CHAPTER FOUR:
LIFEFORMS

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1916

THE TEARS RAN A river down her face as Ailsa clutched the crumpled piece of paper against her chest. She cried like a pining dog, with the strained, strung whimper of abandonment. No. This wasn't supposed to happen. Not to her Henry. He was supposed to come back. She was supposed to greet him at the train station; she could see it clear as day playing out in her head. She'd perfected this moment down to every last detail. It would be the catalyst of their relationship. His beaming smile as Faith leapt into his arms. How he'd cradle their daughter close, relearn the sound of her voice, her laughter, her happiness. He'd look up at Ailsa who would already be watching them, and he'd hold out his arm for her to join their little family. Just the three of them against the world. His mouth would find hers, whispering, I'm home. We've got the rest of our lives together, my love.

He wasn't supposed to die.

Killed in action... The Somme... November 15th, 1916... Please inform deceased's wife, Mrs Ailsa Buchanan, of Number 6 Watery Lane...

The words were so senseless, as if they meant nothing. They meant everything to her but there wasn't anything of sustenance to them. How did he die? Was he thinking of his wife and daughter at home, living on obliviously for weeks with no letters from him? How did her heart not feel the agony of his own being ripped from the Earth? She loved him, didn't she?

Oh, God.

"Please," she tried to hand the piece of paper back to the stone-faced messenger, who had surely gotten used to the tears and screaming of grieving loved ones. He'd done this for years, right? He'd forgotten how to love, right? Surely he wouldn't do this to her. He'd retract this news and all would be well. He'd take pity on the woman who had everything to lose. "Please, take it back."

"I'm sorry, Mrs Buchanan."

No, no, no.

She wanted to rip the paper in two. She wanted to frame it, to memorise it, to never forget it. There would be no body. He would never come home even in death. This was the last of him, a fucking telegram. A piece of paper to end a life barely lived.

They were going to have more children, a whole brood of them. They'd fill her childhood home with the love and laughter that was notably absent the older Ailsa became. Her brothers would come home and take up the houses next door. Ailsa had planned this, too. Everything would be alright. It had to be.

"Ails," she heard Polly calling from the kitchen. "Who's at the door?"

If anything, Ailsa's wailing grew louder in answer to her aunt. Help me. Take my heart from my chest, please. I don't want to feel like this. Oh, Lord, take me with him.

"Oh," Polly clapped a hand over her mouth as she took in the scene before her. "Oh, no. Who..."

Was it Tommy? Arthur? John? They had so many men off fighting, putting their lives on the line for their country. Any one of them could've been killed.

"Henry," Ailsa said his name like a prayer. "Henry. Oh, Aunt Pol. I can't-"

Polly's arms were around her. She was saying something to the young man on their doorstep. Ailsa's head was spinning. The paper slipped from her shaking fingers and she dropped to her knees desperately to catch it, fear crawling up her spine in shivers. Polly followed her, smoothing her hair back from her face. A wide-eyed Faith peered around the kitchen door, struggling in the hold of her grim-faced Aunt Ada.

"What's wrong, mum?" she asked but Ailsa didn't truly hear her.

How did you tell an eight-year-old girl that her daddy wasn't coming home? He'd never see her grow up. He'd never see her fall in love or get married. He'd never meet their grandchildren or see her chase after her dreams. He'd miss out on so much. Ailsa would have to face it without him. There'd always be a part of her missing now.

She held the telegram to her face, the ink beginning to run. She thought the pain would never end, but it did. Time took it from her and it showed her that, while she may never find that part of her again, that part of her that Henry had nurtured to ruin, it would forever be buried in the muddy trenches of a French battlefield, but all was not entirely lost.

1924

"AILSA, LOVE, COME BACK."

"Fuck off, Alfie."

Her feet couldn't carry her fast enough. She contemplated running. Anything to get away from him, to stop him from touching her, from grabbing her wrist as he had just done so he could turn her around and look her in the eye, all the while Ailsa wanted to be sick. She wanted to slap him, to wipe that nonchalant expression from his face. She wanted to drag him in closer and hold on for dear life.

"Ails..."

"Do you love me, Alfie?"

He paused. "Do I fucking what?"

Her heart was in her throat, blocking her airways, stealing the breath from her lungs. She asked him again. Alfie's jaw locked, eyes narrowed. He stared at her like he'd never met her before. In that moment, in her brother's hallway, they became strangers.

"Of course I fucking love you," he snapped, rearing her back to the present. "Don't you ever doubt it, Ailsa."

"If you loved me, you wouldn't have... you wouldn't... you ambushed me, Alfie," she said, throwing her hands in the air. How to explain how she was feeling? "I'm not some insignificant clause in your bullshit deals with Tommy. John might've bowed to him, but I won't. I'm not going to marry someone I don't--"

"Don't what," he muttered when she suddenly trailed off. "What, you don't love me now, Ails? Is that it? You ashamed to be my wife?"

No. That wasn't it. Ailsa's blood roared in her veins like fire. Ringing in her ears. Making itself at home in her bones. She loved Alfie Solomons with everything in her. She hadn't loved anyone like that for a long time. But anger saw no reason. It overtook her, rendering her speechless as she watched, vacant from her present body, Alfie shake his head. He looked down, unable to bear the sight of her.

"I told him no at first, Ailsa," he said, voice raising. "I fucking told him no, but then I thought -- fuck, I might just do it. Not 'cause Tommy Shelby thinks he can tell me what to do, but because that woman is special, yeah. She's special. She deserves a ring and a husband and the whole shebang. That girl of hers deserves a dad. But what do I know, right? Clearly I got the wrong end of the stick."

"Alfie," her shoulders slumped. He was quiet now. Gone to a place in his mind where she couldn't find him. "I do love you."

"It's fine, Ails," he cut her off, already turning back to Tommy's office. Her brothers hadn't followed them but she knew they'd be listening. "I'll tell Tommy to shove it, alright?"

He was gone before she could reach for him, slamming that door behind him. Ailsa, shaking, spun around and continued down the corridor, but her feet weren't sure where to carry her anymore. Back to the kitchen where Michael was waiting? Up the stairs to Faith and Charlie? Back to Alfie, her heart on her sleeve? What could she say to him? I'm sorry, I love you, but not enough to bare my soul to you?

"Shit," she whispered, then moved towards the stairs.

She found Faith in the nursery. She was rocking a sleeping Charlie in her arms, humming a lullaby under her breath. Ailsa watched her, then knocked gently on the cracked-open door.

"Hi," she said, hating to rip that smile from her face. "Sorry, love, but we've got to go."

Faith sighed but she didn't protest as she carefully lowered Charlie down into his cot. The boy didn't stir, clutching her fingers in a tiny fist before letting her go.

When Faith joined her in the hallway, she frowned, looking confused. "Where's Alfie?"

"He's going to stay here for a bit," Ailsa said, struggling to keep her voice even. There was a dreadfully familiar stinging sensation behind her eyes. She blinked it away, conscious that Faith was already suspicious. "Your Uncle Tommy needs his help with something."

"Oh," was Faith's slow reply. "Will he be home for dinner, though? I wanted to make baked potatoes."

Ailsa reached out to tuck her daughter's hair back from her face. "We'll see, my love. He's very busy."

She was facing the consequences of her own actions. There was no one to blame but herself. Alfie was right. Faith needed a father and she was so close to having one again. No one would ever replace Henry, but the love he had for their daughter was rare and Alfie might've just rivalled it. She took that away. She acted too quickly. Why, why, why?

"What are we doing now, mum?" Faith asked once they were strapped into the car and driving down Arrow House's driveway. There was an ache in her chest that started to spread the second they turned out of the gates. It pulled her in two, stringing her along the road in pieces.

Ailsa thought about it for a second. "Why don't we visit Aunt Pol?"

Faith's eyes lit up and Ailsa knew she had made the right choice.

Besides, a selfish part of her hoped her aunt would have the answers. She always did before, so why not now? She'd know soon enough about Ailsa's indiscretions. Better to come from her mouth than a furious Arthur's, right?

Polly was waiting in the sitting room like she'd known to expect her, one knee crossed over the other, a finger of whiskey swirling around a glass. She greeted Faith with a hug and a warm kiss on the cheek, then urged her upstairs to find Finn. Afterwards, she tore her sharp-eyed gaze from her niece's retreating back to where Ailsa had hesitated to sit down with her. Polly's eyebrows arched towards her hairline. She sipped from her whiskey, expectant.

"Well?" she said when Ailsa remained quiet.

"Well, what?"

"Don't be daft," Polly scoffed. "Rumours spread fast in Small Heath. They always have. Tell me why you were spotted on the way to Arrow House in a car with Alfie Solomons. You, Alfie and Faith. One big happy family."

Ailsa sighed. Polly smirked. She poured her niece a drink of her own and watched as Ailsa downed it in one gulp.

"Arthur must be furious," she mused.

"He is," Ailsa said. "I never meant to hurt him. I never meant to hurt any of you."

Polly was silent at first. "What does it matter to me if you're sleeping with Alfie Solomons? It's women's business."

Ailsa merely looked at her, fretting.

"Unless it isn't just sleeping. Perhaps it's more. Perhaps you've gone and fallen for him."

Ailsa said nothing.

Polly leaned towards her, her face flashing with an emotion Ailsa couldn't place. Fear? Disappointment? Understanding? "Have you, Ailsa?"

Ailsa's voice was barely a whisper when she repeated herself. "I never meant to hurt any of you."

"Oh, Ails."

"It doesn't matter now. I've only gone and ruined everything." She held out her glass. Polly filled it up again, nodding thoughtfully. "Tommy made Alfie propose to me, or I thought he did. No. It was definitely Tommy's idea, yet Alfie seemed so disappointed when I denied him. I really think it's over between us."

"And that's not what you want? Do you want to be Ailsa Solomons?"

Ailsa's heart warmed. There was something about her name paired with Alfie's that sounded so right, like the natural way of things. She was Ailsa Shelby. Ailsa Buchanan. Ailsa Solomons. Ailsa. Her brother's sister. Alfie's wife. A woman in a man's world. Ailsa Solomons.

"I think so," she said.

"Then why are you here?"

Ailsa blinked, caught off guard. "To ask for your advice."

"But if you've already made up your mind, what good is my advice going to be?"

"I just - I had to get out of that God forsaken house," she bowed her head. "And Arthur's surely going to hate me."

"Then you shouldn't have sought out Alfie in the first place," shrugged Polly. Ailsa's stomach twisted. "Sweetheart, you have a good head on your shoulders. You're your mother's daughter in heart and in image. If you were truly concerned about Arthur, you never would've gone there with Alfie. Face the truth. You wanted Alfie and now you have him. I think the real decision you need to make is not if you want to marry him, but if you want to change your mind."

Family or love?

Love or family?

They were supposed to be one and the same. Ailsa could never choose.

"My girl, it's up to you now."

She stood up in a rush, glancing from the front door to the stairs. "Can you watch Faith?"

Polly nodded, calling her name just before she could close the door behind her. "God is always watching, Ailsa. He knows what your heart desires, no matter your choices. You'll never truly escape Him."

With that in mind, Ailsa returned to Arrow House, but her brother's car was no longer in the driveway, nor was Arthur's. Something cold settled in Ailsa's gut when she knocked and Frances answered.

"You've just missed them, Ms Shelby. Can I take a message?"

Ailsa forced herself to shake her head. "No, it's alright. I'll come back."

The housekeeper closed the door, allowing Ailsa a moment of privacy to sink onto the rough stone steps. She pulled her knees to her chest, breathing deeply, feeling the red string of fate tied to her ribcage pull and tug, threatening to tear the further Alfie dragged it away.

What would things be like when he returned? No, if. Once he was done with Tommy's bidding, he might not even come back to Birmingham. She'd spend forever chasing him through old haunts, pleading for one last chance at redemption.

I'll marry you, she had been ready to say. If it's not too late.

But maybe it was.

Maybe Ailsa had to reap what she'd sewn.

This was it, this empty feeling, a chasm in her heart scrubbed raw, waiting for half a heart that would never be hers again.