Astor // Arthur Shelby x Reader - Peaky Blinders

Chapter 65

Epilogue

Arthur

He sucks a deep breath full of air into his lungs.

And they're not the lungs of a man fresh from the war. Not anymore.

In fact, everything began to fucking hurt once he passed forty — or maybe it was his late thirties, he can't remember. He shakes his head slightly, bemused.

And then his face lights up when he sees her.

Over ten years of marriage, and every time he looks at her is like the first time. She dusts her hands off as she sets up at the market stall, still wearing riding boots and a Barbour coat. Her hair tied back in a knot at the nape of her neck.

The first lights of dawn wash over her face, and he can see it still, just as he did that morning — it's one of the bad days.

He walks to her at once.

"How many strawberries you got this year, then?" A man asks her politely.

It's the farmer's market, the one held every Saturday on the Estate. All the residents work hard growing, preserving, crafting and creating.

But Mrs Shelby's face falters as she takes in the man's question. Arthur can see her racking her brains. He can tell by the way her shoulders tense, she's growing frustrated — whether she cannot remember, or cannot voice it, he will never know.

He takes her in his arms. She softens, and then she glances up at him, her face alight. Calm. Happy.

"Three hundred plants this year, love," he gently reminds her with a kiss on her forehead. "We had to downsize for the tomatoes, remember?"

"That's right," she says quietly, thinking. Then she smiles widely. "Three hundred."

"Best strawberries in the whole fucking county, too," Arthur tells the man.

"You might want to leave the talking to me, brave soldier," she laughs.

Arthur kisses her, loves her. Cherishes her. "Alright, love. I'll go see Tom — you come get me if you need anything. Alright?"

She smiles at Arthur, stealing glances at his receding figure even as she tells the man about the crops, slightly distracted. Tommy's not far away. But any distance feels like too much.

Especially lately.

"How's she doing?" Arthur's brother asks, lighting a cigarette and leaning against the wall of the stables.

"It's a bad day, Tom. Not gonna lie. She couldn't remember the word for eggs this morning." Arthur's voice is thick as he says the words.

Tommy nods. May speaks up from beside him. "I'll go see her, Arthur. Don't worry. She's not alone, and neither are you."

Arthur gives a grateful smile to his sister-in-law as she walks across to the stall. But with her gone, and with his wife distracted, he pulls a whiskey flask from his coat and brings it to his lips.

"It's only to be expected," Tommy reminds him gently — as gentle as Tommy can be. "The doctors knew this might happen. She's been through more than most."

"She's still her, Tom," Arthur says quietly. "Even when... Even when she's not all there. She knows who we are. Who the kids are. Knows who the fucking dogs are, and which one's fucking which, even on the worst days, would you believe it?"

Arthur can see the words building inside his brother before he voices them. He's felt them building for a while now.

"Come back to the city, Arthur," Tommy says. "She's safe here. She's in good hands. You're doing the drive to work each night anyway, and if you don't start fucking sleeping, you'll be in a worse state than she is."

"And leave her here alone?" Arthur asks softly, watching his wife accept shillings, counting them out carefully. "In our line of work?"

Tommy has nothing to say at that.

"I can't risk anyone hurting her," Arthur continues. "Thinking they can get to us through her. Thinking she's weak. Because she's fucking not, Tom. She's not."

"I know, Arthur."

"While I've got you," Arthur says, "It's Greta's birthday this weekend. Make sure you get my wife's gift to her, alright? I know you said the family that adopted her are well off, but... It means a lot to her. Knitted all the clothes herself." Arthur sniffs.

"Leave it with me, Arthur."

He sips more whiskey, but before he can stuff it back inside his coat pocket, his wife's eyes snap to him. He sees her frown. Stick her hands at her hips. And begin to walk over.

"Ah, fuck," Arthur mutters.

"Fuck," Tommy agrees, stepping his cigarette into the dirt and making a hasty escape.

"Arthur Shelby, are you drinking at eight o'clock in the morning?"

"It's only tea, love," he tries to say.

She narrows her eyes. "If you're lying to me, you'll regret it."

"No idea what you're talking about," he says blankly, suppressing a smile.

And she suppresses her own, swallowing it down before slipping her hands inside his coat. She wraps them around him, holding him, and her touch feels heavenly.

"I was thinking of riding later," she murmurs into his ear. "Before Polly brings the kids home."

He gulps, his mind suddenly alive with possibilities. "I'll have someone saddle the horses," he says.

She smiles against his lips. "Who said anything about horses?"

He laughs softly as he kisses her. "Alright, love. You come get me when you want a ride, yeah?"

She glows as she looks up at him, her face relaxed in a smile. "I love you, Arthur Shelby."

Words catch in his throat as he takes her in. Of course she loves the early morning — she's perfect in it. Among the trees, wind tugging at her hair, often with the kids beside her as she takes them to feed the horses. Trudging across the grounds in her boots. Content.

Illuminated by the golden sun.

Arthur tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. He'll never forget the words she once said to him — we'll always find our way back to each other.

But, he decides in this moment, they transcend even that. Because while she cannot remember the rules to chess, or the names of breakfast foods on the worst mornings, she can always remember how to tie his tie for him. The brand of cigars he likes. The cologne he wears. She'll always blush slightly when she looks at his watch, and her face lights up each and every time she looks at him.

There's no doubt in her mind. Just as there's no doubt in his.

He tells her, "I love you my girl."

My girl.

My girl.

***

THE END