Bancroft - Peaky Blinders Reverse Harem x Reader

Chapter 34

I'm twelve years old, and swimming in the stream that ran by my house.

There's nobody else here. Soft summer sun dapples across the water through the branches of the evergreen trees. The current carries me away and I allow it to sweep me each time, before reaching the sharp corner by the clump of bushes. When I get there, I dig my hands and feet into the riverbed until I stop, then I begin to claw my way back up, fighting against the strong water.

I've been at it all afternoon, and my arms and legs are beginning to fatigue from the exertion. I battle my way back up the river, to the little shore of rocks where I've left my towel and a notebook. As I emerge from the water, I see my father standing there. I freeze.

"When did you get back from the city?" I ask, my voice small.

"'Bout a week ago,' he says.

He wears his heavy moustache and a frown, his arms folded across his chest in a vest and shorts. The last time I saw him, his face had been black and purple from the fight. He's healed up now.

"I haven't seen you around the house," I say.

"Been busy training." He tilts his head at me. "Looks like a fun game you were playing."

I nod.

"Not challenging enough though, is it?"

"It gets hard at the end," I say.

He shakes his head. "Fill your pockets with rocks."

My eyes widen. "What?"

"The pockets in your dress. Fill them up with rocks. Heavy ones. Then go again."

I glance anxiously at the rocks between us. "I'm tired," I say.

"And I don't care." His voice darkens. "Do it. Now."

There's no arguing with him. I've learnt that much in our limited interactions together. So I scoop handfuls of river rocks and load them into the pockets of my dripping wet dress. They stretch the fabric down, making it hard to walk.

"Good." He jerks his head. "Go again."

I wade back out into the water. My face crumples with tears. I don't want to do this. I sink slowly down, and as I lift my feet, the water shoves me back.

"In this life, you sink or swim," father calls out to me. "And if you can't swim, you're no daughter of mine."

I sink to the bottom. I try to fight against it, but the water presses against me from one side, and the rocks weigh me down on the other. My mouth opens and I try to call out as I flail helplessly, but all that happens is I gulp back water into my lungs, burning through my nose, and the last rays of sunlight are disappearing from above me, and my brain begins to shut down—-

"Your surgery was a success, Miss Bancroft." The hazy vision of a woman in a white dress appears before me. "You were very lucky. It was only a graze, and whoever treated you before coming here saved your life. You were close to bleeding out. You may experience some grogginess as the anaesthesia wears off. The surgeon has prescribed your pain relief, and if you feel up to it, you can go home this afternoon."

The words float around my head, and I struggle to make sense of them.

"Thank you," a familiar voice says from my left. I glance up, and see it's Arthur. "Wakey wakey, Bancroft," he says.

I push myself up on the bed. "I feel like shit," I say.

He laughs. "Not surprised. They gave you enough sedatives to knock out a shire."

"At least it's done now." I swing my legs over the edge of the bed. Everything feels weak and numb. "I can walk again."

"Hey, easy," Arthur says, pushing me gently back down. "You'll be in a wheelchair for a couple weeks yet, while it heals."

I stare at him as though he's gone mad. "Not bloody likely."

"It could have been a hell of a lot worse," he says. "No fractures. No arteries hit. I'd be thanking my lucky stars, if I were you."

Stars. I think of the evening Tommy and I shared, and for a brief, wild moment, I wonder if there really was some good fortune at play. But then I shake the thought from my mind, blaming the hospital drugs.

"Where is everyone?" I ask.

"John got sliced up his end. He's in here too. But don't worry," Arthur adds quickly, seeing the expression on my face. "He's being bandaged up and he'll be fine. Tommy should be here soon."

I force my eyes to focus, scanning the room for a clock. "It's almost fucking midday," I say. "He should be well finished by now."

"He'll be here," Arthur says.

But I begin to panic. What if more of the Irish gang went after him? What if he got caught moving the horses, and is now being held in some police cell?

What if someone shot him, and he wasn't lucky enough to get to a hospital in time?

"Arthur, we need to go find him," I say.

My chest compresses and suddenly it hurts to breathe. Why is this getting me so worked up? I just don't want him to be hurt. The same way I wouldn't want that for anyone.

So why do I feel like I'm about to burst out of my own mind at the thought of something happening to him in particular?

"He'll be fine, Bancroft, I promise you," Arthur says. "Tom's been in far tighter spots before, believe me." He leans in conspiratorially. "You ask me, the more injuries the better. Insurance company won't be so much as asking questions once they see we were all injured while our horses were taken."

I push myself to my feet once more, this time before Arthur can stop me. I shudder, my leg almost collapsing beneath my weight. I press my lips together, and it takes everything in me to stagger along the length of the bed, to where my clothes are neatly folded.

"Jesus fucking Christ, would you sit down?" Arthur says.

But I push him away. "We need to check he's alright," I insist. "If anything happened to him, it's my fault. Do you understand that?"

"Aright, alright," Arthur says, with the air of calming down a toddler on the brink of collapse. "I'll go see him. Okay?"

But I shake my head. "I'm not going to just sit around in a hospital bed."

"At least get in the fucking wheelchair," Arthur says. Under the look I throw him, he adds, "just until we get out of here. You can't drag yourself out like that, they'll never let you leave. They'll only dose you up again."

I sigh, realising he's right. Just as I'm about to relent, someone pulls back the curtain, and our eyes lock as I glance up.

"Tommy," I breathe. Then I launch myself at him, trying to hit him in anger, but I end up leaning on him so I can stand. "What fucking took you so long? We thought you might be dead in a ditch somewhere!"

"Speak for yourself," Arthur mutters, but I don't imagine the relief in his face at the sight of his brother.

Tommy holds me up, frowning. "What is she doing out of bed?" He asks Arthur.

Arthur sighs, looking as though he's ready to launch himself off a cliff at this point.

"I'm fine," I insist. "They said it was only shallow."

But Tommy doesn't take my word for it. He looks at Arthur, eyebrows raised.

"There was also something in there about lucky to be alive," Arthur mutters, shrugging.

I narrow my eyes at him. I'll deal with you later.

"Well, all's well that ends well, eh?" Tommy says. His shoulders sag with relief as he lights a cigarette. "Where's John?"

"Fourth floor. Needed stitches," Arthur says. He's oblivious, glancing around the room for almost half a minute before he catches sight of Tommy's expression. "Oh," he mumbles. "I'll, uh... might actually go check on him."

Tommy nods. "You do that."

Arthur heads out the door, and I'm left alone with Thomas Shelby.