Liana's Dream // Tommy Shelby

14

I can still feel Tommy's lips on mine all night.

The tingling in my abdomen doesn't go away. In waking, sleeping, and everything in between, everything feels aglow. Even the phantoms can't break through.

This must be how it feels to kiss someone.

No wonder people seem to do it all the time. No wonder newlyweds hole up on their honeymoon, able to do little else. I worked out the mechanics of sex years ago when I saw horses going at it — and then when I began to see teenagers going at it on the camp sites. I never understood why people bother. It seemed like a lot of effort for only one thing — bastard babies. Why take the risk?

If it feels anything like kissing someone, I think I understand.

Though John seems to be the exception to the newlyweds rule — he's downstairs, already sat at the table eating breakfast and reading the paper when I head down, still feeling like I'm somewhat floating.

I quickly slam back down to earth.

He gulps when he sees me. "Liana," he manages cheerfully. "Kettle's still warm if you want tea—"

"You. Told. Tommy?"

"It was Arthur!" He insists. "I didn't say a word!"

"Why are you here, blabbing my secrets, when you should be on a honeymoon with your wife?" I ask.

"Haven't got the money for a bloody honeymoon, have we? And I'm needed here." He pauses, suddenly thoughtful. "I have to work. I've got a baby on the way."

"And a woman with a penchant for violence demanding over a hundred pounds," I point out.

"Liana's Dream will win that for us next weekend." He thinks a moment. "Or should I call him your dream, when talking to you?"

I gape. "That's your only contingency? Our lives hang on whether Dream, who's never raced before and has only been training a few weeks, can place at the Plate?"

"Of course not. We've got a bit of the coin stashed away... But on the whole, winnings and bets will bring us up to balance, yeah."

"How are we affording to bloody eat?" I ask, staring at his plate loaded up with bacon.

He smirks. "That's not much of a problem, actually. See, the Baker tried overcharging Dad a couple years ago. After almost having both legs broken, he gives us bread for free, now. Good friend of ours works for the Butcher. Poor Butcher can't catch a break, can never get his books to balance right, always left with less meat than he cut up. As for the markets... well, us brothers spend a lot of time at the docks. We've learned to be quick with our fingers."

"So it's all stolen."

John shrugs. "If you don't like it, Liana, you can go on strike. But just know that the Baker's a greedy man who charges the rest of Small Heath twice for a loaf what they'd get anywhere else. The Butcher lives in a big bloody mansion where his fancy fucking friends hunt down half the animals he turns into meat. And the shipments we target come from corporations. Insurance covers the loss. Everyone's happy, and we don't starve to death, eh?"

"I've already been on bloody hunger strike because I was worried about the cost of food." I scowl, grabbing a piece of toast from John's plate. "Does Polly know?"

"Course she does. Pol knows everything." John smiles. "She doesn't need us to tell her."

"Noted." I stand to my feet, snatching the last slice of toast from John's plate while he gapes in protest. "That's for telling Tommy," I warn him. "And if you do it again, I'll take a frying pan to your balls until you're incapable of fathering anymore babies. Are we understood?"