Tommy was out of hospital that very evening. He didn't want to waste time in there, weak and vulnerable. Nobody inflicted pain on him or the family and got away with it.
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"Where are you going?"
"Camden."
"What?"
Marguerite chased him about the house in her uncomfortable heels, as he dashed to and fro, ordering men around the house.
"Don't touch that! It's fragile!" and "Get this one in the car, go on, get out."
"Tommy!" insisted Marguerite, confusion in her voice, still struggling to keep up with him.
"Let him be, don't even bother," mumbled a drunk Esme as she stumbled down the stairs drowsily, a bottle in hand.
Tommy slowed down, stopped and turned around swiftly, eyeing Esme coldly, his jaw clenched.
All the while, Marguerite stood between them, watching intently.
"You -" Tommy pointed at Esme, who returned his cold gaze with a disrespectful one. "You should stop drinking, Esme. John needs a wife, not an alcoholic."
Marguerite had begun to notice that Esme's strong and stubborn personality frustrated Tommy a great deal, just as Esme disliked him.
Esme took another swig of whiskey, purposefully taking a few steps towards Tommy, accidentally shoving Marguerite aside, until she was face to face with him.
"You've been gone for weeks. I'll have you know that John's been taking care of things, so don't you come back here and tell me what the fuck to do."
Unfazed, Tommy answered calmly.
"I doubt that John's been taking care of things, because he's been out with Arthur. Polly's been taking care of things, so don't lie to me. You reek of whiskey, Esme."
"You goddamn-"
"Alright, that enough," muttered Marguerite, taking Esme's arm.
The woman whirred round, wide-eyed, pulling away from Marguerite.
"What? You're defending him, Maggie?"
"He's been through hell, Esme, let it go."
"Get off."
"You're drunk, go find John."
She went silent, finished the bottle, tossed it aside, casting one last annoyed look at Tommy and stormed off.
Marguerite looked up, disconcerted and tired at Tommy. She pursed her lips.
"Camden, Marguerite," whispered Tommy, walking over to her, grabbing her shoulders. "I'm going to London. The Peaky Blinders are under threat, Sabini's dogs. I need to make alliances to secure the business."
"The business," sneered Marguerite, unimpressed.
"The business-" he lifted her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes "and everyone included."
"Alright, Tommy."
"I'm going with Arthur, John and Ada."
"Ada?"
Tommy let out a long breath, staring off into the distance.
"Yeah. She's uh - said she needs a break from the business. We're dropping her off at her new property."
"What? Ada's moving to London? You're joking?"
"I'm not. You could come with us, just to help her settle in."
Marguerite looked down, shaking her head.
"I can't. I've promised to help Polly with something." Marguerite's voice had changed, and Tommy noted that this must be something important. He frowned. Why would Polly not mention this to him first?
"What is it?"
"Polly, she-she found her son. Or at least she thinks she did. The daughter and son she-"
"Had to give up a long time ago, I know. Why wouldn't she tell me?"
"Don't take it personally, Tommy, it's just something that is very hard for her. A lot to process."
"Mm."
"She doesn't know where he is, or much about him. All we know is that his name is Michael."
"The daughter?" inquired Tommy.
"Deceased..."
"Right. When I get back from London, I'll deal with this. We'll find him."
There was a moment of silence, during which both of them sighed. A lot had happened in a short time, their peace had been short lived. Marguerite smiled and hugged Tommy. He hesitated, but hugged back. They held each other tightly, a much-needed embrace, sharing warmth in the bleakness and coldness of their lives.
"Goodbye, Tommy. I'll see you soon."
He smirked, bringing his hand up to her face, stroking her cheek roughly. She took his hand, squeezing it gently. He leaned in, and left one longing kiss on her cheek before striding off and closing the front door noisily behind him.
And with that, Tommy was going to travel to London. The burning, bright, joyful and chaotic city. A city of gleaming lights, rule breakers and revolutionary ideas.
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Tommy walked at a slow pace down the Birmingham docks, the air heavy with grey smoke clouds that reached so low that it was as if a fog had settled. The Peaky Blinder picked up the pace, striding powerfully towards the scrap yard where his uncle Charlie was waiting along with Johnny Dogs, Arthur and John. Amongst the thick clouds almost caressing the murky water of the canal, he noticed a barge slowly drifting near the walkway, leaving a trail of little waves.
"Oi! Curly!" called out Tommy, waving a hand at the barge, signalling it to slow down.
A man in a shabby grey fedora hat swung round, surprise apparent on his face. He was pale and a little chubby in the face, his lower lip hanging limply in a constant dumbfoundedness. And yet Tommy was very fond of the sight of this slightly challenged and mentally frail man. His name was Curly, he was a little older than Johnny Dogs, bald, with soft hands (even though he worked like a dog) and a cute- if such a word can be used for a man his age- a cute, naïve smile.
"T-Tommy!" he stuttered boisterously, a crooked-toothed grin forming immediately on his face as he saw the Peaky Blinder walk over to the side of the barge, following him on foot.
Tommy pulled out a cigarette and lit it, covering it with a gloved hand as the wind suddenly picked up, causing his heavy jacket to slightly rise and fall in time with the movements of each strong, determined step he took.
"This our boat then, Curly?" he asked glumly, clearing his throat.
The burly man nodded jovially.
"Yes, yes Tommy! We're taking this boat, Tommy." Curly had a lisp when he talked, and often repeated himself, but it was all the more endearing. Like with all of his other friends, Tommy would never allow anything to happen to Curly.
"Provisions?"
"Johnny's got them, Tommy, Johnny has the crate at the scrap yard, he's keeping it safe-"
"Alright, Curly. Thank you."
"I'm taking you to Camden then, Tommy? We're going to Camden in London, Tommy?"
"That's right, Curly," muttered Tommy, "Camden."
"And-and the lady, Tommy? Olivia's sister? She's coming?"
"No, Curly. It's best that she didn't either way, too dangerous. Where's Ada?"
"Ada! Ada, Tommy, she's arriving soon, Tommy. Soon. At the scrap yard."
"Mm."
"We'll leave at seven, yes, Tommy? Or six if you prefer!" Curly gave him another energetic, questioning nod.
"Curly," exhaled Tommy, a little exasperated, "either way is fine. As long as we arrive in time to meet Alfie Solomons."
"Yes, yes of course Tommy."
"Good lad."
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