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𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑'𝐒 𝐄𝐕𝐄 𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 memories as the cold and wet January trickled into an even bleaker February. By the beginning of the Lent they said their goodbyes to Ada and her new family, embracing fully the life of a political fugitive, with all the dangers it possessed.
For all that she complained of the perilous line of work her brothers chose to make a living of, she proved to be no better when choosing a spouse. Not that Cat would openly remark that, as Ada seemed determined to fall-out with most of the members of her family, mainly Thomas.
Both equally stubborn in their beliefs, they had a row hours before she was intended to leave for London. It was a somber occasion, though Thomas didn't show his face at the station.
Caterina's days were still spent working at the tiny bookshop in Digbeth, sorting the yellowed books alphabetically one week, or by writer the next, depending on her mood.
And as each week passed it detoriated, much like the shop itself. The monotony of the job left her mind numb, unchallenged, her heart and soul yearning for any sort of amusement.
To put it lightly, she was withering away in there and made a point to complain every time she sat down with Polly for a cup of tea, or something stronger.
By April she developed a habit of coming over to Watery Lane on Tuesdays and Fridays, and a church service on Sundays, though Finn had to be persuaded by a sweet afterwards.
"I need an assistant." Thomas announced grandly, striding from the betting shop and into the households kitchen.
His cocky gaze was pointed directly at Cat as he threw down the legal ledger on the table between the two woman, almost knocking the porcelain kettle off of it.
"Do I look like your bloody paper handler?" By the force with which she slammed down the cup onto its saucer, it was miracle it didn't snap in two.
The man in question leaned on the dishware cabinet, striking a match with his stealthy fingers. "No, you look pretty and know finances."
It was Polly's turn to butt in. "He's not wrong." She gave her a one over, pressing the remnants of her cigarette in the crystal ashtray.
"Thank you, Pol." Cat stressed sarcastically, turning back to Thomas. It was the first they'd spoken in months, besides stealing glances if their paths crossed at the Watery Lane or The Garrison, and his sudden need of favours from her left her confused.
"Worcester is on Tuesday." He puffed out some smoke, fishing out some bills out of his pocket, letting them fall into Caterina's lap.
"Buy yourself something pretty."
Burning rage hissed through her body, eyes narrowing into a cold glare shooting right through the dark haired man leaning on the cabinet. "Excuse me, do I look like a whore to you? I don't need your money!"
