Lucille

Lucille eyed Tommy as they walked toward watery lane, his hand holding onto Adds as she prattled away about the horses they'd seen at uncle Charlie's yard. The three had walked the whole way back, and in that entire time, Lucille could look at nothing other than his distracted face.

It wasn't that Tommy was visibly upset or moody or anything like that, in fact. He smiled away, whispering jokes that he didn't want Lucille to hear. If anything he seemed happy. But she could tell better. Preoccupied. Tommy's jaw would clench every so often, as if remembering something he'd tried so fiercely to forget.

"Are you alright?" She asked, nudging his arm as Adds trailed closely in front.

"Yes," he said, before sighing. "Well something new had come up that needs our attention."

Tommy paused, his face twisting. If Lucille hadn't known any better, she would have said he looked rather embarrassed. But he shook his head, nodding to the end of the street, to his home.

"Seems like Arthur Jr, has dragged in Arthur Sr," he said, his voice gruff as he pushed out the words.

She turned, almost as if in fright. "Your father?"

He nodded. "Yes. Unfortunately."

For the few minutes they walked toward the house, the small family were in silence. She had never met his father, and in turn Adds had never met her grandfather. And yet, Lucille couldn't say she ever wanted to, from the terrible stories she'd heard from Polly, and sometimes even the boys. It seemed that only Arthur had the patience to tolerate him- but perhaps that was only naivety. Lucille didn't think she would ever be able to find something within her that would force her to respect the man.

As they came up to the house, Tommy paused for a minute. His hat was in his hands, hanging from his index finger, his lips thinned.

"You go in for a minute," he said.

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I'll be right behind you."

Lucille opened the door quietly, hurrying Adds through in front of her. The faint sounds of cups clinking and a fire crackling echoed through the empty silence that graced her ears upon shutting the door.

"Thank you. You're a good boy," a gruff voice said, a faint Irish accent. "Bless thee father, for these bounties we are about to receive."

"Jesus Christ." That was Polly.

"Please, woman, not in vain," the same, man's voice said.

"Finish your sandwich and sling your hook."

"Pollyanna. I'm the guest of the head of this family, so why don't you maybe tend to your mangle or your scuttle?"

Adds shuffled in the hallway, and Lucille shushed her, moving slowly around the doorframe of the kitchen, slipping through unnoticed

"The head of the family ain't here," John said, his voice low and somewhat hostile beneath the quietness.

"Tommy. He sometimes helps me with business, dad."

From behind the door clicked. Tommy strode in, brushing past her, his hand settling on her lower back as he stepped into the dingy light of the kitchen, eyes staring forward at the sight of his father.

The man was old, his age obvious from the deep set wrinkles that carved through his forehead, tinted pink. A thin, wiry moustache protruded from his upper lip, wobbling as the man set down his cup, glancing up to his son. Arthur Sr chuckled.

"Aye well, speak of the devil," he said. "How are you son?"

Tommy's voice was a low growl, yet his face was emotionless. "Get out."

"Come on son. I'm a changed man."

He shook his head firmly. "This family needed you gen years ago, and you walked out on us. Not now. Get out of this house."

"Tommy, he's different," Arthur said, his eyes trailing along the dirt patch of the table.

"Shut up," Tommy snapped with great bluntness.

Arthur Sr let himself smile as as his eyes shifted from his sons to the young woman peaking from the corner. His eyes brows raised, taking in her sight.

"And who's this? A wife?" He said. "Welcome to the family, darling. I hope you feel more welcome here than I do."

Lucille cringed, stepping backwards, blocking Adds with a tilt of her skirt. Arthur glanced her way, switching toward his brother.

"Tommy-"

Arthur Sr scraped his chair back as he pushed against the table, shuffling to his feet. "It's alright son. Arthur Shelby never stays where he's not welcome," he said, pushing his hat against his greying hair. His gaze flickered to Tommy. "Quite something you've become."

They said nothing. John stood thin lipped, staring at the floor with his hands in his pockets. Tommy was as stoned faced as he had been when he'd entered the room. Arthur looked solemn, watching as his father headed toward the front door. Polly just looked fed up.

The door shut with an angry clang. Finn started forward, but John held him back, shaking his head as the young boy frowned. From behind her mother, Adds tottered forward, stretching out her hand for comfort as her young uncle's eyebrows furrowed.

"He's our dad," Arthur muttered.

"He's a selfish bastard."

Tommy's words made his head shoot up. He rose to his feet, striding forward until they were eye to eye.

"You calling someone a selfish bastard. That's a bit rich, Tommy. I mean, thanks to you, we're already down a bloody sister," he snapped, breath quickening.

He was so angry, face red and puffy, eyes glazed with a heated haze. But he looked so defeated, so upset by the sight of his father walking out again. He truly didn't understand why it had to be Tommy sending him away. Lucille frowned, stepping forward to take his hand.

"Arthur."

But he brushed her off, shrugging from her touch. He glanced her way quickly, before staring back at his brother.

"But as long as you're happy, eh, Tommy? As long as you're happy. Doesn't matter about us," he grunted.

Tommy's eyes were blazing as he caught his temper, pointing straight toward the door their father had left through.

"You want to see him Arthur? You want to see him? You go with him," he shouted.

Arthur paused, glancing around the room toward his younger brothers, then to Polly and last to Tommy and Lucille. Then, within seconds, he was stalking forward, harsh steps clanging through the quiet room.

Not a word was shared.

Tommy sighed and strode toward the table, placing himself messily into a chair, his face resting in his hands. Lucille placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't worry about Arthur, he'll come round," she said.

In truth, though the relationship was different, Arthur and his father much reminded her of her own relationship with her ex husband. Adam had always had slippery hands when it came to money, and he'd never stay for long, nor would he like to treat her right. Yet on numerous occasions she'd wish him well, follow after him if needed. But it hadn't taken her long to figure it out, to give up trying to love him when she knew it was impossible. Lucille hoped Arthur would figure the same thing about his father soon.

He shook his head. "Aye. He'll come round once he's given the man money and he's off."

"Does it happen often."

"Yes. In the exact same way. The fool doesn't learn," Tommy snapped, rubbing his forehead.

"Come on, Tom," John said, as he moved around the table to pat his shoulder. "He's Arthur's problem now. Have a drink and forget about it."

Tommy shook his head and remained silent.

"John, you're leaving?"

He nodded, pulling his hat to his head. "Yeah, think it's best I be on my way," he frowned, switching around as he remembered something. "Oh, Grace said there's someone asking after you, she doesn't know who. Wants to meet you down the garrison tonight. Says he knows you and Tommy."

"Did she give a name, anything at all?"

"No. I don't like this either. Want me to take you down there when you're ready?"

"No, I'll be fine. I have a pretty strong idea of who it is," she said. "Thank you John."

"No bother at all," he said, ducking under the door and into the street.

That late evening, the Garrison was empty as Lucille pushed through the doors, shrugging her coat further onto her shoulder in attempt to warm up the cold that was creeping up her back. The whole house had felt tense and awfully depressing since the morning, thanks to Arthur Sr's arrival, and it'd had enormous effect. In fact, despite the darkness of Garrison Lane, Lucille was happy to get out.

Footsteps hurried from the back room and the barmaid Grace appeared behind the bar, smiling timidly. She nodded toward the end of the bar, where a figure sat, body bathed in the dim lighting of the wall lamps.

"Mrs Shelby. There's a man here to see you," she said softly.

The man perked up, his glass tipping back before being placed loudly onto the bar.

"Oh, Lucille, please. Besides, Mrs Shelby is not my name," she said quickly, distracted by the turning of the figure.

"I'm sorry, I only assumed..."

"It's fine," she brushed off.

Grace remained by the bar, her hands drifting awkwardly toward the dirty glasses waiting on the shelf. The man turned, took of his hat and beamed up at her.

Everything: the bright, blonde hair, the cheeky gleam of his eyes, the blush on his cheeks, was recognisable. Everything but the bruise on his chin.

Lucille hadn't seen the boy in weeks.

"Jack Dawson," she smiled, sitting down beside him. "I thought it was you."