𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐊𝐄𝐘 & 𝐒𝐌𝐎𝐊𝐄 𝐈𝐈 | 𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐘 𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒

Epilogue

A group of children sat in the dirty streets of somewhere in Birmingham, not caring if the mud seeped their clothes. For their clothes were already dirty, so there was nothing to ruin. A small boy, no more than eight jumped to his feet, as a few drops of rain trickled down his rosy cheeks. 

"A bookmaker with a cap like the one upon me head" He patted the faded peaked cap upon his greasy hair. "And his family, lived down on Watery Lane. The bookmaker, he's the leader, and he carries guns wherever he goes!" He thrust up a stick, aiming it at the other children, as if it were a gun. "He killed many a man down in Small Heath-my dad said." The children's eyes widened with enticement, for their was nothing more than the stories to keep them company in their poverty ridden life. 

"What about the death of his wife? What happened after that!?" A girl with two straight plaits piped up a stroke of dirt upon her cheek. 

"He fell in love with her sister. But it was a long time after. They say he ain't right in the head, y'know like the other men from the war. Had a shoot out with a bad man in this very city. But the girl! They say she's the worst out of em' all. Though me dad says that she's a good woman that does bad things, whatever that means!" Footsteps echoed throughout the street, as they usually did, as a woman walked past, a teal hat upon her head covering her face. 

"Oi kid" She spoke in thick accent, one of Irish but had been tainted with a slight brummie kick to it. "I think you should listen to your father" 

And with that she moved along the dirty streets, the hubbub of industrial life booming in her ears. The kids could only watch as a black slimline car stopped at the cross in the connection of streets, with an unfamiliar man inside. A man with a grey peaked cap that rose over his eyes. She slipped in the passenger seat, and just as quickly as the car had come, it had vanished, and the legend of the Shelby Family from Watery Lane, Small Heath with it.

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A loud bang struck at the door producing a hard kick from a black brogue upon that same door. The woman, who was travelling into her thirties, sat upon the green velvet carpet, her head in her hands. The hallway she sat in was darkened, the night falling over the large house, she used to love so dearly. She could hear movement coming towards the door once more, and for the sake of the maids and her nephew who, probably could hear everything, she arose abruptly opening the door pushing a very drunk Thomas Shelby into the room, shutting the door behind her. 

"Clio-" He went to slur but Cliona grabbed the whiskey bottle from his hand, slamming it upon the table. 

"I've been to the doctor on your behalf, you see it wasn't a bother, having to go to the doctor myself." Her eyes fell to her stomach that had filled out slightly. "I have told the boys you're sick" Her eyes rose up sharply, in the light to show her exhausted face, pale and dry. 

"I'm not sick, Cliona" But her head was already shaking, a new sense of tired bitterness, that he'd never seen upon her. 

"It starts when you stop. When you rest. Could be nerves, the war. Might be the alcohol. The blue devils, they call that." She watched as he walked to and fro, stumbling slightly before kicking the couch in frustration. 

"Yeah, it's the fucking booze. It's the booze, the booze got hold and the booze got in my bones. Or maybe its just us Shelby's eh? Maybe its in our blood" Her eyes weakened at the edges for a moment as she heaved out a sigh 

"Tommy for gods sake! You need to talk to someone. Polly, Arthur, me!? This-this can't be the way Charles sees you. I will not have my child born with you a fucking mess!" Her voice rose, weak but her lack of energy, didn't stop her words being filled with acid. He sunk down in the couch, shaking his head, going to reach for the bottle again, but Cliona's hand swooped in, grabbing it. "And while we're on the subject, two weeks ago you told me you were going to Margate. You killed him, didn't you?! You fucking did it" At this her face fell at the thought, a tear falling down her cheek. Thomas rose with effort. 

"I didn't kill him, Cliona" At this her hand fell sharply across his cheek. 

"Alfie Solomon's dog is roaming around this house as we speak. Y'know what Thomas, you're a lot of things, but you lie. And I can't stand that." She walked to the door abruptly the bottle still in her hand. He grabbed her arm, but she smacked his hand away. "Don't touch me" She slammed the door in his face, and he fell slowly against the door.

The next morning, the woman arose to Thomas pushing open the door, fully dressed, looking a lot tidier than he had in awhile, and he was very much sober. 

"Get dressed. I've learned one thing, there is no rest for me in this world" Cliona sat up looking at him, with a shake of the head, but it was amused, she was glad to see him like this. Sure, everything wasn't okay, but until the baby came, she'd like to pretend it was. He was okay. 

"Maybe in the next eh?" She mumbled, pulling herself off the bed going into the bathroom to get changed. He waited at the door. 

"I've had an idea" She slipped a green patterned dress over her head, pulling on crème tights. 

"Oh here we fucking go" She muttered pinning up her hair, whilst exiting the bathroom walking down the hallway as he followed her. He informed of her of his proposal as they headed down the stairs. 

"Jesus Christ, politics? Y'know that's not a bad idea" Cliona let out a laugh as they both walked out the door of the large house towards the black car in the pebbled driveway. "Do you think people will vote though?" She asked, both of them in the car and driving down the stone path. 

"I'm counting on that"

The day of the election

"Ronald Carr, Conservative, 3,412 , Bernard Hall, Liberal, 4,015, Michael Ross, Communist, 6,406. Thomas Shelby, Labour Party, 48,564. I now declare Thomas Shelby to be the new Labour Member of Parliament for the constituency of Birmingham South." A large cheer erupted within the parliament building, and a woman, dressed smarter than usual was standing on the steps a rosette pinned to her chest, a small child in her arm. Her eyes rose as the room of people poured from the room, and a familiar set of blue eyes met hers. He done it. He fucking done it. His arms rose to lift the girl of no more than 7 months from the woman, his hand slipping to the small of her back as they walked down the stairs, the other family members following behind them.