Tommy

She didn't wish to worry him, but regardless, Tommy worried. It was his natural, stoic state. Even without Lucille's crypticness when it came to the letter, Tommy had enough trouble to bother him.

The betting den was stuck in more of a gloom than it usually was. It was as if Small Heath's infamous smog clouds had clung to the house's foundations, encasing them all in its dreary boundaries. All because of Arthur.

The blood and gore of war had hung over Tommy's elder brother like a brand. All of the Shelby brothers had been left scarred by war, the injuries and wounds affecting different places. Tommy's emotions had been wiped clean, his cold and calculating nature worked on and sharpened against a brick, like a carving knife. John, though he'd always been, was reckless. He'd seen less of the war, but he'd lost friends, a wife, leaving him with a hoard of mother-less children of which he was too choked up on himself to care for. But Arthur, he'd been harmed in the head.

He'd killed a boy because of it. The doctor said he'd been weak-hearted, but Tommy knew better than to trust him. They were all scared of him, fearing what he could do should they speak against him. it wasn't necessarily a comforting thought, knowing people responded this way, but it made things easier. There would be some- there always was- that would speak up about it. He had to nip the problem in the bud, as Pol would say.

No one said anything as he pushed his way through the betting den, searching around, only to find his youngest brother huddled up in his office beside Isaiah.

"Alright, what happened?" Tommy demanded as he stood in front of the two boys, leaning casually against the desk. It was this firm composure that always unsettled people, making them babble until the truth was told.

"It was a fair fight," Finn said, not looking up.

Isaiah nodded, head hung low. "Yeah. Arthur just caught him with a good one."

Tommy stared down at them angrily. "I saw the body. Don't fucking lie to me. I saw the body. What happened?"

"I'm not family. I'm saying nothing," Isaiah said.

Tommy's piercing eyes shifted solely to Finn, giving him a look that made him talk. "Arthur, he's blown a few times lately. Six, seven. It's like he's not there in the head. He can't even hear stop. Or even his own name. And then he cries."

Not there in the head. It was a phrase that reminded him of Danny Whizzbang. But for Arthur there were no banging triggers, only a switched on brutality, the incapability to stop, to bring himself back to the present again as he drifted off into the past.

"Right, listen to me," Tommy said, pointing between the two boys. "That's two fucking stories. Your brother killed a boy. There were witnesses, there will be questions, get your stories straight. It was an accident. Fuck off."

Lucille

Another letter had arrived, stamped with the same five stamps and written with the same cursive writing. It had the same contents too as if Adam had been desperate enough to ensure the words met her, even if it was only once. But each letter somehow reached her, and each letter, she read with gritted teeth and shaking hands.

"He keeps... He keeps writing to us, to me," Lucille said, finally handing the crumpled piles of paper to Tommy.

"Who?"

"Adam."

"Your husband."

"Ex-husband," she snapped, glaring at the title.

"What does he say?"

"That I should come home. That little Ada is best off with her real family, in her real home. That my father is ill." There was mockery in her voice.

"And will you?"

"What? Did you really just ask me that?" Lucille exclaimed. Tommy didn't say anything. "This is my home. My family. Our family."

She shook her head in disbelief. His insecurity over the letters had surprised her.

"I'll write to my father, and if he's ill... then I don't know what I'll do. But I'm not going anywhere yet. We have too much to do," she said, smiling in hopes that it would lighten his mood.

"Like what?"

"Like see this party at the new Garrison that everyone is talking about."

Tommy chuckled. "Don't expect more than sweaty drunks and drugged up boys."

"We have something else to do too."

He rose a brow. "And what's that?"

Lucille slid around him, heading straight for the top drawer in his study desk, pulling out a thin, familiar file. "I think we need at least a little hint of happiness right now."

In Lucille's mind, telling Polly that her son, Michael, was still alive really did bring them all a little bit of happiness despite the chaos that was entrailing around them. She never expected her to react the way she did. A shout echoed from the darkened office and a slam smacked against the desk, Lucille scurried toward the door, ripping it open.

"Just tell me where he is Thomas," Polly screamed, a gun shaking in her hands. "Tell me where he is Thomas!"

"Pol. Polly," Lucille shouted, holding her hands up as the older woman swung around to face her.

"You knew too?"

"Polly," Tommy said calmly, still sat in his seat. "Pulling the gun... pulling the gun is why I can't tell you. Pol. I'm sorry. You're going to have to wait until he's eighteen. Till he's old enough to make his own decision."

Polly stood still for a moment and Lucille thought all had been fixed. But then she forced herself around the desk, pointing the gun at Tommy's head, her face flushed a violent purple.

"Wait?" Poly screeched. "You tell me where he is!"

"Polly!" Lucille cried, eyes wide and wet.

"If you shoot me, you'll never know," Tommy said slowly. Polly's eyes flicked to Lucille. "I didn't tell her."

"You tell her everything now."

"Polly, please," Lucille said. "Please, Polly."

It took a few moments for Polly to lift the gun. When she did, she swung it upwards, above her head, shooting at the roof, her teeth gritted, and then turned to storm out from the room. Lucille swallowed the anxiety and hurried to Tommy, enveloping him in a hug, which he gratefully received.

He sighed, breathing out against her hair. "You didn't think she'd actually shoot me, did you?"

"No. Not really. I've never seen her like that," Lucille said quietly.

"Hot tempers run in the family," Tommy muttered. "A little bit of happiness, eh?"

Lucille shook her head. "I thought she'd be happy. I thought she'd be happy enough to wait."

"Not Polly. Sometimes, sometimes I think she gets jealous."

"Jealous?"

Tommy nodded, pulling her closer. "Mhm. Jealous that you returned to me with Adds, but her children never came back."

The Garrison was a burst of gold and pine, decadent and luxurious- more like a London pub than one in Small Heath. Regardless of the interior, streams of people flowed through the front door, so much so that it was never closed, letting in the slightest of drafts. Lucille pushed her way through, holding onto her daughter's hand as she headed toward the bar, where Tommy already stood talking to Arthur.

"The busier we are, the faster time passes!" Arthur said, then turned, beaming when his eyes landed on her in her dazzling dress. "Lucille! Pretty drink for a pretty lady?"

"Arthur," she sighed, smiling as she pulled Ada up onto the barstool beside where she stood. "You flatter me."

Arthur reached to pinch little Ada's cheek as he placed a gin and tonic on the bartop. Adds waved her arms around, bright eyes reaching the opposite side of the pub. "Uncle Finn! Uncle Finn!"

Tommy laughed as he found his youngest brother within the crowd. "Go on, stick her on his lap and it'll keep him off the whiskey," he said.

Finn took her gladly, groaning in annoyance as Tommy ripped the glass of whiskey from his hand, drinking it in one go, returning it empty, a clear sign. Adds squealed as she toddled to her uncle, swinging on his arm, reaching for the cards that lay on the table.

"I'll be back in a little while," Lucille told him as she spotted Tommy's sister by the door.

"Yeah, no bother."

"Ada!" Lucille called, slipping an arm through her elbow before she could slip into the crowd. "Tommy didn't tell me you'd be here."

"It was a last-minute persuasion." The look on her face explained it all.

"Oh. Polly hasn't spoken to either of us since yesterday morning."

"Both of you?" Ada exclaimed and she nodded. "What happened?"

"Tommy didn't tell you about Michael?"

"He did but I want to hear it from you."

She sighed. "It'll be no different to what he said. She wants to meet Michael now, but he needs to be eighteen. When Tommy and I went to speak to his adoptive mother, she was furious, screaming for us to go away," she explained. "If Polly showed up, I fear what would happen. She'd scare the poor boy off."

"What do I say to her?"

"Tell her we had no choice. Just try to get through to her, she won't listen to anyone."

Lucille watched the woman as she pulled her further to the back of the crowd where the tick curtains blocked out the second room. Ada looked far more mature than the last time they'd spoken, if that was even possible. Her large, fur coat was immaculate and her smart hat freshly purchased.

"I've missed you, Ada," Lucille said.

Ada grinned, patting her interloped arm. "How are you coping with being the only sensible woman around?"

"Better than you'd expect," she answered, then her eyes spotted bright blonde hair by the bar, leaning over to shout in Arthur's ear. "Dawson is here. I think he wants a dance."

To her surprise, Ada laughed. "I might have to give that dance to him. Just this once," she said cheerfully, laughing again at Lucille's shocked expression. "Come on, let me see my gorgeous niece before the hard work begins."