Marguerite - A Thomas Shelby story

Chapter 31 - Michael

Polly sat quietly at the kitchen table with Olivia, John and Arthur. She glanced at the clock, exhaled loudly in exasperation and lit a cigarette. 

"Where the fuck are they? Tom promised to help us find Michael," she mumbled. The woman snapped her fingers at Arthur, who in turn looked at her in confusion. Polly spoke again.

"You two." She pointed at John and Arthur. "You were in London with Tommy, so you know that Maggie scuttled off to find you boys. Ada called from her flat saying that you'd all arrive by six o' clock. So, where are Tommy and Marguerite?" 

Arthur managed to supress his grin, but John, the utter child that he was, suddenly had a massive smile plastered on his face. He couldn't help it. 

"John?" questioned Olivia, her eyebrow raised and a grin tugging at her own lips as she slowly begun to understand. She leaned over the table, but none of the boys looked her in the eye. Her gaze met Polly's gaze.

Polly let out a hearty exclamation. 

"Seriously?" she scoffed, pinching the bridge of her nose and closing her eyes tight, as if trying to block out an image that had formed in her thoughts. "Alright, but where are they right now?"

"Boat," snickered John, who, with Arthur, was now laughing uncontrollably. They were happy for Tommy and Marguerite. 

"I should have known," hummed Olivia, giggling, "eventually Tommy and Maggie would end up sleeping together." 

"Are Tommy and Marguerite going to have children?" came a little voice from the stairway. Finn stood near the entrance of the kitchen, eyeing the adults with curiosity in his eyes. 

"Oh, for heaven's sake, what rubbish," cried Polly, "Go to bed, Finn, you shouldn't be hearing all this. Go on, scram." Flustered, Olivia signalled to Finn to do as he was told. 

Around 20 minutes later, a car engine roared and stopped outside the house. Tommy and Marguerite entered, her hat almost flying off her head. They scrambled into the house, slightly wet from the rain, hand in hand. 

Marguerite caught her sister's eye. Olivia smiled warmly. 

"Finally."

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It was a fairly warm Tuesday. Tommy had finally managed to track down Michael Gray to an address not too far from Birmingham, but had insisted that it be best if he went alone to talk to the boy, for it not to be too overwhelming. 

"It says here that Michael Gray was adopted by this woman, here," Marguerite had said, dropping an official coffee-stained orphanage file on Tommy's desk for him to look at. "She lives not too far from here. A decent drive away, but not too bad."

Marguerite had entrusted Tommy to go talk to Michael, to explain his situation, to tell him about Polly being his biological mother. Tommy was more diplomatic, he was smart: he'd know exactly what to say to strike to boy's interest. 

So here he was, parking the car in a long, flowering, pebbled driveway near thatched and Victorian-looking cottages. He looked down at the paper Marguerite had handed him, with the address. God, her handwriting was beautiful. 

He exited the car, inhaling the unfamiliar, sweet scent of a calm, clean neighbourhood. It would be a big jump for Michael Gray to go from this to the polluted air of the dangerous, uneasy parts of Birmingham to join his mother. But then again...

Marguerite had done exactly that, hadn't she? 

He reached into his pocket for his lighter and his packet of cigarettes, but after a second of thought, he put it back. 

He made his way to the bright house, just around the corner. There was a lady in a flowery garden, tending to her vegetables. 

At first, she gave Tommy a quick, polite smile, but then took at longer look at him, and she fumbled about skittishly, swallowing sharply. His gaze, again. Striking, disarming. 

"Can I help you?" she called out, busying herself with her apron. 

"I believe you can," exhaled Tommy, running his rough hands over his collar to adjust it, as he took at few steps towards the garden gate, a few feet from the middle-aged woman. "I'm looking for a certain Michael Gray."

The woman's heavy, sagging cheeks were enhanced as her face fell. 

"There is no Michael Gray here, sir," she retorted, with as much composure as she could. 

Tommy smiled slyly for a split second, leaning determinedly onto the gate. 

"But there is a Michael here, eh?" 

His tone was playful, but not in a joking way, more of a patronising way. 

The lady removed her apron, dusted her hands and threw him a suspecting glare, unsuccessfully attempting to hide a flash of worry behind a fake nonchalant façade.  

"I don't know who you are," she stated, "but you leave my boy alone. You have no business here." 

"Actually, that'll be up to him to decide. He's 18 soon, yes? A grown man now. I'm sure you'd let him make his own decisions, Madam. Or am I mistaken?" 

"My boy-"

"Your boy?"

"Excuse me?"

"Michael knows he was adopted, correct?"

"Again, I don't know who you are, sir, but you need to leave."

Just as she was about to say something else, the front door of the house opened. A fresh faced young man with neatly combed hair and sharp yet subtle features appeared. He wore green knitwear, which matched the bright greenish blue of his soft eyes.

"Mum?" he said, with slight concern in his voice, "is everything alright?" 

He walked calmly towards the woman, pressing one hand onto her arm, as his gaze lingered with curiosity to Tommy's dominant presence. Michael was impressed by this stoic, athletic looking man. 

"Michael."

The Peaky Blinder's voice had grown quieter, and despite protests from the woman, he unravelled the secrets of Michael's real mother, Polly. 

And then he left Michael with his thoughts. 

He knew he'd succeeded. 

No young man could possibly be left without questions after meeting Thomas Shelby. Thomas himself was young, yet his demeanour and aura was so overpowering and professional, from the clothes he wore to the expression on his face and the tone of his voice, that no fellow man could not be in awe of him. Especially young country boys like Michael. Suddenly his mind was clouded with curiosity and admiration that he just had to meet Polly Gray. His supposed mother. 

What kind of a man would he be if he didn't venture into the unknown, right?

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