15 July

Eliza was counting pound notes, leafing through the paper, thick and heavy between her fingers, and stacking them beside her. Polly sat opposite, cigarette between her lips as she took the stacks of notes and filed the numbers down. It was a methodical process, requiring little else than concentration.

It had been interesting to take up work in the betting shop after Polly had offered, knowing Eliza was not keen to go back to being a barmaid. She'd watched, and sat with, all the family as they'd worked here for years, helping out on the rare occasion but mostly just observing from a far. Actually doing the work herself, getting fully involved, did not feel as bad as she thought it might. Eliza was good at the work, knew how it needed to be done, and any reservations over the ethics of properly working for the company had long since dispersed.

In her argument with Tommy, he'd insulted her belief that she wasn't a part of the criminal side of their world, and whilst the words they'd both cut each other with had been sharp and callous, it didn't mean there wasn't any truth in them. Eliza had found herself wondering if she did wrongly hold herself above the others- an attachment to a long gone past when the Shelby's were nothing but friends she spent time with and her father was still able to keep her and her brother away from anything too bad.

But those days had been too many years ago to still reasonably hold onto, and the idea that she was somehow not a part of the dark and criminal ways that they operated under was in every way wrong. She may not fight or kill people, but that didn't give her immunity, and once that understanding had dawned on her, sorting illegal bets and helping cheat money from others had hardly needed thinking over.

The acceptance of it was much easier than she'd thought it would be, and the newfound position of power and the lack of any guilt tasted much sweeter than she could have imagined.

"It's the fifteenth," Polly noted, as she opened her diary, "did you visit your family yesterday?"

Eliza hummed in response, nodding her head. Last month, locked away in prison, she hadn't been able to visit the graveyard, so she'd spent a good part of the day there yesterday to make up, sitting in the sun and talking to gravestones, though a part of her had feared the whole day that the Inspector might turn up like he had all those months ago.

Eliza couldn't help but sigh, wondering where on earth the time had all gone, and how she could have turned from the small and meek girl in her mother's arms, to the person she was now- fearing that the copper she was supposedly spying for would turn up anywhere and everywhere.

"Do you ever think about how much things have changed, Poll?" Eliza queried, pausing in her counting to look at the other woman.

"We can't change the way things have turned out," Polly said, her tone oddly hostile, "just let it go."

Her last words had a been a warning.

"What are you on about?" Eliza asked, confused. "I only meant how different things are from when I was young- you don't need to get angry at me."

"Oh," Polly dropped her pen and looked at the girl apologetically, "sorry love, I thought you were talking about Tommy."

"Tommy?"

"About the guns- his refusal to listen to you."

Eliza's brow furrowed as she looked at Polly, irritation growing on her features. Polly had thought she'd wanted a fight- which hadn't been true- but now she wasn't so sure.

"What do you mean let it go, Polly?" She said with reproach, "I thought you wanted what I want?"

"Eliza," She sighed, rubbing her eyes, "what's done is done. Tommy will deal with the Inspector how he needs to, us interfering does no good."

"You've given in." Eliza scoffed in frustration, leaning back and crossing her arms, "how could you give in and let him control you like that? Polly, the Inspector has threatened our lives, don't you think we should take this more seriously?"

"I thought you told Tommy the Inspector wasn't interested in killing us," Polly chided, more amused at Eliza's anger than anything, "Look, I know you're upset-" She laughed that off. "-and I know you just want to help, but going behind Tommy's back won't do any good. You'll only piss him off and ruin whatever foolish plan it is he's working on."

"For fucks sake Poll." Eliza muttered, though still she shut up.

They lapsed back into silence and the sound of shuffling paper once again filled the air. Eliza glowered at the notes, slamming them onto the table aggressively, but knew to be wiser than voice her anger any other way. She'd figure a way to find out where the guns were, even if Polly was no longer any help.

18 July

The day was a bright one, the sky blue and the sun hot. The Cut glittered beautifully in the sunlight, and Eliza's reflection shined back up at her, broken and blurred. She breathed out deeply, blowing the smoke from her mouth to cloud around her face.

This morning Polly had tasked her with getting details from Charlie on an expected shipment, but she'd stopped by the Cut to smoke before going back to Watery Lane. The day was too good and the water too calming to just walk by. She was half-tempted to take her shoes and stockings off like she was 15 again, but the thought was dashed from her mind when Tommy's voice came from the distance.

"Have you seen Charlie?" He called, nearing her and continuing after she nodded, "Can you tell Polly the second shipments going to be doubled- we're low on whiskey in the Garrison."

Eliza nodded again, gaze remaining on the water. She blew out another mouthful of smoke as he reached her side, watching as a light breeze blew the cloud away.

"Are you alright?" He asked suddenly, and she turned her head to look at him, "after the other night, are you-"

"You don't need to pretend that you care, Tommy." She bit back, voice cold and hostile.

He sighed, lighting his own cigarette and looking out into the canal, jaw tightening.

"Is this still about the Inspector?" His voice was as cold as her's, and the tension was not comfortable. "You don't like that Polly agrees with me?"

"Fucking hell," she said bitterly, "you are making such a mistake."

"I won't say this again, Eliza," he said icily, rounding on her with a serious fury, "I am not telling you where the guns are, and you are not telling the Inspector. Understood?"

"Fine, Tommy." Eliza tossed her cigarette into the water and turned to face him fully, "I'll let it go, if that makes you happy, but it doesn't mean I fucking agree."

"I don't need you to agree, I just need you do what I say."

"Fuck you." She spat, knocking his shoulder as she moved past him.

22 July

The streets were dark and quiet, with only the orange pools of light from the gas lamps to keep Small Heath from absolute black. Eliza was walking quickly, keen to get home and out of the cold air of the summer night. She was on edge, as she always was when she was out past the afternoon, but with the gun that had not left her bag in months, and only one street left before she was home, her panic was well contained.

However, a large man stumbling from the blackness of the alleyway and landing violently on the road right in front of her was enough to terrify her substantially, making Eliza jump and then freeze with a frightened gasp. The man on the floor groaned in pain and managed to push himself up a bit before his arms buckled and he twisted gracelessly onto his back.

"Arthur?" Eliza startled suddenly, rushing over and crouching down to take a look at him. "Jesus Christ, what have you done?"

He was suddenly consumed by an agonising fit of coughing, his throat straining and tears running heavily from his eyes. Her hands moved quickly over his body, moving his open coat and the lapels of his suit jacket to the side, trying to check for signs of injury. There was nothing though, except an angry, purple bruise across his throat, as if someone had tried to slice it but no skin had been broken.

"Arthur what have you done?" She whispered again, brushing the hair from his eyes as he tried to stop coughing.

"Nothin'," he spluttered, pushing himself up to sit, "it's nothin', I'll be fine love."

Eliza grasped his arm to help him raise, refusing to let go even after he tried to shrug her off. Once up she wrapped an arm around his waist, doing her best to help keep him up, even if she'd never realistically be able to hold his weight.

"I'm fine, I promise," he murmured again, but his words were only futile as she insisted on helping him home.

She turned and together they walked back to Watery Lane, Arthur coughing and groaning in pain the whole way back. Once in, she assisted as he lowered himself down into a kitchen chair, sourcing a bottle of rum for him to drink- though not before forcing him to have a glass of water.

Arthur drank in melancholy silence, the tears still dripping down his cheeks, splashing against her wrists as she gently inspected the bruise in the better light.

"Was this you, Arthur?" She asked, her voice low from fear of what his answer might be.

"I was wrong about him," Arthur spoke up after a moment of silence. "He took my money and left. Just left all over again, like I meant nothing."

"Your father did this?"

"No." He shook his head, downing more of the bottle, "no- this was me."

"Arthur," Eliza soothed, sitting in the chair next to him and putting her hand over his. "I'm sorry. I'm not surprised about him, but really- I'm sorry."

"I understand. I was a fool to trust him. You told me not to but I still did."

"You're not a fool, Arthur." She squeezed his hand, "he was your dad, of course you believed him. All of this, it's his fault not yours."

"'Course it's my fault!" He cried, looking to her in desperation, "he didn't fuck up my head- I did. My head's so fucked up I just want it to stop. I just-"

A sob broke from his mouth and he dragged a hand across his face, shaking his head and kicking the table. Eliza reached for his face, doing her best to wipe away some of the tears and force him to look at her, her hand resting gently on his cheek.

"You are not a fool Arthur," she repeated, pushing her point with enough belief to help convince him, "and death is not the answer. Don't you know how much we would miss you- how loved you are? Death should never be the answer, least of all because of the blues. Just look at Danny Whizzbang and his family. Think about how much his kids must miss him."

Strangely, and much to her surprise, Arthur began to chuckle half-heartedly, enough to make him cough again.

"Danny isn't dead, Eliza."

"What?" Her hand fell from his face and she looked at Arthur in bemusement as he continued to laugh.

"We've not just got the Blues in common, me and Danny. It seems the both of us can't die either."

"We went to his funeral, Arthur, don't you remember?"

She was getting anxious, worried he might have hurt himself more than she realised, that his brain might have been affected too.

"I'm not going mad, Eliza," Arthur said, answering her thoughts as if he could read them, "or not madder than I am already, at least. There was a funeral 'cause you're meant to think he's dead. It had to look like he was dead- Tommy had to shoot him in front of the Italians to please them."

"Tommy killed him?"

"No- he pretended to, the gun wasn't loaded. Danny's alive, Eliza- it was all just a show."

"But what about-" she pinched her nose in confusion, wondering if it was just exhaustion that was making this so confusing, "what about his family? What about his grave, I thought we buried him?"

"Oh, we buried something in the grave alright."

And it was Arthur's face, the way he grinned and chuckled enough to start coughing again, that meant it all clicked into place. Danny still live, his grave empty of a body, though not empty of something else.

Eliza knew what it was Arthur was suggesting, knew already the answer he'd give to her question, but whilst she wanted it confirmed, receiving the information this way felt so wrong. To use Arthur at his weakest, to squeeze information for him in order to betray his brother- was that not the greatest misdoing?

And yet, she was so close to getting what she wanted, and telling the Inspector would save them all- so did the ends not justify the means?

"What did you bury?" She asked, pushing her doubts and her conscious to one side.

"The guns, Eliza." Arthur smiled once more, a strange sight with tears still running down his face, "the fucking guns."

The penultimate chapter of part 1! also, today marks a year since I started this story, which is insane. Thank you to everyone whos been here since the start and everyone who has joined along the way

e x

(28/03/21)