Chapter Text
Arthur nudged his brother in the side, nearly knocking the cigarette out of his hand, and pointed to a girl who had just walked out onto the street. She was young, but not as young as Tommy, and had slightly dark skin and hair tied up by a bandana.
“What about her?” Arthur asked, careful to not stare at her as she leaned against the brick wall and took the bandana out of her hair.
“What about her?” Thomas asked, barely looking up from his cigarette. She ran her hands through her hair and closed her eyes as she leaned her head against the wall. The sun warmed her face and for a moment she thought she could stay there forever.
“Look." Arthur elbowed Thomas in the side again, and nodded his head at the girl once again. Thomas rolled his eyes and looked at her, again, this time seeing the sun reflect off her skin, “What do you think?” Arthur asked.
“What do you mean?” Thomas turned his attention back to Arthur with a slightly puzzled look on his face.
“She’s gorgeous, and it’s time you took yourself a woman.” He raised his brows suggestively, and Thomas rolled his eyes again at his brother’s antics. “C’mon, Tommy. You’re almost a man.”
“No need to force it.” Thomas took another pull off his cigarette and looked back at the girl, who had tied the bandana back in her hair, and was just standing against the brick wall. She looked over at the two brothers and gave them a faint wave. Thomas gave her a small nod and took one last puff of his cigarette and stamped it out with his foot. He turned toward the door they were standing in front of and opened the door for Arthur before following him inside.
“I’m just saying.” Arthur was speaking over his shoulder as Thomas followed him down the hallway. “Don’t wait too long.” They stepped into the parlor of the house and found their mother cutting bread for dinner. Her hair was tied up, but a few loose tendrils had shaken free and framed a face that looked paler than normal; it always looked pale these days. She looked up as her sons walked in and pointed to the table with her knife.
“Boys, set the table.” She said, returning back to preparing the meal. “Your father will be home any moment now.”
“Wish he wouldn’t.” Thomas muttered to himself.
“What was that, Thomas?” His mother asked, not even looking up from the kitchen counter or ceasing her actions. There was a sharp edge to her voice that told her that she had heard what he said and was giving him a chance to rectify it.
“Nothing, mum.” He said, and took the cups off the table so Arthur could wipe it down. “I wish you wouldn’t insist on cooking every night. You need rest.” Arthur hummed in agreement.
“Nonsense, boys.” She turned and put the dishes of food on the table. “I’ll cook for my family 'til I’m six feet under.”
“I wish you wouldn’t joke about that, Mum.” Arthur winced and set the table, but they all knew that their mother wouldn’t stop. Her wit often got her in trouble, an unfortunate trait that was passed on to the majority of the Shelby children. Their mother gave them a knowing look and nodded at Thomas.
“Go get your siblings for dinner.” She said, and Thomas nodded and climbed the stairs of their house. It wasn’t much, but it was dry in the rain and warm in the winter and never lacking in love, and sometimes that was just enough.
“Ada, John!” He called down the hallway. "Dinner!” A moment later, two bodies barreled past him, almost knocking him off his feet. The kids never had a shortage of energy in their system. Thomas shook his head and walked down the steps after them, pausing momentarily at the bottom to look out the window at the girl who was carrying an empty basket out of the house. It was that basket that would bring Thomas and the girl together, and it was that basket that would carry their newborn daughter to his doorstep about a year later.
1919, Birmingham
Amara hated the Chinese quarter of Birmingham. It was always too loud and crowded, and half the time she got lost before she ended up at her destination. She knocked on the door of the Chinese tailor took a step back as she heard the locks click.
“Sorry,” He said peeking through the space available from the door’s chain lock, “We don’t open for another hour.” His voice was accented and Amara could barely understand him through the surrounding noise. Even in the early hours of the morning, there were people bustling about. She stuck her foot in the door as he tried to close it and cocked her head to one side.
“I don’t think you understand.” she said and held a note out to him. “I’m not asking. He wants to do it today. One hour. Follow the instructions on the paper.” The man took the note from her hand and paled visibly. He nodded frantically and bowed his head and Amara removed her foot from the door frame.
“Of course. My apologies. We will be there.” He closed the door gently and Amara turned on her heel to walk back to Small Heath in the early hours of the morning. She took the long way along the canal, preferring to stay in semi-clean air for as long as possible. By the time she got back to Watery Lane, the sun was beating down on her neck, a careful reminder that summer was almost at its end. She pushed open the doors to the house and found Finn smoking a cigarette next to the fire. At the sound of an opening door, he looked up quickly and visibly relaxed when he saw it was Amara.
“Oh, it’s just you.” He said and put the cigarette back in his mouth. “I thought it was Aunt Polly.” Amara just shook her head and took the cigarette from his mouth and plopped herself down on a chair next to him.
“You’re too young, Finn.” She said, putting the stick in her mouth and puffing on it. Finn rolled his eyes and leaned back in his own chair.
“I’m eleven Sunday.” He protested and he took the cigarette back from Amara’s hand. She waved a hand at him.
“Yeah?” She stood up and went to open the double doors that led into the betting room. “See how that holds up with Aunt Pol.” She said over her shoulder and walked out of the room, but not before she saw Finn roll his eyes into the fire. The betting room was crowded as always and there were runners coming and going frantically, dumping money on tables and yelling across the room. Amara ran her fingers through her hair and stepped into Arthur’s office to find him reading the newspaper with a drink in his hand. She kicked the door frame and he looked up, his anger softening as his eyes landed on his niece’s face.
“Hey, love.” He folded his paper and set it on the desk in front of him. “Up early, are we?” he joked, and Amara rolled her eyes. It was no secret that Amara's favorite past time was sleeping. She sat down on one of the chairs across from his desk and picked up the paper he set down whilst swinging her legs on top of his desk.
“Yeah.” She opened the paper and sat for a moment pretending to read whatever article she flipped open to. “Dad had me run some errand.” Arthur shoved her feet off his desk, which made Amara put down the paper in annoyance.
“What errand?” He asked and Amara folded the paper and put it back on the desk.
“He wanted me to give a note to the Chinese. Mr. Zhang.” She folded her arms across the desk and rested her head on her hands. “Don’t know why I had to do it so early, though,”
Arthur sighed. “So it would happen before betting hours started,” He ran his hands through his half shaved hair and downed his drink. “He’s doing the powder trick, I know it.”
“The what?” Amara asked, but Arthur continued as if he didn’t hear her.
“I told him not to, they have their own runners. They’re gonna fuck with our business, I know it,” Arthur paced around the small room for a moment before walking out onto the betting floor. “Right. Anyone sees Tommy, you tell him I want to see him. NOW.” He walked back into the room, nearly running into Amara, who was now standing in the doorway of his office.
“What’s the big deal? I’m sure Dad has a plan, he always does.” Amara said, stepping to the side so Arthur could return to his desk.
“Yeah, that’s what’s worrying, love.” Arthur sat back down behind his desk, and Amara just leaned on the door frame.
“I’m sure it’ll be fine.” She said, sparing Arthur one last glance before she walked out of his office and out of the betting room, passing a still smoking Finn. Amara stood by the door frame of the house and smoked a cigarette. It was days like this that she was okay with being awake early. The sun was shining in the sky, casting a warm glow over her face as she puffed smoke out of her mouth.
“Morning.” someone said. Amara cracked one eye open, unaware that she had even closed them. Next to her was her father, Thomas Shelby. His hair was hanging down over his face, peeking out slightly beneath the flat cap he always wore, his shoulder leaning against the fading brick facade of the house. Amara held a cigarette out to him, a gesture that was readily accepted by Thomas.
“Morning, Dad.” she said, turning to face him. “Alright?” Thomas nodded and paused to let Amara light the cigarette hanging from his lips.
“Alright.” He said. “How’s business?”
“Good, I guess.” She shrugged. “Shop looked busy.” The ghost of a smile crept onto Thomas’s face.
“Good.” He pushed past her and walked into the house.
“Dad!” She called after him and she heard his footsteps stop just past the doorway. “Arthur wants to see you.” She heard him sigh and continue to walk into the house and Amara leaned back against the wall and continued to smoke her cigarette.