Chapter 1 — in person, flesh, blood and broken bones
Philomena Milagros | peakyme
They all agreed to leave London after Anna — the matriarch — died.
There was nothing else holding them — they closed her bakery and the father wasn't deeply fond with Anna's side of the family. Not quite sure why they've chose Birmingham, however; but all the grey landscape and all the dirty streets were quite consistent to their mood at the moment.
The new home was a ground and first floor apartment; August, the oldest brother, still trying to persuade Loraine to continue with mother's cooking skills by turning the ground floor into a kind of rather simple bakery. She was not excited at first, but the idea of decorating the small space with little memories of Anna changed her, so negative before, perception.
She used the old curtains to cover the front windows and hung one of the only pictures of her on the wall. Wasn't much, but it left the maternal flame of the family alive, somehow.
— When are we opening? — she asked father one time at dinner, not caring much on their talk about the Birmingham small arms company limited, where they worked.
— Have you spoke with the Shelby family? — the brunette rolled eyes while breathing heavily remembering all the twelve times she tried to schedule a meeting with this so called Shelby family who, apparently, ran everything at that shithole town.
— Do we really need their approval? — the oldest brother was firm to answer a yes.
She didn't get it. It had been about two months since they moved to Small Heath and she had never met the Shelby brothers. Loraine knew where they lived because eventually she found herself banging on their wooden door to get a meeting (always denied), but had not seen them. Heard rumors, only.
She was determined to open that bakery now — didn't want to at first, still resentful, but the challenge intrigued and kept her mind busy. Didn't agree with the idea of needing not only the approval of the Shelbys but also with paying them what they so called "for protection", but it seemed the only way.
One night the boys were out for a drinking night at some decadent bar and because of it father gave her money to go the Penny Crush cinema. It ended a bit late — she had to walk home alone at night. The streets were empty, had it not been for a couple in the gloom or men staggering out of bars, certainly drunk. Loraine tightened the overcoat against her body and stepped up as she crossed an alley that would take her home faster.
That's when an action caught her attention, unfortunately.
Could hear the sounds of punches and groans of pain. Low lighting didn't give a perfect view, yet wasn't sure she would like to see the scene completely. Didn't allow herself a dangerous approach hidden behind a parked vehicle. Two men held a third to keep him standing.
"Marco, take my name from his mouth." She quickly closed eyes when the knife was thrust into the man's mouth, disbelieving the scene in front of her.
She needed to do something.
Couldn't just let a man be killed in the middle of the street. Actually, she should let it. Father and brother would not approve her meddling into matters of mad men — those weren't matters for a lady. Luckily, she didn't believe to fit the adjective.
"...you fucking clown. My face will be the last thing you're going to ever see on Earth. Your mistake. Finish him off."
Loraine leaned into the parked car window and pressed the horn, without thinking twice. The loud sound broke the silence of the night, drawing unwanted attention. The men quickly got rid of the body, leaving the unknown man lying motionless on the ground. Dead? — she wondered.
She approached, still apprehensive, put her hand on his shoulder waiting for a reaction. Nothing. Had to get him out of that vulnerable spot as the men from earlier moments could return and finish the job.
Where was she getting herself into?
[...] The british girl couldn't just lay a barely alive man on her bed — she was not that bonkers — and deal with that, but she was grateful the men of the house weren't home.
Between leaving him bleeding in tub, fractured in the closet, or barely breathing under the bed she came to conclusion that the basement was most appropriate place. They were renovating the room — in the future would use it to stock flour for the bread; nevertheless, while the bakery didn't open they had only old chests from London, furniture yet not allocated and a sofa for a non-existent living room.
"They" put him on the dusty old green couch. Yes, "they". She and her not so adorable twelve year old brother, Joffrey. Loraine desperately needed an accomplice and he was available. Both had many questions, although the main concern was the lack of well-being of the stranger.
She knew how to recognize "couture" — basically anything other than the rags the Wood family wore —, in London she used to pass an opera on the way to mother's bakery; the clothes people wore were similar to the ones the man was wearing. Joffrey touched the gold yellow chain hanging from his vest revealing a gold pocket watch.
— Oh, dear God, don't touch it.
— Why not?
— Probably cursed.
From a distance they analyze his medical situation. His face was unrecognizable because of the size of swelling in one eye and amount of blood flowed from the other side.
— I don't honestly think he's going to mak-
— Don't say that! I'm gonna take care of him.
— Why are you helping a peaky blinder?
— Jesus Christ, Joffrey! I've told you already, eh? Not every men in this bloody city with weird hair cut is a peaky-whatever.
— Blinder! Peaky blinder. Girls...
— Fine, go upstair and bring me a clean towel, warm water, and dad's medicines.
Loraine sat on the edge of the couch, opened his waistcoat and buttons of the shirt, trying in vain to make him more comfortable. With the towel wet with warm water she wiped more or less the dry blood from his face, carefully, wondering constantly who was he, why they wanted him dead — and it didn't seem at the moment very smart to bring home a man whom somebody would like to see lifeless.
She waited, hoping he would wake up.
During the night he moved with difficulty, breathing slowly, making groans of pain only from the movement his chest made when breathing — his ribs were, at minimum, cracked. Those little sounds caught Loraine's attention, she approached him once again touching his face with her cold palm hand.
— Don't move, eh? — she smiled gently, imagining he would feel confused to look at an unknown woman next to him at this vulnerable condition — It's all fine.
He raised one of his eyebrows, the only one he could actually move, seeming to want to make an ironic face with her "it's fine" line. Nothing was fine for him.
— Ok, ok... Not fine at all. — she rectify and he tried to move his arms, but she stopped him — Don' t be stubborn.
— Who are you...? — with great difficulty he asked, his voice coming out in a tenuous tone, almost impossible to hear. You could tell he was on defensive.
— Lora. Here, drink this. — her father had some medicine stored in the drawer of a bedside table from which she stoled for this medical emergency. She then put the small bottle close to his mouth and helped him lightly lift his head to swallow it; it was a torment. He was in such pain.
— ...where...? — no need to be a detective to understand he was trying to figure it out where his expensive suit was lying down, probably noticing he was at a rather poor place.
— Listen, you're safe here. If you needed to be dead, you would already be, don't you think...? — she was being right-minded, yawning soon after by the fatigue from the restless night. Covered his body with a blanket without realizing that she was also caressing his forearm a bit more protected than she meanted — I have to go to bed. Tomorrow's a big day.
Nothing more was said. They were both exhausted.
[...] She waited for Bernard and August leave the house for work to go down the basement meet with her unknown guest. Not much changed from his injuries with one night, although he was conscious probably because of the small amount of remedy he consumed at daybreak decreasing a percentage of his pain.
Loraine entered the basement with a tray carrying a cup of tea and a loaf of bread as she approached the couch again to sit beside him. Today he seemed less anxious about the idea of staying at that unknown place, perhaps had come to the personal conclusion he was safe there from the men who had persecuted him night before. Also, the brunette did not look threatening at all. Far from it.
— 'Morning. — he looked at her as if analyzing slightest traits of her delicate face — I have some tea and bread, but I can't stay. I have a meeting with the Shelbys.
He nodded in acknowledgment, to show he was paying attention and she took advantage of the listener for a sincere outburst — Has been weeks since this snob called Thomas has no time for me... can you believe?
She seemed annoyed to mention him.
— No need to say one damn thing... The Shelbys, am I right? — He used sarcasm in his speech, purposely agreeing with her about the petulance of the dominant family in the city, yet without demonstrating that he himself carried that blood in his veins. Loraine didn't know that, because of her naiveté of new inhabitant and little malice in personality - perhaps too sweet for that garbage of city.
— Exactly! Who this family thinks they are? Royalty? Christ.
— Probably.
His voice was still fragmented, weak. There were no improvements in his physical conditioning becoming even more obvious that, that moment of consciousness, was due to medication. He needed a doctor — Where did you find me?
— Funny little story. — she began, as she grabbed one of the cups of tea brought in the tray, taking a generous sip to warm her body with hot liquid. He tried to change position on the couch, but Loraine stopped him like a mother who doesn't let her child do whatever it wants.
— Please, woman.
— You can call me Lora, mr stubborn. — she took a deep breath before continuing — I think someone was trying to kill you, to be quite honest. I wonder... what have you done? Who are you?
— As you just said... is indeed a funny little story.
— You're not telling me, are you? — he didn't answer — Fine, — Loraine got up, standing right beside him — at least you can hear speech for the Shelbys and tell me if it's good.
— With pleasure, miss. In fact, maybe I can help you with one or two tips with how to deal with this people. What do you need from them? — noticed that he felt a stab of pain a bit stronger in the chest, probably some difficulty to breathe.
— Should I reach someone of your family? I can't afford a doctor and you desperately need one.
— Let's see how this goes, right? Don't worry... Lora, eh? — she nodded — Lora... it sounds like a afternoon... a quiet afternoon, I must say.
The british girl allowed a small smile to appear, her cheeks turning slightly red with what appeared to be a compliment.
— So I heard that nothing runs in this city without this Shelby family approval.
— Indeed.
— I need that to begin with. Also, people say we pay them for protection and... well, money is a problem. — she sighed wearily — But I'm not bothering you with my problems today, eh? You should get some sleep.
— What about your speech?
— Would you like to hear it?
— Of course. I'll pretend I'm the devil Shelby in person, flesh, blood and broken bones, eh?
And certainly he was.
The sweet girl found the fact he would hear her stupid speech quite lovely and, for that, an open smile was seen in her lips. She did look quite shy in the beginning, but soon she got into character and pretended that he was indeed Thomas Shelby — Finally you made some time for me, mr Shelby.
Her tone was firm, nevertheless she didn't contain a low laugh soon after, due to the theatrical scene. He closed his only good eye partly out of fatigue and partly because wanted only to hear that dulcet voice and her mellifluent laughter — sincerely imagining would be the last thing to hear, since his condition was precarious. She did continue.
— I need your approval to open my lovely bakery and I'll give you two options. Option one, you give it to me. And option two, I will rip this approval out of your chest with my bare hands, you ugly snob royalty-wanna-be.
He tried to hold back a smile because the muscles in his face ached with movement — Quite cocky, don't you think?
— Well, I don't know if he's ugly, really. Snob royalty-wanna-be, yes. But ugly... It's gonna be a surprise.
Loraine approached him again placing her palm on his face now so hot and probably feverish, to leave a kiss on the top of his forehead, quite affectionate and indeed worried, preparing to leave the basement on the way to the Shelby house. — I'll let you rest.
He still had time to say one last sentence, before she climbed the stairs and left him behind.
— Oy. Good luck with them, Lora. You will need it, eh?
Yes, she would need to, because at the Shelbys house the relatives were dealing with the fact that Thomas Shelby had not returned home from his meeting with Campbell last night. They must have been looking for some witness who had seen him during the night, but failed miserably. Little did they know that Thomas himself was safe, but broken, in the hold of an unknown baker.
To be continued...
_
Author's note:
It is my understanding that Thomas Shelby is brutally bruised by Sabini in this episode (2x01) and that, in fact, it might not be possible (without direct medical attention) that he could actually have a conversation with someone. However, in the name of fiction (after all this is a story) I decided that he is badly hurt, but with the possibility of a conversation.
Another thing to point out, it seems rather unlikely that someone would not know who Thomas Shelby is in Small Heath, but I tried to make it quite clear that the main girl is not from Birmingham and has recently moved. I thought that, because she was pretty much touched with the recent death of her mother, she has not paid much attention to her surroundings, so she is unaware of the Shelby brothers or their story.
Anyways, this is just a small taste of the story that it's to come. Definitely a novel, with some comical nibbles while exploring the ironic and sarcastic side of the characters, not as dramatic (at first) as the series itself is. Some changes had to be made in relation to the events, but I will try to keep myself as faithful as possible. If you are interested in contacting me, this is my twitter: peakyme
