CHAPTER TWELVE:
HOLLOW HOUSE

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HELEN WAS ONE OF the first to leave the church. As soon as Jeramiah Jesus declared Tommy and Grace to be husband and wife, their union sealed with one damning kiss, Helen had bundled James into her arms and rushed for the doors. She heard Patrick sigh her name, indignant despite his wife's simmering anger, but the sound was lost in the excited chatter erupting from the Shelby side of the room. They swarmed Tommy and Grace the second the couple parted, smothering them in congratulations that made Helen feel sick. So she clung to James like a buoy in the ocean. Chin barely skimming the surface, she could feel the water consuming her. It clogged her lungs like a wet sponge, weighed down by misery and that ever-persisting sting of fury. It lingered even then, lying in wait for when Patrick inevitably tried to beseech her.

For now, she would play her part. Helen Godfrey was a woman first and foremost. She had suffered through pain much worse than this. She had seen the world at its darkest. She would not be knocked down by Tommy and Grace like everything else meant nothing.

Or so she hoped.

But hoping and believing were two very different things.

"Helen, please."

It was hard to pretend when Patrick couldn't take a bloody hint. He sought her out as the Shelbys gathered on the church steps for their photo to be taken by the official photographer. Grace was a vision of beauty in her lavender dress, glowing as she hung on Tommy's arm like a freshly picked rose. Helen tried not to look at her and unfortunately succeeded when Patrick stubbornly blocked her view.

"Nel," he spoke through gritted teeth, pausing to grin at the members of the Burgess family he recognised like nothing was the matter. He shook hands and kissed the knuckles of finely dressed women without a care in the world. His expression was quick to drop, however, when his hand grazed hers and she lurched back as if fire licked at her heels. Patrick's eyes narrowed. He hissed under his breath, "You can't ignore me, Helen."

"Watch me," she scoffed, holding her head high despite the tremble of her lower lip.

Patrick took another step forward and, once again, Helen evaded him. "Would you just hear me out?"

"Not here," she snapped back, lowering James so he was standing in front of her legs like a shield. He seemed eager to play, eyeing Johnny Dog's boisterous brood with childish curiosity, but Helen wasn't quite ready to release him yet. Who could she deflect to then but Patrick? He'd have her cornered and her anger would deflate like a popped balloon. "I won't argue with you in front of our son."

Patrick pursed his lips but said nothing else. He was staring at someone through the crowd now, fingernails digging for blood in the skin of his palms. Blue eyes looked back with vague disinterest, through they lingered on Helen's face as, at long last, Tommy Shelby's heart stumbled upon hers. He seemed to find her by accident, and Helen wasn't sure what else she'd expected from him. She would've taken any emotion, good or bad, over the distant echo of emptiness.

Helen tried her best to smile. By the end of the night, she was sure she'd be perfect at it. She'd smile until her teeth rotted, until her heart atrophied with every raw beat. She even laughed along with the Lee girls as they fought over the delicate bouquet Grace had thrown over her shoulder. It seemed to hang in the air as time paused, then landed in the hands of someone who reminded Helen somewhat of Esme. Perhaps one of her sisters, for her lips curled in a delighted grin as she waved the bouqet in Esme's direction.

At last, the time came to leave the blasted church behind. Helen didn't hesitate to take James' hand in hers, already turning in the direction of the car so she didn't have to watch Tommy guide Grace to their carriage. A moment later, she heard the sound of hoof beats against the cobblestone. From the heart of the Shelby crowd, Arthur shouted, "Alright, all of ya, back to the house!" and the Shelby side cheered in response.

"They're a rowdy bunch, that's for sure," Patrick chuckled as he lead the way back to the car. He had a cigarette perched between his lips which Helen eyed. She longed for the sting of smoke in her lungs. That moment where the fog captured her senses and the breath that followed felt weightless. But she declined when Patrick noticed and offered it to her, helping James into the seat first while frowning over the roof at Patrick.

"There's nothing wrong with a bit of rowdiness," she muttered, to which he sighed.

"I never said there was."

The silence returned. It swallowed them whole as Helen slammed the door shut behind her and Patrick roused the engine. Fortunately for them and the oblivious nature of their son, it wasn't hard to find where Tommy and Grace lived. It was just down the road, a grand property when compared to the memory of Watery Lane. It took several minutes for the line of cars and carriages to move from the iron gates to the other side of the rich green lawn. The manor itself, Helen keenly noticed, was as desolate as Tommy's heart.

Of course, this meant Patrick loved it.

Out of spite, Helen chose to hate it.

She eyed the foyer crammed with dancing bodies with a strange, hollowed-out ache in her stomach. Like she wasn't really present in her own body, but a wax figure with no bones beneath. Like the music that blared from the gramaphone, travelling up the winding stairs behind Grace and a bouncing baby boy with blue eyes and blonde hair was nothing but a whisper. She released James under Patrick's care with a soft murmur of "I need a drink."

But gin was the last thing on her mind when she turned and slammed into Polly Gray's back.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't watching where I was going--"

"Helen?" It wasn't a question, but it surprised her that Polly was so shocked to see her there. She gaped at Helen like she was a ghost; just as quickly, like a switch had been flicked, she placed a hand on Helen's growing stomach, scanned the crowd for Patrick and James, then smiled. "I knew we hadn't seen the last of you."

"You're as enigmatic as I remembered, Polly Gray," Helen managed a smile of her own. "I missed you."

The truth of it hit her hard. She hadn't expected it, but in the times where she wasn't thinking of Tommy, Helen's mind would wander to his aunt. She'd catch herself thinking 'what would Polly think of the decisions I've made?' Now, she'd know.

"I told you to keep your options open," Polly murmured. She kneeled down just in time for James to run up to his mum. He was rambling something about a boy named Karl, gesturing to where Patrick had accidentally bumped into Ada and a blonde woman Helen didn't recognise.

"Mama, can I please play in the yard?" James' soft voice dragged her gaze back to her son.

"Such a polite boy," Polly commented. She smiled when James turned to peer at her, eyes glinting like sea foam in the warm yellow light of the chandelier. "What's your name?"

James turned to Helen as if seeking her permission to answer. She nudged him forward with a whispered, "Go on." For a moment, her sorrow warred with pride as James offered Polly his little hand just as they'd been practicing.

"I'm James..."

"Oh, you can call me Aunt Pol," she said when he hesitated. "Your mum and I are old friends. And that boy--" She gestured to Karl, who had sought out John's kids to play in the yard with them. "He's my nephew."

"May I go play, Mama?" James was practically bursting at the seams with renewed excitement.

Helen offered an indulgent nod. "But ask Da to go with you."

She'd barely gotten the words out before James took off. She watched him until he'd safely returned to Patrick's side, nodding once when Ada caught her eye, then turned back to Polly with a hammering heart.

"You look good, Nel," Polly declared.

In her own way, she too was proud. Helen wished she could deny it. She wanted to linger in her sorrow for a while longer. But Nel Mavis would've been properly pleased by a compliment from Tommy's fearsome aunt. Helen Godfrey... she was a different person. She wished they were one and the same.

"Tell me what's happened while I've been gone," she requested, fixing a blonde curl behind her ear. She accepted the glass of gin Polly had snatched from a nearby maid's tray, clinking her glass with Polly's before swallowing a tiny sip. She knew she couldn't drink in large amounts, but she needed something to take the edge off. "Who's the lady with Ada?"

Polly followed Helen's gaze and scoffed. "That's Linda, Arthur's wife."

"Arthur has a wife?" Helen blinked. She never thought she'd see the day. "How much did he pay her to agree?"

Polly's lips quirked over the rim of her glass. "Linda's a devout Christian, Nel. She'd never stoop so low."

"And yet..."

"She seems to think she can change him," Polly answered Helen's trailing question. "Arthur tries, but he hasn't changed since you saw him last." Polly drew a heavy, lingering sigh. "The Shelby men and God have a complicated relationship."

"Trust me, I know," Helen mumbled just as she found Esme and John in the crowd. Esme had a hand rested protectively on her stomach as John spun her around, cackling when he whispered something that could only be suggestive in her ear. "What about John and Esme? I see Esme is pregnant. Is it their first child together?"

Polly shook her head and Helen's heart panged. "Of course not," Polly chuckled at the thought. "It's their second. A girl, if my suspicions are correct." Helen was sure they would be, but she didn't need to say so. Polly Gray was a woman who was sure of herself. Instead, she sipped her gin beneath the weight of Polly's stare. "You should come for tea sometime. We can catch up. There are some things that just aren't appropriate to speak of at a wedding."

Helen hesitated but only for a second. She pushed her shoulders back, accepting Polly's invitation with a gracious smile. "I'd love to. Perhaps I can bring James, if he likes the children's company so much. He's a lonely boy, with mine and Patrick's family so far away."

"Well, he'll always have family here," Polly said firmly before she downed the last of her glass. "And you. Just in case you need the reminder."

If Polly had said such a thing just a day earlier, Helen would've laughed in her face. A knee-jerk reaction for sure, but the idea of being Tommy's family even by proxy was maddening.

Then again, she was standing in the foyer of his house... on his wedding day... and his bride was none other than her husband's cousin...

So maybe Helen was already mad.

Maybe it was time to accept fate and move on.

(But hadn't she already moved on? Whatever game they were playing, Helen was tired.)

"I should go check on Patrick and James," she muttered, edging away before Polly could stop her. "Thank you for the offer. I'll let you know when I'm free."

If ever, she thought to herself, a frown forming on her face when she spotted Ada leading Karl over to Arthur and who Helen now knew to be Linda. For a second, Helen wondered on Freddie's absence, then decided she didn't want to know. Tearing her gaze away, she was just pondering where Patrick and James might've gotten to when she spied a flash of lavender in her periphery.

Grace.

She was kneeling in front of James. Her son. Beaming at him as the little boy reached out and hugged her. Patrick placed a hand on James' shoulder as he made idle conversation with none other than Tommy Shelby himself. The two men seemed to spot Helen at the same time.

"Nel," Patrick waved her closer, his smile tentative.

If there was any chance her heart had softened for him in the time she spent talking with Polly, it sure as hell had been lost. The world dimmed as the distance closed between them, splattered like paint on a blank canvas. With every step, the foyer disappeared until Helen's feet had lead her towards James. She scooped him into her arms, relieved when he rested his head on her shoulder and sighed in a state of peace, of trust. Her son.

"Nel, you remember Grace?" Patrick was careful not to mention Tommy as he gestured to his cousin. "Grace is the daughter of my dad's sister."

"How could I forget?"

But Helen was no longer thinking of Grace or of Patrick. She only had eyes for Tommy. And in her heart of hearts, there were things she could never forget, things that enforced the fact that moving on was a lie she told like gospel. Perhaps that made her a terrible person, but Helen would forever remain hooked on a memory in one way or another. Even if that memory was a ghost of a ghost. There was just no more room for guilt.

If you asked me to marry you again, I'd say yes.

Fate was truly fucking twisted.