CHAPTER 6
YA'ABURNEE
❝ You bury me —
the hope that a loved one will outlive you
as to spare yourself the pain of living life
beyond that person ❞
"Look at him, all smiles and smokes while his family is rotting in prison," with a distasteful tone leaving a bitter taste on her mouth, Kaya shook her head and observed Thomas speaking with Christopher and the Bardin brothers some tables away from theirs. She was not happy about having to share the same space with the Peaky Blinders and was making it her mission to let everyone inside the café – including them – know about it.
"One day you're going to have to tell us why you hate him so much," Arwen said, snatching her fourth or fifth glass of champagne. She had taken upon herself to celebrate the arrival of the Birmingham gang at La Vie En Rose, even if no one else was in the mood to join the celebration, as they were all too aware of their infamous reputation and their history with London clubs.
"One day you're going to have to tell me how you don't," Kaya retorted. "Have you forgotten what they did to Sabini's Eden Club?"
"Well, it's universally known that Sabini is a douchebag, so—"
"He might be a douchebag, but that doesn't excuse what the Blinders did to his club," Élodie intervened, always the diplomat. "Kaya's right, I don't like their presence here. So far they're calm, but all it takes is one order from that debonair man you fancy so much for them to turn into rabid dogs and wreck the place."
"Rose would never allow that," Audrey countered, her faith in her sister unwavering as always. Audrey was the kind of person that not only followed but loved people blindly and unconditionally too; she gave her heart to the world, to the point where it was more his than her own, and that worried her sisters, who had learnt long ago to wear an armor around theirs. "She's got it under control."
"Sometimes I wonder if Rose actually knows what she's doing, or if she just acts like she knows what she's doing," Kaya declared.
"Well, it's working either way, isn't it?" Arwen enquired. "Thomas hasn't been able to take his eyes off her all night, so I say she's doing a pretty good job keeping him away from trouble. So if he and his gang are snakes like you say they are, then we're lucky Rose's a charmer."
"Let's just hope the charmer doesn't get charmed," Kaya replied, arms crossed over her chest. She had seen Rose and Thomas speaking at the bar, and it was like seeing two sharks testing each other's waters. Both sniffing the blood on the other's hands.
"I mean, I wouldn't blame her, have you seen his face?" Arwen asked with a saucy smile as her coffee eyes ran over Tommy's figure without a trace of shame. "It's so..."
"Punchable?" Kaya clicked her tongue. "Yeah, I agree."
"I was going to say kissable, but—"
"Élodie," Rose interrupted, appearing out of nowhere with a mask of distress over her face and a lingering urgency over her tone. "Use your telephonist contacts and find what you can about that man over there."
She gestured very subtly to a bald man sitting at a corner who appeared to be drinking and smoking normally. But Rose was Rose; she had a powerful gut and an irremediable propensity to not only cause but also smell trouble.
"What's wrong?" Kaya questioned as Élodie got up without another word and quickly headed towards the second floor where the office and phone were located. But Rose didn't answer and turned around, grabbing Evelyn's arm as she passed by with a jar of red wine.
"Evelyn, you know what to do," Rose whispered and Evelyn nodded, making her way towards the far corner as the French Kissers watched her, their hearts beating in unison for a danger only Rose could see. When Evelyn tripped over her own feet and spilled the wine all over the man, causing him to shout loudly and curse at her, Sienna got up from a strategically nearby seat and quickly made her way to Rose.
"Rose, that man just hid a gun under the couch pillows, and I'm almost certain he has one or two knives on his inside pocket, if I had made that suit it would be exactly where I'd hide them. And he just cursed in German."
Rose nodded urgently, turning to Arwen who was already standing by. Even if they weren't sure what the precise danger was yet, the words German, gun and knives were enough to raise the alarm in all of them.
"Arwen, I need you to distract Thomas Shelby, alright?" Rose risked a glance in his direction, and as suspected he was already getting up from his seat and walking towards them; there was the shark again, Kaya thought, sensing the blood even before it stained Rose's hands. "Do not let him leave the room."
"My pleasure!" Arwen exclaimed, cutting Thomas' path short and tangling her arm with his to drag him as far away as possible. "Mr. Shelby, how fortunate it is that you could join us tonight! I am deeply happy to get to know you as I have heard many great things about you..."
"You could have asked me to distract him, I would have gladly punched him in the face," Kaya muttered, much enjoying the bored, exasperated look Thomas sported while listening to Arwen. She couldn't have tortured him better herself.
"No, you and Audrey keep an eye on the other Peaky men, mainly Finn and Isaiah," Rose ordered, not even waiting for their reply before marching towards her other sisters.
"Renée, Christopher, watch over Andrea, make sure she never leaves your sight. Angeline and Jules, I want you at the stage, now it's time for a frenetic song. Start when I leave the room, and keep people dancing."
She turned on her heels again, Nicolas' gentle tug at her elbow stopping her. He had understood the situation instantly as if the same gears spun inside both their brains.
"Are you sure you want to do this? I'll do it, you know I will."
"He's here because of me, so I'll deal with it. Just be there on time," Rose asked and Nicolas let her go with a firm nod. Rose started walking towards the German, but was intercepted by Élodie who came back from the office.
"The man is German, came to England about two weeks ago. He's staying at the Ritz, has been asking questions about two other German guests who had stayed there. The ones..."
"I killed, yeah, I figured," clearly Rose hadn't covered her tracks as well as she thought she had, and now that man was there to avenge his compatriots, and Rose couldn't allow it, because inside that space was everyone and everything she cared about.
"Rose... that still doesn't mean he's a spy."
"He has a gun. He's not here for tourism," Rose replied and walked away, finally arriving at the scene where Evelyn clumsily tried apologizing to an infuriated man who made sure to curse in perfect English now that his composure was somewhat regained. While he was busy cleaning his suit and sending Evelyn to hell, she approached Rose and discreetly murmured.
"He was going to reach for the gun right before I spilled the wine on him, but I don't know who he was going to aim it at."
It didn't matter. Any kill inside that space was like killing her.
Rose's searching eyes were quick to spot the pistol that had been hurriedly hidden behind the pillows on the couch, and she felt that familiar taste of rebellion in the tip of her tongue, that repressed feeling of hatred she had been carrying since the first bullet had been shot in her country. Her stomach churned violently when she had to swallow all that and put on an apologizing smile.
"I'm so sorry for what happened, sir, I—"
"Who the hell are you?" The boche cut off harshly, not even sparing her a glance as he mourned his ruined suit. I'm your death, bastard.
"I'm the owner's sister, sir," she couldn't say she was the owner because the man would have not believed her. At least he didn't seem to know who she really was, which meant his intel was somewhat incomplete.
"Well, you should tell your brother to fire this one immediately, never seen such a disastrous waitress in my entire life," the German scoffed.
"I will, sir, don't worry," Rose continued, "now if you'd be so kind as to accompany me, I'm sure I can find you some decent clothes in his office, we have a stock of suits for emergencies like this."
"This is not an emergency, it's incompetence. I don't want any of your horrid French suits," if the man had spat on the floor, he would not have made his historical hostility any more evident, or Rose's desire to kick his German pride any more urgent.
"Surely an horrid French suit is better than a stained English one," Rose smiled, and in that smile the boche saw what every other man saw, a foolish, naive girl who wouldn't dare hurt a fly and whose lack of brains couldn't possibly pose any threat. It was his prejudice that would kill him, more than anything else. His eyes flickered to the pillows briefly, the scale on his brain weighing the options and finally deciding that the gun was hidden well enough for any of them to notice.
"Fine," he agreed, his icy stare oblivious to the fate that awaited him. As he and Rose left the room, Jules brought the piano to life with a frantic, wild rhythm that made people get up and start dancing, and Rose wondered if in the history of funerals there had ever been a death march as alive as this.
She led the man to the back room as he continued to criticize her café and staff and was quick to lock the door behind her without him noticing it.
"I deeply apologize for the unpleasant experience on La Vie En Rose, sir, surely you must not have the best impression of France right now."
"I never had," the German sneered as Rose opened a closet and rummaged through the finest jackets and shirts from Sienna's boutique, specifically designed to impress even the most critical of clients.
"Ah, you were in the war," Rose nodded, taking out two shirts for him to choose from. "In that regard, do you know how the concept of French kiss started?"
"Why would I care?"
"You seem like a man of culture," Rose replied casually, helping the man take off his jacket. She was surprised he didn't protest; but German or not, men were men after all. "It was British and American soldiers who came up with the name, during the war. They were impressed by how much more open French women were to such an audacious technique than their countrywomen. So the term stayed."
Her fingers were on his neck now as she aided the man unbuttoning his collar shirt, and she noticed, not without slight satisfaction, at how even a trained spy would tremble slightly at the touch of her soft fingers and the allure in her silky tone.
"Would you like to experiment it? The kiss?" She offered, and his brow furrowed as his face became as red as her lips. With luck, he would think this was her way to repay him for the wine incident, instead of thinking this would be his cause of death.
"What—" he started, but Rose didn't give him time to finish and grabbed him by his collar, pulling his lips to hers in a magnificent example of a French kiss, if it weren't for the cyanide pill on her mouth being transferred to his, and she pulling away quickly and gripping the sides of his face in a trained gesture to force him to close his mouth, his teeth helplessly crushing the capsule that would release the ampoule with the poison.
The man opened his mouth to speak but no sound came out, as if all sounds were already dead inside him, and then his knees faltered, and Rose grabbed him as he fell and choke.
"What..." he struggled to breathe, his lungs and heart failing him, eyes rolling to the back of his head, and Rose felt it all within her as if it was the first time, "... did you... just do?"
The hushed words left his mouth in a lifeless whisper, and then the weight on her arms became heavier, for the weight of life had no comparison to that of death.
"I killed you with a kiss," she answered when he could no longer hear, because that was the true meaning of a French kiss; a love that kills. "Didn't you know?" she murmured as she let the body drop to the floor with a thud, her own heart feeling like it was about to rip itself through her chest to lie on the floor next to his. "Roses are the most poisonous of flowers."
Then she bent down, her fingers touching his cold eyelids as Death breathed down both their necks. "Ya'aburnee," she sentenced as she closed his eyes.
You bury me.
***
Hidden by the shadows, Nicolas and Christopher moved in the dark alley when they saw the back door of the café open slightly, the sign they had been waiting for to retrieve the body. When Rose's livid face appeared in front of them, like a ghost with nowhere to go, Nicolas' arms embraced her to give her a comfort she would not feel, and Christopher walked inside and started dragging out the corpse. He hated doing it, but he also always made sure to be present in those moments. He was a firm believer that no man deserved to go without a proper burial, no matter the things they had done.
Having him by her side granted Rose the certainty she too would have a decent funeral.
"Go back inside," Nicolas told her as he placed the gentlest of kisses on her forehead. "We'll handle this."
Rose nodded but didn't say anything, giving the dead body one last glance before walking back inside, and Nicolas' heart ached at the thought she would have to act normally as if nothing had happened, as if she had not just killed another man. This wasn't supposed to happen, they weren't counting on it. And a murder without mental preparation hurt a hundred times more.
"Let's go," Nicolas said to Christopher, the light of the moon the only trace of life in that alley. Everyone was still inside, happy and warm, and now a man was dead and another piece of her heart was too, and Nicolas only wished he could replace it with his.
If she didn't let him kill for her, he could at least die for her, and he gladly would. When Rose had given her speech all those years ago, he had been sure he was enlisting for a second war, and he hadn't regretted it ever since.
***
Rose's head was spinning when she returned to the café, the aftermath of the absinthe and the murder mixing together in her brain. The German had no documents on him of course, but Evelyn had managed to retrieve the gun from the pillows and it was unmistakably the type of gun used by German spies.
He was there to avenge his compatriots, and he knew exactly where to go to search for information, which meant the traitor that had set her up at the Ritz weeks ago was still leaking intel about her. She hadn't been able to find out who the person was yet, but she would. What she would do about it, Rose didn't want to think of now.
The traitor's big mouth could mean more people knew the murders had something to do with her café, so in the next few days she would have to investigate that, but for now she needed to focus on the present, which was proving to be incredibly hard to do, especially when the present had the scrutinizing face and the questioning eyes of one Thomas Shelby. Arwen had entertained him as best as she could, but he was a naturally distrustful man. So as soon as he spotted Rose in the crowd, he freed himself from Arwen's clutch and walked to her.
"Everything alright, love?"
"Yes," she forced a smile into her lips, and it sickened her how natural and easy it was for her. A part of her was sick of it. A part of her wanted the facade to fall and the real her to appear. But for the sake of the people she loved, she couldn't. Leaders had to wear masks. It was the only way to protect everyone else's true faces. Sometimes she wondered if she even had a true face. And looking at Thomas, she wondered the same thing.
"I saw you leaving with a man. He didn't come back."
"Well, some men can only take that much amount of pleasure before having the sudden need to run home with their tail between their legs."
Thomas quirked an eyebrow, a flicker of interest in his usual unimpressed eyes. "Clearly you've been with the wrong man."
"I'm kidding," Rose rolled her eyes. "A waitress spilled some wine on him, so I gave him a new suit. Then he went off to some other café where the 'fucking waitresses were far more fucking professional', as he so kindly put it."
"Hm," Thomas muttered, fingers tracing his lips as he observed her. "Why do I have a hard time believing that?"
"Well, you seem like the type of man who has a hard time believing anything, so that's beyond me. I told you the truth, you do with it what you will."
Thomas nodded and took a step towards her, gesturing around with his cigarette. Rose had a feeling an earthquake could happen right then and there and he still wouldn't let go of that damn cigarette.
"Do you plan to stay 'ere all night?"
The question took her aback as her eyes quickly scanned the room to make sure all her loved ones were there, safe. Some were looking at her, interrogating her silently, but she couldn't say or do anything that wouldn't make Thomas suspect even more.
"Eager to leave? I'm taking that as an insult."
"No, it's a lovely place. But your sister won't sing anymore and I'm getting restless. Romani blood, ya see? Mind taking a walk with me?"
Fuck, Rose thought. He was putting her up against the ropes. Come with me and prove everything's alright or stay because you have something to hide.
In a normal situation, Rose would have said no. But more than to calm his suspicions, more than to drag Thomas away from the crime scene, Rose was tired and didn't want to be alone, and that's why she said yes.
After mouthing a 'tout va bien' to an extremely worried Renée while Thomas talked to an extremely relaxed Finn, the French Kisser and the Peaky Blinder left the café to the cold breeze of the night. The temperature had dropped several degrees, but at least that gave Rose an excuse to justify the shivers running down her spine.
"Take this," Thomas offered, about to take off his black coat to give to her, but Rose refused with the playful smile she used to give soldiers in the hospital. The same smile she always used to cover up her pain.
"So you can freeze to death and die of chivalry? No, thank you." Enough of murders for tonight.
"So you finally admit I'm a gentleman, aye?" He asked, glancing at her from the corner of his eye as they started walking side by side under the sky of London, whose distant stars seemed faded in comparison to the bright lamps.
"You're many things, Thomas Shelby. I'm not sure if more good or bad. I haven't figured them all out yet."
"And you think you will?"
Rose smiled, this time more freely, turning around to start walking backwards, eyes narrowing in a challenge.
"Have you?"
Thomas snorted and threw his cigarette away.
"You're many things too, Rose Salvage. But I don't think you're a murderer."
Rose stopped abruptly, her back colliding harshly with a lamp post. She didn't say anything, allowing her eyes to do the questioning instead.
"Your hands are shaking," he noted with a nod of his chin and Rose forced herself not to look, not to give him the privilege to be right. "They've been shaking since you returned to the café. The hands of a healthy person don't shake for many reasons, and certainly not for many good ones."
"Maybe I'm not healthy."
"Or maybe you did something you didn't have the stomach for."
Like a raging wave crashing down on a ship, Rose felt the sudden urge to hit him. He had no idea what he was talking about, how much stomach she had had to have over the years. The only type of blood she was afraid of was the one she couldn't clean.
"What are you suggesting then? That I killed that man?"
"Ya tell me," when Thomas cut the distance between them, Rose looked away from him, to the smokey and desert street because she could not bear to see herself in his eyes, as he saw her. "Did he do something to you?"
"No," Rose said, almost laughing at the irony of it. At the irony of it all. It was in times like this she couldn't help but think if there was some wicked force from above to whom people's lives were just a game. "I can give you the man's name if you want, and you can go talk to him in all his lively glory tomorrow. What kind of life do you lead, Thomas, for you to see murder and blood everywhere you turn?"
"The kind I hope you'll never have to experience," he replied, and Rose leaned away from the post and into him. Suddenly his eyes seemed to capture all the light, as if the moon had run from the sky and into them.
"Has it occurred to you, that maybe my hands are shaking because I'm cold and tired and sleep-deprived and also walking with a man everyone warns me to stay away from?"
"Then why are you here, Rose?" His voice was low and husky and Rose hated how good it sounded to her. She shouldn't have drunk the absinthe. He was more sober than her, and that right now was a disadvantage. It could be the difference between life and death. "Why did you say yes?"
"Why did you invite me in the first place?" She retorted, and Thomas gestured to her hands again.
"Like I said, your hands are shaking. So we're walking until they no longer are."
Her eyes widened; she couldn't stop it. Suddenly the smile in her face wasn't just about pain.
"Thomas Shelby doing a good action? What is this? Am I going to be beatified tomorrow for witnessing a miracle?"
His lips curled at the sides slightly and Rose felt the sudden, silly urge to pull a real smile from him, to make him grin until it hurt, but she didn't know how, or even if he had the ability to.
"Bad men do good things as well, ya know? To the right people."
"Right. From where I'm standing, you're hoping I'll take you to my house. You want to know where I live. Because Thomas Shelby needs to know everything."
"I was hoping to do more than just know where you live."
Rose snorted. "If you think I'm going to lead you into my home, into my bed, you can forget about it. For fuck's sake, Thomas, can you not see a woman without wanting to fuck her?"
"Well, I've seen your sisters and your friends and as stunning as they all are, I have no interest in fucking them. I have a very vivid remembrance of someone telling me to stay away from them."
"Threatening you to stay away from them," Rose corrected.
"Right, that," Thomas brought a hand to his forehead, his thumb caressing the bridge of his nose. "But I'll admit, I'd like to fuck you. But you don't seem interested in that."
"And you can't wrap your head around that fact, can you? That a woman might not be interested in you."
"Because they usually are," Thomas retorted, placing another cigarette between his lips, "or they end up being."
"You're unbelievable, you know?" Rose asked. "You think making me walk below the stars with you is going to make me instantly like you and spill all of my darkest secrets to you?"
"Something like that," he admitted as he lit the cigarette. He offered another to Rose, but she declined.
"Then you don't know me at all."
"You don't make it easy, love. You said you wanted to figure me out, well I've been trying to do the same all fookin' night and I haven't achieved it one bit."
"I'll take that as a compliment," Rose grinned, satisfied, and allowed herself to sigh for the first time that night. It wasn't a sigh of relief, but it was close. Somehow Thomas had found a way for her to come out of her thoughts and ease the suffocating hand that seemed to be clutching at her lungs.
"So was it you or Angeline that chose that song for the night?"
"Had you ever heard it?"
"Once. By the Somme."
Rose felt a sting to her heart at the mention of that name, that had taken so much and gave back so little. "Did you go back there tonight?"
"I go back there every night," a puff of smoke rolled from his tongue and into the night, but his stare stayed on her, "no difference for me there."
"So you noticed I left with a man," Rose commented when the two of them started walking again, side by side. There was no rush now. The last thing Rose wanted was to face a long night where her eyes would close but her mind wouldn't. If she stared at that bedroom ceiling any longer, she was sure she'd be able to map her entire life sequence on it. "And you were upset it wasn't you?"
"Yes." Believe me, you're not. "But you're here now. And I'm here too."
"Thomas, you do realize sooner a second war breaks out than something happens between us, right? We arrived, by the way," Rose had stopped by an old Victorian building that was part of the intricate net of safehouses that belonged to the French Kissers. She watched as he observed the house and wondered if he knew it wasn't her real one.
"You never know," Thomas said, tongue passing over his bottom lip. "They also said the war would be over by Christmas, and it ended up lasting for four years."
"Well, we're far from being a war, aren't we?" Rose replied, relieved to have found the right key in her purse.
"Not using the purse I gave you?"
"Didn't like the color."
"It's red."
"Wrong shade," she said, inserting the key in the lock and opening the door before turning to him. "Because I give people what they need, not what they want, Thomas."
"Hmm?"
"That's why I said yes to this walk. And that's why now I'm saying no. Goodnight, Thomas."
Rose entered the house and closed the door before waiting for an answer, so she didn't see how Thomas stood there and waited for her to turn on the light inside. It was only when he was sure she was safe that he whispered a 'goodnight Rose' into the night and walked away.
***
In the dead of the night, Nicolas and Christopher faced the cold of the living to let go of the dead. But while disposing of the body, both Nicolas and Christopher failed to see the man in the shadows. Unknowingly, they had over the years failed many times to see the man in the shadows.
author's note.
So now you know (a little bit more) about the meaning behind the name French Kissers! I hope you enjoyed this chapter and the late night walk between Thomas and Rose. Speaking of which, do you have any suggestions for their ship name? I was thinking of rommy, throse or tommyrose but I'm not sure! Help a girl out please :)
"Ya'aburnee" is an Arabic term whose meaning is important to this story and which you'll learn more about later on. For now, don't hesitate to leave your votes and thoughts on the chapter and I'll see you guys soon <3
P.S. I wonder who's the man in the shadows...