Nothing is, but what is not // John Shelby

XXIV

Beth spent the night at Shelbys' house. Polly gave her fresh clothes to wear, because her own were wet from blood and ripped. The shirt smelled like cigarettes. Beth entered the kitchen, where there already was Thomas. It was not hard to guess why of all the brothers, everyone feared him the most. Cold, intelligent eyes looked as if they could read all her secrets, snatch them from her before she could react.

"Good morning, Miss Auchter" he nodded at her.

"Good morning, Mr Shelby" she did the same, taking a step through the door as she realised she stopped, netting his eyes.

"Tommy."

"In that case, Beth is enough." The girl smiled at him softly, yet it was more polite than honest.

"The tea is in the cupboard next to the window. John said you like sugar" the man pointed at the sugar bowl on the table.

"Is he alright?" Beth asked, putting the kettle on the stove. She offered Tommy a cup, but he shook his head.

"His arm was stitched by a tailor—„

"A seamstress" she corrected him, which seemed to surprise tha man.

"A seamstress" he nodded slowly „I trust that you know how to use a needle" he put the cigarette to his lips, lighted it and then some started dancing in the air slowly.

"The fabric is my interest, not the skin" Beth poured the boiling water to her cup and blew on it a few times before taking a sip. She leaned against the counter with her hip.

"Please tell John that I wish him well" she said finally, putting a cup aside after she washed it in the sink. She had a lot of work to do, and she dreamed of sinking in it. It always helped her forget about the uncomfortable world when she needed it.

She didn't find anything especially good at home. As always there were many letters on her kitchen table. Mary was writing about a new theatre she is working in for now, and like in every other message she was going on and on about how lonely she feels without Beth by her side. The other envelope was signed by Robert Hall, the owner of the flat the girl was living in. She lazily opened it.

The rent went up. The heart beated harder in her chest. She was constantly telling herself for weeks that she was going to find another source of income, but to this moment the money from the theatre was enough for her to pay for the necessary expenses. Beth cursed her naivety. It was obvious that even though the Great War ended, the problems didn't.

The next week passed too quickly. Beth was looking for a new job, but stubbornly sticking to the theatre was not helping with it. No factory wanted a girl who was young, busy, and her only experience was making uniforms for the soldiers during the war.

The end of January was getting closer and closer, and even though Beth was saving on everything she could, when she counted the money a few days before paying the rent, it wasn't enough. Again and again she was going through the shelves, but she only found some worthless coins. She looked at her hands. In those past days they never stopped shaking. Beth had promised herself that she would never be so desperate again, and yet she knew that she was not going to find any job as quickly as needed.

With a shaky hand, she applied lipstick. It was burning red, she got it from Mary for her birthday some time ago. She sighed with resignation, undoing the top button of her wrinkled shirt.

"It's the last time." She whispered to her reflection in the mirror, before she stepped onto the cold street where the lanterns were failing at providing light.