𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐕.
the dad thing
❝ WILL WE RETURN HOME? ❞

BIRMINGHAM,
ENGLAND 1919

♜ ━━━━━ THINGS HAD BEEN decidedly icy at 6 Watery Lane.

Arthur had assumed Tommy finally dealt out his first whacking. It would be well enough deserved and a long time coming, even Del had to admit, for a whole litany of misbehaviors she committed daily. But even if he had, it would mean nothing in the face of the burning betrayal she felt in her belly. The look she'd given him that day in the shop, it was as if he'd announced he was selling her to a merchant at the fair.

Pure unadulterated betrayal.

It was easier for Tommy to let Arthur believe a hiding was all it was. His brother had laughed it off, said she got off easy. God knew they'd both been given beatings ten times worse than any whack Tommy would ever give Della.

It was true, but the comparison didn't sit well, like a hedgehog living in Tommy's guts, prickling his insides while it crawled round, looking for an escape.

In any case, Del hadn't spoken to Tommy ever since. In fact, most of the time, she was actively going out of her way to avoid him. He'd walk through the front door and she'd turn her back 'til he went away. He'd come up the stairs and she'd dive into whatever bedroom was closest 'til he passed. He'd be with his brothers and she'd be sure to give them each a kiss hello, making it a point to skip over him before she dashed away. It wouldn't have been so amusing if she hadn't made such a point of snubbing him whenever they happened to occupy the same space.

It was equally as funny as it was agonizing but. Tommy hadn't realised he'd miss her near constant chatter until she had cut him off. She wouldn't follow him round, she wouldn't sit next to him at the occasional meal times they were in the same room, she wouldn't tiptoe to his room at night, she wouldn't demand a bedtime story or that he tucked her in.

He had been severed from her life in one terrifying foul swoop.

After about three days of the cold shoulder, Tommy had finally had enough of the frigid easterly wind.

He'd been moping, Tommy knew it. His own temper had been frayed, and everyone'd been walking on eggshells round him, knowing he was liable to cut the first person that annoyed him to ribbons. And everything annoyed him. It'd been so bad that Arthur — of all people — had become the voice of reason in comparison, which was not a good sign of the state of affairs. As if he didn't have enough on, he let himself be bothered by this.

It was pathetic, it was.

What kind of man minded the peace and quiet his own father had railed about so often? What kind of man couldn't keep his own daughter in line? What kind of man missed his child misbehaving just so he could talk to her?

Pathetic excuse of a man.

There wasn't a chance in hell that he'd go to Del, not feeling like this he wouldn't. He wasn't 'bout to go crawling back to her on his hands and knees like some sort of dog begging for a scrap of her forgiveness. That didn't fit his image of a father at all.

Pathetic excuse of a father.

The only reasonable solution he saw was talking to Polly. After all, she'd known his Del best. She had to have an answer. All this time, she'd raised his daughter by herself, she'd been there to give the lessons and the discipline. Besides, Tommy never saw Pol getting dirty looks and the cold shoulder for days on end after she doled out a whacking or a harsh scolding.

Tommy pulled his aunt aside one day at the shop, lowly asked how long this silent treatment would likely last, and Pol had given him the strangest look, one he hadn't cared for at all.

"Ah, so you do care what she thinks about you, Thomas."

He'd swallowed back something nasty and stormed away, well aware she was staring holes into the back of his shaved head. So, while Del was busy avoiding Tommy, Tommy was busy avoiding Polly.

Tommy's mood hadn't improved, and Del's hadn't been much better.

He would just have to make amends without making an apology. It could be done. He would just figure out a way to make it up to her, smother her with actions so she forgot all about his words. He didn't know her that well, was the problem. She didn't seem the sort to be won by chocolates and toys, and he'd no idea the sort she'd like if even that was the case.

In his year of knowing her, all he'd come to understand was that Del Shelby was a wild thing, couldn't be reasoned or negotiated with. Tommy had started to think her akin to a wild horse who wouldn't take the reins or the whip. A war horse in her own right; tired of the pasture, too busy looking for the trenches instead. Couldn't stand the peace and quiet, always searching for some new adventure or another.

It worried him.

It thrilled him.

It also gave him an idea.

So, early in the morning, before most in the house were even awake, Tommy stepped silently into Del and Finn's room. He didn't come in here, not often, at least not since the night she sang them both to sleep. Their room was in a state. Toys were everywhere; wooden guns and small soldiers. Abandoned jackets and peaky caps. A tent in the corner made from an old yellowed sheet. For a moment, he simply watched the pair of kids sleep — both still and full of heavy breaths, sleeping safe and soundly. He envied them and regretted disturbing them.

"Adeline." Tommy kept his voice low as he touched her shoulder, "Della."

The girl stirred in her little bed and then squinted up at him groggily, pushing her matted curls from her eyes, "Orright?"

"Orright." For a moment, he paused, simply looking at her in the soft morning light before he went on, "When we went to the fair — me and your uncles, we got ourselves a prize."

Del's dark brows, previously furrowed in annoyance at the reminder, now quirked with sleepy interest.

Tommy had her on the ropes now, he hoped he did, "Thought you'd like to see it?"

She could recognise a peace offering when she saw one. Graciously, the girl whispered, "Yea."

"Yea?" She nodded and he smiled a bit, a small thing, "Good stuff. Now, get your clothes on. Can't have you goin' round in not but your shift, can I? Might catch cold."

Del giggled and slipped out of her bed as he slipped out of her room. Idly, he found himself standing at the bottom of the staircase, lighting a cigarette while he waited for his daughter. Polly found him like that, a cuppa in her hand and a grim smile on her face. He clenched his jaw at the sight.

"She doesn't need much more than this, Thomas." Even now, Polly sounded disappointed in him, "Just time and a scrap of your affection."

Del's arrival was announced by her trampling down the staircase, as always going the fastest she could, before she arrived at his side out of breath. Without another word to either Del or Pol, Tommy opened the front door and led his daughter into the first streaks of morning light.

Tommy carefully set a hand on Del's shoulder as they strode along. It felt out of place and a bit too friendly, like he was trying to get too comfortable with a stranger, but he didn't remove his hand. He was determined now; to see this through, to show that he really could be like other fathers. Del didn't comment on it, but he found he could feel her shoulder under his hand tense with unfamiliarity.

Charlie's yard awaited them, and beyond that, the stables, and Tommy watched his daughter's face light up at what was inside. Del gasped at the sight of the big white horse in the left paddock, already saddled and ready to go. He looked far too beautiful for such a place like Small Heath which was home only to smoke and pollution.

Del was in front of him in an instant, standing on a bucket and running her hand down his nose, "He's lovely..."

"Yea?"

"Yea. Whose was he?"

He could tell her that he'd won him with a toss of a coin, in a game of two—up, with Johnny Dogs, but that would just lead to more frustration about not being able to attend the fair and questions about how it all went down, and he really didn't want to tell his six year old that it ended in cutting up the eyes of half a dozen Lee men.

So simply, Tommy said, "He's ours now. All that matters."

Della arched a doubtful brow that was so purely Greta that he had to look away. She didn't fight him on it but. Instead, she began murmuring softly to the beast, the old language slipping easily from her lips, "Sacānta, boy, bura gifan..."

Tommy startled, "Where d'ya learn that, eh?"

"Pol."

"Yea? You know more than that?"

"Mmhm..."

She was far too entranced by the horse to say much more. She was barely paying attention to him, and he grew concerned that his plan may have backfired. The whole point of this was to— to what? To win her affection? To buy back their strange sense of normalcy? To bribe her with horses and surprises until she gave him her attention and decided to like him again, until she accepted who he was and finally stopped calling him 'Tommy'?

F—cking pathetic.

The silence kept stretching on, growing awkward once more 'til suddenly one of the horses snorted. Della couldn't help but giggle and Tommy seemed to be smiling a little too, the corners of his mouth were turned up faintly.

He met her matching eyes again, "You like horses?"

"Mmhm." Del nodded so quick her curls bounced, "Like 'em."

He found he was learning more about his daughter in this ten minute conversation than he had this entire bloody year.

"Ever ridden 'em?"

Del's face was so solemn, she'd a look like someone had done her a great injustice. The man figured it was likely at the hands of the great joy—killer, Aunt Polly.

"Nah. Too little."

His brows raised nonchalantly, "Says who?"

"Says ever'body. Uncle Charlie. Curly. Polly, too." His question clearly caught her off guard, eyes blowing wide, "...'S true?"

"You're not too little. Come on."

Tommy took a step towards her, and Della took a step back just as quick. His entire body froze, first terrified at the thought of her running from him, before irritation took its place and he frowned deeply down at her. She had her hands gripped behind her back and a stubborn set to her jaw that looked so familiar that it left him breathless for half a moment.

"She'll whack me..."

"She'll not."

Della didn't believe him, that much he could see, "How d'you know?"

"'Cause I'll tell her not to."

She was still dubious, "And she'll listen to you?"

"'Course she will. I'm the dad."

They both startled.

Her little face with big eyes and mouth a perfect circle; she looked so shocked, he might've laughed if it wasn't so sad. Because really, how couldn't she be surprised? What right did he have to be so annoyed that she couldn't stop calling him by his name? He'd hardly given her any reason to think he could back up his statements. His confidence in his role as her father was unprecedented, as was his surety that he had any authority over Pol when it came to Adeline.

"Orright," Del decided generously, like she was doing him the favour.

Cheeky little shite.

Tommy nearly snorted to himself but instead he gently tucked his hands under her arms and hoisted her up onto the horse like she weighed nothing at all. He swung himself up after her, the both of them getting comfortable. She fit easily between him and the horse, her posture perfect without even a bit of correcting. He held the reins on either side of her and clicked his tongue. Off they went, a careful pace through the yard and then onto the street.

The wind bit at them with a chill when Tommy tapped his heels into the horse's flanks to move even faster. Suddenly Del's little hands were folding over his, warm in the morning air as her fingers brushed the reins.

"Can I...?"

"You want to have a go?"

Del nodded and looked back at Tommy with the type of seriousness no six year old should rightly have. She'd not waste her time on crocodile tears or pouty lips or big eyes. She had the look of someone who wanted something and was going to get it, no matter the deals she had to strike to get there.

It was nearly impressive.

It was agonizingly familiar.

Tommy was so winded by it that he found himself giving her the reins before he'd even made up his mind to. Del's little hands replaced his confidently and she mimicked the quiet click of her tongue to guide the horse into a steady trot. She took to it as easy as breathing, back upright and body moving in time. It must've been in the blood, like Pol said. He let his own hands fall and rest on his thighs, wanting to show that he trusted her, that she could do this.

The horse's hooves clicked on the cobblestones as they ducked under a line of washing and trotted down onto the main street past Watery Lane. Father and daughter rode the beautiful white horse down the industrial street, the horse snorting steam into the cold air. It was busy with horse traffic and the odd motor, but the chaos of it all seemed to briefly silence round them as they went.

Del felt like she was flying.

When the shadow of Tommy, his daughter, and their horse passed over Jeremiah Jesus, he glanced up and nodded a greeting amidst his preachin'. Men blinded from the war went along, singing the familiar words of 'Molly Malone' and shaking out a begging bowl. One hand drifting to Della's waist, Tommy leaned down in the saddle to drop a coin into their bowl. As the line of men cleared, two coppers saw them coming. They both looked nervous and touched their caps out of fearful reverence.

"Good morning, Mister Shelby, little Miss Shelby."

Del instinctively ignored them and urged the horse on down Garrison Lane. They had nearly reached the pub when a sudden burst of flame flared from the side of the factory, almost frightening the life out of the bloody horse. Tommy yanked harshly on the reins, the beast rearing up, and Del nearly flew off, suddenly flying over his head. He grasped desperately at the air for her, one arm looping onto her waist as she clung onto the mane.

With a firm yet shaking grip round her, he slid them both down the flank. Tommy called hurried reassurances, hushing and soothing the beast, while Del smoothly stepped away before he even needed to order her to do so. He stood before him, assuring the frightened horse just as he'd assured frightened men many times over in the war.

"In France we used to say, it's just the music hall band turning up." The horse whined and Tommy softly hushed him, brushing down his nose to his muzzle, "Shh. It's just trombones and tubas, that's all. Shh, it's just noise, orright? You get used to it. It's just noise."

Just noise... Del liked that.

It took Tommy a bit to calm the horse, and he felt his daughter watching him with the utmost focus and concentration. He looked over his shoulder back at Del, her little face thoughtful and much more intense that he would expect for a child so young. It made a strange burst of warmth spread through his chest.

At his attention, she asked, "Can I come back?"

"Yea. You can." He was truly curious to know so he asked, "Find that scary, did you?"

"Nah."

Della shrugged it off before rubbing the horse's belly without any fear at all. Tommy hummed a bit to himself, finding a small smile on his mouth. His girl was f—cking fearless; there was no doubt in his mind. Together, father and daughter led the horse down the lane and past the pub.

Still eyeing the beast, Del's little voice drifted over, "Is he hurtin', Tommy?"

"Looks like it." Her father frowned, patting his leg as they continued, "In some pain there, boy, eh?"

Suddenly a gross stew of brown water sprayed out onto the pavement in front of them. Tommy pulled to a stop and Della hopped back, her new boots nearly covered in the piss and shite of the bucket. Holding said bucket was a barmaid, a blonde one from the Garrison who only had eyes for her Tommy. Del instinctively stepped a bit behind the horse's flank, shyly peeking out at the two adults now staring at one another.

"I... I'm so sorry, Mister Shelby." Looking not totally sorry, the barmaid paused before explaining, "I'm Grace, by the way."

Tommy nodded dryly, "I know who you are."

"What's her name?"

The barmaid nodded towards the little girl hiding behind the horse, offering a small smile that only made the girl retreat further. There was something she didn't trust 'bout this lady. Tommy didn't follow the woman's gaze and he pretended he'd misunderstood her.

"The horse doesn't have a name."

Adeline was his business. No one else's.

The blonde's eyes snapped back up to his, going along with his change of direction, "Poor boy deserves a name."

Tommy was unaffected. Del's button nose scrunched. If anyone was goin' to name the horse, it was going to be Adeline herself. She hoped so, anyway.

Her da's blue eyes narrowed a bit curiously, "D'you have something to say to me?"

The woman seemed to hesitate for only a moment, "The other night you came into the pub when I was singin'. You said singing wasn't allowed. I'd like there to be one night a week when there's singin'." Tommy's heistance was clear as he glanced to the side so the barmaid, Grace, pushed on, "I think it would be good for everyone. Saturday nights. Harry was too afraid to ask you so..."

Tommy looked back at her, "But you're not?"

"I am." Grace stared back at him unflinchingly, "But I love to sing."

As always, business came back to mind.

"You sound like one of those rich girls who comes over from Dublin for the races. D'you like horses? How'd you fancy earning some extra money?"

Tommy grabbed onto Del's waist, hoisting her up before she'd even a chance to make a face at his words. He climbed smoothly up after her, once again settling her between the reins and his chest. The girl leaned back into him, hand fisting into his sleeve, feeling something strange burn in her chest.

Grace wondered, "Doin' what?"

"Dig out a nice dress." Tommy shrugged, gathering the reins around his daughter once more, "I want to take you to the races."

Del felt like she was falling.

Clicking his tongue, the man and child rode the beautiful white horse down the street and then started towards home. They returned the nameless beast to the yard so Curly could stable him once more. Della didn't need Tommy's help dismounting; she turned her body, lifted one leg over, and slipped down his side smoothly. Her new boots slipped in the hay briefly, but her da easily steadied her when he landed at her side.

For a moment, they just stood there, Tommy and Del. His daughter was very quiet again, for a reason he didn't understand. She was an odd little thing sometimes. He didn't bother to ask. Instead, he let himself focus on the simplicity of this moment, knowing he'd likely not have it ever again. They patted down the horse, gave him a feed, watered him.

Finally, Tommy broke the silence, "Should we give it a go?"

Del frowned up at him, "Eh?"

"The... the dad thing." He responded after a while, clearing his throat, "Never had much of an example so I don't know how to go about it. Might not be very good at it. You'll see that soon enough."

They didn't talk much about Arthur Senior, her granddad and Tommy's da, other than Pol's offhanded comments that he was a useless b—stard. They'd not seen him in an age, from what she knew, a few years before Del herself was brought into the world. But Tommy... he was her da, he was here to stay, and she didn't think he was a useless b—stard. At least, she hoped not.

"I'll try. For you. If you'd like."

That was all she wanted, really. Just for him to try. To be there. She considered him, taking her sweet time with it too. Long enough to make Tommy nervous a bit.

"Yea."

"Yea?"

"Yea." Del finally replied with a decisive nod. "Please."

Tommy smiled a bit, patting the horse once more, "Grand stuff. Will we return home?"

They'd give it a go, Tommy and Della, try the father thing out. There should've been nothing more natural and easy in the world, but it wasn't. It just wasn't. They'd have to get to know each other, have to get used to each other, before anything could ever be natural again.

It was like a dance, Del would realise later — much later, when she was older and wiser and saw the world and her father for what they were. They moved in a dance, Del and Tommy, not quite together but not totally out of time with one another either. It was a confusing dance, full of anger and strife and so much shite that it seemed impossible to move at all. But they did. Because, in the end, who'd they be without the other?

So then, together but not quite, they turned and started towards Watery Lane.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Del woke from a good and deep sleep to the sound of Curly outside number six, in the dark and in the rain, calling her father's name. She slipped out of bed, immediately cold in her thin shift, as she scurried over to Finn's side of the room. She nudged his shoulder and tugged on his earlobe like so many times before when she wanted to force him awake.

"Finny?" She whispered, "D'ya hear that?"

"Mmm." He batted her off like she was a bug of some sort, "Go t'sleep, Della..."

He rolled over. The girl huffed but raced towards the door when she heard the familiar sound of her Tommy's footsteps thumping against the floorboards outside their room. She threw open the door with such flourish that she'd made him jump. Tommy was only in his trousers and his cotton shirt, suspenders still hanging loose from his hips. His eyes were huge and the shadows under his eyes looked like bruises. His hair was mussed and hanging over his forehead, clearly he'd been having nightmares again, using the funny pipe.

"Why's it Curly outside?" Del's voice was too loud in the quiet house, "The horse orright?"

He nearly flinched at the sound, but he shook it off and he brushed past her to the stairs, "Back to your room, Del."

"Where're you goin'?"

"Just out. Go to bed, eh?"

She couldn't even think of trying to go back to sleep now, "But I—,"

"To bed, I said."

His voice was harsher, raspier from the after effects of his nightmares. They both startled at his change of tone. For a moment, they simply peered at each other from across the dark hall, only their deep breaths shared between them. Del stood in the doorway of her bedroom, not moving, refusing to give in. One foot on the top step, Tommy frowned back at her.

He huffed, rolled his eyes to the ceiling, and murmured, "Nobody bloody listens."

Della still didn't give an inch.

The stubbornness of her, Tommy couldn't believe it.

Finally, he turned back to her and angled his head towards the staircase. Del wouldn't give him a chance to change his mind. She snatched onto her boots, tucked in her feet, and then clambered down the stairs after him.

Tommy hurriedly passed over her coat and had barely pulled on his own before they rushed to meet Curly. The man was in such a state, shaking and gasping, it was hard to even understand what he was on about. It was best just to see for themselves. Del had to run to keep up with the men to the yard, the rain was thick and the droplets heavy so her entire body was drenched immediately. Her laces slapped at the damp earth and then at her shins, splattering her in mud and leaving her in shivers.

Few fires were lit this late at night, and when they finally reached shelter in the back stables, the beautiful white horse waited for them in the low light. Tommy jogged ahead of her, pulled off his cap, and checked the horse over like it was second nature. The poor boy was all tied up, one leg in a sack and raised off the ground. Del hovered behind her da, watching his movements, eyeing his expressions, the way air left his lips in white pants.

"Curly, tell me."

"C—Cursed, Tom," Curly stuttered, spinning in small distressed circles.

"Curly, shh." Tommy followed him gently, cupping his face and then his shoulders as he asked, "Tell me, Curly, tell me: what's wrong with the horse?"

"Y—You bought at the fair in bad feeling. The Lee's put a bad seed in the hoof and got an old woman to put a spell!"

Del's heart stopped in her little chest.

Curly was still buzzing and humming in the background as she drifted back to the box with big eyes. She whispered softly to the beast, the same words she'd said in a far different context just a few days ago leaving her lips once again. Tommy slowly turned to watch his daughter gently stroking down the horse's nose.

"So those Lee b—stards cursed him."

Charlie stepped forward, "Whatever it is, he says it spread to the other feet."

Curly murmured to himself, shaking his head and hands, "It's going to his heart by tomorrow, I say! Seen curses like this twice. Can't take them back, Tom. No—!"

Charlie's voice and eyes were low, "I told you, Tommy. Better enemies to have than black blood gypsies."

Tommy slowly dragged his hands through his hair, exhaling sharply.

Finally, "Get out."

Curly went and Charlie was about to follow when Della spoke up, "Why?"

Tommy should have seen it coming, really. It was another one of those questions she'd been asking all the time lately. Why, this? Why, that? She wanted an explanation for anything and everything. She wanted the world to make sense to her, to know why things were done as they were, make them fit and lay flat in her understanding.

Why was the sky blue and why did Finn get to stay up later and why did girls have to wear dresses and why was there a war and why did she have to eat her vegetables and why was her father gone so long and why did she not remember him? Why, why, why?

Tommy never wanted to answer any of those questions.

He certainly didn't want to answer it now.

How to explain this to her? How to explain any of this shite? Death was a kindness, especially for a sick horse, but it didn't escape him that this was the first display of violence that he would ever show her.

"Get her out, Charlie."

Uncle Charlie picked Della up, despite her quiet protestations. She quickly tucked her arms around his neck and her legs round his waist, watching over his shoulder as her father raised his gun to the horse's head and said:

"I'm sorry."

Bang!

It could have thunder, it could have been the foundry, but Della knew it wasn't.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Grace the barmaid stood up on a chair in front of Tommy, hands clasped before her, a soft smile on her face. He was soaked to the skin, hair stuck to his face, rain still dripping down his cheeks like teardrops. The world outside was dark.

He'd sent Della home with their uncle Charlie where she'd be tended to, tucked back into bed, wiped of tears and fears. Given everything that he should be giving her. But Tommy needed a distraction, something to warm the cold hollow parts of him. So, the barmaid said she could sing anything he wanted, happy or sad. He'd requested sad and she gave him a look that would haunt him for the rest of his days.

"Okay, but I warn you: I'll break your heart. "

Tommy thought of Greta.

Of course he did.

Tommy wasn't of the sort who forgot things. He was the sort of man who remembered everything, and forgot nothing. And he remembered how she sang, how her cheeks flushed, and how her eyes went so brilliantly bright. He remembered when her little nose tipped up and her grin stretched so wide it looked like it would split her teeth. He remembered she had a voice that brought men from Digbeth and Saltley, a voice that sounded like an angel, a voice that hurt him to even remember at all.

Tommy thought of Greta.

And so, the man slowly shook his head and he murmured back:

"Already broken."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The days that followed were strange, indeed.

Ada'd buggered off somewhere, and no one knew exactly where she was. Or at least, Tommy didn't know and he was spitting mad about it, too. Del knew, but the girl'd not been allowed to come along when Polly went to handle "it" — whatever it was. Del missed her. She'd been snappish and irritable, missing Ada, missing the big white horse. Her Tommy was avoiding her too, far too busy with other important things to face her and her disappointment. Horses didn't die well, Charlie told her, and her da would take it hard. He always did.

So, Della had to find other ways to distract herself.

Her gang was a perfect way to do so.

Della was perched on the back wall, busy sharpening a fantastic rock she'd found into an arrowhead. It'd make a fine weapon until she got her hands on a razor blade or a gun. Meanwhile, Ruthie and Margo were practising handstands just below. Their faces were turnin' all red and plump, and Del was just certain their heads were 'bout to pop like a pair of full balloons. She could just imagine the gore, it'd be grand.

Ruthie winced at the pain of standing on her head, "Will your da give us some shrapnel, Henry?"

This was a customary question; one asked every few days or so, and it was Henry's turn to see if he could wring out his father for coin for sweets or baked bread or whatever their little hearts fancied. But Henry didn't answer right away. He preoccupied himself with kicking the football George's da brought home for him and his brothers.

"I've not got one."

This was news to them. Last they'd heard, Henry's da was a fierce army captain who single—handedly saved the entirety of all bloody France 'fore returning home to Small Heath in a blaze of glory. He was a bit of a storyteller, their Henry.

Face flushed, Margo squinted and called above the sound of blood thumping in her ears, "He got crushed?"

"Nah..."

"I'm open!" George wildly waved his hands when Henry hesitated kicking the ball back.

Looking up from her arrowhead, Del frowned, "Shot?"

Henry shook his head.

"Blown up?"

He just toed at the steep curve of the football.

"Then if he's not crushed or shot or blown up, you've got one, haven't you?"

He'd gotten real quiet, then, finally passing the ball back to an increasingly frustrated Georgie. Della's sawing on her rock fell away, and as the only one not presently preoccupied with either blacking out from blood rush or trying to score a goal, she'd a front row seat to all the classic signs.

Henry, strong brave Henry, lived the farthest distance all the way in the Red Flats, but as the oldest in the family, this apparently entitled him to venture as far as he wished unsupervised. He was brave, their Henry, brave and unbelievably stupid. And suddenly he looked about to bawl.

This wasn't allowed, it was one of their rules. No lying, no growing up, no selling each other out, no sticking chewing gum in Georgie's hair again, and absolutely no bawling.

They'd pounce, the rest of their gang. They'd not mean to be cruel, but they hadn't seen what led up to the tears, and a chorus of "No bawling allowed"'s would be of no help at all.

She puffed away the thin white powder on her dress and hopped down from the wall. Then, with a concentrated shake of the head, the girl raced ahead as fast as she could and then slide—tackled the football from George. She'd missed by a mile but the intended damage was done.

Della's stocking had been ripped clean through, and she was properly bleeding from the gash down her shin. The girls fell arse over head, and George nearly shrieked in fright. Everyone gasped and more or less tripped over their own clumsy selves to run to where she lay prostrate in the gravel.

"You ran like hell, I'd not even seen ye comin'!" George pulled her to unsteady feet, watching her with wide eyes, "Orright?"

"Orright." Della hissed and groaned, knowing she'd really have to commit to the show now, "It hurts like a mad b—stard!"

Sighing, Ruthie was roughly wiping down her dress, "Della, you duffer."

"Does it hurt very bad?" Margo was much more sympathetic, plucking gravel from her hair.

"A bit, Aunt Polly'll knock me block off but."

Everyone groaned and patted her shoulder in sympathy, already in deep mourning for the death of their dear friend. Ever since they saw her holster a switchblade in her boot and a revolver in her coat, there existed a healthy amount of fear of the Great Polly Gray in Della's gang.

They'd even once put on a three hour funeral for poor Della after she fell into the Cut and ruined what had been her Sunday best.

It was quite a beautiful ceremony, actually; tears'd been shed, Ruthie'd given a heartfelt message. It'd been grand.

"Henry'll walk me home, will you?"

Eyes still wet, Henry'd given her a slow near smile and quickly bounced to take her arm, eager for an escape and taking it gladly. After they'd said their goodbyes, they limped down Watery Lane arm—in—arm. They walked in silence, Henry with one hand fisting her sleeve and the other stuffed in his pocket. She didn't know what to say, Della, she settled for hopping and poking at her scrapes so.

With the thumping machinery in the distance providing backdrop, the whole street was buzzing with activity, mothers on their way to do the shopping, children busy with their playing, suddenly present fathers out to do their work. Della didn't think she'd ever seen so many men at once.

"He did somethin' daft," Henry announced out of the blue, once they'd reached her front door with the nailed horseshoe for good luck.

Just then Della saw her da walking down the lane, Stetson Hatteras cap tugged low over his forehead and its peak putting his dark eyes in shadow. The chaos of the lane was silenced just as the very sight of him.

Della bumped the door with her new boot, "An' he's gone so?"

"Just not here anymore."

Then Henry tucked his head down and walked home all alone to his mother, his little sisters, and no father.

At the time, Della hadn't understood what any of this meant. Not really. Not exactly. 

She'd later hear the adults whisper that sometimes, "doing something daft" was a bit of conversation meant for corners and hushed voices. It was all the adults said in times when somebody'd left their lives with a tight belt or a kicked bucket or a razor to the wrists.

Only when Del was much older did she realise she was far too young to even have a grasp of such things, but Watery Lane was a sad place full up of so many sad people that it was impossible not to hear of what such sad people did.

"Orright Del?" Her da didn't smile when he approached.

"Orright Tommy." 

It seemed that the war made many sad and daft fathers in those years.

━━━━━━ annie speaks ━━━━━━

we got some sweet and some sad moments this chapter. poor tommy, he's trying so hard but doing so badly when it comes to his daughter. he just has so many problems that it makes it so hard for them to actually get anywhere? if that makes sense? i also love writing from his pov, he's a disaster 24/7 and he's got this whole dichotomy that just keeps me entertained.

we also got the introduction of grace who... doesn't always make things easier between tommy and del. yikes. what are your predictions about how del will handle, well, pretty much all that grace and tommy business? i'd love to hear your thoughts!!

also, was the ending foreshadowing? yes. yes, it was.