeah, I'm feeling real great about it," she said sarcastically, gesturing around her. "Can't you tell?"

A smile ghosted over Tommy's lips for a fleeting moment as he humoured her. "You used to do a lot of the maths there, right?" He then asked.

Arabella frowned at him. "And what about it?"

"Mason said you were top of your class back at school," he added.

Arabella took another sip of her water, setting the glass down with a thud as she swallowed thickly. "Mason's a dick."

Tommy watched her silently for a few moments. "You need another job?" Arabella looked up at him, but said nothing, unsure as to what he was suggesting. "I've got a spot I need filling. Chief accountant."

She scoffed. "I'd rather be shot than get involved with your shady business."

"I should have made it clear," Tommy said, leaning over the table slightly. "Chief accountant, dealing with the legal side of the business."

"Still bloody shady," she told him, pushing back her chair and standing up. "I need a drink. Can't talk to you sober. Want anything?"

"Whiskey," Tommy replied, as Arabella headed behind the bar. He watched her face scrunch in pain as she placed a hand against her pounding head. "Drink's not gonna make that better."

"Probably not," she agreed, picking up a bottle of whiskey and two clean glasses before heading back to the table.

"Mason said you argued," Tommy stated as she placed a glass down in front of him, beginning to pour his drink.

Arabella sighed heavily at the mention of her brother, sitting back down in her chair. "You two have a bloody sleepover or something?" She asked, pausing to knock back her own drink. "Stay up chatting shit about your sisters."

Tommy half-smiled at her response. "Something like that."

Arabella pulled a face as the burning sensation from the whiskey slid down her throat, causing her eyes to water. "Yeah," she continued, setting the glass down. "We argued."

"About Morrow?"

"About everything."

Tommy was silent for a moment. "Those men can't come anywhere near Small Heath," he eventually told her. "We've got guards watching out for you and your brother all hours of the day. Our men have pictures of Morrow, if he or any of his men get off a train, we'll know."

Arabella swallowed thickly, nodding her head as she took in his words. "Thanks."

Tommy honestly could have fallen off his chair then and there. Arabella Newell had never uttered that word to him, or anything remotely close to it, in all the years he'd known her. But there she was, thanking him, of all people.

"You look like I just told you I killed somebody," she said, rolling her eyes. "Don't be so surprised. I don't think you're all bad."

Tommy nodded, tilting his head to the side slightly. "I'm glad."

"You know," she started, beginning to pick at the skin around her fingernails. "I'm, uh–" she paused, as if the words were too difficult to say. "I'm sorry about the other day. And, well, all the other times I've barged into your house to shout at you."

"Only three times," Tommy told her. Arabella's lips twitched, but she managed to stifle back the smile.

"You keep count of all the angry woman that come to shout at you?" she asked, lifting her gaze to meet his eyes.

"Polly's winning by a landslide."

Arabella chuckled. "I'll bet." Her smile slowly began to falter, and she glanced back down at her hands, placing them in her lap. "I am sorry, though," she told him sincerely. "I don't hate you as much as you think I do."

"How much do you hate me?" Tommy asked curiously. Arabella lifted her hand, parting her thumb and finger to show a little bit of space between them. He chuckled. "Most people would show a bit more."

"Yeah, well most people aren't walking around with a target on their backs," she replied solemnly, picking up her empty glass and tilting it, watching the last small drop of whiskey slide along the bottom of it.

"You'll be all right," Tommy assured her. "Eventually they won't be a threat anymore. But listen, I need to ask something of you."

She glanced up. "What?"

"I need you to come to Epsom races with us in a few days time."

Arabella shook her head in disbelief. "Are you having a bloody laugh?"

"Look, Bella–"

"Arabella."

"Arabella," he corrected. "You don't have to get involved with our business, okay? But our best men are going to be with us that day. Mason, Arthur, John and I will be gone too. If we leave you here, you won't be completely unprotected from Morrow, but as safe as this town is, you're going to be safer sticking with us."

"And what if I don't come?" She challenged.

Tommy leaned back in his chair slightly. "I won't force you. But if those men come looking for you, they will find you, and there might not be enough of us in town to protect you."

His words irked Arabella, who pushed back her chair and stood up. She wanted to tell him she didn't need protecting, but on second thoughts, she knew that would be foolish to say. She probably wouldn't even be able to throw a good punch, let alone fight a bunch of revenge-thirsty gangsters off.

"Look, the Morrow boy is pursuing the vendetta," Tommy continued. "He wants revenge for your dad betraying and killing his father, and he doesn't care if it's you or Mason. If him and his gang find you unprotected, they will kill you."

Before Arabella could give him a definitive answer, the doors burst open again and John Shelby sauntered inside, usual boyish grin slapped across face, toothpick hanging from his mouth. The tension in the room was incredibly thick, and John could feel it the moment he stepped foot inside the pub. However, as soon as he caught sight of Arabella, he couldn't help but burst into laughter.

"Bloody hell, look at the state of you," he chuckled, eyes trailing over her. He'd never seen Arabella look such a state – with her stained clothes, hair falling out of its up-do, makeup a smudged mess. This was possibly the most entertaining thing he'd seen in days.

Arabella flipped him off, snatching up her coat from the back of her chair, her tolerance for the Shelby boys having peaked.

"Hey," Tommy gently reached for her wrist, stopping her from going anywhere for the moment. "Think about it," he told her, releasing his grip. "And the job."

John scoffed as he headed past their table to the bar. "That'll be the bloody day." If Arabella Newell ever willingly worked properly for the Shelby's, other than a legit business like the Garrison, John would eat his bloody hat.

"Here," Tommy said, digging into his pocket, holding out two notes to Arabella. "Two pounds. Buy yourself a dress for the races."

Arabella paused for a moment, hesitating, before eventually begrudgingly taking the money from his hands. "Thanks," she said, pocketing it in her coat. "Might see you there."

"Might see you there."

A/N

Double update because why the hell not? Arabella and Tommy probs have one of my fave dynamics tbh.

Also for any stranger things and the society fans, I've got new stories for each on my main account _toxicity for anyone interested!!

Thanks for reading 🤠