Small Heath's Angel

Chapter 15 - Barmaid

*A/N: I've changed where the Masters home is. Instead of it being next door to the Shelby home/betting shop it's now across the street/lane to it*

Word Count: 6954

Florence approached the Garrison, her body aching with each movement. She was exhausted and frustrated. Between constant shift changes and nightmares, Florence had gotten very little sleep. John hadn't been able to take her to the outskirts of Edgbaston to visit the grave of Joseph Atkinson, meaning her nights were still plagued in his memory.

Carefully opening the doors, Florence trudged into the pub. Harry's head whipped to her, his muscles relaxing when he realised it was her. He stood behind the bar cleaning shattered and dirty glasses.

"Bad shift?" he asked, grabbing a clean glass and pouring her a generous amount of vodka.

She huffed air through her nose. "Hardly even covers it." She laid her bag on the bar and braced her forearms against the bar. "Thank you for the drink," she said softly, taking a sip. Florence silently revelled in the feeling of the alcohol burning her throat as she smiled at Harry.

"It's the least I can do," he replied, continuing his work. "You wanna talk about it—your shift?"

"You sure you want that?"

"I'm a barman." He smiled. "It's a part of the job."

She airily chuckled and nursed her drink. "My schedule is beyond inconsistent," she started, her voice heavy. "I'll be told to be there then I'll get sent home after a few hours then I'll get called back and it's just a mess." She leant her head against her hands. "I'm just so tired."

Harry looked at her—at her wrists. "Was the drunk there?" he questioned.

As if subconsciously, Florence pulled down her sleeves as she answered, "When is he not?" Her body ached at the memory.

Again, he had thrown her into cabinets and beds, and scratched down her arms. The man was ridiculously strong for being drunk; needing an army of nurses to hold him while they safely sedated him. Florence's ribs were pulsating with pain. She knew bruises were going to form and they weren't going away anytime soon. The scratches down her arm had stayed relatively the same; not having much of a chance to heal properly before they were reopened.

Harry stopped cleaning and stood in front of her, his arms braced on the bar top. "You know his name, don't you?" he questioned as he eyed her.

Florence stared up at him. "Of course I know his name."

"And you haven't told anyone because...?"

"Because if I tell anyone, including you, it will get back to Tommy."

"Is that such a bad thing?" he asked.

She downed the rest of her drink. "If Tommy finds out, he'll kill the man himself."

Harry sighed. "He's just worried, love."

"He's always worried," Florence countered. "You wanna know something he once said? That I shouldn't pursue nursing as it's 'too dangerous.'" She couldn't stop her chuckles as she stared at Harry who shook his head. "'Too dangerous?'" she repeated. "The man who's in a gang says nursing is too dangerous." She shook her head and allowed her laughter to escape her. "Evidently, I didn't listen because that idea is fucking stupid."