"How is he...........?" Tommy asked, as he threw his napkin on the table and got to his feet.

"Just as you would expect. I told him to clean himself up." (Y/n) explained, before turning her attention to Charles, whose hand was still in his former teachers.

"Why don't you and Charles have breakfast. I'll go and talk to him......." Tommy added, giving (Y/n) and his son a smile, before making his way out of the room.

                                                             >>-----------------------------------<<

Arthur smacked his head against the wooden door. The stuff going on in his mind at the moment was making him want another drink. Was making him want to leave the house and get whatever he could to help him forget. The sound of (Y/n) calling him Mister Shelby, seeming to taunt him.

For so long he had wanted to see her again; hell, he had dreamed about it so many times over the long months since she had been gone, that he thought he would never dream of anything else. Of her running into his arms, Arthur apologising for what he had done, as he held her close; promising to never do anything to hurt her again. To always love her and protect her, if only she would agree to come back the Small Heath and give him another chance. But all that was just a dream. And given what she had said, he had a feeling that that was what it would remain.

Slowly he made his way into the bathroom, as he finally realised that (Y/n) was right, and that he did indeed smell like a mixture of a brewery and a sewer. Arthur turning the taps on, and letting the small room fill with steam. The oldest Shelby wiping away the mist that covered the mirror in front of him. Over the last eighteen months, he seemed to have aged badly; his features sunken, eyes dark. It was if the war had taken his youth once more. As if when the school teacher had left, he had been naught but a boy; and on her return, he had become an old man. An old man that he could not blame her for not loving him. Nor could he blame her for not wanting to have anything to do with a drunk, that was more interested in where the next glass of whiskey was going to come from; or powder that he could take up his nose, than anything else.

"Arthur!" A voice called out, as he brought the hot water up to his face.

"In here.........." He replied curtly. Tommy appearing in the doorway of the bathroom, with a small container in his hand.

"Thought you might need these.............." Tommy said, throwing the container of aspirin to his brother. Arthur giving him a small nod in appreciation.

"How do ya feel...............?"

"How d'ya think................?" Arthur retorted, as he swirled the badger bristles of his shaving brush in the cream, before applying it to his whisker covered cheeks.

"Where did ya find her................?" The older man continued, as he brought the razor up to his face.

"Does it matter.............?"

"Suppose not............But why did ya bring her.............?"

"Look in the mirror, Arthur. Ya answer's there..........." Tommy told him, as leant against the jamb.

"We tried everything else we could think of to get ya to see sense. To stop ya from trying to kill yaself. But in the end ya gave us no other option.......I knew that only (Y/n) could bring ya to ya senses............"

"And how do ya think that she's gonna do that..........? Why should I listen to her? She chose to leave............."

"She chose to leave, Arthur, because of what you did. No one forced ya into that back room with those women; and it didn't look like ya were being forced to do what ya were doin. And you'll listen to her, because ya still in love with her............"

"But she doesn't care about me.............." Arthur interrupted angrily. The blade of the razor cutting into the skin on his throat. A heavy trickle of crimson making its way down his neck and onto his pale bare chest, as he reached for a towel, using it to remove the blood and shaving cream from his face.

"She might have told ya that, but she wouldn't have come all this way; she wouldn't have come back to Small Heath if she didn't care about ya. Ya should have seen her face when I told her that I caught ya sitting on ya bed with that old pistol in one hand and that dress of hers that ya pulled from her bin, in the other. How she looked last night, when we found ya in that pub. How she was the one that chose to sit by ya bedside and watch ya all night. That sounds a lot like care ta me..............." Tommy told him. Arthur's brows furrowing, as he thought about what his brother had said.

"Ya should finish up...........I left (Y/n) having breakfast with Charles.......Its about time ya eat something." Tommy continued. Pushing himself off the jamb and leaving the room. Arthur giving himself another look in the mirror, before he stripped off what was left of his clothes and went back to washing.

                                                       >>----------------------------------<<

"Miss........" Charlie said, as she placed a plate of food in front of the young Shelby.

"Charles, I am no longer your teacher, and, as I am a guest in your father's house; I think that just for now, you can call me (Y/n)." The former teacher told the boy. Charlie smiling broadly, as she took a seat across from him.

"(Y/n)...........?"

"Yes Charles............?"

"Are ya here to help Uncle Arthur............?"

"Well, I really came back to see you and the others. To stay for a little while and then go back to the farm before Christmas. But, if I can help your uncle too............."

"But ya love him. Why would ya leave..........?" The young Shelby enquired, before pushing some of his breakfast into his mouth. (Y/n) quite taken aback by the comment from the little man.

"I.........well, I suppose........I think............maybe......"

"Morning." Another voice came. The former school teacher glad for the interruption, until she looked up and saw who had made a timely appearance. A much cleaner Arthur, standing in the doorway, looking at her.