The Hanging Noose

Five

The whiskey was shared around the Shelby family, so much that now three empty bottles sit in the middle of one table. A barman had asked to come in, but Arthur had told him to kindly fuck off if he wanted to keep his life. Dottie frowned before she spoke up.

"Is this place hiring?" She asks, breaking the conversation between Arthur and John.

Tommy quickly looks at Polly before he answers, "no."

"How do you know?" Dottie responds, looking directly at Tommy. Her large eyes glaring in to his.

"This pub is mine," Arthur replies, a glass in his hands, "well ours, but mine, mhm."

"So you could hire me?" Dottie turns her head to Arthur, "you will?"

Hesitating, Arthur looks at Polly, before looking back at Dottie, noticing the resemblance between the two. "No."

"Why not? You haven't even given me a chance," Dottie argues back, "I worked in the pub in my village. I was a good barmaid," she nudges her shoulder in to Micheal, "werent I?"

Micheal nods, however he stays silent, knowing his sister well. No matter what anyone will say, she'll argue. Unless the statement is a I'll hire you.

Tommy tilts his head, itching his chin, "women don't work behind the bar," he says making Dottie scoff, "you'll get torn apart."

"You sound so progressive!"

"We're looking out for you," Tommy argues back as Dottie clenched her fingertips in to her palms, her knuckles turning a pinky white colour.

"I don't need protecting. If I need protecting, I'll do it myself."

"Shelby's and Gray's don't work in pubs," Tommy continues, selecting his words carefully as Dottie's glare continues burning in to him, "if you want to work, I'll get you a job—"

"If I want to work, I'll get myself a job."

Tommy rolls his head towards Polly, a way to ask for help.

"Dottie, no one will hire a Shelby or a Gray in Birmingham," Arthur says, clearing his throat.

Dottie directs her glare to him, "fine then I'll change my name." She looks back at Tommy, "I'm eighteen, if I want to work in a fucking pub then I will."

Tommy opens his mouth, however he closes it when Polly speaks, holding her hand out to silence her nephew.

"Thomas," she sternly says.

Tommy nods, watching as Dottie raises an eyebrow at him.

John, who had been sitting back watching the commotion happen between his brothers and his cousin, snickers, taking hold of the toothpick between his teeth. "Well, Aunt Pol, she's definitely your daughter." He turns his head back to Dottie, "you good with numbers?"

She shakes her head, "I can't do numbers," she nudges her elbow in Micheal's side. "He can."

Polly rolls her eyes to John, "John," she warns, her voice low.

John doesn't say anything else, almost dropping the subject entirely. Dottie frowns as she stares at John.

Arthur pushes his glass up to his lips, tilting his head back and swallowing the liquid in one gulp.

"Arthur, slow down," Tommy says, leaning against the sofa booth with one arm lazily thrown over the back of it, "we have all night to celebrate."

Dottie continues to stare at John, her thoughts wondering wild as she spaces out. She only connects back with reality when John speaks again.