IN BAD FAITH | peaky blinders | T.S

TWENTY TWO

BERROW, ENGLAND

TOMMY / MARTHA

22.

Tommy sucked in a breath, the cold spring air dashing to the back of his throat. The sun had finally met the birds in the centre of the sky by the time they'd reached the edge of the village, a cluster of clean white cottages disappearing behind him as he drove toward the coast. They crawled past fields of upturned earth sprouting thickets of yellow and orange and green, tall grass clutching at the sky above. He closed his eyes quickly, breathing in the scent again, the smell somehow reminding him of home -- of horses and stables and the hot smooth coat of a mare beneath his fingertips.

He looked over at Martha, who sat with her head pressed against the side of the car. It didn't make much sense to him, he thought, how someone could be so beautiful, feeling his face contort into a frown as the question ricocheted around his skull. How could someone make his heart rattle in his chest and his tongue jitter in his mouth as he clutched at words to say something — anything — to her? He pressed his teeth together and sighed, frustrated by the unfamiliar pull of his chest. Tommy busied himself with a cigarette, the quick flash of heat and the sizzle of tobacco reminding him of who he was. The paper between his lips, the burn of smoke in his lungs -- this was the Tommy that he knew, the version of himself that smoked and drank and stayed up through the night.

"She's alive here."

Martha didn't realise she was speaking aloud, didn't realise her lips would curl round the dream of Josephine who's laughter she could hear rushing through the fields beside them. Sharp ocean air shrouded her as they drove closer and closer to the sea, white sky melting into grey at the horizon. She closed her eyes, felt the salt in the air prick at her face; saw Josephine as a little girl, running ahead of her, brown hair billowing in the wind. Blue ribbons falling from her head like a halo. She heard her sisters laughter, the glint of her smile, the sparkle in her eyes. The thick purple veins beneath her white skin had vanished. Her eyelids, heavy, cemented shut by death, had reopened. Her mouth, sagging with the weight of her slack jaw, was now a wide smile. This is how she wanted to remember Josephine forever — she was alive here.

"Can you get her here?" Martha asked him, her voice surprisingly strong.

Tommy hesitated for a moment.

"I want to bury her here."

"I just have to make a call," Tommy nodded, averting his attention back to the road before the guilt of what she was asking could creep up on him. He was thankful that she had made a decision, thinking of Josephine's body at the morgue in Birmingham. Moments later the car juddered and they began twisting their way up a narrow stony path until, with a tall blank canvas of pale sky behind it, White Strand Cottage climbed into view.

A stout woman with sandy hair the same colour as her skin immediately emerged from the cottage, a basket in her arms, her cheeks flushed and her mouth stretched into a beaming smile. Chickens screeched and squawked as she bounded from the house, swinging open the little white gate that separated them.

"Aunt Beth," Martha breathed, taken aback by the rush of emotion that swirled to her stomach as she climbed from the car and fell into Elizabeth's arms. Tommy moved silently, standing beside the car with his hands crossed. He noticed the way Martha's eyes darted across the front of the house, searching.

"Where's Bess?" she asked frantically.

"In the garden with your uncle. Where's Josephine? Bessie said you'd bring her here."