A couple of weeks pass by slowly when a person wakes up at 3 am, spends 20 hours in a crammed office, then returns "home" to a mostly empty shack with only enough energy to put on a spot of tea, and then do it all again four hours later. Thomas is used to working off of very little sleep. It comes with the territory. But the routine makes his mind go numb, and he constantly itches to do something other than stare at paperwork all day.
Polly told him it comes with running a legal business. Before, when he could do as he pleased, there was no need to do paperwork, and no one even had access to his business address to send him any letters. Now, there was a pile he had to get through every day, and no matter how much he sat down and tore through them, he couldn't seem to make a dent in it.
He wakes up at 3 am and takes the short walk to the office, if he didn't fall asleep at his desk. This is the only part of the day he finds himself actually enjoying. It's still dark out, the air is cold, and everything is quiet except for the low hum of the electrical lamps. The walk gives him time to think.
Once he gets to the office, he puts on a kettle of tea and starts counting the bids, before he retreats to his office and starts opening letters and sorting through the paperwork.
Polly would usually come in after a few hours and beg him to take a break. She would bring him a sack of lunch and force him to eat it, and then it's back to more paperwork. He doesn't usually finish until around nine or ten, way after their closing time of 6pm. Then he'd walk down to the Garrison and have a glass of whiskey, and work on orders.
"Why don't you take the day off? I think I can handle the paperwork for a while so you can breathe," Polly said, examining her cigarette. These past few days, she looked lighter and happier, and Thomas knew it had everything to do with her son, Michael. They were reconnecting after spending a lifetime apart, and every day they spent together, Polly seemed to turn a year younger. The worry lines were disappearing from her eyes and she had gained a little bit of weight from their dinners together. Thomas knew she'd much rather be spending her time with Michael than worrying over Thomas.
"There's nothing else for me to do, Polly," Thomas said, not looking up as he read over another letter.
"Go take a walk to the Docks. There's another shipment coming in for whiskey. Better yet, go home and sleep." She leaned against the door frame, tucking her arms under her chest. "You look like death."
"I'll get there soon enough, Pol," Thomas promised. He went to pick up another letter, but Polly was already swiping it form his hands. He could feel the sting of a papercut marching across his left palm.
"Stop thinking like that," she chastised. "You have a life to live. This business isn't going anywhere." She grabbed his hat and his trench coat from the rack besides the door and tossed them on his desk. "Now go on. Or else I'll have Arthur drag you out of here myself."
"No, Pol," Thomas said, taking a sip from the whiskey on his desk. It burned his throat and helped to wake him up a bit, but he still shook from restlessness.
"I mean it Thomas. I ran this place while you were away at War, and I still have a say in some things."
"But we're back from the War, Pol."
"As your guardian then," she said, throwing the keys to the car at him.
Thomas felt like he had had this argument dozens of times now. He wondered if his life was on a repeating loop, and everything was destined to repeat itself over and over.
He knew that, if he continued to argue with her, she would just hover for hours by his desk and beg him to take a break until he finally relented. At least, if he went to the Docks, he'd get some peace and quiet on the drive.
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Thomas drove to the Docks in his van to see John, Arthur, and Finn already unloading the large, wooden crates from the boat. They were large and must've had at least twelve gallons of whiskey in every crate.
"Are these ones legal?" Thomas asked as he stepped out of the car.
"Every single one of 'em," John said as he pushed another box down the ramp. "After this, we'll have enough legal alcohol in the Garrison for two years."
"Good work boys," Thomas said, running to help Finn lift up a crate from the bottom of the ramp. As he lifted it, he could feel his bones creaking from days of sitting.
"We haven't seen you in days, Tommy." Arthur came up from behind him and slapped him hard on the shoulder. "Have you been holed in that office of yours?"
"Just business, Arthur," Thomas said, even though he did feel slightly guilty for having ditched his brothers these past few days. They used to spend hours in the Garrison, laughing and drinking the night away. Lately, the only time they saw each other was late at night when Thomas stopped by to stock the Garrison.
"Like London," John said. "I hear there's a party at a club happening tonight. Tons of potential clients. Invite only."
"The Peaky Blinders don't need an invite." Arthur laughed and practically tossed one of the crates onto the wooden pallet over his shoulder.
Thomas felt an unexpected feeling of excitement surge through his bones. Finally, something to look forward to other than sitting in a bloody office all day. "That's right. Tonight, we take London by storm."
"Just like the old days," Finn, the youngest brother, said as he adjusted his blinder cap. Of course, his cap lacked the blades that the older Shelby's had beneath the folds of their blinders.
Arthur looked at him crossly from across the boat, before he kicked over another box so Finn could push it down the ramp towards John and Thomas. "Yeah, 'cept you won't be going."
Finn rolled his eyes in annoyance, but he didn't say another word. His three older brothers had all started young, much younger than him, and Thomas knew Finn often felt like it was unfair that his brothers wanted to shield him from the violent side of the business. But there was no need for a young teenager to get involved – not when they were just starting to become legal. Thomas knew the effect that killing has on the mind, and he didn't want that to happen to his youngest brother if he could help it.
As they were unloading the last of the shipment, Thomas took a bottle of whiskey from a container, unwrapped it, and took a long swig. He could feel it warming his stomach as it slipped down his throat. When Arthur put the last box in Tommy's van, the man raised the bottle.
"A toast," he said, catching his brothers' attention. "To our first completely legal shipment." He took another swig, before he handed it to Arthur.
He drank it and pursed his lips. "That's some fuckin' good whiskey, men." He gave it to John. "Now don't go getting drunk and pissing off the misses," Arthur joked, referring to Esme.
At the mention of his wife, John flashed a large grin, but he hid it quickly with a snicker. "Esme, also known as, the thorn in my side." He laughed and tipped his head back to take a drink that he held in his mouth for a few moments. Just as he was starting to swallow, his Adam's apple bobbed like he was choking, and he spit out the remaining whiskey onto the concrete below him. His eyes were practically popping out of his head.
"Jesus, John, did you see a ghost?" Arthur laughed, slapping his large hand on John's shoulder, before he grabbed the bottle from his hand. He was about to take another swig, until his line of vision seemed to align with John's, and he froze.
Tommy knew who they were referring to before he even turned around, but he still felt a rush of adrenaline cause his hands to go numb when he saw Vivian Carter riding the grey and white horse in their direction. She was wearing Ada's old riding clothes, but they were a bit too small for her, so she pinned up the back to keep her breasts from popping out of the front of the trench coat. Her blonde curls were also pinned back, revealing her makeup-less face.
"Fuck, who's that?" John asked, breathless. "She's riding bareback. Now that's a woman."
"Vivian Carter. Our new trainer," Thomas said.
"Well, I best go introduce myself," Arthur said, putting the bottle of whiskey down on the ground by his feet as he started to walk to meet her halfway. "Wouldn't want to be rude," he said, though Thomas knew that his motives were far from chivalrous.
"No, Arthur," Thomas said, grabbing him by the arm.
It was too late, though because Vivian seemed to have spotted them. She kept her head down, as if trying to remain unseen, a ghost in human form. Unfortunately for her, it wasn't working. She was too attractive to go unnoticed.
"What's your problem, Tommy?" Arthur demanded. He was quiet for a few moments, before his face grew into an accusing smirk. "Is the lass already spoken for?"
John snickered at what Arthur was insinuating.
When Thomas didn't answer, Arthur shoved him away and him and John started to waltz in her direction. Thomas followed close behind in case he needed to save the situation. He knew Vivian was slowly starting to become more at ease with the situation but getting ambushed by a total of four Shelby men would definitely not help. He didn't need his new trainer to get spooked on top of a 6-foot tall horse. He was already paying her house bills, he didn't want to pay any medical bills, either.
Vivian didn't stop riding, pretending like she didn't see them, until Arthur stood in front of her, blocking her path with his large body.
"So, you're the Miss Carter we've heard so much about," Arthur said smugly.
Vivian's entire body stiffened. Her hands tightened around the reigns and a look of panic flashed over her features. She looked at Arthur, who stood in front of her, then to John, who was crowding her from behind.
As if sensing her nervousness, the horse shuffled beneath her and she started hopping her hooves up and down on the cobblestones, like she was getting ready for an ambush.
"Come on, don't crowd the horse, you'll scare her," Thomas told them, even though it wasn't the horse he was worried about.
"This horse is gonna be in the gate soon. She better get used to it," John said, but he and Arthur backed up a few steps, and Vivian relaxed a tiny bit.
"You're the lass who costed us over a thousand pounds in bidding money," John said, sounding incredibly impressed.
"No," Vivian said, her voice cautious. "That was his owner. I trained him to pull wagons."
John's eyebrows curled in skepticism. "Are you gypsy? Do you practice magic?"
"No," Vivian said, frowning in confusion.
"Because we put a spell on Monaghan Boy to win that race," Arthur added, crossing his arms over his huge chest, "but whatever you did is stronger than fucking gypsy magic."
"Arthur, you shouldn't be saying these things in public," Thomas told them, glowering in their direction.
Arthur grinned, his eyes still entranced on Vivian, "Relax, she won't tell anyone. Will you?"
Vivian stared down at her gloved hands, like she was trying to will herself to disappear.
"He's still on edge ever since that barmaid shopped him." Arthur laughed briefly, but stopped, like his mind caught up with what he said. He gave Tommy an apologetic look, before he looked down at the ground.
Thomas felt his chest bubble with anger, but when Vivian looked over at him, like she was trying to read his expression, his face steeled and he pushed all thoughts of Grace and her betrayal from his mind.
"Why don't I walk you back to the stables, Miss Carter?" Thomas suggested. Without waiting for her reply, he turned and started heading in that direction, away from his brothers, who were still bickering under their breath.
Vivian hesitated, but not for long. She seemed to be in a hurry to get away from John and Arthur, and it only took the horse a second to catch up to Thomas.
"Your brothers seem...lovely," Vivian said, and Thomas was surprised to hear a hint of sarcasm in her tone.
Tommy snickered and fell silent, the only sound being the clobber of hooves on the cobblestone path. He quickly noticed that the horse had a jump to her walk, like she was itching to go faster, and every so often, she would try to charge forward, but Vivian would quickly regain control by giving her a light kick to distract her and gently tugging the reigns in another direction.
"How's the training coming along?" Thomas asked, changing the subject. "Charlie has raved about you."
He recalled asking Charlie to come into his office to discuss the horse's progress. Charlie went on a long, drawn-out rant about how lovely Vivian was, and how much the horses seemed to trust her.
"She'll win, Epsom. I'd be willing to bet on it," he said.
"She's a lovely horse," Vivian said. "I'm not so used to training a horse that's already tame. Well, I guess as tame as a racehorse can get." Vivian was quiet for a moment. The light reflecting off the canal matched the cloudy grey in her eyes. "I picked a name." When she didn't say it right away, Tommy looked over at her. "Dear Rosaline." The smallest of smiles lit up Vivian's face. Tommy could tell that it meant something personal, and he didn't dare to ask.
"Dear Rosaline?" He confirmed. Definitely a memorable name.
Vivian's smile was gone in an instant, and she simply shrugged. "Yeah, well, the Jockey Club requires a unique name. I already tried Smokey and Snowflake, but apparently those weren't unique enough."
Thomas glanced at her from the corner of his eyes. "Was that a joke, Miss Carter? I didn't think you had it in you. Is that horse melting that chilly disposition of yours?"
"Why, I'm not sure what you mean, Mister Shelby."
By now they were in front of the stables, and Vivian slowed the horse to a stop in front of the door. Thomas offered her his arm. Unsurprisingly, she ignored it and slid down on her own. She adjusted her trench coat, which had ridden up to her waist, exposing a strip of pale skin around her stomach.
Thomas tried not to stare. If he thought she was attractive far away, it was nothing compared to seeing her up close. He could see the tiny flecks of green in her grey eyes, and he noticed the faintest hint of a scar that cut through her right eyebrow.
"Give me your honest opinion," he said as she opened the gate and led the horse inside. She didn't bring him back to the stall, but over to the grooming room. "Do you think she'll win Epsom?"
Vivian was quiet for a moment while she considered his question. She busied herself by grabbing a brush and starting to run it over the horse's back. "When they first brought Herschel to me," she said, "they couldn't contain him in a barn. He kicked and screamed and ran into whoever tried to go near him. There was a fire in his eyes, even after I trained him. That's what won him the race – the will to get to the finish line first." She looked back at Dear Rosaline, who was shuffling restlessly underneath Vivian's hold, and then looked back over at Thomas. "I see the fire in her too."
"Good." Thomas nodded. "Because her first race is in two weeks. Winner moves on to the Epsom pre-race."
"Two weeks?" Vivian confirmed with a surprise look on her face. "Do you think she'll be ready?"
"Do you?"
Vivian went quiet again, and she looked away, brushing more dust off the horse's fur. "I'd have to see her on a track to find out," she said. "The cobblestone affects her natural gait."
Thomas nodded, and he considered his plans for tomorrow. If he got to the office two hours earlier, he could get the paperwork done for the day, freeing up the afternoon. "Tomorrow, we'll drive the horse van outside of the city. We own stables out there, where we keep the horses during the winter."
"Can I meet the jockey?" She asks. "I'd like to see how he rides her."
"That can be arranged," he said.
"Great, tomorrow then."
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Vivian woke early the next morning, forced out of sleep by the incessant chirps of the starlings. She hadn't slept well, waking up every few minutes to see the hands of the clock in different positions, as if mocking how little sleep she was getting. She glanced at the clock by her bedside once again. 5 o'clock. A full hour before the alarm was set to go off.
But she was already awake. No point in trying to fight it.
Leo was no longer asleep beside her, and she knew he would already be awake. He had always been a morning person who greeted dawn in his own way, usually by reading a book. Some mornings, she liked to join him. She'd make some tea and they'd sit together next to the window. Sometimes they read separate books, and other times Leo would sit in her lap and they'd silently read together (of course, Leo would have to wait a few moments for Vivian to catch up before they could flip to the next page).
And as Vivian got up to get dressed, feeling the cold floor sting the bottom of her feet, she wondered what book he would be reading this morning.
The Final Problem.
"Reading that one again?" Vivian asked as she exited the bedroom towards the kitchen to see Leo, already dressed for the day, same trousers as yesterday, a blue flannel shirt, and boots. He was in his usual spot in the kitchen, soaking up the light from the only window in the two-roomed shack. He had already made himself a cup of tea, and it sat steaming on the table next to him.
He quickly glanced up at her when he heard her voice and nodded before turning another page. "Do you think Sherlock really dies?"
"Someone as smart as Sherlock, falling off a cliff? I don't believe it for one second." Vivian walked over to him and kissed the top of his head. "Haven't you read the second book?"
"No. The library doesn't have it." His voice was full of disdain. He loathed cliff hangers or loose ends in a story. As a toddler, he would beg his mother to read another chapter if it ended in a climax, even if it was well past his bedtime.
Vivian pursed her lips. "Well, your birthday is coming up." She didn't finish the sentence and Leo's expression turned to skepticism at what she was insinuating.
"A book for my birthday would be too extravagant," he mumbled. "We can't even afford food."
It took Leo's words a second to sink in, but when they did, it felt like a solid punch to Vivian's gut.
He must've realized what he said because he looked up from his book, his eyes wide and apologetic. "I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I didn't mean it like that. I just don't want to waste money, that's all."
Vivian felt tears spring to her eyes, and she blinked them back. She had no right to be upset by Leo's words. After all, he was just stating the truth.
"I know." She took a deep breath and turned around to face the cupboard. It was completely empty, other than a box of oatmeal – the same thing they had for breakfast and dinner for two nights in a row. Her heart felt like it dropped to her feet. She mechanically grabbed it and poured it in the pan to prepare it like usual.
She heard Leo place the book on the counter. Then she felt him come up from behind and wrap his tiny arms around her waist. "I'm sorry, Mum." He placed his head on her back. "I know you're trying. I'm grateful, I promise." She reached behind her and patted his head, unable to trust her voice yet. "I can get a job. Working at the stables. Or I could be a newspaper delivery boy. I could help."
Vivian's heart hurt. Leo didn't deserve this life. No child should ever wake up and wonder if they're going to eat the next morning. Leo had been wearing the same clothes since he was five, except for some boots he found on the side of the road. He should be living a normal childhood – happy and carefree.
"Thank you," Vivian said. She turned around and brought his hands from her hips, holding them in her hands. She could feel the bones sticking out of his hands through the skin.
For the first time, working for the Shelby's didn't feel like a death sentence, and it started to feel more like an opportunity. Although she could never agree with the politics, she realized she could put it aside if it meant making a better life for Leo. She was still terrified of the possibility of word getting out that she was working for them, but that threat was much less imminent than the one they were facing right now.
"Do you remember that man we met, Mister Shelby?" She asked before her mind could make her stop and eat her words. When Leo nodded, Vivian said, "He hired me to train his horse for Epsom – "
"Epsom?" Leo's eyes were blown wide with shock. The Epsom Race was the only day that Leo would ever miss school. Cecily would let them borrow her radio, and they'd sit around it, listening to the broadcasted event, on the edge of their seats, making their guesses about who would win. "Like...that Epsom?"
Vivian smiled when his eyes lit up. "Yes, that Epsom. He's giving me a lot of money to train her. Things are going to get better." She shook his hands, and Leo looked like he was in a daze. "Leo, this is a big deal. So, you can't tell anyone about it, okay?"
"Why not?"
"Someone might try to hurt the horse," Vivian said, though she wasn't really worried for the mare. "To keep her from winning."
Leo's eyes lit up. "You really think she's going to win?"
"I don't know," Vivian told him, honestly. "But this horse is special."
"What's her name?"
"Dear Rosaline," Vivian said, praying he didn't recognize it.
"Can I meet her?"
"Someday," she promised. "But, for now, you have to promise you will not say a word. Not even to Cecily, or Eric."
Leo grinned like a madman. He didn't have any secrets, and Vivian knew he was excited to finally know he had one. "I promise," he said, shaking her hand. "Does this mean we can eat something other than oatmeal soon?"
"Hold on a second," Vivian said, pulling away from him. She walked back into the bedroom and pulled out the drawer where she fit the small amount of clothes she had. She pulled back her folded under garments to reveal an envelope at the bottom. She already had two five pound wads from her two weeks of training, and that would be well enough to buy them breakfast every day for the next four months. It made her nervous to spend any of her earnings, but they were both starving, and if Vivian had to eat oatmeal again, she knew there was a possibility that she would vomit.
She put one five pound wad in her pocket, before hiding away the other one. She walked out to see Leo, who had already taken over making the oatmeal by pouring water into it from the large container on the counter.
"Do you want to go out for breakfast?" She asked him, readying herself for his reaction.
Leo put the box down mid-pour and reared back to look at her with a questioning look in his eyes. "Out?" He asked in confusion.
"To a diner," Vivian said, grabbing Leo's coat from the hook by the door.
"Really? But, we only go out for my birthday."
Vivian shook her head. "Well, we're going out today. Why don't you go grab your gloves?"
"Are you serious?" His look challenged her, like he just couldn't seem to wrap his head around the idea of going out to a restaurant on a day that wasn't considered a "special occasion."
Vivian couldn't help but laugh. "Would I lie to you?"
Leo was quiet for a moment while he considered this. "No," he said decisively, before his face lit up like a light bulb. He grinned so wide, Vivian worried his face might split in half. "So, we are really going somewhere?"
"Yes."
Leo looked like he had been unfrozen and he raced to the table, where his book bag was. He slipped his hand-made gloves from the front pocket. "But where will we go?"
"You know that cafe we always pass on the way to school? Why don't we try that one?"
Leo nodded enthusiastically before he slipped the book bag over his shoulder and grabbed the book he was currently reading. "Do you think they'll have eggs?"
"Of course," Vivian said.
"I am going to get a whole bowl of eggs!"
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HELLO EVERYONE! THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR 19K READS AND OVER 800 VOTES.
I can't believe this story has gone so far, and everyone who has stuck with the story so far - thank you very much! You guys are so amazing.