CHAPTER EIGHTEEN:
LIES TO KEEP

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HELEN SAT IN SILENCE. Head bowed to the cross, hands folded in front of her. Her eyes were closed but her mind was racing in spite of her motionless body, thoughts straying from the prayer she whispered out of muscle memory.

Our father, who art in heaven.

She was quick to rouse at the harsh sound of a new arrival and the door slamming shut. She turned, as the others did, her hands falling, to witness Polly Gray entering the church. The people who took up the pews opposite Helen gazed at her as though she was God's right hand woman. An angel who wore a spotted grey trench coat and a long black dress as though she was in mourning. Her eyes were hidden behind a pair of dark-tinted sunglasses, but from the stagger in her footsteps, Helen had no doubt that she'd been drinking.

The priest paused to gaze at her, blank-faced but with his lips pressed into a thin, telling line.

"I wish to confess," she announced while striding towards the confessional booths. She didn't wait for an answer.

Father frowned. "There's no confessional today--"

"The name's Shelby."

The corner of Helen's mouth twitched upward into a smirk just as Polly recognised her. The older woman arched an eyebrow, dipping her chin and slurring her name before swinging open the booth door. "Helen."

"Pol."

The door swung shut.

Father hesitated for a second longer before following her, head bowed to his fate. As the silence returned, Helen let her eyes flutter shut. Tommy greeted her in the shadows behind her eyelids, calling to her, one hand around her neck like the noose she often struggled to escape. He cradled Helen to him like a wolf with sheep's fur clumped between its teeth. She lost herself in him, failing to focus when the others retreated from the church; soon, it was just her, the familiarity of God's distant eyes, and the confessional booths where sins were exchanged as secrets.

Just as quickly as that booth door swung shut, it reared open and Polly came storming out. She was quick to press her glasses back onto her face as light poured in from the stained glass windows, though Helen was certain she caught a glimpse of Polly's miserable teary eyes before she hid them away. Without thinking, Helen called her name.

Polly didn't look back, simply replying, "Come."

Helen obeyed, gathering up Tommy's coat -- her coat now -- in her arms before chasing after her. Father emerged into the aisle where he stood and watched the two opposing women depart with a shadow passing across the weathered lines of his face. What could Polly have possibly told him to make him look so concerned?

The cold streets greeted them with a harsh gust of wind. Helen shrugged on her coat, barely managing to puff on her cigarette between each of her shallow breaths. Her stomach was even bigger now, quickly expanding by the day. Before she knew it, she'd have two children to contend with. It was hard enough with just one.

She shuddered away her concern, offering her hand to Polly. "Want one?"

"Please," she nodded, then snatched the cigarette away once Helen had offered it to her.

"Do you want to talk about--"

"No."

"Alright," Helen muttered. "No talking then."

They moved forward in silence for a few minutes. It was a wonder that Polly was managing to walk in a straight line. Helen could smell the whiskey that stained her breath. What was she trying to find at the bottom of every bottle?

"Are you alright, Pol?" she asked before she could think twice. Polly glowered at her. "Lie to me if you want, but someone needed to ask."

Just when she thought Polly would continue to ignore her, the older woman let out a sigh. "There's blood on my hands, Helen." She gazed down at Helen's own fingertips as they hovered subconsciously over her stomach. The ghosts in her head whispered, encouraging her to share their thoughts aloud. "Yours too. And there's only more to come."

Helen's brows furrowed. She didn't get a chance to question her, though. For they had turned onto Watery Lane and Polly was leading the way into Number 6. Her handbag swung on her arm like the ticking arm of a grandfather clock, nearly knocking an empty bottle of whiskey off the table in the dining room. She steadied it just in time before pushing open the green doors and staggering into the Betting Den. Helen followed her, first spotting Esme -- who was also heavily pregnant -- sitting at the table covered in coins and papers, then Lizzie Stark standing a few feet away with her back to them. She turned at the sound of Polly's heels, something strange crossing her face when she realised she wasn't alone.

"Listening to the mugs swearing, spitting on the bloody floor for us to fucking wipe up! Without men here, they'd be like dogs pissing up the wall," Esme was complaining in a loud voice. She raised an eyebrow when she spotted Helen, some of the bitterness in her expression waning when her gaze landed on Helen's bump. "I was just saying it's not fair. The men are down there like lords."

"So nothing out of the ordinary then," Helen commented with a grimace. "May I sit? Baby's driving me mad."

Esme waved a hand at the chair next to her, opposite where Lizzie was now writing in a book, her keen-eyed stare refusing to wander from each word. Surely she could feel Helen watching her, yet perplexingly she couldn't bring herself to acknowledge her. Helen wasn't sure whether to find this upsetting or not.

"It shouldn't be ordinary," Esme huffed in reference to Helen's earlier statement. "There should be--"

"Esme, just... get on with it," Polly grumbled as she emerged from her office blowing her nose. She was entirely disinterested in what Esme had to say. In fact, she seemed to have forgotten she'd invited Helen to come with her as she stumbled off into the corner where they kept their money.

Esme glared at her back. "I'm bloody five months gone," she exclaimed, reaching into the pocket of her cardigan for a little blue vial. She tipped some of the white powder inside onto the edge of her hand and sniffed it up eagerly, reminding Helen of a bloodhound. Letting out a content sigh, she turned to Helen next. "You want some?"

Helen shook her head. "I'm alright."

Esme shrugged, as if to say 'suit yourself.' "Don't know how you're sober right now, Nel. You're as far along as me, I'd say."

Polly cut them off with a frustrated groan. "Forgot the combination," she called out, her head pressed to the big metal door of the safe.

Lizzie spoke for the first time since Helen and Polly arrived. "24-8-22."

Esme and Polly both stopped to stare at her. Helen frowned, that odd feeling returning tenfold.

"How do you know the paper cash combination?" Polly asked -- no, accused.

Esme snorted, muttering under her breath, "Tommy talks in his sleep."

"Shut up, Esme," Lizzie snapped, but the damage was already done.

Helen's head had snapped up sharply. She felt faint all of a sudden, like someone had smacked something heavy into the back of her skull and she was only just coming to. Now more than before, Lizzie couldn't bring herself to look at her. Esme winced in Helen's direction but she paid no attention to the silent, if not a bit half-hearted, apology.

Helen only wanted to know one thing. How long had Tommy been fucking Lizzie?

She had known of their affairs in his time after the war. Everybody bloody knew. He was her top-paying client by any means. But since Lizzie had left that lifestyle behind for a job in the company -- in the time that Helen was in London, so easily a year or two ago -- she had assumed Tommy simply paid her for menial reasons, not sexual.

That was if he paid her anymore. Maybe there was more to it now. Feeling. The highest of prices to pay.

Helen couldn't help it. She was furious, incredibly so.

And it was obvious why.

(Fuck.)

Polly slammed her hand against the door. "He's changed the combination!"

Looking for any excuse to escape Helen's suddenly pale complexion, Lizzie rushed over to help her. Esme watched her go, holding out the little blue vial again while the two women argued.

"You sure you don't need some now?"

Helen shot her a pointed look, prompting her to raise her hands in surrender. Moments later, Lizzie returned to the table. There was a faint tremor that shook her hands as she rifled through her papers. The silence was deafening as she sighed and bowed her head.

"And actually, I am sleeping with Tommy, okay? Now and then, when the mood takes him," she said. "Except we don't sleep. It's hard to sleep bent over a desk, isn't it?"

Helen pushed to her feet. Polly turned to look at her, up to her armpits in stacks of cash. Helen didn't even want to know why she needed it. She didn't care to stick around hearing Lizzie's words on a loop in her head.

First Grace, now Lizzie. Helen was finding it harder to compete for Tommy's affections. Did she truly want this for herself, an endless circle of insecurities and doubt only fleetingly satiated with a quick tryst and a few pleasantries? Maybe there was too much history for her to keep going there. Maybe she made the wrong decision (of course, there were no surprises there.)

"I just remembered I have somewhere to be," she said, which wasn't entirely a lie. Mrs Scott had James with her for the morning while Helen went to Church. She was minding him until lunch, also giving Helen time to shop at the market for groceries, but she'd gotten distracted by Polly's frenzied state and ended up in the last place she wanted to be instead. "Polly, you and I should catch up another time."

"Right," Polly blinked at her, and Helen had no doubt she'd forgotten why she even invited Helen over in the first place. She mightn't have had a reason at all. Maybe she just didn't want to be alone as her secrets chased her out of God's house.

"Esme," Helen hastily nodded at the others. "Lizzie. Lovely to see you."

"Helen, wait--"

But she was already gone, disappearing through the green doors and fleeing out of the kitchen. She needed air, even for the second it would take to cross the street to retrieve James. Surely that would be enough to compose herself.

"Breathe, Nel," she muttered to herself, pushing a hand against her chest. "You're being foolish."

"Helen, please."

Her eyes fluttered shut as Lizzie's hand caught around her wrist. For a moment, the two women stayed that way, with Helen's back to Lizzie. Both suspended in time, fearing the moment she turned and honesty became a requirement, not a false promise.

Helen shook her hand away, spinning around. It was Lizzie who was pale now. All of a sudden, she didn't know what to say. They weren't friends. They were barely acquaintances. If Lizzie was a cruel woman, she'd feel no remorse for the pain she had clearly caused Helen. But that was the problem. She did feel. Not just for Helen, but for Tommy too.

"If it's any consolation, I didn't know he's been... seeing you too."

Helen clenched her jaw. At the very least, Lizzie Stark was upfront, if not a little forward.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, please," Lizzie scoffed, her breath lingering in the cold breeze. She folded her arms across her chest like a shield. "There's been rumours, Helen, and he's come into the office lately smelling like your perfume. I don't want to have bad blood with you."

"There's no bad blood," she said, letting out a sigh. "Whatever you've heard, Tommy isn't like that with me. We're only friends."

Lizzie gave her a bitter but understanding smile. "I don't think Tommy knows how to befriend a woman."

"No," Helen conceded. Her own smile was sad. "You're not wrong."

For a while, the two women stood in silence, taking in the plain morning. There were a few children playing on the other end of the street. Of course, Helen didn't miss the presence of the Peaky Blinders as they patrolled the block around the heart of the Shelby business. When Lizzie reached into her pocket and offered her a cigarette, Helen saw no reason not to accept. They understood each other now. No matter how much it maimed their hearts to admit it.

"I haven't seen him for a while," Lizzie murmured, waving the haze of smoke from her face. She was rather pretty up close. Dark hair, hooded eyes, pale skin marked with worry lines. The opposite of Grace, in some ways. The opposite of Helen too. "Around the time the rumours started about you both, he stopped visiting me."

Helen swallowed around the sudden lump in her throat. "Do you love him, Lizzie?"

"No." Helen scanned her face for a sign she was lying and came up empty. She was surprised to say she believed her. "He hasn't let me close enough to love him. And as long as you're in the picture, I don't think he ever will."

"He's just lost his wife."

"And you've lost your husband," Lizzie raised an eyebrow at her. "Your point?"

They smoked their cigarettes until they were nothing but embers. When the breeze picked up and rain began to drizzle into the already damp gutters, Lizzie wrapped her cardigan tighter around her and reached for the front door.

"You should come 'round more often," she said.

Helen's eyes glinted. She stood a step out into the rain, grateful for her coat with its high collar. Her smile was teasing. "You want us to be friends, Lizzie?"

Lizzie huffed. "Yes, but I'm not fucking you, Nel. We can have tea, or whatever the fuck those classy snobs like to fill their cups with."

"How disappointing," Helen said, then laughed. "I'm sure I can find the time."

"You know, we could use your help in the next hour if you're free," she continued, glancing with distaste at a group of drunken men rounding the corner. They were swaying like they were ten whiskeys deep, counting their coins and loudly discussing what horses they believed would win this week. "The men are out on a piss-up but the bets don't stop coming."

"And the women don't stop working," Helen hummed to herself. Lizzie nodded. "I wasn't lying when I said I have somewhere to be, but let me see what I can do. Give me a minute?"

"I'll give you five before the line reaches the end of the road," Lizzie grumbled as men started to arrive from all angles. She stepped back into the hallway, preparing to slam the door in their faces if they tried to push their way through. Everybody knew when the Shelby men were out and some of the men, the ones who looked down on the women, liked to try their luck with things they wouldn't normally get away with. "Try not to get mauled on the way back through."

With that, the door clicked shut and the inebriated group from before all started to groan their complaints. Helen crossed the street to knock on Mrs Scott's door, wondering what it was she was getting herself into.