Letters // [thomas shelby / peaky blinders]

230

"Tommy,

This letter is a bit longer than any of my other ones, but don't be worried because it's a good one.

Log:

Saturday: Got drunk, didn't work the Garrison worked the races, won 30 pounds.

Sunday: Vomited in the morning, cried because I miss lie ins with you.

Monday: went down the Garrison, cleaned up some sick that was on the stairs, took a nap in the private room, worked, didn't get home till half one in the morning.

Tuesday: Worked. Nothing exciting happened.

Wednesday: Read your letter and cried a little, but I'm fine. Also saw my mum. Have to go to dinner at the Napoleone house. Will be interesting and will give you a mad transcript of every insult thrown my way. (it's in the other envelope had to send this letter in two parts) (mad)

Thursday: Worked, left early to get a new dress for when I go to dinner at my mum's TOMORROW

Friday: Worked a half day, Polly and Ada did my hair for dinner at my mum's and then went to my childhood home. (please move along to the transcript that will be in the other envelope if you would like to hear more about that."

I do as Georgia has instructed, going to my second letter and opening it up to see a page full of words. I just hope they're nice.

"Before I start, I was going into this invitation to see my parents with open eyes. It was the first time they'd see me without you by my side in who knows how long, so I was hoping for the best with that at the start. No offense.

I got there, and I was welcomed in like I'd spent a weekend away. It was different from how they've treated me since we started seeing each other all those years ago. It was also a celebration that my cousin Aria was having a baby, so it was everyone. And I mean bloody everyone.

But it was wonderful, truly. I was expecting the worst, and was given the best treatment that my family had ever given me, and I think they were actually sympathetic that you were gone. They felt bad because they knew how much I love you.

So, that's my night at my parent's house. It was lovely. The food was incredible, and of course, I wished you were at my side, big bad Tommy and Gee back at the Napoleone house being the outcasts. The best days."

I go back to the other letter and see that she's written even more.

"So, that was my night there. Other than that, I've been working, and I talked to Dorothy about relaxing when it comes to loving Arthur, and she will be sending him a picture, along with an apology for almost scaring him off from thousands of miles away. Bit funny if you ask me.

I hope you're staying safe and thinking smart. I wish you'd tell me about what you do there, but I know it would hurt to hear it. I'd probably go a bit mad again.

I found your cologne yesterday and cried for almost an hour. You hid it well. I sprayed it on your pillow. Cried some more after that. I'm okay, though. It's just little things that make me miss you a bit more these days.

Wish I could touch you as well. Miss you heaps.

Yours forever,

Georgia."

I sigh as I finish Georgia's letters, folding them back up and doing what I always do, putting them in my pocket and laying down to think about them. The one thing that will never fail to amaze me is that she can get so much humor into them. She writes just like she's talking to me, which is a breath of fresh air from the big words that Pol uses when she writes to John, Arthur and I.

It makes it harder, the way she writes, because it's like she's here, but in reality she's so, so far away.

And I find that on days that I miss her I talk about her. Most days the men talk about their women, and I keep my nose out of it, but every once and a while I'll share a story of when Georgia and I were first dating and how bloody obsessed we were with each other that we'd have Finn or John running for hours passing notes of us trying to figure out how to sneak out and have a cheeky make out session by the canals. And I find that I don't think about them until I get cold, most times. It's when we're in the tunnels—when there's a chance of one of us getting hurt, when I get sentimental, and I think it's because I know that when I get the fuck out of here, I'll be a different person.