Chapter 9) The beginning and the end

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Tommy Shelby was a born criminal and had never been ashamed about it. From a young age his father had consecrated him into the world of crime, providing him with the best tips and tricks. Being called a filthy pikey from day one, he felt no remorse pickpocketing from the more fortunate. He'd been good at it too, a natural.

Better than his two brothers who would glare at him enviously if he received even a crumb of their father's gratitude. Mostly that meant a pat on the shoulder and a push into the direction of his liquor cabinet. But as a child deprived as love, he took what he could get.

His mother never made any indication of her dislike as her oldest three began to walk in the footsteps of their father. She never spoke much at all, in fact, preferring to dwell over the tragedies that had struck her poor life. Arthur Shelby Sr being her biggest and most despised flaw. She'd never stuck it under the table that she'd been forced to move in with their father after she became pregnant with their first child. She'd been under a gypsy spell, as she put it. Lured into his clutches, she would hiss this spitefully through her teeth whenever their father was out at the brothel on the end of their street. Her family had disowned her once it became clear she'd fornicated with a Romani and threw her out on the streets.

Their mother could never bring herself to love any of her children, but she hated Arthur the most. Even as a child he'd been a spitting image of his father, the same facial expressions, the same short temper and, above all, exactly same eyes.

She'd always made Arthur go to the brothel to bring their father back home. And every time their mother sent him on this despicable errand his older brother would bow his head in shame. Their mother always found a way to blame Arthur. Either it was because he'd been the first to morphed her delicate body into something fat and ugly. Or because of his incapability to keep his younger siblings under control, or simply his mere existence. Either way, their father's escapades were always Arthur's fault.

Tommy recalled seeing his brother walk down the stairs collecting the courage to go to the whorehouse, his ears red from shame. Condemned to endure their father's drunken snarls, and witness things a child his age should not be seeing. Eventually their father would retreat home, cursing the entire way with Arthur following him like a shadow. And then the fighting would start, taking ages.

Arthur would take the blame from both sides, earning a flogging from their father and resentful glares from his mother, while Tommy would gather up his younger brother and sister. He'd take them up into his bedroom and push his cabinet in front of the door, letting only Arthur in as he hurried away from the raging war downstairs.

They would sit there, John and Ada on his bed, his little sister mostly rocking back and forth with her hands clasped over her ears. Tommy and Arthur on the floor, backs firmly pressed against the cabinet in case their father tried to storm in.

The accusations would turn into screams, porcelain smashing into thousand pieces. It mostly ended with their father stopping the endless accusations of their mother with his fists. Then dragging her upstairs and claiming her wifely duties.

At a very young age, Tommy made a promise to himself, and to all women in the world, that he would never do that to a lady. Hearing his father's moans as he would try to block out the muffled cries from his mother. In the morning she would be more silent then usual and Tommy was unable to face her plagued gaze. Mostly he would hurry off to school with his siblings, skipping breakfast. He could understand her resentment towards her children, she would tell them enough.

Eventually his father had had enough of his dysfunctional family life and left them. Their mother was pregnant again and money grew tight. Without a note, without a second thought, without even a goodbye, Arthur Sr. threw in the towel and walked out of their lives.

Tommy hoped this would make their mother change for the better, but in her disturbed mind the abandonment of her no-good husband was just yet more proof of her misfortune. Now she had to take care of her bastard children all by herself, and that broke her. She hardly cared for anything anymore; abandoning her domestic duties. Mostly Tommy and Arthur were in charge of the household. Ada learned to cook oatmeal before she could spell and John became a master of peeling potatoes.

As a passive bystander, she allowed her sons to continue the path of their father, moving up from petty crime to crimes of a more serious nature. She didn't care where the money came from as long as the bills were paid and she didn't have to leave the house.

Tommy could recall his first midnight robbery. Their rent was due and there was no money, they would be out in the street after the weekend. He couldn't sleep with the thought of his pregnant mother and siblings being forced into one of the poorhouses, if there were any beds available. It was December and snowing, the temperature far below zero.

Tommy knew he had to do something, anything to keep his family safe and off the streets.

So he retrieved his father's revolver from the dreaded liquor cabinet, took his mother's scarf, stepped into his shoes, and did what he had to do.

At the young age of thirteen, he coldly robbed a man at gunpoint. The gun hadn't even been loaded, but cocking it and frantically screaming for money did the trick. The rush that took him over had yet to be matched. Even years later, no drug, no whore, no booze, nothing could reach that peak.

At the age of thirteen, he'd learnt that they were alone in the world, always spat on by idiots who held their chins up high. But he could make them bend and plead for their life, and he loved every second of it.

Walking home, he felt no remorse. The money burnt in his pockets. It was enough for two months' rent, and maybe even enough to buy a new coat for Ada as a Christmas present.

His mother never asked about the source of the money, his meddling Aunt Pol did however. She was a widow but the small pension was hardly enough to make ends meet. She'd taken a job at one of the laundries. After their father left, she'd help out around the house. Her son and daughter had been taken from her due to a petty crime and it had left his aunt problem, on the verge of a mental breakdown.

'I am hearing things Neè, things that aren't there', he'd heard his aunt say to his mother when they thought the kids were fast asleep, 'I keep hearing my babies'.

It didn't take long until their aunt moved into Watery Lane. The Shelby's tiny house now included two heart-broken women, but their shared dread made them bound. Their mother was more cheerful and percent, managing to prepare decent meals. Their aunt would come back from work with a bottle of bourbon and both ladies would drink the night away. Their alcohol use was a complete contrast of their father's. Polly would sing old Romani songs and slur adventures stories about their ancestors.

Polly brought warmth and cosiness into their home and took on the role of a mother from time to time. There would be tea and biscuits every day and scones on Sunday mornings. Ada learned to read hands and tea leaves. John turned into Polly's shadow and absorbed every kind word and touch. Arthur's explosive tantrums became rarer, and Tommy finally dared to let his guard down. It took him a while though, because trusting a stranger had never paid off before. Tommy had been the head of the household and wasn't about to simply let someone else take that place. Plus, Tommy had never been impressed by any form of authority, besides his father's iron fists. For a very long time, Tommy had done everything to push Polly away, make her leave. Every rule or boundary she tried to establish he'd demolish, he'd ignore her, provoke her and press her buttons long enough until she was in tears. More than once he'd been granted a slap across the face and at times he'd been close to hitting her back. He never did though, it wasn't right to hit a woman.

Eventually Tommy made piece with the fact that Polly wasn't going anywhere and deep down he was relieved that someone beside him had the brain and the right kind of heart to take care of his siblings.

But misfortune lurked around the corner of Watery street.

Their mother left them sudden and quickly, giving birth to her last breech-born son. As Arthur was getting a midwife, and Polly needed assistance, Tommy witnessed it all. His youngest brother came into a bloody world, screaming his guts out, as their mother let out a final breath, clutching her hands around Polly's. "Don't let this one turn out like the others!"

Tommy sat there quietly with a wailing, crimson baby in his arms, as the doctor declared their mother's passing. Bewildered, he stared at his little brother, tiny yet perfect limbs flailing around. While the midwife covered his mother's lifeless body, he wrapped his brother up in a towel, staining the fabric a vivid red. Carefully, he extended his thumb and gently pressed it against the baby's lips. He'd seen his mother do that before to keep Ada quiet.

The tiny body paused and instinctively started sucking his thumb.

Even now, years later, he felt that overpowering need of protecting his youngest brother. And for protection, there was a price that needed to be paid.

When Tommy was fourteen, the Shelby family made a name for themselves, and all those chin-up bastards all of a sudden had a good reason to look down.

Arthur managed their first robbery well and the second followed rapidly after. With their violence and victory growing, their small pack started to expand. A lot of unfortunate youngsters were more than eager to help and in a twisted way the Shelby siblings became a role model for the poorest on the streets of Small Heath.

They were rising from their father's ashes and the sky was the limit. There was no more time for spontaneous petty crimes, although Arthur had to get used to that. With calculated guidance from Polly, their family business flourished. It didn't nurture their open wounds, but it made life a hell of a lot easier.

To keep his family safe, Tommy was selling his soul to the devil. Bit by bit. And there wasn't a moment of regret.

.-.-.

"I am done with my chores. Shall I take Precious to the vet for his first check up?" Maria asked almost pleadingly in order to spend time with the young animal.

Tommy blinked his eyes a few times. He'd spaced out again. It had started to become a habit, drifting through his memories, and his solitude started to turn him into the same state his mother dwelled in. Being alone, with just your thoughts was not doing him any good. Yet he didn't have the willpower to change.

He nodded slowly, her cheerfulness was contagious, and he chuckled when she gave a toothy smile and hurried off to prepare the foal for his first appointment.

Her taking care of that brought another positive side effect, he would be able to pour down some whiskey without her rubbernecking and meddling with his alcohol indulgence.

He waved her off and pressed out his cigarette, now, where was that last bottle of whiskey?

.-.-.

The tension in the cramped household could be cut with a knife. Her uncle had banished her from the kitchen during breakfast and the evening meal. His utter rage had worn off, but it was smouldering. One wrong word or move and it would spark right up to burn off his mask.

Her uncle, a god fearing, honest, and proud man, could not cope with the fact that his family mingled with the Peaky Blinders. And he wouldn't let a chance go by to remind her of that. In his eyes she was a Judas, forced into his life by his wife. An utter abomination, a disgrace to the household and a possible threat to his sons. A gypsy-loving strumpet, whoring herself out rather than earning her fee by honest hard labour.

It didn't matter that she told him about her work as a stable maid, or about her promise to her father; that she would stay pure until marriage.

Her uncle placed more faith in the gossip than listening to her, and, if not for his fear of the Blinders, he would have kicked her out.

Being expelled into the hallway, Maria shifted on the narrow steps of the stairs to find a comfortable position; there was none. The wood was cold, and the upper step pricked into her back. She'd been given yesterday's leftovers to eat and munched on a tough crust of bread.

Tears ran down her face, and she silently let them fall on her plate. Not even her mum would believe her, and even if she did, she'd be powerless against her brother-in-law. If her sister hadn't put up a fight and pointed out her husband's Christian duty, they would have been on their way to the poor house.

Perhaps that was what frustrated Maria the most. Ever since they had came into their household, her aunt and uncle had made it painfully clear what a rough position they had put the family in and how grateful they should be, for the family's generosity and the roof over their head.

But Maria had made some calculations; because her mother had taken over her aunt's chores in the house, her aunt had been able to take a position as a sewing lady. Her two sisters where still of school age and were provided with free education during the weekdays. And her? She was earning a lot of money and was forced to give up every last penny - not that she did. She'd been saving up all her earning above the three shillings, keeping it safe in her bucket hat, sewed into a tiny pocket inside. If she'd ever wanted to have a chance of another life, this was her only option.

"A disgrace, Dotty! A disgrace!" She heard her uncle Walter roar to her mother.

Chewing on the inside of her cheek, she stood up. She had heard enough. Taking a veiny piece of beef from her plate she snuck up the stairs and headed to her bunk bed.

Retreating to the corner, she huddled down and took a bite of the cold meat, knowing it would not still her hunger. Tomorrow it would be Tuesday, and if she went off early there would be a warm, mouth-watering meal waiting for her. And an endless amount of proudly told stories to listen to. She'd grown fond of Charlie, who, at first glance had looked rather mean and intimidating. But, besides being awfully loud and reeking of cheap cologne, he was a rather charming fellow, and above all kind to her. Fatherly even, warning her which streets to avoid and not get into Tommy's way when he was 'havin' that damn look'.

She missed that, a man that didn't purely see her as a new source of income. A man that made her feel wanted. Above all she missed her father and brother. If one, just one came back from the war her life wouldn't have turned into this hell. If only…

But both had died and she needed to face facts, right now this was her life and all she could do was bear it. Enjoy the tiny moments of happiness that came along. The early morning meals with Charlie, the calm nuzzling of the horses when she cleaned their boxes. The fresh air and touch of icy water when getting the bucket out of the well. All the small, new steps Precious bravely took, his tiny snout up high, parading proudly through the streets on his new shoes.

Tommy, even Tommy, made her life more bearable. Not just because he let her keep her job, but also because he was a calm constant companion during the day. He would not give her the gratitude she craved but he would help her out. He might have a scornful gaze, but nevertheless he would take over the heavy wheelbarrow if it was too much for her to handle. He'd tell her to take a break when she'd worked herself into sweat and felt like passing out.

He'd walk her home after the Garrison and today he had tried to reduce his alcohol consumption, only heading to the storage room occasionally. She was no fool. Her alcoholic uncle had always been good at hiding the bottles and she knew Tommy hid his on the lower plank behind the ropes, she'd seen it when she'd been searching for the rope during the birth of Precious.

She didn't mind him drinking though, he was more cantankerous when he was sobering up.

Downstairs there was some commotion, but Maria felt too drained to care. Even when her little sisters came into the bedroom she made no effort to tidy herself up.

"Uncle Walter called you a harlot," May whispered fearfully. "What's that?"

Glaring down at her sisters, she envied them and their youth. Why should she be the only one to work to support the family? Why could her sisters go to school and live carefree?

Instantly she felt guilty for her thoughts, at least she had lived her full childhood at the farm. With the privilege of getting to know her father as a young man and enjoying the company of her wonderful older brother. She'd be able to remember them vividly, while in a few years her brother and father would be nothing more than ghost to April and May.

She let herself lay down, wrapped herself into the blankets, and listen to the tiny voices of the twins as they tried to play a game in the moonlight.

Maria squeezed her eyes shut and prayed for morning to arrive soon.

.-.-.

A/N As I made up mute-Tommy I also wanted to make up his 'past'. This is my version of what I think could have been the Shelby's childhood. What I like about Tommy in general is his diversity. A part of him is a very loving family man. Another part is a coldhearted killer, I like how he makes you love both of his sides.

Oh yes and I like to make Maria's life harder per chapter, poor thing.

Please share your thoughts,

xoxoxo Nukyster