As the youngest Shelby child and twin to Finn Shelby, Kezia has spent the last 4 of her 10 years locked away for her mental defectiveness.
She returns to Small Heath under the legal guardianship of her brother, Thomas Shelby. Despite knowing she's s...
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CHAPTER THIRTY
Energy thrummed in the London air.
"Inside, Kizzie." Tommy held the bakery door open for her.
They came from the front and parked on the street. But she saw, from where the wharf met the backside of the bakery, men unloaded in droves from boats. They went up the stairs and over a bridge, single-file like ants.
"Kizzie."
"Coming."
The bakery still smelled like spice. Over the years, Kizzie came to understand the smell was rum. She didn't know that bread was made with rum.
"Mr Shelby," the man behind the counter greeted. He was not the same man Kizzie met four years ago. "We'll be going around the backend. To show you how our shipments are handled. The men are being set up with Mr. Solomons now."
"Right," Tommy told him. "I will meet you outside in a moment."
The bell over the door jingled and Kizzie was left with Tommy, her heart trembling in her chest.
"I won't be long. Okay?"
"Okay."
"You stay here, Kizzie. I mean it."
"Okay."
He patted her sketchbook on the little table she had always sat at. "You got your pastels and drawings. If you get hungry, help yourself to some bread and we'll pay for it when I come back, yeah?"
"Okay."
Tommy searched her eyes. He was still anxious, maybe more so now that they arrived. Kizzie wanted to ask why, but he was already running behind. He kissed her forehead. "I'll be back," he promised.
The bell jingled once more.
Kizzie watched her brother go, lips pulled thin and blue eyes harsh as ice.
She sat back and thrummed her fingers against her sketchbook. This was not the way. Coming back here, her reunion with the bakery should have been grander. Such little had changed over the years, but the air and colors were different. Bits of gold clung to shelves and wrapped around stools. Alfie. Angrier and larger and louder. His energy had shifted and Kizzie was worried for him.
The back door nudged open. A familiar set of claws danced along the tiled floor.
The dog trotted around the counter and lolled its tongue out its mouth. Surely, this couldn't be the same dog.
"Cyril?"
It wagged its tail and nuzzled Kizzie's legs.
"It is you!" She scratched his ears. "You're so big now!" His head was the size of a cannonball. His mighty paws matched the rest of him: large and muscular like a stallion.
