For a shilling
Chapter 9: Smiles
On the drive back, Mary feels like half of her hair has at this point come out of the bun that was holding it. It stuck to her face, her neck, and it felt like ants crawling on her skin. Finally, she could not take it anymore and started ripping out all the pins holding it together, and chucking them on the floor. Bit by bit, the little space between her and the driver was filled by long pieces of chocolate brown.
Tommy glances at her occasionally, cigarette in mouth, trying not to deprive the road of his most needed attention. âWhen was the last time you cut that?â He canât help but wonder.
Mary hisses, trying to detangle the mess on her head. âNever.â She specifies. âIÂ never cut it. My mother did. When I was little and still lived with her, it got tangled, a lot. And she always cut it really short so it wouldnât.â
She chuckles, but there is no humor in it. âKids at school used to tease me, would joke that I looked like a boy wearing skirts.â
She sighs, taking the last pin out. âAnd then I went to boarding school, and I was responsible for my own hair, and I never wanted to cut it, so I never did.â
Silence fills the car for a bit. Thomas continues smoking. Mary keeps running her hands through her hair, looking for knots.
âDid you like it?â
She looks at him, a question in her gaze, so he speaks again. âDid you like boarding school? Was that fun?â
Sheâs still confused. âI donât know.â
âYou donât know?â
Mary thinks about all the lunches spent alone. Thinks about Mrs. Braum hitting her wrist with a very thin, very painful wooden ruler. She thinks about all the times the girls there called her names, called her a bastard, called her poor. How they threw lunch food at her and it would get stuck in her hair.
âI mean⌠I wouldnât call it fun. It wasâŚinteresting. I like learning.â
Now that she looks at him Thomas pretends to be extremely interested in the road.
âWhat didnât you like about it?â âWhy the sudden interest in boarding schools?â
Tommy couldnât give less of a shit about boarding schools.
âWanted to go to one myself. Went to war instead.â
Mary looked at him wryly. Of course he went to war. All the men his age went. Sheâs just never been put in front of the fact like this. Now that she thinks about it, it seems weird. Thomas seems too good for war, in her eyes. He seems above it all.
âDid you win any medals?â She said it like a joke.
âTwo.â He cracked the window and tossed the little left of his cigarette. âThrew them in the canal the day I got back.â
Mary wanted to ask why, but had a wiser thought. She could never understand why.
They havenât had breakfast. Mary always has a big breakfast, so her stomach decided the best course of action today was to announce its discomfort aloud. On the third rumbling Mary wants to jump out of the car from shame. Thomas only smiles.
âWe should be near Oxford. Weâll stop and eat.â
She pouts, head in her hand, leaning on the door. âIâm not hungry.â
âWell, I am.âÂ
Thomas usualy has cigarettes for breakfast.
Mary finds that Oxford is way less busy than London, or Birmingham for that matter. Itâs quiet, almost. Sheâs surrounded by people on the street, but thereâs no rush. No nerves. Itâs tranquil.
Tommy leads her to a restaurant. She enters and realizes sheâs only seen places like these in pictures.Â
Tommy takes her coat, and helps her with her chair. Mary looks at his hands as they brush her shoulders and remembers how he beat a man into the floor. A waiter comes and hands him one menu. Only one. Mary looks confused.
âHere.â Thomas hands it to her. One look at it and Mary wishes he didnât. There is no fish and chips, and the prices look made up. Like a child wrote numbers around the page, just because they looked pretty. The waiter comes back and Mary feels like she hasnât done her homework and is about to be called to the front.
âAre you ready to order, sir?â
âWeâre still thinking. Come back later.â
He leaves again. Mary looks frightened at Thomas. He smiles gently, cigarette in hand. He reaches for the menu, which she gives up hesitatingly. He scans it for a minute, and she hides her cold hands under her tights.
âDo you like crab?â
âYes.â Sheâs never had it.
He calls for the waiter.
âA Bisque for the lady, with a glass of Pouilly-FumĂŠ. Iâll have the Mutton with Mint Sauce, and whiskey, Irish.â
âCertainly, sir. Anything for dessert?â
âWeâll think about it.â He hands the menu back.
Mary didnât catch the word crab anywhere in their order. So when sheâs brought a bowl of orange soup, she asks:
âWhereâs the crab?â
Thomas starts cutting his âMuttonâ and the table shakes slightly.
âItâs crab soup.â
âWhy would you get me soup?â
âDid you not want soup?â
âNot necessarily..â
âItâs cold out, and youâre not dressed for winter. Soup is good for colds.â Tommy remembers how he told Lizzie to buy her a coat. She was still wearing the same coat. The table shakes harder.
The soup turns out to be delicious. And paired with the slightly sweet and smoky taste of the wine, Mary thinks this would be her death row meal.
âHowâs this wine called again?â
Thomas smiles. She likes it. They donât talk much while they eat. Soft music plays in the background.
When they exit, Tommy dresses Mary again, and frowns. He takes a gloved hand of hers and tugs her along, in the opposite direction of the car. Mary frowns when they enter a department store.
âDo you need something?â
âYeah, to buy you a fucking coat already.â
She smiles. They enter a store, and are immediately greeted by a nice woman with round glasses. Thomas speaks to her while Mary looks around. The store looks expensive. Sheâs pulled out of her thoughts by the sweet lady, ushering her into a fitting room.
She is brought a few coats to try, each one with gloves and a scarf. The lady brings her some weird hats also. She finds out theyâre French, and theyâre called berets. Mary looks at herself in the mirror and smiles. If only the girls from school could see her now.
The lady brings her another hanger. Mary recognizes the dress as the one she was inspecting earlier.
âOh sorry, this isnât for me I think.â she tries.
âNo, it is, madam. Your husband told me to bring it.â
She pales. Husband?! She doesnât have a ring. He has no ring either. What on earth made her think heâs her husband? Before she has the chance to gather her thoughts and correct the woman, she leaves. Leaving her alone with the dress.
Mary looks at it and it looks at her. She wonât get it. She wonât. Itâs too expensive. She hasnât the heart to ask this of him.
She still tries it on.
Exiting the fitting room without the perfect-fitting dress feels painful.
She holds out the coat to the clerk to pack it. Thomas stands by the shoe stand. He notices her exit.
âCome here.â he picks up a pair of heels.
Mary sits down, taking off her shoes, ready to follow instructions, as always.
Thomas bends down and puts on the shoes for her. That, she wasnât ready for. He checks her foot, presses on the end to find her toes, and Mary canât seem to come to her senses.
âDo you like them?â
She snaps. âNo.â Theyâre so beautiful.
âTheyâre genuine leather.â
Mary bites her lip and looks at him under her lashes. He found her weakness. He smiles, takes them off and goes to find the clerk.
The shocked girl comes to find him after gathering her thoughts. The lady with round glasses is packing their things.
âDid the red dress not fit?â he looks at her skeptically. His blue eyes bore into her and she realizes even if she lies, heâll read her mind. âNo.â
Thereâs a long pause. He turns to the clerk.
âPack the red dress, also.â
âTommy!â Tommy. Not sir. Not Mister Shelby. Tommy.
Said Tommy is currently preening under Maryâs gaze. She tries to personify sternness, but she has to bite the smile off her lips. Why canât she stop smiling today.
They exit the store with more bags than Mary expected.
âI canât accept all this. Iâll pay you back.â She says as she gets in the car. âAt least half.â âConsider it a Christmas present.â He lights a cigarette, and smiles. âOr rather, presents.â
Mary pouts for what seems the hundredth time today.
They arrive in Birmingham around four pm. Thomas pulls up to her street, and gets out to open the door for her, again.
She looks at him as she exits, holding his hand. He hands her the bags from the backseat, and murmurs a quiet and amused:
âMerry Christmas.â
âMerry Christmas.â She repeats, like a parrot. Heâs ready to leave when she calls again.
âTommy.â Sheâs looking at him like she wants to kiss him. He throws out the half-smoked cigarette. Just in case.
âThank you.â She whispers. She takes a step closer, puts a hand on his shoulder, raises on her tip-toes, and plants a kiss on his cheek.
She runs inside after that. Tommy walks back to the car smiling like a boy.
Inside, Mary pushes against the door, cheeks red from a mix of cold and deep shame for what sheâs just done. She sets the bags down gently, and starts undressing. She doesnât notice her mother looking at her from the kitchen table.
âJust in time for Christmas, huh?â she slurs.
Mary startles while removing her scarf. Lizzie notices the new coat, the flushed cheeks, the undone hair.
âMummy!â She walks to her excitedly. âI got you something.â
The girl hands her mother a red gift box. Through the plastic top you can see a red beret, with matching gloves and a scarf.
Lizzie puts it down and takes another long sip of her drink.
âHow was London.â she asks, with a wary smile.
Mary looks down. âUneventful.â
âUneventful.â Lizzie repeats. She looks down and nods slowly. âThen why the overtime?â
Thereâs a pause, Mary looks around the kitchen. Thereâs no Christmas dinner to be seen.
âBad weather.â she tries. âWe stayed at a hotel.â
âSeparate rooms?â
Mary looks at her mother with wide eyes.
âObviouslyâŚâ
Lizzie frowns.
âYou would tell me if you fucked him, right?â Her speech is slurred.
Mary feels her eyes start to water.
âMummyâŚâ her voice is shaking. She looks at her motherâs uncaring face and canât stop the tears from coming out. And then come the sobs. Lizzie seems to gather herself at the sight.
âThere, there.â she rounds the table, cigarette in hand, and hugs Mary tightly. âIâm sorry. Mummyâs sorry yeah?â She holds her face. âMummyâs just drunk. Iâm sorry.â
Mary goes back to sobbing in her motherâs chest.
âYou wouldnât do that to me.â Lizzie whispers. âI know you wouldnât. Shh, shh.â
Maryâs sadness is interrupted by confusion.
âDo that to meâ ?














