Wicked Game | Tommy Shelby ¹

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐢𝐢.

[ iii. the gray hand ]

➸➸➸

BIRMINGHAM, 1919.

February 16th.

WHEN HATTIE OWEN STEPPED off the boat, she was not expecting to find Polly Gray waiting for her.

As the twenty-six-year old lightly tread onto Birmingham soil again, Hattie could not help but freeze.  Briefly holding herself still, Hattie took every winsome and ill-favored piece of her hometown back into her heart, unconsciously setting light to long forgotten memories she had once tried to bury. Even after four years and six months—not that she had been counting, of course—the district still undeniably smelled the same. Small Heath would always reek of shit and smoke.

Hattie clutched her two heavy suitcases closer to her sides, hoping that they formed a shield of sorts, and walked hesitantly towards the silent older woman. Meanwhile, Polly Gray was watching already Hattie carefully, intensely eyeing her up and down, and seeing the very evident changes in appearance that had taken place to the young woman over the years in her absence. Very obviously, Hattie's dark hair had grown longer, though she no longer curled it, and she had seemingly abandoned her signature plum-colored lipstick, as well. Additionally—and to Polly's horror—she had also very adamantly given up stockings and dresses in exchange for a trouser-suit. Surprisingly, Hattie was thinner, too, if that was at all possible, and Polly suddenly disregarded her own distaste of fashion in fear that the younger girl had not been receiving the proper nutrition and care while living by herself in an exotic new country.

Regardless of what had happened in the ugly past, Polly could not contain the nurturing instincts that she still held intact for Hattie. At only the age of twelve, the Owen girl had already been broken in many ways, and without a mother to guide her, Polly had undoubtedly taken Hattie under her wing. What had at first been an unsteady and bothersome relationship soon became one of trust on both ends, and through Hattie, Polly had finally been given a second chance at the motherhood which had once been cruelly stolen from her. No matter what happened, from that moment onward, Polly Gray would have done anything to keep Hattie Owen safe, even if that had ultimately meant letting her go once she was all grown up.

Because even when Hattie had gone and broken Polly's nephew's heart, Polly had known that by doing so, the girl was still breaking her own heart, too.  In the week between Tommy's leave and Hattie's permanent departure, Hattie had chosen to stay with Polly in her home. Polly could still remember how Hattie had cried herself to sleep in her bed every night, and yet on Hattie's final day in Birmingham, there were no longer any tears to be shed. Polly had known that Hattie's unpredictable switch-ups of emotions were plausible and expected—given the numerous amounts of times that a teenage Tommy had always droned on and on to her about the complexities of his girlfriend—but Polly still had yet to fully understand everything that made up the enigmatic soul that was Henrietta Owen. If the pain of leaving had hurt so much, why had Hattie so desperately desired to flee Small Heath all those years ago? Now, with much catching up to do and time to spare, Polly Gray was hoping to find a better explanation, and she was going to get it if it was the last thing she ever did.