sweet french. peaky blinders

72

Tommy

She didn't wish to worry him, but regardless, Tommy worried. It was his natural, stoic state. Even without Lucille's crypticness when it came to the letter, Tommy had enough trouble to bother him.

The betting den was stuck in more of a gloom than it usually was. It was as if Small Heath's infamous smog clouds had clung to the house's foundations, encasing them all in its dreary boundaries. All because of Arthur.

The blood and gore of war had hung over Tommy's elder brother like a brand. All of the Shelby brothers had been left scarred by war, the injuries and wounds affecting different places. Tommy's emotions had been wiped clean, his cold and calculating nature worked on and sharpened against a brick, like a carving knife. John, though he'd always been, was reckless. He'd seen less of the war, but he'd lost friends, a wife, leaving him with a hoard of mother-less children of which he was too choked up on himself to care for. But Arthur, he'd been harmed in the head.

He'd killed a boy because of it. The doctor said he'd been weak-hearted, but Tommy knew better than to trust him. They were all scared of him, fearing what he could do should they speak against him. it wasn't necessarily a comforting thought, knowing people responded this way, but it made things easier. There would be some- there always was- that would speak up about it. He had to nip the problem in the bud, as Pol would say.

No one said anything as he pushed his way through the betting den, searching around, only to find his youngest brother huddled up in his office beside Isaiah.

"Alright, what happened?" Tommy demanded as he stood in front of the two boys, leaning casually against the desk. It was this firm composure that always unsettled people, making them babble until the truth was told.

"It was a fair fight," Finn said, not looking up.

Isaiah nodded, head hung low. "Yeah. Arthur just caught him with a good one."

Tommy stared down at them angrily. "I saw the body. Don't fucking lie to me. I saw the body. What happened?"

"I'm not family. I'm saying nothing," Isaiah said.

Tommy's piercing eyes shifted solely to Finn, giving him a look that made him talk. "Arthur, he's blown a few times lately. Six, seven. It's like he's not there in the head. He can't even hear stop. Or even his own name. And then he cries."

Not there in the head. It was a phrase that reminded him of Danny Whizzbang. But for Arthur there were no banging triggers, only a switched on brutality, the incapability to stop, to bring himself back to the present again as he drifted off into the past.

"Right, listen to me," Tommy said, pointing between the two boys. "That's two fucking stories. Your brother killed a boy. There were witnesses, there will be questions, get your stories straight. It was an accident. Fuck off."

Lucille

Another letter had arrived, stamped with the same five stamps and written with the same cursive writing. It had the same contents too as if Adam had been desperate enough to ensure the words met her, even if it was only once. But each letter somehow reached her, and each letter, she read with gritted teeth and shaking hands.

"He keeps... He keeps writing to us, to me," Lucille said, finally handing the crumpled piles of paper to Tommy.

"Who?"

"Adam."

"Your husband."

"Ex-husband," she snapped, glaring at the title.