Riples and Waves

Silence

Tommy Shelby could not be a father again.

And yet, Lizzie was already showing.

Polly wanted him to go see her. Try to fix his love of booze and opium with a good look at the belly bump that would soon be a human being. His daughter, if Polly's "second sight" was to be believed.

The room around him was still in a form of disarray similar as to the one two weeks ago. The day that Ms. Anna Strauss had waltzed into his misery, uninvited. Similar, only because he had fucking servants now and they took care of tidying up his mess for him everyday, no matter how rude he was to Francis or Charlie.

Damn it, he could NOT be a father again!

Tommy was stuck in the never ending loop of talking to himself about himself and he was fucking tired of his damned voice. That's why he was known for his silences really. He knew the power it could have, because if he could only get his own accusing thoughts to shut up, maybe he could also stop himself from looking weak, drunk and lost in front of anyone who cared to look.

He sat up on his couch, his right hand, still red from the deep cut he had inflicted on himself, stinging in harmony with the monumental hangover he needed to start nursing immediately. He reached for the bell that would summon Francis like cattle, and hated it, but he did not trust his own voice to refrain from producing a wail if he used it. Before she came though, he lit up a cigarette and took another dose of whiskey.

All he needed was a little bit more of the poison who had gotten him here. That would keep him going.

Francis was, not surprisingly, was worried about him. But she was also easily distracted by him when told to call the family doctor to stitch his hand up. Which she did, and 2 hours later he was leaving his home with a bandaged hand and a medical sick note for Charlie's alleged epilepsy.

That was a good problem to start working on. The crazy woman who said she was from the future had no influence in his Peaky Blinders business; and he needed to warm up to this never ending work of his, before he outlined the plan to the family's next step. Before he could go and see Lizzie.

"How may I help you Sir?" The man at the desk of the opulent hotel asked.

"I would like to speak with Ms. Anna Strauss please." He said, half expecting her to not be there at all. But then again, if her idea of a con was to give him money and then leave, he should probably assume that the woman was entirely made up of his opium fueled imagination.

"Of course,Mr. Shelby. Just a moment" The short man checked the books and then directed him to sit and wait in one of the lobby's comfortable sofa.

Five minutes later and she appeared, the red blouse the only vibrant color amid black trousers, coat and hair. Wavy hair that she wore long, like Polly used to, when he was a boy.

"The last game on the list was won two nights ago Mr. Shelby. I was about to give up on you." Her american accented voice reached him before her hand did, waiting for him to shake it.

He waited a beat to do it. But hugged her hand with his, without a word.

"Shall we go then?" She said, still standing before him.

"Where?" he made no move to get up.

Ms. Strauss leaned forward a little and whispered to him:
"Somewhere where I can prove to you where I came from, without having to also hear about how the duchess loves her new son-in-law." With her eyes she indicated a very well dressed, loud, woman to their right, and then took a step back waiting for him to rise.

He did and, without offering her his arm, strode towards his car.

She got into his Bentley and offered no commentary on the direction that they were taking. Tommy didn't divulge their destination either, and only stopped looking at the road when they were at the docs. Factory smoke filled the air, mud coated the floor, and it would probably cling to her hair and ruin her shoes but she stepped out of the car to follow him with nothing more than a reset of her shoulders and full red lips compressed into a thin line.