Liana's Dream // Tommy Shelby

65

Dread begins to settle in my stomach when Tommy doesn't come home.

I sit in the Garrison and drink gin and eat cold food, my eyes flickering nonstop to the door.

"Tommy working?" I ask John as casually as I can muster, laying down my cards and scooping coins to my side of the table while he protests.

"Nah, we've got the night off." He lowers his voice. "Coppers came sniffing round again, like he said. We have to lie low for a while. Hope the horses place well at the next races. And hope Arthur learns how to balance his books if they don't."

"I was meant to help him with that," I say, suddenly guilty.

But John shakes his head. "We've had enough going on, haven't we? Anyway, with a bit of luck, we'll all be retired in a few years."

"Retired?" I ask skeptically.

He shrugs. "You know. Arthur's always wanted to own a pub. I've thought about becoming a proper accountant. Not sure about Tommy. Probably something to do with horses."

"You realise that's not retirement," I say. "That's the opposite. That's work."

He shrugs again. "Not for us, it isn't. Only need the money, and we can step away from the life. Always needing more bloody money," he mutters, dealing out fresh cards.

By the time we get back home, my intuition is telling me something's very off. I wash up the dishes and sweep the floors, deciding I'll go to the barn and look for Tommy if I must, Polly's suspicions be damned. If anything's happened to him...

Ada pauses straightening the bookcase, standing upright and blinking. "Are those... headlamps? Like from a car?"

We rush to the curtains and pull them aside. Sure enough, there's a blinding wash of light facing the house. Polly appears beside us, her face tightening as Tommy's silhouette steps out of the car and approaches the house. The car drives away.

"What the fuck was that?" John asks as Tommy comes in.

Tommy lifts his head. His expression is closed, guarded. Like everyone else in the world sees him. The Tommy I know, the Tommy we know, with his smile and his charm wiped clean away.

"Good," he says. "You're all here."

Polly takes a step forward. Her face fills with dread. "Tommy..."

He speaks, and my world shatters. "Greta's with child."

Like glass breaking into shards that spill across the floor. Like every ornament I threw across the room in London. There's a swooping in my stomach for every one. But instead of exhilarated, I feel sick. Bile rises and coats the back of my throat. My mind goes blank. Numb. I don't know that I even registered what he said. My body heard it, but the rest of me didn't.

Arthur's the first to speak. "Fuck," he says quietly.

Polly shakes her head. Ada grips onto the sofa for support. There's no consoling, like with John and Martha. No murmured reassurances. No promises.

Tommy continues. "Her family doesn't know. The wedding will need to be quick—"

I don't care that it's obvious. I don't care that it's childish. My feet carry me from the room, out into the hall, where I pull on my coat and shoes. Tommy pauses. If I focus hard enough, I think I can hear words catch in his throat.

I step out into the night air, slamming the door behind me. Through the open windows and closed curtains I hear Polly say, "Well, one of us has the right idea."

The lining of my coat sticks to my skin, even at this late hour. My skin burns and sears, every part of me alight with flame, but inside, I shiver like I'm fighting off a chill. I hope I haven't caught Finn's fever. The last thing I need is delirium.