1919
Tommy Shelby could watch Florence sleep for an eternity if the world would let him. Every night he spent lying beside the girl he spent awake, fearing the darkness that would torment his mind if he dared let himself feel relaxed enough to sleep. He wouldn't let Florence see him like that, not when she was as pure as snow in comparison.
Ever since that fateful reunion in 1918, the pair had become more inseparable than they had been before the war. Florence was infatuated with Tommy, and he was with her, the only problem that stood between them both and being truly content was the way the war made Tommy think about love.
Since returning from France Thomas Shelby was a shadow of his former self, the spark that lingered in his smile, the way he laughed, the affection he shared with those he loved, he left all of that in the trenches and the tunnels. The only person who had managed to uncover some of the old Tommy was Florence. She had always had a soft spot for the second oldest Shelby brother, but it wasn't until Tommy's return to Small Heath that she had the confidence to act on it.
The Garrison - 1918
Tommy stepped out of the pub that he had spent the war longing to return to, in search of the brunette woman he'd watched slip out of the door moments before. A thin layer of snow covered the cobblestone street as night had fallen on the town the two called home, the cool air nipping at his skin.
It was the sound of Florence shrieking that panicked him as he stood on the fresh snow. Suddenly he was taken back to those moments during the war, the conflict he thought he'd left behind lived on in his memory, panic setting in that Florence might have met a worrying fate.
He paced around the corner towards the sound of the screams as they continued, his footsteps getting heavier and his breath becoming erratic until he set his eyes on her.
She was a vision of beauty, even in that moment, involved in a heated snowball fight with Finn, the youngest of the Shelby brothers. Tommy let a sigh of relief escape his lips, grateful that her screams were playful rather than fearful.
So wrapped up in the trance that she had him in as she ran around the dimly lit courtyard, squealing at every snowball Finn threw at her, Tommy didn't realise that his younger brother had clocked his presence, tossing a snowball right towards him, colliding with his shoulder.
"Finn!" Florence gasped playfully as she watched Tommy's internal battle on how best to react as he swept snow from his coat, "You got the Captain, he sees us, run!"
Finn ran towards her, grinning, the pair ducking behind three abandoned barrels close to the back wall of the pub, Finn scooped up two piles of snow, passing one to Florence, holding his finger to his lips, "On three, one, two, three!"
The pair stood up and tossed their snowballs in the direction of where Thomas Shelby had stood, except he had since disappeared, nowhere to be seen.
A hand landed on Florence's shoulder, and one on young Finn's too, "You both seem to have forgotten that I know all the tricks in the book."
"Is that so?" Florence turned to face Tommy, stifling her grin as his warm hand rested against her cold skin, "I think your little brother gave you a run for your money there."
"I'm not little, I'm ten!" Finn exclaimed, staring up at the two.
"And it's also gone past your bedtime," Thomas told him, "Does Aunt Polly know that you're here?"
"Aunt Polly's asleep," Finn answered tactically, just as a Shelby should.
"Well then, I think it's high time you go home, don't you?" Tommy replied sternly.
"He can't walk home alone, he's a child," Florence whispered, riddled with panic, which Tommy admired, her constant care for his family.
"He won't, John'll take him," Tommy assured her, "Go on Finn, head inside and find your brother."
"You're boring," Finn sulked, shuffling back towards the pub, disappearing around the corner and into the pub.
"Have you had enough excitement for one night then, Tommy?" Florence replied, unsteady on her feet thanks to the flowing drinks on offer all night.
"I'm not sure what you're talking about, Florence," He smirked, never tired of the way her name rolled off of his tongue.
"Too grown up for a snowball fight, hmm?" She grinned, leaning her back against the brick wall.
"I never said that," He replied, letting his hand rest on the wall above her head, "Just wanted a moment with you away from all of that nonsense."
"Nonsense?" The girl returned in disbelief, "You're a war hero, Thomas."
"And yet I'm out here with you, instead of in there, getting pissed out of my mind," He replied, letting his gaze wander back and forth across her face as he stepped closer to her, closing the gap between them, "Why do you think that is?"
"I don't know," She whispered, hoping that he couldn't hear the way her heart thumped against her chest as he stared down at her.
"Because, knowing you the way I do," He muttered, running his fingers along her jaw, tracing his thumb over her bottom lip, "You wouldn't let me do this in a pub full of people."
Without another word he slowly let his lips collide with hers, their bodies melting into each other the way the fallen snow would at the first glimpse of morning sun. Tommy remained fearful of overstepping the mark, lingering in the kiss, while waiting for Florence to reciprocate, which she did. The girl placed her hands on his firm shoulders, stopping herself from smiling against his lips as the brick wall kept her cool.
"You're right," Florence whispered, letting her forehead against Tommy's, "I wouldn't have let you do that in front of all those people."
"What are you thinking about?" Florence whispered, slowly opening her eyes to see Tommy sat up in her bed, his back resting against the headboard, his eyes bloodshot from his lack of sleep, a sign of another sleepless night.
Since they'd begun spending their nights together Florence had become used to the idea that Tommy would either be awake or gone by the time she woke in the morning. She'd accepted that that's just the way it would be, alongside the lack of affection beyond the four walls of her bedroom.
Florence quickly realised that the type of relationship she wanted with Tommy wasn't on the cards. She had been besotted with the man from the moment she waved him off at the train station, and while he reciprocated the feelings, he struggled to show it.
Their relationship, if you could even call it that, only existed behind closed doors, away from prying eyes and ears. It wasn't what Florence wanted, but she knew that she'd rather have some of Tommy Shelby than none of him. Before the war Thomas Shelby was a loving man, but that faded during his time in France, and what remained were fragments of the man he once was.
"I'm just thinking about the odds for this week's races," He mumbled, letting his fingers linger on the girl's bare arm.
"Will there ever be a day when you're not thinking about races?" Florence whispered, slowly sitting up in the bed beside him, gently tracing her fingers over the marks on his neck he'd pleaded for her to leave the night before.
"Not as long as they're making me money," He muttered, retrieving a cigarette from the bedside table.
"And what about when you reach the top?" She continued, gently resting her head against his shoulder as he placed the cigarette between his lips and lit it, "When you've summited the mountain, what's next for the Shelby empire?"
"Find the next biggest mountain and climb that one too," He sighed, handing her the cigarette as he climbed out of the bed, collecting his discarded clothes from the night before, slipping his trousers back on.
"You're leaving already?" Florence questioned, disheartened as she watched the same routine that played out every morning as he pulled the crisp white shirt onto his body.
"I heard your mother leave for the market about an hour ago, so she'll be back soon enough," He replied, buttoning up his shirt as he watched the girl take a drag from the cigarette, "I'd rather not explain to her what I was doing here last night."
"You really think she doesn't know?" Florence whispered, knowing that she hadn't told a soul about her relationship with Tommy, yet a part of her still held out for the day he decided that they could be an actual couple.
"No one knows, you know that," Tommy told the girl as he fastened his waistcoat, "If they knew then it would only complicate things."
"Why?" She asked, even though the girl knew the answer, she just wanted to hear the words pass her lover's lips.
"You know why." He replied, retrieving his jacket from her armchair and putting it on.
"I'm not sure that I do, Thomas." Florence answered firmly, determined not to let him use their age difference as a pawn to diffuse the situation.
"Floss, I like having you to myself, and I like the idea that what we have is something special that exists just for us," Tommy told the girl, reminded of the last time she delivered a similar ultimatum, determined to assure her of his dedication to her, "We've talked about this."
"Actually, I think it was you that did the talking," Florence muttered, taking another heavy drag of the cigarette, glancing down at her hands as she hopelessly attempted to disguise her frustration triggered by Tommy's unwillingness to discuss the idea of being a proper couple.
"Hey," Tommy soothed, kneeling on the bed before the girl, tilting her chin so that she was staring up into his eyes, "One day, just not today, alright?"
An idea materialised in the girl's mind, an idea fuelled by her doubts about Tommy's intentions, "Prove it."
"And how do you suppose I do that?" Tommy grinned, admiring the way that a smirk lingered on her lips, as though she might be plotting something.
"Apart from when we're at the Garrison or in the bookmakers, we only ever spend time within these four walls," She explained as Tommy's hand trailed across her neck, "So I'd like you to take me out, Mr Shelby."
"And where do you suppose I take you?" Tommy smirked as she knelt on the bed, almost meeting his eyeline.
"You've got an imagination," She whispered in his ear, "Use it."
"I like it when you talk cryptically," Tommy muttered, resting his lips against Florence's, hunger creeping across his body as he toyed with the idea of abandoning the day's responsibilities and retreating back to bed with her for the day.
"You and I both know what happens to a blazing fire if you don't continue to tend to it," Florence continued, delighting in the way Tommy caved to her words, "You wouldn't want me finding warmth elsewhere would you, Thomas?"
"You're a dangerous woman, Florence Dawson," Tommy mumbled against her lips, threading his hands through her hair, "But I've always liked playing with fire."
"Even if your fingers get burnt?" Florence replied, letting her forehead rest against his.
"Especially when my fingers get burnt," Tommy whispered, placing one last kiss to the girl's lips, a fire burning inside him as her words played on his mind, "You better pick out a pretty dress, we're having dinner tonight."
"Perfect," Florence smirked with pride, content with her ability to sway Tommy's mind.
Tommy climbed off the bed, picking up his trademark cap and putting it on the head, adjusting it in the mirror before turning back to the girl with a smile, "Be good."
"Never," She replied as she watched him open her bedroom door and quickly disappear downstairs, closely followed by the sound of the front door opening and closing.
Florence pondered on her bed momentarily before giving in and walking towards her wardrobe, knowing that as long as there was work to be done, she had no time for laying around in bed.
She promptly got dressed, aware that staying in her nightgown would only lead to questions from her mother. She decided to let her long chocolate hair hang freely around her shoulders, wearing a dark blue dress made by her mother with her battered brown leather boots.
"Flossie," Her mother's familiar voice rang through the house as the girl opened her bedroom door, rushing down the stairs and into the small living area which doubled as a dressmaker's studio.
"Morning Ma," Florence smiled, slipping into the kitchen, pouring herself a cup of tea ahead of a day of dressmaking and fittings with her mother, "How are we for appointments today?"
"It's a quiet one today," Imelda sighed, placing her new rolls of fabric at her work station, "I'm not taking on any new orders for a while, we can't manage it."
"Can we afford it?" Florence asked nervously, knowing that her mother has never been keen to talk about finances with her adult daughter.
"We'll manage, we always do, petal." Imelda assured the girl, brushing hair out of her daughter's face.
Since Florence was born there have never been any men in Imelda's life, because the way she was treated by Florence's father, to abandon her at just fourteen years old when she discovered she was pregnant, she didn't have it in her to trust a man. She had been robbed of her teenage years when she fell pregnant with Florence, and while the woman only ever wanted to be loved, there was no room in her heart after Florence filled it.
The two women managed to stay afloat just the pair of them, and while it could be challenging, Imelda had her best friend Polly by her side. Not to mention the protection of the Shelby brothers, which in Small Heath, meant a lot.
A knock at the front door startled Florence, not that it was unusual for customers to come by their house, in fact the house was often full of women trying on dresses made by Imelda, one of Birmingham's finest seamstresses.
"I'll go," Florence told her mother as she watched her working on a green dress hanging on a mannequin.
The girl opened the front door, surprised to see one of the Harrington brothers on her doorstep, the younger of the two, George.
Alongside their links to the Shelby family, Florence had the friendship of the Harrington brothers, sons of one of the most successful businessmen in Birmingham.
George and Elijah couldn't be more different. As the oldest of the two brothers, Elijah was two years older than Florence, but they grew up as best friends thanks to George being her age, their bond was strong and it remained that way as they grew into adults, even when Elijah was at war. But George, well he was a charismatic charmer, he knew how to work the crowd, and every week he had a different woman on his arm.
Florence had always been intrigued by the man standing before her, how his charm came so easily to him, while his brother Elijah was too busy attempting to follow in his father's footsteps to bother with charming anyone.
"Hello, darlin', how are you this fine morning?" He smirked, cigarette balanced in between his lips, leaning against the doorframe, that familiar cocky grin on his face as he stared at the girl.
"Spectacular," Florence sighed, noticing a clothes bag slung over his arm, "What brings you to deepest darkest Watery Lane?"
"You, obviously," He teased, never one to resist switching on the charm, especially for one of the few women he had yet to be successful with, unaware of her ties to Thomas Shelby.
"I haven't got all day to stand here while you talk nonsense at me, George," Florence huffed out of frustration, knowing that a pile of clothes awaited her inside the house.
"Alright," George sighed, taking another drag of smoke, "Mother asked me to drop this off."
Your mother asked you to bring her dress, rather than one of her servants?" Florence stared at him in confusion, "You must be in trouble."
"Something like that," George nodded, scratching the back of his neck.
"Tell me," Florence replied, aware of George's track record for bad decisions.
"Last night I bought a lady home," George begins to explain, wincing with embarrassment, "And my mother found her in my bed."
"That's hardly the worst thing you've ever done," Florence sighed, aware of George's attention and even more aware of what his parents think of it.
"But it's not the first time it's happened, so mother dearest has decided she wants to marry me off to one of her friends' daughters," George begins to ramble, aware of his parents' desire for him to marry a woman with good lineage, "So I'm attempting to soften the blow, in the hopes she'll forget."
"Margaret Harrington doesn't forget, George," Florence sighed, "You'll have to start thinking harder."
"Florence, who's on the doorstep?" Imelda called out, "You're letting an awful draft in."
"You may as well bring that dress in," Florence instructed George, "But you can't smoke inside with all the fabrics."
"Not even just for me?" George smirked at the girl.
"No," Florence huffed, pulling the cigarette from his mouth and stubbing it out on the ground, "This is Small Heath, there's no such thing as special treatment in Small Heath."
"You're the exact type of woman my mother warned us to steer clear of," George grinned, crossing the threshold into the Dawsons' home.
"And what's that?" Florence sighed, having never seen eye to eye with the Harrington matriarch.
"You've got a fire burning inside you, Floss," He remarked as the girl led him into the living room, "There's many like you these days, and that scares her."
"What are you on about George?" Imelda scoffed as she worked away on the hem of one of her dresses.
"Ignore him, Ma," Florence smiled at her mother, "He's just dropping off a dress."
"You finally found yourself a fancy woman, Georgie?" Imelda smirked, knowing that the boy would have done no such thing.
"It's for Mrs Harrington," Florence interjected, taking the dress back from George, watching the embarrassment wash over his face, "He's groveling."
"Well, I'll be sure to do my very best," Imelda smiled at the man as she unzipped the dress bag to reveal a classy deep burgundy dress, "Did she tell you what to ask for?"
"She wanted the hem taken up by two inches," George regurgitated his mother's request for fear of being in ever hotter water.
"Tell her it'll be ready for her to collect by the end of the week," Imelda replied, "Will she be sending you or one of the servants?"
"That'll depend how much trouble I'm in won't it?" George smirked, heading towards the front door, "I'll see you ladies soon."
"George," Florence paced after him, stopping him in his tracks, "Garrison tomorrow night? If Eli's not too busy it'd be good to see him too."
"Who would I be to turn down an offer like that from you, sweetheart," George grinned, looking the girl up and down, "We'll pick you up tomorrow evening."
"Good," Florence nodded, opening the front door and letting George out of the house.
As he strolled back to his car she watched Tommy passing by on the other side of the road, glancing at her with a subtle grin. Like most women, Florence was under that Tommy Shelby spell, the only difference being, he was the only one that he let into his world. She didn't see all of him, he wouldn't dare let her, but she saw enough of the good to realise just how bad the bad could be.