Tommy Shelby could not be a father again.
And yet, Lizzie was already showing.
Polly wanted him to go see her. Try to fix his love of booze and opium with a good look at the belly bump that would soon be a human being. His daughter, if Polly's "second sight" was to be believed.
The room around him was still in a form of disarray similar as to the one two weeks ago. The day that Ms. Anna Strauss had waltzed into his misery, uninvited. Similar, only because he had fucking servants now and they took care of tidying up his mess for him everyday, no matter how rude he was to Francis or Charlie.
Damn it, he could NOT be a father again!
Tommy was stuck in the never ending loop of talking to himself about himself and he was fucking tired of his damned voice. That's why he was known for his silences really. He knew the power it could have, because if he could only get his own accusing thoughts to shut up, maybe he could also stop himself from looking weak, drunk and lost in front of anyone who cared to look.
He sat up on his couch, his right hand, still red from the deep cut he had inflicted on himself, stinging in harmony with the monumental hangover he needed to start nursing immediately. He reached for the bell that would summon Francis like cattle, and hated it, but he did not trust his own voice to refrain from producing a wail if he used it. Before she came though, he lit up a cigarette and took another dose of whiskey.
All he needed was a little bit more of the poison who had gotten him here. That would keep him going.
Francis was, not surprisingly, was worried about him. But she was also easily distracted by him when told to call the family doctor to stitch his hand up. Which she did, and 2 hours later he was leaving his home with a bandaged hand and a medical sick note for Charlie's alleged epilepsy.
That was a good problem to start working on. The crazy woman who said she was from the future had no influence in his Peaky Blinders business; and he needed to warm up to this never ending work of his, before he outlined the plan to the family's next step. Before he could go and see Lizzie.
"How may I help you Sir?" The man at the desk of the opulent hotel asked.
"I would like to speak with Ms. Anna Strauss please." He said, half expecting her to not be there at all. But then again, if her idea of a con was to give him money and then leave, he should probably assume that the woman was entirely made up of his opium fueled imagination.
"Of course,Mr. Shelby. Just a moment" The short man checked the books and then directed him to sit and wait in one of the lobby's comfortable sofa.
Five minutes later and she appeared, the red blouse the only vibrant color amid black trousers, coat and hair. Wavy hair that she wore long, like Polly used to, when he was a boy.
"The last game on the list was won two nights ago Mr. Shelby. I was about to give up on you." Her american accented voice reached him before her hand did, waiting for him to shake it.
He waited a beat to do it. But hugged her hand with his, without a word.
"Shall we go then?" She said, still standing before him.
"Where?" he made no move to get up.
Ms. Strauss leaned forward a little and whispered to him:
"Somewhere where I can prove to you where I came from, without having to also hear about how the duchess loves her new son-in-law." With her eyes she indicated a very well dressed, loud, woman to their right, and then took a step back waiting for him to rise.
He did and, without offering her his arm, strode towards his car.
She got into his Bentley and offered no commentary on the direction that they were taking. Tommy didn't divulge their destination either, and only stopped looking at the road when they were at the docs. Factory smoke filled the air, mud coated the floor, and it would probably cling to her hair and ruin her shoes but she stepped out of the car to follow him with nothing more than a reset of her shoulders and full red lips compressed into a thin line.
He led her to the stables, told Curly to leave and took his place brushing down his horse.
"How much money did you make Mr. Shelby?" She leaned her forearms against the stall's open door. Nothing, however, disturbed the silence but the sound of his brush going up and down the horse's side for a minute or so.
"When are you from, Ms. Strauss?" he asked, not looking in the direction of her dark eyes.
"The 21st century." Her voice was firm, calm and directed straight at him. Well, if she was looking he might as well take this opportunity to remove his coat, jacket and gloves. That seemed to distract people (women) sometimes. It didn't have a visible effect though.
"And what are you doing here?"
"I'm here to ask your help in stopping world war 2. You do remember me telling you this, right Mr. Shelby? Because if you are too drunk to function already I must go and try to enlist Alfie Solomons' help. I hear he is a very pleasant sort of fellow."
Tommy froze.
"They do say he has beaten you more than a few times in the business, so maybe I came to the wrong place anyway." The wood cracked under the pressure of her weight being pushed off the door as she took one step back.
"Already?" He turned and faced her. His voice, as monotone as ever, but he couldn't stop his eyes from going a little wide.
"What?" she shook her head a tiny little bit and refocused on his eyes.
"Already too drunk to function. What do you mean by that?"
"I…" a slight blush,the same shade as her lips, briefly crossed her cheeks. "I meant, do you not remember how we met Mr. Shelby?" she continued with remarkable conviction. But he had seen her slip.
"It is never a good idea to lie to me Ms. Strauss" He dropped the brush, trading it for a cigarette, which he slowly put between his lips and lit it.
"I shouldn't lie to you Mr. Shelby? And how am I supposed to do that if you won't accept the truth when it is given to you?" with hands thrown into the air, her voice rose a little, but not enough to startle the horse.
"You see Ms. Strauss…" Tommy stepped out of the stall, and closed it behind him. "The way that you said the word 'already' right then, that makes me think that you know exactly where my demons lie." He took a drag of the cigarette. "And that means that someone must've told you something about them." Was it Michael? That boy needed to be put in his place, and Polly wouldn't dissuade him of a good beating this time.
"You mean apart from the state I found you in our first encounter?" she snorted. Took a step back.
"On a Sunday. One time. That means nothing."
"I got no inside information Mr. Shelby." She took another step back, and her knees hit a three-legged stool that clattered to the floor.
"Maybe someone decided to try the honey trap on me again eh? Only they picked the crazy whore to do it!" Dark fire flashed in her eyes at that, and she was in his face a second later.
"You wanna know why I said 'already' Tommy Shelby? I will fucking SHOW you why!" A piece of paper was then thumped against his chest. She took a step back, and he looked down at the paper cut out.
"That is an obituary for one Thommy Michael Shelby, January 1st 1954." And it was. A 2 line little thing with no picture on it. "You die of an opium overdose that will be the apex of the last 20 years of your life. Those will consist of a son who died in the war, a daughter who hates you and a broken criminal empire who no one in my time even remembers anymore. Even if they still have movies made about Al Capone!" Anna's voice did disturb the horse this time. Or maybe, it was just its connection to Tommy's mood that did that.
"But I remembered! I read about you for hours and I thought, hey, a man who can build such an impressive business out of virtually nothing, and blackmail the king himself. That man has got to be able to help me change the one event in Time that seems to be set in stone, right?" She turned her back on him, paced a few times, stopped and finished, looking down at her muck stained shoes. "And now I'm going to be stuck here for the next 15 years, because Tommy fucking Shelby is not man enough to admit that he has a problem"
It was crazy. Of course it was. He was Tommy Shelby, OBE, head of the Peaky fucking Blinders.
The obituary could have been faked for effect and she could be just a good actress or a crazy woman with a very impressive imagination. The football match could have been rigged, and a thousand other reasons tried to convince him this was a lie. Of all people, Tommy Shelby knew the importance of a prop in order to pull a successful bluff.
Except… If he was being honest with himself. Something about the idea of him dying alone and destitute of his own power, surrounded by too much booze and dope rang awfully true in his ears.
That was why he couldn't be a father wasn't it?
How hard was it to believe that his daughter would hate him, when he was already half decided on marrying her mother, knowing he would never love her? How could Polly not leave him, when he thought about fucking destroying Michael if he tried to take Tommy's crown.
His family was why he kept going.
He would destroy it anyway.
Fuck.
He breathed in the last of his cigarette and threw the stub on the floor. Rearranged his cap in place, gathered his coat, jacket and gloves. And with the damning paper in his pocket, Tommy moved to leave the stable.
"Let's go!"
"Where?"
"To my office Anna." He halted at the door and waited to hear her steps following him but was met with only the coveted silence. He turned around and met her stunned face then. "That's where I do business. I'm gonna need some more information, eh?"