The Balls in Our Courts [F.SxO.CxT.S]

Chapter Eight

Amelia slumped down into the train cabin's booth, bringing her knees to her chest, sulking as she always did when something went differently than expected. In protest, she twisted her body, becoming a little ball in the corner. Tommy, on the hand, was quite pleased, grinning over the contract that confirmed a higher amount than originally agreed. A nice eighteen-thousand pounds. By August, a nice lump sum would be in his gloved hands, and it would only go up from there, certainly. Calm and content, he took a long drag of his smoke and let it out in ringlets. "I hate that Italian," she mumbled into her knees, releasing a frustrated groan. He beat her in the last play. Dante De Luca, handsome, but an ass.She type casted him in her girl brain and remembered to 'X' him out from any fairytale fantasy she would have. At night, while she would never admit it, she'd lay in her bed, smiling to herself. Like a princess from all the silly folk stories, she was trapped in a stone tower...a stupid damsel. The prince who rescued her often took on a form that resembled the boys in her circle. As of late, it was Timothee Fitzroy...the boy whose name was encased in hearts on her journal pages. However, there was a list of men who were awarded a big fat 'X'. Those were the ones undeserving of her saving.

Tommy reached into his pocket, feeling the small advance. It was just two hundred pounds, or as Mr. De Luca called it...."Just a little something to hold you over and get you to Manchester, comfortably. A little rainy day money." A little rainy day money. Two hundred pounds was two years worth of salary for some people. Thomas licked his thumb, counting through the easy cash before tossing her twenty five pounds.

"Buy a new attitude," he told her. "That one is getting old and tedious. Though, I am happy you held back your tantrum until we got to the car...."

"Improvement," Grace noted, giving Tommy a look. "A great improvement, she didn't chuck her racket or storm-"

"What am I going to do with twenty-five pounds?" Amelia sat up, perfectly pinned hair morphed into a rats nest. She counted the wad of cash herself, smiling. It was quite a bit, and it was all hers? No limit to what she could buy? "What is it for, exactly?" Thomas explained her sponsor money was to be saved and unspent, only used for tennis related things. However, he saw little harm in giving her a percentage for pleasure.

Eighteen Thousand Pounds was stupid, it was a lot. A lot for a silly game.... Thomas Shelby learned rich people knew no limit, and with an old man with no heirs and a previously rich wife, where was the money going? Not to the bloody fucking grave. Twenty-five pounds could buy her some new clothing, a few jazz records, a new turntable, some cosmetics, a new pair of trainers, and a boat load of sweets. And you bet your behind that is exactly what she did before having the audacity to ask for another ten pounds. Consider it compensation for the stress you give me, Mr. Shelby, she had told him.

At home, she gave one look to Finn. He'd been reading a comic book upside down on the parlor sofa, his feet in the air. With a swift kick, he jumped and slid off the sofa, "ow...fuck! What was that for?"