"Nobody's going to hang you Tommy, you're going to hang your self" Ada scoffed, walking out of the Garrison. "Someone has to pay for them paintings on your wall, Ada" he shouted.
"Yeah bye bye Ada" Arthur sighed, sipping his whiskey."You need to go easy on Ada" Polly defended. "Why's that?" Florence asked, closing her purse.
"When am i never not easy on Ada, eh?" he asked, sitting.
"Thomas the thing is, Ada.." Polly began. "She's pregnant" Tommy finished her sentence. Arthur began choking on his drink. "What?!" She asked.
"Ada's what?"
"These days people tell me things without even speaking" Tommy said, "Wait a minute" Arthur stopped him. "Wait a minute, Ada's fucking pregnant, hm?"
"Polly, you need to reassure Ada that it's 1929, times have changed, we have a lot to do and no one gives a fuck who the father is"
"Really? I already know who the father is. But we've had enough shocks for one day" Polly said, putting out her cigarette.
-
"Mr Shelby, Mr Levitt from the London Times" he said, bringing the man into the room who held his hand out. "Have a seat" Tommy said, ignoring the hand.
"Adam, you go home. I'll lock up" he nodded at the boy.
Tommy lit a cigarette. "Mr Shelby, do you remember me?"
"No"
"Once in Small Health you were burning photographs of the king" He opened his bag, pulling out a notebook.
"London Times. You've done well" Tommy sighed.
"As have you, sir. To put it mildly, i sent you a list of questions."
"Yeah i misplaced them"
"Yeah, well you have lots on your plate" he nodded. "Yeah. All i remember is that your questions interested me."
"Oh. Good, sorry..this..ah here we are, yes" he cleared his throat. "Shall we, erm..so Mr Shelby, traditionally in this country, print journalists take no interest in the, er..private lives of politicians."
"Private lives?"
"But in these modern times especially in America, journalists are beginning to,,we'll that us to say, yes, erm..shall i.." he stuttered. "So readers are beginning to say, want to know more about the men who represent them"
"Of course, in these modern times." Tommy mocked. "
"Whereas before it would have been seen as un gentlemanly to ask a public figure questions about personal matters or business affairs"
"Oh well no need to worry, i'm not gentlemen"
"Hm..Mr Shelby as i said in my letter, ten years ago i was a journalist on the Birmingham Evening Mail. And of course, working in that city it was impossible not to know your name, and your reputation" he said. "So when i saw that you had been elected as a socialist-"
"You reflected on the fact that working people can indeed change their lives for the better" Tommy finished his sentence. "Channel their abilities in new directions. Discover better methods. Aim for happier outcomes even win awards for industry. You can write this down, Mr Levitt"
"The question i have for you Mr Shelby, is this, was your conversion from bookmaker to socialist politician a gradual thing..or a road to Damascus experience"
"Yeah.." he laughed. "Now i hear that question, i remember receiving your letter and i distinctly remember your use of the word bookmaker."
"Er..we're you not a bookmaker sir?"
"Yes i gained a license in 1919 for on track betting. But since 1923 i've made my fortune in the manufacture sale and export of motor cars"
"And lately gin"
"And lately thee new homes for orphaned children" Tommy corrected him. "You can write this down, Mr Levitt"
"I have another question, Mr Shelby" he said. "In Birmingham, the time that i was there, there was a Major Campbell, he was found dead. A member of your family was charged"
Tommy chuckled. "All right you answer me this. What is your story newspaper more afraid of. Is it evolution or Revolution?" he asked. "And what is it about working class men like me standing up in the house of Commons and speaking from the heart? What is it that so troubles you that you would try to undermine me?"
"I am talking about specific event sir"
"Which i don't recall" Tommy whispered. "With which i was never personally linked, and after which all convictions were quashed." he leaned back. "Yeah now i recall receiving your letter. And i recall that when i did, i asked a colleague of mine to carry out some research" he stood.
"Just a moment" he reached into his jacket. "Here we are. Ah, Micheal Levitt, correct?"
"Yes"
"Yes. Journalist unmarried, apartment in Maida Vale. An apartment opposite the underground station, unmarried is underlined. 'Mr Levitt enjoys walks in the park, sometimes alone, sometimes not alone, sometimes with other men" Tommy frowned. "Sometimes with other men. I'm old fashioned, Micheal, i believe private lives should remain private, not everything modern is good, now is it?"
"You gonna write this down in your little fucking book?"