sweet french. peaky blinders

76

Lucille

The family meeting the day prior had not been carried out as they usually were. Dawson waited outside of the betting den in the living room. He was supposed to be looking after Michael, who also hadn't been allowed to join, if Polly was to believed. As it'd been drawn to an end, her shouting had started, falling on the deaf ear of the blond, who only rolled his eyes at the exclamation that he was useless. It wasn't his job to babysit the newest Shelby.

But as badly as Lucille thought it had gone over, the meeting gave way to their outing the following day. Early morning, before the summer sun had warmed the bitter air, Lucille piled into the front of the van beside Tommy, letting the rest of the boys cram into the back.

It wasn't glamorous, their transportation nor their destination, but it was more than she'd ever done in France, and it felt like a glimpse of the future, when the legitimate business would be in full run. Polly had also made her promise to keep them in line, in return for her taking their daughter for the day. That would be a harder task to achieve, with John and Arthur walking around like wolves on the prowl. The two were as thick as thieves, and found pleasure in even the most meaningless of instances. That fact was only made more obvious with the laughs that came as the van came clattering to a stop, steam rolling from beneath the bonnet.

"She's heating up, Curly. Take a look."

"Let me out for a piss," John hissed as he pushed past his cousin, scurrying for the bushes.

Lucille wandered around the back, leaning against the ledge where Arthur and Michael now sat, eyes blinking against the sudden flood of harsh, grey sunlight.

"She made loads. Do you want one?"

Micheal unfurled the old cloth to reveal a pile of sandwiches, which he rifled through, before reaching to pull something from beneath his pale coat. He placed the flask down on the bench beside him and unscrewed the lid. Knowing the company they were in, she expected the harsh scent of whiskey to fill her nose, but was instead met with tea.

"What the bloody hell is that?" Arthur exclaimed, an incredulous grin spreading over his features.

"Sandwiches. Ham I think. Shrimp paste too," Micheal said, not recognising the jest in his cousin's voice. "There's tea. We'll have to take turns 'cause there's only one cup."

"Sandwiches." Arthur echoed, bushy eyebrows forced far into his forehead.

"Yeah."

"Polly made bloody sandwiches?"

"What's this? Teddy bear's fucking picnic?" Charlie prodded, shaking his head, the cigarette that hung lazily from his lips moving with it.

Lucille rolled her eyes as she moved to stand beside the boy. From where he sat, Michael towered over her, but he smiled, handing her one of the sandwiches. It matched all that she'd seen of his so far- his sweetness. But Lucille could not help but picture his eagerness from the day prior. Such ardor to be involved with the Shelbys could be worrying, whether seemingly innocent or not.

"Leave the boy alone," she said, in spite of her thoughts, thanking him as she took the food. "Keep this act up and next time he won't want to help."

"At least it's not you making them, Lucy," Arthur barked, and for a moment she didn't understand his joke. She was the best baker, after all, and even the eldest of the Shelby brothers had proclaimed her so.

"All right. We will drink the tea, eat the sandwiches, and then we will drive on. Alright?" Tommy said, before she could ask. He pointed at his uncle, who'd reached to pick a single triangle of bread on his way back into the van. "No crumbs, Charlie."