CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE:
EMPIRE NOW

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THE MID-MORNING SUN WAS unforgiving. Helen kept her eyes firmly shut, face pressed into her pillow, desperately trying to cling to the remnants of a broken night's sleep. Behind her, a small body shifted on the bed. The sheets rustled and a high-pitched whine interrupted the faint call of birds through the open window. Still, she kept her eyes shut; then, a hand — calloused, persistent, setting Helen on fire — traced a deliberate path from her shoulder down to the base of her spine beneath her shift. All hope of a lie-in was immediately lost.

"Nellie?"

It was Tommy, his voice lowered to a hoarse whisper. He carefully manoeuvred Charlie so he was no longer sitting between them. Charlie babbled incoherently to his father but quickly curled up against the headboard, easily distracted by James' bear, Frankie, that James had graciously decided he would share with the younger boy when he and Helen first moved in. Tommy made sure Charlie was comfortable behind him before he sought out Helen again, finally eliciting a faint 'good morning' as his hands returned beneath her shift and settled on her stomach.

"Are you alright?" she asked next, her skin prickling from the unpleasant rush of cold air against her face. "Are you in pain?"

"No," Tommy answered.

He didn't say anything else. Helen let herself lay there for as long as she could before the weight on her bladder started getting uncomfortable and she regretfully peeled herself away from him.

"I'm going to freshen up for the day," she decided, pausing at the foot of the bed to look down at Tommy. He was laid on his back — Charlie playing obliviously beside him — his eyes shamelessly admiring Helen's figure. She smiled at him, still somewhat sleepy, before disappearing into the adjacent bathroom.

She could hear James' voice down the hallway; he seemed content enough to bother the maids for a little while longer, so she discarded her shift and stepped behind the partition to clean herself up. She reached for a fresh wash cloth, pleased that Mary had already warmed the water in the metal tub for her. The closer she got to her baby's birth, she tried to relax her uncomfortable muscles with morning and evening baths. Sometimes it worked but often it didn't.

A few minutes later, once she'd gotten through the menial routine of cleaning herself, the bathroom door opened and Tommy stepped up to the sink. He didn't look at her as he poured something down the drain, but Helen caught the unmistakable white label of his morphine and made an audible sound of disapproval.

"You alright, Nel?" he asked, returning her pointed stare in the mirror.

He knew what she thought of him pouring out his medicine. She'd made it known at first, furious when she discovered the empty vials lined up on the bathroom window ledge. Helen even wondered if he did it on purpose, trying to get a reaction out of her by displaying them. Now, she merely scoffed and shifted down so that her shoulders were underneath the water. Tommy washed his face and teeth, ran a comb through his hair, then came to sit beside her on the low wooden bench they used for a sideboard.

"Baby kicking?" He gestured to her stomach as he lit up a cigarette for them to share.

"Like always," she sighed.

It was quiet as they handed the cigarette back and forth. Helen leaned one arm over the edge of the tub to grab his wrist, a mindless habit she'd picked up during the endless nights spent sitting in his dark, desolate hospital room. She found his pulse with ease. She'd clung to it when his life had hung precariously in the balance, now she didn't know how to stop. He'd figured out what she was doing pretty quickly after regaining consciousness but he never called her out for it. They all had their vices.

"Your hair's almost grown back," she flicked her eyes to the side of his head where the doctor had shaved around a particularly nasty wound in desperate need of stitches.

Tommy, despite using up his second chance at life several chances ago, had somehow managed to escape the clutches of a pitiless death just three months earlier by the skin of his teeth. He had a fractured skull which damaged his vision. He was battered, bruised and bloody beyond belief, but he was alive and Helen was with him before the day was out.

Ada had called in the middle of the night, reaching Helen on the phone in Tommy's office which she'd refused to vacate once she discovered his absence. She knew someone would call eventually; if not Tommy himself, then his family. Besides, someone had needed to watch over Charlie and he'd clung to Helen almost like he had known. Children were inquisitive things. Surely part of his growing brain would've been screaming in fear. He'd already lost one parent but his dad was slipping through his tiny fingers before Charlie ever really knew him.

"Where's Charlie?" she asked, recalling the boy on their bed.

"James came to get him." A faint smile curved the corners of Tommy's mouth. "For breakfast, I expect. James wasn't subtle about his plot to trick the cook into banana muffins instead of their cereal."

"Won't you eat with me today?" He went to shake his head, like he always did when she asked, but hesitated when Helen brought his wrist up to his mouth and kissed it. "I know you're not hungry, but humour me just this once?"

Tommy's recovery had been complex. He needed reading glasses to correct his impaired vision. For the first month, he remained bed-ridden with a metal brace around his neck and skull. Helen still dreamed she was leaning over him, his vacant eyes trapped gazing into the depths of the ceiling, only brightening when they saw her face haloed by the light.

Bringing Tommy back to a semblance of his former self was like teaching a child the basics. Walking and talking were quickly overcome, but they were yet to improve on the eating. Tommy drank whiskey like it was water yet food seemed to unnerve him. He'd been to the brink of this world and stared down Death with no other choice. He'd pushed his body where few others had gone. It made sense that food, a sustenance of life, left him feeling distraught. He'd escaped Death but Death would forever call to him now like the devil on his shoulder, reminding him that everything he treasured in this world could be taken with a snap of His ruthless fingers.

Tommy leaned down to kiss her lips but made no promises as he left. Helen watched him go, disappointment settling like a stone in her gut. She was rather surprised, then, when she finally prepared herself to start the day and found Tommy waiting at the head of the dining table with a meal for two laid out before him.

"Are there eggs?" she asked, hurrying to join him.

"Boiled." Helen was pleased to find two on each of their plates. Aware of Mary bringing in the newspaper, she pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek before sitting on the seat to his right. "Thank you."

Tommy merely nodded in response. His food remained untouched as Helen dug into hers, but he'd pick at it whenever he noticed her lingering stare, which she supposed would have to be enough. He could've easily ignored her request but he was trying, which was something he'd been doing a fair bit since he confessed his love to her that fateful night.

Neither of them were sure what to call the other anymore. Boyfriend and girlfriend felt juvenile with a history like theirs but partners felt too serious in the scheme of things. Helen was aware that Tommy had stopped seeing other women, though that was because he was severely injured and no other women were visiting him in hospital except for his sister and his aunt. She hoped, though, that deep down his heart had won for once. That she meant more to him than business. His enemies threatening to take that from him had surely been a major wake-up call.

Helen shuddered at just the thought, her mind drifting to what she now knew, starting and ending with the Economic League. Since Labour had been elected into the government the year before, the fear of communism had spread through the underbelly of England and certain conservative... organisations had risen to riches as a consequence. One of them was the Economic League started by that priest, Father Hughes, who Helen recalled seeing with Tommy the night that Grace died. Theirs was a complicated relationship — one that involved helping former Russian aristocrats overthrow the Soviet government — and Tommy had tested its boundaries and come back burnt (severely.)

It was strange knowing this, feeling the weight of it bearing down on her shoulders. Tommy had told her without hesitation. He'd had nothing left to lose but her. Still, it felt a little like some horrible dream, a web of lies spun to keep her in the dark.

"He asked for me today," Tommy murmured. He'd lit up a cigarette and leaned his head back against the seat, idly watching Helen sip on her glass of orange juice. His eyes glinted with pride when both she and Mary turned to him in shock. "Not his mother, for the first time."

"He missed you," Mary smiled.

"I told you it would happen, Tommy," added Helen.

"Where is he?" He raised his head, seeking out Mary, who'd moved to stand at the corner of the table between himself and Helen. Thankfully, the two women had taken to each other's presence relatively painlessly. It was clear to Helen that Tommy trusted his housekeeper. She had an unshakable foothold in Arrow House. "Is he in the kitchen?"

"Yes, with young James and Johnny."

"Should we bring them in here?" he asked Helen.

She shook her head, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin. "No, best leave them to their muffins."

She knew her son. If he wanted muffins for breakfast, he would've gotten them without a doubt.

"Did you remember your medicine, sir?" Mary prompted.

Tommy paused at that. Slowly, he passed his cigarette to Helen, then levelled the housekeeper with a curious stare. "Do you ever read the bible, Mary?"

Mary considered this, then nodded. "Sometimes."

"Do you ever read it out loud while standing naked next to my bed?"

Helen slapped his arm with a light gasp. "Thomas."

A laugh threatened to slip past her lips but she fought it down as poor Mary's face flushed crimson. Tommy merely ignored the both of them, continuing more to himself, "'Cause when I take the morphine the doctor gave me, that's what you do. I'm wide awake, but you're standing there naked, plain as day, reading from the Book of Leviticus. Do you want to know what happens next?"

Mary quickly shook her head.

"Neither do I," Helen said. "I think that's more than enough of an insight into what goes on in your head, my love. Mary, could you take my plate away, please?"

"Certainly."

She was out of the room in seconds, grateful for the excuse Helen had given her to flee Tommy's wicked amusement.

"Still want me taking my medicine, Nel?"

Helen merely pursed her lips and stood up, which took far longer than it should have with a baby several months grown in her belly. By the time she was on her feet and steady enough to walk, the dramatic flare she'd been going for was all but squashed. Unlike Helen, Tommy could barely contain his laughter.

"Send Johnny outside to wait for me, won't you, love?"

She rolled her eyes and marched towards the door. "Yes, boss."

She did as she was told, replacing Johnny in the kitchen just as the boys were clearing their plates. Their eyes lit up with twin flames of excitement when they noticed her. James grinned, fingers sticky with bits of banana, while Charlie started to whine until she picked him up and balanced him on her hip.

"Having fun, are we?" she ruffled James' hair. It had grown longer than she usually liked to leave it, curling around his ears and eyebrows. She reminded herself to have it cut before he had a fringe so long he could no longer see properly. "Should we ask Frances to give you a haircut, Jamie?"

She'd already decided despite the boy's protests. She tracked down Frances chatting to the kitchen staff and together they wrangled James into one of the upstairs bathrooms. Once Helen determined he was settled enough and Frances was prepping his curly locks with a bristle comb, she left the bathroom while bouncing Charlie on her hip.

She'd long gotten used to being left to her own devices in Arrow House. Both Tommy and her had mutually agreed she would leave her Watery Lane cottage in the past and move in with him once he was well enough to continue his recovery out of the hospital. He claimed it was so Charlie had someone to care for him and Helen had taken up the task happily.

But when she wasn't watching over Charlie and Tommy slowly but surely returned to business as usual, she had to find things to occupy the vacant hours. Reading in the library; trying her hand at painting the sprawling hills around Arrow House; even gardening, though that was short lived and the gardener was back in his element before the day was out. With each hobby, she rediscovered one more winding corridor contained in this mansion, her home's shadowed corners. Soon, she hoped, she would know it like she knew every line on her palm or every hair on her son's head. It would be part of her. Normal. Something she didn't have to think twice about.

But soon was not today.

"Listen, Charlie!" Helen whispered to the toddler when they rounded the corner to the living room and heard the tell-tale echo of his uncles' raucous laughter. "Who's come to visit?"

"Nel, if you ain't a sight for sore eyes," Arthur greeted her with open arms. He already smelled of whiskey when he pressed Helen to him. "Where's Tommy, eh?"

"He'll be in soon," she replied, deliberately vague. She pretended not to notice John and Michael sharing a doubtful look. "Why don't you go on through to the kitchen? Help yourself to the whiskey, if you haven't already."

"Go on through to the kitchen, she says," John nudged Arthur in the ribs. "Help yourself to the whiskey, she says. You see what I'm seeing, boys?"

"I am seeing it, brother," Arthur agreed with a solemn nod that contrasted his shit-eating smirk. At least Michael, albeit he was already distracted, tried to hide his growing smile. "Thank you for your hospitality, sister. You do know how to run your household."

"Oh, shut up."

"Ah, now that's not very hospitable," John pointed a finger at her.

Thankfully, they heeded her words and disappeared into the kitchen. Helen was relieved when she heard the clink of glasses and alcohol pouring (by the gallon, it seemed) just a few minutes later.

"Aren't they troublemakers, Charles," she commented to the oblivious boy.

It struck her then, as it had before, the responsibility she'd been entrusted with. She made a silent promise — something she did most days without reason — to Grace that her son would never forget who she was, but Helen would make sure he knew the maternal love of a mother all the same. It was the least she could do. How could she deprive that of him but adore the ground her biological children walked on? It would be cruel.

Helen decided to busy herself in the library while she waited for Frances to finish with James' hair. As she rounded the corner and spotted the cracked open door, her feet suddenly rooted her in place. Who could she hear humming inside? The sound was too low and masculine to be any of the maids. Tommy was outside dictating their next moves to Johnny while she was positive she would've seen Arthur, John or Michael slip past her from the kitchen. Did they have another visitor?

"Ah, Mrs Godfrey," Mary materialised at the other end of the hallway. "I was just coming to find you. We have another visitor. Mr Shelby wants you to take him to his office to wait for himself and Johnny."

"Of course he does," she muttered, then dipped her chin, "He's in there, then?"

Mary hesitated, staring at the library door as if she was seeing a ghost. Well, that wasn't reassuring. "Yes, ma'am, he is."

The housekeeper didn't follow her inside, but Helen understood what all the fuss was about when she realised it was Alfie Solomons. He had his back to her, cigarette perched in the corner of his mouth, still humming a tune that Helen didn't recognise. When she let the door creak open, he spun around with an ear-splitting grin.

"Well, call me a monkey's uncle!" he exclaimed. Helen merely blinked at him. "It's Mrs Godfrey in the flesh. Never thought I'd see you again, love."

"Hello, Alfie," she murmured, allowing him to dramatically kiss her knuckles. His beard scraped against her skin. She pulled her hand away. "I can't lie to you, I figured this would happen sooner or later."

He winked at her. "Missed me, did you?"

"Missed Ollie," she corrected, already turning back towards the door. Alfie followed her without question, taking in the interior design of Tommy Shelby's house with vague interest, like he was examining a mildly boring painting in a museum. "How are they, Alfie? Florence..."

"Still being well taken care of," his voice briefly dipped into a serious whisper. "Ollie would have my head on a stick, love, if I put his missus or those little troublemakers of theirs in harm's way. He's a real family man now, he is. I'm proud of him."

"Good," she hesitated. "I wasn't sure..."

He seemed to know what she was thinking. Alfie had a knack for seeing right through a person. Keeping secrets from a man like him could only have one ending. Helen knew that.

"Patrick — God bless his soul — might've left this forsaken earth before we could reap the benefits of a mutual partnership, yeah, but he touched my heart, he did. His family is mine now, and that includes you, right?" Helen nodded. Alfie breathed a sigh of relief. "Right then. Glad we've got that sorted, now stop with the soppy shit."

Helen had never understood Patrick's interest in Alfie's rum distillery. To be truthful, she never thought to ask. She'd press him for his thoughts like she was pressing on a bruise, the skin blooming purple beneath her touch. He'd be covered in invisible bruises, yet she'd never get her answers. 

"Now where have you taken me?" Alfie searched Tommy's office with blazing eyes.

"Tommy's office," she replied, taking a seat in the chair behind the desk. Tommy wouldn't mind. It was the only one with a higher cushion to support her aching back. Really, even if he did mind, she wouldn't give him the chance to protest. It was hers now. "He'll be along shortly. Can you please play nice?"

Alfie snorted. "Play nice. I'm no toddler, love, but I'll keep my hands to myself if they do the same."

Helen sighed but she'd take what she could get.

Footsteps echoed in the hallway, confirming for Helen that it wasn't just Tommy and Johnny about to join them, but the others too. Not for the first time, she wondered what Tommy was planning for them. She clutched her stomach with one hand, Charlie with the other, and waited.

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A/N: Let's pretend the saying 'call me a monkey's uncle' was introduced in the 1920s instead of the 30s. It just felt like something Alfie would say lol