Chapter 6
Ada, Finn and Polly were in the little front room - Ada lying on her front by the fire, flicking through something that looked to do with hairstyles and picture stars, Polly on the couch, Finn on his side with his head in his aunt's lap nearly dozing - when Tommy pushed open the door with his elbow and came through, Lily Jackson resting on his hip, a large suitcase in his other hand. The three of them looked up, all of their eyes going to the six-year-old.
The child seemed to have taken to him straight away, which had surprised her sister, and it was entirely mutual, which had surprised him.
"Right, let me introduce the newest members of the Shelby clan," he said by way of greeting, before any of them could open their mouths, "This is Lily, Lily this is Aunt Polly, the lazy lump on her lap is Finn and the sprawler on the floor is Ada."
The child smiled, and Tommy saw the magic happen in the room, his Aunt pushed Finn's head off of her lap and stood up to come over and say hello to the girl in his arms and Ada put her magazine aside, sat up, winced, and shifted to kneel instead, peering across to get a better look.
He moved further into the room, adding, "I believe you all know Rosie," in indication of the figure who stood behind him, lingering in the doorway, "These two are taking John's old room."
He wasn't sure if it was comforting to his authority or discomforting to his normal actions how little his family reacted to the announcement of two people they didn't really know being moved into their home.
"You didn't bring much did you?" Ada said bluntly, looking at the one suitcase in Tommy's hands, Rosie's own hands stuffed in her coat pockets, clearly devoid of additional bags.
"We're going back tomorrow for more bits Ada, you can help carry if you like," Tommy responded, knowing any form of manual labour would be unappealing to his sister.
The truth was, he wasn't having Rosie carry anything with her hands in the state they were in. He'd take the car over the next day and collect whatever else they had to bring with them.
"Come in love, shut the door behind you, it's cold out there," Polly said, smiling at the redhead, her gaze lingering on her slightly before she turned her attention back to the baby sister sitting against Tommy's chest, cooing over her. Polly knew. And he knew that Polly knew.
Rosie didn't respond to his aunt, barely even looked at her, just looked to Tommy, who put the case down at his feet and motioned her in with his now free hand. She came through and shut the door, her eyes darting about, probably taking in more about this room in ten seconds than most people would have taken ten months to notice. Not, he was acutely aware, that there was much to notice.
And he was suddenly aware that, though the houses on Rosie and Lily's street were much the same as those on Watery Lane, there was a big difference between living in one of those houses with two of you than there was with five of you – plus various relatives who seemed to be there more often than not. But Lily was smiling away as Polly stroked her little blond head and even Finn had stood up on the sofa to get a closer look at the child too. Lily, he wasn't worried about. Rosie's face gave nothing away.
"So, I won't be the only girl anymore," Ada remarked, her eyes going between the two sisters.
"An' I won't be the youngest," Finn said.
"Right," Tommy said, in answer to both of them, coming around the sofa to where Ada was kneeling by the fire and saying, "Lily love, I'm going to put you down here, so you can get to know Ada and Finn a bit, alright? I just need Aunt Polly and your sister to help me with something in the kitchen."
The child was slow to uncurl her arms from around him and regarded Ada with a level of unease but when Tommy confirmed that Ada was 'much nicer than she looks' – which resulted in an indignant exclamation from Ada – Lily eventually allowed herself to be placed on the floor and be seized by Ada who was bleating on about practising some hair style from her magazine on Lily's hair within seconds.
Polly had heard him and had started through to the kitchen already, but he noticed Finn was still stood on the couch, his eyes on Rosie, who was stock still, as minimally into the room as she could be. She hadn't noticed him looking at her, she was staring at Lily and Ada, something unreadable in her expression.
Tommy cleared his throat, "Rosie?"
She glanced to him.
"Come through here with me, will you?" he indicated the kitchen door.
She didn't respond verbally but she walked in the direction of the door, her hands still stuffed in her pockets, catching Finn's eye on her way by.
"Hi," Finn said, almost shyly.
She nodded at him.
He hadn't really considered that Finn and his friends followed Rosie and hers around whenever they'd be tolerated. Though really, that was no different to the way that Finn and his friends followed the junior members of the Peaky Blinders around whenever they'd be tolerated outside of school. Probably would do Finn some good to step into an older brother role for a bit, let him feel he had to look out for Lily rather than always being the bottom of the pile.
He got the impression that Rosie and Ada were more or less indifferent to one another, which he could work with.
"Show Polly your hands," he instructed, once the three of them had assembled in the next room, settling himself against the doors that lead through to the shop.
"What about your hands love?" Polly asked her.
Again, there was no verbal response, she just stared at Tommy for a minute, then slowly withdrew her hands from her pockets and proffered them out to Polly, her gaze slowly moving from his to meet his aunt's.
Polly looked from the dark eyes that had finally given her the time of day and sucked in her breath when she saw the marks on the hands.
"They were done two days ago," Tommy told her.
"Jesus Christ!" she exclaimed darkly, running her fingers over them much the way Tommy had done earlier.
"Can you do anything about them?" he asked his aunt.
"Did they draw blood?" she asked Rosie, who shook her head in response.
"That's good," Polly replied evenly, "Shouldn't get infected. I'll get some cream on them and bandage them up to stop them being exposed to anything, switch them in the morning."
She began to rummage around the kitchen, finding things in cupboards and drawers that Tommy didn't even know the contents of and called over her shoulder, "Who did that then?"
"The head teacher," Tommy answered her, and his aunt looked over her shoulder sharply at him.
He knew what the look was about, she wanted Rosie to speak. He was very aware of the fact she hadn't said a word since they'd entered the house and had more or less looked at him before even responding with an action to anything anyone else had said to her. That silence was what had intrigued him to start with. And then they'd become more comfortable with one another. And he'd forgotten, even though he always thought of her as taciturn, just how disconcertingly silent she could be. What he wasn't sure on at this precise moment though, was whether the silence was a choice, or whether it was a natural result of being shy. And whether, in general, it was both at different times.
"You take a seat down there love," his aunt said to her, indicating the seat nearest the embers of the fire that was still going in the kitchen, "And take your coat off, you're sticking around, aren't you?"
"She is," Tommy nodded, and held out his hand for her coat, which she slowly slipped off and passed over to him, her face still impassive, before sitting where Polly had pointed.
He folded the coat up, feeling how threadbare it was, before putting it on the sideboard and standing back against the door. From what he had seen in her house, she was spending every penny she earned keeping her and her sister alive and, if there was anything left over, it was clearly getting spent on the sister – whose clothes seemed at least to have been designed for her age and gender, which, so far, was more than he could say about Rosie's.
Polly drew up a chair opposite and held her hand out for the first of the girl's, swabbing over it with some alcohol to clean it. She didn't flinch, so he presumed that she had been telling the truth and there were no open wounds, even small ones, on her hands.
"So, does this head go around beating you all often?" Polly asked her, reaching for the Compton's jar.
Rosie shrugged in response.
"That 'minds me actually," Tommy said, then, raising his voice, "Finn, get in here."
The boy appeared in the doorway that connected the kitchen and the front room.
"Did you know about your head teacher caning girls?" he asked.
"I knew about Rosie's hands," he said nodding, then, stepping further into the room and looking at where she and his aunt where sitting, "It was fucking epic."
"Finn - language!" his aunt snapped.
Tommy reached forward and gave him a sharp smack. His brother jumped about a foot into the air and clutched his already tender rear end, his eyes moving from Rosie Jackson to Tommy and back again. Tommy managed to contain his laughter. His brother was clearly very concerned about this girl's opinion of him and the 'fucking epic' was obviously some kind of hero-worship comment.
He raised his eyebrow at Finn and said, "I've already told her you got your arse tanned earlier for wagging school with her lot, so I wouldn't worry about your dignity too much."
Finn's eyes met Rosie's then, who was watching the two brothers interact with some shadow of what might have been interest, but he was saved from saying anything by Ada appearing in the doorway, holding Lily's hand.
"The whole upper school saw it happen near enough," his sister commented.
"Right – one of the three of you, get it told, what actually happened?" he demanded, his eyes flicking between them all, Ada and Finn looking back at him, Rosie suddenly determinedly focussed on the bandages Polly was wrapping around her first hand.
She had said she took it for someone else, she hadn't said she'd been publicly humiliated in the process. His body tensed. He remembered how embarrassing it had felt the odd time one of their neighbours had passed by him when he was out the back for a strapping, never mind the full upper school.
"It was lunchtime, day before yesterday," Ada supplied, dropping Lily's hand to wave hers about while she spoke, obviously excited to get to tell the tale, "The boys were playing cricket and Peter Long comes up to – to whatever it is when they chuck the ball. Anyway, he chucks it all wrong and smashes the headteacher's bloody-" she trailed off at Tommy's raised eyebrow and swallowed, then continued, slightly deflated, "The headteacher's window."
"Yeah and he's in his office and he appears at the window with the ball and just looks out," Finn picked up where Ada had left off, "So everyone starts scattering, leaving Peter standing there, except for Rosie. She just casually wanders right up to where he is and then nods at him to shove off. And by this time Dalton's running out of the doors with his cane in one hand and the ball in the other and starts demanding to know who threw it."
"And calm as anything, she just holds her hand out and says, 'Please Mr Dalton can I have my ball back?'" Ada cut in, indicating the girl who was sitting by the fire, her other hand outstretched to Polly now, still intently focussed on the process that she'd already watched take place on her first hand, not looking round to meet anyone's gaze, though he thought the flush on her face was probably more related to the fact that she could feel their eyes all on her rather than the remnants of the fire.
It was something to hear Ada and Finn excited and impressed by the same thing.
"And then Dalton starts screaming at her, and he knows the whole yard is watching and he kind of seems to realise he's making a fool of himself when she's just staring him down so he shouts at her to get her hands up there and then and then he whacks her eight fuc- eight times!" Finn picked up.
"They were hard too, you could see him swinging into it," Ada said, "But she never cried out or anything, just looked at him the entire time and his face was getting redder and redder and she just kept her hands out till he was done."
"Yeah, then when he says she can drop her hands she does and asks again for the ball, calm as anything, and he screams at her that he's confiscating it and she just looks at him and he stares at her, spluttering away and she goes 'Is there anything else sir?'" Finn said, bursting into laughter, "It was the best thing I've ever seen in me whole life."
"It was excellent," Ada agreed, "And then Dalton turns to go, but the whole school's formed into this circle around them and he has to push through, swinging the cane about to get people to move out of his way, and then as soon as he's in the door everyone starts clapping her. It was like summat out the pictures."
"I was at the front," Finn said, as if to point out that he had a better grasp on it than Ada, "And Rosie turns to the kid whose ball it is as says 'Sorry about your ball,' then she pushes through the crowd and goes right back to where she was standing before it all happened as though it was nothing."
Tommy's eyes were on Rosie, as were Polly's, but she didn't look up, just stared down at her now bandaged hands.
"So, you're tough as nails then," Polly said, an approving note in her voice as she regarded the girl, but Rosie didn't rise to the praise, simply met her eyes for a second, shrugged again, and looked back down at her fingers.
"What did make you take Peter's beating? And you know if you'd just cried a bit or something you'd have been for four, or maybe six even, but you wouldn't have got eight?" Finn blurted out, clearly a question he'd been keen to ask since it happened and hadn't had the chance to.
She glanced at him and raised an eyebrow, but still didn't speak.
"Jesus! You don't say any more at home than you do at school!" Ada said, a note of disappointment in her tone.
Rosie snorted at that, then, for the first time since she'd come into the house, she opened her mouth and told Ada, "I don't often find it's advisable to go around shooting my mouth off."
"Yeah Ada, and you got spanked earlier for shooting your mouth off," Finn said, a note of superiority in his voice, which earned him another smack from Tommy.
"Don't you try and embarrass your sister," he told him, then to Rosie, "And you, you stubborn little wench," he said affectionately, "You live here now so unless it's pure cheek that's coming from you you're not shooting your mouth off, you're just talking like the rest of us. Speak freely as it pleases you."
"Stubborn little wench?" Ada said, looking between them, the tone of his voice clearly noted by the sister he was fairly sure didn't take note of anything, "How long have you two known each other anyway?" she demanded, crossing her arms and looking between them.
"How long have you been in the shop?" he asked Rosie, cocking his head at her.
She shrugged, "Year an' a bit?"
"A year an' a bit," he said to Ada.
"And Peter Long owes me a favour now," Rosie said suddenly to Finn, "And I'll call it in when I need it."
Finn nodded solemnly, and Tommy saw his aunt raise her eyes to the high heavens, clearly believing exactly what Rosie wanted her to believe – that it had been a culture of gaining favours to be stored and used. He caught her eye and she raised her eyebrows at him, questioning whether he would contradict her, to repeat what she'd already told him the reason was. He raised his own eyebrows back at her. No. He'd keep the confidence she had in him.
"Yeah, well back to that beating - why am I just hearing about this when I ask about it?" he asked his siblings.
"You told us not to bother you with school stuff after I told you the Peaky Blinders should do something about that teacher who smacked me on the knuckles with the ruler!" Ada said, indignant.
"Yeah, Ada, there's a difference between getting a whack for passing notes in class and a teacher beating a kid for some pathetic show of power," Polly spat, her eyes on Tommy even as she addressed her niece.
Tommy nodded to her and she nodded back. Polly understood – something was to be done here. His eyes glanced to the redhead and he knew she had noted the nod between him and his aunt.
"Right – the three of you – and you too Lily," he added, his voice softening slightly as he held out his hand to the little girl who was half hiding behind the door post, having been abandoned by Ada in the excitement of the rendition of what had happened.
She came into the room slowly and took his hand, sliding herself into the tiny space behind his leg and the door he was stood against, pulling his hand round slightly, as if she didn't want the people in the room looking at her. He figured, if it was a family trait, then, based on that, more of Rosie's quietness was shyness than he had really accounted for.
He smiled down at the six-year-old, "Though I don't think you're as daft as this lot, eh Lily?" he said to her. She gave him a small, contained smile before he turned back to address the others, "You misbehave in school, you get whacked in school, that's fair enough. Anything like that happens again, I hear about it immediately, got it? None of you are stupid enough you don't know the difference between a fair punishment and a beating, alright?"
Ada and Finn muttered general "Yes Tommy"s in response, but his eyes sought hers out. She said nothing but gave him a very slow blink – which he took for agreement.
He rolled his eyes before continuing, "And another thing – you're all my responsibility, you're all under my protection, but I am going to need a sense of self-preservation from the lot of you. There's no point hanging on to your pride if you get hanged for it."
He directed that particular comment right down the room at her, even though his words included everyone, but she didn't seem at all abashed. Instead she raised an eyebrow at him, then looked to Polly, who didn't seem to be able to help herself and gave a snort to let him know exactly what her thoughts on him issuing that command were.
"That'll be enough eye rolling and snorting from that end of the room please and thank you," he said, wishing he had a cigarette in his hand to wave at them. Bloody women.
Lily stifled a yawn behind him, which got Rosie to her feet and gave a welcome end to the mirth he could see beginning to well up in his aunt.
"Right, past your bedtime," she said to her sister, her voice firm.
"Not tired," the little one said into Tommy's leg, her voice clearly tired but with the usual token defiance of a child who wasn't going to go willingly.
"Well I am so I don't know how you aren't," Rosie replied, her tone matter of fact and leaving no room for reply.
Tommy let a small smile touch his mouth as he watched their exchange. She was different, when she spoke to her sister, somehow softer and less guarded and yet, at the same time, with some air of authority. Authority that didn't come from street credit or from taking beatings in the middle of the school yard.
"I'll show you the room," Ada volunteered.
"You do that Ada, Finn – take that suitcase up from the front room and get to your own bed, it's getting on," Tommy ordered, "I'll come up in a minute to set the fire in John's old room, hasn't been on since Saturday so it'll cold."
He saw her blink as she took in the betting shop, the size of it clearly not what she had expected to see behind the green doors, but she didn't say anything as she picked Lily up and followed Ada up the stairs.
"You didn't set it before you left?" Polly asked him once Finn had also disappeared up after them.
He raised an eyebrow at his aunt and lit the cigarette he'd wished he'd had in his hand earlier, "Didn't know for definite if I was going to go through with it when I left."
"Like hell."
"Didn't know she would come," he admitted, inhaling deeply.
"Not like you to do something you don't know the outcome of," she retorted.
"I'm a gambling man, I hedged my bet."
"So, she's the Queen of the school and you're the King of Small Heath, is it a royal wedding we're heading to?"
"She's fifteen Polly."
"If you were living gypsy she'd be marrying age."
"She's not gypsy."
"Nah, she's a fatherless bastard born to a whore."
"You talk about her like that again and I'll cut you Polly," he growled.
She smiled, satisfied, "Thought so. You can't hide your feelings from me Thomas."
"She's fif-teen," he repeated, sounding out the syllables.
"She won't be forever."
"Well she is now," he said, his voice making it clear that the matter was shut.
"Can see why you two get along, you're both such big talkers."
"Give her time to adjust Polly, I just uprooted her life."
"I don't get the impression she'd agree to anything she didn't want to."
"She's got a sister to look after, and her mother's up and left them."
"Christ."
"The parish might get involved, might separate them," he told her, "And I know how you feel about the parish."
She glared at him.
He nodded, "Exactly. Now, look at this coat." He picked it up from where he'd laid it and chucked it across the table her.
Polly reached for it and felt what he had, "She can't be going around Birmingham in winter in this."
"She has been. Polly, she's spending every penny she's got on her sister."
"That sister has you round her finger too," Polly commented.
"I told her the sister would have you round her finger."
"She'll have us all," Polly replied, "Bloody Shelbys, we can be hard in the face of anything but a baby."
"Yeah well, it won't do Finn any harm to not be the baby anymore," Tommy replied, dragging on the cigarette.
Polly nodded, "Agreed."
"But I need your help to sort her – sort Rosie - out a bit – get her some decent clothes and stuff. I don't know about that, it's women's business, but she's not…" he trailed off, waving his cigarette around looking for the words.
"Not like Ada, doesn't want everything pink and frilly," Polly snorted.
"Exactly. Just get her some fucking clothes that she'll wear that fit her properly and a coat that won't get her a bout of pneumonia for her Christmas. She'll make a fuss about accepting them but she'll just need to – I'll burn her existing wardrobe if bloody need be, it'll be no loss to the world."
Polly snorted.
"And that's another thing Pol," he said, sitting across from her, taking the seat Rosie had been in, "She's going on about contributing – she's keeping her bloody Saturdays in that shop, which I'm not bloody happy about – I've told her we're not taking any money from her, but that she can help you with dinner once a week or something. Can you let her alone enough to let her just live without being the breadwinner for a bit, but let her think she's contributing somehow?"
"Someone in this house who wants to contribute, that's a novelty."
"Little chance of it rubbing off on Ada so I wouldn't get your hopes up," he replied, puffing a bit then adding, "She's proud. Stubborn."
"Takes on to know one," Polly retorted.
He didn't say anything then, just inhaled.
"Anything else you're needing Thomas?"
He nodded, "A bed."
"Oh?"
"They're sharing John's old bed just now, she says its fine because the bab comes in with her half the time at home anyway, but she can't be getting a decent sleep in that set up. Don't know whether to get a big bed for the two of them or another single."
"There's your mother and father's old bed?" Polly suggested, her voice careful.
Tommy glanced upwards. They didn't ever talk about that room. They just left it. He supposed it was a waste. He should have put them in there, not in John's old room. He hadn't even thought about it. It was like the room didn't exist, in a way. And then it wasn't. If it didn't exist, he should have been able to dismantle it and use it for something else, the room should have felt lost to him anyway. But he still wasn't ready.
"Nah," he replied, "Get a new one. Take whatever you need from the safe. Do it as quick as you can, eh Pol?"
She nodded, "I'll be off then Tommy, unless there's anything else?"
He shook his head, "Not tonight Pol."
She knew what he was saying. It was all about to start. And he would need her help, raising a little girl. And, though he didn't even realise he was asking for it, he'd need her help sorting whatever it was he wanted with Rosie Jackson, because it was obvious that that wasn't going to be a smooth road.
She got up then, and laid a hand on his head, patting it briefly before heading out the front way, slinging her own coat on against the October air.
Stubbing his cigarette out, Tommy got to his feet and wandered over to the range to see if Polly had left anything over from dinner for him. Which she hadn't, probably because she hadn't approved of the way he'd left. That had used to be Polly's special when she was left in charge of them, refusing to make whichever one of them had annoyed her anything to eat and sending them to bed on an empty stomach. Clearly she was still employing it as far as he was concerned. And that was when it hit him that Rosie hadn't eaten either. She'd given Lily a biscuit and the sweets she'd bought on her earlier adventures when they'd gone to hers, left him sitting with her in their front room while she gathered together what they needed for a few nights, but she hadn't eaten anything. Christ, here he was offering to look after her and on the first night he'd forgotten to feed her.
He clattered about the kitchen, finding bread and jam and cursing himself that he didn't have anything better to offer her, before he started up the stairs, slowing to a halt when he heard her voice, singing softly, more slowly than the recorded version…
'And the country found them ready
At the stirring call for men.
Let no tears add to their hardships
As the soldiers pass along,
And though your heart is breaking,
Make it sing this cheery song:
Keep the home fires burning,
While your hearts are yearning,
Though your lads are far away,
They dream of home.
There's a silver lining,
Through the dark clouds shining,
Turn the dark cloud inside out
'Til the boys come home.'
He lay his head against the wall, his hand shaking slightly. If he'd known her a year and a bit then they'd been home for than a year and a bit. And yet he wasn't sure he'd ever come home at all. That any of them had ever come home at all. Did she know that? Was she still waiting - and, if so, for who? No, no, he was being ridiculous – she was too young to have lost any sweetheart in the war.
No, this was simply a time where people had forgotten the lullabies his mother would have sang to him, the ones he vaguely remembered her singing to Ada. He wished now he had paid more attention. This was a time where the songs people knew by heart were war songs. And, as Sergeant Major, how many times had he instructed his men to sing them, to boost morale? Pack up your troubles in-fucking-deed. Truth be told, he had never wanted to hear another fucking song again in his whole life.
Or he hadn't wanted to. Her voice was pure though. Low, throaty. It cut through his heart and he realised his eyes had leaked a little as he stood there listening. But he wanted her to learn new songs.
He shoved his face into his elbow to scrub away any evidence of weakness and continued up. She was humming now, something wordless. He halted outside the door and knocked, maybe for the first time ever, on John's old bedroom door, suddenly aware that it wasn't his place to barge in, even in his own house. She hadn't shut the door right over though and it swung open.
The head of the bed was the first thing in his eyeline when he opened the door and she was sitting, crushed into the corner at the top against the opposite wall, whilst her sister dozed on the pillow. Definitely needed Polly to sort that bed out with no delay.
She smiled at him and raised a finger to her lips, unnecessarily, glancing down at the child who had proclaimed she was 'not tired' not ten minutes before.
He smiled back at her and came over, holding up the plate, "Dinner. Sorry it's so pitiful, we missed Polly's far superior efforts," he said, his voice low and quiet, placing it down on the chest by the bed, where she could reach it, he cleared his throat and shoved his hands in his trouser pockets, "You want tea? I didn't know what you took in it?"
She shook her head, "I'm okay, thanks."
"I'll eh – I'll do the fire," he murmured, crossing over to the empty grate, busying himself with filling it.
He was nervous, he realised. He didn't think he would have been, once he got them in his house. But now the room wasn't John's old room, as he'd come to think of it, wasn't John's old room that he was familiar with. It her their room now. He was in her space, not the other way about.
"You don't have to, we'll be fine," she whispered across the room.
"First night in this house you didn't get a decent meal and now you think I'll let you freeze to death. Maybe I'd have done you a favour if I handed you over to the parish instead."
He glanced over his shoulder at her and saw her glaring at him.
He sighed, "I'm chiding myself, not threatening you."
When the fire had taken he stood up and crossed back. She hadn't touched the food, she's just watched him work.
"Eat," he told her, forcefully, inwardly wincing even as it came out. He didn't know why he did that sometimes, snapped at people when he didn't mean to. Ordered when he meant to make suggestions. He just couldn't help it. Sometimes he was cruel and it worked in his favour, kept his reputation intact. And sometimes he was cruel and it came out at people he cared about, people he hadn't meant to be cruel to, but it was like his brain jumped to the extremity of a situation and reacted to that rather than process the real potential of that extremity actually being the case.
"There's too much for me – you have half," she said, looking between the plate and him.
He rolled his eyes, "There's two bits of bread and jam."
"One each then."
"Is this you trying to make me eat so I'm not all smoke and drink and black lungs?"
"You're already made up of smoke and drink and black lungs Thomas Shelby, I wouldn't worry that a single bit of bread and jam will dilute you," she said with a snort, "No, this is me trying to make you eat so that that doesn't all get wasted. You've heaped enough jam on each bit there to do a whole loaf."
Tommy looked doubtfully at the bread but sighed and sat on the floor, taking the plate off the chest and helping himself to one of the bits, passing the plate up to her. He'd pacify her as long as she ate something.
They tucked in, and he realised the danger of his choice of sustenance as the jam seemed to slide everywhere with every bite he took. He hadn't eaten bread and jam in so long he couldn't remember if it had always been like that.
"Bloody messy," he grumbled, licking jam off of his fingers, trying to catch it before it fell off of the bread.
"That's because you've put too much on, I'll give you a lesson in spreading jam on bread tomorrow and then you'll know for next time."
"You'll give me a lesson, will you?" he said, raising his eyebrow.
"You clearly need one," she replied with a stifled laugh, as he just managed to catch a great blob of the stuff before it fell onto his suit.
"Give us the plate if you've finished yours," he said, grinning up at her and holding out his hand for it, grateful that it could catch the drips on his behalf.
She shushed him, indicating the sleeping sister again, and he finished the supper in silence with no more jam related near-catastrophes and his dignity somewhat intact.
"Right," he said softly, standing, "I'm the door at the head of the stairs, you need anything you come get me."
"You take that room so no one could go up or down without you knowing about it?"
"Somethin' like that."
"And you're going to your bed now?"
"I'll wash up and lock up but more or less," he replied, indicating the plate in his hand, questioning her with his eyes.
"I just imagined the Peaky Blinders went out until the wee hours of the morning, flapping about like great bats in your big coats," she answered the question with a sly smile.
"Only when there's business. Or nothing keeping me home."
"I'm keeping you home, am I?" she questioned with a single eyebrow raise.
"Don't be so arrogant," he whispered with a grin, "I've had a hell of a day. Some local hero called for a day of skipping school, so I've spent the first half of the day worried as hell about my kid brother and sister, came home to find my sister didn't wag off school but did have an attitude problem I had to correct, and I'll tell you, doing that fair hurt my heart. Then I decided to adopt two tearaways and one of them needed her arse smacked a bit too when she gave me attitude about giving up a job she doesn't need to have, and instead of having a nice, contrite girl on my hands after the smacking, I got a mouthful about committing to having discussions, which I for some blasted reason went and agreed to – god knows why!" He threw up his hands, crumbs flying everywhere as the plate jerked and rolled his eyes at her as she giggled, her hand over her mouth, to try and reduce the sound, before continuing, "And added to that I've now found out the headteacher at the school is sadist who shouldn't be allowed near kids and I'm going to need to deal with that. So, no, Miss Jackson, you are not keeping me home - for once, my need for my bed is keeping me home!"
"Ah, you take too much on yourself Mr Shelby," she whispered back blithely.
"Bleeding heart, me," he said.
They regarded each other for a while, before he eventually said, "Well, goodnight Rosie."
"Goodnight Tommy," she replied, her smile small but sweet.
There wasn't much similarity between the two half sisters, but they shared the same small mouth. Lily looked like the church paintings of baby angels, whatever it was they had been called, cherubs maybe - he hadn't been in so long he couldn't remember - she was a pretty child, with her blonde hair and blue eyes; whereas Rosie was all fire - red hair and amber eyes and pale skin that flushed easily. But the smile was the same.
He stuck his head into Finn's room on his way, unsurprised to see the boy fast asleep on his stomach. Finn's fire was dying a little, so he stoked it a bit and added more coal before checking in on Ada, who was not asleep but didn't even glance up at him as he entered the room.
"'Night Ada," he called over his shoulder as he exited.
She snorted, "Good night for people who can sleep comfortably."
He shook his head chose to ignore her, rather than point out that the power of being able to lie in a position other than on her stomach was entirely in her own hands. She knew it fine well.
He headed down the stairs to do the plate and lock the doors as he'd said he would, before shutting himself into his own room.
He hadn't been lying entirely to Rosie, he was tired and he feel into a deep sleep. The first one in a while which was, thankfully, dreamless.
Again, thank you so much for the reviews - they really have made my day!
The song she's singing is called Keep The Home Fires Burning, by Ivor Novello, which was popular during WWI in Britain - it's not my property nor that of the Peaky Blinders [unless they give old Ivor an ultimatum for it, because we all know they're accustomed to getting what they want ;) ]