But Not Tonight

Killing the Ghost

"Tommy boy! Get your head out of the clouds, mate. It's your turn." It was Arthur, cigarette hanging from his mouth and whiskey glass in hand.

Tommy snapped back to reality. He tossed a card into the center of the table to appease his brothers, but he couldn't have cared less about the outcome of the game. It was just a meaningless pastime to keep Arthur and John from tearing the city down in their restlessness. Tommy knew too well how his brothers behaved when there were no throats to be slit. They were soldiers and gangsters; peace was not their domain.

Business at the Garrison was slow tonight. Only a few working men sat at the bar, along with a solitary old man in the corner. Every couple hours or so, one of the local prostitutes would wander through in search of customers, though they knew not to trouble the Shelby boys.

"Where's your head at, man?" John asked, knocking Tommy on the shoulder. They sat around a scratched bar table, accompanied by a few other Blinders with some extra time to kill.

Tommy didn't know how to answer. He could have told them the truth, of course, but honesty was not what he was known for. He could have made something up, but his brothers knew him well enough to see through his lies. Avoidance was the only real way out.

"How's Esme lately? Pregnant again?" Tommy asked. Sometimes John could be swayed off topic at the mention of his wife.

John perked up at the inquiry. "Nah, but it won't be long at this rate, huh? The woman's insatiable."

The men burst into laughter and clapped John on the back. A few bawdy "Attaboy, John"s were tossed around the table, and John himself was smirking in an annoyingly self-satisfied manner.

Arthur, however, wasn't ready to drop the issue. "I bet it's that American girl that's got Tommy daydreaming." He speculated. "You remember, John, the nurse with the pretty eyes and great-"

"Nobody's got me daydreaming." Tommy interrupted. "American or otherwise." He shot them a glance that he hoped communicated cease and desist.

His brothers didn't look convinced, which irked him. Tommy had a knack for murderous glares, and they usually worked.

"Well," Arthur continued, unperturbed. "It's about time you find someone new. I wouldn't mind having a go at her myself. They make them pretty over in the land of liberty, eh?" Another round of laughter from the men.

Tommy felt a strange wave of anger wash over him at the joke. The idea of Arthur making a pass at Kit made his jaw clench. Of course, he had no right to this possessiveness, if that's what it was- Kit had made no commitment to him, and was free to do as she liked. Perhaps she'd like to fall into bed with every Shelby man in town, tally them up like collectibles. Perhaps she never wanted to see another Shelby again.

He was conflicted about the events of that night. It was obvious that Kit was grieving still, a lonely young widow looking for someone to help ward off the solitude. Some people might have considered it cruel to give her false hope with his company and touch. The way Tommy saw it, he had done nothing of the sort. He wasn't going to get down on one knee for her, and Kit knew it. She was a smart woman, he was a distant, heartless man. A perfect match. If Kit had high expectations for their relationship, it was hardly his fault.

Still, Tommy couldn't shake the urge to strangle any man who so much as looked at her. As the king of Birmingham, he was unaccustomed to the prospect of sharing, even with his brothers, who were still on the topic of bedding pretty nurses.

"Maybe you'd get me her address, huh, Tommy? Let me take her for a spin?"

Tommy stood abruptly. The chair squealed over the floorboards, attracting the attention of the whole bar. Arthur and John exchanged a glance.

"Hey now, Tom! Sit down and finish the game with us. I'm sure Arthur didn't mean anything by it." John was moving to stand now, attempting to soothe his brother.

But Tommy didn't want to hear it. "I'm going for a walk," he said curtly. The bar's employees and patrons alike seemed to shrink back under his stare as he surveyed them. He could have said something to break the tension, set everyone at ease. Polly was always urging him to be gentler with the other residents of Small Heath, for the sake of winning favor among the masses. Loyalty. Honey catches more flies than vinegar, was what she said.

I'm not trying to catch flies, he thought to himself. I'm building a fucking empire.

He was out the door before John could so much as blink at him.

Stupid, drunk Arthur. Didn't know when to shut his damn mouth. As Tommy walked out into the night, he sparked a cigarette to soothe his nerves. He hated being so riled up about this; it was only a little amicable teasing, just talk. Their tongues had been loosened by the drink and the late hour, and Tommy had heard much fouler from his brother's mouth. Still, his blood boiled as their words echoed in his head. 'Let me take her for a spin, Tommy.' Over his dead body.

In truth, his anger was born of something deeper. Tommy would never admit it, but all of this scared him. The vulnerability. He wasn't ready to care about someone again, to let another woman into his broken heart. He hadn't even recovered from the last one. Some nights, it was as though Grace still whispered in his ear, singing her Irish folk songs or murmuring sweet nothings. And if it wasn't her voice Tommy heard, it was those damn shovels.

The sheer fact that Tommy now felt defensive, felt angry, meant that he was beginning to care about the young nurse. He never should have fucked her. He should have pushed her away and driven off, back to his whiskey and smoke and solitude. But Kit had looked so hopeful.

And, fine, she was beautiful, too. As much as Tommy hated it, he was only a man. He doubted many people could have rejected Kit after that kiss, and he was no exception. Even now Tommy wanted to turn towards her street and drown in her touch again, inhale her bittersweet scent of brown sugar and antiseptic, feel her move underneath him. He even liked it when she argued with him. Nobody but Polly and Ada had the guts to do that anymore.

Grace might have been brave enough to argue with him, if she'd stayed long enough. She'd had some spine, some conviction. What would she have said about all of this? Go to her, Tommy. Leave her, Tommy. Wait for me, Tommy.

He was so fucking tired of hearing her voice.

Tommy looked up and was surprised to find that he was almost home. His brisk pace must have carried him farther than he thought. When the door swung open, all was quiet except for the steady breathing of young Finn curled up in the armchair. Tommy couldn't help but soften at the sight. The youngest Shelby, still innocent and unscarred by war and death and life. Slowly, so as not to wake his younger brother, Tommy repositioned the blanket that had been thrown over him and placed a pillow beneath his head. If the little bugger couldn't be bothered to fall asleep in his own bed, at least he'd be warm by the fire.

He checked again to ensure the front door was locked behind him, then climbed the stairs to his own room. It was only when he sat on his own bed with his tie undone and shoes slipped off that a thought occurred to him. Perhaps his idiot brothers were right about all this. Tommy was sick of pining over Grace, sick of praying she'd come back to him. It was pathetic, to be reduced to this shadow of his former self. He was Thomas Shelby, the most powerful man in all of Small Heath, and he didn't need permission to take what he wanted.

So he'd take matters into his own hands. Force Grace's memory from his head with this new girl. At the very least, she would be a distraction from the dark void inside his head. And who could blame him for taking another companion after so long, after everything he'd been through? It was what everyone expected of him, anyway.

Tommy took a small swallow of whiskey and began to write a letter.