Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“Why the fuck is there a baby?” Arthur asked. Not to anyone in particular, as he and the baby were apparently alone in the sitting room. The tiny little boy was in a bassinet by the fire, and he was settled on a clean blanket, but Arthur had no fucking idea where he had come from. One minute, Arthur had been closing down the betting shop for the evening, and the next there was a baby.

Arthur approached hesitantly. The baby watched him, face scrunched up like he might start crying. “Don’t do that, eh?” Arthur said softly. “I’m sorry for shouting. You just surprised me is all. I wasn’t expecting a baby.” He inspected the bassinet as if it might contain a clue, a name tag or something, but there was nothing except the blanket and the baby. “You’re probably hungry. We’ve only got cow’s milk though. Don’t think you’ll like that very much. Should’ve told us you were coming.” Arthur chuckled at his own little joke and made to pick up the child. He was maybe three or four months old. Arthur wasn’t sure, really. Even though he had three younger siblings, he hadn’t paid that much attention. The boy was heavy; he knew that much. And trusting. He leaned his head into Arthur’s chest immediately, that milky baby smell filling Arthur’s nostrils. “All right, little man, should we find out where you belong?” Arthur asked the baby, but then he heard footsteps coming down the hall.

“Arthur, is that you?” Aunt Polly called. And then, “Oh,” when she saw him with the baby.

“Is it yours?” Arthur asked.

Polly rolled her eyes. “Do you think I’ve been fucking pregnant? Jesus, Arthur, someone must’ve dropped you on your head when you were small.”

Arthur winced. That was a stupid question. “Well then, whose is it?”

“It’s your goddamn father’s, is whose it is.” Polly snapped, eyes flashing.

Oh. “He’s back?”

“Fuck’s sake, Arthur, yes. With a baby he got on some Irish slut. Finnegan. The baby, not the whore. Your brilliant father thought he could just bring him here. Won’t be any bother at all. Polly will raise him.” Polly spat into the fire, and then, in one smooth movement, took baby Finnegan from Arthur. For all her harsh words, she held him close to her chest.

“He’s back.” Arthur knew he sounded like an idiot, but he couldn’t get his head around it. He had thought, after the last time, that Arthur Shelby Sr. had gone for good. He’d lost a lot of the money from the betting on some idea about a fun fair, and he’d had a giant row with Polly. Arthur had found him later, repentant, and he’d told his eldest son how important it was take the consequence of your actions. That that was being a man. And so he’d said he’d go, and he wouldn’t come back until he could pay the family every cent of what he’d lost. He must’ve done so, to be back now.

“He’s at The Garrison, if that’s the same as being back,” Polly said crisply.

Arthur made to move, but his aunt shot out an arm to stop him. “You’re not leaving me in the house with this fucking baby. You’ll see him soon enough. No need to run to heel, not when there’s enough work here for seven. The nappies are in the chest under my bed.”

Arthur knew better than to cross Polly when she was like this. He was old enough to remember what it had been like, after mum died. His dad had been in ruins and the house had followed suit. Ada was just a baby and John not much older. Arthur had tried to take charge, but there was simply too much to do. Then Polly had shown up. She’d been around some before, but then she’d just been his mother’s baby sister. After mum died, she had come in all steel and fire and nothing at all like a fifteen year old. The Shelby family had never been the same since.

And now it had changed again. Arthur went to fetch the baby supplies for Polly, still not sure what to make of the whole situation, desperate to talk to his dad about it. If he couldn’t go out to The Garrison and ask him directly, Polly should at least tell him what she’d learned.

There was a commotion in the hallway when he came back downstairs.

“I’m not talking about throwing the fucking baby in the street. I’m saying we throw him out. He has no right to be here!” That was unmistakably Tommy’s voice, even if Arthur’s brother rarely shouted at anyone. Arthur re-entered the kitchen just as Tommy and Polly came in through the front, Ada trailing a few steps behind. Polly matched Tommy’s volume easily.

“You’re not the one who decides that, Thomas! And as it’s me who’d have to care for him while you’re off messing about with horses, you’d best not say another word on the subject.”

“You didn’t think it was messing about when it was the only fucking steady income we had,” Tommy spat back. He was too distracted by the baby to take off his work boots, and now was tracking mud all over the house. It was a testament to Polly’s own rage that she hadn’t gone off about that. Ada was wearing trousers under her dress and her hair was pulled back. She’d obviously been at the stable with Tommy again. The girl worshipped the ground that Tommy walked on, and would never hear a word from Arthur. John, of course, was the opposite, though lately he’d been spending less and less time around any of them.

“You can’t deny that your father can do good for this family when he puts his mind to it. We could use the money.” Polly said, trying hard to make her tone more reasonable.

Tommy let out a bitter laugh, sounding very unlike himself, and then, to Arthur’s dismay, turned to bring him into the discussion. “Back me the fuck up, Arthur. We can’t have him here. Not again.”

Arthur swallowed hard. He had never quite understood the depth of the anger that Tommy held for their father. Tommy was kind and funny, if sometimes a little odd. But in this one area, he could be venomous. And sure, their father had made mistakes, had lost money, had been hard on them. But that was the life when a man refused the path set out for him. Arthur Shelby Sr. was no factory slave, and for that Arthur was proud to carry on his name.

“We need him, Tom,” Arthur began carefully. “And he told me last time that he wouldn’t come back until he’d made up for his errors. He knows what he’s got to do. Polly’s right. We’ll need the extra money to take care of Finnegan.”

Finnegan himself chose that moment to let out an ungodly scream, forcing Polly to leave off her face-off with Tommy and rush over to his bassinet. Tommy kicked off his boots petulantly.

“Ada, put some fucking reasonable clothes on and come be useful,” Polly snapped. Ada rolled her eyes, kicked her boots off in blatant imitation of Tommy, and stomped off up the stairs.

“Tommy, go find John would you? I want us all here for tea tonight,” Arthur said, trying to break the tension a little bit.

“How’m I supposed to know where John is?” Tommy complained, clearly not done being angry, even as he shoved his feet into his shoes.

“He’s with the lads,” Polly said vaguely, distracted by soothing Finnegan. The baby kept trying to nestle into her breasts and looked disappointed when there was no milk to be found.

Tommy’s expression moved from rage to something more exasperated. “Right.” He and Arthur both knew that “with the lads” meant he could be absolutely anywhere in Small Heath. Arthur gave a sympathetic little shrug, even though he’d rather be the one out looking, instead of cooped up here with a baby and a couple of angry women.

As soon as Tommy was out the door, Arthur traipsed back upstairs to collect Ada and get her in the kitchen with Polly. He would help out too. If the work got done fast enough, perhaps he would have time to nip down to The Garrison before tea was ready.

That proved to be a wildly optimistic idea. The house was in complete uproar for the next hour, and nearly as soon as Tommy had reappeared, trailing sullenly behind an overexcited John, it was time to eat.

The mood around the table was tense to say the least. Tommy stabbed at his food like he’d like to kill it, and Ada was sulking because Tommy was. John was just about vibrating with excitement. Polly looked worried. Arthur couldn’t have said exactly how he felt. On some level, he understood Tommy’s anger. Life was hard with their dad around. But it wasn’t only hard, and when their dad landed on a brilliant new scheme, it was the best thing in the world. If Polly had gotten over their last row, then surely it would be all right.

Still, the waiting was making Arthur nervous, and he found it difficult to stomach his food.

Finally, long after they had cleared their plates and some time after the whiskey had been opened, they heard the door open. John let out a quickly stifled squeal. Tommy went ramrod stiff in his chair. Arthur stood up.

And then he was there.

Arthur Shelby, Sr. He looked different, and yet exactly as Arthur remembered him. There was the same air of life around him, of electricity. Illuminating or dangerous, depending on the moment. There were a few strands of grey in his hair now. His smile was the same.

“Arthur!”

Moments later, Arthur was in his arms. His father smelled like cigarette smoke, whiskey, and home. He held on tight. The moment was broken by Tommy’s voice.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Tommy couldn’t even let the man sit down before he started on him.

Arthur Sr. stepped away from Arthur and opened his arms to welcome his second son, who was so tense that he looked like he might break.

“Tommy boy, is this not my home? Are you not my loving family?” His dad asked with an expansive smile. Arthur winced. That was not an attitude that would win Tommy over. As predicted, Tommy stepped in closer to their dad.

“We’re not your family. We’re your scrap yard. And this isn’t your home anymore. We don’t need you,” he said harshly.

“Sit down, Tommy. We haven’t even heard his story yet,” Arthur pleaded.

“Listen to your brother. You used to love my stories, Tom.” And Arthur really wished his father would shut up because he wasn’t helping at all.

“Your lies, you mean. I don’t want you talking that way to the children,” Tommy said, dripping scorn. Arthur felt a surge of anger towards his little brother. Tommy, always the smart one, always the one who knew best. He didn’t see half of what Arthur had seen. He didn’t know what this family needed.

“So now you care about the children, Thomas,” Polly snapped, just as Ada and John chorused, “We’re not children!”

There was a headache building behind Arthur’s eyes. He looked to his father, who seemed to be rather enjoying the chaos around him and felt his resentment balloon out towards all of them. Couldn’t they just tolerate each other for one night? Things were always better when the family got along, but no one else seemed to even notice that. They were all too busy complaining and yelling at each other. Enough was enough.

“COULD EVERYBODY JUST CALM DOWN A MINUTE?” Arthur shouted. Miraculously, everyone went quiet. Even Finnegan, who looked like he wanted to start crying but was too shocked to actually do it. Arthur felt a little ashamed. They were all staring at him.

Into the silence, his father said matter-of-factly, “It looks like it’s Tom who’s got a problem with me and Finn.”

And then they were at it again. Tommy rounded on him. “You owe us. You should think about paying up before you slink in here with a fucking baby,” he spat.

“Is that any way to speak to your father in his own house?” Arthur Sr. was now the one stepping towards Tommy, and Arthur could see how badly Tommy wanted to flinch.

Instead, he screamed, “This is not your house!”

“It certainly isn’t yours!”

Both of them were starting to look a little deranged. Neither of them took any notice of Arthur until he stepped directly between them, facing Tommy.

“This is my fucking house!” Arthur shouted. Dad couldn’t help himself, but what was Tommy playing at, undermining him by creating a scene when they should be all trying to get along? Tommy didn’t have to make the choices that Arthur did. “Sit down and shut up, Tommy, or get the hell out. Dad is staying. It’s your choice whether you do the same.” Arthur desperately wanted Tommy to just sit down, but even as the words came out of his mouth, he knew it would never happen. Tommy was an idealist, and if he couldn’t get it the way he wanted it, he wouldn’t take it at all.

“You can’t kick him out!” Ada screeched at Arthur from the other side of the table, purple with anger. Polly cuffed her around the ears to quiet her.

Tommy had gone very still, no longer yelling. He didn’t even look angry, though he was very pale. He reached for his cap and for one wild moment, Arthur thought he would cut their father, before he remembered that this was Tommy and he didn’t even wear the razors.

Tommy put on his cap and addressed dad. “I hope that boy’s mother was a whore. Then at least someone got fucking paid,” he said. Then he turned and walked out the door. They all heard it shut carefully but with a horrible finality.

Finn and Ada were both crying. John didn’t know where to look, and Polly lit up a cigarette with near murderous energy. Arthur Sr poured himself some whiskey and sat down comfortably at the table.

“Anybody interested in hearing what I’ve been up to these fair few years?”

Arthur had half expected Tommy to be back the next morning, come in from sleeping in the stable or something, but he wasn’t. Apparently, he had taken Arthur’s ultimatum to heart. Though it hurt, Arthur didn’t have too long to dwell on the decision he had made. There was still a betting operation to run, and Arthur had to show his father the ins and outs of the systems they had developed over the last couple of years.

It was easy to get back into the rhythm of having dad in the house, but that didn’t mean the past was forgotten. Polly pulled Arthur aside before he went to open the shop for the day and made him promise to lock everything up and never leave dad alone with the money. She was clearly expecting a fight, but Arthur agreed easily. He saw no reason to tempt his father unnecessarily. It was natural, to see all that money changing hands and want a piece of it.

But Arthur Sr. didn’t seem to have any intention of stealing money from the betting operation. To the contrary, he was very proud of all the work Arthur had done over the last few years, and he actually whooped aloud when Arthur told him about the powder trick. It was adapted from an old Gypsy trick they’d seen at the fair when they were kids. John disappeared halfway through the day, going who the hell knew where, and Arthur was grateful for the company of his dad. Scudboat wasn’t much of a talker. Arthur Sr, on the other hand, had a million stories, each funnier and more scandalous than the last.

At the end of the day, they found their way to The Garrison. It had been Arthur’s pub for a long time, but it never felt the same without his dad there. Harry greeted them with a smile and a pint.

For a while, Arthur just listened to his father captivate the rest of the pub with the long and winding tale of his years away. The way he told it, he’d intended to work on a ship in Liverpool, but it had headed off to Ireland without the crew even being consulted. Then, he’d tried to work the docks in Dublin but been mistaken for an IRA man and thrown in Kilmainham. By the time he’d cleared up the misunderstanding and gotten himself released, the ship he’d intended to take back to Birmingham had already left and he’d had to bribe the guards so much that he was now in debt and couldn’t afford passage anyway. Then, he got hired as a hostler at an inn where the innkeeper’s daughter…and on and on it went. Arthur Sr made it all seem a grand adventure, full of strange coincidence and moments of magic. Himself was just a bit player, moving along with the tides of fate. Arthur envied his dad that, his ability to never get angry or upset when circumstances betrayed him. He was a little like Tommy that way. They were both quick to smile and moved on easily. Well, except with each other. But Polly would say that was the way of things, that those who were the most alike could always find the least common ground.

Only after he’d extracted several free pints from the other patrons did Arthur Sr. turn his attention to his son. “To be honest with you, I didn’t know what I expected to see when I came back here. You can never trust a woman to run a business, and you boys were children last I saw you, but I must say I’m impressed. I didn’t know if you had it in you, Arthur, but I should never have doubted a son of mine. The things you’ve done…you’ll be a famous bookmaker one day. I just know it.” Arthur flushed with pride. Praise from his father was hard-won, so he knew he must have earned it.

“I wanted to keep it going, Dad, I knew you’d be back. And with a lot to show for your travels too,” Arthur said.

“Bet you didn’t expect a little brother though, did you?” Arthur Sr laughed. Arthur smiled too, but it hurt a little. He’d always wondered if their father’s lack of attention had been some of what caused their mother to…do what she did. But Arthur had confessed that suspicion to Tommy once, and his brother had laughed at him. If women killed themselves because their husbands didn’t pay them enough attention, there’d be no women left in Small Heath. Arthur hadn’t found that funny.

Arthur took a long drink, then shot his father a reassuring smile. “Ah, I knew you wasn’t fixing to become a priest, Dad. We’ll take good care of little Finn, you’ll see. Tommy’ll come around eventually.”

Arthur Sr didn’t look as reassured as he’d hoped. Instead, he let out a long sigh and took hold of Arthur’s arm, looking him straight in the eye. “You don’t rely on your brother, you hear me son? Now I love Tom as much as any of my boys, don’t let anyone tell you different, but he’s always had strange ideas. Like your mother’s ideas, some of them. You let him go off, that’s the best thing for it. He’s no leader. He’s never going to be able to hold the family together the way you can. You’re the eldest, Arthur, and you carry on my name. That counts for a hell of a lot. You keep the Shelby’s going, make that name famous. I know you’ve got it in you.”

“You’re not leaving, are you?” There was a cold weight in Arthur’s stomach, and the beer wasn’t doing anything to shift it.

“Of course I’m not leaving, son, but you know me. You know the sort of shite luck I have sometimes. I want you to be prepared. And you will be. I know you will.” And with that, Arthur Sr took hold of his son’s head and pulled him in tight, mussing his hair until Arthur's scalp ached.

They drank late that night, and the next morning, Arthur’s memory of their conversation was somewhat patchy, but he was still full of that warm feeling of belonging that meant that the Shelby family was all together.

Well, almost all, but Arthur was mostly able to avoid thinking about Tommy in that first week after their father’s return. He focused on running the business, since Polly had stopped doing her share in order to care for Finn. John was spending less and less time at the betting shop. He usually reappeared in time for tea, reeking of cigarette smoke and looking very pleased with himself. Arthur couldn’t be too angry at him. He was exactly the same at that age. Still, that meant that there was a lot of work for Arthur to do.

It was good work. Arthur was no whiz with numbers, but he wasn’t the one doing the odds. What Arthur did was the talking, and he was good at it. Talking and punching, that was what the Shelby men did well. Every morning, he and his father would go to the boxing gym for some friendly sparring. Then, on to the betting shop where Arthur Sr mostly watched as Arthur managed the operation. At night, a few pints at The Garrison. When his father was in a black mood, Arthur knew well that those nights could get long and the mornings would all but disappear, but ever since Arthur Sr. had come back with Finn, he’d been in a good mood, proud of his family.

When Arthur Sr. was in a good mood, the whole family was in a good mood. That was the way it had always been. Well, except maybe for Polly. She accosted him on his way into the kitchen for his midday break ten days after the his father arrived and Tommy left.

“Just because she’s a girl doesn’t mean you have the right to ignore her,” Polly snapped the second Arthur walked in the door. She was wielding baby Finn like she might use him as a weapon.

“What the fuck are you on about, Pol?” Arthur asked, genuinely confused. Tommy was gone and John was pleased with his secrets. What the bloody hell was happening with Ada?

“So you haven’t noticed that she’s hardly eaten in a week and hasn’t done a lick of housework either.”

“No.” Ada hadn’t been eating?

“Fucking men.” Finn let out a wail and pawed vainly at Polly’s breast. “And you’ll be as bad as the rest of them,” she said crossly to the baby.

“Where is she then?” Arthur asked. Polly’s expression was causing him to be vaguely concerned that she might put down the baby and pick up the fire poker instead.

“Upstairs,” the words were hardly out of Polly’s mouth before Arthur was hurrying towards the bedroom that Ada and John had shared when they were younger, until John had moved in with Tommy. It was now Ada’s alone.

Arthur found his only sister buried deep under her blanket, facing the wall. She must have heard him coming and hidden. He tried to put a hand on her bony shoulder, but she shrugged him off.

“Go away, Arthur,” she said, muffled by the pillow.

“Polly says you’re not eating. What’s wrong, eh?” And why wasn’t Polly the one to deal with this? She was quick to remind them all that she ruled the matters of the heart in this family, but this time she had left it to Arthur. But then Arthur thought of his father’s words. He would lead this family.

“You don’t care,” Ada said sulkily.

“For fuck’s sake, Ada, of course I care. You’re our little girl, and you always will be.” He sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to touch her.

Ada’s head, tear-streaked, had poked out from the blanket. “Yeah? Really? What if I left?”

“You’re twelve years old, you can’t bloody leave. Where the hell would you go?” Arthur nearly laughed, but caught himself in time.

“You made Tommy leave.” Oh. Of course.

“Tommy’s an adult, Ada. He comes and goes as he pleases. He’ll be back, anyway. Always is.” Arthur wasn’t sure about that, actually, but there was no point in worrying Ada.

“Once Dad leaves,” Ada said quietly.

“Now why do you think Dad’s going to leave as well?”

She gave him a flat look that made her seem decades older. The answer to that question was obvious.

“Tommy’ll come back when he’s good and ready. Don’t you worry about that. Whatever Dad does or doesn’t do.
“It’s not the same without him,” Ada muttered, half annoyed, half heartbroken. Arthur’s chest had begun to ache.

“I know.” And what if Tommy didn’t come back? The first time Tommy had run away had been just after their mother died. He’d only been eight, but he’d taken his beloved pony and ridden off. He’d got nearly to Manchester before Charlie managed to track him down, and he hadn’t spoken to anyone for weeks after coming back, those blue eyes far away. Even when he was happy, Tommy liked to wander, sleep out in the country or hitch a ride to some other city. He was more Gypsy than the rest of the siblings put together. And this time, Arthur had gone and actually told him to leave. What had he done?

“What’ll I do about my lessons?” Ada asked in a small voice. Arthur, ripped from his own worries, stared at her. Ada had finished school last year. No matter how well the betting business went, none of them could afford secondary school, even for bright little Ada.

“What are you on about?”

Ada bit her lip, like she always did right before she made a confession. “Tommy was giving me work. At the stables. He set me problems and things. He brought books.”

“I can bring you problems and books,” Arthur said without thinking. Now it was Ada’s turn to stare. He was just as surprised as she was. What the fuck had made him say that? Ada was well smarter than he was, maybe even smarter than Tommy, and Arthur had never paid attention in school anyhow. But now that he’d said it, he couldn’t exactly take it back. Especially after what Ada said next.

“Don’t lie, Arthur. You’re not going to bring me anything. Why the fuck does everyone in this family lie? No wonder we’re such scum.” Ada curled her lip and Arthur got a glimpse of the teenager she was fast becoming. God help them all. He wanted to yell at her for talking about the family like that, but he didn’t, even if he couldn’t totally keep the annoyance out of his voice.
“I didn’t say I’d find you a fucking royal tutor, Ada, but I’ll figure something out.” He hesitated, then, “Swear it on mum.” Ada’s eyes widened. She even allowed him to pat her on the head as he left.

Arthur hoped fervently that he hadn’t made a horrible mistake. It was certainly a gamble, but if he pulled this off, their family would be that much stronger for it.

Arthur told his dad about the problem that afternoon while they were sorting coins, pretending not to notice the occasional copper being slipped into his father’s pockets. He’d have given him the money if he’d asked anyway. They all deserved a cut, and there was rarely any left for the men after Polly had taken the share for what she said the household needed.

“What the fuck does your sister want with more school anyway? Couldn’t wait to be rid of the place meself. Would say she weren’t mine if she weren’t the spit of me mam,” Arthur Sr. said in response to the news. Arthur winced a little at that last bit and was very glad that Polly wasn’t nearby.

“I’m just wanting something to keep her busy, Dad. Out of trouble. You know how the boys’ll be soon. I just figure, if she gets some learning before then it can only do her good,” Arthur thought his explanation was weak, but his father smiled knowingly.

“Ah, I see son, get one of the women on your side. I like that. Good strategy, keeping ‘em close,” his father said, clapping him proudly on the back. It wasn’t exactly what Arthur was going for, but he was glad his father accepted it.

“The only problem is, I haven’t a fucking clue how T—where to get these books. Fuck.” He had just lost count of the ten pence pieces and would have to start again. He fucking hated maths.

“Sure, it can’t be that difficult. It’s not as if she needs a proper education, just something to entertain herself, like you said. Not as if she’ll be going to Camp Hill or some shit. Now if ye’ll excuse me, I’ve some other business to attend to and can’t be spending all day here.” Arthur Sr. gave his son another pat on the shoulder and stood up, leaving his work mostly undone.

“Right. I can manage this, Dad,” Arthur said, surveying the mess on the table glumly. At this rate it would hardly be worth going to The Garrison tonight. And he had nothing to show for his promise to Ada. His father had hardly taken him seriously, joking about fancy secondary schools and—

That was it. Camp Hill School.

Fuck the coins. They would keep. Arthur swept their work back into the box and locked up as quick as he could. It was nearly four already. He would have to rush.

Arthur took his bicycle. Camp Hill wasn’t exactly in Small Heath and it would take hours to walk. He had at first intended to go to the girls’ school, but then he realized he might well get arrested if he was caught hanging around there. The coppers didn’t give a fuck about the men who hung about with little girls in Small Heath, but Camp Hill was different. Arthur rode to the boys’ campus instead, and he arrived just in time.

A steady stream of young boys in smart uniforms were coming out of the gates of the school, waving goodbye to their friends who boarded overnight, laughing and joking. Arthur forgot his mission for a moment, watching them. He had, of course, seen the secondary school boys before, but not for a few years. When Arthur was their age, he had laughed at them, all starched up and forced to sit at a desk all day while he spent his time boxing and running errands for Charlie. Some of the older boys looked warily at Arthur as they passed. The eldest were of an age with Tommy. Tommy, who had gone off somewhere and might never come back.

Arthur caught sight of a small boy whose uniform looked more careworn than the rest. “Hey, fancy making a few bob?” Arthur called. The boy, whose carefully slicked hair was starting to come unstuck in places, stopped but did not approach.

“What do you mean?” The boy asked as the others parted around him. He half looked like he wanted to run. Arthur did his best to seem less threatening.

“It’s easy work, and there’s five pence in it for you.” The boy’s eyes widened. For some of these kids, five pence was pocket change, but this boy’s trousers needed mending and his shiny shoes were nearly worn through.

“What’re you doing with five pence?” The boy asked suspiciously, and that was just insulting. Arthur opened his mouth to say something rude but the boy shrank back and he thought better of it.

“Look, all I want you to do is—you’ve got school work right?”

The boy was so confused that he forgot to be afraid. “Of course I’ve got school work.”

“Right. So here’s what’ll get you five pence. If you make a copy of your lessons on a fresh sheet and give them to me tomorrow, I’ll have your five pence. Put the answers on the back, if you know ‘em.”

“You want me to copy out my lessons?” The boy asked, disbelieving. “For five whole pence? Who the fuck are you?” It was said with something like awe.

“I’m Arthur Shelby, and there’ll be more where that came from if you do a good job of it. What’s your name?”

“Dennis, sir.” He hesitated slightly on the sir, as if he wasn’t quite sure that was the right address. “Dennis Calder.”

“Dennis Calder, do we have a deal?” Arthur bent down slightly to offer his hand.

Dennis hesitated. “It’s not against the rules, is it? I won’t get in trouble?”

“You won’t get in trouble, Dennis.”

“Okay. It’s a deal, Mr. Shelby.” They shook on it. Arthur Sr. might’ve been bothered that this boy has clearly never heard of the Shelby’s, but to Arthur it was a relief. Ada would get her lessons without the news traveling.

Despite his pride over the scheme he had cooked up, Arthur found himself unreasonably nervous the next day as he made the journey back to Camp Hill. What if the boy had decided not to do it all? Or he’d told a teacher and Arthur was about to be thrown off school property?

But Dennis was waiting for him outside the gates, bouncing from foot to foot with a sheet of paper tucked under one arm. “Mr. Shelby!” He exclaimed, relieved and unable to hide his excitement as Arthur produced the promised coin. They exchanged, and Arthur took a look at the lesson. It was maths, and he couldn’t make heads nor tails of it, but Dennis’ handwriting was painstakingly neat and he’d obviously put some effort into it.

“This is very nice, Dennis. Thanks.” The boy positively glowed.

“I’ll get the next lessons down as well!” he promised eagerly.

“You do that. Good lad,” Arthur said, clapping Dennis on the back. The boy bounced happily off towards his home, apparently oblivious to the odd looks that nearby students were giving them. Arthur didn’t mind either. All he could think about was getting back to Ada. He couldn’t wait to tell her.

Still, as Arthur rode back to Small Heath, he became apprehensive once more. What if Dennis had made mistakes in the lesson? Or he hadn’t included all the materials and Ada would be lost? They looked about the same age, but maybe the girls weren’t being taught the same things as the boys and Ada would be angry with him.

He had been going to wait until the next day to bring Ada the lesson, but he worked himself up into such a state over it that he decided to get it over with. The moment he got home, he practically ran up the stairs to Ada’s room, where he found her hunched over on the floor, carving something into the wall with a pocket knife. She hid the knife hurriedly as he entered.

“It’s not Polly,” Arthur said.

Ada took the knife back out and twirled it idly. “What do you want?” Not as hostile as the other day, but still a clear reminder that he was not the brother that she wanted to see.

Under his little sister’s cool gaze, Arthur’s palms began to sweat. “I, erm—well you said you were looking for some lessons, like, and so I thought I’d ask around.” He held out the paper for her inspection and looked away.

“Holy fuck. This is copied straight out of the primer. You didn’t—how’d you manage this, Arthur?”

Arthur chanced a look at his sister’s face, only to find that she was beaming. He flushed and ducked his head to hide it. “I might’ve, erm, bribed a schoolboy to copy it for you,” he said in a rush.

There was a second of stunned silence. And then Ada started to laugh. Arthur waited patiently, but when there was no sign of her stopping, he started to chuckle too. Soon they were both full on gasping with mirth.

“You eejit, that’s brilliant,” Ada gasped out at last. “No one in their right mind would think of it.” And then she threw herself around him in a tight hug. Arthur was so surprised that it took him a moment to react. Then he hugged her back. Her thin arms were like a vice around him.

“Well I did promise, didn’t I?” he said, patting Ada on the back somewhat awkwardly.

“Yeah, you did,” she said thickly, and he thought that she might be crying.

“What sort of changeling did you find to replace Ada?” Aunt Polly asked Arthur the next morning, as soon as Ada left the breakfast table. She had already completed her chores and was humming on her way out the door.

Arthur laughed. “She’s twelve, Pol. She’s a different person every bloody day,” he said easily, wondering as he did so why he didn’t tell Polly what he’d done. She wouldn’t object to it, he didn’t think, might even be proud of him. But he kept his mouth shut. This was between him and Ada.

“And where’s your father this morning?”

“Out getting people excited about Black Dancer, drumming up a bit of notice, you know.” It was one of the great things about having his dad around. He could talk anyone into doing anything, better than Tommy even. Arthur didn’t have time to be doing that sort of slow banter himself on top of all the other work and making sure the likes of Scudboat didn’t either run off with the winnings or murder somebody unnecessarily.

Polly pursed her lips and started cleaning up the dishes. “Right.”

“Don’t you start,” Arthur said, exasperated. Polly had allowed his father back in, but if she kept expecting the worst of him, she’d probably get it.

“I’m not starting anything. I just clean up the messes. Get yourself off to work then. We’ve more mouths to feed and I for one don’t want Ada to end up in a factory.” Polly hit him with a kitchen towel to punctuate her point. She never dared do that to Arthur Sr, but Arthur didn’t mind so much. He didn’t want Ada wrecking her fingers in a fucking sewing machine any more than she did and Finn was adding a whole bevy of new expenses. If he was going to take care of this family, he couldn’t be sitting around over a plate eggs.

“Send John boy to me when he shows his face. I’ve got work for him,” Arthur said as he stood.

“And you’ll be telling him not to get that Dixon girl pregnant, or he’ll be fucking paying for her to get rid of it,” Polly said casually. Arthur nearly choked on his last mouthful of eggs.

“What Dixon girl?”

“Arthur, I swear sometimes that you’re blind. The one he’s been meeting under the bridge for the last three months,” Polly said slowly, as if she thought his hearing might be affected.

“How the fuck do you know that?”

Polly winked. “Because I know everything.” But she didn’t. Not quite. She didn’t know about Ada’s new lessons, and she didn’t know where Tommy had gone.

“Fuck off,” was all that Arthur said, as he grabbed his coat off the door.

They did indeed get more bets in on Black Dancer than they’d gotten for a month. The factory workers were grumbling about a lack of raises this year, and people were unwilling to lay down real money, but his dad’s enthusiasm was infectious.

Over the next few weeks, Arthur and his dad worked up quite a routine. It paid to be able to divide and conquer: Arthur ran the betting operation itself and his father promoted it all around Small Heath. He told Arthur that he’d done the same for boxing matches back in the day, and it was as easy as breathing. Arthur Sr. didn’t even complain about working under his son, and Arthur returned the favor by trying not to tell his dad what to do. He pretended not to notice if dad was late, or didn’t do what he’d promised that day. And it seemed to be working. Arthur Sr. rarely slipped up, and even Polly seemed less wary than she had before. It helped that Finn was such a joy. Polly lost no time in telling anyone who would listen that he was a much better baby than any of his siblings. Since Ada was the only one of them she’d really raised from Finn’s age, and Polly had been in primary school herself when Arthur was born, he took her comments with a smile.

Everything would’ve been perfect, if only Tommy were back. But no one else in the house, not even Ada, seemed to want to talk about Tommy. Arthur floated a question to Charlie once, but his uncle said he didn’t know where Tommy was any better than the rest of them, and Arthur had gone away determined not to let Tommy’s absence darken the success of the rest of the family. He’d always been a mad one, anyways.

Arthur should’ve know that it wouldn’t last long. It was a dreary, smoky day in Small Heath, long enough after the last pay day that business was slow. Arthur Sr. was jumpy, and the stories he told that day kept losing their thread halfway through. John was missing again, but dad didn’t seem to have any interest in where he’d got to. Arthur gave up on his work halfway through the day and sat smoking at the big table. He had a bad feeling.

Sure enough, John turned up a little after three o’clock, and there was none of the usual swagger in his step. He fairly slunk into the betting shop and folded himself into the nearest chair.

“All right, boy?” Arthur Sr greeted him.

“Where the fuck have you been? You were needed at ten!” Arthur snapped, fed up enough with his own day that he didn’t care that business had been slow. John was part of the family, and his place was with them. John flinched, and Arthur lowered his voice, immediately guilty. “You look like hell. What’s happened?”

John glanced quickly at their father. With unusual tact, Arthur Sr got up from the table. “I’ve been meaning to have a word with those F.C. bastards about some money they owe me. You’ll keep this running, son, won’t you?”

“Course, Dad. Give ‘em hell. Ain’t that right, John?”

“Yeah. Give ‘em hell,” John agreed obediently, but his heart clearly wasn’t in it.

Their dad made himself scarce, but John still didn’t say anything. After several painfully awkward minutes, Arthur realized that he would have to take matters into his own hands. “What happened, Johnboy?” John shrugged and looked away. Arthur took a guess.

“Is it something to do with that Decker girl?” John shot him a look. “Fuck, that’s not her name. Drazen? No, Dixon! That was it! Did something happen with the Dixon girl?”

“No,” John muttered, but he had gone scarlet.

“What did that bitch do?” Arthur growled. He had never met the girl, but anyone who could make sweet little John look so glum deserved what was coming to her.

“She—“ John could barely get the words out. “I caught her snogging another boy. She’d said she wouldn’t and all. And we’d—“

“What fucking boy?” He would show the bastard who dared to mess around with John’s girl. He’d cut him so hard that the boy’d never get another girl to go with him as long as he lived.

“Doesn’t matter,” John said, in a tiny voice.

“What do you mean, it doesn’t bloody matter?” Arthur roared, slamming his fist on the table so hard that it shook. John was shaking too.

“I don’t think—I don’t want you to hurt him,” John said, almost inaudible this time. Arthur’s fist slackened on the table. All at once, the rage drained out of him. John was crying, ugly tears that he was desperate for his big brother not to see. Arthur collapsed back into his chair and sighed.

“Ah well, it happens to the best of us, I suppose. A rite of passage as much as anything else. That fucking Dixon girl.” Arthur launched himself back to his feet, now intent on finding another way to make John feel better. He held out his hand. “Come on then, Johnboy. Wipe your face off and what do you say we go off to the gym for a bit? Find some poor bastard looking to take on a Shelby. Right?” Slowly, John wiped him face on his sleeve and took Arthur’s hand.

“All right then. Thanks, Arthur,” he said awkwardly, pulling on his damp sleeves. Arthur clapped his little brother on the back.

“Don’t even mention it. Don’t even mention it.” They left the betting shop in companionable silence. Arthur locked the door on the way out, but it never occurred to him to check the safe.

When Arthur opened the betting office the next morning, his first thought was that there had been a mistake.

The safe was empty.

Not just skimmed off the top, but completely and totally empty. The money they would owe the lucky winners after the race results came back, the money they were planning on using for Finn’s things, the money to pay Scudboat and the others. All of it, gone.

Arthur wanted to go straight to Polly. He wanted to curl up on the floor of the betting shop and cry. But he did neither of those things. First, he did a full survey of the shop itself, looking for anywhere else the money could be, or any sign of forced entry. He found nothing. He had a suspicion, but it was not a suspicion to which he gave any voice, even in his own mind. Instead, he finished combing the shop and returned to the house. Polly was in the kitchen, sorting the washing.

“We’ve been robbed, Pol,” Arthur said, and wondered why he couldn’t get more feeling into his voice.

“Why the fuck didn’t we hear a break-in?” Polly demanded, a mis-matched sock in each hand.

“There—it wasn’t a break-in,” Arthur clarified, with difficulty.

“There wasn’t a—where is that fucking bastard?” Polly shouted, and Arthur’s heart sunk down somewhere near his shoes. She had made the connection in a moment that Arthur had been forcing himself not to make for an hour. He had guessed that Arthur hadn’t locked the safe. He could’ve found a key to the shop anywhere in the house, and then the safe was right there for the taking. Had he planned it? Somehow known that John would come to Arthur needing comfort? No, that couldn’t be it. It had to be opportunism.

“I’ll find him,” Arthur said, with far more confidence than he felt. He grabbed up his cap. “I’m sure there’s been some mistake.”

“There better have been,” Polly growled. “I told you to lock it!” She yelled after Arthur as he slipped through the door.

Arthur fairly ran through the streets. There was no one he could ask about his father. The Shelby’s made more money than most in Small Heath, and while that was good for bribery, it wasn’t good for friendship. And now they had nothing. Having money and then not having money was worse than never having had it at all, everybody knew that.

The longer Arthur spent in the streets of Small Heath, the more certain he became that he would not find his father. Eventually, he made his way to The Garrison, hoping against hope that he would be there, drunk, telling Harry some tall tale. But Harry was in conversation with a couple of old miners and Arthur Shelby Sr. was nowhere to be found.

Arthur sat heavily at the bar. He felt in his pockets. He was only carrying a few pennies. He set one of them down. “Pint of mild, Harry,” he said, trying not to betray his despair.

He needn’t have bothered because the barman hardly looked at him, just slammed the drink on the table. “There you are.” He started to turn away and then paused. “Oh hold on, Arthur, I’ve got something here for you. He reached under the counter and pulled out a crumpled napkin.

Arthur recognized the curly handwriting instantly.

You’ll understand one day, son. Love Arthur Shelby, Sr.

So that was it then. He’d taken all their money and run. Arthur was sure there was some reason, some bloke who would kill him if he found him here, or another woman with another baby in Devon or some shite, but it didn’t matter. For all he said he loved them, he was gone again.

“Fuck!” Arthur shouted suddenly, scaring the men nearest him as he slammed his fist down so hard that a splinter of wood drove itself into his hand. He swore again, this time in pain. Harry shot him a nervous look, but kept cleaning glasses. Arthur had half a mind to stay here and try to drink away his father’s message, but he knew it wouldn’t help anything, and would only make the reckoning with Polly worse when it finally came.

Arthur balled the napkin up in his uninjured fist and left the pub.

Aunt Polly did not shout at Arthur when he showed her the note. She just shook her head and pressed her lips together tight. Arthur made a list of all the things in the house they could sell in order to pay off the men who had won their bets, and Polly nodded along, but she didn’t try to help. Then again, she had let him in again as well. She hadn’t said enough was enough either. They shared the guilt of that. She didn’t even mention that Finn was still here, that all Arthur Sr. had done in the end was clean them out and bring them a new mouth to feed. Arthur didn’t know whether to be relieved or not at Polly’s reaction. She could run hot or cold, but cold was usually more dangerous.

John was full of guilt over not having checked the safe before they left, but Arthur told him over and over that it wasn’t his fault. The betting shop was Arthur’s responsibility and he would take the blame, regardless of what Polly and John had or hadn’t done. Eventually John went up to his room, unwilling to face his friends after the shame of being robbed by his own father.

Ada had gone upstairs almost as soon as the news broke. Seeing her sitting on her bed, knees drawn tight to her chest, Arthur knew this would be the worst part.

“I won’t be able to get you lessons this week,” he said as soon as he walked in the door. Better to get it over with.

She nodded stiffly. “I figured as much,” she said, and the resignation in that answer was more painful than if she had screamed at him.

“I’m sorry, Ada,” he said, not looking at her.

“I know.”

But it didn’t change anything.

Arthur worked twice as hard as usual at the shop over the next few days, but without the starting capital, it was near impossible to drum up good business. Polly had ended her tight lipped silence and seemed to find comfort in cursing his father’s name every way to Sunday, but Arthur couldn’t share her enthusiasm. Sure, he was a lying thief. But there were still a hundred times when his lying and thieving had been for the benefit of the family. And as much as it was a terrible strain to have to feed Finn, it was nice to have a baby in the house again, and Arthur would hate to see any brother of his left to go hungry.

Though perhaps that wasn’t so strong a point, because within a few weeks, they were all going hungry. John managed to steal some bread every now and again, but he was no longer a child and people were suspicious. The news that the Shelbys were down on their luck had traveled around Small Heath like wildfire, and there were a lot of sanctimonious looks from the neighbors.

Serves those Shelbys right, thinking they could rise above their station, with their betting shop and their fancy caps.

Arthur beat out his rage at the boxing gym, but that only served to make him hungrier.

Three weeks after their father left, Arthur came home from the gym feeling weak and worn out. Polly was watering down the stew again, and the gristly meat stuck in his teeth as he ate. John was sullen, Ada kept saying she wasn’t hungry, and Finn, the only one immune to the atmosphere, was having a tantrum for no particular reason. Arthur was doing his best to keep everyone together but he couldn’t help but feel like they blamed him. It was he, after all, who had had the final word in allowing their father into the house. If he’d only—

The sound of the front door opening.

Arthur had drawn his gun almost before he realized it. Then a wild hope flashed across his mind. Maybe it was dad, back with the money and a grin on his face.

It wasn’t his father. Nor was it an intruder.

It was Tommy.

His hair had grown out, and his skin was tanned, but otherwise he looked the same. There was a beat of silence, where everyone just stared at Tommy. He stared back at them, like he was waiting for something. And then…

“Tommy!” Ada cried. She flung herself out of her seat and threw her arms around her favorite brother, forcing him to drop the bag he was carrying. Tommy returned the hug, picking Ada up off her feet and swinging her, even though since her last growth spurt, Tommy was only a little taller. Ada squealed with delight. Arthur smiled even though his stomach was churning. John looked to Arthur for permission. He nodded, and John ran up beside Ada to give Tommy the sort of awkward, one-armed hug that only a fourteen year old boy could manage.

When the young ones finally let Tommy go, he locked eyes with Polly, who had started giving Finn the bottle to shut him up. “Didn’t know if we’d see you again,” she said coolly.

Tommy opened his mouth like he was about to say something cutting, but then didn’t. Instead, he picked up the bag he had dropped and strode across the room to Polly. Tommy reached into the bag and pulled out a small stack of money, which he laid on the table in front of her. “For the business, then,” he said, and his eyes challenged her to question him.

“How?” She asked anyway, her eyes flicking to the stack of money. Arthur was having the same trouble looking at anything else. His stomach rumbled.

“Magic,” Tommy said, deadly serious. Polly drew in a sharp breath. Then Tommy smiled his familiar smile. “Don’t be an idiot. I found work on the canals. Went all the way to Bath. Thought about Bristol too, but I figured I’d been gone long enough. So I came back. It’s two months’ wages.” Tommy looked like their father when he smiled, always had. Their eyes danced in the same mischievous way.

It took Polly a moment, but then she smiled too, shaking her head. She caught one of Tommy’ hands and held it up. Arthur could see new callouses, ones that you didn’t get from mucking out the horses. And there was a rope burn too, right across the palm. “Your hands are fucked,” Polly said matter-of-factly.

Tommy pulled his hand away almost lazily. “A Shelby doing hard, honest work. Wouldn’t that just piss him off worse than anything?”

“You won’t be very happy, if you do everything to spite him,” Polly said, picking up the money.

“Who ever said I wanted to be happy?” Tommy asked, with that same mischievous glint. Then he reached out for Finn and Polly, a little reluctantly, handed him over. “So you’ll be staying with us, will you, brother?” Tommy asked the baby. Then he looked up at Arthur and silently asked the question. Will I be staying with you, brother?

Arthur nodded and was glad that Tommy hadn’t posed the question out loud, because then he didn’t think he would’ve been able to answer it. Tommy hadn’t asked a single question about their father. Or wondered why they were eating like gutter rats, though he’d certainly noticed. No, Tommy had just waltzed in here with his money and his smile, the opposite of their father, his image in every way. Tommy and his magic, to put the Shelbys back together again.

“I think this calls for a drink,” Arthur said, the first words out of his mouth since Tommy’d walked in the door. He felt a little like he might be sick.

“You got anything?” Tommy asked vaguely, his eyes back on Finn. He was in Tommy land again, thinking about something none of the rest of them would understand. Not tonight, Arthur thought, and was surprised at his own bitterness. He’d thought he wanted Tommy home.

“At The Garrison.” Arthur walked over to Polly and took up a handful of shillings. She didn’t try to stop him, though she did give him a sharp look.

“It’s late,” Tommy said, lamely. Late was the best time to be at The Garrison and they both knew it. He just didn’t want to go with Arthur, the one who had let their father run off with all their money.

“You’ve been away too long. Come on,” Arthur said. Tommy looked at him, and for a second Arthur was afraid that he’d simply refuse. Then John piped up.

“Can I come?”

“No!” Arthur and Tommy said, in unison. John pouted and Tommy’s lip twitched as he stood up.

“All right then,” Tommy said, barely looking at Arthur but heading towards the door all the same.

“You’ll wake me won’t you, Tommy?” Ada asked anxiously. Tommy tousled her hair as he passed.

“‘Course I will. Night, Polly. Go to bed, John.”

Arthur followed Tommy, shooting an extra hard look John’s way. “If you try to sneak out your window again, I’ll tell the whole street about the Dixon girl,” Arthur said, and John blushed scarlet. Arthur would never have followed through on the threat, but there was no harm in watching his little brother squirm.

The fragile sense of camaraderie between he and Tommy evaporated as soon as the night air hit them. They walked to The Garrison in silence. Arthur could tell that Tommy didn’t want to be there, but Arthur didn’t want the rest of the family around just now.

The Garrison, as expected, was crowded. The pub was full of factory men eager to drink their pockets light again after the last payday. Tommy got his fair share of curious looks and whispers as they sidled up to the bar, but he just smiled and ignored them, apparently perfectly at ease.

“Two bitters, Harry,” Tommy said lightly as he laid the money down on the counter. Harry did a double take.

“Thought you were gone for good,” Harry said. Arthur didn’t much like his tone but Tommy wasn’t bothered.

“You know me, Harry. I always end up back here eventually. Found some work elsewhere for a little while, but who can resist The Garrison for long, eh?” Harry was mollified by that, and his standoffishness dissolved. Tommy could sweet talk as well as their father when he wanted to. He was barely eighteen and already had the barman in his pocket. Arthur took his pint and drank deeply. He motioned Harry for another, then turned to Tommy.

“Suppose you want to know what happened,” he said gruffly. It was a little like confession. He didn’t really want to tell Tommy, but somehow he felt he needed to.

Tommy drank his own beer more slowly. “I think I have a fair idea. Did he steal the money outright or say he was investing?” He sounded supremely unconcerned with the answer. Arthur knew it was an act, but his brother’s callousness still stung. He swallowed hard.

“I was helping John out with something and didn’t secure the safe. He came back in and took everything. Bloody stupid of me.” Arthur took another drink, trying to wash the taste out of his mouth.

Tommy didn’t disagree with him, and his silence was its own condemnation. Arthur was glad they weren’t at home. He plowed on. “Polly’s glad of the money. We’d have made it. We always do, but she’s hardly got any time with the baby on top of everything else…” Arthur lost his momentum. Polly was glad to have Tommy back, and Arthur knew he should be too, but he couldn’t make himself feel it. He ordered another beer. For some reason, Tommy was still nursing his.

“Not thirsty?” Arthur nodded at the beer, going for friendly and not exactly making it.

“Why did you want me to come out here?”

“You’re my brother.” Arthur said, knowing that Tommy wouldn’t buy it. The truth was that he didn’t know exactly why except that he didn’t want to go to bed. He found himself looking at the nasty old table instead of his brother.

“If you’re looking for absolution, I can’t give it to you,” Tommy said, still so cool, and Arthur felt sudden anger surge up in him. Why did Tommy always have to talk like that? They were brothers.

“You don’t know what it’s bloody well like,” Arthur growled. He hadn’t come out here to fight, but now he found that he wanted to. Tommy was so above everything, always, an observation and a smile and he was on his way. Never mind about his stupid older brother who he always left behind.

“I know what he’s like,” Tommy said, too much of a coward to even say their dad’s name. Tommy had never known how to deal with their father, had always been afraid of him even if he pretended it was contempt. “You’re the one in charge of this family. He doesn’t get that role back every time he chooses to slink back here,” Tommy added bitterly.

“That’s easy enough for you to say,” Arthur hissed, barely keeping his temper in check now.

“What?” Tommy looked genuinely confused, and that was the final straw. People were looking at them around the bar. Arthur had just enough presence of mind left to remember that they couldn’t afford a scene just now. He grabbed Tommy by the arm and pulled him to the door. Tommy didn’t resist. As soon as they were out on the street once more, Arthur rounded on his brother, all the tension of the last weeks coming out in one great angry burst.

“It’s easy for you to say what I should and shouldn’t do with this family. It doesn’t matter to you in the end. You can just go off. If you don’t like what dad’s about, you leave. You have a fight with Polly, you leave. You find a shiny new job you want to explore, you just go off and fucking leave, don’t you? Because Tommy fucking Shelby can do whatever the fuck he wants. Well I can’t. I can’t just leave when things are hard. This family needs me, and I don’t run away. Now if I don’t run things to your fucking satisfaction, that’s just too bad isn’t it? You can turn your nose up at Dad running off all you want, but you’re just the same as him.”

Tommy looked like he’d been slapped. After an agonizingly long silence, he said, in a clipped tone that indicated how hard he was trying not to scream, “It would be nice if you remembered whose pocket you were drinking out of,” and then he turned and stalked off into the darkness.

Arthur half wanted to return to the pub and keep drinking out of pure spite, but he didn’t. Instead, he set off in the opposite direction from Tommy and just walked. He met a few drunks, and one man who tried to rob him, but it felt good to bash his teeth in. Gradually, Arthur’s fury towards his brother ebbed.

Finn was screaming again when Arthur returned home, and Polly was treading endless circles around the kitchen, singing to him in Romani. She looked up at him with shadowed eyes, and knew the question he was about to ask. “He’s upstairs. Give him time. You can apologize tomorrow.”

Arthur colored. “Why the fuck do you think I’m the one that needs to apologize?” Finn’s cries redoubled at Arthur’s raised voice.

“Fuck’s sake,” Polly swore, patting Finn on the back. “He’s starting to teeth, the little bastard. I know because you dragged him out to The Garrison to give him a good talking to and—“ Polly raised a finger as Arthur started to interrupt—“it was warranted, no doubt, but you regret some of what you said and don’t want to drive him away again besides.”

Arthur subsided, half-angry at Polly for guessing the situation so well. “Give him here. You go get some rest.” It was as much acknowledgment as Arthur was able to give, but Polly understood.

“Bottle’s warming on the hearth,” she said quietly, and handed Finn, who had subsided into occasional whining, over to Arthur. He took the weight of the baby, heavier by far than when he’d first arrived, and began his own trek around the room.

Hours later, after he’d been fed, Finn finally fell asleep and Arthur eased himself into a chair, careful not to jostle his burden. He had held Tommy like this when Arthur was barely big enough to carry him. The time that mum had stopped eating and stared out the window at the smoke for hours at a time. Arthur had held Tommy.

The pale light of dawn began to creep across the floor. The fire had died and it was cold in the house, but Finn slept on. Arthur heard movement upstairs, but didn’t dare move himself. Eventually Polly emerged to stoke the fire, and she gestured silently for Arthur to bring Finn over. As if sensing her presence, the baby awoke, this time not crying, but alert and silent. Polly whispered anyway. “Don’t be a coward,” Polly said under her breath as she took the baby, and even though Arthur glared at her, he knew that she was right.

But Tommy wasn’t in his bedroom, or in any of the other places Arthur looked. Could Polly have been mistaken about him coming home last night? The thought sent a shiver up Arthur’s spine. Finally, in desperation, he climbed out the window and onto the roof.

Tommy was there, sitting at the edge, looking remarkably like Ada with his legs curled up to his chest. While the night before he had seemed infuriatingly distant, today he just seemed small. He was only barely eighteen. Arthur cleared his throat. Tommy turned his head.

Arthur took a few steps forward, hands in his pockets. He didn’t know how to start. “Tom, I just wanted to say, about last night…what I said about Dad and you…”

Tommy saved him from his fumbling. “It was clever, what you did for Ada. She was waiting up. She told me.”

Arthur had been so focused on getting the words out that he was caught off guard by Tommy’s interruption. “Oh. Well, good. I knew I couldn’t make up the lessons like you.”

“You did brilliant.” Tommy didn’t want to fight. It was a relief, and it also made Arthur feel guilty. He couldn’t just let it go.

“I didn’t mean it, Tommy, what I said. And even—there’s a lot of good in him, you know.”

Tommy sighed. “Forget about it. I don’t—it’s not just that I think he’s a scheming bastard who doesn’t care about his family more than can get him an extra shilling. No. Listen.” Tommy fixed Arthur with his piercing eyes and Arthur’s protest died on his lips. “You’re twice the man he is, Arthur, and I fucking hate the way you just lie down and lick his boots every time he comes around. You care about the business, sure, but you care about Ada and John too. You want them to be happy. He left his fucking baby here.”

“Polly can—“

“Of course she fucking can, but that’s not the point. The point is that I don’t understand why you think he deserves this more than you do.”

“It’s not about deserving,” Arthur mumbled half-heartedly, but he couldn’t deny the warmth that blossomed in his chest at his brother’s words. Tommy thought he was the one who should be in charge of the family, not just because he was the only one left, but because he deserved it.

“I thought about not coming back, you know,” Tommy said quietly, not looking at Arthur. “I was good at my job. I could’ve gone anywhere. For a second, I even convinced myself that he might stay. That there was no reason to come back.”

“But you did.”

“Yeah.” Tommy’s eyes were on the horizon. The smoke was shining a deep orange from the rising sun.

“Will you stay? Until Ada’s old enough, at least?” Arthur asked, and he didn’t want to sound like he was begging, but he didn’t want to be left behind again.

“As long as the family needs me, I’ll be here.” Tommy pulled his eyes off the sky and smiled at Arthur.

“Good,” Arthur said. He sat down next to Tommy, and they watched Small Heath wake up for the day. All the people who were not Shelbys trudged off to work in the factories. The streets gradually filled with noise. Arthur had gotten what he wanted, a guarantee that Tommy wouldn’t keep running off. He didn’t know, then, why he felt this creeping sense of unease, as if something important had been lost, never to be found again.