The place was alive with noise. There was something about the atmosphere that had Hal's blood singing. He craved the action, craved the fight that the ring promised, but knew that they weren't there for that. It was one of the things he'd have to find an outlet for soon. Maybe a place like this wouldn't be so bad.
'He's off the bloody rails, is what he is,' said John as they walked through the Warehouse, towards where the fight was meant to be happening. 'If he'll turn nose on his best mate...' His attention skimmed ever so slightly towards Hal.
'I went and got him,' Hal said softly, turning his attention towards the ring, where the fight was already happening; figures blurred by movement and the roaring crowd. 'That's it. And Tommy went with you. Think I did it?' There was a sliver of ice behind his voice, one that he'd tried to keep back for the past couple of hours. Since the speculations had started into how Freddie Thorne had been arrested at the birth of his own kid.
He knew John meant little by the accusation, it was his own fears taking the reins, but that didn't stop it from smarting ever so slightly.
'It was bloody neighbours, John,' insisted Arthur. 'Snitch behind the curtain.'
'Yeah, well if you think that, you're the only one that does,' murmured John.
'Look at this,' said Arthur, swiftly changing the conversation before Hal could mention his own thoughts. 'Look. Bloody raking it in. Who's running this carny?' He turned his attention to Johnny Dogs as they reached his little group.
'Name of Marston,' Johnny told them, rattling off the facts. 'Intends on wintering in Small Heath with this ring.'
'Does he!' said Arthur, starting towards the ring once more.
'Ain't he heard nobody in Small Heath craps in a pot without the decree of Tommy Almighty?'
'John,' complained Hal softly. He knew that his friend was having issues with his older brother, knew that the whole arranged marriage must have still been lingering at the edges of his mind, it was certainly still souring some of Hal's thoughts, no matter how well Esme and John got on. No matter how many times Cecily seemed to smile when she spoke of the woman and how she calmed the kids. 'And how do we know Tommy doesn't know?'
The flicker of an old smirk on John's face was enough to reassure Hal things weren't so bad.
'Mr. Marston, I believe? The ringmaster?' Arthur said in lieu of greeting, his voice rising above the ruckus of the fight itself. This side of the ring was darker than the other, as if the leaders didn't want to see what was going on. Or, they didn't want people seeing them.
'Proud I am to say so,' Marston said as Arthur stood directly in front of him. Hal tucked his hands into his pockets, watching on. But his gaze kept flicking around to the others, trying to see if they were preparing to defend their boss or not. Did they even know who they were dealing with?
'Yeah, well, these here are civilised parts,' Arthur said, reaching down to grab himself a drink of whiskey. 'Man wants to set his stall up with fellas lamping each other, he needs himself a licence.'
'A licence?' asked Marston, and the fear behind his eyes was obvious. It seemed to make his ruddy cheeks stand out a little more.
'For a fee. From those in charge,' Arthur went on, pouring the alcohol on the floor as a cheer went up from the ring.
'I'll tell you what,' Marston tried to reason. 'How about I keep my money, and you shove a licence up your arsecrack?'
Hal let out a low whistle, exchanged a small smirk with John.
'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.
'It's all right, son,' their father said. 'Arthur Shelby never stays where he is not welcome.' He folded his coat over his arm, his attention lingering on Tommy. 'Quite something you've become.' And then, he left, his attention lingering on each of his sons. He only ruffled Finn's hair as he passed. 'Goodbye, son.'
John tugged Finn's shoulder so that he didn't watch their father leave; didn't follow a man he didn't know purely because they shared blood.
Silence rose again, pressing in on Stanley until he couldn't bare it. He took a step closer to Arthur, but he saw Tommy shake his head almost imperceptibly.
'He's our dad,' said Arthur, the pain lingering behind his voice broke Stanley's heart.
Tommy huffed out an exasperated breath. 'He's a selfish bastard.'
'You calling someone a selfish bastard?' asked Arthur in a dangerously low voice. 'That's a bit rich, Tommy. I mean, thanks to you... we're already down a bloody sister. And I don't think Stan's too far behind.'
'Tommy –' started Stan, but he didn't know what to say, and Tommy's attention was elsewhere.
'If you want to see him, Arthur... You want to see him? You go with him,' said Tommy, pointing to the door that their father had left through. Again.
Arthur stood up quickly, got in Tommy's face. But he didn't say anything. Somehow, that was worse. He slipped through passed Polly and followed after their father.
Staley stood on the edge of going with him. Of making sure that his brother wasn't alone with their father. He'd been about five when he'd left, not quite old enough to remember how bad it had been, but old enough to know that something had been wrong. To remember that Arthur had been cut up about the whole thing, more so than any of the others.
But, one look to Polly, to the unbridled hatred behind her eyes, and Stanley couldn't do it. He sighed, sank back a little more against the wall. He couldn't wait to get back to the yard, to help Curly with looking after the horses, to joke with Luce about the callouses that now riddled her hands from all the work with the ropes. At least those were things he understood, things that would take his thoughts far from the fact that their father was back, and that could only mean trouble.
***
Luce hummed softly as she swept. Her hands were better, the scars lingered but they didn't annoy her as much as before. The only reason she hadn't headed to the yard yet was because Grace was dealing with the money. It didn't sit right with her letting the woman stay in the pub alone while doing the accounts. Not that she could do much, but she felt better about being there.
'How's things been?' she asked, sweeping some glass towards the Shelbys' door, out of the way for the moment.
'Odd,' was all Grace said on the matter. 'Some –'
The sound of the door being pushed open forced their attention that way. Luce gripped the broom a little tighter. She felt the panic rising in her chest.
'Arthur,' she breathed when she spotted the owner. Oddly, there was a comfort in it being him.
He nodded to her, walked straight for the till, barely stepping over her collection of broken glass. 'Grace, I'm taking five pounds from petty cash all right?'
'We don't have five pounds in petty cash,' Grace said simply.
'Well then I'll take what we've got.'
'Count it and leave a receipt,' said Grace, turning her attention back to the books.
Luce sighed, crouched to collect the broken glass in the apron she'd fashioned herself for exactly that.
'Arthur,' said Grace after a moment, 'there are some things in these books that I don't understand.'
'Likewise,' said Arthur, and Luce heard the sound of him pouring liquid into a glass. She busied herself with moving out the back, with brushing the glass carefully off the material, trying not to open any of her cuts. Despite everything, she didn't fancy dealing with the wrath that she would probably incur from Polly for that. Odd how the woman had helped, had come to check on things; there was no real reason to fear Polly Gray, and yet a part of Luce did.
'Every week,' came Grace's voice softly, 'we pay one pound ten shillings by postal order to a "Daniel Owen" in London.'
'Danny Whizz Bang, hangs around the pubs in Camden Town Wharf for us,' said Arthur after a second, and Luce knew that he'd been making sure she wasn't listening in. But their voices carried, and the reminder of her home had her frozen by the door, unable to not listen and unable to move away either. 'He keeps his ears open for business. He's a good man.'
'I thought Danny Whizz Bang was dead.'
'Then you thought wrong, didn't ya?' said Arthur evenly.
'But I've seen his grave,' noted Grace. 'He – he was shot.'
'That was a show to satisfy the wops.' Luce's stomach knotted. People had called Sy a wop far too many times for her to count. It constantly set her teeth on edge, but he never seemed to mind it. He brushed it off. But, those people tended to end up with bloody noses not five minutes later. 'Tommy just shot some sheep's brains at him.'
It felt as though the world had tilted beneath Luce's feet. Her thoughts snapped back to that day in the yard. Her first day in the city, when she'd seen Tommy shoot a man. He'd told her even then that it wasn't real, but the comment hadn't rung true.
Now it all made sense.
And yet, the blood still pounded in her ears. The thought of someone in London, feeding information back to Thomas Shelby, was an odd one to contemplate. Especially if they were in Camden. If he thought to ask the right questions...
But he was Thomas Shelby. He'd probably make the link, probably figure it out.
And then what? Would he think that she was doing the same thing as Danny for Sabini? It wasn't like people didn't know about her links to Sy, and his to the Italian family that were making waves down there. However hard Sy had tried to keep his two lives separate there was always something that lingered. A knowledge that was difficult to forget about.
She sucked in a deep breath, tried to force her breathing even. This wasn't helping anything, especially not her.
'And don't tell Tommy I took this!' she heard Arthur shout, before she finally moved out of the backroom, the broom held tightly in her hands.
It was only as the doors closed that Grace looked towards her. For a moment, she almost looked worried, but then she sighed. 'Do you want a hand tidying?'
Luce shook her head. 'It'll be done soon, but thank you.' She shot her a shaky smile, really hoping that the other woman would buy it, but seriously doubting it.
***
Stanley carefully picked the mud out of Monaghan Boy's front hoof. It was one of the things he'd been meaning to do but never got around to it. Between making sure the stables were clean, speaking to Curly, and Luce telling him about every adventure she planned to go on, it was difficult to remember things like this. Not that Curly wasn't doing them, it was just Stanley enjoyed doing it himself.
And yet today his thoughts kept swinging back to his father like some kind of pendulum. Every time he tried to focus on something else, to distract his concerns, his thoughts found his father once more. The father that had abandoned them and never once looked back.
The father that was now sucking their brother back to him. How long would it last? Had he actually changed, or –?
'You coming for lunch, or we staying here?' Luce's voice snapped Stan's thoughts away from his worries and towards her. She stood in the doorway of the stable, leaning a shoulder against the wood. She wore the familiar slacks of the stable yard, the boots that they'd stuffed with paper so they fitted tucked over the bottoms.
Stanley opened his mouth to answer, but shook his head and tried again. He didn't think he could deal with the city right now. 'Here. I should have a couple of...' His voice petered out as Luce held up her own makeshift bag. 'How'd you do that?'
She shrugged, turned on her heel and headed back outside.
Stan patted Monaghan Boy on the flank before hurrying after her, rubbing his hands clean on his trousers.
'Learnt it off a friend,' she told him, unwrapping the bundle to reveal two sandwiches. She put one firmly in front of him, but didn't touch her own. Instead she surveyed him as he sat down. Examining him almost. 'What's wrong?'
'N – nothing,' Stan spluttered, busying himself with checking the sandwich, making sure that there wasn't anything in it that he didn't like. 'What makes you say there's anything wrong?'
'The distant look behind your eyes. The slight furrow between your brows. The fact that you haven't asked if I made these or Grace did,' she rattled off, but despite the gentle teasing to her voice, there was a flicker of concern.
Stan didn't look up, he didn't trust himself not to see that flicker behind her eyes, not to find it and spill everything before he could stop himself. He tried to will up a little of the confidence he'd seen Tommy use on so many people.
'Don't know what you're talking about,' he said simply, before taking a savage bite of his sandwich, hoping to put the conversation at an end. 'What about with you?' he asked around his mouthful of food.
'Old memories,' was all she said, so softly that Stan looked up without thinking. The flicker of a smile was gone from her lips; there was a sadness behind her eyes that he suddenly felt responsible for. Guilt clawed at his throat.
He heaved a sigh, put the sandwich down and swallowed hard. He coughed slightly, took a swig of water, and then looked at her evenly. He'd give her time before he tried to stop her running; before he tried to help her with her own ghosts.
'My dad's back,' he told her. 'Which would be great and all if he hadn't left us ten years ago. Just walked off and now thinks he can come straight back.'
Luce hummed thoughtfully.
'It ain't good for Arthur.'
'What about the rest of you?' she asked softly, tilting her head a little to one side. She was surveying him again, but this time he didn't shrink away from it.
He just shrugged. 'Tommy hates it; John hates it; Finn didn't know him.'
'And you?'
Stanley had been thinking on that for a long time. The simple truth was that he wasn't sure. He remembered his dad lifting him onto his shoulders, showing him higher up things. But he also remembered his brothers doing that after the man had left. He remembered days of not seeing their father, days when his brothers had taught him things, like how to tie a tie.
Luce reached out and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. 'Maybe you'll figure it out the longer he's around,' she said.
Stan couldn't help but scoff, and shot her an apologetic look when she gave a slight start at the harshness of the sound.
'If he stays around,' was all he said before he turned his attention back to lunch, still not sure if he wanted his father around, or if he really would have rathered the man disappear again, for good this time.
***
In retrospect, Hal should have seen this little meeting coming. He should have known that, as soon as Freddie was picked up, suspicion would turn to him. But he'd followed Tommy's order to the letter. He'd driven Freddie there himself and then driven off to see Cece, knowing that this was a time for the family; and however close to them he was, he didn't want to get in the way.
Now, he cursed himself for his own naivety. It was all too simple to blame the outsider, even if he'd practically been family since he was four-years-old. Since he and John had made mud pies in the dirt and tried selling them. Since Polly had all but forced him into the house when she caught sight of the first bruise, even though he'd been so desperate to hide it.
Tommy blew out a long drag of his cigarette. Hal watched as the smoke floated through the air, as it twisted this way and that before finally dissipating.
'Did they pay you?' Tommy asked, not beating around the bush, going straight for the jugular.
Hal scoffed, his attention still on the water. He could hear the general sounds of the yard; knew that somewhere nearby Stan and Luce were probably chatting away, laughing, joking as they went about jobs that they scarcely got paid for. How long before that friendship was brought up for more questioning?
'I wouldn't deprive a man the chance to be a father,' Hal said evenly. 'Just because ours sucked, doesn't mean they all would.'
Tommy was pensively silent for a moment. Hal didn't feel the weight of his look on him, which he supposed was a good thing. Tommy wasn't trying to read him, wasn't trying to figure out what was going on inside his head. At least there was still that ounce of trust between the two of them.
'You didn't come celebrate.'
'I thought it was a family matter.'
Tommy grabbed the back of Hal's neck. Not hard, but not exactly gently either. The gesture forced Hal to look at him, forced him to recognise the flicker of almost confusion behind the other man's eyes.
'Are you not kin anymore, Henry?'
Hal scoffed, and this time there was actual humour behind the sound.
Tommy squeezed the back of his neck amicably. 'I know you didn't tell them where he was,' he said evenly. 'But somehow they knew exactly where he'd be.' Slowly, he let Hal go and tapped the ash off his cigarette onto the floor beside him.
'We just need to find out how.'
'We just need to find out how,' repeated Tommy, nodding his head ever so slightly, already lost in the world of his own scheming mind, somewhere that Hal couldn't, and wouldn't, follow.
***
The night had finally drawn in. The last of the patrons had gone and Luce had snuck in through the backdoor of the Garrison because she'd got distracted by the stars and was running late enough as it was. They had glimmered and shone brighter than ever before, and it had taken her breath away. The memory still brought a smile to her face, even if fear had niggled at the back of her mind, wondering when the zeppelins were going to shatter the façade of calm.
She tided some of the office, collecting a cup that Grace must have left there, as she headed through to the pub. Grace was already wiping down the work surfaces. She shot a small smile to Luce as she entered, as she wound her hair up into a bun on the top of her head.
'Busy day?' she asked, grabbing the broom from the side.
'As busy as ever,' Grace said simply. Silence fell between the two of them. Luce could feel a question building in the air, but couldn't figure out where it was coming from; what was causing it. 'How –?'
Grace didn't get to finish the question. A knocking cut her off, insistent and unrelenting.
They shared a brief look before Grace held a hand up to Luce, asking her to stay there.
Luce nodded, but she shifted the broom so as to use it as a possible weapon.
Grace hauled the door open. Thomas Shelby entered, looking rather more harassed than normal. For a moment, his attention snapped to her. Even under the shade of his hat's peak she could see that there was something unrecognisable behind his eyes.
'Leave,' he said simply.
Luce took a step backwards as if she'd been physically hit. 'I – I can't. I just got –'
'Lucinda, leave,' Tommy said, fixing his attention on her.
But that's when it clicked. The look behind his eyes was fear. They shone with the emotion that she never thought he'd be able to show. Unless it involved something happening to Finn or one of the others.
Panic clawed at her. For a moment she was frozen, trying not to let the thoughts of what might have happened crowd her too much. Then, she started for the stairs, but a hand caught her arm.
'Not there,' said Tommy as she turned on him quickly, as she pulled away sharply. Her fear was getting difficult to tame.
'Where will she go at this time?' Grace intervened, stepping between the two of them.
For a moment, Luce wondered if Tommy actually cared. If he wasn't turfing her out with no word of explanation, not that she would have been too surprised. But he sighed, ran a weary hand over his face. 'You know where the shop is, yes?'
'Yes,' said Luce, perplexed.
'Hal will be there, Stan too. And probably Polly. Go there. Tell them I sent ya,' Tommy said, before taking hold of her shoulder surprisingly gently and ushering her towards the doors. 'Don't come back tonight.'
'But – '
He gave her shoulder a warning squeeze. 'Now,' he said, pushing her ever so slightly.
Luce shot a worried look towards Grace, but there was a steel behind her eyes that assured Luce she would be all right. She quickly shot the woman a small smile before she hurried out into the night, hugging her arms around herself in an attempt to stave off the cold, to hold herself together as she worried about what the hell was going on, and what she'd just left Grace to.
The magic of the night had been sucked from it the minute Thomas Shelby entered the Garrison. Now, everything felt too pressing, and all at once too vast as well. Every open alleyway was a potential hiding spot. The drunken calls of people stumbling home made her fearful of the kinds of people that she might just walk directly into if she wasn't careful. Still, it was nowhere near as frightening as back home. Back when the threat of zeppelins hung over their heads, ready to prove to them all that the War wasn't only being fought in some foreign country they were safe from.
And yet, she'd got the strange feeling of the familiar as she walked. Occasionally she would notice people's attention stray to her before they looked away again sharply. As if they were afraid she would see them looking and do...
Do what though?
It had been the same in London. Everyone knew that she was friends with Sy.
That I was protected.
A shiver ran down her spine at the thought. How could anyone think she was protected here though? Yes, she was friends with Stanley, but the Garrison had become her home under Harry's word, not the Shelby family. So why was it all so strikingly familiar?
She shook her head clear, and her thoughts went back to Grace. To the fact that she was alone in the Garrison with Tommy who looked as though anything might happen.
For a moment, she contemplated going back. Contemplated refusing to leave, Tommy be damned. But she was already outside the shop. The street was quiet around her, and she knew that if she headed back now the fearful thoughts would swarm her again. This time, they might even win.
And yet, she couldn't knock on the door. She couldn't cause a ruckus and wake the family, no matter what Thomas Shelby told her she could do.
She hovered on the pavement, hand raised to the door but unable to actually knock.
'You know,' came a slow voice, pulling her attention sharply to the street behind her; a yawning, cavernous space ready to devour her, 'knocking actually requires a little contact with the door.'
'Hal,' she breathed, finding an odd kind of comfort at the sight of the man. He might have been part of the Shelbys but he'd looked out for the Garrison, and in a way he'd looked out for her, too. 'I – I didn't want to wake anyone.'
'Then why're you here?' he asked, taking a step towards the door, pulling out his own key and putting it in the lock. He didn't turn it, not yet, his attention curiously on her.
'Tommy told me to come,' she said, feeling slightly awkward about not having called him "Mr. Shelby" but also knowing that the formality no longer felt quite right either. 'Something's happening at the Garrison.'
She could see the look of conflict behind Hal's eyes, even in the dim light of the nearby streetlamp. Too long in darkened streets made it easier to see by night. It was a skill that she hadn't quite been able to shake yet, one that she wasn't entirely sure she would want to anyway.
Eventually, he sighed and turned the key. 'Come on. You can take my bed, there's a sofa with my name on it.'
'No, I couldn't possibly –'
'Luce, trust me, take the bed,' he said, and there was something behind his voice that left no room for argument.
She nodded ever so slightly. 'Thanks,' she said softly before stepping past him, half wondering if she wouldn't have been better heading to the yard and sleeping in the stable.
***
Stan chuckled, shook his head ever so slightly as Luce shrugged. The joke was terrible, but she'd laughed all the way through it. It could have been irritating, but there was something endearing about the way she was so lost in the moment that he couldn't help but be swept up in the whole thing too.
It was as if her concerns of the evening before were completely forgotten. She'd checked on Grace, got some spare clothes, and then come back to the house with a bar of chocolate as a thank you to Hal for letting her nick his bed. It had been a shock, knowing that she'd been there, that Aunt Pol had offered her tea and company in the morning before Tommy came in and assured her she could head back. But Stanley was grateful for the moment of compassion that his brother had shown, even if he dare not ask what happened to have made it necessary for Luce to leave while Grace stayed.
The station itself wasn't packed, and Stan forced himself to think about that. In fact, it was quieter than he'd imagined. Luce had assured him that it would be empty, that it was still too early for most people to be travelling. But she'd wanted to go early, wanted to explore; probably wanted to get away from the memories and confusion of the night before. And he hadn't been able to let her go alone.
But, as they rushed up the stairs, Luce dashing up ahead of him, he heard the low Irish drawl that he would recognise anywhere. He caught the back of Luce's jacket, slowed her slightly and moved ahead. If she questioned him, he didn't hear it, his attention too preoccupied with finding his father.
Quickly, he spotted the man with Arthur against a wall. The other passengers were giving them room, not wanting to get involved, obviously recognising Arthur; Stan didn't think anyone would recognise his father. Ten years and a lot had changed.
'Arthur!' he called, but the two of them were too lost in their fight.
'... I'll cut your fucking throat and spread you on these tracks,' his father threatened. He pulled away, straightened Arthur's coat. Stan felt Luce's hand hovering at his back. Felt the tension coming off her in waves. Felt her reassuring presence when he needed it the most.
His father turned to him, shot him an almost malicious smile as he stood by his case. And then, he turned his attention back to the tracks as if he didn't know, or care for, either of his sons.
'Arthur,' said Stanley softly as his brother swept down to collect his hat.
His brother didn't even look at him, merely walked on like a man haunted.
'Go,' Luce said softly as Stan's attention followed his brother. 'Exploration will wait.'
Stan looked to her briefly. Her eyes were narrowed on his father, as if trying to work something out. He hastily pulled her away, not daring to leave her there, not wanting her to drawn his father's attention either, especially not after the stunt that he'd just pulled. 'Come on, I need to make sure he's all right.'
Luce allowed him to pull her away, but he knew she wasn't too happy about the whole thing. Knew that she'd been looking forward to this little trip and that the world suddenly seemed to be conspiring against her. He'd have to try and make it up to her eventually, but right now his brother needed him.
Stan stayed a few paces behind Arthur. He could tell that his brother wanted to be alone, but he also didn't want to leave him. Arthur was hurting, hurting more than ever, even since the War. Luce had disappeared off to Charlie's, but Stan had felt the jitteriness about her. She'd missed a chance to get out of city, and if there was one thing he'd learnt about Lucinda Turner it was that she needed a chance to find out something new from time to time. Especially after something like being kicked out of her rooms for some mysterious reason that had left a shadow on Tommy, and who knew what else on Grace.
But, as they neared the betting shop, Stanley slowed his pace. As soon as he stepped through the door he knew that he'd be walking into family business. But, this was business of another kind, one that he couldn't sit idly by and ignore.
'Arthur, wait,' he said, jogging to catch up. He patted his brother on the shoulder, gave it a squeeze. 'He's a jerk.'
His brother let out a hollow laugh. 'Only you, Stan boy, would say that.'
'Instead of more colourful language?' Stan asked, trying to bring at least a small smile to his brother's lips. He heaved a sigh. There was no way around this. 'What're you going to do?'
His brother shrugged as he opened the door.
Only Aunt Pol was in the kitchen area, but somehow that made it worse.
She didn't even properly look up as she asked, 'Where's your father?'
Arthur looked like a whipped puppy. Stan's heart went out to him, but there was nothing he could do. His brother wasn't looking for sympathy, wasn't looking for someone to reassure him that what he'd done wasn't terrible. He'd come here for the truth, and there was no avoiding it now.
'I'm assuming,' Aunt Pol went on, 'he's frittering away the five-hundred you took from us and put in his thieving, whore-groping hands.' Only then did her attention flick to Arthur with a coldness that made Stan shift back slightly. 'How dare you do something like that without talking to Thomas or me?'
'Aunt Pol,' Stan started to defend, but she shot him an icy look that shut him up immediately.
Arthur was silent for a moment before asking, 'Does Tommy know?'
Aunt Polly let the silence take hold for a few seconds as she looked back to her newspaper, as she flicked it straight. 'No. But you're gonna tell him.'
***
Hal followed Arthur, staying a good few paces behind the man. He was drunk, so Hal wasn't worried that he might be seen. Even on a good day he could tail Arthur for a fair few streets before the man felt the odd prickling of being watched on his back.
This was almost too easy.
He recognised the fight club even from a distance and swore mentally. Stanley had warned him, said that things were bad, but even Hal hadn't realised that they were quite this bad. The eldest Shelby had always had a penchant for getting into fights, but high emotions and too much alcohol were the perfect kindling for a raging storm that Hal would have to tamper.
'Right!' yelled Arthur as he walked into the room, bottle by his side. 'Who wants to fucking fight?'
'Fighting's over,' said Marston, still oddly calm for a man on the Blinders' list. 'We're closing up and moving on.'
'I said who wants to fucking fight?' Arthur insisted as the other two men moved passed him. They shot glares at Hal, but he paid them little heed. His attention was on his friend, on trying to figure out when to intervene. How far he could let this go to try and allow Arthur to get it out of his system.
But, upon seeing Arthur square up to Marston, one of them turned back. Hal stuck out an arm. 'I wouldn't,' he said out the side of his mouth, his attention still trained on Arthur.
'My name,' said Arthur, turning to face them, not even seeming to recognise Hal, 'is Arthur fucking Shelby! Who dares to fight me?!'
Hal stood behind the three men, his hand tapping on the handle of his pistol gently. His blood sung with the promise of a fight. Even if he had to challenge Arthur himself, he could bare it for his friend's sake.
'Go home, lad,' said Marston, his condescending tone causing Hal's shoulders to rise ever so slightly. 'Before you catch yourself a spanking.'
And then, they were gone, leaving Arthur to glare at Hal.
'You want a go?'
Hal shook his head, his hand fell away from his pistol and he moved to clap his friend on the shoulder. 'Come on,' he said, gently guiding him out of the warehouse, even as Arthur contented himself with taking a long drink of whiskey. 'Let's see if we can't find something else to do.'
'No!' snapped Arthur, shifting away from Hal. 'Fight me.'
'Arthur, I'm not going –'
'I'm your fucking boss,' growled Arthur, before taking a swing at Hal.
Hal ducked it, recognising the movement a second early enough. Arthur stumbled into the ropes; let out a laugh that could have been a sob.
'Come on, or are you chicken, boy?' snapped Arthur, moving to hit Hal in the ribs.
A hiss of pain escaped Hal before he could stop it. A hand went tentatively to the bruise already forming. This was nothing, but he had to stop it.
'Arthur,' he said, crouching ever so slightly, shifting his weight to the balls of his feet, 'you don't want to do this.'
'Why don't you run off back to John? Afraid he doesn't need you anymore? Doesn't need his little dog.'
For a moment, Hal saw red. His anger welled and threatened to overwhelm him. It didn't matter that this was Arthur, that this was a hurting Arthur no less. The comment had been a low blow.
And then, he breathed. He ducked another oncoming fist, slapped the other man's arm away and danced back out of his reach.
'Arthur, go home,' he said, fighting to keep his voice even.
'No!' snapped Arthur, reaching for Hal's jacket.
Once again, he batted his arms away. 'You gonna be like this, fine,' Hal spat, turning on his heel. 'I'll be outside when you've finished wallowing in your daddy issues.'
He stalked away, grateful not to hear Arthur following him. At least his father had been decent enough when he was there. He might have left, but at least he hadn't taken his anger out on his kids, on his wife. He might have been a bastard but he had nothing on Hal's own father, and the fact that Arthur was only just realising that he couldn't rely on the man was something that Hal felt the others should be dealing with.
He sighed, ran his hands through his hair to slick it back a little more. But he kept walking.
Until he heard the soft sound of a prayer. Instantly he span, turned to see Arthur hanging there. His heart thundered in his chest, panic threatened to overwhelm him, but it turned to cold focus in an instant.
Hal raised his pistol, exhaled slowly, and shot.
The rope frayed in an instant. Arthur fell to the floor, his legs buckled as he groaned, as he started to cry.
But it didn't matter, he was alive, and Hal was rushing over to him before the pistol had even stopped smoking.
Arthur coughed, spluttered as he tried to get his breath back. Hal put a hand on the back of his neck, clasped it firmly.
'What the bloody hell do you think you're doing, man?' he asked, voice slightly sharper than he'd been intending. 'We'll sort this. We can always sort it.' He felt the twinge of a familiar pain, a pain that he tried every day to keep away even though it lingered on the periphery.
Arthur spluttered still, curling in on himself as if he could keep himself safe from the rest of the world somehow. And Hal kept his hand on the back of his neck, a reassuring presence until they could move. Until he could take Arthur home and try calming him down with the comfort of his family around him.
***
'You don't have to keep an eye on me, baby brother,' Arthur said, his voice hollow, his attention on the fireplace.
Stan shifted ever so slightly in his seat. He hadn't been able to look away from his brother since he got there. Since Hal had slammed the door. Polly had insisted that Stan stay while Hal explained what had happened, even with the haunted look behind the other man's eyes. And ever since, he'd refused to leave his brother's side, worry welling up inside him every time he so much as blinked.
'That's what family's for, Arthur. You taught me that,' Stan said in a small voice. He wanted to say more, but the words failed him.
A door opened, instantly Stan was on his feet, fear coursing through him that their father was back, back to cause more trouble, to take something from them that they'd never be able to replace. But he relaxed slightly when he spotted Tommy.
His older brother was silent as he crossed the room, as he gently moved Arthur's collar aside and then moved to take his coat off.
'So Polly told you?' asked Arthur.
'Yep,' was all Tommy said before he dropped into a spare seat. He poured himself a tea, his attention on Arthur.
For a moment, Stan felt as though he should leave. But he couldn't; he didn't have the heart. It would feel like abandoning Arthur somehow, and he couldn't do that.
'You should've used a gun,' said Tommy, so blasé that Stanley looked to him sharply.
'Tom!'
'Are you laughing at me, Tommy?' asked Arthur, voice low as he waved away Stan's shock.
'Yeah,' said Tommy simply. 'Just when things are starting to go right, Arthur, you try and do this.' Tommy shifted forwards in his seat, closing the space between him and Arthur, shutting Stan out.
Stan paced to the other side of the room, but still didn't leave. He couldn't. He'd heard of people doing things like this, especially after the War. He'd been grateful when none of his brothers seemed to have that flicker of desire. When they all came back, changed but willing to try and get back to normal in whatever ways they could. The War had left its marks on all of them, but none of them in that way.
'Don't you like fancy parties?' asked Tommy. 'Or, um... champagne or fast cars? Or 'ow about this...?' Tommy put his cup down, pulled something out of his pocket and offered it out to their eldest brother. Stan lent forwards ever so slightly to get a better look, wondered if this might not be why Tommy was so late getting there. 'Your name on a business card.'
'Shelby,' said Arthur slowly, either still taking the whole thing in or simply having difficulty reading, Stanley wasn't sure, 'Brothers Limited. Arthur Shelby. Associate bookmaker.' He scoffed.
'I just had them picked up from the printers this morning. You are one of three shareholders,' Tommy said, before glancing briefly at Stan. 'Still got to be eighteen, brother,' he said, a hint of apology behind his voice before he focused on Arthur once more. 'Me, you, John, and according to the law, we are equal partners and it's written on the paperwork in black and white. A third, a third, a third.' He sighed, drawing Arthur's attention away from the card and towards him. 'But the thing is, er, me and John we quite fancy splitting your share so, just next time, use a gun, man.'
'Tommy!' gasped Stan, but this time he'd heard the gentle jibing behind his brother's voice, knew that there was concern there as well. Whatever happened, Tommy would try to make sure that Arthur didn't fall down into that void again. This was his promise, in a sense.
Arthur scoffed, and Stan felt a little of the tightness in his chest loosen.
Tommy motioned him over, and Stan obliged, pausing only to pour himself a tea.
'Our men at the station tell me that copper is leaving town,' Tommy told them. 'We're in the clear.' He clapped them both on the shoulder, joining them in the whole affair, the part of the business Stan had tried so hard to keep away from but found himself being dragged further and further into recently. 'We are on our way up in the world, brothers. Believe me.'
And, as Stan's attention slipped to the little card that Arthur was still holding, he honestly believed that they just might be.