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"It's like it's happening all over again."
Thomas couldn't come up with a good enough reason as to why he'd wanted Francis to have another child but to her it was plain to see that he'd wanted a boy instead of the sickly small girl he'd gotten.
The doctors worked tirelessly every day for months to figure out what exactly was wrong with the baby. Every time they thought they had found a lead, it turned out to be a dead end.
"I'm afraid we still have no answers, Mrs Shelby..." the doctor whispered with false sincerity.
"Get out... there's obviously nothing more you can do here, so get out." She replied with venom on her tongue.
Thomas, despite his promise to stay for support, was out doing business with god knows who on a Monday morning.
Illyana had began a slow recovery during the night but it all came crashing down when the break of dawn hit the skies.
It was as if the world was just trying to keep her on her toes... tricking her into having hope and then ripping that hope to shreds.
With a loud sigh the doctor nodded brashly and exited the room.
Not once had he attempted to make the small family feel reassured that Illyana was going to be fine. He simply did not care.
Polly had rung an hour ago and noted that if Illyana carried on getting worse then she'd take her to the Gypsies and let them save her.
The more Francis thought it over the better of an idea it seemed.
The one thing stopping her from saying yes was the fact that she could not travel with the babe herself. The risk of infection for Francis was too high and Thomas would kill her himself if he found out she had left.
One call.
That's all it would take and Polly would be down here in minutes with a car ready. One call.
Francis couldn't wait any longer. She shot up from the uncomfortable seat next to Illyana's Moses basket and pulled the phone from the stand.
She waited for a few moments until the operator answered and asked what line to be put on.
Drawing in a deep breath, she spoke, "17 Watery Lane, small heath."
-
Gypsy curses were a devilish thing.
Gypsy curses were put on people so deeply to ensure it hurt them in the most excruciating way.
Just like the curse placed upon the newly born Shelby infant.
Polly said she could tell it straight away. You didn't need a black blood gypsy to tell you what was wrong with the babe. You could be a passer by and tell some other force was used to bring this family down.
"She said to keep her lay flat at all times, even when awake. She used the black Madonna and did everything she could. Whether the baby makes it through this is now purely up to fate..." Polly says sadly.
Francis, who had been ordered to get back on bed rest, stared hollowly at the wall in front of her. For two long weeks she'd been without her daughter, two weeks missing small new things the baby did. For two weeks black blood Irish gypsies had been working tirelessly to remove the horrid curse put on her.
Or rather, the curse put on Thomas Shelby.
"She also said you'd struggle to conceive, regardless of if you had this curse on you or not. But she said that now it's been broken off you will have another, if you wish it." Polly added with a slightly more chipper tone than before.
Fran's eyes shifted slowly from the wall and finally settled on the woman before her. Her eyes never blinking, mouth never moving. She just simply stared at Polly with a completely mundane look.
It was as if the woman once inhabiting her body was now replaced with a new emotionless version.
Polly knew regardless of if she told Francis how the baby was getting healthier by the day it wouldn't change the fact that Francis, or rather her previous self, was gone.
So instead the elder woman leaned down and placed a gentle kiss to her head before setting off back home as she did on every visit.
But before she exited the hospital room doors she looked back with a hopeful smile and said, "you will both be okay."
And with that she was gone leaving Francis to turn her head back to the eggshell painted wall.
