alfie solomons loved ailsa shelby like a rotten dog. like his canines were falling out of his gums. like a monster. like a beast. like something not worth loving back.
peaky blinders / alfie solomons
season three ― season five
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PROLOGUE: DEATH'S RETURNING CLAWS 1897-1908
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AILSA WAS ONLY EIGHT years old when she helped deliver her first baby. Her sister's hair was a wispy shade of brown, like tree bark or the rich hazel of the earth's soil. Little Ada's hair was so thick that Ailsa could've braided it had she gotten close enough to try. Confused, she gaped at her mother, exclaiming in well-intended concern, "was she in there too long?"
Her mother -- a mousy-haired, doe-eyed woman who everyone said was Ailsa's twin in both appearance and heart -- and Aunt Pol -- who was on hand to assist her brother's wife in the birth of their fifth child together -- shared a tired laugh as Polly took the gurgling baby Ada over to the sink to be cleaned and wrapped in a soft pink blanket. Ailsa had helped Aunt Pol knit it when she predicted another girl would grace the family. It fit around Ada like a custom-made glove, and the rosy-cheeked baby sighed and went quiet in content.
She was undoubtedly a beautiful girl, and Ailsa was so excited to have a sister at long last, but she had so much hair, and Ailsa couldn't help but question if she was an alien disguised as a baby.
(Oh, the fears of an eight-year-old brain; irrational as they were terrifying. Poor Ailsa genuinely dreaded the thought of her sister being an alien...)
"It's completely normal for newborns to have hair, my love," her mother weakly reached out to caress Ailsa's flushed face. Instinctively, she leaned in to the touch, dabbing sweat off her mother's hairline with a fresh cloth. It was so warm in the kitchen. Ailsa wondered if Ada liked it, if the heat coming from the hearth reminded her of their mother. The Shelby matriarch was made of warmth and brightness; like a comforting hand bandaging wounds on a bad day, or a twinkling laugh on the good ones. "You'll see when you have a baby of your own someday."
At that, Ailsa's nose scrunched up in disgust. If witnessing childbirth for the first time hadn't scarred her for life, the thought of going anywhere near a boy was downright traumatising. Boys have cooties, Ails, Arthur's gruff voice had instilled in her from the moment they were old enough to walk and talk. It had always been her and Arthur, then their younger brothers, Tommy and John. Each pair was close in age and, at first, in temperament. If Arthur said to jump, Ailsa would ask how high. So if her big brother said boys were gross, Ailsa would take it as gospel.
Stubbornly shaking her head, she protested, "I'm never having a baby, mama." Her mother and Polly merely laughed and shared a smile. Ailsa's lower lip jutted out. "I mean it. Don't laugh."
"Okay, sweetheart," her mother sighed then, her eyes slowly slipping shut as sleep gave its call. "We believe you."
