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Lucille
The whole street seemed to know of the threat to Thomas Shelby. It was quiet- eerily so- and Lucille wouldn't have been surprised if the whole of Birmingham was waiting for the news to break out that the infamous Peaky Blinder had been caught.
The hunt was on. Lucille felt sick with worry.
Finn tugged along with her as they scurried across Watery Lane, pushing through the front door of the house, breaking into the living room. Polly sat with a cup of tea, watching over Dawson with the faintest of smiles as he bounced Adds on his knee. Her face was flushed with excitement, burning from the attention, her blond curls tucked into her dress. Had it been any other day, Lucille would have melted at the sight. Dawson seemed calm, or at least more at peace than he had been. But the fight had started and nothing would put her at peace until Tommy was home.
She swallowed, letting them read the worry on her face. Polly stood abruptly, her own face blank of any emotion. Dawson's smile fell as he glanced between the two women.
"What's happened?" Polly asked.
Lucille looked away, unable to hold her intense stare. "They were in the lane. The inspector- he's sent the police after Tommy," she said. "He said he'll be away for a while. He's hiding."
Polly let out a harsh sigh, her hands flying to clutch the rosary beads around her neck. To her side, Adds settled back against the seat, letting Dawson move to stand beside them.
"Is he alright?" he asked, quickly. "Do you need my help?"
Lucille shook her head. "That's alright. There's nothing we can do now. If we try to help him, it'll just draw attention that we don't need."
Polly nodded from where she leaned against the mantel, eyes blank as she stared. Her hands still clutched the beads, jaw clutched. Then, finally, she turned, rolling her lip nervously between her teeth.
"So when can we expect the police?" she asked, and Lucille glanced to the clock by the fire.
"About five minutes."
Tommy
The sound of their shoes hitting the damp pavement as they ran filled Tommy's ears. Blonde hair swished across his vision. It was cold and getting darker by the minute as shapes began to creep from shadows made by the sun into monsters powered by the night. Clouds of vapour swirled around his nose like the clouds of cigarette smoke in the Garrison as he breathed out heavily, struggling to keep his heart rate under control. Tommy had never longed for the choking atmosphere more than he had then.
The barmaid slowed to a stop, glancing around at the still streets around them. The moss-laden bricks of the terraced house were the same as those in Watery Lane, where the police would no doubt be raiding at that moment. Grace fumbled with her keys, pushing the door open and letting him follow her through the dark and into the sitting room. The absence of light seemed to calm him. It was in the shadows, disturbed only by the flickering of the candles, where he could feel safe, hidden away from the outside world and away from those who wished to ruin all he'd created.
Tommy closed his eyes as he stopped by the window that overlooked the street, letting the curtains drop down in front of his face. The stench of smoke seeped through the dated wallpaper and the floorboards moaned beneath his feet. It all felt awfully familiar.
German voices flowed from his memories, scaring his shoulders stiff. Was he imagining the weight of a thin blanket on his back? The gentle scent of lavender washed away the cigarettes that burned his nose. The recollection of the wicker basket of pastries made his mouth water wrongfully. When Tommy finally pried his eyes open, he half expected to see Lucille again, hand trailing across his outgrown hair, sparkling eyes instantly calming as her lips mumbled soothing words.
But there was no German officer. Lucille was not here to calm him, to assure him that they would get out safe. Instead, he stared back at a blank wall, noticing the lack of pictures and the frosty draft that shivered the room. Instead, it was the inspector who threatened to find him as he hid.
"Would you like some tea?" Grace's voice broke him from the stare.
"No. No," he said, shaking his head briefly. "Do you have anything stronger?"
"I don't have whiskey. I only have rum."
"That'll do."
She disappeared for a moment, returning with a glass and a bottle. She poured it first, setting the bottle down on the rotting wood of the windowsill as she handed him the glass.
"Thank you," he muttered, knocking it back swiftly and letting her pour another.
He closed his eyes again, silently wishing for her presence to disappear into another room again. The cold brushed against his cheeks, which were already flushed by his third drink. He felt the ghost of a hand on his cheek, brushing against the high of his bones toward his eyelashes and to the tip of his nose again. She would have read to him had they been in France, Tommy thought. When he opened his eyes again, finishing another glass, Lucille's touch disappeared and he glanced to Grace, as she leaned forward toward the window.
"What're they doing?" she asked, eyes trailing along with the small figures on the road below.
"They're moving along," Tommy breathed out, almost in disbelief.
He pushed the glass away toward the bottle, shrugging his coat further onto his shoulders. Grace hurried to follow him to the door, making a B line around the table to reach it first.
"You're leaving now?" she asked, keeping a hand on the door handle so he couldn't reach for it. Tommy nodded. "What if they see you?"
"They won't," he said, staring at her until she opened the door, letting him slide through.
"Be careful," she whispered.
"Thank you," he mumbled.
Tommy edged into the night, eyes already used to the darkness of the streets. Sometime between entering Grace's home and leaving again, it had begun to rain. He breathed in, filling his lungs with the fresh, damp air, pushing through the sheets of water that crashed down against the streets. As the load of the rain increased, his coat began to seep into a darker black, the colour of coal.
At least in the flow of rain that was as strong as the current in a river, Tommy would be able to slide through the streets under an obscured cloak of water. But his ears were muffled, hiding the shouts of policemen until he was almost opposite them. He slumped to the side of a house, pressing his body against the bare bricks until they passed, their echoing voices disappearing later than the clattering sounds of their boots.
Perhaps the rain would wash him anew, he thought. Or, at least, he hoped it would, as his home on Watery Lane came into sight. He hoped it would take his problems away like a sudden tidal wave. It was risky, returning home so early, but the police were retreating, and there was nowhere in Small Heath that he would ever be truly safe.
Tommy sighed as he checked the street, searching through the shadows and rain carefully. He stopped at the door, looking up to the window of the room he knew Lucille would be in. The light was on, waiting up, just in case, like the safety beacon of a lighthouse amongst perilous oceans, guiding him home.
♡︎
Short update!
Quick chapter. I'm feeling so motivated for writing this book atm so that's good! Chapter 65 will be the last chapter in this part (part 3? I can't remember) but then the aesthetics and opener will be up for the next one.
