TROUBLE - peaky blinders

43. deep go your roots and high rise your flowers

Clara had always told the family over breakfast of the lullaby she'd heard the night before. They'd usually nod and entertain the childish fantasy. She'd been too young to comprehend death. Of course, Clara knew she would never be able to see her mother again, she just couldn't understand why. These familial breakfasts would end in sorrow shrouded goodbyes and her siblings would leave for school or work or whatever trouble they'd gotten themselves into. Pol would stay. Pol would always stay. She would always stay and talk and ask Clara about her lullabies and dreams.

Pol was desperate to keep their culture alive within the family, to stop the horridness of society from inhibiting them from their roots. Pol would reassure Clara that the lullabies were a sign from her mother, she would reassure the girl that her mother was with her and now that the woman was gone, her spirit would continue to grow within Clara.

The young girl had been so scared by that.

How on earth could her five-year-old body cope with the weight of another person's soul atop her own? It terrified her. She remembered refusing to sleep at night in fear that she would die like the body of the new soul that had taken up residence in her own.

When she'd been caught wide awake in the depths of the night by a younger Tommy on his return home from a date with Greta Jurossi, she'd told him of her worries. He had scowled so deeply that Clara had thought she was in trouble. He reassured her that Pol was lying and that there was no way that Clara could die during the night from such a silly cause. Tommy had told her with a slight smile that if Death were to come knocking, her brothers would tell him to hit the road.

Clara had laughed through her teary eyes.

Tommy's words had rid her of the majority of her startling fear, yet for that night alone, twenty-year-old, big and scary Thomas Shelby had slept soundly beside his sister at her demand.

Clara held the little memories close to her heart. She did not share them. They were strictly hers and hers alone. She clung to them, holding them so tight in fear of forgetting. She also feared that if she were to share them, her siblings would discredit each little memory and tell a completely different tale. As if her memories were figments of her longing imagination rather than genuine recollections. She feared that the sole thing that soothed her younger self was all a lie. She didn't want the truth. She wanted to believe in herself and have faith that her memories were real.

Below her, Cannon let out a whinny, his head jutting forward as they rode toward an open and familiar field. Clara allowed her heels to lightly dig into Cannon's side as she clicked her tongue against her teeth to urge him forward. The sinking sun was hidden behind the darkened clouds, its rays sheathed out of sight. Clara sat up straighter as she brought Cannon to a canter, bypassing the hedges barricading the field. The field was vast and untouched. It almost surprised Clara. Usually flowers or wheat bloomed over the horizon, but nothing was to be seen.

The Shelby girl continued as she hummed underneath her breath to fill the silence of the openness. She urged Cannon towards a small gathering of trees that separated the fields. The haunting lullaby tune that plagued her child years was as soft as ever. The song was sung alone; not a single bird chirped their shrill harmonies. The birds that habitually flocked in the trees above were nowhere in sight, their presence not going unnoticed as Clara and Cannon passed through the trees. One thing the girl had realised at that moment was that birds always seemed to be there and unnoticed, yet when they were gone it was starkly different and things felt...off.

It was silent. Not mystical or welcoming but eerie and tense.

"Come on, boy, just through these trees," the girl murmured, suddenly afraid that her voice was too loud for such a silent route. Her heart felt heavy as a small pit began to form in her stomach.