"𝐀𝐋𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓, 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄?"
Caterina didn't even bother to look up from that morning's Birmingham Daily Gazette once Finn let in yet another candidate for the ridiculous mission underway, already fed up with the array of hooligans and petty criminals that lined up for the job offer.
"The Digbeth Kid," the newcomer stated in a meek voice, causing her to finally glance up and asses him; he was young, eighteen at most and dressed like the American cowboys she'd seen in pictures. It contrasted hilariously against the sleek, new interior of the pub.
John snorted from behind his papers, covering it with a quick cough once Caterina kicked him in the shin bellow the table.
"The Dig-" Arthur began exasperatedly, eyes looking up and down the boys garb. "What are ya? A boxer?"
"Digbeth Kid, like Billy the Kid," he elaborated somewhat proudly. His pride diminished once he noticed the mocking looks the occupants of the booth exchanged.
"Spend a lot of time at the movies?"
The boy smiled and reached to his belt. Presuming the worst, Arthur and John stood up, grabbing their own guns. Cat rolled her eyes in exasperation, standing up as she was the one closest to the boy.
"May I?" she asked him, gesturing to the wooden pistol he had strapped to his belt. The boy nodded, intimidated by the woman standing so close to him.
"Let's have a look," Thomas took it from her hand, examining the woodwork. He pointed it mockingly at his brothers who pretended to shoot back and die.
"Very nice," said Tommy, handing it back. "Where'd you get the gun belt?"
"Me sister made it out of an old blacksmith's apron," he explained as he tucked it back into his belt, pride flowing through him. "Me mum did most of the stitching. She's not me real mum, but..."
"But she does what mothers do," Tommy observed him for a silent moment.
"Have you ever been arrested?"
"Yeah," the boy replied instantly. None of them believed him — he looked as innocent as a sprig of grass.
"Yeah?" He asked, unconvinced.
With a deflated sigh, Digbeth Kid amended. "No."
"Good. You're the first bloke in here today without a criminal record. Arthur we can stand him up," Thomas looked back at the boy. "Do you know what that means?"
The cowboy shook his head in denial, prompting Cat to speak up. "The new Home Secretary wants something done about the illegal gambling..."
"Damn right," John agreed, slamming his hand on the table theatrically.
"About bloody time," his older brother agreed.
"So we help our coppers meet their quota of convictions by having men stood up to be arrested."
Cat peered over the edge of her papers to give the boy a one over. "We'll give you five quid for your trouble. How does that sound, cowboy?"
A giddy smile grew on the boy's lips. "Yeah." He nodded eagerly.
"Good. Write your address down for Finn on your way out." Tommy dismissed him with a wave of his hand, returning to the papers he had lowered down.
"I can't write," the boy mumbled out.
"That's all right, Finn can't read," said Arthur, turning his eyes back at the newspaper.
Pursing her lips, Cat disagreed. "No, the little shit knows how to read, he just choses not to."
"Don't worry," Arthur reassured him. "Just tell him your address and we'll send someone round."
"If the sheriff don't run you out of town first." John added cheekily, pointing a finger at the kid.
Thomas clapped him on the shoulder as he exited the room. "Good man."
"Oh, I don't know, Tom. Kids these days..." Arthur trailed off once Digbeth Kid closed the door of their booth behind him.
"They didn't fight. So they're different," Tommy replied simply, failing to stop his mind from trailing down the memories of some other, more simpler times.
"They stay kids."
"Like it's supposed to be," Cat added, reaching over the table to nick Tommy's lighter for her smokes. "I just hope he doesn't get hurt. He seemed like a good boy."
*:･ﾟ♛･ﾟ:*
In the kitchen of the Shelby household Polly could still hardly believe that her son sat opposite of her, there, in flesh and not as a hallucination of a hungover mind.
At first she was lost, speechless, unsure of the way she was supposed to talk to him. She was already embarrassed that he'd seen her in such a shameful edition at the door and dreaded that he would come to think of her as some common harlot.
"Run for the hills! It's the Digbeth kid!"
John and Arthur raced each other through the hallway and into the kitchen, pretending to shoot each other with their guns. Tommy and Cat followed shortly behind, engrossed into their conversation, not noticing the unusual setup in the dining room.
"I'll give him a week, he's got a bullet wound in his shoulder," Thomas spoke to her about the new man he'd appointed for the Camden business, Billy Kitchen. She hummed in approval though her face still twisted in doubt.
"But can he guarantee us a free pass through Black Country? Those bastards gave Curly a fright when we passed through."
"He won't disobey his Sergeant Major's order. And it's not like I'm not paying them," Tommy scoffed slightly as they rounded the corner, almost bumping into John and Arthur, guns still in hand and frozen.
They were cut short by the scene — for once Polly looked happy, content almost, sitting opposite of a young man in worn clothes of old design who stared at the newly arrived additions in shy wonder.
It looked as if they had just sat for tea and some sandwiches, but now, the six of them stood completely silent in the Shelby kitchen, waiting for someone to break the confusion.
"Alright then, Polly," Arthur rested his hands on the back of a chair, looking between his aunt and the boy. "Who's this?"
"Gentlemen, this is your cousin, Polly's son," Thomas nodded in greeting. "Michael. Good to see you."
Their smiles vanished and spines straightened immediately. The topic of Polly's children was one forbidden in the household, and they could only stare at the young man that was their lost cousin.
"You know Thomas already, I suppose," Polly said, meeting the said's man's eyes for a moment.
"John," he offered his hand, shaking it tightly.
"And I'm Arthur." The oldest Shelby gave him a little wave.
"You already met me. I used to throw you outta window so John could catch ya."
"Yeah," John nodded, grinning at the memory. "And I used to put you in a shoebox and kick you down Watery Lane."
"Bet you're glad to be back." Thomas added sarcastically from the sidelines, leaning on the cabinet to light his cigarette.
"I don't remember any of it," Michael shrugged, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "All I remember is the day they took me away."
A shadow of guilt passed over Polly's face as she took in her son, in flesh and in front of her after fifteen long years. Unable to keep her emotions in check she crossed the room and hugged him tightly.
"You're here now, Michael." Cat spoke for the first time since they entered the room. Michael's eyes found her warm smile comforting. "Welcome back to the family."
Realising he hadn't introduced the only other woman in the room to his cousin, Thomas gestured to the brunette by his side. "This is Cat."
"Nice to meet you Mrs Shelby." Michael extended his hand in greeting to Cat, his bright innocent eyes unaware of the mistake he had made.
Her eyes bulged out, feeling the blood being drained from her face. "Oh I'm not-" She masked the embarrassment with a strategic cough, looking down to hide the rosiness of her cheeks.
"She's not-" Polly placed a gentle hand on Michael's shoulder, eyes flitting between the two standing opposite of them, equally startled and tense, and trying not to meet each others eyes.
"I'm so sorry-" The boy's face had gone pale as he stuttered out his apologies.
"It's alright Michael, you couldn't have known." She stretched her pale red lips into a wide smile, surpresing the urge to turn and look at the face of the man Michael mistakened for her husband. "Kat Cardinale, it's lovely to meet you."
"Right, leave you two." Thomas ordered his unruly brothers who kept snickering at his glowering face.
"Good to see ya, Michael," said Arthur, clapping the boy on the shoulder before the two disappeared into the betting shop.
"How about I show you round after work, eh? Can I Polly?" Cat asked. She truly wanted for the young man to feel welcome in — most likely — much different environment than the one he grew up in. Michael immediately glanced in Polly's direction, as in asking her permission.
"If you want Michael.." Polly trailed off, though she didn't want to let him go just yet.
"Good, do you like horses? I'll take him to see Curly and Charlie. Charlie is almost family, he's uncle to the boys."
A spark lit up in the boy's eye at the mention, a wide grin following. "I love horses."
"It's in our blood. Gypsy blood." Thomas stressed the word, watching Michael's face for any sign of revulsion.
"Hope you didn't have anything against us before coming here."
Michael's mouth fell open, taken slightly aback. "No, no I-"
"Thomas, stop being an arse." Cat scolded before plucking the rest of the fag out of his hand and marching out of the room.
Michael watched as the intimidating man rolled his blue eyes, obviously used to the woman's antics before following closely behind her. The dynamic that seeped out of their interactions seemed almost private, a bubble which incased them into their own world as they exchanged secretive smiles; she'd shove him slightly and he'd answer with a deep chuckle, unmoved by her attempts.
"Wait for me in front of the office later, yeah?" She called to Michael with a slight smile, closing the door that led to the betting shop.
*:･ﾟ♛･ﾟ:*
Hours later, Michael stood in front of the Shelby Limited headquarters, impatiently waiting for the intriguing woman he met that morning.
"Did you wait for too long?" The lithe form of Caterina Cardinale questioned the young man leaning on the wall by the entrance. "We had a bit of a busy day at the shop."
"Not long," he admitted truthfully. Polly was not so eager to let him go just yet, even after spending the entire day talking.
He held her hat while she buttoned up her fitted grey coat and locked the door to the office, checking it twice for a good measure before pocketing the keys.
"So, what do you do at Shelby Limited?" Michael wondered, wanting to know more about the enigmatic woman. She was obviously not a cousin of the family, with her Italian heritage and Mediterranean looks, and neither was she in a relationship with any of the brothers.
"Ah, well, my formal title would be Chief of Staff. I employ people, but since we're a bit understaffed I also man the finances and arrange meetings for Tommy," she said, head turned slightly in his direction.
"And geld those who call me his personal assistant."
The cheeky smirk she threw his way made both of them laugh. Catching his breath, Michael offered his apologies.
"I'm sorry about that this morning, I didn't know.. I mean, he looked at you in that way so I just jumped to conclusions," he found himself babbling again, desperate to leave a good impression on the dark haired beauty accompanying him.
"Don't worry, it's fine. You're not the first to assume. Really, we're simply good friends," she explained, looking straight ahead at the road that led them out of the heart of Small Heath and closer to the canals.
"Did you have good time with Polly?"
"It was unreal..." he breathed, almost lightheaded from all the information he received that day. "It's still hard to wrap my head around it, you know? Just like that I have a whole new family, a whole new life I could be a part of."
"She never stopped loving you, and she never stopped looking for you and your sister," every Sunday at church, they lit candles, and each time they'd say they prayers for Polly's lost children, hoping that one day God might shift the paths of fate and bring them home.
"How did you become a part of the family?"
"I suppose it started during the war," she furrowed her brows, recalling the memories. "I used to lend out money to unemployed and struggling women in Birmingham while their sons and husbands were on the fronts, with very low interest rate. Both my brothers and father were in France at the time so I knew how hard it was to get by."
"Polly and Ada had to watch over John's children and young Finn. His wife, Martha, died and you can only imagine what if was like to feed six little children. She came to me one day, and I could see it in her eyes how much her pride hurt. It's not in gypsy nature to beg around for help. She's always been known around as a strong woman, fierce in everything she did, and so I told her to take the money, no interest, but to tell me how can she make grown men tremble beneath her," Caterina smiled at the onslaught of memories from another time, an easier time.
"She came round more often, brining Ada - she's the boys's sister, if Polly hasn't told you — who went to school with me, and Finn who we tired to teach some reading and writing," Cat sighed, finding Michael's curious eyes.
Truthfully, one of the reasons she brought the boy along was not only to show him the splendid sights of Birmingham, but to asses his nature. God only knew how much Pol had gone through in life, and the last thing she needed was for her son to turn out to be rotten fool.
"Your mother is the closest I have to one. It's not easy to be a woman, let alone a gypsy woman, a widow, a mother to all of us," she hoped he would understand her request. "She deserves only love."
"What about your family?" Michael asked.
"Dead," she put it bluntly, throwing the but of her smoke on the ashen ground only to step on it moments later. "They're dead to me."
The lock on the heavy iron door leading to Charlie's yard was unlocked, and the two strode in, Michael looking around the docks in wonder. They were a mixture of a warehouse and a boat yard, and on the far right side he recognised the stables by the piles of hay and horse manure.
"Charlie, Curly! Look who I have here," Cat waved at two men currently busy with sanding the bottom of a barge.
"This is Michael Gray, Polly's son," she explained, the confused furrow of Charlie's brow turning into one of bewilderment.
"Well, I'll be fucked, you're a spitting image of her," the older man nodded in greeting "Charlie Strong. And this is Curly, don't mind his.. curliness."
"Good to meet you Mr Michael, very good to meet you. Do you like horses?" Curly's grin widened more than she thought humanly possible when the boy nodded in agreement.
"Yes, I have a bay mare back... where I live," he wanted to say back home, but the more time he spent with Polly and the eccentric, crude, exciting members of the Shelby clan his village seemed less a home and more of a distant memory of a monotonous existence.
"Curly here is the greatest horse trainer in the West Midlands. He trains Tommy's horses for races." Cat placed a hand on Curly's shoulder, the man in question straightening up proudly.
They spent the rest of the afternoon around the shipyard, feeding the several horses they kept in the stables and exchanging silly anecdotes from their lives. It was warm, and domestic, and quite frankly Michael was saddened once the sun disappeared over the horizon.
"How about a drink at the Garrison before I return you to Polly? Do you drink?" She asked him once they bid their goodbyes to Charlie and Curly, chuckling once she noticed his grimace.
"Uh, not really," Michael scratched his head awkwardly.
"Well, that's a first we'll celebrate," she nudged him gently while they walked.
"You'll be havin' your first pint tonight. A very important milestone for a boy. You're seventeen, right?"
"Eighteen in two weeks," Michael nodded eagerly. "I can't wait."
The two entered The Garrison, the brunette exchanging hello's with some of the occupants of the tables. Michael couldn't help but notice the way men straightened up as she walked over to them, and the amount of respect with which they nodded their heads. He found it fascinating — the way she effortlessly weaved through the crowd, making every person she talked to feel important for that fleeting moment.
"Harry! Two pints for me and the lad. This is Polly's son, Michael."
"Polly's son? Good to meet you, lad," he threw down the rag he was using to shake the boy's hand. "Two pints comin' to ya."
Once again, Caterina led Michael to the family's private snug, the two settling opposite of one another in the
"Just for the record, I had my first pint at eleven." She added, chuckling once Michael's eyes popped out in shock.
"We had a very different upbringing then," on that, they both agreed.
With a dose of scrutiny, Caterina observed Michael while they waited for their drinks; the way his wandering eyes drank in every curve of the wood and every patter on the tiles. He was uncommonly comfortable for a person that recently discovered they had an entire new family.
"I have a feeling you've already decided what to do. You're a Gray, I see that determination in your eyes," he cast his eyes downwards at her words.
"A piece of advice, if you will: Never forget the people that brought you up. The values they planted in you, the love they gave you."
She didn't have time to finish the rest of the thought as Harry entered, carrying two pints of dark, northern beer.
"Cheers, Michael Gray," the pints clanked once they came in contact with one another, the foam on the top swaying rhythmically.
"Cheers, Kat Cardinale."
"Any good?" She watched as the expressions on his face change rapidly until he swallowed the dark beverage.
"Yeah, uh, definitely different than water," Michael chuckled, "But I like it."
Proud of the success the day turned out to be, Caterina allowed herself to get comfortable in the booth, enjoying her drink in peace and newfound companionship. But the entire afternoon she couldn't shake off Michael's words as they remained waiting, demanding an explanation. "Ah, out of curiosity.. You said Tommy looked at me in a way? What way?"
"Like me Dad looks at me Mum," he replied simply, returning to his drink.
"Right," she coughed, unsure how to respond to that knowledge. "In your health."
ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ's ɴᴏᴛᴇ
i've always had mixed feelings about Michael but in the beginning he was a precious innocent boy so i'm milking that