Chapter 76
When it came to it though, whilst he was who he was and whilst Rosie had known it the whole time – it wasn't so much who he was or what she wanted that dictated what he did – it was who he wanted to be for her.
He agreed to what he knew Kimber would ask for. He sent Grace off with him, alone, back to Kimber's house – agreeing to give the man two hours with her.
He had made the deal with the accountant by then - the Peaky Blinders would be the new security for Kimber's pitches, they'd get seven percent of the take and, if Kimber was happy after the first two months, they would decrease their share of the take to five percent and get a legal betting pitch at every meet north of the River Severn, increasing to three pitches at six months and six after a year. He'd asked for five percent and three legal pitches from the get-go, but he hadn't been expecting them. Seven percent and a legal pitch after two months was better than he had expected to walk away with. Getting Kimber to want to leave the business discussion to Tommy and the accountant so he could go press himself against Grace had been productive.
"I bet he said you could have me, didn't he?" Kimber's wife asked as Tommy sat next to her in the car they had stopped near Kimber's house – waiting for the agreed two hours to pass, "While he has her. That's the arrangement, i'n't it?"
The woman was pretty. Dark hair and pale skin. Far more interesting to look at than Grace, in his opinion. But she was sad looking. Even in the closed off, VIP area that he had gotten Grace to talk their way into, the dark haired woman had sat at the table, smoking and looking sad.
And it wasn't, Tommy didn't reckon, a sadness that was anything to do with a hurt caused by her husband's actions. Kimber was, as Rosie had called him, repulsive. Sat at the table, when Tommy had dumped the money Arthur and the boys had reclaimed from the Lee's –Kimber had made no secret of where his attentions were going. He had bluntly told Tommy to talk to the accountant whilst standing up and going to the dancefloor, taking Grace onto it with him. Whilst his wife watched.
He had seen her face then. There was no hurt, no flinch, no flicker of being bothered by the rejection as she was left in her seat at the table whilst her husband went after the blonde. She had seemed, instead, accepting of it. Almost unphased. Almost. Other than the sadness. But the sadness – it was set in. It was something deep rooted that had to do with being unsatisfied in her life. Not because her husband cheated on her. He didn't reckon she loved, or even liked, him – certainly not enough that his attentions going elsewhere would even bother her. She might actually, he imagined, be relieved by it. More relieved by the peace and quiet of that happening than if he was pawing at her.
She was quite right in what she'd guessed about the agreement – when Kimber had said to him, "Do we have a deal?" he'd added, "As a sweetener you can try your luck with mine." Tommy had affirmed they had a deal and the greasy man had confirmed two hours before adding, "Side bet – ten pound says I have her fucked in one."
He could tell from the tone of her voice though that, for all Mrs Kimber might be used to her husband's adultery and the way he had offered her as part of the deal, the woman was not alright with it. That was far more of where her sadness came from.
He didn't answer her and continued looking out into the greenery around them on the country road he had stopped the car in, remembering the day he'd taken Rosie, Lily and Finn into the woods in March. There had been green then, but it had been dark and green. Now the greenery was light, sunshine coming through it, yellows and golds and greens and a blanket of summer air. He would take them back to the woods this week. Would take Lily swimming again – and the water would be warmer. Hell, he'd load Katie into the car too if she wanted to come, and maybe George and Isaiah.
Rosie could make them all sandwiches and tea and she'd sit in the seat beside him whilst he drove and when they got there the kids could run around and play their games and he could build a fire for her to sit by and she'd read her book and fuss over them all when they came out the water. He loved watching her like that. When she was all soft, all focussed on taking care of them. The way people outside the family would never see her be. He could teach Finn and George and Isaiah how to hunt and skin a rabbit. Or maybe even a stag, depending on what was around. His own father had taught them that. About the only useful thing he had ever taught them.
"Well, yours might be a prostitute, but I'm not," Kimber's wife's voice came, angrily, interrupting his visions of the day he would have in the woods, a day not like this one.
"I was a milliner when I met him," she went on, "I was independent."
I was independent.
That was the sadness. She had lost her independence, that was what haunted her eyes, made its presence known on her face. Her loss.
He thought on what he had said to Rosie – about how he half wished her results would never arrive so she could go on being at home all the time, looking after his house and the kids and making his meals… He still did half wish it; he couldn't truthfully say otherwise. But if revoking her independence would lodge the sadness in her that he saw in Kimber's wife, he wouldn't have been able to live with himself. He had seen that sort of sadness in her once. When the whole fucking mess of him asking Grace to the races and Ada telling her she was his lapdog had all occurred at once and she had come home like some empty shell of someone he might have once upon a time known.
And it frightened him to think, that perhaps once upon a time, Kimber would have loved the woman he had married. Would have felt that he never wanted to see her unhappy.
But still, this woman and Kimber… They weren't the same as him and Rosie. They just weren't. This woman might have had a deep-rooted sadness in her about her lack of independence – but she stayed. The big house and the clothes and the VIP area at the races made up for it to some extent. She was accustomed to her lifestyle, and her sadness was the price she paid for it. But Rosie – Rosie would leave him, if he treated her as Kimber did his wife. He had no doubts about that. Even when she had been sad, even when he had fucked up, she had stood and told him she would be his whore for as long as it took for Lily to grow up, she would be his to use in repayment for looking after Lily and then she would leave. That was what she had said. Even then, even in that horrible, dark time that he never wanted a repeat of, in that time that would haunt him till his dying days to think he had caused it, she had known she would leave him. This woman wasn't leaving Kimber.
"I made this hat," she told him, "I was a good milliner."
It occurred to him then though, that perhaps the woman wasn't leaving Kimber not from a lack of wanting to, but because she couldn't. Kimber saw her as his property. If she left, he could well imagine Kimber would hunt her down – would send men, would send Peaky Blinders now – to drag her back. Perhaps he would beat her for her trouble. Perhaps it wasn't worth her leaving.
If they had never fixed it – him and Rosie – from that horrible time - if she had stayed, had viewed herself as his whore, as his property… If he grew the business as he planned, got the house and the grounds and the life that he wanted for them. If he grew like Kimber… Would he start to view Rosie as his property too? Would they have ended up like this? Would he have started with regard for her and grown past it? Would he have become indifferent to her? Viewed her as something to his inventory? When she left, if she left, would he have her hunted down and dragged back like a dog?
He couldn't ever imagine it. He couldn't imagine looking into those amber eyes and not wanting to give her the world. But perhaps Kimber and his wife had felt that way too once upon a time.
He didn't know how a woman who had clearly valued her independence at one point had had it stripped from her – and he could only presume it had been because she'd been blinded by love of her husband at some point.
"I reported everything back to you – about her. About Ada. Ada won't talk to me because she thinks I'm your lapdog, that anything she says to me will go straight back to you. And no wonder. Because I screwed over another woman already for you. Because I screwed Ada over, jumping to tell you the minute you got back from the fayre about the fact she wasn't home. And why? Because I'd convinced myself that she might have been in danger? I thought so. I genuinely thought so. But now I look back and think – god – it was just that it meant so much to me to think that you trusted me, to think I was proving myself to you. At the cost of what? I look in the fucking glass now Thomas and I don't recognise myself. I lost myself in the – in the madness of believing that - that this was something. That I meant something to you. And now I see it's just the same arrangement as you have with god only knows how many others all over this city – you bought me the same way you buy that Sergeant Moss! But I suppose it doesn't matter does it? It doesn't matter that I haven't an ounce of dignity or self-respect. It doesn't matter that I sacrificed it all for the flutter it gave me to think I had pleased you, to that little flicker that happened in me when you complimented me. Because at least, as far as you're concerned, as far as all the great men of this world are concerned, I can be a version – an imitation of a person, pared back and with no substance because it's all been used up and chucked away in the chase of feeling like someone wanted me – and it doesn't matter because at least I'm not ruined."
That was what Rosie had said. Her desire to please him – the way she'd felt when he was pleased with her, when he complimented her or when he said he trusted her… She had already felt that she'd lost herself in it.
No. He could sit here and list all the reasons he liked that he and Rosie were different to Kimber and his wife. He could tell himself what he liked about the woman. He could judge her as he wished. But the point was – there was no safety net, was there? Nothing was going to stop them becoming Kimber and his wife except them. Except him and his own actions.
He wanted Rosie to answer to him, sure. It thrilled him to see her bow her head and obey him, made him hard to think of turning her pretty arse over his knee to punish her when she disobeyed him. It gave him rushes of pleasure when she deferred to him, especially when she did so in front of his family and when he knew she disagreed with him but wouldn't bring it up in front of them. It made him feel like the most powerful man in the world when she called him sir and told him she wanted to be his good girl. It made his head rush when he felt how wet she got from him telling her she was, indeed, a good girl.
But he wanted what was best for her, at the heart of it. That was the thing. He wanted her to trust him to make her decisions because he was worthy of doing so. What he had promised her – that he would consider things from her point of view – he had meant it when he promised it. His desire to dominate her, to control her, to have her submit to him… It wasn't powered by thinking she was blankly his property to do as he pleased with. He might claim to own her, because the idea in the moment was hedonistically pleasurable for them both. But she – she could never be anything other than her own woman.
The power for him came from the fact that a woman as determinedly independent as she was would willingly give up her power to him. Had she been the lapdog Ada had accused her of being, her obedience would have held no victory for him.
But he had to ensure he kept it that way. If he got lazy… if he ever stopped appreciating and rewarding her obedience and submission… They could end up like Kimber and his wife.
And the idea of Rosie sitting where Kimber's wife sat now. Offered up like meat in a deal with no consultation. And, obviously, it wasn't a one off…
No. He couldn't do that. He couldn't reduce her to that. He couldn't become that man.
"It's a very pretty hat," he told the ex-milliner, without looking at her, staring still at the green of the leaves and thinking about how the redhead had looked with a daisy chain on her head that day in the woods, the queen of the woods. And of him. "Really is."
The woman didn't answer immediately – he didn't know why. He was still looking the other way, still thinking about Rosie and how he never wanted to put her in this position. He didn't know what Kimber's wife's face did or how she felt about his lacklustre compliment of her hat. But there was a silence for a few minutes as she swallowed it and he filled it with thoughts of the man he wanted to be for Rosie, for the life he wanted to give her, with thoughts of how this, he was sure, was the path to that life – but how he had to ensure he remembered that that as all this was, a path. It was about the destination. About getting to where and what he wanted. He couldn't get caught up in this.
"So is she a prostitute?" Kimber's wife asked, her voice different suddenly – less defensive.
Perhaps his compliment of her hat – or his refusal to look at her – had made her feel safer. She was at his mercy though, one way or the other. If he had been a different man. If he hadn't had the redhead at home. If he was the sort of creature who found it exciting to take a woman against their will…
"God's honest truth – I don't know what she is," he replied, taking his watch out and glancing at it.
Everyone's a whore – we just sell different parts of ourselves. Rosie had said that to him, that day at her old house. He had said it to Grace, back at the races. When she had protested against the fact he was sending her on with Kimber alone – had asked him if he thought she was a whore.
And in a way, she was a whore. She was selling herself. She was her own product. Campbell's little undercover operative. Observing and reporting back. Well, she could report back on Kimber alright. He'd given her something to report back.
Rosie, on the other hand. Rosie wasn't for sale. He was not going to be the sort of man who bargained his wife.
And he supposed he could better make sure he didn't end up on the path to becoming like Kimber if he made it that he didn't see any women who were unwilling and un-consulted in the makings of a plan as being his to trade.
He put his foot down and began to drive.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
He was the last one to arrive back in Watery Lane. He'd expected his brothers and the rest of the Peaky boys to go to the pub, but he found them in his kitchen, tossing back beers Rosie or Polly had poured, the redhead standing against the sink, just slightly removed, as she listened to them reliving the victory of their day.
"Tommy-boy!" Arthur roared when he caught sight of him, standing and opening his arms, clapping him on the back, probably spilling beer down his jacket.
"Today was a good day boys," he told them as he stood back out of Arthur's drunken embrace, "We are officially Billy Kimber's new racetrack security."
A round of cheering went up, with John banging on the table.
He felt a tug on his hand and looked down to see Lily slipping hers into his, looking up at him with complete adoration. He squeezed her appreciatively.
"Did you have a good day?"
"Uhuh - Finn showed me his ear."
"You never seen one before?" he asked, smiling slightly, wondering how low the child's bar for what counted as a good day was.
She shook her head, "Not cut off, no."
George held his hand aloft and Tommy glanced to it, seeing a piece of flesh at the end of his nephew's fingers that wasn't his, "Arthur cut it off."
He looked between his youngest brother and his oldest, who had sat back in his seat.
Arthur caught his eye, shrugged and grinned, "You said send them a message and Finn was there, so I figured takin' the top of Rez Lee's ear was a nice way to give the kid a souvenir of his first mission. An' I was right, first thing he does when he gets back is show that lot what he got."
Tommy glanced at Finn, who shrugged, also as unbothered as Arthur, then down to Lily who was still smiling up at him, then back to the ear in George's hand.
"It was all bloody when Finn brought it home, but Rosie cleaned it," Katie told him from where she was stood over by her father, the doll they had bought her in Harrods being held by its foot in her hand.
He moved his eyes to Rosie, almost slightly scared to. He had been nervous already about coming home to her tonight, given what he'd been doing with his day. And now he was coming home to find her day had consisted of cleaning blood off of a piece of razor-bladed off ear. He wondered if Kimber's wife had ever found herself in that position.
The redhead shrugged at him, "I figured if they were going to be touching it and passing it around taking the blood off of it at least made it a bit cleaner."
There was a slight wrinkle to her nose, but it seemed more a result of the cleanliness – or lack of – the ear rather than being anything to do with it being, in fact, a bit of an ear.
Well, he supposed she had known who he was and what he did before she came here, he just had been careful not to present her with too much of the evidence of it.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
It took too bloody long for the rest of them to leave. For all he had been half dreading coming home to her that evening, nervous to see how she would receive him, knowing what he had been up to that day, he was also desperate with longing to take her in his arms and kiss her and tell her all that she was to him. Desperate to prove to her that he was not Kimber.
But she kept her distance from him whilst the others stayed, lingering over by the sink, bringing forward drinks and offering round biscuits and scones, much to John's delight, but constantly retreating back after she had done made the offerings to the table.
It wasn't until she glanced at the clock and realised that it had left eight that she moved outside to shout on her sister to come in for the night. He couldn't hear the child's reply but he could see her shaking her head, undoubtedly wheedling for more time, through the net curtain on the small window. Rosie shook her own head and took the child's hand – only for Lily's head shaking to become more vigorous. He watched, half amused and half annoyed as the bab leant back against the direction her sister was trying to move her it, leaning so hard in the opposite way that if Rosie did as she was most likely begging her to and let her go, she'd probably fall and crack her bloody head open on the concrete.
He moved round to stand in the doorway, making sure he was ready to go out and get involved if Rosie needed him.
"But we're still playing Rosie!" Lily was whining, "And Jack and Alfie are still out and Katie isn't being made to go in."
"Well I'm not in charge of them, I'm in charge of you," Rosie replied, her voice quite calm but he knew, could tell, she wasn't going to budge.
She could be an absolute pushover at times, but since they'd agreed on Lily being in bed by eight o'clock, she'd stuck to it. She was still far gentler than him in her approach, letting the child argue in the first place rather than picking her up and carrying her in as he had a mind to do, but she'd stuck to it. He felt a great surge of pride, that she had allowed him to input on the child's upbringing, that she had taken his suggestion of the enforced eight o'clock bed-time. It was a privilege to be allowed the importance of consideration in her life, and he wanted her to know it.
"Katie, Alfie and Jack will be getting inside in the next ten seconds, otherwise they'll be feeling the back of my hand," he commented, raising his voice so it would carry to where the three he'd named would hear it, "Or their father's, cause he's right here too."
"What you talkin' me into over there Tom?" John asked, standing up and coming over to the door.
"Get your kids in, Lily's overdue her bed and so are they."
John snorted, "What am I supposed to do?"
"Find a bloody woman who can keep them in line if you're not willing to," Tommy replied, rolling his eyes, "And in the meantime threaten them with a bloody hiding."
"They don't take me seriously," John replied.
"That's cause you don't make them take you seriously," he told his brother, then, more loudly, "Jack Shelby – I already owe you a smacked arse as it is for your part in that window escapade the other day, I haven't forgotten so you'd be wise to get yourself in your bed before I decide to come put you in it myself."
"See Lily – everyone else is going to bed, now you come with me," Rosie said, tugging on the child, who let out a moan, caught his eye and then began to shuffle along with her sister back towards the house, albeit with a petted lip.
"Katie – I've already told you, you have the same rules as Lily – get inside to your bed," he shouted at his niece, coming out the door to clear the path for Rosie and Lily to pass by him.
"I'll get them in," he heard Polly say from the kitchen, "If Lily's going to bed you lot best clear out to The Garrison and leave the child in peace."
"Can I got to The Garrison?" Finn piped up.
Polly snorted in response and Tommy headed back inside to decline the request, grateful to his aunt for her statement.
He sent Finn off to his own bed, then went to brush his teeth, filling up a basin of water and washing himself clean of the day – of any scent of Grace or races or Kimber that might be lingering on him. He was dragging a wet wash cloth over the back of his neck when he heard the door behind him and he turned from his place at the range to see her coming back in to the kitchen, Lily's routine finally done.
He dropped the cloth into the water, the splash of it the only sound as they regarded one another.
She was staring at him, seemingly almost as nervous as he felt. He remembered what she'd said the other morning, about how she'd felt mentally distant from him and how maybe feeling physically near him might have helped. He wondered if being physically near her now would help, but he wanted her permission to come near her. He wanted her to let him know that what he had done that day was alright, that he had done it with her permission.
"It was a good day, you said?" she eventually offered, staying near the door, on her side of the kitchen.
His heart thudded but he answered evenly enough, "From a business point of view."
"Arthur was asking me and Polly why you took Grace."
"What did you say?"
She shrugged, "That the workings of your mind are yours and yours alone."
"But you know the workings of my mind as far as she's concerned though, don't you?"
She nodded – it was small, but it was a nod. His stomach unknotted slightly.
"Did he – did you – did he like her?" she asked, her voice tight.
"He liked her. He danced with her while I cut a deal with the accountant. Got a better deal because of the distraction she provided to Kimber, I imagine."
She nodded, like she knew that wasn't the extent of it.
"And then Kimber threw a condition into the mix of the deal."
She tilted her head slightly, the tiniest of movements that anyone who wasn't staring at her as intently as he was in that moment would have missed, but it was inviting him to go on.
"He asked for two hours alone with her. I said yes."
She was impassive now, completely still.
"I let him go on ahead with her. He offered me his wife while he had Grace. And I parked up the car and sat with his wife for a bit," he told her, his voice clipped, stilted, as he contained his emotions, "And then I figured, I never wanted to be the kind of man who would offer you up, who would ever think you were his to offer in that way. And I won't pretend I'd have stopped it if you hadn't been here, at home, waiting for me. Wouldn't have stopped it had I not been thinking of how to avoid becoming the kind of man who does what Kimber does to his wife. Wouldn't have been thinking about how to avoid being that man if I hadn't had you to picture as my wife. But I went to his house and I stopped it."
She nodded, slowly, "Does that mean you broke the condition though?"
"I told him she had the clap. I imagine he'll be grateful to me for having stopped it."
She raised an eyebrow, "Well, that's one way to stop it."
"Grace reckons I stopped it for her."
She nodded again, that slow nod, her eyes on the floor, some internal conversation happening that he wasn't privy too, before she spoke aloud, "I suppose that's for the best. She needs to believe you want her if you're going to play her through this."
"I was only intending on using her for Kimber – and now I've taken her out of that equation," he told her, frowning slightly.
"And are you going to give Campbell the guns?"
He thought on it, then shook his head, "Not yet."
"When?"
"When Kimber delivers on the promises he's made me about three pitches at six months and six after a year."
"A year, Thomas?" she replied, her voice sharp.
"Or," he replied, voicing what he'd only thought on until then, "Until I take Kimber out."
"And how long would that take?"
He shrugged, "Less than a year."
"Fuck's sake. I thought – I hoped – that after today we would be on the path to this ending."
"We are."
"A year, Thomas," she repeated, her eyes flinty, "Campbell's not going to give you a year from now. He'll be on a time limit himself."
"Just need to take Kimber out and replace him before then, won't I? And the police will be looking the other way when I do because I have the guns to barter with."
She sighed and shook her head, "And until that's done, you'd be best keeping Grace on side. And if she believes you… you care for her, then so much the better. Gets you a degree of sympathy on her behalf if she's got any power over Campbell. And I reckon she does, given the way he was looking at her in that gallery."
"So you want me to keep going?" he asked.
"No," she replied, "I don't want you to at all. I want Campbell and Grace to leave town and I want you to do what you do without them breathing down your neck. But that's not going to happen 'til you give them the guns. So until then you'd just better keep her on side."
"I have an easy way to shut her out now that the races are done, Rosie."
"You've sent her off with that man, then stopped it by telling him she has the clap and at the moment she thinks you've done that because you care for her Thomas – you cut her off now you're just going to insult and annoy her and we've a while to go yet until this is done."
They regarded each other for a moment before he glanced at the floor sighed and ran his hand over his still damp neck before he looked at her and offered, "I'm sorry."
She shook her head, though he imagined he saw her forehead relax a little at the words she claimed not to need to hear, "Don't be sorry Tommy – I told you to play her. Just make sure if we have to go through this that it's worth it."
Yeah, she didn't want him to be sorry – but telling her he was had switched his name from Thomas to Tommy.
He edged forward, coming to stand on the other side of the kitchen table from her – not quite sure he was permitted yet to enter her side of the room, but keen to bridge the gap.
"I love you," he told her, his voice gruff, "Today – today would have been different if you hadn't been here."
"I love you too."
He gripped the back of the chair and she relaxed her arms a little, the barriers coming down.
"C'mere – please?" he asked, releasing the chair to hold a hand out to her.
He gripped her as tightly as he had the chair when she closed the distance, deigning to come to his arms.
"I love you," he told her again, kissing her hair, "I don't ever want you to forget that, ever."
"I know," she murmured, looking up to him, "I love you too."
His lips found hers, soft and chaste, "I'm yours you know, for all I claim you're mine – I'm yours for all of my days Rosie."
She kissed him back, her hands pulling his head to hers, her lips more firmly meeting his, "As I am yours."
Then, finally, he took her in his arms as he'd wanted to do the whole damn day and kissed her as deeply as he could, pouring into the kiss everything he wanted her to know – everything he wanted to be for her, to her, everything he would try to do because of her, everything he would never do again. Because of her.
That is us officially at the end of S1 E3 of this retelling - meaning we're at the half way point of the season! Obviously this stared pre-season so I think we can safely say we're over the half way point of this story, but I'm so excited to get into S1 E4 as it's one of my fav episodes. Thank you so much to all of you who are reading along on this long and winding road of a story with me, I know I say it all the time but I really never envisioned this becoming as long as it has done and it blows my mind that there are people out there who have read as much as my work as this and are still reading. You all make me so incredibly happy, every time I get an email to say someone has commented, followed or favourited my story it just gives me such joy and I appreciate every single one of you.
With that in mind - we now have the rest of the summer holidays, leading up to the incident that prompts John to have the conversation he opens S1E4 with (I don't want to say what that is for the people who are reading along having not seen the show and don't want spoilers) - so if there is anything you're keen to see happen please feel free to request away in the comments. I do have my own plans so obviously I can only incorporate things that don't derail them entirely, but as I say, I really appreciate all of you reading along so if I can give back to you for how much I love getting those emails by writing in a few requested things I am very much happy to do that.
My other two stories have both been written off the back of requests that have been left so please do always feel free to let me know if there's anything you want to see more of or whatever even when I'm not specifically asking, as I'm always open to suggestions!