Field of Poppies

September-October 1909

            "There he is, grown-up and responsible Tommy. A family man now, aye?" Barney Thompson grabbed Tommy the second he came into the betting shop and put him in a headlock to rile him up. "You ain't gonna be fun, anymore are ya, Tom?"

"We'll have Mel walking up and down the streets of Birmingham all hours of the night looking for him." Danny laughed. "She'll drag him home by the ear."

Tommy shoved Barney off and punched him in the arm.

"Eh, Barney's just jealous 'cause he could never get a girl to even look his way." Arthur used the newspaper in his hand to smack the young man.

"How do the numbers look today?" Tommy asked, leaning over to glance at the ledgers.

"Going well, Greta's outside waiting for you though. I told her you'd be down soon." His brother answered.

He frowned. "Did she say what it was about?"

Arthur just shrugged.

Curious, Tommy stepped outside of the shop where Greta Jurossi was waiting for him. She looked up at him with a polite smile.

"I heard your son was born last week."

Tommy nodded. Despite the inconsistent timelines, it was generally accepted by everyone except close family and friends that Tommy was the biological father of Max. It made things easier and, in a way, it drew attention from Amelia's past. He wanted to protect her from any ruthless comments, like the ones she got from her parents in London. If he had to take the heat for having a child out of wedlock, then he would do that. But he had a feeling that people in Birmingham were wise enough to know not to bring it up.

"What did you name him?"

"Max," Tommy answered. "After a friend of Amelia's."

"Such a cute name." She glanced down at the paper in her hand. "Well, I hate to bother you, I know you're probably busy with him and everything else." She unfolded the newspaper and handed it to him.

"What is this?"

"Information about the revolution that's going to happen in Russia. They want to overthrow the monarchy, let the government be run by the people, for the people."

Tommy wasn't overly optimistic, even in his younger years. He'd seen enough hardship to know that the world wasn't fair. "Is that so?" He took the paper from her. It appeared to be somewhat of an organization's print instead of a national newspaper. He scanned the first few lines. "And you think they'll be able to pull it off."

"They have the people's support." Greta shrugged. "I suppose it's a bit what we're looking for, isn't it?"

He glanced up at her. "We're looking for better working conditions and labor laws." He reminded her as if she'd forgotten what she'd dedicated so much time and effort toward.

"And that can be accomplished by allowing the people to decide what's best. Not those who are wealthy who've never worked a day in the factories. Who've never lived in the slums."

He nodded. It made sense. His sense of justice and integrity was all for it. "What can I do?" He asked.

"You're causing a stir in Birmingham." She noted. "Everyone's talking about the betting shop and the caps. The name's caught on, by the way. The Peaky Blinders."