Ex-soldier Birmingham-gangster bets his life on luck and illegalities, adroit wit and burning passion streaking his blood-stained fingertips as a dire quarrel commence between himself and the disturbed Dane who purloined his lover.
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THE REUNION
BEFORE THE BOMBINGS AND piercing screams had deafened Thomas to an extent where he could be lost in his chaotic mind for hours, he never stopped to think what the world might look like when he returned; he had been too busy not believing he would ever return. Now as he looked around in the once 'not all that bad' world, he still smelled the dirt and shit. Blood stained his skin even pure acid could not remove. Obsessively wary eyes looking out for the danger lurking around the corner, he was unable to adjust his mind to the fact that the war was over. Pickaxes constantly dug in the back of his head and he even felt himself reach for his rifle every now and then.
Turning the doorknob, he entered his bedroom. It had been so long since he had last been in this room and he stood there reminiscing for a moment, trying to see if anything was different to how he left it. In all honesty, the room might as well have had a big modification and he would not be able to tell. He recognized a crucifix hanging above the bed which he did not remember hanging there. After sleeping in trenches only very few hours, if even, at a time, for endless days, even Thomas' old bed seemed comfortable.
It was early morning and he and both his brothers had not been in Small Heath for much more than a short hour. Seeing his family safe and sound warmed his heart to the deepest, he could not wish for more. He wished to hear how they all had been for all this time, what they had been up to. Only, some seemed to be more interested in how the war had treated them, Finn interest particularly peaked. Polly appeared to be the only one heeding Thomas not being sorely pleased by the topic. Thomas wondered how his brothers could smile while imitating the explosion of mines and encounters with the opposition. In fact, he was just about to cower at the pure mimicry.
Quietly, Thomas sat still on his bed, feeling the soft material in his hands and he felt as if, if he was to lie down at that moment, he might of never wake again. Perhaps that was not sounding all too bad now. The stillness in the room felt almost uncomfortable and in some way whenever he blinked, he was brought back to those times deep in the chalky tunnels, the only sounds coming from digging tools and the muffled sounds of whatever frightening scenes took place above ground.
He shook his head free of the unpleasant scenes and he dropped his head down, for the first time in years he was not sure what to do with himself.
Perhaps a walk will do me some good, he thought, a long walk. Remember what Small Heath was like. How the streets had changed. How the people had changed. Ines.
How could he not have thought of her before?
She had been occupying his mind ever since their last encounter and now as he was back, he had not even stopped to think of her. He wondered how she had been all this time; could she have forgotten about him? Had she been waiting for him as she had said? Maybe she had found another man-to God Thomas hoped she had not.
Thomas' feet barely touched the ground before he made the hasty decision to go to Ines' house. Or the Leather boutique. That was if their business had survived the tax increase. It did not matter to Thomas, all he knew was that he had to see her through more than a small pocket photography.
