𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐊 Caterina spent peeking from behind the crocheted curtains of Lizzie's kitchen, ever vigilant for a sign of her father's men.
Every passerby that lingered in front of the house for more than a socially acceptable minute or two made the hairs on the back of her neck stand and the pit of her stomach drop down to her heel.
In all her years Caterina had never felt so miserable; and she was miserable because she was afraid. Mundane, she grumbled inside her head, how human and ordinary it is to fear someone. My own father, none the less.
Lizzie observed her as she quietly washed the dishes after breakfast.
In all their years of friendship - and more - Caterina had been the epitome of sharpness, in both the neatness of her dress and elegance of her poise. Never was one of her dark hairs out of order, nor could a crease be found on one of her many tweed suit jackets.
A Roman Venus, like one from the ancient pages of the Aeneid, with a touch of pure wickedness underneath her eyelids.
The tousle-haired brunette in her burgundy nightgown hardly resembled the woman whose name trembled on the lips of the people of Birmingham.
"You have to get out eventually." Caterina hummed non committialy, nails tapping a familiar tune on the wooden windowsill.
"Maybe get out of the city for a while. Cut your hair, dye it if you're that paranoid."
Cat turned around to face her friend. "Hair I can get over with, but don't ask me to leave Birmingham. I couldn't if I wanted." Birmingham was the Devils pit, and she was firmly grounded in the centre of it. It was where she belonged.
The older woman wiped her hands off of the damp cloth by the sink, hands red and aching from the coldness of the water. "Did I ever tell you how stupid are you?"
"Might have mentioned it once or twice." Caterina shrugged, immediately ducking right to avoid Lizzie's hand aiming to punch her playfully.
"In the bath, come on." She tugged her through the flat, both wearing equally mirthful grins upon their faces.
"Why?" Caterina cocked her head to the side, brows furrowing.
Lizzie rolled her eyes again, pushing a clean towel in her hands before turning to browse the room for some candles to illuminate the area. "I'll cut ya hair and then we'll go to the market. Don't fuck with me, off you go."
"Well, you know, we did fu-" With a slight gasp Caterina was pushed into the bathroom, the doors closed right in her face. The barrier hardly kept in the giggles still coming from the bathroom.
Two sharp knocks broke the lighthearted banter. With a firm stride and quite a lot of hesitance — and a sharp knife from the cupboard tucked into the pocket of her pants - Lizzie opened the front door.
The tall and lean sillouethe of Thomas Shelby loomed in her doorway. "Hello Lizzie."
Lizzie narrowed her eyes through the smoky cloud, quick to spit out one singular word.
"No."
"Excuse me?" Furrowing his eyebrows, the man in front of her exhaled the smoke in his lungs. He hasn't been refused by anyone in a very long time - he failed to count in the beautiful woman that slipped right through his fingers only weeks ago.
"Not working today, Mr Shelby." She gave him a curt nod, hoping he got the message across. Just as she was about to shut the doors as sharply as she had opened them, his foot lodged between the doors and the doorframe.
"And when will you be working? Shall I come later?" Thomas questioned, his ire slowly but steadily rising.
"I won't be working for you." She refused again. It was her every right to do so — she still had her dignity.
They were engaged in a silent standoff, him on the doormat and she with one hand on the door handle.
"You need the money, Lizzie." He stressed that vile word, the one that continuously ruined all the joy in her existence.
"I do, but not yours. Good day Mr Shelby."
"Well I can't force you but-"
"But I can force you out of my flat. Good day. " The doors shut right in the face of the most feared men in Birmingham without hesitation and with a resounding bang.
Lizzie exhaled the remainder of the oxygen from her lungs in relief. "What a twat."
Locking thrice behind her, and straightening the brass handle — a silly habit she harboured for years - Lizzie went back to her plans.
The sound of water splashing against the sides of the iron tub was followed by Caterina's light voice calling out. "Who was that Liz?"
Lizzie did not look up from rummaging through the kitchen cabinets, in search of the silver sicors she used to cut her own hair.
"Some troublesome idiot dear, nothing to worry about. "
Thomas Shelby was a problem for some other day.
*:･ﾟ♛･ﾟ:*
She shouldn't have been surprised at Lizzie knowing a huge amount of people.
It was not necessarily because of her line of work, but because she was — deep down underneath her strict facade — an empathic and warm woman, easy to talk to and progressive in every possible way.
To help her lay low for a while, she found her a place in one of the only bookstores in Birmingham. Hiding her behind the endless piles of musty books, Lizzie reckoned, was a proper catch.
Of what use was a bookshop in a poor, illiterate quarter of Birmingham? After two uneventful weeks and only having sold four copies of The Bible before Christmas and some Emily Brontë, Caterina was miserable. The receivers of those gifts would most likely be miserable too.
The owner rarely showed up, only to count the days inventory and pass a snide comment or two at her appearance or the lack of ring on her finger.
Madame Straightam was a wife and a widow, mother of two handsome lads as she loved to call them, and firmly held that a proper Englishwoman should have been married by eighteen, a mother by twenty and not dwell in business she had no use of in the household.
It was fair to say Caterina and Barb Straightam hated each others guts.
But every pence was a treasure these days and Cat had to swallow a great deal of her pride to remain firmly seated every time she conversed with the vile woman. She did not want to be a financial burden to her Lizzie.
Christmas was spent at Lizzie's, her home now too she reckoned, the two sharing a bottle of red over a humble roast she managed to cook up. Poor it may have been, but it was by for the most wonderful Christmas she ever had.
There was no screaming, no threats or gunshots, no awkward conversations about the business over the pudding or the endless parade of guests in their home. There were no gifts — and there was no need for them. They were alive and well for one more year and it was enough.
"Cat? Cat it is you!"
Ada Shelby had a particular poise to her appearance - an elegant one of a thunderstorm, and equally tempestuous. Rosy cheeks slapped by the harsh winter winds complimented the black flower design of her dress.
"Shh! Keep quiet." Caterina barely managed to protest before the other woman wrapped her arms around her, squeezing her tightly.
The familiar smell of violets and chamomile - Ada's favourite tea, engulfed her sense. It was all it took to calm her senses, and the taller woman slowly sunk into her dearest friends embrace.
Once she managed to peel herself from Cat, Ada held her firmly at arms length. A disapproving was plaster over her face. "You think I wouldn't find you, you silly duck?"
Caterina might have underestimated the lengths her dearest friend would go to to find her.
"Have you any idea how long it took us to find you, when you are here in this dusty rathole in a Godforsaken dump of a-"
"Lizzie's been harbouring me, me being a bloody fugitive from my family and all." Cat laughed bitterly, showing her to the two armchairs in the back of the shop. "It's just temporary I suppose — the job I mean. Until the tempers have calmed, and I no longer have a bounty on my head."
She spoke of it as it was a joke to have a price on your life — it was, in a sense. She has had a certain count over her head as of the moment she stepped one toe into the family business. Though it was now her own family that most likely hunted her down.
Ada took her hands between her own. "Come home, Cat."
"I don't have a home Ada. To hell with my name, too, I don't have that either." Caterina smiled, remembering a line from one of the Shakespeares works she read while not doing her job that week.
"Deny thy father and refuse thy name. Our dear William was ahead of his time"
The other woman groaned irritated, throwing her hands up. "You do have a home. Come with me to Watery Lane."
"No, no way Ada, I can't." Her spine straightened and she levelled Ada with a chilling glare. Watery Lane would only bring unwanted attention and conflict between their two families and that was hardly a think she needed right now.
"I'll keep bugging you. You know I'm persistent as hell when I want."
She reminded her of Maria in that moment, hands firmly planted on her waist and staring her down. She missed the old woman and her constant blabbing in her southern Italian.
A chime of bell at the door could be heard before a new voice added. "She is, inn she?"
Caterina jumped in surprise, long strides taking her to the front of the shop in a matter of seconds. A tall lanky figure stood there, in his dirty beige coat and a giggling babe in his arms. Never in her life had she been so happy to see a communist. "Freddie! My God is that-"
"Your Godson." He supplied, propping the babe more upright to show her how big had Karl gotten. Caterina reached forward, a warmth coiling around her heart.
"We rented a flat in London for this year to come, the family pinched in now the business is running smoothly. I'll leave one spare room for you, for when you decide to clear out your lungs from all the bloody smoke in here." Ada stood by her husband and son, looking expectantly at her.
"We're here until the New Year's passes, yeah? I'll see you at the Eve's party at The Garrison."
Caterina's mouth fell open in utter shock and disbelief. "Ada-" That woman had less filter that those cheap cigarettes her family smuggled. And that was saying something.
"You'll wear that green dress of Polly's you always wanted to borrow." Ada announced firmly, with no room left for discussion. It was truly a wondrous dress, all emerald velvet that fell down to her knees, and a head turning slit down her back. Before the War Polly bought it for any special occasion, but ever since she had gained a few pounds and it no longer fit as nicely as she liked.
The dark haired Italian bit down on her lip, nodding slowly. She was still processing the hurdle of information passed onto her in the last ten minutes to produce any other kind of response. "I promise Ada. I love you."
"Love you too, you stupid. Come on you two rascals." Her friend gave her a quick peck on the cheek, the newly made parents disappearing through the door as tempestuously as they had arrived.
Caterina stood firmly planted to the creaking wooden floorboards of the deceasing bookshop, once again surrounded only by dusty volumes of books and several rats in the back room.
Ada Shelby would truly never cease to amaze her.
*:･ﾟ♛･ﾟ:*
ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ's ɴᴏᴛᴇ
we're slowly entering the season 2 arc!
how exciting am i right? and to think of it, this book started off as writing practice for my ielts exam
hope you are all safe these days. wash your hands. sending all my love.