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XXV
ROSEMARY, THYME AND LAVENDER
August 9th, 1931
I don't know where to start. It's been almost a month since my last entry and, certainly, I'm not proud of having left my chronicles aside because now I'm facing the odyssey of relating everything that has happened since July 13th, trusting that my memory won't discard anything, no matter how small it may be.
I'll begin by saying that today is Sunday afternoon and I have just arrived at Ada's house after spending four days in bed at Arrow House, Thomas's mansion. I know, my dear diary, that if you had any kind of conscience at all, you would be confused at this moment: how can it be that after what happened that distant July night on Small Heath, I can say without shame or embarrassment that until a little while ago I was at Thomas's house, receiving attentions from his servants as if I were suddenly his wife?
I know that what I'm writing makes no sense, but believe me you'll see things less clearly when I confess that I've come from Thomas's house because the weather forced us to go back there. If it were up to the two of us, we would still be on the run in the thick woods of Wales, in that caravan, carefree and happy, as we were for a whole week.
After July 13th, I spent seventeen days in which I heard absolutely nothing from Thomas and I cannot express in words the immense anguish that this generated in me.
I had opened my heart to this man's eyes, and all I received in response was the most icy distance I have ever experienced: he never showed up at the bookstore again, or at Ada's house. Nor did he call or ask for me from his sister. I firmly believed that I had lost him forever and even blamed myself for the brutality with which I exposed my love for him. I wondered many, many times, as I spent dead hours in the bookstore, if perhaps I should have been more careful, given what a troubled man Thomas is, and how insecure he has always been about his feelings for me.
"We have something", he had told me the first time we slept together, emphasizing the detail that he didn't quite know what that 'something' was. It wasn't simple lust, but it wasn't love either. I was sure it wasn't love, and yet, in an impulse that I couldn't control, I made him aware of how deep my affection was, perhaps causing him to perceive that he couldn't give me the same and decide to walk away. In any case, I knew he wasn't doing it maliciously: since our feelings were not equal, he must have thought that by cooling the relationship he would save me a lot of sadness.
Needless to say, it achieved the exact opposite.
I cried every night from the thirteenth of July onwards. I cried until the pillow was soaking wet and I had to turn it over. I cried until I fell asleep, exhausted from my own suffering. I cried and did nothing but cry. I did it silently and loudly when I was alone at home. I did it in bed and in the bathtub; on the couch, at the dining room table, in the bookstore when Millie was napping in the storage room. I regretted and blamed a million times but most of all, I felt like an idiot.
That's why I didn't write again. It wasn't because I had nothing to tell, but because my miseries made me very sad and remembering what I told myself a couple of entries ago made me feel intolerably ashamed.
"I love Thomas, it's true, but I must love myself more".
Things took a drastic turn on July 29th and it is at this point that I must clarify that, if I didn't write down my memories, it was because I didn't have the diary with me, nor did I have anything I could write in.
I was leaving the bookstore and it was almost six o'clock in the evening. Millie said goodbye to me, and I walked toward the tram stop, reveling in the pink and orange clouds that marbled the twilight sky. It struck me that a few buildings later I caught a glimpse of Arthur on the sidewalk, as if he was waiting for someone, and when he saw me he raised his eyebrows and straightened his jacket.
"Olivia", he greeted with an exaggerated nod. He looked nervous.
"Hello... Mr. Shelby", I found it strange to address him in the same way I had addressed Thomas at some point.
"Tommy ordered me to take you to Arrow House", he blurted out.
"What?"
"He wants to talk to you", he stammered.
I don't know what my reaction was at that moment but what I perceived was an immense mixture of feelings. I was overwhelmed with joy but bewilderment welled up in my chest. At the same time, a strange burning sensation, surely provoked by the pride I still possessed, made me clench my fists.
"If he wants to talk to me, he can phone Ada's house", I said.
"It's just he needs to talk to you... in person", Arthur insisted. He was uncomfortable and it was obvious he didn't want to have that conversation.
"And for that he makes me go to his house which is far away and, on top of that, where his wife lives?" I asked, annoyed. "Why doesn't he show up at my work like he has done before?".
"He needs to talk to you in person because he wants to show you something", Arthur added.
That conversation might have been perfectly suited to a comedy. Arthur was adding to the details of Thomas's order as I became more and more reluctant to accompany him.
"What is it he wants to show me?", I sensed an interest that suddenly made me loathe myself.
"One thing we gypsies have".
Yes, I know Arthur's limited explanation sounds unusual and stupid but I swear that was the only thing he deigned to tell me.
"Well, let him bring that thing to the bookshop", I resolved I would not give Arthur any more conversation, for it seemed useless to me, and I decided to go on my way past him.
It was then that he took me by the arm.
"Olivia, Tom can't bring a fucking gypsy caravan into downtown Birmingham". I was surprised to hear him mumble. The shyness had dissipated. "So get in the car and I'll take you to Arrow House".
I would be lying if I said that at that moment I didn't feel some fear. Arthur is, in my eyes, a very particular man. I don't know him very well but I have been able to identify two completely opposite sides to him: on the one hand, he is withdrawn and avoids at all costs to relate to people who are not in his circle and, when he is forced to do so, he seems very uncomfortable; on the other hand, he is confrontational and violent and this has led me to notice that Thomas uses him, in a way, for his benefit.
That's why I got into the vehicle. After he stopped me in that rude manner, I couldn't predict how he would react if I refused.
Needless to say, the ride was dominated by silence and, still somewhat disturbed, my mind began to wonder what the hell was going on. After sixteen days, not only was Thomas not making an appearance in front of me, but he was dragging me to him to show me, according to his brother, a gypsy caravan. What was that all about? Why of all the conversations we should be having, did Thomas want to meet me for something so insignificant?
Two or three minutes had passed since we had entered Thomas's lands, and long before we had glimpsed the mansion, I noticed that a large wooden caravan drawn by two horses was stopped on the precarious road through the fields. Thomas got out of it when he saw the car approaching.
Arthur stopped the car at a considerable distance and stared at me, encouraging me to get out. Dismayed and annoyed, for I didn't want to be there, I obeyed and cursing inwardly walked to meet Thomas, who waited for me at the side of the caravan.
"Ollie..."
"Can you explain to me what all this means?", I spoke over him. I was in no mood for bullshit.
Thomas didn't seem to care about my bad mood but took a drag on his cigarette and tapped a couple of times on the trailer.
"What do you think?" he asked, as if I were an expert in that kind of vehicle.
"It's the first time I've seen a gypsy caravan, so I don't know", I shrugged and then crossed my arms.
"Let's get out of here, Ollie", he suddenly blurted out, and I fell victim to stupefaction.
"What?"
"Let's run away". Thomas exhaled smoke. "Fuck the Peaky Blinders. Fuck the Company. Fuck Lizzie and Ada and Michael. Come with me".
I don't know why I did it, but I looked over my shoulder at Arthur and saw that he was still inside the car. He was watching us unperturbed, and I wondered if he knew what his brother was proposing.
"Where are we going to go? What are we going to live on? And why, out of the blue, are you proposing this to me?", those were just three of the thousands of questions that were boggling my mind.
"Where we'll go, we'll decide on the way", he said, calmly. "I had thought of Scotland, but that's a long way off, so we should go to Wales for now. The important thing is that we get across the border; only then will they leave us alone. We can live on fishing and hunting, and that's what I'll take care of: I know how to fish and hunt. You won't have to worry about anything".
I squinted and wondered again if the man in front of me was serious.
"What about Ada? You may not care, but I'm not about to leave without telling her. It would worry her".
"Ada will assume you eloped with me when they find out we're both missing. Besides, I wrote a note". His impishness made my nerves twitch. "Arthur has it. As soon as we leave, he'll leave it in the kitchen for Frances to see".
"That note has to say something very convincing so that your family won't insist on looking for us", I faced him, and once again, I looked at Arthur. Surprisingly, he did know of Thomas's plans. "What does it say, pray tell?", I asked.
"It says: 'We're gone forever. Go fuck yourselves'".
At first I thought he was joking but the lack of jocularity in his features gave me to understand that he was serious. I couldn't believe it.
"Thomas, what the fuck...?"
"Ollie, what happened the other night in Small Heath ate at my brain", he interrupted. "I don't want to see you cry ever again in my life. And if you do, I don't want to be the cause of it. I'm not willing to hurt you again and I'm not willing to lose you and both of those things are impossible with these bastards around". he explained. "Leaving it all behind is the only way", he insisted.
His countenance exhumed sincerity and I was then aware that the façade of righteousness that I had been trying to show since I got out of the car was cracking and breaking before the need that his eyes implored in me. Thomas really was willing to give up everything for me, and if that wasn't the greatest show of love, what was?
I realized that his attitude was worth far more to my heart than a 'me too' would have been when I told him I loved him. Thomas was the kind of man who, when he knew that words were not proof enough, turned to deeds.
"What about Charles and Ruby?", I had to ask before making any decisions. At no time had I overlooked Thomas's children.
"They'll be all right", Thomas assured me, but a shadow of sadness crept across his face. "Lizzie adores them and will look after them. They won't need me".
"Yes, they will", I corrected him.
"You don't know me as a parent, Olivia". Thomas shook his head. "If those children had the chance to choose their father, they wouldn't have chosen me".
I swallowed at the pain of hearing him say that. I wanted to hug him, but my body, still reluctant and proud, held back.
"Let's go, then" I said.
Thomas arched his eyebrows as if he hadn't expected my nod but refrained from probing.
Taking me by the hand he helped me into the caravan. It was dark but well stocked. A mattress was at the back and served as a bed. A small wood stove had a couple of iron pots on top of it and a bunch of cupboards full of things surrounded it. Dried herbs hung from the ceiling, and while I don't recognize the scent so far, I'd venture to say the place smelled like a mixture of rosemary, thyme and lavender.
"Do you like it?", Thomas asked, having surely noticed my rapt attention.
"Yes, it's beautiful", I gasped.
Thomas put on his cap, pulled on the reins, and started the horses on their way. We passed Arthur's vehicle and both brothers nodded goodbye. We were driving away from Arrow House.
"How did you convince Arthur?", I needed to get that out of my mind.
"Convince him of what?",Thomas asked.
"Convincing him not to say anything to the others and to accept all of this so peacefully". Already by the fact that I had to explain myself, I imagined that things had not happened as I had supposed.
"Arthur doesn't know we're eloping", Thomas flicked the butt of his cigarette. "I told him we were going away for a couple of days because I wanted to show you what our life was like as kids".
"And what about the note?", for some reason, I felt sorry for Arthur.
"He won't read it. I made it clear to him that if he didn't want to mess things up, he had to leave it in the kitchen. He'll be as surprised as everyone else when he finds out what's in it".
Sitting on the floor of the caravan, I hugged my knees. There was no doubt that what we were doing wasn't right, but for the first time in my life, I allowed myself to be selfish. Thomas was showing me a side of himself that I didn't think he possessed until that moment, and I was captivated by knowing what he was capable of.
"Have you ever been to Wales?", Thomas asked.
"Tom, until a few months ago, had never left London".
"Tom", he repeated. "You called me 'Tom' again. In the bookshop you made a point of treating me formally, and when you met me today you simply called me 'Thomas'".
"I was upset", I justified myself even though I didn't have to.
"You were, that means you're not anymore", the mocking tone made me a little miffed.
"No, but I can be again. It doesn't cost me anything to get cranky", I warned him.
"What the fuck have I done?", Thomas spoke sarcastically, speaking to the almost dark sky. The first stars were already out. "I've run off with a woman with a bad temper", he added.
"We can come back whenever you want", I said, half joking, half serious. "We're not far yet".
"Ollie, there's no way in hell I'm coming back" and looking into my eyes, he smiled at me.
We crossed the border shortly after midnight. Thomas was the one who brought me up to date, for I could see nothing but thick foliage and impenetrable blackness. I asked him how he knew we had left England behind, as there was nothing on the road to indicate it, and he replied that the air had changed as soon as we had entered Welsh soil.
I was fascinated to hear him and to see him being one with nature. Thomas is a romani and as such his spirit is as free as a nightingale. Westminster, Arrow House and the Company are his cage and a condemnation, and so I realised that escape meant not only that we could live in peace, but also the emancipation of his soul.
Thomas stopped the horses beside a narrow, still river, whose black water reflected the moon as if it were a mirror. From under the small stove he took a bundle of sticks and a cloth bag. When we got off, he built a fire facing the river and laid out before my eyes what was to be our supper: bread, cheese and dried fish.
We sat in front of the fire, on the damp earth of the riverbank.
"Is it after twelve already?", Thomas asked as we both chewed.
"I guess so", I said, and, forcing myself to swallow, I reached for his pocket watch to check the time.
He stopped me and raised a finger to the moon.
"Look at the height of the moon. Yes, it's definitely past twelve. It's the thirtieth of July", he looked at me, and I saw the flames reflect in his beautiful eyes. "It's my birthday today".
I arched my eyebrows in an attempt to denote my surprise. As silly as it sounds, I had never inquired about his birthday and, feeling a little guilty, I wanted to rush my congratulations.
"Happy..." I choked on the fish. Thomas was amused by my clumsiness.
"Thank you, Ollie", he draped an arm over my shoulders and pulled me to him. Then he kissed my forehead. For some reason, he looked sad at that moment. Now I could tell he was drunk with memories. "You know, I was born in that same caravan", he said, pointing to the caravan a couple of feet away from us. The horses, silent, succumbed to sleep. "Forty-one years ago".
"Was your whole family born there?", I asked, thinking of Ada. By that time in Birmingham, they would have noticed our absence.
"Not all of them. Just Arthur and I. John and Ada were born on my father's barge. Finn, at our house in Small Heath". Thomas bit into a piece of bread. "It's ironic, but I loved being a nomad and going from place to place, camping. I had my own horse, and when I wasn't in the caravan, I was out riding and exploring, discovering new places".
"Why did you and your family leave that life behind?". Thomas's story made me curious.
"My grandfather committed suicide and my mother took that as a sign. At the time she said that God wanted us to have a normal life, that He was punishing us for our gypsy blood. Even as a child, I thought that sounded like a load of bullshit". He cleared his throat as if trying to soothe some kind of feeling. "My father sold our horses, mine included, and with the money he bought a barge he called 'January'. That same boat was used for his illegal activities".
I stepped back in surprise.
"Did the Peaky Blinders exist back then?"
"Not the Peaky Blinders as such but our family's been committing crimes since the middle of the last century, Ollie". Thomas smiled. "The first one to go off the rails was my father's father, Michael Shelby. A catholic Irish, gypsy and criminal. Didn't have one good attribute, that jerk". His own words were funny to him. "He started in fraudulent business when he was very young, during the Great Famine, to feed his siblings. When the situation improved, he continued to commit crimes because he found he liked being a criminal. He lived on the run from the police; one day they took him into custody and he never came back. In his honor, my father named me Thomas Michael Shelby, and Polly named her son Michael for the same reason". I saw him squint. "That bastard doesn't deserve that name".
"Your family's story is very interesting", I tried to divert the subject, since I didn't want Thomas to remember Michael. "The little I know about mine is that we were always poor and nothing else", I forced myself to laugh.
Thomas grabbed my chin and forced me to look at him.
"Well, now you'll be a gypsy princess", he said, putting his nose against mine. "Like my grandmother and my mum".
I thought he was going to kiss me, but he stood up and walked over to the river instead. I watched intently as he took the little bottle of laudanum out of his coat pocket, and just as a hint of disappointment appeared in my heart, I saw him throw it into the river with such force that I knew at once that he had not hesitated to do so.
Dumbfounded, I witnessed Thomas look over his shoulder at me.
"This is my gift to myself, Ollie", he said, and I felt my pulse quicken. "My new life doesn't include the Peaky Blinders, or laudanum, or Grace". He was silent for a couple of seconds, and all I could hear was the murmur of the river and the crickets chirping. "Just you and me".