CHAPTER TWO:
ALL THINGS END

■ ■ ■ ■ ■

1921

IT WAS LATE ON a Sunday night and the sky was open to the Heavens outside. Wind howled and shook the window panes of the shop. Rain battered against the roof like gunshots. Ailsa stood behind the counter, writing down numbers in a well-used notebook. She was tired. Her eyes were heavy with a longing for sleep. She had discarded the ribbon that usually tied her hair back about an hour ago. The red silk pooled like a drop of blood beside her candle, allowing her dark curls to hang loose around her face.

Finishing up with her figures, she let out a relieved sigh. Finally, she thought to herself as she reached for the leather satchel holding her earnings for the day. She could be done for the night. Ailsa always hated when the numbers didn't add up. She was good with her Mathematics, far better than John, but she was no genius. It hurt her brain to think so much, so late, when a glass of gin and a good book were calling her name before bed.

Above her, the roof creaked under the obvious weight of footsteps. The London apartment she shared with Faith was situated above Faith's Flower Emporium, the florist she had opened when she first moved to London when Faith was eight. Now, four years later, the shop was thriving -- for a florist run by a woman, that is. Ailsa made enough to keep her head above water and to keep Tommy out of her business. She wasn't oblivious enough to miss the money he sent to her each month, but Ailsa was fortunate enough to never need to touch it. One day, when Faith was older, she'd pass it on to her. It was her daughter's name on the door -- suggested by Tommy for obvious reasons -- and, if Ailsa was being truthful, Faith was the reason she got up each day. She owed everything to her.

That certainly didn't mean she could get away with whatever she liked. Being awake at midnight was testing a mother's patience even for Ailsa. "That girl," she grumbled to herself as she locked her money pouch in the safe (again, as suggested by Tommy.) Then, when she heard the footsteps once more, this time heading for the stairs that lead down from the apartment to the back room, she exclaimed, "Faith, you better have a bloody good reason for being out of bed!"

"Ma, there's a man outside!"

Ailsa's blood ran cold. She didn't think as she reached for her gun. Just in case, she kept the pistol with the safety on in the bottom drawer behind the counter. A woman had every right to protect herself in a man's world, whether the men liked it or not. She hoped she'd never have to use it, until now.

"Faith, I mean it," Ailsa snapped, ushering Faith back to the stairs when she caught the flash of her daughter's red hair peeking around the corner. "Go to bed."

"But what if he's hurt, Ma?" Faith asked, looking sickly sweet in her white night-dress with her curly hair pinned up in curlers ('I want my hair to look like yours,' she had said when Ailsa laughed and questioned her fashion choices. Not that she'd ever seen Ailsa with curlers in her hair.) Then, she just had to open her mouth again, and Ailsa remembered the truth. "What if he hurts you? I can hurt him back."

"No," Ailsa narrowed her eyes. "You're going back to sleep and that's final. I'll be up soon."

Faith let out a dramatic sigh. "Fine," she dragged her feet up every step. Ailsa waited until she heard the click of her bedroom door before venturing back out to the shopfront. She couldn't see a man outside but if Faith said there was, she had no reason to doubt her. She didn't lie for the fun of it, not her daughter.

Slowly, Ailsa approached the door, her finger pressed to the safety switch. Outside, the rain had eased up a bit, but nowhere enough that Ailsa wouldn't get drenched on her way to the alley and back. That was the only place Faith could've seen someone. The kitchen overlooked the side alley where Ailsa received her deliveries each day. Much to her current chagrin, it was also the only place that didn't have a window to look through unless she wanted to waste time going upstairs.

She stepped out into the rain, moving quickly now. Through the roaring wind, she thought she could hear someone grunting in pain, but she couldn't be sure she wasn't searching for sounds to put her at ease. Holding up the gun, she rounded the corner.

"Who are you?" she called out, keeping her words stern but not confrontational. "Do you need help?"

There was a long pause where the figure swamped in late night shadows contemplated her. The man was leaning against the wall, both of his hands pressed to a bloody wound on his stomach. Ailsa didn't recognise his face from so far away, but she caught a flash of hard eyes and gritted teeth before he groaned in response, "Well, if you're offering, help would be fucking fantastic, love."

Ailsa let out a wary breath. Sparing a cursory glance at the empty courtyard behind her, the man was already hobbling her way when she turned back. When he wasn't bleeding out in her alley, haunched beside the wall like some demon of the night, he was a good several inches taller than her. In the dim light coming from the shop, she could just make out his red-slick hands. They were shaking. Up-close, he was pale and clearly out of it.

"You can put the gun down," he scoffed. "I've already been shot once tonight."

Ailsa hesitated for a second before tucking her gun into the side of her skirt where she could easily access it if needed. Then she reached for the man, throwing one of his muscled arms around her shoulders to support some of his weight. Together, they headed towards the door. It was a relief to be somewhere warm and out of the rain, and this stranger seemed to agree as he sighed and muttered something along the lines of 'thank the Lord and his beautiful women' as Ailsa helped him into a chair she grabbed from the back. Still, she kept her guard up, keenly aware she'd just invited a stranger into the general proximity of her house. With her daughter.

God, what was she thinking? It had to be the lack of sleep. There was no other explanation for it.

"How did this happen?" she asked, because she needed to know.

The man smiled. He fucking smiled. "You don't know me, do ya?"

Ailsa arched an eyebrow at him. "Should I?"

"I'm Alfie," he said. "Solomons."

Oh.

Oh.

Fucks sake, Ailsa.

"There ya go," he chuckled, then winced because laughing meant moving his abdomen. "There's your answer, love."

Ailsa knew enough about Alfie Solomons to know he was a notorious gang leader in London -- more specifically, Camden Town fifteen minutes down the road -- and that Tommy would fucking hate Ailsa going anywhere near him. She'd only seen Tommy two weeks ago when she and Faith returned to Small Heath for Ada's husband, Freddie's, funeral. They didn't stay long, just a few days, but those few days told Ailsa everything she needed to know about Tommy and his plans for London. She didn't want a bar of it. Then again, she couldn't very well kick an injured Alfie Solomons out onto the streets after offering him help. That was asking for a target on her back.

Not that Alfie had a reputation for hurting women or children. But if he found out she was a Shelby. Oh, God. She was screwed either way. Might as well make the most of it, then.

"Let me get my things," she murmured, chasing after her racing heart towards the back room.

The first time Ailsa met Alfie was hardly pleasant, to say the least. Ailsa kept a steady hand as she cleaned his wound and stitched him back up, but Alfie was no fool. He knew she feared him, as everyone did. She wouldn't quite catch his gaze, but the few times she did by accident were enough to peak his interest. He wasn't kidding earlier. She was gorgeous. He wondered what she was doing alone in London, with a ring on her finger but no man in sight.

He even asked her about it. Even years later, Ailsa remembered every word.

"What's a lovely woman like you doin' in here alone, eh? Your husband must be missing ya," he broke the silence as her nimble fingers weaved the needle through his skin. He'd cursed up a storm when she poured alcohol over the wound, and now... he was flirting with her? Ailsa was practically begging Tommy to kill her.

"You're certainly forward, Mr Solomons," she answered.

"You're wearing a ring, love. Can't blame a bloke for being curious," he pointed out; then, he waved a dismissive hand at her. "And none of that 'Mr Solomons' shit. You can call me Alfie, if you tell me your name. I bet it's a right beauty."

Ailsa rolled her eyes, the smallest of smiles tentatively tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Ailsa."

"See? I was right."

She laughed.

Oh, how she wished he was someone else. A regular man, with clean hands. A man no one would want to hurt, that she wasn't stitching up in the dead of night. Maybe, she would've entertained his advances right from the start.

"I'm actually widowed," she revealed. She knew that would shut him down. "It's just me and my daughter."

"Daughter?" his face paled.

Ailsa smirked, reaching for a bandage to finish him up. "You said you were curious."

Five minutes later, he was up and out the door with a hasty 'thank-you.' Ailsa watched him go, a heavy weight pressing down on her chest, but she thought she'd never see him again. It didn't really matter what she was feeling. As Ailsa finally got ready for bed that night, Alfie tracked down the fool who thought he could get away with shooting him and returned the favour. What a shame there was no lovely woman there to save him.

The next morning, as Ailsa obliviously opened the shop, Alfie returned (thankfully, Faith had left for school five minutes earlier.) His presence was enough to stop her short. An injured gang leader in her flower shop at night was one thing. An injured and clearly stubborn gang leader in her flower shop during the day where everyone and anyone could see him was something else entirely. It was... insane! But the message was clear. Alfie Solomons was interested in Ailsa Shelby. He wasn't afraid to show it, either.

Death by fratricide, here she came.

"You're alive," she said, internally wincing at herself. Henry hadn't been dead too long, but it had been a good few years since she last went on a date, let alone contemplated flirting back with a man. This was... strange. She didn't hate it or like it.

"You're an observant one, ain't ya?" Alfie muttered as he took in their surroundings.

During the day, the shop looked completely different. The sunlight was bright through the bare windows. Flowers of every kind overflowed from pots. Some were gathered in bunches, others planted in soil. Ailsa herself wore a floral apron to complete the look.

At first glance, she was entirely Alfie's opposite. But she had shown him kindness when she didn't have to. Not to mention a hint of a challenge. It wasn't anything serious, yet Alfie wasn't quite ready to admit defeat.

"I've got a question for ya, love, and I need your expertise," he said at last.

"Okay," she shrugged. "Shoot." Alfie raised an eyebrow at her, a faint smirk on his face. Ailsa realised what she said a second too late. Clearly, that lack of sleep had gotten to her. "Or just... you know, ask."

"Say I'm gifting a woman flowers, yeah, what flowers do I give her?"

Ailsa blinked at him. "Well, that certainly narrows it down."

Leaving her spot behind the counter, she lead the way to where she and Faith had laid out that day's bouquets. Each was tied with a different coloured ribbon, their stems resting in buckets of water. "For starters, you have the option of roses. Red is for love and admiration. Yellow for friendship. White for purity. Or you can go with carnations
-- though, in that case, yellow is a sign of rejection and I'm sure that won't go over well for you. Or--"

"What about you?" Alfie cut her off suddenly. Most of what she'd said went through one ear and out the other, but he did pick up on one thing. This woman knew her flowers. They were her element. Where she felt safest.

"Me?" she frowned, clearly confused why he was asking.

"What's your favourite?"

"Oh. Dahlias," she said, like this was obvious. She led him to the next row, Alfie following behind cluelessly to where clusters of red, yellow, pink and purple flowers rested delicately in the bucket clearly labelled DAHLIA. They didn't look like much to him, but Ailsa's admiration was obvious as she gazed at the blooming petals. "The Dahlia flower symbolises beauty, commitment and kindness. Also devotion and dignity--"

"Great," he interrupted her once again. "Which colour?"

"Pink."

He snatched up a pink bunch. "Just lovely, ain't they? Ring me up then, love."

He headed for the counter. Ailsa hurried after him, feeling her heart begin to race as a couple entered to look at the potted plants. They were on the other side of the shop, but she could feel their eyes on her and Alfie as he pulled out a stack of coins. He didn't even ask for the price. With a glance at his watch, he placed three coins on the counter beside the flowers along with a scrap of paper Ailsa didn't see at first.

"Thanks, love," he said with a wink. "See you around."

And then he was gone.

Without his flowers.

"Alfie, wait," she called when she glanced up from the coin box and noticed the pretty pink dahlias sitting there innocuously. "Alfie--?"

She tried to search for him through the window but was nowhere to be seen. For a gang leader, he blended into the crowded courtyard remarkably well. Ailsa sighed to herself when the couple glared at her and left empty-handed. Maybe shouting Alfie Solomons' name across the shop hadn't been a wise idea.

Either way, she had a bunch of flowers to put back and... a note?

For last night, love. And for the record, I'm still curious if you are.

He left a number and an address -- his number and address, she realised after a second of staring at the note like a fool. The property was in Camden Town.

She couldn't help it. She smiled. Bundling up her new Dahlias, she headed for the back room to locate a vase, making sure to tuck Alfie's note into her pocket for safe-keeping.

Who knows. Maybe one day, her curiosity would get the better of her.

1924

"MORNING, OLLIE," AILSA GREETED as the door swung shut behind her. It was cold out that morning, leaving Ailsa in a heavy black coat she'd taken from Tommy's wardrobe before departing for London. The bakery, in contrast, was much hotter. Ailsa shrugged the coat off and allowed Ollie to hang it up.

"Morning, Ms Ailsa," he replied, prompting an amused smile from her. She'd known Ollie nearly as long as Alfie. They were way past the point of formalities, but Ollie was nothing if not a gentleman -- around her, that is. It was a miracle she managed to convince him to use Ailsa instead of Shelby.

"Is Alfie in?" she asked, already heading for the door to the back where the rest of the 'bakery' resided. Ailsa used to wonder why Alfie even bothered with the bakery ruse. It wasn't like the bread sitting stale in the cabinets was ever sold, and anyone who was anyone knew of the rum distillery operating in the heart of Camden Town. Now, it barely phased her.

"Yes, but he's got a telephone meeting in ten minutes," Ollie hurried after her.

"Does he?" she hummed, sparing the soft-faced man a smile. "With my brother?"

Ollie blushed. "Go on through, Ms Ailsa."

"Pleasure doing business with you, Ollie."

Unlike the bakery, the distillery was lively that morning. Several men worked at the barrels, pouring rum into bottles and packing them into crates -- brown for the 'workers' and white for the 'bosses.' None of them looked her way. They used to, though. A woman in the distillery, a Shelby at that, was enough to make them antsy and agitated until Alfie offered to 'kick the fucking shit out of them if they didn't pull their heads in.' There, problem solved.

As promised, Alfie was in his office when Ailsa opened the door. He looked up sharply when she didn't knock, then grinned once he spotted her. "About fucking time, Ails," he exclaimed, rising to greet her with a rough kiss on the lips. "I was ready to send out a fuckin' search party for you, wasn't I?"

Ailsa rolled her eyes and promptly sat down on his lap. Alfie's grin widened. He slid a hand up her thigh, the warmth of him somehow seeping through the thick material of her skirt. "I wasn't gone that long," she was saying, not that he seemed too interested in anything but her legs. She gently smacked his shoulder with the back of her hand. "Hey, eyes up here."

"Sorry, love, been too fucking long since I saw you," he murmured. "Nearly forgot what your legs look like."

She scoffed. "Flirt."

"You caught me."

"Anyways," Ailsa said, leaning over his desk to make a swipe for his glass of whiskey. "I have something for you."

"Do you now?"

Ailsa hummed and reached into her pocket, subconsciously leaning her head to the side as Alfie planted kisses along the column of her throat. His beard was ticklish against her skin, but Ailsa had missed the feeling of his lips too much to complain. Lacing her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, she gently tugged his head back so he was looking at her again.

"For you," she handed him Tommy's letter. "From my brother dearest."

Alfie's eyes darkened. "Which one?"

"Thomas."

He snorted. "Why'd I bother asking, eh?"

He made no effort to open it in front of her. It was like he knew she was curious and was purposefully waiting until she had to leave. He discarded it on the table, his hands returning to their designated spots on her body.

"Where's Faith?" he asked as she finished the last of the whiskey. "You leave her in that Hellhole?"

Ailsa chuckled. "I let her have parole early. She's already at home."

"You walked here? Alone?" he frowned, and Ailsa sighed preemptively, as if to say here we bloody go. "I told ya to call Ollie."

"Ollie isn't our personal driver," she said with a pointed look.

"Ollie is what I fucking say he is."

"Alfie, it's fine. I'm here, aren't I?"

"He'll take you home," Alfie insisted like she hadn't even spoken. There was a sense of finality in his voice as he nudged her off his lap, gaze lingering on Tommy's letter despite him trying his hardest to ignore it. "And don't you try and lose him, Ails." Ailsa rolled her eyes. "I fucking mean it."

"Yeah, alright," she leaned down to kiss him one last time, hesitating as her lips grazed his. "Hey, Alfie?"

"Hm?"

"I don't want to alarm you--"

"And yet," he frowned. "You're doin' it anyways, aren't ya?"

She grimaced. "Tommy knows."

"You couldn't have fucking said that sooner?" Before Ailsa had a chance to reply, the phone began to ring. Alfie hung his head in his hands, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. "I swear, your brother has the ears of a bloodhound, he does. Alright, love. Head on out to Ollie while I deal with this shitshow."

"I'm sorry," Ailsa whispered.

"Don't," he grunted. He never liked when she said that. "And no listening at the door either. I'll tell ya what happens tonight."

"Yours or mine?" Ailsa asked casually, as if Tommy wasn't waiting on the other end of the line, the phone roaring furiously at them.

"Yours."

With a parting nod, Ailsa closed the door behind her. Alfie began to rip the envelope open as he pressed the phone between his shoulder and his ear.

"Well, Thomas," he said. "I can't fucking say it's a pleasure to hear from ya, can I now?"

"Hello, Alfie," came Tommy's easy greeting. That prick. Alfie should've realised that he knew. He would've known since the beginning and was just waiting for the right moment to make his move, to use it to his advantage as always. "I've got a proposition for you. Have you read my letter? I trust Ailsa got it to you safely."

"She did, mate," he grunted, scanning over the words tersely. "Here's my answer. Are you listening closely? No fucking away."

With that, he slammed the phone down and hid the letter at the bottom of his drawer where Ailsa wouldn't stumble upon it.

That was that. He wasn't about to marry anyone on Tommy Shelby's orders. Even if he loved the girl. He'd much rather break her heart instead.

The phone rang again. Of course it was Tommy, as if he knew to give Alfie a minute to get out his anger like a toddler having a temper tantrum. "Right, then," he said once Alfie answered with a 'what fucking now?' "When do you plan to propose?"