6 June 1919
There was a warmth in the air today, a sticky heat that confirmed the coolness of spring had been chased away by the summer months. The trees were blanketed in green leaves, wild flowers and thick grass covered the ground, and, except for the gentle song of a bird in the distance, there was silence.
Elizabeth stood before the three graves, hands tucked into the pockets of her skirt and eyes downcast, not quite tearful, but certainly stormy if you caught a glance. She was still, almost like stone, as if she believed she could trick nature by not moving, that the flowers would bloom across her skin and she'd disappear into the world around her. Though her body was still, it did nothing to stop the battle in her mind. Racing thoughts that were shouting and screaming at each other, so loud that Elizabeth wouldn't be surprised if someone all the way back in Small Heath could hear them.
He had stopped the car outside her flat two days ago, and she'd gotten out the vehicle and walked inside without looking back once. Elizabeth had forced herself out of bed the next day, forced herself to walk down the road, forced herself to complete her shift at the Garrison. She had, however, let herself rush back home after, not stepping a foot down Watery Lane, where he might be.
She was willing to give him a bit of credit though, for keeping away. John and Arthur had come tumbling into the pub at lunch yesterday, laughing, shouting, complaining about their sour brother who'd refused to come along and asking Elizabeth if she knew "What the fuck was up with him today?".
She'd let out a sigh of relief.
Today she was free, her one day off a week. Normally she'd go to Watery Lane, help get the children up and away to school and then sit and talk with Polly and Ada, like the old days. Polly would be wondering where she was, and eventually would come looking for her. Elizabeth would be ready to deal with it all in a few days, but right now she just couldn't stomach Polly knowing. And Polly would know the minute she saw her.
What had happened with Kimber wasn't what hurt her the most. She'd done a lot of thinking about it and knew that she could let something like that go. It could have been so much worse, and starting work in the Garrison at fourteen had taught her all she needed to get out of situations like that. It made her feel sick, but she could deal with that.
What really hurt was the betrayal. The fact that Tommy had promised it was just a dance, that all he wanted was to take her out, but then had turned around and sold her like a whore. Like she meant nothing to him. And had then expected his promise of saviour would heal everything.
As if he wasn't the one she needed saving from.
And what hurt the most was the knowledge that Tommy was no longer the person she'd known. The boy from before the way, gentle and kind, was lost from her forever, and now she would have to decide if she could love this new Thomas like she'd loved the old one, or if after a decade, finally, she'd have to let it all go.
Love could be so beautiful, but choose the wrong person, and it could become poisonous.
"It fucking throws me every time." John's voice came from behind her, making Elizabeth jump and snap her head around.
He was stood a few paces away, hands in his pockets, cigarette between his lips and his gaze focused on her family's graves.
"What does?" She replied, watching him as he came to her side, before looking at the headstones herself.
"Seeing three," John mumbled, "It ain't right that there's any at all, but three.. Jesus, it's..."
"I know," Elizabeth said softly, unable to find the words either.
His hand rested momentarily on her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. Her thoughts had silenced slightly at John's arrival, and she was unwilling for them to start again, so Elizabeth broke the quiet.
"What are you doing here?" She asked, turning to face him.
"Visiting the missus," John responded.
His tone was casual and sarcastic, yet it filled Elizabeth with remorse.
"Shit, sorry John, of course."
She felt embarrassed that she'd forgotten, but it was still so strange that Martha was gone. The last time Elizabeth had seen her, she had been nine months pregnant and full of life. Somehow, in the years Elizabeth was gone, that life had been snuffed out and crushed as if she hadn't meant the world to so many people. The killer had been ruthless. Spanish flu. An invisible monster that had crept up on so many young lives, lives that had survived war, only to be taken by influenza. They haunted her dreams, the soldiers, nurses and doctors alike, blue faces that swam before her, blood dripping from their mouths.
She'd gotten sick herself, late last year, the flu ripping through Abbeville like a holy pestilence.
The locals had said it was God trying to cleanse the land.
Demelza had looked after her, looked after them all; Elizabeth, Vanessa and Emma had lay confined in their beds, coughing and choking from the sickness, but still she'd refused to leave their side. She had said firmly that the four of them had been all the way down the Front together, that they had been by each other's sides through shelling and enemy fire and threat of German advance, and nothing could make them part now. Her efforts meant the three of them had survived.
Two nights later they had woken to Demelza in a coughing fit, within the hour she was vomiting blood, by morning light she lay cold. Demelza was five years older than Martha, and a week from turning 28.
Such wasted lives, Elizabeth thought with burning anger.
"You thinking about something?" John asked, pulling her suddenly from her mind.
"Do you believe in God?" She replied, looking him in the eye. John seemed taken aback by her seemingly random question, unsure on how to answer.
"Don't know if a graveyard is really the place to discuss faith, Eliza." He said meekly, rubbing the back of his neck.
"That's a yes, then."
"You don't believe." It wasn't so much of a question that he asked, as a statement. Not even a statement, but rather like he was revealing some knowledge he'd known all along.
"No, I do believe in him," she said quietly, words dripping with malice, "I just fucking hate him."
John cursed softly at that, putting a hand around her waist and leading her away.
"I have no truck with you hating God, love," he muttered, walking them across the grass, "but here is not the place to say it."
"I never took John Shelby to be someone who would fear God," she said jokingly, trying to lighten the dark mood she hadn't meant to create.
"I fear three things in life, Eliza," he said very seriously, "France, God, and above all else, my kids."
She held his gaze with intense sombreness for a few beats, before they both began to laugh, swaying as they walked, linked together like two drunk fools.
"You're kids are fucking terrifying John," Elizabeth giggled, resting her forehead on his shoulder as she tried to calm down.
"Bring it up with Martha then, if you dare." He said, coming to a stop.
Elizabeth looked up, stomach twisting. The grave was simple, clean and new, with wilting flowers lay in front of it. It read simply:
'Martha H. Shelby
Loving mother, wife and daughter
Died June 29th 1918
Aged 23 years'
"Martha has nothing to do with it," she said sullenly, "she'd never have been able to calm their Shelby blood"
She watched silently, as John walked forward, slipping of his cap and pressing a tender kiss to the top of the headstone. He'd changed so much since before the war, that Elizabeth had almost forgotten the side of him that had flourished around Martha. The love in his eyes when he looked at her, an arm always around her, a grin across his face.
She took his place once he'd drawn back slightly, placing her hand on the cool stone and closing her eyes, remembering. After, Elizabeth re-joined him, wrapping her arms around his waist. He put one arm over her shoulders, and she rested her cheek on his shoulder.
"I forgot to bring fresh flowers," he croaked, voice breaking.
"I'm so sorry John," was all she could manage to whisper before lulling into a bittersweet, teary silence.
The midday sun was burning by the time they made their way back down to the Cut, a small bit of happiness returning. Their smiles had come back and they were joking and playing, shoving each other in the side every now and then. Elizabeth had even managed to catch John off guard as they closed the gate into the graveyard, pushing him in the stomach and watching, laughing, as he went tumbling backwards, legs over his head down the hill.
"Fuck off," he grumbled, picking himself up gingerly.
"I can't believe you didn't see that coming John," she laughed, the sunlight on her face seeming to warm her soul. "Fuck, imagine if that was anyone else, sending a Blinder down the hill."
"I'd fucking kill you," he continued to mutter, ego hurt. Once he'd caught up with her, he gave Elizabeth a playful shove in the shoulder, winking. "But then Tommy'd kill me."
Her laughter faded out, and she cleared her throat, looking away from John.
"What?" he asked stupidly, "Aw, come on Eliza I was only joking."
"I know," she smiled at him, elbowing his bicep, "still, fuck off."
He grinned, darting in front of her suddenly and lifting her up by her waist. John tossed Elizabeth up, so that her stomach pressed against his shoulder, her arms beating down on his back as she tried to get down.
"John!" she laughed, hand smacking his neck, "let me go! Get the fuck off me!"
He only laughed in response, a good, deep laugh that left a smile on her face.
"You piece of shit." She sighed, relaxing slightly so her chest tilted forward, hands still pressed on his back to keep her upright.
"Tell me what happened at Cheltenham and I'll let you go." She rolled her eyes at his request.
"I can't fucking tell you anything stuck up here."
"Tough luck." He started making his way down the hill, moving too fast for her liking.
"If you fall over John, I swear to God-"she was cut off as his foot slipped slightly, an uninvited scream coming from her mouth. John regained his balance laughing.
Years ago, back when they hated each other, she would have grimaced at the thought of John hoisting her over his shoulder, scoffed at the mere idea of them laughing together like this. Elizabeth realised, though, stuck on his shoulder, that she would take this over what they used to have any day. She didn't know how exactly things had changed, but they had, and it was refreshing to have someone to laugh and joke with.
That person had once been Tommy, but that was no more. It hurt if she thought about it too much.
John reached a particularly steep part of the path, where the gravel was loose and it was still muddy, and the risk of falling was too great. Reluctantly, he let her down, and they walked side by side again. And, as they made their way back into the city, she told him all about Cheltenham. By the time she'd finished he was almost red with anger.
"You want me to kill him?" John was not joking.
"No," she sighed, almost reluctantly, "I don't want you to kill him."
"Then at least let me beat some sense into him, Eliza," he pleaded, halting in his tracks, putting a hand on her shoulder, "I've wanted to do it for months now, so it doesn't have to just be because of you."
"John, if I wanted to beat sense into him, trust me, I would have done it myself," she patted his hand, "what I would really like is for someone to beat some mercy into him."
"I have no chance at that," he grimaced, offering her a cigarette, and sighing, "seems like we need Polly's."
Elizabeth nodded in agreement.
7 June 1919
Tommy opened the back door and walked into the kitchen. It was empty, but the doors were open into the betting shop, and the noise was overwhelming. He sighed. It had been a busy week. Shit with Freddie, shit with Kimber, shit with Liza and now even more, fucking shit with the Coppers. Word had it that Inspector Campbell was organising an arrest warrant for a member of the Peaky Blinders, though he couldn't for the life of him find out who it was. He spread his hands out across the table, closing his eyes and pushing backwards, trying to work some of the tension out his back and shoulders. He looked up to the sound of impending footsteps. John and Polly were walking towards him, murder in their eyes.
Brilliant, shit with my family too, Tommy thought.
John stopped to shut the doors, but Polly kept advancing towards him. Once she got close, her hands came flying out at him. One thudded against his chest, the other against his jaw. She caught him of guard, and Tommy fell back a step. Her hands kept coming, another blow against his chest, but he managed to grab Polly's wrists to stop her, thunder in his eyes.
"Poll what the fuck?"
"Don't 'what the fuck me', Thomas," she hissed, the storm in her own eyes reflecting his. No one had ever wondered who he'd got that look from. "I'd have your balls out if I thought you had any left."
"What's that supposed to mean, Polly?" he asked, raising his eyebrows at her, looking tired in a way that he knew would piss her off even more.
She snatched her hands away from him, hitting his bicep and marching back towards John. Before she reached him though, she spun around and pointed a finger at Tommy, eyes sharp.
"You are a coward, Thomas. A coward and a fool. You have chosen your father's devilment and heaven help us all." She threw her hands into the air, pushing the double doors open as she walked, letting them slam shut behind her.
John was much calmer, standing smoking, back against the wall. But though his head was hung, and his body still, Tommy could still recognise the sour look on his brother's face, the anger that coursed through him as he sucked on his cheek.
"Anything to add John?" Tommy sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. His tone was bored and cold, just the way he'd perfected it over the years, but, hidden deep where no one would ever see, something hurt within him. He didn't like his family mad at him, he didn't like to disappoint them, but he knew he had. And knowing that it was his actions at Cheltenham, his treatment of Eliza, that was the reason they were disappointed, it made it even worse. He already hated himself for what he'd done, Tommy didn't need other people to as well.
"You know something, Tommy." John spat all of a sudden, glancing up at his brother. "You don't really understand the meaning of family until you've had kids, and a wife. And it's a shame, you know, cause Eliza was the only real chance you'd ever get at a life like that, and now you've fucked it all up."
John pushed himself off the wall, chuckling sarcastically, and walked forwards, taking his cap off and putting his cigarette out on the table. Tommy was watching John's actions, so his fist came out of nowhere. It slammed into Tommy's jaw, the bitter taste of blood filling his mouth and pain bursting across his cheek. He went spinning to the side, catching himself on the table as he bent over, holding his face where he'd been hit. Tommy spat out blood and rose, looking at John incredulously.
"That was for Eliza," John snarled, looking satisfactorily at the bruise that was rising on Tommy's face. "And for selling her out like she wasn't the only person you had left on your side."
Tommy wouldn't normally take a beating from his brothers, but just this once, even he was willing to admit he deserved it.
8 June 1919
"Can I have a tonic, darling?" Polly asked, leaning against the window between the private room and the bar. "And another one for you, if you don't mind sitting with me."
"I'll give you five minutes cause Harry's on his break," Elizabeth replied, "just don't let him catch me." She winked at Polly, who laughed, and made the two drinks, coming into the private room to sit.
"He's been so strange, lately." Elizabeth complained, sitting down.
"Who?" Polly asked, sipping her drink.
"Harry. He seems distant. He doesn't turn up to work as much anymore, and when he's here he's so paranoid." Elizabeth shrugged, drinking. "It's just strange, that's all."
"You could talk to him?" Polly suggested. The two looked at each other, smirking.
"Poll, when am I ever the first person to start conversation about emotional things." She emphasised her final words, as if she was a sulking teenage boy.
"You sound like Finn," Polly chastised right on cue. Elizabeth couldn't help but laugh, prompting Polly to sigh wearyingly.
"Talking of distant," she continued, ignoring Elizabeth's laughs "I haven't seen much of you lately. This is the first time we've talked in five days."
"I know what you're suggesting Polly." Elizabeth drawled, slumping in her seat, "and I'm sorry I haven't seen you because of it, but I just don't think I can see..."
"Him." Polly finished for her, her voice filled with disgust, "Tommy is a fool, Eliza, and I gave him a smack on the chin for what he did, though before you ask- when you seem him next- John was the one who gave him the bruise."
Polly had a dark, angry look on her face, but there was also satisfaction that Elizabeth understood. She'd come back to Watery Lane if it meant seeing where John had punched Tommy.
"If I had my way, I'd throw him on the street for it, but for heaven's sake, Eliza, you can't avoid him forever- or us."
Elizabeth blushed guiltily, knowing the truth in Polly's words. It didn't make it any easier, but she knew she couldn't keep it up forever. Still, Elizabeth was keen to change the conversation.
"You know, Poll, all we seem to talk about is men. I'm sick of it." She said, with the start of a sly smirk emerging across her face. She was teasing Polly lightly, but she meant it. "Tommy this, Freddie that, Harry, John, the Lees. We are actually allowed to discuss other things, you know, even though we're women."
"Only if we discuss these things in Watery Lane." Polly retorted, failing to repress her own smile at Elizabeth's words.
"Done." She gave in, throwing her hands up and letting them slap against her legs. "So, what interests you at the moment Polly? Communism?"
"I am sick to my teeth about communism, Eliza," Polly rolled her eyes, lighting a cigarette, the two of them laughing.
Through the opening of the room's window, Elizabeth unexpectedly caught sight of Harry coming back into the bar. Trying to hide her laughter, she dashed back into the main room, feeling much more resolved than at the start of the day.
Finally, an update! Its so shocking how long it takes me to write, but you know.. school / I have a plan for this story, and we're hardly half way through. Anyone who manages to last to the end with have my deepest respect, my god. I really hope you enjoyed this chapter, I liked it a lot. See you soon (hopefully!)
e x
(22/12/2020)