AUTHOR'S NOTE: Chapter 5 is here :) Hope you enjoy it!
V| TO INDEPENDENT WOMEN
"...And Oliver followed him. There was no fire in this room but a man was crouching over the empty stove-"
A soft snore interrupted her narration. She glanced down at the sleeping boy in her lap and smiled, brushing away the stray curls from his forehead affectionately. He stirred, but only to snuggle further into her warm embrace.
Closing her eyes she let herself imagine, if for a moment, he was her own.
Children were a dangerous luxury in her line of work and consequently she never actually thought about having one. Most of the girls she went to school with were all married by now, with a baby in a crib or on the way. In a year or two she'll be considered an old maid, but it would be foolish of her to think Robert would let her off like that.
Her dearest papà grumbled at her stubbornness and constant refusal of potential arranged marriages. I shall never marry someone who doesn't know my heart and soul.
Behind the self imposed mask she put on every morning, of an elegant business woman with a cold, unyielding façade hid a heart of a girl. A hopeless romantic that would not settle for anything less than a man who appreciated her for all her quirks and flaws, one who would not judge her for the way she lived - with blood on her hands, smoke in her lungs and gin in her veins.
Truthfully, she was terrified. Absolutely, gut-wrenchingly terrified of the possibility of ruining her child's life with the morally straying way of life she enjoyed, a danger she could never truly abandon. Could, she thought, or wanted to?
It was undeniable to anyone who meddled with the murky side of the world that it held a consuming attraction, a certain pull intoxicating enough to wrench the angels from the Heaven's grasp.
The front doors of the house rattled. Caterina's eyes snapped open, hand flying for the knife hidden underneath the coffee table. But it was too far for her to reach, not without moving and waking Finn in the process. Where is Maria when I need her?
Shuffling, soles of shoes hitting the wooden floorboards in an uneven rhythm. Instead of an unwanted intruder or a burglar, Thomas Shelby emerged from the dark of the hallway. With a breath of relief she relaxed her shoulders.
"I thought Polly or John were coming to get him. He just fell asleep."
"I don't mind." It had to be raining outside, she noted. His dark hair was pushed back, damp from the rain. The fabric of his shirt clung tightly to his skin. It gave a brief, sinful, idea of what could be beneath it. He leaned on the doorframe, cigarette hanging lazily from his hand, ash tumbling to the floor and piling onto the soft carpet of the hallway.
It provoked a scowl to rise on her lips. "Stop ruining my carpet, you prick." She pointedly shoved the ashtray in his direction.
He rolled his eyes before making way to the armchair. As he situated himself in front of the fire, cigarette laying extinguished in the ashtray she could finally see the exhausted appearance of her friend.
Are we friends? Partners? What am I to you, Thomas Shelby? A passing acquaintance ?
"You look terrible."
An understatement, really. Red rimmed his tired eyes, followed by a forlorn look in his icy blue eyes. There, in the light of the fireplace, he look more humane than she had ever seen him. More vulnerable. Tommy Shelby was not a God, in the end, no matter how hard he tried.
Thomas snorted in agreement, eyes fixed on the dancing embers. "I had a whisky and a heartbreaking song. Didn't help."
It was one of those nights, when he was bound to wake up gasping for air, clawing at his throat in the never ending darkness. No matter how much whiskey he drank, how much opium he smoked, it always caught up to him - the ghostly hand of war creeped into his dreams, twisting his sanity. Instead of surrendering himself to the infernal torture of his own mind, he left The Garrison in search of the only person he had on his mind.
"So you decided to pop in?" Slowly extracting herself from Finn's grip, she substituted her lap with an embroidered cushion. "Sit down, I'll get you some water."
"The Lee family cursed her. I had to put a bullet to her head." He croaked, his eyes closed in what she could only immagine to be remorse.
The unexpected confession halted her in her tracks. "I'm so sorry." There was nothing more she could tell him in that moment.
He glanced at the woman who had cradled his brother in her arms so lovingly one could have mistaken her for his mother. It was incomprehensible to him how she managed to worm her way into his daily life in a matter of weeks. "We'll go riding when this is over."
Amber coloured eyes stared back at him, glowing fiercely he could have mistaken them for a pair of stars. "Well, you promised."
"Aye, I promised."
He said it softly, blue eyes boring a hole through her. Blood pulsed in her head, her ears, stomach fluttering.
Is it possible to disarm someone with a look?
She turned, blaming the flush on her cheeks on the proximity to the fireplace, and tucked a plaid blanket over Finn.
"I can tell the maid to make a spare bedroom if you want, I mean to spend the night- uh, I mean that sounded improper-"
The fierce leader of the Peaky Blinders was snoring in her armchair. Her expression softened. In the candlelight, he looked almost free of all his burdens.
"Night, Tommy."
She bent down and blew out the candles, feeling the gentle grip of sleep pulling her towards her bed.
By the time Caterina rolled out of the bed the following morning, the two Shelby brothers were gone with no evidence of their presence besides a neatly folded plaid blanket resting on the sofa and several cigarette buts laying in the ashtray.
"He told me I should wear a red one." Sounded Grace's voice from behind the changing curtain. An hour ago Caterina had dragged her from The Garrison after her morning shift had ended, bribing her with a promise of finding her a dress for the races and a gelato afterwards.
"Yeah, well he does like them in red." Caterina laid over the cushioned sofa of the boutique, a dainty crystal glass of cherry in one hand and a half-finished cigarette in the other.
"Who?"
She pointedly ignored her question, pushing herself off the couch to rummage through the displayed clothing.
"I need a new something. A dress, can't have too many of those. Do you have anything in cream or pink perhaps?" She turned to the shopkeeper.
"Yes madam, a moment please."
Her attention was caught by several dainty blouses on the hangers, like a child in a sweetshop. "See anything you like?"
"I love this one." The curtain opened revealing her Irish friend in a lovely red lace and silk dress that fell to her knees, accentuating her pale complexion. Spinning a few times in front of the large mirror on the wall she inspected the way it fit her. Sighing dreamily, she said. "I feel like a princess."
Caterina nodded in agreement, giving the masterly needlework an appreciative look. "You'll pass off like a lady, no problem there."
The shopkeeper returned bearing several finely embroidered party dresses, making Caterina gasp in delight as promptly disappear behind the changing curtain, eager to try them on. There were only a few things she loved more than spending money.
On the other hand, Grace's jubilant smile turned into frown as she noticed the price tag. "It's too expensive for me."
Caterina peaked her head from behind the curtain. "Bug Thomas for a pound more."
Grace furiously shook her head, red flush burning on her cheeks. "I couldn't, it's not really proper. I wouldn't want to anger him." He's my employer for Christ's sake. And after last night's scene at The Garrison she was afraid of the possibility of being discovered.
"I'd consider that just a bonus. Now, how do I look?" Dramatically throwing open the curtains, Caterina flounced out in a cream coloured dress. The sleeves falling to her elbows unraveled her tanned, Mediterranean complexion.
"Hello there," She winked at her reflection, making both Grace and the shopkeeper stifle their giggles. "I'm definitively taking this one!"
In the end Caterina purchased not only the cream dress, but also a navy sundress and a matching hat while Grace chose a soft blue blouse to compliment her eyes. The owner insisted on everything being on the house but Cat would hear none of it, instead leaving the woman several bills more.
For once the sun was shining onto the cracked pavement of Birmingham, forcing the residents to seek comfort and shade underneath several canvas awnings of the shops and cafés. Women took out their colorful sun hats and shoved off their legs in shorter dresses, the men trading their heavy coats for lighter blazers and rolled-up sleeves.
"We're here, come on!" Cat grinned in excitement, tugging her along into the shop.
A tiny building, squished between a flowershop and a jewellers, with mint green and white stripes painted on the facade and an intricately designed sign saying Gelateria Palermitana hanging above the doors.
Their sudden appearance ceased the chatter in the parlor. Several people rose from their chairs in greeting having recognized the black haired woman entering. She gave them an appreciative nod motioning them to sit.
"Paolo!"
The man in question circled the counter, smiling widely and embraced Caterina, kissing her cheeks twice. He sported an unkept moustache on his lip and equally unruly dark hair, but both could be overlooked when he grinned, as if proudly flaunting the pearly white of his perfect teeth.
Grace looked in bewilderment as she rapidly conversed with the waiter in a language she presumed was Italian and the way they threw their hands around animatedly.
Soon enough, the two women occupied the table near the window, the bags with their purchases scattered around them.
Paolo reemerged from the kitchen carrying two shining chalices filled to the brim with the sweet-smelling dessert, winking cheekily at Grace before leaving.
It was the most decadent thing Grace had ever seen: four different flavours of gelato formed in neat scoops, a thick blanket of chocolate covering it. It cracked once she dug into it, like an egg-shell.
"Try chocolate and orange, It's divine. Oh and the lemon sorbet." The raven haired woman nudged her friend so enthusiastically she could hardly refuse.
She spooned the cold desert into her mouth, her eyes closing in delight. It was unlike anything she ever tasted and the depth of its flavour pleasantly surprised her. "I'm a chocolate gal for sure." She concluded.
"You would've loved my brother Alessandro - couldn't get enough of it."
For all the weeks she had known her, Caterina rarely spoke of her family. Brow rising in question, she asked. "Oh where is he?"
Caterina grimaced a bit. "Dead."
The effect of her words was instantaneous. Grace's face paled as she lamely struggled to apologise, spluttering, panic evident in her blue eyes. "Oh! Oh God I'm sorry-"
Cat cut her off politely before she could dissolve into more apologetic ranting. "Don't fret about it, you couldn't have known." She paused. Grace could see her eyes glaze over. "They sent him to Gallipoli 'cause he knew Greek."
And you were the one who taught him Greek, whispered that vile little voice that liked to torment her as of late.
Although most prefered to ignore the fact the war ended a little over a year ago, it was the little, everyday things that liked to slap them in the face that opened the old wounds and forgotten memories.
It was the way Maria still made the dinning table for four, not three people. War veterans, now turned beggars, knocked on the doors of bakeries and restaurants pleading for a scrap or two. A missing eyes, a lack of a finger or a limb and an empty look in their eyes. The most desperate ones turned up in the Cut in the early morning.
"I lost an uncle, in the war, too." Grace offered meekly. Sensing the desperate need to change the painful subject she turned her attention to the food.
"How did you get the idea to open a gelato shop? I've heard about the London ones." The question changed her friend's demeanor, eyes lighting up in an instant.
"Well, every lady needs a little shop to launder money, am I right?" She winked cheekily, making her laugh. "It keeps my mind off things I suppose. And people seem to like it."
It was more than true - the parlor was bustling with life. Young couples trading shy glances over their cups, grandparents spoiling their grandchildren with the icy treat, friends sharing saucy gossip.
"Now tell me, what does a pretty Irish girl do in the slums of Birmingham?"
She was threading on thin ice now, Grace knew. It was no doubt Caterina knew when someone lied - and she was about to lie straight to her face.
"I was born and bred in Galway but I moved with my parents to Dublin when the war began. Moving to Birmingham, well..I wanted a fresh start, forget the past." It was true, to an extent. The situation in her homeland was far too turbulent for her to stand idly by, with a dose of vengeance the Crown gladly took.
"Was it a man?"
A rueful smile appeared on her lips. "Isn't it always?"
"And you just took a boat across the sea, by yourself?" Caterina wondered. If only she had such freedom. "Left everything in the jolly old Ireland."
"It's 1920 'round the corner, Cat." Grace nodded proudly. "I like to think I'm an independent woman."
Cat raised her spoon in an overly dramatic way. "A toast. To strong, independent women."
"May we be them, may we raise them."
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