Chapter Text
“This is a story, told the way you say stories should be told: Somebody grew up, fell in love, and spent a winter with her lover in the country. This, of course, is the barest outline, and futile to discuss. It's as pointless as throwing birdseed on the ground while snow still falls fast. Who expects small things to survive when even the largest get lost? People forget years and remember moments. Seconds and symbols are left to sum things up: the black shroud over the pool. Love, in its shortest form, becomes a word. What I remember about all that time is one winter. The snow. Even now, saying ‘snow,’ my lips move so that they kiss the air.”
Ann Beattie, Snow
WINTER, 1918
Tommy returned from France in the afternoon, after days of riding in a cramped train. Before that, he was crammed in the back of a cattle truck, and before that, well, he was deep underground, caked in mud and blood, digging away in a tunnel.
It was cold when he stepped off of the cart, shoulder-to-shoulder with his brothers and the hundreds of other men who piled onto the platform. Former soldiers, all of them. Former. What did that make them now?
The sky was a broad, gray hand, and the wind smelled like snow. It was that certain smell that came around when the trees were bare and noses were red. Clean and winter, wide open. Like the whole world was about to change.
For two weeks after returning home, Tommy filled his days with other people, so as to avoid the quiet. Work with Polly in the shop, cards with Arthur at the Garrison, guns, and horses with John, nights with the same pool of working girls over and over again. Without people, the emptiness that came along with the quiet consumed him. He tried to remember what he was like, before the war, but he soon learned that it was impossible to recall, because he was in the after now.
At night, he would lie awake in bed, smoking an endless chain of cigarettes to avoid sleep. Not that it came easy to him, anyway. But there were times, albeit few and far between, where he would fall asleep, and he would find the quiet. Or, rather, the quiet would find him.
The quiet parts were all nightmares, dark rivers of mud, and lost souls. He could never tell whether they were souls he knew now, or if they were people from the past, soldiers, screaming in voices made of wire. He would wake with a start, panting and covered in sweat, followed by a sense of relief that it was over. It wasn’t real. Sometimes the dreams would follow him during the day, usually in the sounds of shovels scraping against his wall when it was just him, alone in his bedroom, and the only other noise was the heavy thumping of his heart.
When the dreams that chased him into the day became more frequent, the cigarettes in bed turned into a pipe of opium. It kept the quiet out.
There were few opportunities after the war. Most jobs were an exercise in shared misery, toiling away in a factory for 15 hours a day—at least. So, he took matters into his own hands. It started as glancing encounters with petty crimes. Little shipments of illegal goods, a fixed race or two, then a little more, and a little more… Instead of people, Tommy found a new way to keep the quiet at bay.
Organized crime was a lucrative business, after all. Under the umbrella of the Peaky Blinders, it gave his family name a new sense of meaning, a sense of power.
And then, as if by divine intervention, a crate of guns were dropped at his doorstep. From that moment on, just like the smell of snow, the whole world changed. His whole world changed.
THE BRINK OF WINTER, 1919
He was at The Garrison with his brothers, sipping whiskey and listening to the two of them argue. Cards were scattered across the table, each play held in place by half-empty pints of beer and overflowing ashtrays. Their shared cigarette smoke made the air in the tiny room hazy and thick, so much so that Tommy could feel his eyes stinging each time he blinked.
They were in the middle of a card game until Arthur was losing and subsequently blamed it on John for cheating. Arthur had put a heavy wager on himself winning, which was a poor move on his part—John always cheated at cards. Tommy shook his head, their bickering nothing but static in the back of his mind. Another way to keep out the quiet.
Their argument was interrupted by a knock on the window that separated their private room from the bar. Arthur’s words slurred together and bellowed something along the lines of “ open up, ” at whoever was knocking. The barkeep, Harry, poked his head through.
“Good, uh, morning,” He nodded to the three of them. “I’m sorry for interrupting, but, there’s a boy here asking for Mr. Shelby.”
“Which one?” John laughed, sipping his pint as he elbowed Arthur in the side.
Harry leaned away to shout a question at someone from across the bar, before turning back to them. “Thomas, he says.”
“The one who matters the most,” Tommy deadpanned, a slight smirk on his lips. He waved a hand at the barkeep. “Send him in.”
Harry muttered a quick “yes, sir” and promptly closed the window.
Arthur, who sat closest to the door, kicked it open. A young man, who really was more of a boy, after all, stood before them. Removing his cap and gripping it tightly in between his fingers, he took a few hesitant steps into the snug.
“Mrs. Gray says she needs you at the shop, Mr. Shelby,” He shifted from foot to foot. “At once, she said.”
“ At once,” Arthur repeated with a grin, clapping Tommy on the shoulder. “What did you do now, eh?”
“Looks like I’m on my way to find out,” Tommy pushed himself up from the booth and finished the rest of his whiskey in one swig. “Tell Mrs. Gray I’ll be right there,” He nodded to the boy and flicked a spare coin from his waistcoat at him. “Go on now.”
Tommy shrugged on his cap and jacket and followed the boy out of the pub, a fresh cigarette perched between his lips. He walked through the streets of Small Heath with his hands shoved in his pockets, watching the boy’s pace hasten in front of him from under his cap. The sky was dark, a thick curtain of gray, save for the tiny bulb of sun that just barely broke through the clouds. It was ominous, no doubt threatening a chilling rainstorm later, or perhaps, snow.
It was almost winter again.
He tipped the brim of his cap to the nameless working men who flitted in and out of the betting shop, a cloud of breath escaping their lips with each hurried “G’day, Mr. Shelby” that they gave him in passing.
The shop was busy, filled with the chattering of hopefuls who placed bets, the sound of a man shouting names and scratching too little chalk across the green board. He noticed his aunt, Polly Gray, hunched over a desk, eyebrows knitted together in concentration. She fidgeted with a cigarette in between two fingers while she read over what he could only assume was a packet of ledgers.
He stopped short in front of her. “You needed me?”
“Oh, Thomas,” She flicked the ash from her cigarette and sat up, the legs of the chair scraping against the uneven floorboards. “What’s your schedule for tomorrow?”
“Not sure,” He replied, “Depends on who’s asking.”
Polly scoffed, beckoning him to follow with a flick of her wrist. “Your aunt’s asking, come with me.” She led him to their family’s parlor, allowing him to step ahead of her while she drew the curtains that separated them from the rest of the shop.
“I have a favor to ask,” She glanced at him from over her shoulder, balancing the cigarette between her lips while she tied the curtains together tightly. She let out an audible sigh and finally turned around to face him.
Tommy leaned against the wall, still tending to his own dwindling cigarette. “What’s the favor?”
“I need to hire someone.”
“Who?”
“A friend,” She replied. “Well, the niece of a friend.”
“Niece?”
“Are you a fucking parrot?” Polly snapped at him. Shaking her head, she leaned over the table to twist out the remaining stub of her cigarette into an ashtray. “I’d have already hired her myself, but since you’ve been back, I need to jump through a few more hoops before making any executive decisions.” She sighed, clearly bitter. “Nothing gets done without your knowledge.”
Tommy rolled his eyes. “Who is she?”
“I know her aunt from church, she asked me if I could get her a job.”
“You’re asking me for a favor? For another favor?” He clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Seems like a bad deal.”
“I didn’t ask if it was a bad deal or not, I asked if I could hire someone.”
He exhaled, bringing the cigarette to his lips and looking away from her. A headache started building up in the back of his skull. “Why here?”
“She trusts that I’ll look out for her niece,” Polly answered quickly, “She has many children of her own, and can’t afford another mouth to feed anymore. Her husband died in France,” She paused, taking a seat at the table. “The bottom line is, she thought to ask me for help, and that means something.”
“What’s the name?”
“Caldwell.”
Tommy remained silent for a long while.
“She’s having hard times, and doesn’t want to kick her own flesh and blood out onto the curb.”
“Aren’t we all having hard times?” He raised an eyebrow.
“She’s desperate. Will you help me, or not?”
“This isn't women’s business.”
“Her aunt was good to me, while you boys were away at war, back when it was women’s business, ” Polly rolled her eyes. “I’m just trying to pay that good nature forward.”
“Since when did you start paying things forward?”
“Since today,” She huffed, “I’ll ask again. Will you help me?”
“Why should I waste company resources on a girl we don’t know, for a job we don’t have? Have you met her before?”
Polly glanced away from him, purposefully silent while tucking a stray curl behind her ear. “Her aunt says she’s a good girl.”
“A good girl,” Tommy scoffed, dropping the stub of his cigarette into the ashtray at the center of the table. “Exactly what we need, a good girl. So you don’t know her?”
“Says she’s a hard worker too.”
“Do you even know her name?” He narrowed his eyes at her and then added. “ Besides the surname.”
Polly avoided his gaze, instead fidgeting with the golden rings on her fingers.
“Would you just give this a chance?” She cleared her throat. “You don’t even have to hire her. But would you at least see her? Interview her?”
“What job am I supposed to interview her for?” He blankly stared at her. “What have you promised?”
“I haven’t promised anything.” Polly continued, “But I know she’s good with numbers. She’s got certifications.”
“Ah, certifications,” He rolled his eyes, sarcasm lacing his voice. “I’d reckon then that she could find a job, literally, anywhere else.”
“It’s not that easy, Thomas,” Polly shook her head, “If you don’t want her working in the shop, we can find something else for her to do. It’ll be my responsibility.” She paused, pursing her lips. “Her aunt trusts me, she knows I’ll look after her. This is important to me.”
He took a deep breath, shutting his eyes for a moment. The headache that started in the back of his skull had traveled all of the way to his forehead now. When he opened his eyes, he saw a worry wracking his aunt’s face. He began walking toward the curtains but stopped short.
“I’ll see her tomorrow,” Tommy turned on his heel to face her, emphasizing each word with a jab of his finger. “Three o’clock at The Garrison. But if she’s even a second late, it’s over.”
Polly smiled, clasping her hands together in front of her. “Thank you, Thomas.”
Tommy tossed a cigarette stub onto the sidewalk and twisted it into the cement with the heel of his shoe. He pulled his pocket watch from his waistcoat and peered at it, then glanced up at the gilded sign of The Garrison. It was almost three o’clock.
I’m asking as a favor, Thomas. Ridiculous. He was quickly learning that most favors were an additional headache for him.
The pub was empty, save for Harry who was wiping down the bar top. The barkeep caught his eye and tilted his head in the direction of a booth, where his aunt and another person sat. From where he stood, the other person was the back of a neat head of red hair. Polly didn’t notice him initially, seemingly engrossed in conversation, so he tipped his cap to Harry and made his way into the private room.
The window to the bar popped open, and the barkeep, ever-dutiful, appeared.
“Whiskey,” Tommy said, never looking directly at him. He took a seat at the booth and dropped his cap onto the empty space next to him. “And tell my aunt that I’ll be waiting in here, I’d like to speak with her first.”
Harry muttered a quick affirmation in response and disappeared from sight. By the time he returned with his drink in hand, there was a brisk knock at the main door to the room. Before Tommy could say anything, the door swung open, and it was Polly who stood there.
“You didn’t even say hello.”
“This is your favor,” He gave her a pointed nod. “Not mine.”
She rolled her eyes.
Tommy jerked his chin toward the pub. “You walked her here?”
“Keep your voice down, she’ll hear you,” Polly glanced behind her quickly and waved a hand at him. “Yes, I walked her here. I wanted to make a good impression.”
“A good impression, eh?” He motioned to her with the drink in his hand. “You’ve got an hour of my time. Bring her in.”
He didn’t have the slightest clue as to what job he was interviewing her for.
Polly couldn’t have left him anymore unprepared. He didn’t know anything about this girl, besides her surname, and perhaps that she could add a few numbers together, and her aunt was poor as the poorest. He vowed, at that very moment, that this would be the last time he would do a favor for anyone ever again.
He had better things to do. Better things that specifically involved a misplaced crate of guns that had fallen right into his lap a few days prior, and were currently gathering dust in Charlie Strong’s yard.
Polly left the door ajar. He turned to the frosted window that gave a blurry view of the streets beyond the pub. The sky was still overcast, just as it was the day before. The clouds were significantly darker, it looked like snow was more likely than rain. Then, an unfamiliar voice tore him from his musings. It was crisp and clear, with an accent that hinted at expensive schooling.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Shelby.”
When Tommy turned to look at her, he wondered if he’d managed at all to mask his surprise. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t… this. By the sound of her accent and smooth skin of her face, this girl, or woman, rather, in front of him couldn’t have been any older than twenty. Young, with fair skin, dressed sharply in a cream blouse and green skirt, not a wrinkle or crease in sight. In one hand, she held a folder, and with the other, she brushed a few auburn curls behind her ear. She looked at him expectantly, giving a flash of a smile framed in bright red lips.
Polly painted him a completely different picture. He assumed this girl would be showing up in moth-eaten clothes, raspy voice from working in a factory of some sort, gangly and thin. She was thin, yes, but didn’t look impoverished. She looked like a high society bitch, dropped in the middle of a dreary factory town. It was humorous, in a way.
He took a measured sip of his drink and motioned for her to take a seat.
“Miss Caldwell, was it?” His voice trailed off as he studied her, waiting for her to fill in the blanks.
“Anna,” She answered, smoothing out her skirt on her lap. “Anna Caldwell. Thank you for seeing me today, especially on such short notice.”
He could see why Polly walked her here, and it became quite clear to him that it wasn’t just to make a good impression. She, Anna, that was her name, didn’t fit in around Small Heath one bit. It was evident in the way she was dressed, and the way she spoke.
She looked greener than the fucking grass. Certainly didn’t fit in around Small Heath. Certainly not fit for waltzing around Small Heath.
“Yes, well,” He cleared his throat, “Polly spoke very highly of your aunt.”
“My aunt speaks highly of her,” She replied. “They got to know each other during the war, as I suppose many women did.”
Tommy nodded, reaching for his drink. For a while, he attempted to make small talk. It was like pulling fucking teeth. Eventually, he reached his breaking point and decided to cut to the chase. One could only talk about the weather for so long. An attractive woman, he supposed, made it easier, but he wasn’t here to make nice with her, he was fulfilling a favor for his aunt. It was a business transaction, as simple as that.
“Why do you need this job?”
“Well,” She opened her mouth slightly, and then closed it, clearly taken aback by the bluntness of the question. “My aunt is a busy woman. I’ve been staying with her for a while now, and I think it’s time that I start finding my own work, to support myself. To ease the burden on her.”
A politer explanation of the situation in comparison to what Polly told him. He suspected it was a half-truth, on Anna’s part.
“I see,” He extended an open hand to her. “You brought a resume?”
Anna nodded fiercely, carefully opening the folder and handing him a thick piece of paper. He took it from her and slowly began scanning each line. She didn’t have much experience, in, well, anything. There were a few secretarial courses dated from a couple of years back, a reference or two. No example of any steady job. In fact, she had never worked at all.
“There’s been few opportunities after the war, finding work has been difficult.”
Few opportunities after the war, he hummed at that.
“Where are you from?”
“A little village far from here,” She answered, shaking her head ever so slightly, causing a few strands of hair to fall on her face. “I doubt you’ve heard of it.”
“Humor me.”
“Eastcliff, it’s far south of here.”
“Doesn’t ring a bell,” He turned the page over. “And you’re living in Birmingham now?”
“Yes,” Anna folded her hands on the table. “A few streets away from this place, actually.” She glanced around the room. “Although I haven’t come around here often.”
He fought a smirk from appearing on his lips. Of course, she’d never come around these parts.
“You took some secretarial courses?” He raised an eyebrow, peering at her from over the paper.
She nodded, leaning close to him to point at something on the paper. As he laid her resume on the table, her fingertips brushed across his knuckles. His eyes flicked toward hers and held her gaze. He noticed her cheeks flush, if only slightly when he pulled his hand away. She cleared her throat and tapped a finger on a certain line.
He looked at her hands while she spoke, her words melding together and becoming a lull in the back of his mind. Her hands were smooth, not a callus, or scar for that matter in sight. Not the hands of a factory girl. He glanced up to her face next. Murky blue eyes, fair with a dusting of freckles across her nose, red curls framing her face. No work experience, few references, allegedly from a small village in fuck knows where. It was almost like she appeared out of thin air.
“Well, Miss Caldwell,” He finished the rest of his drink in a single swig. “I’ll speak to Mrs. Gray, and see what we can do.” He reached for her resume, “May I?”
He really had no intention of hiring her. There was no job available, especially since she barely had any experience in, well, anything. It would take a little more than a pretty face to change that. She would turn out to be a bad investment.
“Of course, please keep it.”
Tommy folded it into a small square and tucked it away in his jacket. Standing from the booth, he gestured to the door. “After you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Shelby,” Anna turned to him, smoothing all of her hair over one shoulder. It was long, he noticed, stopping just below her collarbone. “I appreciate the time you took to speak with me today.”
He shook his head. “It was no trouble.”
Polly approached them from the booth she was sitting at, placing an empty glass on the bartop in the process. “Anna, would you give me a moment with my nephew?”
“Of course,” She nodded, her heels clicking against the floor as she went to retrieve her coat from the booth she was sitting at earlier.
“So?” Polly asked him under her breath, eyes darting between him and Anna. “What did you think?”
Tommy leaned against the bar, watching as the girl bundled herself up in a wool coat and matching hat. “I don’t know what you expect me to do.”
“I expect you to do the right thing, and help someone out.”
He rolled his eyes, the right thing. “She doesn’t seem to be struggling,” Tommy jerked his chin to Anna. “Look, she has a nice coat.”
“Oh, please,” Polly hushed, nudging him in the side as she walked by.
“It was nice meeting you, Mr. Shelby.” Anna waved before stepping out of the pub. “Thank you again.”
“I’ll be right out,” Polly shouted to her when the front door closed with a jingle.
“I don’t know what to say, Pol,” He pulled his cigarette case from his waistcoat and placed it on the bar. “There aren’t any open positions at the shop,” He nodded to the door, “Especially not for a girl like her.”
“What do you mean? I’m sure she’d be a fine secretary.”
Tommy scoffed, perching a cigarette in between his lips. “What do we need a secretary for?”
“Having one would keep the shop running smoothly, we could always use the extra hands there. Doing the boring work you boys don’t like. There’s more to this business than just blood, you know.”
“I told you I’d interview her, and I did.” He cupped his hands around the lighter, waiting for it to catch. “She has barely any working experience on her resume besides a few courses. Hiring her would be a waste of time and resources. How old is she?”
“Twenty-three.”
“In that case, she could make some good money on her back,” He dragged the cigarette from his lips and exhaled a cloud of smoke.
“You’re despicable.”
“It’s an option.” He shrugged, glancing at his aunt from the corner of his eye. “I interviewed her. Favor fulfilled.”
“What am I supposed to do? Go out there and tell her there’s no job here for her?”
“This was your idea” Tommy deadpanned. “I already told you what she could do. Plenty of men around here would be willing to pay a pretty penny for a night with her.” He pointed to the door with his cigarette. “I’d bet, barely broken in.”
“Is this fun for you?” Polly snapped, jerking her head toward him.
He chose not to answer.
They stood in bitter silence, save for the sound of Polly incessantly tapping her foot on the ground. He glanced around the empty pub, dim light filtering in from the windows. In a few hours, the place would be booming with people, with just Harry managing the bar by himself. It was fine enough for him to do that during the war, there were barely any men around then, anyway. Nowadays? With the men back and in desperate need to drink away their sorrows, he was in over his head, each and every night.
Tommy grimaced. An idea trickled into his head. He peered at his aunt from the corner of his eye and cleared his throat.
“You’d be doing the girl and her aunt a favor if you just told them to pack off,” He reached for his cigarette case and shoved it haphazardly into his coat. “You had to walk her here, you say she’s good. Why would you even want her working with us in the first place?”
“Her aunt trusts me,” Polly sighed. “She knows I’ll keep an eye on her. Can’t say many other places offer that—peace of mind.”
Tommy hummed in response. He turned on his heel to face the bar and started banging his open palm against the bar top.
Polly raised an eyebrow at him.
Red-faced at the sudden noise, Harry came running from the back room.
“Another drink, Mr. Shelby?” He nodded his head toward Polly, tossing a stained cloth over his shoulder. “Mrs. Gray.”
“No, no drink,” Tommy spoke with a cigarette between his lips. “Are you still hiring?”
“Hiring? For the extra help around here?”
“Exactly that.”
Harry paused, glancing from Tommy to Polly then back again.
“Well, uh, yes. Yes, I am.”
Tommy tilted his head to Polly. “Would you look at that?”
Harry knelt behind the bar and began rifling through the shelves for something. Bottles and other miscellaneous items clattered together while he searched. “I put an advertisement in the paper,” He called from below. Eventually, he stood up and placed a crumpled newspaper in front of them. “Not many applicants, though.”
“You’re kidding, Thomas.” Polly took a step closer to the bar.
Tommy thumbed through the newspaper to the advertisement section. He scanned through each job posting line by line, until one, in particular, caught his eye.
“Here we are,” He folded the paper and handed it to Polly, tapping a specific headline with his finger. She snatched it from him and brought it close to her face, eyes narrowing at the fine print.
“She’s never done this kind of work before,” She muttered, never looking directly at him.
That was evidently clear to him. Her hands were a dead giveaway. He still wasn’t even sure if she had done any kind of work before. “You said she’s a hard worker, eh? There’s always time to learn.”
Polly didn’t reply, still clutching the newspaper tightly. She shook her head.
“You can go out there and tell her that it’s either this,” Tommy motioned to the pub around them. “Or on her back. It’s your choice.”
She glared at him, her lips forming a tight line. Lifting her chin, she tucked the newspaper under her arm. “I’ll show her the advertisement.”
“She’ll be on the company payroll.” He raised his cigarette to her. “Favor fulfilled, Pol, and then some.”
Polly wordless turned on her heel and adjusted the velvet cap on her head. The door to the pub jingled as she stepped out.
“How about that drink?”
Tommy gave him a curt nod. He rested his elbows on the bartop, staring at the glossy wood.
“Huh, would you look at that,” Harry muttered as he uncorked a bottle. “It’s snowing. Early this year, isn’t it?”
Glancing out of The Garrison’s frosted windows, he saw that it had indeed started to snow. Tommy pulled the cigarette from his lips and sighed.
He swore that he had no intention of hiring her.