Chapter Text
Standing beside the small kitchen sink, Tommy held a glass of water in one hand and a small pill in the other. Examining the pill, he first took a sip of water to moisten his mouth, then threw the medication in against his tongue. He swallowed the tablet, like he did twice each day, with a sip of water, and silently thanked the drug for the changes it had made to his life. In the time since he had been taking it, his seizure experiences had reduced significantly and, though he still experienced frequent focal seizures, the medication was responsible for the current stretch of a full six months without a single convulsive episode. The bad ones - they hated those, the Shelbys.Tommy set the glass down inside the sink, and reached up to push his hair away from his eyebrows. He checked his watch, and tutted to himself as he realised he needed to be on his way. He was due to meet Grace in a few short minutes and he knew, if he lingered any longer, it would make him late.
He walked through the aged dwelling, grabbing his blazer from the back of the small sofa in the front room, and pulled it on hastily at the front door. Finally dressed, he retrieved his cap from the hook and made his way out onto Watery Lane. With his left hand shoved into the pocket of his waistcoat, he walked the short stretch down the street, smoking as he strolled with purpose but not rushing. At the early hour, the Garrison was not going to be swarmed with men and, when he arrived, he was unsurprised that it was quiet and empty. Grace had unlocked the door, letting him inside, greeting him with a timid smile on her warm face. Tommy locked the door behind him as he slipped inside, ensuring they would remain alone, and walked towards the bar with slow strides, ever the nonchalant and standoffish figure.
He removed his cap and threw it down onto the counter top. “You've just missed Arthur,” Grace said quietly, resting the handle of the broom in her hands against the wall. She turned and gave Tommy her full attention. “Apparently you agreed to him almost emptying the till.” She exaggerated, knowing Tommy would always either know or find out what had happened, and she felt her stomach flutter a little when Tommy almost smiled back. Tommy rummaged around for whiskey and glasses, and turned back to face Grace when he'd found what he wanted. He set the two glasses down before him, and poured out a double measure of whiskey into each of the short tumblers. He set the bottle down, and gently pushed the glass intended for Grace across the bar, stopping just short of the edge, right in front of her. “What've I done to deserve this?” She asked him, taking the glass in hand.
Tommy picked up his own glass, and drew his cigarette from his lips with the other hand and held it clamped between his right index and middle fingers. “Smiled,” Tommy said, his lips pulling to the left ever so slightly. He stubbed the cigarette into the ashtray on the bar top, and leaned forwards, resting his elbows against the counter. He took a sip from his glass, and then set it down quietly. “Sorry I was late,” he said, and cleared his throat.
“I hadn't noticed,” Grace said sweetly, leaving her whiskey on the counter untouched. Grace leaned onto the bar, and slowly edged closer and closer towards Tommy. For a moment they remained close, breathing the same air, eyes searching one another magnetically. And then Tommy moved his body, taking up that final inch, and kissed her softly on the lips. Their eyes closed, and slowly Tommy's left hand reached out, cupping the back of Grace's head. He held her there for a minute, exactly where he wanted her, and let his lips convince her to stay. Some unspoken but agreed lapse in time came around, and they broke the kiss, but Tommy let his hand linger on the back of her head, eventually bringing it around to cup her warm cheek. “Okay, I accept your apology.” Grace whispered, smiling, and rested her forehead against Tommy's.
Then they stood back, regarding one another over the bar, and Tommy picked up his glass and swallowed down the liquid in two gulps. “I have a meeting.” He explained, reaching for his cap. “John and I will be gone for a while, but Arthur should be around if you need anything.”
“You'll be back this evening?” Grace asked, her eyes fixed on him as he walked back around from behind the bar, and fixed his cap onto his head. He nodded at her once, raising his eyebrows as he did so, and pushed his left hand into the pocket of his waistcoat, pushing back his blazer. “Will you come here, or will I see you later on?” She asked him coyly, her hands held shyly behind her back and linked together by her fingers.
“I will be here,” he answered her steadily, his usual gravelly tone even deeper as he kept his voice quiet. He stepped forwards, bridging the gap between them once more, and touched his right hand to her cheek gently. He drew down her jaw with his index finger then raised her head by lightly pushing up under her chin. He tilted his head back and kissed her again, a feather light touch; he kept his eyes open to delight in the fact that she closed hers. Kissing her softly a second time, he dropped his hand and pulled back. “Bye, then,” he said, and turned his back to her without a further word. He unlocked the doors and let himself out, without looking back. The doors swung swiftly behind him, clattering in the jamb as they shut, leaving Grace standing in the middle of the floor.
Tommy walked back toward the family home and betting shop.
He let himself in the front door and wasn’t surprised to find it empty in the living room, bar Finn who was perched on a chair by the fire. “You got nothing better to do, eh?” Tommy asked him, removing his cap. He threw it onto the first empty chair.
“John’s lookin’ for you - he said Aunt Polly’s been waitin’ for you for ‘alf an ‘our.” Finn said. His Birmingham accent, somehow, always seemed more tightly gripped than it did by the older Shelbys - Tommy never really knew why. He regarded Finn for a moment; his legs were too short for his feet to reach the floor when he sat right back in the chair, and it reminded Tommy that he was still so very, very young.
“I’ve only been gone for ten minutes, Finn.” Tommy frowned just a little. “Keep out of trouble, yeah?” He said, and continued through the house. He stepped into the kitchen, and cleared his throat before he reached for the double doors and stepped into the shop. The bustle of the room hit him immediately; voices, footfall, chair sliding across the floor, and the constant clatter of coins. He stepped in, and pulled the doors shut behind him. He glanced around the room, trying to lay eyes on one of his brothers or Polly, and finally spotted John in the corner by the blackboard. He moved through the hoard of bodies, shaking hands when offered and nodding respectfully at those who greeted him, until he came to the steps below John’s raised level. “Looking for me?” His monotone voice was softened by the almost-smile that tugged the right side of his mouth.
John leaned over the banister, resting his arms against the rail, and smirked at his brother, “Polly’s biting Arthur’s head off, and she wants to know where you disappeared to at cock crow.”
“The Garrison,” Tommy offered, with no elaboration. “What’s wrong?”
“Finn was fucking around with some lad down by Charlie’s yard, the lad told him our Arthur was shaggin’ his sister!” John spluttered a laugh as he shared the drama of the morning. “Polly wants to know why Finn knows anything about shagging, and why he wasn’t here with one of us, instead of pratting about with some street kid. Oh, and she wants to know if Arthur’s getting his end away with the sister, I expect.” John laughed childishly.
Tommy rolled his eyes, “What’s it to do with Pol who he’s fucking?” He pushed his hands into his blazer pockets and took out his cigarettes and matches. “And what’s it got to do with me?”
“You were on Finn watch this morning, apparently.” John explained, standing up straight. He nodded his head, as the door into the small office opened and Polly stormed out, followed a moment later by Arthur appearing, looking suitably scolded. “You’re next.” John laughed, as Polly made a beeline for Tommy as he shook the flame from the match.
Polly shifted through people to come to a stop before her nephew. “Where the fuck have you been, Thomas?” She snapped at him, placing her hands on her hips.
Tommy drew the cigarette from his lips and made a small shrug with his lips, the corners of his mouth pulling downward. “The Garrison,” he offered her the same explanation he had given to John. “What’s the problem?”
“Finn! Running around the bloody place, like a child with no family, and hanging around with every waif and stray he comes across. You were supposed to be making sure he was sorted out this morning, but as fucking usual, it’s Tommy against everyone else, and you fucked off.” Polly gave him an earful. “We’ve all got work to do, Thomas, and we all need to make sure we know where that lad is at all times.”
“He’s in the house,” Tommy said, turning his head slightly as he blew out a lungful of smoke.
“And what was so important at the Garrison it couldn’t have waited?” Polly asked him, dropping her hands down. “Grace, is it?”
“Course it bloody is.” John chimed in from the level above, grinning when his aunt and brother glared up at him. “Should be him you’re givin’ the sex talk to, Pol, not Arthur.”
“I shouldn’t need to be giving any kind of talk to either of you,” Polly moaned, “You’re not kids anymore, Thomas.” She fixed him with a final stare before moving away.
“Did you at least get your end away before you came back here to be bawled at?” John asked, leaning over the banister again. Tommy looked up at him, shaking his head in annoyance, and walked away to the parting sounds of John laughing once again.
Tommy moved through the shop, and made his way to the office where Arthur was sitting at the desk, leaning back on the chair and staring up at the ceiling. He walked inside, taking another drag of his cigarette, and leaned against the wall with his left shoulder, crossing his ankles for stability in the position. Arthur lifted his head and sat up properly in the chair. They stared at one another wordlessly for a moment, Tommy’s face fixed in its usual, serious expression that gave very little away to his actual thoughts, and Arthur looking pissed off and bored at the same time.
“What time did you go by the pub?” Tommy finally broke into the silence, pointing his index and middle finger at Arthur as he held his cigarette clamped between them, “And why’d you need to clean the fucking cash out when you did it?”
“Grace’s loyalties clearly lie with you.” Arthur raised his eyebrows, and began shifting through papers on the desk.
“It’s our business, Arthur.” Tommy’s voice sharpened slightly. “You can’t just do that.”
“Why?” Arthur stared back at him, “I need to pay for the delivery somehow.”
“Not out of the fucking till.” Tommy shook his head. “Use your fucking head, man.” He pointed his index and middle finger at his temple, then brought the cigarette to his lips. He drew it away again, and exhaled the plume of smoke towards his brother. He pushed himself off the wall and stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray on the desk, then sat in the chair beside the desk. “Are you fucking that kid’s sister?” Tommy asked, leaning into the edge of the desk, and raised his brows at Arthur.
“Fuck off, Tom.” Arthur tutted, watching as Tommy’s face creased into a rare smile. “You look tired. Y’alright?”
Tommy sat back into the chair, straightening his back. “Fine,” He dismissed, the smile long forgotten about. “I’ve got that meeting with Kimber’s guy, I told Grace to call on you if there was a problem at the Garrison.”
“Not coming then, am I?” Arthur stared at him, hoping that, with sheer will, he could explode his brother’s head for the umpteenth time since they were kids. He opened his mouth to continue his verbal annoyance, but stopped short of getting any words out. Tommy sat looking through him, the index finger on his left hand stroking back and forth where it sat on his thigh. Just as the episode reached a point where Arthur would consider it ‘going on too long’, the point where he’d be poised for his brother to drop and shake, and fill him with dread, Tommy licked his lips, and sighed slowly. Arthur cleared his throat. “Does Grace know yet?”
“Know about what?” Tommy asked, reaching onto the desk and picked up a stray paper clip to occupy his hands.
“Your episodes.” Arthur pressed, “The amount of time you’re spending with her recently, she’s gonna notice you checking out of conversations a few times an hour.” He sat forward and snatched the paper clip from his brother’s hand. “Tell her.”
Tommy shook his head. “Shut up, Arthur. I haven’t had a bad episode for months.”
Arthur threw the paper clip back down onto the cluttered table. “You still have episodes, though, Tom. And you’re on medication. She’s not going to ask why you’re knocking back pills after a fuck?” He picked up an unopened letter. “Tell her, or you’ll worry her when it happens and she doesn’t understand what’s going on.”
“Why?” Tommy asked. “What’s going to worry her?” he pressed when his brother didn’t answer. “I sit there looking like I’m thinking about something. That’s what you’ve said before, that’s all they are. That’s not something to worry about.”
“Brother, you’re the strong silent type at the best of times, but you don’t ignore people. She’s a girl, she’ll worry.” Arthur said, tearing the envelope open. “If for no other reason, tell her so she doesn’t pin me to the wall of the pub to ask questions, vaguely made out to be something regarding work, but that always comes around to being about you.”
Tommy smirked, “She asks about me?” He mocked, and got to his feet, walking towards the door. He sighed and looked back around at his brother, his hand balanced at the doorknob. “Keep your mouth shut, Arthur. It’s not up to you to tell her anything. …And stop emptying the fucking till.”