If I Can't Have you

(56) Death

"This happened because you couldn't keep your fucking mouth shut, because you couldn't keep out of stupid, fickle-" Tommy exclaims.

"Don't you fucking start, you were the one praising me for doing that, telling us to take the pubs that night too, you don't get to blame this all on me!" John snaps, the brothers face to face.

"Both of you, shut up and sit down," Polly commands, sensing it was very close to becoming a physical altercation between the brothers, "you're both in the wrong, let's get that straight, but neither of you are to blame. It is not the others fault."

Tommy takes a deep breath, storming out of the house, slamming the door.

John was right. It was his fault. So many people had warned him about his greed. Polly. Jemima. Both against Russian business. Polly. Jemima. Both against the expansion to London. And now his need to put the Italians down, to make them feel inferior is the reason his wife was no longer breathing. It was the reason Leo no longer had a mother. He was the reason.

"Funsponge!" Isla calls after him.

"Yes, Isla?" Tommy sighs.

"Where are you going?" She asks, hurrying to catch up with his long strides.

"I don't know, I just.. I don't want to be near here," Tommy replies.

"You can't go too far, you'll miss the funeral," Isla states.

Funeral. Jemima. His wife. Her funeral. Dead. His wife was dead. Jemima was dead. He was the reason she was dead. He was the reason there was to be a funeral.

"Funsponge?" Isla queries, as the man starts to hyperventilate, leaning on the wall of his garage, "Tommy? What's happening? Are you okay?"

"I can't breath," Tommy says, clawing at the top button of his shirt.

"How can I help?" Isla asks, looking up at him in concern, as he bows his head against his hands.

"It's not that easy," Tommy responds, tensing up when he feels Isla slowly wrap her arms around him, guiding his head onto her shoulder, "you'll be okay, funsponge. We can stay here as long as you like."

-

"Jemima Shelby, there are a million words to say about her, but the word to describe just how much of a positive impact she's had on others has not yet been invented," Jeremiah speaks, standing beside a freshly carved gravestone.

"She was a sister, a daughter, and a wife," Jimmy says, "but most importantly, she was a friend to all. She was an advocate for the less fortunate. She was a light in the darkness, and a woman with a genuinely pure heart. So as a woman who hated violence, it seems like for that to be the cause of her death was the cruelest way for her to have been taken."

"Words are hard to come by when speaking of her because nobody yet wants to let go," Jeremiah states, "so I shall make this short. Let her soul live forever. Let her loving spirit live on through us. Let her never be forgotten. And let her loved ones know how much she cares for them. Amen."

"Amen."

-

"I don't know how to do this anymore," Tommy mumbles, a tear falling onto the photo album he'd gifted her for her birthday, "I don't know how to get better. My head is in a dark place and it only gets worse, day by day, the darkness becomes overwhelming and I don't know how to save myself."

He was nothing like anyone had seen of him before. He was sad, more than sad. The kind of sad leaving him with no energy. The kind of sad that makes him want to crawl into bed and never wake up. The sad that overwhelms a person so much that talking or smiling is a task unthinkable. The sad that strikes through the heart, where it hurts the most.

The thing that hurts the most is that she hated him for longer than she loved him. Nine years she spent despising him. And only six she's spent loving him.
He has to remember her for longer than they ever spent loving each other. The person who gave him the happiest memories, was now reduced to that. A memory.

He couldn't take it. It was all too much. He slams the album shut, placing it on the desk infront of him and wiping his tears away, taking another large drink from the bottle of whiskey to his left before pushing himself out of the chair.

The rain was pouring down as Tommy stumbles out of the house, gun in his shaking hand. He couldn't even make it to the stables, falling to his knees at the bottom of the steps up to the house. He choked out a sob, whispering his wife's name as he took all bullets but one out, spinning the barrel and placing it against his temple.

Shutting his eyes, he takes a deep breath, pulling the trigger. Nothing. And just as he goes to pull the trigger again, he hears a small voice whisper, "daddy?" From the stairs, and there stands small Leo, clutching his blanket, flinching when a clap of thunder sounds.

The gun falls from Tommys hand, as his son comes rushing out towards him, "the loud noises are scary, daddy."

"You're alright, son," Tommy mumbles, kissing his forehead, as he picks him up, carrying him up the stairs, "I'm still here, I'm not leaving."

-

Polly arrives at Tommys home first the next morning, looking around in confusion when she finds a gun laying on the floor. Leaning down, she picks up the weapon, flicking the barrel out. One bullet. One bullet lined up with the hammer. One pull of the trigger and a lethal shot could be fired.

"What's that then, Pol?" Arthur chuckles, looking at the gun.

"You've not gone blind have you, Arthur?" Polly responds and he shakes his head.

"Then what the hell do you think it is?" Polly remarks, shoving it in her handbag.

"You're mean," Arthur mumbles, following her into the house. Surprised when they hear a gramophone and giggling coming from the kitchen.

Slowly, they make their way through the house, standing in the doorway to the kitchen watching Tommy carry Leo in one arm, using the other to flip the pancakes that were on the stove.

"I know you're there," Tommy speaks, before he turns around, Leo looking over his shoulder and waving.

"Well more of us are about to be here, you're going to need some help," Polly smiles, stepping into the kitchen, grabbing another bowl to start mixing together more batter. 

"I guess that demotes me to table setter," Arthur grumbles, going into the drawer and grabbing a bunch of cutlery.

"You look... clean," Polly states.

"I do know how to wash myself," Tommy retorts.

"Really? For a while I wasn't sure," Polly jests, "how are you feeling?"

"Empty, but not alone... if that makes sense?" Tommy replies, offering her a small smile.

"It does," Polly nods.

"Thanks, Pol," Tommy whispers.

"Honey, I'm home!" Max shouts, walking into the kitchen with John, Esmé, Isla and Levin.

Max had dark circles beneath his eyes, and he looked thinner than anyone cared to mention. John was just quiet. Didn't say much anymore.

"Oh thank goodness, I was beginning to worry," Tommy remarks, looking over his shoulder.

Seeing Tommy doing better made John smile. Maybe that's what he'd been waiting for? He didn't want to let go feeling that no one else had. He obviously knew they hadn't let go, but now it felt like they were going to go through a grieving process together. Not alone. As a family.

Life went on. It's what happens. But for the Shelby family. It would never be the same again. She was liking their shining gemstone. And if they couldn't have her, be with her, they truly didn't know how to be themselves. When one person is missing, the whole word seems utterly empty.