CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR:
STILL LIFE
( trigger warning: mentions of violence and childbirth )

■ ■ ■ ■ ■

THE KITCHEN WAS COLD as the early embers of a fire crept to life beneath Polly’s meticulously steady hands. A draught tried its best to withstand the heat of the flames as it blew beneath the closed front door. Rain lashed against the windows, battered against the roof above their heads like gunshots as Helen stood haunched, splayed hands pressed to the table, struggling to breathe around the lump in her throat.

This couldn’t be happening.

Girl met God with her head held high but Girl was playing a losing game that God would always be the victor of. It was a fact of life. She knew that. But how was she meant to stop fighting? Was it that easy? Simply allowing time to slip past until nothing remained?

“Tommy, help Nel into the living room,” Polly ordered not for the first time since they returned to the main house in Watery Lane.

Pacing in the doorway that led through to the Betting Shop, where fragments of the telephone had been thrown in a fit of rage, Tommy ignored his aunt. He was so deep in his own head that Helen truly believed he couldn’t hear them. Only her gasps of pain seemed to rouse him. Fleetingly, his head would snap towards her, cold eyes scanning her for surface-level injuries. Once he was satisfied nothing had changed, he’d return to his pacing. It was clear he was struggling to think of ways to find their boys.

James.

What was the last thing Helen had said to her son? She couldn’t remember. In a state of panic, she found she couldn’t quite recall his face or the sound of his voice. What if God took him from her and she never got to commit them to memory again?

No.

That couldn’t be an option.

“Polly, get this baby out of me,” she demanded, gritting her teeth when another wave of pain threatened to sweep her off her feet. She held on tight until it eased again but Helen couldn’t deny that it was only getting worse. Her knees had started to buckle. Her skin was slick with sweat. “I need to be out there!”

Polly levelled her with a stern look. “Nel, you know as well as I do that it doesn’t work like that.” 

Helen sobbed and turned away.

“Tommy,” she managed to whimper, and then he was beside her, forcing himself to grasp her hand, to hold her up when she couldn’t do it herself anymore. He kissed the crown of her head, gasping shallow breaths like his lungs were overflowing with water. “Help me sit, please.”

“Alright,” he grunted and spared one last look at the broken phone.

“We have another one,” Polly assured him, still calm.

Tommy and Helen had barely taken a step before the front door burst open. Ada’s face was as white as bone. She discarded her umbrella in the pot by the fireplace, her shaky fingers coming up to smooth through the wind-swept knots in her hair. Helen wasn’t paying much attention but whatever Tommy recognised in his sister’s expression made him freeze. Helen had surely never felt more vulnerable than she did in that moment, the two of them deprived of every defence. Was Ada coming to tell them that it was too late?

“There’s someone outside,” she said instead. “A priest.” 

Helen tightened her grip on Tommy’s hand but he was already prying their fingers apart.

“No,” she moaned miserably. “Please, Tom. Stay with me. Let Arthur talk to him, he should be here any minute.”

“I’m going to find out what he wants, Nellie,” he insisted. At the same time, he summoned Ada over with a curl of his index finger, depositing Helen into her arms. It wasn’t the same. Helen started to shiver like ice had been poured down her back. “Aunt Pol and Ada will look after you, alright? Ada, take her upstairs. See to it that the doctor comes to check them over once the baby’s born.”

“But Tommy—”

He was already at the front door, ripping it open with every bit of strength and composure he could muster. He knew what waited for him on the other side. Who was there to taunt him. He wouldn’t let him see their suffering, nor would he expose Helen or a baby not yet born to Father Hughes. 

For just a second, he took up the space of the open doorway, his face lit by bright cracks of lightning. Then he was gone.

Helen’s head started to spin. She inhaled gutterally. How long had she forgotten to breathe? Her stomach clenched again; this time, the pain pressed on. Was that a minute she counted of unwavering suffering? Two? She swayed towards Ada, and soon enough she was deposited in a room upstairs having her forehead dried with a cloth. 

People came and went from the room, checking in on her before they gravitated to meet in the kitchen. There was Arthur without Linda, his lips in a thin line that was barely visible beneath his moustache. He patted Helen on the arm and kissed her head like he was comforting a child who’d scraped her knee, then told her that no news was good news.

“You wouldn’t make it as a Hollywood actor, Arthur,” Helen sniffed, but there was no bite behind her words.

As soon as he retreated, he was replaced by Lizzie, who breathlessly declared that Esme was also in labour. John had left her with Linda in their house next door, much to her chagrin. Lizzie didn’t stay for long. She’d promised Esme she wouldn’t leave her alone with the other Shelby wife for more than an hour, though it was more for Linda’s benefit than Esme’s she admitted to Helen. Once she was sure she was comfortable and nothing else could be done for the time being, the room emptied once more.

When Helen closed her eyes, she saw James.

“Oh, my boy,” she sobbed, pressing her head hard against the pillow. Ada was there in an instant, soothing her brow but the deep lines of worry never faded. 

“It’s alright, Nel,” Ada whispered. “Just breathe.”

There was no air for her. 

No air for James. 

She pictured him with tousled hair, glistening eyes, captured in a dark room with people who would have no issue making him bleed and bruise, even die if it meant that Tommy — and, by extension, Helen — toed the line. 

“Mama,” the ghost of James’ voice was just out of reach. 

A whisper.

There and gone again.

“I think I’m ready,” she said, prompting Ada to duck down between her legs. Helen would’ve been embarrassed if she wasn’t so exhausted. “Please tell me I’m right.”

“You are,” Ada managed a nervous laugh. “Let me get Polly now.”

Helen hoped she would find Tommy too but knew the odds weren’t in her favour.

■ ■ ■ ■ ■

ON THE OTHER SIDE of Small Heath, right in their own backyard, there were only two words that James Godfrey could think to say. 

Mama. 

Tommy. 

Where were they? Why didn't they come for him and Charlie? The nice lady had said their parents were waiting for them, that it was meant to be a game… But it was cold in the room she had left them in. It was surely dark outside now. James knew no games like this. 

The walls were plain white and made of solid brick. A big wooden door had been locked and bolted behind her. The windows were boarded up but James could hear the wind howling. It sounds like a monster in a nightmare. He shivered and held onto Charlie tighter. At least he wasn’t afraid. The lady — who James was starting to think wasn’t so nice — had given them teddy bears to play with, but James wasn’t so easily fooled by them. He knew they weren't the same as his own, and his mama always said not to trust strangers… 

The wind was so loud that James completely missed the sound of footsteps approaching the doorway until it was too late. A gasp slipped through his chapped lips when several locks suddenly clicked and the door creaked open. In stepped another stranger. This one was an older man wearing all black and carrying a tray of food and water. James’ dry throat longed for a drink, his stomach rumbled, but he knew he couldn’t eat. He’d stop Charlie too, even if it made the man upset. Something told him his mama and Tommy would be very upset with him and he didn’t like it when they were unhappy.

“Hello there,” the man smiled, kneeling slowly in front of them. He wore shiny shoes that reminded James of Tommy and his uncles. “What do we have here?”

James blinked the tears out of his eyes, concealing his trembling bottom lip in Charlie’s hair. Surely his mama and Tommy would come soon, wouldn’t they? He missed them. He missed their new home…

Before the man could touch them with his outstretched fingertips, there was a noise from outside. He froze, starting to look over his shoulder. James stared too. Had God heard his wish and made it come true? 

“Stay put,” barked the man before disappearing.

That was when the screaming started. James thought he knew who it was but the only thing that mattered was that it wasn’t his mama or Tommy. The screaming continued. It was never-ending. James couldn’t stop crying. He thought his heart would stop, it was racing so fast. He rocked back and forth until Charlie started to get restless. Nobody came back into the room, even when it got so quiet that all he could hear was the stubborn beat of his heart.

“Charlie, no,” he whimpered when the boy crawled towards the door.

“It’s alright,” came that familiar voice again.

It was Michael, James was sure of it, but he was covered in bright red liquid and he was also shaking. He sank down onto the floor, pressing his knees against the floorboards and covering his face with his hands. James got up to hug him. His mama’s hugs always made him feel better. If he wasn’t trying to be brave, James needed a hug too, but Michael didn’t move for a long time. When he did, he picked them both up and carried them out the door. James never saw the other man again, just a big red stain splattered on the ground that made his tummy twist.

“Are we going home?” 

Please, he thought about his warm bed with longing.

“Yes,” Michael nodded. “Your mum’s baby is coming. You’ll have another brother or sister waiting for you.”

James gasped. A smile burst forth from ear-to-ear. “I knew mama had a reason for not coming! I knew it!”

Michael forced a smile, depositing the two boys into the back of his car. Two people waited in the front seats but James hardly noticed them. 

A new brother or sister…

All thoughts of the dark room and the events of the day disappeared, as if they never even happened. James only knew excitement and a distant feeling of heaviness in his eyes that normally meant he had to go to sleep, but not tonight!

He had a baby to meet.

■ ■ ■ ■ ■

HELEN WAS WEIGHTLESS. THE bed was soaked in too many bodily fluids to count. There was pain between her legs, pain in her stomach, pain in her chest. Everywhere. She couldn’t fight her way to the surface. Someone was shaking her. A baby was crying.

Her baby.

Was it a boy or girl? Her eyes wouldn’t open, so she couldn’t see for herself. Her tongue felt like lead, so she had no way of asking. 

Maybe it would be better if Helen never woke up. Something was tugging at her insides now, resisting her efforts to slip away forever. She heard people talking, fragments of discussion that made no sense until she strung them together. Blood. Stitching. Serious. Was something happening to her?

The baby was still crying. 

Helen wanted Tommy.

She wanted James.

But in the darkness, she only found Patrick.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she frowned at him.

The lines of his face were hard but those familiar eyes of his were sorrowful. “I should be saying that to you.”

Helen shook her head. “I don’t want to go back. Leave me be.”

Patrick stared at her for a long moment. Helen took the opportunity to take in their surroundings. It was their old house, their old bedroom, the one in London. He stood by the open window in a patch of warm sunshine. It made his skin glow gold. He looked alive, like he’d never known the pain that Helen couldn’t escape. A soft breeze tousled his hair, pushing it back from his face. Would their new baby have those pretty curls?

Helen grimaced, hearing the distant shriek of an infant’s furious lungs calling for her. Patrick had to have heard the noise too but he remained unflinching, a solid wall of muscle that Helen longed to curl into. If she reached for his hand, would she feel familiar safety of his blood and sinew or the cold decay of skin and bone covered in the Earth’s dirt? She took a step closer but found the distance between them was now the length of the room.

“Patrick…”

His smile was sad. “Helen, you don’t belong here.”

“Where’s here?” she scoffed, curling an arm around her stomach. It throbbed like she’d pressed on a bruise, forcing her to quickly loosen her grip. “I don’t understand.”

“And you’re not meant to,” he stressed. “There’s a lot about our world we never comprehend until our souls transcend beyond it. It's too much for the human heart to withstand. I’m dead, Helen, and there’s no changing it. I’m making my peace with it. But you? There’s really no choice here. Your life hasn’t ended yet.”

The edges of her vision had started to blur. She knew what he meant. She could already feel herself slipping back to the present. Fruitlessly, she tried to move towards him again, away from the uncertainty.

“I just want everything to be okay.”

“And it will be,” he promised. “James and Florence are waiting for you.”

“James is back?” she gasped, her head snapping towards the door. But the second name made her double-take. “Wait… who’s Florence?”

Patrick’s mouth moved in an animated answer that Helen would never hear. When she blinked, it was like a rubber band had snapped and sent her barrelling back to the present. She burst forth into a world of bright colours. At the centre of it was her family.

“Hello, love,” said Tommy.

When Helen lost consciousness, the last thing she’d seen was the dark window behind Polly and Ada as they cradled a wailing baby between them and tried their best to wipe some blood away before handing them over to Helen. She never got the opportunity to hold her child for oblivion had come only minutes before Tommy burst into the room, but there they were in Tommy’s arm as the sun separated from the horizon outside.

Her daughter.

The two of them were perched carefully on the edge of the bed beside Helen with Charlie curled up against Tommy’s other side. James hovered anxiously at their feet, switching his starry-eyed gaze back and forth between his mum and his new sister.

“Florence,” Helen breathed, slowly reaching out and tracing her button nose with the pad of her index finger. “Beautiful.”

“Florence, eh?” Tommy’s gravelly voice was heavenly to Helen's ears. She let out a happy sigh, sinking her head onto his shoulder. He drank in the sight of her flushed cheeks, transfixed by her palm moving to sweep across the baby’s light hair. “Where did that name come from?”

Helen’s brows pinched together thoughtfully. “I don’t remember. But it suits her, don’t you think?”

“It does,” Tommy’s smile was agreeable, content. He didn’t care what her name was, really, just that Florence was made to fit in his arms. Helen knew with one glance that he adored her, that she completed their mismatched family. “Can her middle name be Elizabeth, for Aunt Pol?”

“Florence Elizabeth Godfrey,” said Helen.

After that, they were quiet for a while. Helen urged James to sleep up next to her, ignoring Tommy’s reproachful muttering of her name. Her stomach twinged, yes, but she needed James as close as she could get him. There wasn’t a hair out of place on his head or Charlie’s. They didn’t even seem upset. But things could stick with you, regardless of their severity, lingering just below the surface, and Helen would be damned if she missed it when it returned. If she couldn’t fight the kidnappers themselves — they would be dead and gone if Tommy was home and happy — then she’d obliterate the memories time and time again.

“Are we done?” she asked Tommy.

He pressed his lips against hers, tasting like cigarettes and soap. His hair smelled like her shampoo and his skin was scrubbed clean of the night’s events. Helen must’ve missed a lot. She longed to fill in the missing pieces.

“With the Russians? Yes.”

“But not business,” she sighed.

“Not business,” he admitted, clenching his jaw. “You and our kids don’t have to worry, though. You’re safe. The priest is dead.”

For the time being, Helen accepted it. Tommy knew all the right ways to distract her. He kissed her again, lingering in her space, a soft whisper breaking the silence between them.

Heavenly, Helen thought again before the question he was asking her registered in her brain.

“If I asked you to marry me.” Time stopped. Suddenly, it was 1919 again. “Would you say yes?”

Helen swallowed around the sudden lump in her throat. Blue eyes traced every inch of her face. Up close, she could see faint freckles from sun exposure dotted across his cheekbones. His lips grazed hers with every breath. He waited for her answer.

“Ask me,” she whispered.

“Will you marry me, Nellie?”

There was no need for grand declarations. He’d said them before, long ago, and they hadn’t changed her answer. The earnesty was enough. The way he nudged his nose against hers and a gentle smile curled the corner of his mouth.

“Yes,” she whispered. “I’ll marry you right now if you’ll have me.”

Tommy laughed and leaned back, leaving her head spinning. She felt weightless again, but on top of the world. 

“Let’s wait until you’re fit enough to walk down the aisle, eh?” he winked at her. “And I’ll find my mother’s ring.”

“You never gave it to Grace?” she wondered curiously.

He shook his head. “That ring was always going to be yours, even if it never ended up on your finger.”