CHAPTER THREE:
ROTTEN BONES

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ALFIE LOVED AILSA LIKE a rotten dog; like his canines were falling out of his gums. Like a monster. Like a beast. Like something not worth loving back. He never did believe she knew just how his heart ached for her. Ailsa saw him for what he truly was, but she glossed over the decaying edges and burrowed her way in deep. Crawling beneath his skin and bone until she found something worthy of craving. A mere scrap of life. One last unbroken vein where the blood ran red.

He detested it sometimes. He longed to rip her out with his bare hands, to free himself from the weight on his shoulders, if only for one second. But Ailsa was like a rare jewel. She was beautiful, though not overstated. She didn't flaunt her beauty to the world; rather, she kept it for those who valued her most, who loved her not because of it but in spite of it. She was rough but not jaded. She was a ruby in a handful of diamonds, and Alfie couldn't bring himself to discard her along with the rest. No matter how much it hurt.

So he carried a real ruby in the pocket of his coat. Attached to a gold band that, in due time, would end up on her finger.

If he asked her.

If he cowered beneath Tommy Shelby's iron fist like everyone else.

And there was no fucking chance of that happening.

(Maybe.)

(Even Alfie didn't quite believe himself.)

Ailsa's grip on his hand was tight and unforgiving as their car turned into the driveway of Arrow House. It was early in the morning but the sun was, on this rare occasion, sitting high in the sky already. In spite of it, Ailsa felt cold. She had Alfie's thumb moving rhythmically against her knuckles, him wanting to keep her so close that he drove them down the familiar Birmingham roads one-handed. In the backseat was Faith, her hair gleaming like fallen Autumn leaves from where she gazed out the window with her forehead pressed to the glass. It was picture perfect, idyllic. But Ailsa knew what was coming.

Tommy watched the three of them emerge from the vehicle like Jesus staring down at them from the cross. His figure in the window of his office was unmistakable. Faith stared up at him curiously while she waited for her mum and Alfie. He seemed his usual stern self; for someone who was hurt not too long ago. She raised her hand and waved. After a moment, he waved back.

"Why does Uncle Tom look so serious?" Faith asked. She was the picture of innocence in a pleated blue dress that morning. She had her hair pulled back in braids beneath the brim of a large white hat, a silk blue ribbon looped around her neck and trailing down her spine like flowing water.

Alfie smiled at the sight of her, his metaphorical daughter, though his eyes glinted with an emotion that Faith, at her age, wasn't yet ready to understand. "When doesn't ya Uncle Tom look like that?"

Faith giggled while Ailsa regarded Alfie with a fond, if not slightly wary look. He'd seemed... off since she returned to London with that letter from Tommy. Nearly a month had passed since then, and yet Alfie was cold and quiet, often lost in thought during the nights they spent together. She couldn't bring herself to fear it, though. Not much had changed about the way he looked at her. At least she could be certain of this, no matter what he would eventually say or do.

"Come on, you two," she murmured, squeezing Alfie's hand with her heart lodged in her throat. "Best not keep him waiting."

What she didn't expect, as soon as they were let through the door by one of her brother's maids, was for Johnny Dogs to leap into view like a faithful little lapdog. He wouldn't meet her eyes as he acknowledged Alfie with a terse nod.

"Tommy wants you in his office," he said, his nerves betraying him in the slight rocking back and forth of his heels against the floor. "Only you."

"Well, Tommy can bloody--" Ailsa began, only to be interrupted by Alfie shaking his head.

"It's alrigh', love," he said as he let her go. "I can handle Tommy Shelby just fine on my own."

And so Alfie entered Tommy's office without Ailsa, and Ailsa didn't say another word as Johnny joined her and Faith to wait in the kitchen. Ailsa's stomach tightened with dread when she heard the sound of unmistakable voices on the other side of the door. She would've turned back around and waited in the hallway outside Tommy's office if it wasn't for Faith also hearing the same voices and eagerly (obliviously) rushing ahead of her.

"Faith--"

She was already gone.

"Uncle Arthur," her daughter exclaimed. "Uncle John."

Arthur, John and Michael stared at Ailsa as she entered the room. Arthur was hugging Faith, ruffling her hair as her hat slid down her neck, the blue ribbon catching against her chin in a way that keenly reminded Ailsa just how young her only daughter was. Despite how mature she acted sometimes, she was just a girl. She had so much more to learn from this world, things that her mum and uncles and aunties had all unfortunately learnt with time. She clung to her Uncle Arthur with childish delight while Arthur frowned at Ailsa over the top of her head. John was also watching her through the smoky haze of his cigarette. Michael remained quiet, leaving Ailsa feeling like she had interrupted something concerning him.

"What're you doing here, sister?" Arthur asked what they all must've been thinking.

"I'm--" She hesitated, feeling the sting of Johnny's gaze on the side of her face as he settled down at the table. If he knew, it was only a matter of time before the rest of them did. Damn Tommy. She should've known he'd do this. "Visiting."

"Visiting," John echoed with a smirk. "So he's finally got you doing his dirty work, eh?"

"No," she bristled at the disbelieving sound he made in response. "Tommy was beaten within an inch of his life only two weeks ago. He's lucky I wasn't down here tending to him in his hospital bed the moment I found out."

Michael raised an eyebrow at her. "And why weren't you?"

Ailsa sniffed, crossing her arms. "He got annoyed with me after three days and took me off his visitors list."

The four men burst into laughter. Even Faith's smile was one of amusement. Ailsa Shelby was nothing if not a caregiver. There was no doubt in their minds that Tommy would've lost it very early on with her fussing over him like he was a baby.

"Is it true Uncle Tom wears glasses now?" Faith asked, thankfully diverting some of the heat off her mother. Ailsa let herself breathe a fleeting sigh of relief as she sat down at the table beside Arthur.

"Faith, darling, why don't you check on Charlie while we wait?" she suggested once a few minutes had passed and the men began to get bored of her teenage daughter's endless chatter. They loved Faith as much as they loved Ailsa, but boy was she able to talk someone's ears off (just like her mum, as Arthur would tease.)

"Alright," Faith sighed in disappointment, but she left with a skip in her step at the prospect of seeing her little cousin again.

The kitchen was silent at first, so quiet that Ailsa could hear the click of John's lighter as he lit his next cigarette. The looks the men were exchanging were loud and telling. Ailsa watched them and fought the urge to pour herself a drink.

"So," she said. "What did my daughter and I interrupt earlier? Surely not just men's gossip."

They hesitated again. Visibly, Arthur's brow began to sweat. Ailsa leapt on it like a bloodhound.

"Arthur?"

"Well, Ails," he muttered, staring at the floor. "Michael's gone and got a girl pregnant."

At first, Ailsa wasn't sure she'd heard him right. There was a faint ringing in her ears that blocked out most noise. John snickered into his drink, Johnny Dogs dropped his head into his hands, and a red-faced Michael shot out of his seat to tower over Arthur, exchanging harsh words that Arthur returned with solemn intensity.

"Oh, shut up, the both of you!" Ailsa snapped at last. She was rubbing the pads of her fingers against her temples, her lips pressed into a thin line. "Michael, is this true?"

Michael's shoulders slumped, though he didn't acknowledge her as he retreated to stand beside John. His glare remained firmly in place while he stared down Arthur, though it wavered when Ailsa leaned in front of her older brother. "Thanks a lot, Arthur."

"I would've found out sooner or later, Michael, you can only hide a pregnancy for so long," Ailsa was quick to point out. There was something awkward to their silence now, uncomfortable. Ailsa hummed as realisation washed over her like an ice cold wave of water. "Unless she's not planning to keep the baby." Michael looked away. "Is she?"

"I don't know," he admitted, so quiet she almost didn't hear him.

"Well, you better bloody find out," she exclaimed. "Good lord, your mum is going to have your head on a stick if you're not careful! Fancy getting a girl pregnant and not knowing if she's keeping your child or not. Honestly, Michael..."

"Okay, look," John said once he'd downed the last of his rum. "You've got two choices here, Michael."

Ailsa pinched the bridge of her nose. "Here we bloody go."

"You fuck off to America with Arthur, join the Apache's--"

"America?" Her head shot up. "The Apache's?"

"--Or you marry the girl."

"This isn't a joke!" Michael scowled, shoving his clenched fists into his pockets instead of John's face.

"Arthur, are you really going to live with the Apache's?" Johnny barked out a laugh. Ailsa had almost forgotten he was there, staring at her like he was meeting her for the first time.

"Yes, I'd like to know that too," she agreed, though Arthur didn't seem to hear either of them.

"Told her father yet?" he asked Michael.

"No."

"He'll fucking shoot you, man," John snickered.

"John," snapped Ailsa. "You're not helping."

"The damage is already done, Ails," her younger brother retorted with his hands raised in a surrendering gesture he just knew would infuriate her.

She sighed to herself. "This is giving me flashbacks to finding out you'd knocked up Martha."

John grinned and pointed a finger at Michael, who had begun to pace with his hands on his head. "Hey, at least you're not sixteen like I was."

"Still young enough to give your mum a heart attack, though," Ailsa muttered. "I would know."

"Are you sure the kid's yours then?" Arthur asked.

Michael's face was one of a man entirely fed up. "I wish I hadn't told any of you."

Arthur, deducing this as an answer to his question, tipped his own glass of rum in Michael's direction as if he was toasting him. "Then think of marriage as a beautiful road, with flowers all the way down it."

Even Ailsa paused at that, having to repeat the words a few times in her head to comprehend they'd really come from her eldest brother. "Have you been hit over the head, Arthur?" She turned to the others. "Is he having a laugh?"

John shrugged. "It's hard to tell these days."

Michael reached for the rum in front of Ailsa, barely resisting the urge to drink from the bottle as he refilled his glass to the rim. Some of it tipped over the edge and onto the table which he left Ailsa to mop up with a rag.

"Do you, uh... do you love this woman?" Arthur asked, hitting him once again with a question no twenty-year-old man with the world at his feet could typically answer.

Michael paused, glass halfway raised to his mouth. "Fucking what?"

Ailsa closed her eyes and leant back in her seat. "You're all giving me a headache."

"Well, then go and marry her like the rest of us," Arthur's grumbling drowned out his sister.

"She doesn't want her family to know," Michael huffed; and not for the first time either, Ailsa suspected. "Ails was right before. She doesn't want to have the baby."

"We know a woman," John said then.

Ailsa's eyes lifted to her brother. Arthur looked away from the drink sloshing in his glass to glare at him. "Shut up, John."

"Same woman who helped you out twice."

"Twice?" Ailsa exclaimed, whipping around to gape at Arthur. "You only told me about the one."

Arthur's expression turned sheepish. He tugged at the collar of his shirt like it was choking him, or as he feared Ailsa would if he didn't choose his next words carefully. "It was a long time ago."

"That doesn't matter now," Michael cut in impatiently. "Look, Charlotte's going to want the best, alright?"

"Charlotte?" Ailsa's wide eyes turned to him next. "As in Charlotte Murray? Oh, Michael."

"I know," he said before she could dart out of her seat and smack him over the head like she looked like she wanted to do.

"John's right. Her dad's going to rip you to shreds."

"Thank you, Ails, you're really making me feel better."

"Alright, look, furious fathers aside, this woman is the best of the best when it comes to... sensitive circumstances," Ailsa decided to take pity on him. "A lot of the girls in Small Heath have gone to her. She used to be a nurse during the war."

"Twenty minutes and it's done," said John, as if this made a difference to Michael, who wouldn't even be having the procedure.

"You don't even have to go in or wait outside," added Arthur. "You go to the Garrison, drink whiskey, have a laugh. And then this kid walks in, no shoes on, says 'it's done.' Second time we were there. Same kid. This time, he was wearing these shiny new shoes. He shouts, 'it's done, Arthur.'"

Michael looked at him, waiting, but Arthur said nothing else. "Then... what?"

"She bought new shoes with the money I gave her," he said, peering up at Michael with shining eyes. "It was for a good cause."

"Arthur," Johnny Dogs scoffed. "If you're gonna get on like this with the Apache's, they'd fucking scalp you, boy."

"Yes, can we please go back to the Apache's and America part of this disaster of a conversation?" Ailsa regarded Arthur with furrowed brows. She reached out to hold the clenched fist he'd pressed against the table, loosening his fingers to slip them between her own. "Is this Linda's idea? You've never shown an interest in America before."

But before Arthur could think to come up with an excuse, the servant's bell started to ring. Ailsa frowned as John put out his cigarette and Johnny eagerly jumped to his feet.

"Tommy said when that bell rings, we're all to go to the big room."

"All of us?" asked Ailsa, suddenly breathless.

Johnny nodded. "Aye. Now come on. Tommy has a plan."

That brother of theirs always had a plan. Even if it blew up in their faces and took the ones they loved down with them. Tommy Shelby knew no boundaries; if the world was at Michael's feet, the entire universe was in reach for Tommy.

Ailsa was the last to enter his office, her heels dragging against the blush red carpet in the hallway. She was nearly knocked backwards when Arthur suddenly spun around, a vein in his forehead popping from the furious expression that had settled on his face.

"Arthur," she heard her lover say, and it started to make sense. "Arthur, shalom."

Slowly, step-by-step, Arthur forced himself to turn back around and enter the room. He didn't look at Ailsa yet, but she could feel the heat resonating inside as she closed the door behind her. Tommy was watching her with tired eyes as she crept around the edge of the room, quiet as a mouse, to stand beside him shoulder-to-shoulder. John and Michael shared a surprised look, though both stubbornly remained blank-faced as they waited beside the window like two foot soldiers.

Suspicion had slowly sunken in, if not the creeping ache of realisation. Ailsa was awfully pale, her hands shaking as she pressed them together in her lap. Alfie was embracing Arthur in a pacifying hug, though he watched her over Arthur's shoulder like all that mattered was her. If she cried, he'd fight until his hands were bloody. If she asked him to hold her, he'd muster up every bit of softness he had known in life to treat her like she deserved.

What had Tommy said to convince him that this was a good idea? Why was Ailsa suddenly on the outer? Just what did her family think of her now?

"Look, I owe you a little something, don't I?" Alfie said as he guided (dragged) Arthur to sit down in the two leather chairs opposite Tommy's desk. "Listen, Arthur. I want you to know, right, that whatever happened between us back then, that was business. That was just business, alright?" Alfie didn't wait for him to reply, continuing, "And I also want you to know that I have made my apologies via my own God for abusing a holy day to get you clinked up and battered, which I did. And now I would also like to extend my personal apologies unto you."

Whatever else Alfie had to say faded behind the thump of Ailsa's heart against her ribcage. Arthur's gaze had shifted from Tommy's face to her own, lingering for a moment's confusion on the way her lips parted as if to apologise to him for her own betrayal. Slowly, he looked back at Alfie, then at her. She caught the moment, in blinding clarity, that he put the last pieces together.

"I hear you have allowed Jesus to come into your life," continued Alfie.

"Oh, you heard," Arthur's face had drained of colour. "Did you?"

Alfie nodded, "Yeah, that's beautiful, that's wonderful. That's lovely, isn't it? That is lovely. But I was wondering how that works for you on a day to day considering your line of work, mate?"

Ailsa knew, like everyone else present, just how much her lover enjoyed getting under people's skin. She had hoped that, just this once, he would refrain. For her. For their relationship. For the last few fragments of her family ties she could feel ripping away from her. Ailsa sought desperately for someone to blame and came up empty.

Arthur was quiet for a long moment, and then, while staring at Ailsa, he muttered, "Your apology is accepted."

Accepted, but certainly not forgiven. Wasn't that how it worked?

She longed to return to the kitchen, where she could reach for his hand without fear he'd pull away like she'd burned him.

"'Cause I hear you're a right fucking nuisance with it," Alfie chuckled.

"Alfie," Ailsa murmured his name in warning, then almost immediately regretted it.

Something raw and bruised flashed in Arthur's eyes as they clashed against her own. Ailsa had seen that look more than she cared to admit since he came home from the war, but she had known it beforehand too.

The rain lashed against Ailsa's face. Her body was cold, so cold. A reminder that this was the last thing her mother had felt. A never-ending chill that settled deep in her bones and stayed there.

The hem of her dress was torn, her knees bloody. Ailsa couldn't bring herself to care as she kneeled by the edge of The Cut. The waters were muddy. She couldn't see the bottom. Her mother's corpse was cooling at home, in the bed she once shared with a husband who never truly loved her, yet Ailsa sat there and searched for the soul she had left behind. She hadn't seen it in that empty, dark room.

I see him. He's standing in the corner, watching me.

Maybe the Grim Reaper had already taken it away. She found nothing but her own reflection, the sting of tears in her eyes, of dirt in her cuts.

"Ails," called a familiar voice, and then Arthur was at her side.

He was warm, so warm. Ailsa latched onto him desperately, sobbing into the wet skin of his neck as he lifted her with ease. He'd move mountains to find her, carry her for hours if it meant taking her home.

"Come on, sister." He allowed himself one second, just an instant where their hearts ached with the same agony. They were the eldest children. With their father absent and their mother... taken from them, they had to step up. To bury these feelings away with her body. "It's alright. I've got you."

Ailsa desperately wished she'd left those feelings to rot.

A white-knuckled fist reached for the glass ashtray on Tommy's side-table. Arthur's nostrils flared like a dragon ready to breathe fire. He'd never looked at her with such hatred. Like if she said one wrong word, he'd slam that ashtray against her skin; if not to hurt her, then to make her feel just a shred of the betrayal that had made itself at home in his heart.

"You see, all I'm saying is that... every man, he craves certainty, doesn't he?" Alfie murmured. Something in Ailsa whispered that he was no longer just talking about religion. "He craves a certainty, even if that certainty of yours, right -- well, I mean, it's fucking fanciful, mate. Isn't it?"

Arthur's hand tremored. Still, he didn't let the ashtray go. Ailsa waited for it; the moment his rage would consume him so much that he'd smash the glass against Alfie's jaw, sealing both her fate and his own on two opposing sides of one prominent line. Tommy was shaking his head at him, but Arthur wasn't looking his way to even notice. He wouldn't turn away from Ailsa. He couldn't. In that moment, she wasn't his sister, but a stranger to him too.

He let the ashtray go, turning slowly so that he was almost nose to nose with Alfie. "I'm Old Testament."

Alfie barked out a laugh. "Fucking hell, that scares me more. Congratulations, Tommy. You now have the finished article right there, don't ya? See, that man, right, he will murder and maim for you with God on his side. Yeah, you don't wanna let him go."

"If we're gonna do business with this fucker," snapped Arthur. "I demand to know why."

Slowly, Tommy nodded, leaving Ailsa's side to stand behind his desk.

"Right," he said. "When I was in the hospital, I formulated a plan. And this is how it's gonna work. So, the Russians cannot be trusted to pay us. We are gonna take what is ours. We need to see what's in their treasury, and that is why we need Mr Solomons."

Arthur sniffed. "That's it? The only reason?"

Ailsa's hammering heart had reached a crescendo. If she was anywhere else, and they were anybody else, she would've sat down on Alfie's lap and disappeared into the safety of his arms. But she couldn't -- no, wouldn't. Not when it felt like she was hanging from the edge of a cliff with no way of escaping but down. Just her. Alone.

"No, celebrations are also in order," said Tommy.

Ailsa frowned. She turned around to look at him, needing to see his face as well as seeking a break from the shitshow unravelling in front of her. And to think she'd thought Michael's news was bad.

"Our eldest sister is to be married."

"What?"

"I reached out to Mr Solomons with a proposal," the corner of Tommy's mouth ticked into a smirk. "And he's agreed. After this business with the Russians has been finalised, our Ailsa will be the new Mrs Solomons, uniting our families and our ideals as one."

Ailsa couldn't breathe. "And when were you going to ask me?"

Marriage. Ideally, what she'd always wanted. But Ailsa Shelby had already been married once before, and now he was gone too. Just like her mother. Just like her father. Did she love Alfie enough to dig him a grave alongside them?

How dare Thomas.

How dare Alfie.

Was she not a grown woman with her own mind?

"I'm not your puppet, I'm your sister," she exclaimed, her voice nearing a shout. "You need to learn the difference, Thomas. You can't just marry off every single member of this family whenever you fucking feel like it."

"Ails, it's done," was all that Tommy could say.

She had to get out of there, fast. And so she fled, ignoring Tommy calling her back and Arthur's burning gaze and the heavy set of Alfie's footsteps as he followed her. Ailsa could feel the walls closing in, her vision going dark. She was lost in the muddy waters of The Cut with no way up for air. Stuck searching for an oblivion she'd never find.

I see you, mum. But what do I do now?