Arthur Shelby is Exhausted
Not when he is walking around Small Heath with their men following in tow, not when he is at The Garrison drinking, not when he is at Charlie's yard or on the factory floor rallying people on. No, in those moments he is not exhausted. In those moments, he is all bravado and menace, smoke and swearing, roars and strength.
In a way, it comes out naturally; after all, he knows that that side is lurking underneath his skin, forged by his upbringing, by life, by the war, and by something inside him - a streak he has to keep on check at all times. Yet, before the arrival of those ominous black hands, the new life he and Linda had carved for themselves and for their son had upstaged it for most of his waking hours and he didn't feel burdened by its shadow so often.
Now out of fear, out of anger, out of revenge, and, in occasion, out of drugs, the barriers slip easily away and he barely notices it most of the time, catching himself only when it is too late to go back. People are expecting the Arthur Shelby and he gives him to them, like a performer in an encore. He doesn't even see it happening as there is too much to do, too much danger to be aware of to actually realise that he is falling back into being the man he has come to loath until it is night and he comes to their room, Billy and Linda long asleep.
It is then that he grasps how exhausted he truly is. Exhausted of fighting Luca Changretta but also himself. Yet, during that first week, he had actually found himself savouring being the 'old' Arthur Shelby, it felt as good as a drink after a long time of sobriety. Nevertheless, like all relapses, what had felt good at first had quickly lost its sheen.
Arthur tiptoes to Billy's crib and looks at his son. He knew he would have children someday (if he didn't already, a thought he shook away with a wave of his head), it is the course of life, but he has never expected to love that boy so much. It isn't the most original thought of the world, for all their faults, he didn't need to go beyond seeing it in John and his children or Tommy and Charlie, but he had been surprised all the same.
The strength of that bond had made me him think about his own father. Arthur had always idolised him. Had there been something wrong with his eldest son that made that fatherly detachment so easy?
I will be the best father I can be, Arthur had promised when he had seen Billy for the first time, asleep in Linda's arms, the humiliations his father had put him through and the disappointment he had felt suddenly raw once again. He would never do that to his own child. Except now he is doing exactly that and the acknowledgement shatters his heart.
Arthur wants to hold Billy in his arms but he doesn't even dare to brush his son's little hand with his finger. The boy has always been a good sleeper but the move had made him fussy and it takes nearly an hour for him to settle down, probably more out of the exhaustion brought by that seemingly endless crying than 'natural' sleep.
I miss home too, Billy boy, he had said to his son some nights ago, cradling him in his arms and gently swaying him.
Arthur could see the house, the orchard, the woodland, the fields, the hens, the sheep, the horse. He could feel the garden, using his hands to give life instead of taking it, the wind on his skin, the handle of the paintbrush as he painted the portrait of John he had meant to gift his brother for Christmas but hadn't been able to. He could hear the singsong of birds and the silence when they hid in the trees for the night, the whoosh of the breeze through the vegetation. He could smell the wild daffodils and bluebells, the fire burning in the hearth, the meal on the cooker. He could taste the apple picked right off the tree, the hot bread right out of the oven. He could cry. And he did.
Shhhh, Billy boy. We'll be back soon. Yet, Arthur didn't dare to promise. He asked Mr Latimer from the farm down the lane (and whose wife he had often driven to doctor appointments as part of his reformed life) to keep an eye on things and, at least, feed the animals - Arthur had left as much as he could set up for it - but for all he knows Changretta's men may have set fire to everything, their boss indifferent to the fact that yes Arthur killed Vicente but he did it so to spare the old man from hours of torture at Tommy's hands and he let his former teacher go. It isn't much, but it is what had been possible for him to do.
He casts a goodnight look at his son and walks closer to the double bed. He puts his gun underneath it but within easy reach as Linda refuses to sleep with a weapon under her husband's pillow war or no war, strips to his long johns and tosses his crumpled clothes onto a chair.
«Arthur?», Linda mumbles sleepily, opening her eyes a little.
«Better be», he whispers with tender amusement as he gets under the covers.
Linda chuckles and drapes an arm over his chest.
Arthur kisses her, she kisses him back, and squeezes his shoulder.
They met at the wedding of Ted Attaway, who works at Charlie's yard. Arthur had been dispatched by Tommy in representation of the Peaky Blinders, much to his discontent; he wasn't an errand boy. Linda was across the aisle, a cousin of the bride. Ordinarily, she wouldn't have caught his attention, there was something too dainty about her appearance for his taste, but she was sitting right in front of him and looking at any kind of pretty girl was much better than looking at the backs of the happy couple. She returned his gaze in flashes, her eyes going from the hymnal in her hands to his face and back to the hymnal but without much hint of embarrassment.
The wedding breakfast was nearly eaten and most people were merrily dancing. Arthur had kept aside, drinking with the men he knew, casting a glance about from now and then, his eye finding Linda without him exactly meaning to.
«Are you going to invite me to dance or not?», Linda said defiantly, catching him on his way to another glass of whisky.
Arthur didn't know what to say at first, a rare occurrence, but he admired her daring; he wouldn't have guessed she would ever be that forthcoming.
«I'd like to, but I can't do that without knowing your name, now can I?», he said, all charm, even if a bit drunk and hoping he wouldn't trip on his own feet during the dance.
«Linda, Linda Baker».
«Would you give me the honour of this dance, Miss Baker?», Arthur said, offering his hand.
«I thought you'd never ask», she replied, smiling and taking it in hers.
She had a warmth to her grey eyes and a spark to her that made him smile like a mug as they danced. Many women had been in his arms and in his bed but this was different, he knew it was different. If someone had told him that he would fall in love with someone like her, that devout, that patient, that honest, that iron-willed, he would have laughed or punched them out of his way but soon he was sure he was indeed in love with her and marrying her is the best thing he has ever done.
Over time, Linda has shown that there is much more to her than what his family insisted on seeing and mocked until she gained their respect and he is tremendously proud of her for that.
Arthur holds Linda closer to him. She leans on his shoulder and they lay there, breathing, the crackling of the fire cutting the silence.
In these moments, the exhaustion lifts a little just to crush him harder later, when Linda will fall asleep again but he won't be able to, his mind buzzing with what happened during the day, the cruel memories at the forefront, missing John translated into an actual physical pain. He wishes things would be different, but they won't. He knows better than that. Nevertheless, Arthur Shelby is exhausted.
A/n: Thank you for reading this story and your feedback is always appreciated.
This may be a bit bleak for the time being but this story has been brewing in my mind for so long, I had to halt my re-watch until it was out. Arthur has many faults and has committed heinous acts, but there's a glimpse of yearning to be better that still makes me root for him. Please mind that I haven't seen Season 5 yet, so no spoilers, please.