CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO:
SKIN AND BONES

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TIME TICKED BACK AND forth in tandem with the metronome on Tommy's desk, filling the otherwise silent room with anticipation. As Tommy closed the door, he took one look at Helen sitting at his desk, then at Alfie somewhere behind her, his back to the room as he stared out the window, and went straight for the decanter of whiskey on the sideboard.

"Good morning, Mr Solomons," he said while pouring himself a sizable amount.

"Yeah it is," answered Alfie without turning his head. "This is a nice little place you've got here, Thomas. What is it? A foreclosure of a gambling den for some poor young lord who you pumped full of opium in one of your casinos? Or is that just tittle-tattle?"

"Drink?" Tommy asked, ignoring him.

"No, I don't touch it mate, and both your lovely missus 'ere--" Finally, Alfie moved so he was standing beside Helen, though he was a little too close if Tommy's narrowed eyes glaring daggers at him had anything to say about it. "And your housekeeper said you're not allowed to drink. Mary, right? Well, Mary said you are suffering from so many injuries from your sporting life that your head is like some sort of smashed vase that has been stuck back together by a horse."

"Take a seat, Alfie," Tommy muttered.

He waited for him to comply, leaving the space beside Helen empty for Tommy to move into. With one hand planted on her shoulder and the other routinely switching between his whiskey and a cigarette, he commanded how this conversation would go. Opposite them now was Alfie, who stared shamelessly at Tommy's fingers pressing into Helen's skin, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He sat with wide-spread legs in one of the chairs Tommy kept for visitors, the taut muscles of his thighs pressing visibly against the fabric of his pants.

To the right of them, Charlie played with his bear in a world of his own, socked feet wriggling against the carpeted floor. Helen split her attention between the importance of Alfie's presence and the boy momentarily left to his own devices. Part of her wondered if she should've taken him back to Frances and James, just in case their meeting went disastrously wrong, but Tommy made sure to keep her where she was with another knowing squeeze of her shoulder.

"Word in London is that you can be found wandering the streets of Birmingham stark naked, throwing away money," Alfie remarked. "A view I'm sure you, Mrs Godfrey, love to appreciate, but the folk of Birmingham and by extension of London are rightfully alarmed. You talk to dead people. You believe that you are powerful enough to summon Jews of a very particular standing up to the gentile wilderness wherein you live in order for them to do your fucking bidding, mate."

"And still you came."

Alfie lifted his shoulders in a shrug. "Yeah, well, you know, I was passing, wasn't I?"

"Passing," Helen repeated with a sly smile. Holding out her hand, Tommy knew almost immediately what she was searching for, placing his cigarette between her thumb and forefinger. "Care to share what in Birmingham has your interest, Alfie?"

"No, I don't think I do," he shook his head.

Helen only laughed, leaning back into Tommy's touch as he spoke. "Do you know something, Alfie? This morning, I tried to read the paper and I realised that the only consequence of my terrible accident is that I now need glasses."

"Right," he said. "Well, I know a man who can make you a pair of these--" He fished around in the pockets of his coat until he found what he was looking for; a pair of round metal frames attached to a long gold chain. Each lens was made of thick glass and kept meticulously clean. "This man, yeah, he's a magician, mate. He's a magician. So not only will you be able to read your newspaper but you will also be able to see into the future."

Helen dipped her head back, blowing a ring of smoke into the air before she choked from the urge to laugh again.

"You find me amusing, Helen, but I know this, right, because he made this pair here for me. You don't have to worry about telling me what all this is about, do you, because I have already seen it." Tommy merely sipped from his whiskey, waiting for Alfie to lose the last of his patience. "You're fucking about with the Russians, isn't you, you silly boy?"

Alfie was waiting for a response but Tommy took his time finishing his drink, then he crossed the room to the velvet cord attached to the ceiling. Tugging on it twice, he returned faithfully to Helen's side where they'd face the incoming storm together.

They weren't able to hear it but on the opposite end of the house, in the underbelly of the kitchen where Tommy's brothers had made themselves at home, a bell would ring that normally summoned the servants. Just a few minutes later, there was a knock on the door and Michael stepped in first. He gave them both a curt nod in greeting before shooting Alfie a suspicious glare. Following close behind him was Johnny Dogs, who must've known already that Alfie was visiting, and then John and Arthur. As soon as he laid eyes on Alfie, who stood to greet him with his arms outstretched, Arthur's nostrils flared furiously and he spun for the door.

"Arthur, come here," Tommy called, forcing his brother to stop before he could disappear over the threshold.

"Shalom!" Alfie exclaimed with a devilish smile. "Arthur, shalom!" Before Arthur could smack him silly with his trembling fists, Alfie drew him into a very uncomfortable embrace then dragged him to sit beside him. "Come here. I owe you a little something, don't I? Look. I want you to know that whatever happened between us back then, that was business. It was just business, alright?"

Arthur didn't answer. He was barely managing to breathe through the anger that had consumed him so suddenly.

"I also want you to know that I have made my apologies via my own God for abusing a very 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." The metronome continued to tick. Tommy lit another cigarette. Arthur turned to him, missing the flash of glee that shone in Alfie's eyes. "I hear that you have allowed Jesus to come into your life. Eh?"

"Oh, you heard then," Arthur muttered, seemingly wondering how he came across this information. Was it his brother sharing his secrets? Helen, who he viewed as a sister, who used to live in London right on Alfie's doorstep?

"That's beautiful, that's wonderful, isn't it?" Alfie continued. "But I was wondering how does that work for you on a day-to-day considering your line of work, mate?"

Arthur and Tommy continued to stare each other down. Tommy remained elusive, tilting his head with a small sigh of impatience that Arthur seemed to take personally. Jaw clenching, he had to grunt out each word through gritted teeth, "Your apology is accepted."

"'Cause I hear you're a right fucking nuisance with it," Alfie chuckled. Arthur inhaled sharply, reaching for the glass ashtray on the side table. Alfie raised his hands in surrender but he wasn't ready to concede defeat. "You see, all I am saying is that every man, he craves certainty, doesn't he? He craves a certainty, even if that certainty of yours, right, is fucking fanciful, mate."

Helen was beginning to wonder if she should've listened to her gut. Charlie had dragged himself onto his feet, balancing his tiny body with his hands on the unlit grate of the fireplace. His string of incoherent babbling followed by the innocent sound of childish laughter took the wind out of Arthur's sails. He watched Helen shoot out of her seat to wrap Charlie up in her arms and let the ashtray fall back onto the table with a clatter.

His nose almost touching Alfie's, he hissed, "I'm Old Testament."

"Fucking fell," Alfie laughed. "Look at that. That scares me more. Congratulations, Tommy, you now have the finished article right here. See, this man, he will murder and maim for you with God on his side. You don't wanna let him go."

Helen rested Charlie on her hip, rocking him back and forth to quiet him. She kept out of Arthur's way; even though his shoulders had slackened, she knew he was raw and looking for justification if he blew up again. Instead, she settled in between John and Michael, who had retreated to the corner as soon as Alfie approached Arthur.

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

"Right," Tommy sighed. "While I was in the hospital, I formulated a plan and this is how it's going to work. See, the Russians cannot be trusted to pay us, so we are going to take what is ours. We need to see what's in their treasury and that is why we need Mr Solomons." He pointed a finger at Arthur, who had fallen silent. "Do I have your attention now?"

Fortunately, Arthur stayed quiet for the rest of Tommy's plan, allowing the pieces to fall into place. They would pose Alfie as the best jeweller in London, allowing them uninterrupted access to the Russians' extensive collection in the strong-room at their estate. It was dangerous but it just might fucking work. Alfie was perfect for the job.

By the end of it, Helen knew one thing for certain; she was about to be left with the children while Tommy returned to the clutches of that Duchess. Whatever expression she wore on her face had Tommy hesitating as the others said their goodbyes and made for the yard where the car was waiting. He ruffled Charlie's hair then cradled Helen's jaw in both hands.

"I love you," he said as he kissed her lips.

Helen sank into him, hoping he'd remember this when she was out of sight and instinctively out of mind. "I love you, too."

Together, they made their way downstairs where Tommy eventually parted from her at the open front door. She watched him say something to Alfie, who retreated to his own vehicle that was parked next to Tommy's, and then he clapped both Arthur and John on the shoulders, leading the way.

Much too soon, only Michael remained, hesitating next to Helen with his brows pinched in a thoughtful frown.

"I'm supposed to visit Ada with mum tonight. She's making it official that she's rejoining the business," he said, rocking uncomfortably on his heels with his hands tucked in his pockets. "Why don't you come? Bring the boys, I'm sure they wouldn't pass up a sleepover with Karl."

Helen jerked her chin in a brief but grateful nod. "That's a great idea."

She couldn't leave Arrow House quick enough. With James and Charlie bundled in their heavy winter coats and giggling away in the back of Michael's car, they stopped to pick up Polly then headed for Ada's home in London. It was turning out to be a dark and cloudy evening by the time they arrived on her doorstep, mirroring Michael's mood and the tempest also occurring in Helen's own mind. Fortunately, Ada was delighted at her company, first showing the boys upstairs to Karl's room before they settled down in the drawing room.

"I brought Michael because as chief accountant he has to be a witness," said Polly, referring to the paperwork tucked under her arm. She'd asked no questions when she found her son's car crowded with three extra people, needing no answers as soon as Helen offered up Tommy's name.

"Ada, can I use your phone?" Michael asked, barely giving his cousin the chance to light the fire.

"Michael," Polly snapped. "Business first."

With an audible sigh, he slumped into the seat beside her, leaving Helen to lower herself into the last empty chair on Ada's right. The flickering flames in the grate casted a warm glow on the soft green walls, illuminating the various paintings and ornaments that Ada kept on display.

"Michael, stop looking at your watch."

Shooting his mum a sharp look, he slipped the gold pocket watch back into his waistcoat, then turned to where Ada had started rifling through Polly's paperwork. "Ada, whilst you're reading this, can I go and use your phone?"

"Who is the lucky girl, Michael?" Ada smiled at him.

Polly scoffed. "Her name is Charlotte, and Michael cannot breathe if he does not talk to her every two hours."

"Ada, please," Michael said simply.

Chuckling, Ada gestured to the door. "Phone's in the hall. Dial naught for the line. But keep it quick, I pay the bill."

Michael was already up and out the door before Polly could stop him, calling over his shoulder, "I will."

"Not for long," Polly muttered. As soon as he was gone, she rounded on Helen. "He was at yours for a while this morning. Did he say anything?"

Even though she knew it would disappoint her, Helen shook her head. "At least not to me, he didn't. Spent a bit of time in the kitchen with John, Arthur and Johnny, though. Maybe they might know something."

"Hm," Polly's lips flattened into a thin but determined line. "Guess I'll have to let his behaviour slide until I can get my hands on those nephews of mine."

It was silent for a while except for the faint whisper of Michael's voice out in the hallway. As Ada finished reading what turned out to be her contract, Helen caught a glimpse of the title scrawled in Polly's neat handwriting across the top. Head of Property and Acquisitions. She let out a surprised breath, sinking back into the plush-cushioned seat.

"How quickly things can change," she remarked, thinking of the Ada Shelby who married Freddie Thorne.

Who would've thought that the supporter of the communist cause, the so-called black sheep of the Shelby family who once openly abhorred everything they strove for, would one day commit herself to them again in name and on paper. Ada toyed with the fountain pen in her hand, eventually reaching the dotted line waiting for her signature.

"Boredom's more powerful than you realise," she said. "And then it takes over your life. Since Freddie passed, ending up here..." She gestured a hand around the vast room; at the red velvet drapes, the gilded frames around each painting. "I've had a lot of time to really think about how I want my life to be. And now I want you to think about it, Pol. Together, we could take control. With the two of us in the company, we can straighten things out."

"What about the politics?" Polly asked, making Ada sigh.

"You and me fighting together and winning? That is politics. A new kind of politics. It's just this way that I get paid and Karl gets a nice Christmas."

Helen and Polly exchanged a smile. "Good. Then welcome to the bourgeoisie." With not much else to say, Ada wrote her name and presented the contract to her aunt. "And welcome to Shelby Company Limited."

"Shelby Company Limited," Ada echoed. "Limited and unarmed."

Michael returned then, pale-faced and quiet, the door slamming shut behind him. Polly appraised him with raised eyebrows, waving the contract in his direction. "Michael, would you like to welcome Ada, our new Head of Property and Acquisitions."

"Congratulations," Michael muttered. "Where do I need to sign?" As soon as his job was done, he stood up and scanned the room anxiously. "Ada, do you have whiskey?"

"Something tells me he isn't looking to make a toast of celebration," Helen muttered to Polly, who was shaking her head at him.

"I've already told him," she said. "He's becoming too much like his cousin."

Michael rolled his eyes, snatching up the decanter that Ada ruefully pointed out for him. "I thought that was the idea."

"Yeah, Tommy but with a bit more fucking charm and class!"

"Where am I sleeping, Ada?"

"Michael."

He was already back at the door, ignoring Polly calling after him.

"In the room next to Karl's," said Ada.

"Great," he muttered, waving goodbye with his whiskey. "Goodnight."

"Aw," Ada sighed while Helen blinked at the vacant doorway. "Heartbroken, poor love."

If Michael truly was being shaped in Tommy's image, then Helen knew without a doubt that it wasn't just an ending relationship that plagued him. She hadn't paid enough attention to Michael's life to know who this Charlotte woman was, but she'd definitely succeeded in getting under Michael's skin about something.

"So, how are we celebrating?" Helen reached out to squeeze Ada's arm.

Ada straightened. "I was just thinking the same thing!"

"Well, with Michael in bed, I thought I might... go for a little drive," said Polly, making both of their heads snap towards her.

"A drive?" Ada scoffed in disbelief. "Where are you going to drive?"

Polly's hands shook with barely noticeable tremors as she packed up her back and settled it on her lap. Helen latched onto the small display of weakness like a dog with a bone.

"Who are you going to drive to?" she asked.

At once, Polly blurted, "Things have begun to develop with the man who is painting my portrait."

Helen couldn't recall who this was but Ada's eyes lit up in recognition. With a smile splitting from ear-to-ear, she drew Polly's hands towards her, unable to contain how delighted she was.

"It's when you stand there in the dress," Polly was grasping for excuses. "You just find yourself talking about every little thing."

"What's his name?" Helen prompted.

"Ruben," she whispered. Just the echo of it stole the breath from her lungs. "Ruben Oliver."

"And have you and Ruben Oliver....?"

"No," she shook her head, insistent. "Not yet. But he called me two nights ago to say the portrait was finished and I said I'd go there in the morning. But he said no, he wanted me there tonight."

Helen cooed. "I think he's ready to make a move, Pol. What are you still doing here?"

Indecision warred ruthlessly in Polly's expression as she pried her hands from Ada's grip and wrapped herself up in the soft brown furs of her mink coat. The high neckline shielded some of the blush that crept across her cheekbones, mimicking the flush of blood in her lips as she fixed them between her teeth.

"You can't breathe a fucking word of this to the boys."

Ada waved at her dismissively. "Okay, but he is nice to you?"

"I mean it, Ada," Polly exclaimed.

"Is he rich?"

"His friends write the papers," she said. "Tommy would try and close him down."

But Ada maintained her smile. She wasn't about to say anything and neither was Helen. Who warmed Polly's bed was none of her business, as long as she wasn't putting them at risk. A painter by the name of Ruben Oliver, who successfully crumbled the notorious Shelby matriarch's fiery defences, was hardly a cause for her concern.

"Go, Polly."

"He's like a tiny bird pecking at you..." she let out a sigh. "And I think he's given up on me."

"So bloody go."

Polly's throat constricted with a visible swallow. She turned to Helen. "Why should the boys have all the fun?"

After seeing her to the front door, Ada returned to find Helen pacing idly by the mantlepiece. As she toyed with the gold band of her wedding ring to Patrick, she thought about what Polly said. Why she might've directed it at her. Ada approached her with a bottle of stout she'd dug out of one of her cabinets, passing her a glass without needing to ask.

"Guess I'm joining you on the lighter liquor seeing as Michael stole all my whiskey," she said, prying a weak smile from Helen as she sipped on her drink and warmed the soles of her feet with the fire. "What's my brother done now?"

"It's who he's doing," Helen muttered.

"Ah. Alright, then. Maybe I should track down that whiskey after all." Ada managed to usher her over to the lounge where they curled up side-by-side. "Come on, talk to me."

Helen had her legs tucked underneath her, glass balanced on her swollen stomach. "Before his accident, I asked your brother to let me have one thing. His heart. And I do believe it's mine, but it's a bitter pill to swallow that I need to share his body so we can keep climbing the ladder for this grand life Tommy forever dreams of. Just one more job, one more woman, right? But if it was the other way around and I was sleeping with someone who wasn't him, I'd have the blood of an innocent man on my hands."

Ada refilled her drink, her brows knitting into a frown. "I can't pretend that I always understand or agree with how my brother's mind works. But I do know he has loved you, Nel, from the moment he realised what love was. I know it doesn't make it any easier."

"No," she mumbled. "It doesn't."

"But if you asked him to give you whatever's left of his heart, then I'd trust that he has. There's something about the two of you that he'll never truly let go of."

When Death eventually caught up with Tommy Shelby and outsmarted His biggest rival at last, even then Tommy would find a way to be with her. Tommy wanted Nellie in the way of flesh wanting to knit itself together over a wound. No grave would hold his body down, and Helen lamented that she understood the feeling. She'd claw through blood and dirt, crack open the world to have what she should've said yes to long before the war took him and returned a man whose desire to overcome the next challenge, and the next, and the one after that, wrapped a leash of his own longings around his neck and squeezed. Now he struggled to separate what it was that he chased, feeling the noose pulling taut again and again.

"We should go shopping tomorrow morning," Ada touched Helen's shoulder, deciding a change in topic was desperately needed. "If we can't have whiskey, we can at least spend my brother's money."

Helen forced a laugh, swallowing down the last of her drink. "Please."