CHAPTER FIVE:
DYING LIGHT

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MAYBE, IT WAS TIME for Helen to find a new pub to haunt. As it was, the Shelbys frequented the snug every other day, the closed-off door always leaving Helen with a foreboding feeling. That, and rumour had it the new barmaid, Grace, had successfully caught Thomas Shelby's eye. Everywhere she turned, people whispered about seeing them together. Sometimes, Helen even heard her own name muttered like some kind of curse.

Yes, that's her.

The Mavis lady.

Do you think she still loves him?

They do look awfully similar, Helen and that Grace girl—

Or maybe that was just Helen's heart warning her, taunting...

Her worst enemy yet.

The only one she'd lost to, time and time again.

Helen watched, her red-painted lips pursed in a thin line, as Grace left the snug with an empty tray and a giddy smile. No one was paying her attention for once; rather, the men were too busy drunkenly singing (shrieking) along to a tune lead by a woman sitting on the bar-top.

But Helen watched her, that Grace girl. And she recognised her smile, too.

Tommy Shelby, even before he became Small Heath's very own God among men, was a charmer when it came to women. Greta Jurossi had liked him during their school days, even said as much to Helen when Tommy started publicly courting her. Wherever Tommy went, a line of admirers followed, and now more than ever would be no different. Helen recognised Grace's smile because Tommy used to make her smile like that.

Jealousy was a green-eyed monster and Helen Mavis was ashamed to say she was its latest victim.

Yes, now was the perfect time for Helen to find a new pub to haunt. Tommy could see whoever he wanted. Let him marry Grace Burgess for all she cared. She just didn't want a front-row seat to their courtship, glutton for punishment or not.

She downed the last of her drink, slammed the empty glass down onto the table and shrugged on her coat, turning towards the door just as it swung open. In marched two unfamiliar men. Normally, Helen wouldn't have paid them any mind; she would've walked right by them without a second thought. But these particular men were different. Both held guns with the safety switched off, and Helen could tell they meant business.

The drunken crowd parted like the red sea.

The singing was quick to stop.

The door opened again, and—

"Holy shit," Helen heard Harry gasp from his place behind the bar. "It's Billy Kimber."

Now that was a name Helen recognised. And all she could think was holy shit, indeed.

What had Tommy done now?

"Is there any man here named Shelby?" No one answered. Kimber glared. Quicker than Helen could blink, he pulled a pistol from the pocket of his coat and shot a bullet into the roof. The singing lady screamed and fell from the bar-top. Helen ducked down with an erratically pounding heart. "I said, is there any man here named Shelby!"

The snug door opened. Tommy, calm-and-collected as ever, merely watched Kimber watching him for a moment. Then, with a glowering Arthur and John flanking him, he stepped out like he had all the time in the world. Helen used to admire this kind of confidence. Now, she couldn't help but think he was stupid for playing with fire so much.

Eventually, someone was going to get burnt.

"Harry, get these men a drink. Everyone else, go home!"

That was more than enough for her. Drawing her coat around her, Helen caught Tommy's eyes for only a second as she made her way over to the door. The glance was fleeting, gone before Helen could be certain she wasn't seeing things, but she could've sworn that, for just a moment, he looked alarmed to see her there. Like he hadn't thought of her place in his plans until it was too late.

Helen kept her head bowed as she moved past Kimber and his men. Three pairs of leering eyes immediately turned to follow her, keenly noticing one of the only women leaving a male-dominated bar. Helen only allowed herself to breathe out when the door slammed shut behind her and none of the three had said or done anything.

She certainly hadn't missed that about the gangster life.

For most of the walk home, Helen's heart raced until she could hear her blood thrumming in her ears like an out-of-tune guitar. She looked over her shoulder at every turn, not sure what she expected to see in the quiet evening streets. Watery Lane was just around the corner, no one was around, and yet she felt... watched. She glanced behind her again, fruitlessly scanning the emptiness, and then—

Helen let out a shriek as her body collided with what felt like a wall yet certainly wasn't one. Her mind flashed to Inspector Campbell and his men cornering in the alley not too far away. Please, just let this be a wall. But Helen knew no walls that could talk, or reach down to help her up from the ground, or...

Look even remotely attractive compared to the handsome man who was now staring at her in concern. His eyes were an alarmingly bright shade of green. Sharp and glittering like freshly cut emeralds. Helen had never seen eyes so green before. She'd always been a sucker for blue eyes, so much so that she never even thought to pay attention to any other colour, to ponder the beauty of them...

"Are you alright, Miss?" he asked, and Helen's heart leapt — quite literally skipped a beat or three — as his hand grabbed hold of hers. His accent was soft, a Londoner maybe though definitely not born and raised there, and my God... Helen had never felt this way about a stranger, ever. Not since... well...

"Miss? Can you hear me? Are you alright?"

"Y-yes," she forced her lips to move, and in her head, she scolded herself for being so pathetic. Helen Mavis didn't stutter over men. But this man was very, very handsome, she would've been a fool not to admit it. And he didn't look much older than her, maybe in his early forties at the oldest. Not that it mattered to her, of course. "Sorry. I'm alright, you just surprised me. I thought no one was around."

"So did I," he chuckled. He had an attractive laugh, but Helen had expected that. "I'm Patrick."

Patrick.

Helen didn't know any Patricks in Small Heath that looked quite like this man. There was old man Patty who ran a bakery on the other side of town, and Patrick O'Connor who drank his life away at the Marquis of Lorne.

Then he really must've been new.

"I haven't seen you around here before," she commented to test the waters; then, because she couldn't quite resist, "I think I'd remember a face like yours."

Tommy would've smirked at a remark like that, but Patrick merely smiled. "I came to visit a relative," he responded, and something uneasy flashed across his face. Gone before Helen could truly notice it enough to doubt him. "I live in London."

She knew she recognised his accent.

"Well, you're far from home."

"Maybe, but I'm thinking I might stick around for a bit. See what Small Heath has to offer."

Helen grinned. She wasn't sure what possessed her on that day, to go from a paranoid fool watching over her shoulder at every corner to a love-struck fool the next — and for someone she had never met, no less. But Patrick was kind, and she liked the way he smiled at her; for the moment, he was untouched by Small Heath's darkness — different, opposite Tommy in every way, but interesting nonetheless.

"Then you'll need a tour guide if you're going to be here for a while," she said, not that there was much she could've shown him, but he didn't need to know that.

At last, the smallest of smirks tugged at Patrick's lips. "Oh? Are you offering, Miss...?"

"Nel," she answered his silent question. "You can call me Nel."

"Well, Nel, if I'm right and you are offering to be my tour guide." He ran a hand through his hair which, in the dying light of the evening, was a dark shade of auburn caught somewhere between red and brown. Helen liked the colour. "Then I graciously accept."

"Good," she nodded. "How about tomorrow then?"

"So soon?"

"There's no time like the present," she shrugged, and Patrick stared at her for a moment, like he had to pause for a moment to ask himself what on earth he was agreeing to.

"I like your attitude, Nel," he spoke at last. "Where do you suggest we meet?"

Five minutes later, Helen was closing her front door behind her after bidding Patrick a warm goodbye. She'd given him the directions to The Garrison, with both of them agreeing that 10am would be a suitable meeting time, neither too early or too late in the morning to make the most of the rest of the day. For the first time in a long time, Helen felt like electricity was thrumming through her veins. As she moved, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror above the mantle and paused her again. Flushed cheeks, a glimmer in her eye, and she couldn't wipe the smile from her face.

Helen felt... alive.

It was hard to put into words.

But if she had to try, then...

She was like a girl brought back from the brink of death; eager to savour what she had.

Helen slept easy that night, if not with a sense of hope for what the next day would bring her.

Maybe, just maybe, she wouldn't have to find a new pub to haunt after all.

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"WHAT ARE YOU DOING here?" the woman hissed with a convoluted sense of fury in her voice. "I thought you were going to leave for London this morning. You promised—"

"Well, I changed my mind," the man shrugged, a cigarette perched between his lips. He didn't seem bothered by the woman's rage; rather, he was amused, if not a bit annoyed by her persistence. "I'm meeting someone here instead. Think I might stay in town for a while."

"Oh, so you're not spying on me?"

The man huffed out a laugh at the irony. "Not everything is about you."

"Well, who's this 'someone' you're meeting then? I didn't realise you had so many friends here."

The woman got her answer when the door to the pub opened just a few minutes later. In stepped someone the woman immediately recognised; a lady dressed in her finest day dress and coat, her blonde hair pinned up by a beautiful golden pin, lips painted with her favourite shade of red.

"Nel," Patrick smiled, quickly putting out his cigarette so that he could kiss Helen's hand in greeting. "You look lovely today."

"I didn't look lovely yesterday then?" Helen rebuked, though her smile was enough of an indication that she was only teasing him. "Thank you, Patrick."

"Should we get going then?" he asked, seeing no point in them lingering. "To wherever it is you're taking me, that is."

Helen huffed out a laugh at that. "You make it sound like I'm kidnapping you. But yes, we should get a move on."

Meanwhile, at the other end of the bar, Grace had her back to them and was yet to notice Helen's arrival. But she was watching Thomas' face closely, so of course she was confused when his eyes continued to dart over her shoulder the longer their conversation dragged. Eventually, she turned to follow his gaze and frowned, their conversation suddenly falling silent as the two of them watched Helen laugh at something that Patrick said.

"Tommy?" Grace prompted him, hating the ugly feeling festering in her chest.

Jealousy was a green eyed monster, though Grace Burgess was far too proud to admit she was its latest victim.

Tommy's eyes met hers. They were colder than before, seeming haunted now, or maybe just furious. Grace was sure he would've left the snug and beat Helen's new man black and blue if he didn't have prior commitments. "It's not me you're dressing up for," he snapped, and all-but slammed the snug door in her face.

Helen didn't notice the interaction. She didn't even realise Tommy was in the snug, for not once had she found a reason to glance at the closed-off door. Instead, she placed her hand in the crook of Patrick's arm and allowed him to lead her outside.

Away from Tommy Shelby and into a whole new realm of possibility.

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INTRODUCING. . .

SAM HEUGHAN
as PATRICK GODFREY
❝Oh? Are you offering, Miss...?❞

A/N: I'm so excited to introduce Patrick Godfrey to everyone! He's going to play a major role in Helen's story for the next few seasons, so I hope y'all like him 'cause he's sticking around lol. Also, before anyone comments it, I know that Sam Heughan has blue eyes, but when I created Patrick, Sam was the only person I could picture him as. So just imagine Sam with green eyes if you're that bothered by the difference. Anyways, thank you so much for reading! I'm hoping to fly through the rest of season one now that I've figured out how to introduce Patrick. Any guesses who he was speaking to before Helen arrived at The Garrison? Hopefully, I'll have the next chapter out soon. But until then, here's some gifs I made for Nel and Patrick: