this is a double update! read five first!

It was the date of the first Harrington fitting, while Imelda was yet to start making the dress, she had finished her initial designs, collated fabric samples and all that was to do was take Diana Carmichael's measurements for her dress. Florence had been preoccupied, in a fatigued haze caused by her continued sleepless nights, she struggled to get through the day without the need to nap.

"So, have you set a date for the wedding yet?" Imelda smiled at Diana and Margaret standing in her living room as she retrieved her tape measure.

"Not just yet," Diana shook her head, glancing no at Florence who stood in the kitchen, staring out of the back window, "If we make it too soon then people will think that it's some sort of shotgun wedding, won't they?"

"Surely not," Imelda remarked, realising that Diana had probably assumed that Imelda's husband had died in some sort of military tragedy, rather than the truth, which is that she was a teenage single mother, "How many guests are you expecting?"

"We're already at two hundred," Diana grinned, which bemused Imelda as she wasn't even sure that she knew more than twenty people, "And that's just my side of the family."

"Right," Imelda nodded, glancing at her daughter as she wrapped her tape measure around Diana's waist, taking note of the measurement, "Floss, would you offer our guests a drink, please?"

Florence remained standing in the kitchen, caught up in a flurry of daydreams and worry that whirled around inside her mind.

"Florence." Her mother repeated, in a stern voice, startling the girl as she turned to face her mother, Diana and Margaret.

"Is everything alright?" Florence smiled, hoping to mask her fatigue.

"Could you offer our guests a drink please?" Imelda asked with a clenched jaw.

"Would you ladies like a drink?" Florence asked, "We've got tea in the pot."

"Tea would be lovely," Diana smiled, not wanting to appear rude by turning the offer down.

"No tea for me, Florence," Margaret answered blankly.

"Alright," Florence nodded, retrieving a teacup and filling it with fresh tea before heading towards the living area, handing Diana the tea as her mother continued to take measurements.

"Thank you," Diana smiled graciously, the intense scent of her perfume itching Florence's throat.

"What perfume are you wearing?" Florence muttered, having never experienced such an adverse reaction to a perfume.

"It's lavender," Diana answered.

"It's nice," Florence smiled, stepping away from the three women as the scent lingered in her nose, urging her for fresh air.

She escaped into the yard of home, which wasn't much of a relief, given the smoke and dust that lingered in the Small Heath air, but it was a better relief than being cooped up inside the house. The girl couldn't quite put her finger on what was causing her to be so sensitive to such a gentle smell.

"Pull yourself together," She muttered to herself, knowing that people would think she was going mad if they saw her talking to herself in the confined space of that yard.

"Florence?" She looked up to see Diana lingering by the back door, an uncertain yet reassuring smile on her face, "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," She nodded, resting her hands on her hips, "It just gets quite stuffy in there and I needed some air."

"Right," Diana answered, unsure whether to believe the girl, "Do you smoke?"

"Do you?" Florence raised her eyebrows, knowing that girls like Diana weren't supposed to be smokers.

"When my mother isn't looking," Diana smiled at Florence.

"Alright," Florence sighed, retrieving a lighter and her cigarettes from the pocket of her dress, handing one to Diana, lighting her own before passing the lighter to Diana, "So, what do you think of George?"

"He's not exactly what I had in mind for the man I'd call my husband," Diana exhaled, no doubt having hoped that as the Carmichaels' oldest daughter she might marry a duke or an earl, not George Harrington.

"How many times have you actually met him?" Florence asked, taking a drag of her cigarette, slowly becoming intrigued by the girl who stood before her, looking so out of place in all of her finery.

"Three," Diana gulped in regret, as though she feared the future that awaited her, "But he seems nice enough."

"He's a good man," Florence nodded, even though she had always believed that George would never be the marrying type.

"But?"

"But, what?" Florence frowned.

"You just sounded as though you wanted to say something else, more than just that he's a good man," Diana answered shortly, folding her arms across her chest.

"He is a good man, Diana," Florence assured her, knowing that despite his faults, George was a good man at heart, but she wasn't going to be the one to tell Diana Carmichael that her future husband was as commitment fearing as he was kind, "That's all there is to say."

"If you say so," Diana huffed.

"I've got to head next door, you should go back inside, our mothers will be needing you to look at the designs," Florence told the girl as she tossed her cigarette onto the ground, stubbing it out with the ball of her foot.

She didn't wait for a response from Diana, that was the Peaky Blinder way, and now that she was one of them, she needed to be perceived that way too. Polly would never let someone get under her skin, so neither would Florence. But in the same breath, Florence's heart was too pure to be so brutally honest, especially with regards to George's reputation.

Florence headed for the back entrance of the Shelby home, the familiar sound of the busy bookies was absent, suggesting that they had finished early for the day.

"Hello, sweet girl," Polly smiled, looking up from her newspaper, "How are the Carmichaels?"

Florence exhaled heavily, picking up a whiskey bottle and a glass from the countertop, placing them on the table and pouring herself a large helping.

"That bad, hmm?" Polly smirked.

"People like that have more money than sense," Florence huffed, sitting across from Polly, "You know they already have two hundred people on their guest list?"

"I don't think I even know two hundred people," Polly laughed in disbelief, "Definitely not two hundred people that I'd like enough to invite to a wedding."

"Well, that's it, I doubt Ma and I will be getting an invite, whether or not George wants us there," Florence replied, taking a large gulp of her whiskey, "Margaret won't allow it."

"The woman who your mother always prioritises, and is the mother of your two closest friends won't you have at her son's wedding," Polly retorted, hating the whole facade just as much as Florence, "What's she so afraid of?"

Florence laughed under her breath, knowing exactly what it was, "The Peaky Blinders."

"You're worried they'll show up?" Polly remarked, "I can have words with them if so."

"I'm not the one that's worried, frankly I don't even want to watch George sign his life away like that, they've only met three times, what kind of relationship is that?" Florence rambled, which was one of the many moments that she reminded Polly of Imelda, the way the same passionate fire burned inside her.

"There are marriages of love and there are marriages of economic advantage," Polly told the girl, "I think it's quite clear which this one is."

"I just don't see the point, Pol," Florence huffed in despair, "I mean, I couldn't imagine spending the rest of my life with someone for the sake of financial gain."

"Is that so?" Polly grinned, pondering the stolen glances she had continued to notice between Tommy and Florence over the passing weeks, "You wouldn't want to marry someone, even if it meant you could live in one of those big houses out in the countryside?"

"Not if I wouldn't be happy, Pol," Florence answered, her response was refreshing for Polly to hear, because for so long the women around her had accepted the idea of being tied to a man without a choice in the matter. But Florence didn't view marriage that way, because as she grew up her mother reminded her to marry the man who makes her feel happy, loved and safe. That was all that Florence yearned for.

"You're a smart woman, Floss," Polly smiled fondly, "Our Ada could do with some of your tenacity ."

"What do you mean?" Florence frowned.

"She's not left her bed all day, in fact I've barely seen her," Polly explained, "When she is here, it's like she's away with the fairies."

"Would you like me to have a word?" Florence offered, softening Polly's heart, "Perhaps I'll have better luck retrieving information from her as a friend?"

"There's no harm in trying," Polly sighed.

"Wish me luck," Florence muttered, taking one last sip of her whiskey before slipping upstairs.

She'd only been upstairs in the Shelby home a handful of times as Tommy often preferred to stay at hers. There were alway too many people in the Shelby house, and with that would come questions.

Florence knew which room was Ada's, because the girls used to play in there when they were little. She had such fond memories of that place, even while the boys were away at war and the girls were becoming women, they somehow managed to make the best of the situation.

"Ada," Florence called out as she tapped her knuckles against the wooden door, "Ada, it's Florence."

"I'm asleep," Ada called out from the other side of the door, "Go away."

"Are you just going to stay up here all day?" Florence asked her.

"Yes," Ada answered.

"You're not even a little bit hungry or thirsty?" Florence continued.

"Well," Ada sighed in defeat, "I've barely eaten today."

"So you'll be needing some food," Florence insisted as she heard movement on the other side of the door, "It's just Polly downstairs if you're trying to avoid your brothers."

"Me?" Ada opened the door, still in her nightdress, "I wouldn't do anything of the sort."

"Sure," Florence smirked knowingly.

"Did Aunt Polly send you up to get me?" Ada sighed as she lent against the doorframe.

"No," Florence lied.

"You're a shit liar, Flo," Ada rolled her eyes with a grin, leading Florence down the stairs and through the betting shop, where Polly awaited them both, her eyes focused on her newspaper.

"You're being dramatic," Florence attempted to defend herself.

"I'm simply being honest," Ada smirked as Florence returned to her seat beside Polly.

"Good of you to join us," Polly looked up at Ada as she reached the kitchen counter, "Where have you been all day?"

"In bed," Ada answered simply, cutting herself a slice of bread, "I couldn't sleep, then I couldn't wake up, then I was cold and then I had to go for a wee. Then I was with this bear on a boat, but that was just a dream, then I was hungry, then Florence appeared."

"That bit wasn't a dream," Florence sighed as Ada joined the two women at the table.

"Why are you reading the paper?" Ada asked Polly as she slathered the slice of bread with jam.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Polly answered innocently.

"I've never seen you read the paper, I've only ever seen you light fires with them," Ada replied, taking a mouthful of the wedge of bread.

"The BSA are on strike, the minors are on strike, the IRA are killing our boys ten a day," Polly trailed off, glancing at Florence and then back at Ada.

"What?" Ada muttered, wiping her mouth with her hand.

"Stand up," Polly instructed her.

"Why?"

"Just stand up," Polly insisted, placing her tea cup on the table as Ada stood up, Polly standing with her, "Side on."

Polly cupped Ada's breast, startling the girl, "Polly, what are you doing?"

"Ada," Polly let go with a sigh, "How late are you?"

Florence knew what that question meant, because women were expected to be very discreet about 'women's matters'. She knew what Polly was implying and from the look on Ada's face, she knew it too.

"One week," Ada admitted, "Five weeks, seven of you count weekends, I think it's a lack of iron," she sighed as Polly took a seat in front of her, "I got some tablets."

"But they didn't work?" Polly replied in a hushed voice.

"No," Ada answered, sitting down.

"Ada, do you know what that means?" Polly asked, even though all three women in the room knew exactly what it meant.

"I think so," Ada answered.

"I know of a woman who will help us," Polly told her, "We'll go once the sun has set, alright?"

"Will you come?" Ada looked up at Florence.

"Me?" Florence answered in surprise.

"You're the closest thing I have to a best friend, Flo," Ada smiled nervously, "I'd like you both there."

"Then I'll be there, Ada." Florence assured her.

As soon as darkness fell on Small Heath the three women headed for the home of the woman known to Polly. They were relieved that all of the Shelby men were preoccupied at the Garrison, meaning they could slip out undetected.

When they arrived at the home of this elusive woman, she instructed Polly and Florence to wait outside while she examined Ada. They made generic small talk until an idea toyed with Florence's mind, how did Polly know that Ada could be pregnant.

"What was it, Pol?" Florence asked as the two women sat on old dining chairs, "That made you think Ada could be in the family way?"

"A number of things," Polly sighed, "The sleep, her appetite, a certain glow to her skin, when you've been around someone since they were born it's easy to notice such things, the first time I ever saw that in a woman was when your mother was pregnant with you."

"You did?" Florence looked up at Polly.

"She was just like Ada, the only difference was her age," Polly explained, recalling the look on Imelda's face when she was told that she was pregnant, "Your mother was fourteen, so she had much more energy, but her appetite grew and she would disappear to the toilet constantly."

"Do you think Ada will be alright?" Florence whispered, staring down at her feet.

"Of course she will, she has us," Polly smiled, taking the girl's hand in hers, "She is surrounded by her family."

"Tommy will lose it if she's pregnant," Florence huffed, looking up at the bare wall opposite her, "All the boys will."

"They'd have the father thrown in the cut," Polly muttered, resting her head in her hand, "I dread to think who the father might be, she hasn't said anything to you has she?"

"No," Florence shook her head as the door opened in front of them.

"Well?" Polly smiled at Ada with reassurance.

"I'm pregnant," Ada gulped as the two women stood up, enveloping her in their embrace.

"It'll be alright, Ada," Florence whispered, though she wasn't entirely sure whether she believed her words, "We'll make it alright."

It's not how either of the women imagined their first experience of motherhood, but much like Polly and Imelda twenty three years earlier, Florence wordlessly vowed to be there for Ada in any capacity that she required. She could see that Ada was petrified of what awaited her, and she knew that she would need to be surrounded by strength in that moment.

"Why don't we head home?" Polly suggested to them both, "It'll be a lot easier if we get home before the men of the house."

"Alright," Florence agreed, opening the door and slipping out into the night followed by Polly and Ada.

Polly turned to Ada as she stopped to light a cigarette, "Keep bloody walking, Ada. If anybody sees us here they'll know."

"I'm not getting rid of it, Aunt Pol," Ada insisted as the three women walked along the cobbled street.

"Just come home and we'll talk about it," Polly attempted to assure her, knowing that it was only a matter of time until word got to Tommy.

"Just get off me or I'll scream, I swear," Ada retorted anxiously, leading Florence to understand that it was burdening her more than she had let on.

"Alright," Polly sighed, glancing at Florence and the almost empty street, returning her gaze to Ada, "If you want to do this on the street, let's do it. Whose is it?"

"If I tell you, you'll tell them and they'll cut him to pieces," Ada muttered, looking to Florence for reassurance.

"Not if he marries you, they won't," Polly told the girl sternly, "Will he marry you?"

"I don't know, I don't know where he is," Ada answered honestly.

"Jesus Christ, Ada," Polly sighed in disbelief.

"He's gone away, but he said he'd come back," Ada told Polly and Florence.

"Yeah, but they all say they'll come back," Polly replied, "Florence's father told Imelda that he'd come back, he never did."

"He's not like that, he's a good man, he promised," Ada insisted, becoming visibly overwhelmed as Polly and Florence wrapped their arms around her, "He will come back, Aunt Pol, I know he will."

"I'm sure he will, Ada," Florence attempted to reassure the girl, even though she was not entirely convinced herself.

author's note: sorry there was no tommy in this chapter!! there's way more to come! i also love writing flo and pol together <3

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