☆
IT WAS EPSOM DERBY DAY. The thirty-first of the month seemed to roll around quicker than expected and Clara was pissed. Tommy had assigned her to work in the den whilst her brothers went galavanting all over London. She wasn't having it. Finn had opted to steer clear of her completely and word soon spread of her foul mood. She'd been sour with everyone, snapping more than usual and consuming more than enough snow to get her through her days.
Her mind was twisted and warped and almost unfamiliar. Most days she barely recognised the thoughts that swirled her mind, but today? Today she was just angry. Pure rage filled her veins as she stood opposite John.
"Why are you being such a dick about this?" Clara scoffed, folding her arms as she leaned against the wall. "Fucking hell, even Finn is going."
"Finn's a man," John sniffed,
"You're joking! Finn can barely go down to the corner shop without wetting himself," Clara raged, John's lips quirked up slightly. The girl knew she was unfairly bringing her younger brother into the conversation but she had pulled out all other stops. "Look, c'mon John, it's the races! I'll stay out of the way but everyone's going. Every time you leave me alone here something bad happens!"
She knew he was thinking about the man she'd killed years ago and perhaps it was a low blow to bring up, but whatever it took.
John scowled as he rotated the barrel of his gun. Clara wondered whether he was contemplating shooting her or himself. She wouldn't put it past him to do either.
"Alrigh', fine, but not a fuckin' word, okay?" John eventually huffed, "Tommy put us on strict orders not to take ya, so I bloody expect ya to tuck that bloody hair up into a cap and put on Finn's old coat. You're going to stay with the group and no one is going to know, ya hear me?"
"Loud and clear, boss," Clara plastered a smirk across her face as she shook John's outstretched hand. Her brother nodded at her as she slipped out of the office and briskly walked towards her home.
Once inside the green doors, she grabbed her hat and Finn's old coat as instructed. She twisted her hair up before she shoved her Peaky hat down over her ears to conceal her hair. She glanced towards the small mirror, running her eyes over her tucked up hair. She looked like a boy. Clara's lips lifted ever so carefully.
Oh, how she would enjoy today's task of being a man. Life always had seemed so much easier as a man and she was willing to test her many theories.
At the sound of chanting, Clara reappeared in the betting den, shrugging on Finn's coat in the process. Her smirk was unmoving as she leaned against the stone wall as the men of the Small Heath Rifles cheered. She felt an arm drag her into a headlock as the men left.
Looking up, she locked eyes with John who was doing the exact same thing to Finn. "You two, stay out of the way today, yeah?" He warned, "Can't have Tommy on my arse, got it?"
"Got it," the two chorused, as John pushed them forward and towards the van outside.
The journey to London wasn't long but it had felt like years, mainly because her younger brother refused to stop annoying her. Clara had spent the entire journey gritting her teeth and spitting out the odd, spiteful remark towards Finn. When they'd finally arrived at the agreed destination, Clara had almost prayed to whatever Gods were above because if she had to spend another minute cooped up with Finn, she'd end up cutting his tongue out just so he'd shut up.
The girl jumped out of the van, her hands adjusting her hat further down on her head. Finn hopped out beside her, constantly fixing his jacket as he shifted on his feet. Arthur was joking around with the rest of the Small Heath rifles, overjoyed at the prospect of his earlier release.
"No matter how much you fix your jacket, you're still going to look like shit," Clara hissed to her younger brother, her lips pulling back into a smirk. "So cut it out, squirt."
"Stop being a prick," Finn muttered back in response, his hands dropping from the lapels of his jacket.
Clara rolled her eyes once more but she froze in her place as a figure crossed the road ahead of them. "Fuck! Finn, stand here," She pulled Finn in front of her to hide her body, her hands subconsciously pulling her hat over her forehead, her eyes on the ground as her head bowed.
"You're late," John remarked as Tommy approached. Clara kept her eyes trained on the gravel. Arthur jumped off of the back of the van and walked towards Tommy.
"I had business," Tommy answered with a smile, embracing Arthur in a hug as the latter groaned and patted his back.
"How the fuck did you get me out of that?" Arthur huffed, pulling back.
"I need you today, brother." Tommy tilted his head.
"I pulled some strings. You alright?"
"I am now." Arthur grinned.
"So Arthur's back in charge now?" John sounded rather disgruntled. Clara couldn't blame him, he didn't get a lot of leading jobs.
"He's in charge of you, and you're both in charge of him," Tommy's tone dropped as he looked towards Finn before his eyes flitted beyond. "...and for fucks sake, her too." Clara raised her head to see her brother looking directly at her.
"Surprise..?" She winced, choosing to ignore Tommy's rising anger.
"Look-out duties only today," Tommy ordered, his cold glare flitting between the two youngest siblings.
"Tom, I'm getting sick of this..." Finn huffed, his nostrils flaring in annoyance.
"Finn. You don't obey orders, you don't come." Tommy coldly responded. Clara bit her lip as she tried to hide her amusement at her younger brother stepping back in defeat. "And you," The girl snapped her eyes up. "wipe that smile off your face, you're staying in the van." Clara's jaw dropped and then clenched tight. She could feel arrogance and spite radiating from Finn who was smirking beside her.
"Like hell I am." She gritted back, her sharp gaze on Tommy. It was a sharp gaze terrifyingly like the one Aunt Pol always had equipped. Tommy didn't say anything in response but from the venomous look he gave her, she didn't bother to fight it.
"Johnny Dogs," Tommy soon averted his attention to the cheerful man.
"Tommy," Johnny nodded with his usual grin.
"Your boys will meet us there?"
"Well, the Lees will be there, Captain."
"Captain?" Tommy mused.
"Ah, we promoted you." Johnny smugly remarked, "Well, the boys decided you're no longer like a Sergeant Major. Fucking those rich women and using those fancy words. I'd say you're more like a captain these days." Clara's nose shrivelled in disdain as the group of men chuckled.
"Fine, well, I'll take it as a compliment." Tommy nonchalantly shrugged, "Just don't bloody shoot me. Let's go to the Derby, boys."
"All right, then!" Arthur boomed, as Clara jumped back into the van beside Finn. "Load 'em up!"
☆
WHEN THE TWO VANS HAD STOPPED FOR A SECOND TIME, Clara had already knocked Finn 'round the head multiple times which gave him a dark and reddening bruise across his temple and had earned her a matching bruise across the cheek from his retaliation. The girl stepped out of the van into the long grass. She took a deep breath in, relishing the soft, spring air. The grass tickled her skin despite her pant clad legs.
"Gentlemen, today, we are not fucking about." Tommy began from his spot on the van. His eyes darted around the gathered men. "I hope you've all obeyed instructions and brought loaded firearms with you."
The men let out a chorus of 'ayes' as they held up their rifles. Clara glanced at the gun beneath her coat, it was scratched and the metal was glinting through the black coat of paint. Finn had retrieved it for her after the night at the canal and had only gifted it back to her a mere few days ago.
"Very good," Tommy continued, "You will all know that if you are lifted on a racetrack these days with a loaded weapon, you get 20 years. That's all right. Today, you won't get lifted. Because today, there will be no coppers around to lift you. At exactly 3:00, there will be an incident in the owners' enclosure and all the coppers on the track will be diverted. All of them. They will be looking for someone. So you will be free to operate at will."
"Looking for who?" Arthur gruffly questioned.
"Me," Tommy answered quickly, so quickly that Clara had to hide her amusement. "They will be looking for me. Now, while the coppers are busy with me, you will make your move on Sabini's pitches. You confiscate his takings, you'll destroy his licences, and you do it at gunpoint. He usually has police protection, so they won't be armed. We should aim to complete the takeover without a shot being fired, understood? And remember, the licences are more important than the takings."
Tommy jumped down from the van. "All right. Before the fun begins, you can all lay ten bob on Nom de Guerre, I hear she's going to win." The man paused as the Small Heath rifles cheered heartily. "Only beer beforehand, boys, and plenty of time for rum and whiskey after. And remember, do not make a move until 3:00, when the coppers leave. That is all."
Clara watched as her brother moved to talk to Arthur. She took the gun out of its holster and checked the barrel for bullets. She only had four left. The girl humphed before she tucked the tarnished gun back into the leather beneath her coat. When she looked up she was met with Tommy's cold, icy eyes looking down at her.
"Look, I know what you're going to say," Clara started.
"Do you?" Tommy mused, his face unmoving.
"Yep," Clara lowered her voice and dropped her face to mimic her brother. "Clara, I told you to stay out of trouble and to stay at the den. Why can't you bloody listen? How many fuckin' times do we have to go through this, eh?"
Tommy remained straight-faced as she finished her mocking.
"I think I do a pretty good impression of you," Clara nodded with a sly smile. "I even nailed some of the mannerisms, don't you think?"
"When we get to the races you stay inside the van, do you hear me?" Tommy warned.
"Nope! I think it'll be much safer if I'm inside. You see an open van full of weapons with me inside of it looks like a one-way trip back to a cell, besides I could be kidnapped and stolen away and you guys would never know."
Tommy sighed at the girl's dramatics. "So really, I think I'm being the responsible one here, and I think that you should take note of that and put it on record." Clara continued, "because at the end of the day, I'm pretty smart and you hardly expected me to stay away from the races when every single member of the Shelby family is going."
Tommy squeezed the bridge of his nose. "Fine. Lookout duties only with Finn, understand?" He huffed in both annoyance and frustration.
"Understood." Clara's lips pulled into a smile as she stuck her hand out for the man to shake it. He huffed and shook it once before he turned to talk to another gang of Small Heath's rifles. The girl smugly grinned to herself, chuffed that she'd managed to outsmart her brother at his own game. Finn rolled his eyes as he approached her and reluctantly handed her a ten bob note which John had been distributing.
"You get away with bloody everything," Finn scorned, a scowl lacing his features.
"That's what happens when you use your bloody head," Clara smirked as she poked Finn in the centre of his forehead. "You should try doing it sometime."
"Oh, I swear to God—"
☆
THE EPSOM DERBY WAS A SCENE CLARA THRIVED IN. She practically bounced like a child through the gates. It has been far too long since she'd experienced the busy and vibrant races. Men were dressed in their best suits, many adorning outrageously large top hats whilst the women sparkled and shone in elegant fabrics made to be displayed which not even specks of dust or dirt dared near them.
Clara had her hands in her pockets, her sharp jaw angled towards her chest as she lit a cigarette. She and Finn stood in the corner of the spacious tent as people mulled around in glee, drinking, laughing and betting money on losing horses. They didn't seem to care. It was something Clara envied. Her careful eyes scanned the loud and frivolous tent, she saw women and men exchanging whispers and laughs, their love evident in both actions and appearance. The girl looked down at the floor as her memories flickered in her mind like a stuttering moving picture. The blonde that haunted her dreams simultaneously haunted every waking moment of her life.
She had to stop. She had to stop being stupid and naïve. Penny was gone. She had to stop holding on. Clara hadn't even seen the girl since their argument and their inevitable end. No. She wouldn't think of the girl anymore. She couldn't.
Clara let out a billow of smoke, letting it curl and furl into the foggy air, yet her eyes lingered on the many sets of hands that were clasped together in a display of affection, one which Clara could never do with the one she loved, at least not in public. She felt a sharp nudge to her side causing her to splutter as Finn sent her a fleeting glance. Her eyes darted around the tent before they landed on Sabini who strutted through the noisy area like he was the king of the world. Clara's fingers lifted and delicately traced the pink scar that decorated her cheekbone. Her jaw clenched in anger as her hand dropped.
She wanted to slap his silly moustache right off his face.
"Oi, focus, it's clear, come on." Finn scoffed, elbowing her once more. He moved first and made his way out of the tent. Clara puffed out another cloud of smoke before she stamped out the lit cigarette. She casually fixed her hat before she followed after her younger brother. She kept her head bowed as she walked, her eyes on the ground. The girl felt a sudden push as she jolted back. Her hand subconsciously moved to her sheathed gun as her furious eyes darted up.
"Sorry, lad," A man boomed, slamming one hand on Clara's shoulder before he continued. The girl faltered in her tracks.
Lad?...she could get used to that.
Clara allowed a small smirk to dance its way across her face as she inhaled and pushed her way towards the meeting point.
"—bloody lost her? How did you bloody lose her?!"
Clara chuckled as she neared a frustrated Arthur who was seemingly berating their younger brother. The man looked as if smoke could pool from his ears at any moment.
"Christ, he'll have our balls, fuckin' hell! How did you lose her?"
"Because he's thick...like his oldest brother," Clara eventually spoke up which inevitably alerted her brothers and the rest of the Small Heath Rifles of her presence. "I swear there's not a single ounce of smart between you two."
"Oi, shut up you," Arthur huffed, running a hand over his hat. He seemed slightly relieved that she was there– if you looked past all of the annoyance. "Stand over there, out of the way."
Clara hummed in amusement and moved to stand beside Finn who was once again scowling in quite an unbecoming way. She tilted her head as John approached their meet up spot, his head down as hers had been only moments before. The group's eyes locked on the lingering policemen who remained scattered around the grounds.
"Keep them fuckin' guns ready. Keep them guns ready." Arthur repetitively muttered to the group.
"Coppers aren't moving. Stood there like fucking gargoyles." John huffed carefully. "Keep your wits about you, boys, all right?"
Clara's head darted up as the speakers above her crackled and the announcement for the race echoed through the Derby, urging people to make their way trackside. The girl brought her hand to the metal beneath her coat. The group waited patiently, all of them cautiously looking around as the national anthem began to blare.
Clara kept her jaw locked as her eyes drifted over the coppers patrolling the area. People were now clearing the area as they made their way towards the track. Singing and shouts filled Clara's ears as the anthem continued. Her heart raced despite standing still and doing nothing. She didn't know how long they'd been 'inconspicuously' standing there but tension rose higher and higher until a piercing whistle penetrated the air and the police went running off the track.
"All right, get ready boys. This is it." John announced as he pulled out his gun.
"Right," Arthur sprung into action as he turned to the group and gestured to men. "You four get 'round the back. Come on. Don't bunch." He then turned to the two youngest and shook his head as if internally arguing with himself. Clara watched carefully and straight-faced while he glanced at the course. "Right, you two stay with us. I want you to stay back!" He pushed the girl's hat lower onto her head before he stalked off ahead of them and after John.
Clara felt a smile creep onto her lips and quickly followed after her eldest brother, Finn behind her, his hands fiddling with his drawn pistol. The girl drew her own weapon holding it at her side as her brothers began their takeover. They stopped at each betting stall, threatening and holding each bookie at gunpoint until they coughed up their licences. Arthur handed one back to Clara who flicked open her lighter and promptly lit the page on fire watching the flames engulf the parchment before she tossed it to the floor to burn to ashes.
The feeling was exhilarating, a feeling which Clara had almost forgotten. The thrill of being in the midst of chaos. She thrived in it. She watched as her brothers harassed and held men in chokeholds as they awaited the licences to be handed over. She had to admit that there was a part of her that relished these moments, no matter how sadistic they seemed. Being there in the moment as a Small Heath Rifle, rather than having to hear all of the recounted tales was far more fun and provided a warmth of inclusion.
Clara was too caught up in the bliss to realise that they'd succeeded. The Small Heath Rifles had won their little battle and each bookie's licence had been scorched to ashes. The girl followed the cheerful men back beyond the main tent and towards an open area filled with benches, a content grin plastered across her face from ear to ear.
She relished the hearty atmosphere as John collected all of the Nom de Guerre winnings and bought drinks. Clara glanced around, her hat discarded as her wild hair tumbled from underneath. Her sleeves were rolled up to her elbows, her jacket on the bench beside her. Her eyes scanned the area like usual. She was an observer, you see. She liked to watch but that didn't overtake her need to take part. Her eyes flitted from person to person. Each of them were living their little lives, some of them were naïve, some of them not so much.
Her eyes jumped and then she froze. She couldn't believe the sight before her. She let out a small chuckle and looked back at her brothers who were all engaged in various conversations and so unaware.
"I'm getting another drink," Clara told Finn, her eyes unmoving. She picked up her hat and curled her hair beneath the fabric before she pulled it down over her ears.
"Get me one," he called after her while she slinked through the crowd and towards the tent. Clara watched as a red dress disappeared from view. As she approached the bar, she kept her head down only looking up once she reached the wooden area. She tilted her head as she leaned against the counter, a mere few inches away from the woman standing there.
"So...who dragged the cat back in?" She eventually spoke up. The woman beside her looked up and faltered, her chest rising and falling with unease. "Because the last time you left, you were told that if you showed your face again you'd be dead. Aren't I right, Grace?"
Grace pursed her lips, her pink feathered hat being ruffled by the slight breeze. "Clara," the woman greeted.
"Ah...so not only did the cat get dragged in but it still has its tongue," Clara mused, "I thought you'd left for America? How's your husband by the way?"
Grace's face shrivelled in confusion as she gulped at the question. "How—" she began.
"Oh, you know...sometimes letters, even unopened ones tend to," Clara paused to let out a small laugh, "well, they tend to fall into my hands, and then they accidentally almost always find their way under my eyes for me to read. Such a pity isn't it..?"
"I'm not here for trouble,"
"Mhm...you see, I don't believe that." Clara sniffed, "It's been a long two years and a lot has changed. My brother has changed—that is obviously why you're here, of course. What makes you think he wants you?" The girl paused, "After everything? Are you still holding onto the fact you think he loves you?"
"Tommy does love me," Grace quickly and defensively answered.
"Oh, I'm sure he does." Clara nodded mindlessly as if entertaining a boring houseguest. "Tommy also loves business. A business you once fucked with. He also loves horses, bloody loves them he does. He loves them so much I think he'd roll in their shit if it was socially acceptable."
Grace's jaw clenched. "I don't know what you think you're implying—" she whispered calmly.
"I'm implying nothing..." Clara sniffed, as she paused to order two drinks. "Just stating what I know..."
There was a heavy pause as silence fell over the two.
"Alright, I have to ask, how's your little singing act by the way? You were somewhat average at that before..."
"I-"
"Has your voice improved by any chance? Please say yes." Clara continued as she cut off the woman. "You see, before, I think that instead of calming fights, you started them just by singing a singular note. Everyone was just vying to put each other out of their misery."
The girl turned to the flushed and embarrassed Grace. Clara's face remained still and emotionless, yet she swelled with a spark of pride.
"A little word of advice though," she leaned closer to the blonde. "I don't think you should let Pol see you here," the girl breathed out, content with her slander. "I don't think she'll be as friendly or courteous as I am. Good day, Grace, oh! and enjoy the races."
With that, Clara scooped up the two glasses which had been set on the counter and waded her way back towards the table. She had a sly grin plastered across her face as she left the blonde behind her. She paused in her tracks as her eyes searched for her brothers who seemed to be no longer in sight. Clara scrunched up her nose in annoyance as she plopped down onto the empty bench. She presumed her brothers were somewhere strutting around like the frivolous peacocks they were, showing off their newly acquired status after their victorious win.
Clara huffed as she sipped one of the drinks, whilst her hand fumbled with a pack of cigarettes in her pocket until she managed to free one. She lit it with ease as she took a long drag. Smoke filled her lungs causing her head to spin as she exhaled. Her fingers itched to tap out some powder from the blue bottle in the lining of her coat but she restrained herself. There were blinders still littered around the track and any one of them could snitch. Her eyes drifted around the area as her eyebrows pinched together. So many people flooded in and out of the tents, getting drinks or making bets. The girl took another drink before her eyes landed on a figure moving through the crowd.
"Pol!" Clara called out, the older woman's face was straight but her body was trembling ever so slightly. Once her eyes found the young girl's, she carefully trod over. As she approached, Clara's mouth dropped in shock. Right in the centre of Pol's pristine white-striped jacket lay a pool of splattered crimson.
"Oh my god, Pol are you—" Clara began as she shoved over on the bench to make room for her aunt, stubbing out her cigarette in the process. The woman nodded with a faint smile but didn't answer. "Here, take this." She pushed the second glass of alcohol towards the woman.
"Thank you," Pol nodded as she drank the entire glass straight. Clara's stomach knotted and twisted as her aunt skittishly eyed their surroundings.
"Pol, w-what happened?" Clara stammered as she tried to find the words. Her eyes darted towards the stain every few seconds in curiosity. Pol hummed and took the younger girl's hands in hers.
"You promise me, Clara, you will never let any man use you, you hear me? We women know our worth. We know where we stand. And you...you're young so they'll try to use you, manipulate you, but you're smart. They manipulate you? You use that to your advantage, do you hear me?"
"I hear ya, Pol, I hear ya." Clara nodded quickly. Pol's grip on her hands was growing tighter and more painful.
"Good," the woman smiled as she finally released the girl's hands. Clara watched as the woman turned in her seat and stared into nothing. Her chest rose and fell at a faster pace than usual as people began to crowd around a telephone box inside the main tent. Someone was calling for police and another called for doctors.
"Pol? Your jacket has blood on it," Clara quietly pointed out. The older woman paled slightly, the girl only noticed because of how intensely she'd been staring and examining her aunt. "Here, take Finn's," she handed the woman the coat she'd worn. "At least the blood won't be on display then, eh?"
Pol pursed her lips and shrouded herself in the coat. Clara folded her arms as her aunt continued to shake. "Pol..." she started, her eyebrows furrowed.
"Sometimes we have to take matters into our own hands because it's the only way to get things done. You listening? It's the only way things get fucking done around here..."
Clara nodded slowly and allowed for the noise around them to swallow the silence whole. As she sat beside her aunt waiting for the races to finish entirely, she couldn't help but wonder how different the day would've gone if she'd just stayed at home.
But alas she was not at home so she'd never know.
She did know, however, that she wouldn't be sitting beside a trembling aunt and waiting for her idiot brothers to show their faces.
She also knew that she wouldn't have felt the inferno that blazed through her body in pure chaotic spirit as she helped her brothers take over. She knew she wouldn't have seen Grace and had the pleasure of tearing the woman down. She knew that she wouldn't have been happy.
And so, whilst there were cons to the day—and big cons that threatened to overthrow the good, there were also pros—incredible pros that Clara cherished.
The day was balanced. Perfectly balanced like a set of scales. Each side weighed down just so much that they were equal, and Clara was content.
She felt balanced for the first time in a while, because despite the mayhem and disarray, she found euphoria and mirth. She found the balance. The balance she craved and needed. The balance she longed to maintain.
The balance that felt like it wouldn't last very long...Because she was a Shelby. And if Shelby's were anything, they were unbalanced.
And the scales would keep tipping until it all stopped. The fighting, the internal conflict etc and Clara didn't know when it would end—if it ever would.
She just knew that she couldn't live like this forever.
☆
EEK! HELLO MY GORGEOUS READERS AND WELCOME TO THE SECOND LAST CHAPTER OF ACT TWO!
That's right, one more chapter left and there's a change in faceclaim and age!
ANYWAYS, how are you today, my loves? I am currently counting down the hours until season six of Peaky (it's 46 hours of anyone's wondering!!)
I LOVE YOU ALL AND ENJOY YOUR WEEKLY MEME!