Life Begins Again

Chapter Five: Family Links

'You don't want to speak to me like that,' said Arthur in little more than a growl.

'And who the bloody hell do you think you are?' There was ice behind Marston's voice now.

But something had caught Hal's attention. He glanced towards the ring, felt the room's attention shifting there as well. Someone was shouting over the noise. A voice that Hal vaguely recognised from his childhood.

'My name! My name is Arthur Shelby!' someone called, the harsh Irish accent something that Hal had had trouble deciphering when he first went over to the Shelbys' house.

'Dad?' asked Arthur, causing the man who was drinking to face him.

There was a moment of silence, the realisation dawning on Arthur Shelby Sr.. And then, a wide grin spread onto his face.

'Jesus,' he said.

***

Stanley stood on the other side of the room, his attention on his father, trying to make sense of seeing him sitting there after so long of him not being there. Aunt Pol was standing close by, hands on hips and eyes narrowed on Arthur Shelby Sr.. Arthur put a plate of food down; Finn looked to John as if seeking an answer for how he was meant to react, but he got nothing.

Stan just hoped that Tommy would get there soon. For some reason, Hal had come to collect him first. To soften the blow?

'Thank you. You are a good boy,' their father said, his attention on Arthur. Arthur was sitting on the other side of the table in an instant. 'Bless you,' their dad started praying, 'Father, for these bounties we are about to receive –'

'Jesus Christ,' swore Aunt Polly, resting her arm on the chest of drawers and putting her hand to her head.

'Please, woman,' their father said, voice so patronising it sent a shiver of dislike down Stan's back, 'not in vain.'

'Finish your sandwich and sling your hook,' Polly said simply.

'Pollyanna,' said their father, waving the knife as if it were only an idle threat, 'I'm the guest of the head of this family, so why don't you tend to your mangle or your scuttle?'

Stanley stood a little straighter, but Polly's attention flicked warningly to him. He stilled, but he felt the weight of his father's look on him as well, knew the gesture hadn't gone unnoticed. An anger he didn't realise he had seemed to curl on his chest, waiting for some kind of outlet, or to be doused completely.

'The head of the family ain't here,' noted John. Whatever irritation he had at Tommy paled in comparison to that he had for their father. He lent back against the china cabinet, Finn now close to him.

An awkward silence filled the room, one that Arthur filled. 'Tommy... he sometimes helps me with, er, with business.'

A door opened, closed quickly again.

'Ah. Well. Speak of the devil,' their father said, a note of something behind his voice that Stan couldn't place. He put the knife down and stood up. 'How are you, son?'

Tommy shook his head, a look of disbelief on his face. He nodded to the door. 'Get out.'

Their father looked wounded. 'Come on, son. I'm a changed man.'

'This family needed you ten years ago when you walked out on it,' Tommy reminded him. 'Not now. Get out of this house.'

'Tommy,' said Arthur, not looking up from the table, 'he's different.'

'Shut up,' barked Tommy.

Again, silence filled the room for the briefest of moments. The tension rose.