If I Can't Have you

(4) The Jacket

1913

"Jonathon Shelby! Maximilian Humphries! You rodents! Get back here!" Jemima calls after them, chasing them through the crowd, as the two men laugh, continuing to wiggle between the people.

"Catch us if you can!" Max responds.

The three of them had been almost inseparable since the night they had dinner with Johns family, where one of them was, the other two couldn't be far behind.

It was the 2 year anniversary of Lavinias death, hence the reason as to why Max and Jemima were adamant on doing their best to distract John.

The eighteen year olds had gone down to the fair, and Jemima had thought she'd lost track of them, only for the two men to pop up in-front of her, each giving her a cheeky smile before they splashed a cup of water in her face.

She was mad when they'd first done it, and had started to chase them. But now, a couple of minutes later, it had started raining and so the water didn't matter so much, she knew her calm demeanour would scare the men a lot more than any words she could possibly say to them.

"We're sorry," they both apologise sheepishly when she approaches the bench they were ducked behind.

"I'm not mad," Jemima shrugs.

"You say that, but you're creepily calm." Max replies.

"It's raining anyways, it's not made a massive difference in all honesty. Stop being idiots, and lets go home," Jemima states, realising now she was in a white blouse that would probably start going see-through if the rain poured any harder.

"I vote we go to the pub," John says.

"I second that opinion, boss," Max agrees, saluting John.

"I would never turn down a drink," Jemima nods.

-

"Fucking hell, you three been swimming in the cut?" Arthur chuckles when the friends enter the pub.

"I'll go get our drinks," Jemima says.

"I need another drink," Tommy states, and he follows her as she makes her way through the noisy pub to the bar, hyperaware of his presence behind her she almost trips over her own feet, only to be caught by Tommy, who stared blankly down at her as he steadied her.

"Thank you," she mumbles, her cheeks bright red as she leans against the counter.

"Hello lady, what's your name?" A drunk man to Jemimas left says, though his eyes were trained on her breasts, her bra slightly visible through her damp top.

"Oi, eyes away." Tommy warns.

"Why? She yours? That why I can't have her?"

"Have me?" Jemima repeats.

"Fuck no, I'd never stoop that low." Tommy responds, "she's my brothers best friend and he will kill you if you don't keep your eyes, hands and any another part of you to yourself. I couldn't give two shits."

The man stumbles off the stool, walking away from Tommy and Jemima.

"Two rums, one lime and lemonade with vodka, please." Jemima orders, "and a neat whiskey, irish." Tommy adds, placing his money on the countertop and sliding over to Harry.

"You don't need to pay." Jemima says, furious with his previous comment.

"Well I have," Tommy shrugs.

"Didn't think you'd ever stoop low enough to buy me a drink," Jemima retorts.

She still found the man stunning after all these years, but he'd only ever proven to be a bigger prat than she ever thought him capable.