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Tommy
To say that Thomas Shelby had been changed by war would have been a great understatement. He had gone into it fist fighting and was spit back out from hell, with a little bit of the devil still left inside of him. But like most of the boys in Small Heath, Tommy died in France, and a shell of his former self came back in place.
This man was cold, calculating and manipulative. It was not often when someone could say something to him with out earning a sarcastic or insulting comment back. He had lost all hope, all inkling of love that ran through his body. In place was bitter resent for the world and what it brought him.
When Tommy and his brothers had returned from war, they had refused to talk about it. The only time there would be mentions of France was when it was used as a warning. They wanted to leave it behind, and the only way to do that was to ignore their past suffering all together.
As for business, Arthur had stepped back and Tommy had relished in his new found control. He had handled the return better, and he could read, thanks to Lucille. At first, it was the only thing that he felt he had power over. That was until they grew as a family company, taking the streets of Birmingham back into their own hands.
Sometimes Tommy thought about what he should have done. He should have stayed with Lucille. He should have stood his ground and let them fight their own battles. In the end, there are many things that everyone believes they should have done, most of them impossible at the time. But he never would have been able to turn his back on the war, no matter how many reasons there were to make him remain.
Tommy ran on borrowed time. Time that shouldn't be his. It was just a matter of time before his timer would run out of sand and he would find himself clawing his way back. It was an excuse for violence and rash decisions.
His Aunt Pol had often thought that something must have happened to him. There must have been someone who was waiting for him. Tommy hadn't even looked twice when the new barmaid started to work in the Garrison, unlike everyone else, and his moods would not shift. It was as if his heart was left somewhere else and his body was left to roam around Birmingham.
There had been a couple times when she had discovered him with a pen and a piece of paper. He had left for war with almost no literacy skills and now he could read and write. It shocked her that he had been trying to write a letter, though he never got very far- they always ended up burning in the fire.
Tommy had thought about the possibility of returning to France far too often. It was tempting, the image of Lucille lying amongst the grass, the trace of a delicate laugh still on her lips. But the image of war brought too many flashbacks. She would probably dislike him now too, he had changed far too much. There was her husband to think about too. Had he left, he probably would have been greeted by a gun held to his head.
But she loved him didn't she? She would love him through anything. He wanted that thought to be a comfort to him, but he knew of far too many examples in which love wasn't enough. And Tommy was afraid that would be his case for him and Lucille.
He had promised to come back to her. He flipped the coin. She had asked him to return to her. It had landed on heads. The Shelby boys had never backed out of a penny decision. Would Tommy be the first?
The letter that he addressed to her always began the same.
Dear Lucille,
Before and throughout the war if I had trouble making a decision, I would flip a coin. Even if the situation was as difficult as the one I made on the train carriage that day when we escaped. I would give an answer a side. For me it was heads yes and tails no. But the answer, more often than not, is not as important as the question. I asked if I would come back to you. It landed on heads. And, if there's something you need to know, Lucille, is that the Shelby boys never go back on these decisions. I'd like to think that I will be welcomed by you in France, because if you receive this letter, it's because I am keeping my promise.
