Sorry for the short chap, it's around 930 words x just wait for the next one!
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Tommy
Tommy was in the Garrison again. He was alone in the private room and had worked up a smooth routine with the barmaid. He would drain his drink dry and she would pour another one before leaving him to the silence once again. Tommy had forgotten her name five drinks ago, and he decided to nod in recognition instead.
Tommy Shelby, for once, didn't know what to do. Unlike other times, he wasn't able to simply flip a coin and use chance as his answer, as what question would he put forward. There was no question that could be answered with a yes or no- he was completely lost.
Desperately, he wanted to let his Lucille and Adds stay. He wanted to be selfish and keep them for himself in Birmingham. But what kind of life was a life in a criminal family? Tommy wanted to protect them more than anything, he loved them after all, but he didn't know whether they would be safest close to him or as far away as possible.
He needed something, anything, to happen to sway his judgment in either direction. But his Aunt Pol couldn't say enough to help him, not this time, and his brothers hadn't a clue. He had even begun to wonder if he should have told them all about the times in France a year ago, but he remembered that the past can't be changed- it was unimportant.
"Tommy." He heard his name being shouted out from the entrance of the Garrison.
The voice came to his ears slowly and slurred, though he didn't trust his hearing. He didn't trust that it was the person that was drunk and not him.
John appeared at the door, cap in his hands. If Tommy hadn't known any better, he would have thought that someone had died, given the serious look on his brother's face. However, Tommy could tell that he was worried about him, and it made his own decision even harder.
"What is it?" He asked.
"There's a man in London. Been asking around about you." John said, staying in the doorframe. "Wants to meet up with you."
"Do you have a name?" Tommy said, nodding his head.
"Jack Dawson."
"Dawson?"
Tommy was both surprised and unshaken. He had a feeling that the man would find him out, one way or another, but he had always thought it'd be when they were old and grey, wishing to share stories of the war days, their glory days. He couldn't lie to himself and say that he hadn't missed the boy. They had gone through so much together that he had found a trust in him that he had found in none other but his brothers and aunt, and now Lucille.
They didn't even know if one another had survived. Before the somme, they had been separated: Tommy in the tunnels and Dawson in the trench. He was somewhat glad to see that the other hadn't lost hope, and only wished that he could say the same.
"You have a phone line? Address?" Tommy asked and John nodded, his hands tightening around his hat. "Alright. I'll see to it."
Tommy looked back to his empty glass, staring to the slight bubbles that were left in the bottom, expecting his brother to leave. John paused at the door way, watching as he slumped back into the and sighed.
"You alright Tommy?" He finally said, and he looked up, dazed.
John could tell that he had a lot on his mind. For one, he felt worried for him. But then he remembered that it was partially his own fault for choosing not to share his plans and such. He only wished that he could drag it out of his brother like his Aunt Pol could. Maybe then he could be of more use than he was now, strolling about the streets.
"What?" Tommy asked, but he didn't give John a chance to repeat before he answered robotically. "Yeah fine."
"Well you don't seem alright." John pushed, noticing as his brother clenched his eyes shut, a thin layer of sweat already glistening in his forehead. "Everyone's saying it."
Tommy sighed, sending an intense look to John. "Just fuck off John, alright?"
It seemed as if he changed his mind as to who would leave, as Tommy lifted himself from his seat, taking the empty glass in his hand before he slid out from the room, shuffling easily passed John. He placed the glass on the bar and left the pub, leaving his brother to stop and stare after him.
John remained in the doorway, moving only to let Grace passed with a cloth. He thought about his brother. It was always Tommy that had looked after them, his family, but now it seemed as if he had more to deal with himself than ever before.
They all knew it was Lucille that was taking up every inch of his thought, though they could never blame her. It was all Tommy when it came to his absence in the room, whether he be there in person or not. The rest of the Shelby family just wished he would make his mind up already- it was not just himself that he had to think of, after all.
"Are you alright, Mr Shelby?" The barmaid, Grace, asked as rounded the corner heading back toward the bar, knocking him from his daydream.
John nodded, rubbing the tip of his nose, saying, Yeah, fine.", before leaving the Garrison.
