The Camden Tales

31 - Changing Tides

-=₪ January 1926 ₪=-

Home / 150 Camden Street / 3.32pm

The dim daylight of the cold January afternoon was barely breaking through the large windows of the Solomons drawing room, but despite this, the room was bright. The lights were on and the fire roared in the ornate, marble surround, keeping all warm. Especially Cyril who was laid snoozing near the hearth.

Alfie was sat on his chaise longue with Alfred standing on his lap. With a sudden heel here and crushing of jewels there, Alfie found himself tired of his son's attention and lifted him to the floor with a groan.

Pulling out his full hunter gold pocketwatch, he flicked it open and checked the time. His eyebrows raised as he checked the clock on the mantle, it read the same. His eyes shifted to Malka. She was sat in her usual, plush red chair opposite his sofa. He watched her smile at Alfred as their son made his way across the rug to his mother.

Picking Alfred up, she lifted him above her head and pulled silly faces, making their son laugh and giggle. Once back on her lap, he proceeded to shove his mother's hair into his mouth.

"Did I hear the telephone ring earlier?" she asked, without looking up as she pulled her hair out of Alfred's mouth.

"You did, yeah." Alfie confirmed, leaning forwards and grabbing his pipe from the nearby end table.

"Anything noteworthy?" she asked as she grabbed a tissue and wiped the excess gob from her hair and son's chin.

"It was Tommy." he answered casually, packing tobacco down tightly, trying not to look to his wife for her reaction, but failing as he glanced over.

"What does he want?" she enquired while still managing to smiling at Alfred.

Malka asked because she knew Tommy would have wanted something, he only ever contacted Alfie when he wanted something. Respect didn't work both ways with OBE.

"It's John's funeral today." he shared, shaking his matchbox and opening it.

"Am I supposed to believe he called to tell you that?" she asked as Alfred sneezed, throwing snot all over Malka's hand and his own face.

Alfie's eyes flicked to his son as he lit his pipe and grimaced at seeing the avalanche of snot as he sat back to enjoy his passtime.

"He told me they will all be in Small Heath for awhile and even though it is secure, he is taking extra precautions." he replied, feeling nauseated at watching Malka wipe the snot from her hand with a tissue.

"Secure, eh?" she scoffed, "what precautions, exactly?"

"Building up his army. Apparently, he has called in what he called capable Gypsies. His equivalent to your Titanic I guess." he mused, "only I suspect he didn't fuck the captain." he snapped with sudden annoyance.

"Neither did I," she sighed, while grabbing another tissue.

"Ya shared a bed with him for teo fucking years!"

"I will not go over this with you again," she stated firmly.

"Yeah, well. Apparently he also has a large order of guns and ammunition in from the B.S.A." Alfie added dismissively.

Malka stopped what she was doing and turned her eyes full on Alfie.

"What's he plan to do with all that!?" she asked astonished.

"Arm the civilians of Birmingham." he replied with a huff.

"Oy vey. Sums him right up doesn't it? Thomas Shelby, OBE. All guns, no sight, wild bullets, smoke targets." Malka stated. "People most likely think it's all part of the plan." she frowned as she wiped snot from Alfred's face with a fresh tissue, "Man doesn't have a plan, he makes it up as he goes along," she mumbled under her breath.