You and Arthur and a couple of the Lee boys, you'll be in charge of getting Barney into position. He'll be up in the lighting gantry.
We'll need chains and a twitch, Tom.
No. I will medicate him.
Peaky Blinders | 5x06 Mr. Jones
Idk everyone seems so peaceful, so keen on fandom etiquette, like... doesn't your heart burn with hatred sometimes? Don't you ever want to unleash your bitter hateful opinion on someone? Don't you wish certain blogs downfall?
Summary: Tommy considered himself dead ever since returning from France, but was, really, everything that came after just an extra when his own son denied him death? What possibly can become of him when life keeps insisting on itself? And worse, at some point, will learn to call him “grandpa”. | Word count: 3k2 (not proofread) | Contains references to The immortal man.
A/N: Have I... created a full grandpa Tommy universe? 🤨 Apparently yes. This is set between Paper trail and Family occasion
Sometimes the scene played on Duke’s mind over and over again. “I'm pregnant”, she had said. In that moment, she looked more like the copper, like the clerk of Birmingham's police than the woman who had been letting him into her bed for the last eight months. At that moment, he felt alone.
“And is it mine?” he asked. Her eyes widened, her hand came to deliver a slap across his face, he held her wrist, slightly pushing her away.
“Well, who else would it be?” she hissed.
He exhaled, swallowed, considered, then concluded. “Alright,”
“...alright?” her eyebrows arched, “that's all?”
“It’s my child,” Duke stated, struggling more to deal with the change than with accepting the idea itself, “we can… get married,”
She pursed her lips, leaned on the kitchen's counter. The small flat felt even smaller. She took a hand to her stomach, not as someone who keeps and protects, as someone who analyzes. “Married,” she repeated to herself.
Then, the realization came to him. “You're keeping it,” he spat, unclear if it was a question or an order.
“A baby, Duke,” she kept looking down, too scared to face him, “like, a whole baby,”
“Yeah.” he drawled, deciding to stay for that night.
And stay he did, the night after and after. Sometimes, because he feared she could simply disappear. Duke had never planned to form a family like that, to be honest, he hadn't planned much more in his life than robberies and dealings, it was during the night he acknowledged he would rather man up than to lose her.
Still, he knew he couldn't talk to her about it. She wasn't the type to go around screaming her feelings out, the assumption that she was, at the bare minimum, fond of him came from the fact she didn't leave after Beckett's death. He couldn't talk to his father either, because what would he say? “Sorry I didn't kill you, you're going to be a grandpa”?
In the limbo between his half dead father, pseudo wife and unavoidable continuation of the lineage, Duke spent his days.
It was still better than his father.
♥︎
Tommy pressed the D on the typewriter. The letter showed up on the paper. What was it? Done, dead, death, Duke? Space. He pressed the letter F.
Forgive?
Forget?
Fuck
Fucking
Fucking moving on
Fucking doing something!
Ever since he woke up in the hospital, amongst the injured and shell shocked soldiers, Tommy was reconsidering his life. Why couldn't he get things?
Couldn't get anything. Not family. Not peace. Nothing but a shit ton of money he had no purpose for. Couldn't get death either, couldn't pull the trigger, not anymore. He was doomed to live.
Tommy concluded he wasn’t a war, nor a race horse. He was a carousel horse. Wouldn't evolve, wouldn't regress, wouldn't move on or backwards. Reach, concluded, end.
Nothing.
He was sentenced to the extra.
♥︎
At six months, it was safe to say she made a decision. She was fully, very much pregnant and engaged.
Yes, probably.
Duke woke up alone in bed, he waited for any noises, throwing up noises, steps. Nothing. He got up and headed out of the bedroom. In the kitchen, she sat on the floor, back against the wall, an orange seasoned with salt in her hand.
The ghost of a smile crept on his face.
“This isn't funny,” she scolded.
“It isn't,” he agreed and pulled a chair to sit on, “no,”
In the minutes she took to finish eating, he had a whiskey glass. Those types of moments were real, felt realer than any crime he committed. He could disconnect from the violence, the chaos and everything that came with it.
He couldn't, and didn't want to, disconnect from the pregnant lady on the kitchen floor. She was real, palpable and slightly uncomfortable to have clinging to his back in her sleep, with her belly pushing him. Even if she would deny it to death if he voiced the habit out.
At last, she held out her arms so he could help her to get up. To slide down the wall was easy. Getting up was impossible.
“I feel like a ball.” she concluded before they went back to bed.
♥︎
Tommy put the radio box on his kitchen table. A Philco, new battery model. He cut the box open. Put the batteries on. Shifted it to the living room's corner table. Synchronized it.
“...rescue operations remain underway in affected districts. Citizens are advised to continue observing blackout regulations and to seek shelter immediately upon the sounding of sirens. Despite damages reported near railway lines and industrial quarters, production efforts remain active and uninterrupted. The Prime Minister-”
He turned it off. Stepped back. Looked at the mess of papers he left on the kitchen table. Should he write to Charles? To tell his son he killed a fascist? That he was fighting in this war as much as him?
Hesitantly, Tommy approached the papers, as if it was alive and could hurt him. He grabbed the pencil, fixed the glasses on his face.
Dear Charl
Charles?
Charlie?
Son?
Tommy dropped the pencil and headed to his office. He hoped he hadn't ran out of opium.
♥︎
“The news run fast amongst the gypsies,” Kaulo said through the phone, “that is good, what is a king without a queen? An heir?”
“Don't- Fucking-” Duke stuttered, “I'm not a king, my dad is alive,”
“That is questionable-”
“What do you want?” he interrupted.
“To say congratulations,” Kaulo explained, “and to offer my help with the wedding preparations,”
Duke froze for a millisecond, imagining his fiancee walking down the aisle, amongst the Palmers and the Lees, announcing that the Shelby lineage wasn't done yet. He could practically hear her complaining about cutting her hand to mingle the two bloods.
“Duke?” Kaulo called.
“Yeah, I have to go,” he put the phone down.
“What has got you so nervous?” there she came, starting to walk funny because of the weight of her belly.
“Nothing,” he negatively nodded.
“Is it business?” she asked. Somewhere in between getting used to him walking into the flat like he belonged and getting her pregnant, she had stopped trying to dissect information out of him. If he spoke, good, if he didn't, that was on him.
“No.”
Realizing he wouldn't answer properly. She sat on the sofa fidgeting with her nails. “I need to talk to you, about something,”
Worry glimpsed on his face. He took the sofa opposite to her and waited. Her eyes dropped, she embraced her stomach, pouted, searched for the right words.
“No one,” she hesitated, “knows about us,”
Silence for a second.
“Kaulo does,” he said.
“What?”
“Kaulo knows,”
“Who is Kaulo, Duke?”
“My aunt,” he explained. It was true, she had disappeared after her prophecy of Tommy and Duke killing one another failed, but still kept in touch every few months.
“Yeah, your aunt,” she muttered between mockery and frustration, then realized, “you told her?!”
“No,” he explained, “she has plenty of cousins, some must've seen you in the street,”
“And how do they know I'm me? How do they know it's yours?”
“It's obvious,”
Her face went blank. Yes, perhaps it was obvious to everyone out of the relationship. She gave up, sighed. “Well, my parents don't know,”
“Didn’t you tell them?”
“No,”
“Then do it,” he said, so softly it almost made it sound easy.
“It's not so simple, I haven't told them anything since- since I moved here,”
Duke stopped for a second. She was actually hiding things. It was no surprise she reacted this way when she found Kaulo knew. Apparently, she thought they could hide into their own corner of the world and no one would see them.
His face dropped a little. What was wrong with her? Amongst all her habits that felt foreign to him, the instability was the worst. The hot and cold. The “have the key to my flat” then “how do people know it's your baby?”
“So tell them the truth,” he weakly shrugged, “all of it,”
“Will you?” she avoided his gaze, like when little kids say they'll only do something if their friends do it with them.
“I can be there, yeah,” noticing her fragility, he put his annoyance aside.
“No, to your dad, will you tell him?”
With all God's honest truth, he answered. “I don't know.”
♥︎
That was weird. Yes. She knew it and knew her parents knew it. They wouldn't deny evening tea at their daughter's house, but the sudden change of address alone served as an elephant in the room.
Nevertheless, it was a simple call. At least to her, who, as an ex clerk, was used to political-like speech, polished and polite. Unlike Duke, who was used to “do it or else”. He couldn't use that technique to invite his father to an evening in which a pregnancy would be revealed.
And that was probably why he kept pacing around the phone all day. From the living room to the bedroom, to the kitchen, to the balcony. All while walking very close to it.
She wanted to scream. To scold him for:
1. Getting her pregnant;
2. Not closing up the world so only the two of them could live together without external interference;
3. Not just… picking up the fucking phone and calling his father.
Only when the sudden wish for a snack they probably didn't have at home kicked in, she decided to end his agony, because if something in this world wasn't easy, it was calling Thomas Shelby.
She bit her nails waiting for him to pick up. Or to not pick up, because that way no one could say they excluded him from the equation. He'd simply not pick up and become unreachable. That way-
“Hello,” his rough voice cut through her thoughts.
“Yes, hello, hm-” she gulped, “Mr. Shelby, it's me,”
He barely reacted to her introduction. Fucking hell, a rude “what do you want?” would make things easier than indifference.
Or what seemed like indifference.
“I'm calling because,” she decided not to reveal everything over the phone, “Duke and I will- we're making an evening tea with our parents and- hm, it's important, and we need you here… too, yeah,”
Duke came out of the bedroom, surprised face as if questioning what she was doing. She tried to shoo him away, but he remained right in front of her.
“Evening tea,” Tommy repeated.
“Yes, it's not for casualty, of course, we want to share some news with you,”
When he asked when and where, relief almost made her drop to her knees. She put the phone down, swallowed the tension away and gave Duke a sly smile, “See? It wasn't so hard.”
♥︎
Oh, it was. It was very hard. To say things got out of control was an euphemism. There was not a single dress which hid her stomach.
Because yes, she would announce the pregnancy, but she wanted to do it with words, not by showing up round and ready to give birth.
Duke was also trying to pretend he was in control. It was hard when there were already three dresses on the bed, her hairdo was getting loose and he was assigned to not let the cake burn in the oven.
“This one is nice,” he complimented the bluish one, trying to calm her down.
“It makes me look- even more pregnant,” she complained.
“You are pregnant,”
“Yes, but-” she hissed, “you are not helping! Get out!”
He left for the kitchen. She sat at the end of bed, hand running down her face. She had rehearsed the words, exactly how she'd deliver each new.
“Mum, dad, this is Duke, we've been living together for a while. He helped me when I lost my job at the police. And I invited you here because our relationship evolved, we intend to get married and I'm pregnant.”
Yes, that sounded good. She omitted some parts, but yes, overall, it was good.
…no
No, it fucking wasn't. They would kill her, and him, and everyone involved.
And oh, of course, Tommy fucking Shelby would be there too. She wondered if he was able to act less like a king and more like Duke’s dad, at least during the tea.
At last, she decided to keep the bluish dress and throw a white cardigan on top of it. Heading to the kitchen, she watched Duke staring at the oven, mind far away from the flat.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
He turned around in a quick reaction, as if caught red handed. “Waiting,”
“Our parents won't get out of the oven,” she joked, half funny, half please behave yourself.
“For the cake-” he tried to explain, dropping it in the middle and leaning into the counter.
“We- will be alright, right?” she soothed him even though she wasn't very sure herself, “It will be awkward and my parents will be very angry, but we will… survive.”
He didn't answer. Appreciated the gesture, but didn’t believe her. Then, she leaned on the counter next to him, waiting like naughty schoolers waiting for the principal.
The phone ringing sounded like a blast in the silence of the flat. She jumped, nearly ran to it. “Ma'am, I have Mr. Thomas Shelby-”
“Yes, let him in. Thank you.” she put the phone down and turned to Duke, “It's your dad.”
Duke gulped, waiting in front of the door. Three knocks. He waited a second and opened it. Tommy was dressed as usual, business attire, because that was the occasion, right? He'd meet his daughter-in-law's parents like two horse owners do when they breed.
She didn't have to announce it.
It was easy to deduce.
“Dad,” Duke greeted.
“Son,” he slightly nodded and got in. The flat was simple, not structurally, certainly the location raised the rent price, but it was small, more plain walls than wallpaper, few decorations, tiny paintings, a wall clock, a vase with no flowers and a horse statue.
“Hello, Mr. Shelby,” she stepped ahead, instinctively protecting her stomach, “my parents will be here soon, do you take tea?”
“Tea it is,” he accepted, sitting on the sofa. The place was so small he could see her moving in the kitchen. Awkward. Trying to keep her arms near her body while reaching for the cupboard. And then…
“Oh, fuck! Duke! The cake!”
Duke rushed to the oven. Turned it off. Grabbed a dishcloth and used it to shift the cake to the table. Not burned, but far, far from perfect. Tommy watched as they switched a look, they didn't need much words to share the overwhelming discomfort.
That was good, Tommy thought. Intimacy enough to communicate without words was good. Still, he would've preferred if, like he did twice, his son didn't get the girl pregnant before the wedding. Not over moralism, but for choice.
“I-” she started, “would offer you cake as well, Mr. Shelby, but-”
“Oh, there's no need.” Tommy concluded.
She shrunk under the cardigan. Slowly went back to making his tea. If that was already going bad, she didn't even want to think about her parents.
♥︎
Twenty minutes later, they arrived. The second her mother hugged her, the world stopped. Her silhouette didn't lie. Neither the two men behind her. They didn’t need explanations.
“Who are-” her father started.
“What's going on?!” the mother interrupted.
“Mum,” she gulped, “calm down! This is… Duke, and this his father, Tommy,”
The silence that came after felt like the quietness before the blast. Except that, the blast didn't come. Instead, her father's voice cut through.
“You moved in with a man,” it was a statement, not a question, “and didn't tell us,”
“I am telling you,” she closed the door behind them, avoiding their judgmental gaze, “this evening was meant so you and Mr. Shelby can meet each other and become aware that-”
“That you're pregnant,” the mother interrupted, “was this what you ran away from home for?”
“Mum, please,” she whined, “not here, not in front of them,”
Silence again. Tommy looked at his son, who only watched. At this point, nearly thirty years ago, Duke’s grandfather had already shot him in the chest.
“Did you say Shelby?” the father asked, “as in the Shelby Company?”
“Exactly,” Tommy said. Everyone almost relaxed.
Almost.
The father rubbed his eyes, frustrated. Great, the girl had got herself pregnant by a Shelby, but not by a respectable one. He took the sofa opposite Tommy's.
“Well, what now?” the mother complained, taking off her fur coat, “Tell us your big plan, if you have any,”
She pouted, still leaning on the door, switching a look with Duke as if he could pull her out of that situation. He gulped, eyes dropping, his mind screaming for him to do something, but his body didn't move. Not with her middle class parents looking down on him, not with his own father there like the judge of all things.
“Marriage,” Tommy answered instead, “Duke here will get married like all of us did,”
“Duke,” the mother spat under her breath, as even the name wasn't good enough. The father stared at the boy across the room, he couldn't even answer a question. He had trapped his daughter in a flat so small the living room and the kitchen were less than ten steps away from each other.
“Well,” she tried, again, to take control of the situation, “now that it's settled, I made a cake so we can- hm,”
She crossed the room in big steps, peeking at the cake under the kitchen cloth. The mother sighed, dropping her coat on the sofa. “What have you done, girl?”
♥︎
Three months later, the baby came at two in the morning.
After the wedding not happening, after her mother falling in tears acknowledging what had become of her daughter, after Tommy having to get in the way between Duke and her father after the boy being accused of ruining the girl's life.
After everything that, as tragic as it was, didn't stop life's course. All the sneaky or straightforward comments wouldn't make the baby disappear, nor remove Duke from her life, nor her from his, or Tommy from anyone's.
“It's a boy,” Duke told him on the phone few weeks later.
“...and what's the name?” Tommy asked quietly.
“Henry, Henry Shelby,” Duke said, “come visit, if you want.”
Tommy wasn't sure why he came, he only knew little Henry's bedroom looked like Charlie's, bluish tones, a horse toy, and the mother, holding the baby so close to her chest as if she could install him there.
“Hi, Mr. Shelby,” she muttered, the baby was sleeping, the brand new parents looked exhausted. Exactly like it was meant to be. “do you want to hold him?”
He barely had time to answer before she transferred the baby to his arms. Small, delicate…
Summary: Duke has many feelings about his wife's proximity to his dad, even though he's just a good grandpa and father-in-law now. | Word count: 2k8 (not proofread) | Contains references to The immortal man.
A/N: Or a fix it fic in which I yell "HERE DAMN!!" and provide the family figures both these men were lacking in the movie. Also, TOMMY LIVES. For context, this is straight up connected to this fic, it's the same couple in ultra domestic context. Do you need to read it do understand this? No
Birmingham, 1946
Oh, he hated it. Hated those fucking company meetings Charles insisted he take part in. Duke was starting to suspect it was a humiliation ritual disguised as brotherly etiquette, just the youngest cherished son rubbing in his face how educated and proper he was. Unlike him, the Romani kid who was brought into the family at the ripe age of twenty.
The building was quiet that night, too quiet. No neighbors in high heels, no babies crying, no radio loud enough to be heard through the walls. Inside his place, it was all dark. All the lights were out. No one was home.
He checked his watch. Nearly nine o’clock. Worry settled in his chest.
He had grown used to being greeted by his oldest boy, Henry, yelling and holding out his tiny arms to be picked up. Also by Melissa’s cooing, and his wife’s half-ironic remarks.
Turning on the lights, he peeked through the window, finding his parked car on the dark, empty street. At last, he sat down in the living room and waited. He had a guess on where everyone was. He didn’t particularly like it.
♡
Half an hour later, Duke heard giggles and a baffled curse behind the door. Henry walked in first, running to his bedroom with a toy car he didn’t recognize. His wife struggled with the baby and her bag. He helped.
Once inside, she didn’t say anything. She put the baby into her chair and started warming up dinner on the stove.
“Where were you?” Duke asked.
She sighed, tired, as if he had cut through her automatic state. “At your dad’s.” she said, as if it were obvious. “Did you eat?”
“Did.” he watched her move, unaware of what she could’ve possibly done wrong. Truth be told, she hadn’t, but it didn’t erase the irritation of coming home to an empty house while his father, who had chosen to withdraw from the world, got her attention and company.
“Hm, where?”
“…after the meeting.” he thought it was absurd she had forgotten. She hardly ever forgot anything.
“Oh, yeah.” she turned off the stove and stored the food back. “And how was it?”
“As usual.”
“Charlie speaks, you nod, and you shake hands at the end?” she joked. In his mood, it sounded more like an attack. He only nodded.
Finally, she leaned on the sink and held out her hand, a silent request for him to come closer.
Duke sized her up, staying where he was. He knew she hated when he acted like that. “Were you really at my dad’s until now?”
“Yes, of course,” she frowned, confused, “the children love him,”
“It’s half past nine,”
“We stayed for dinner,” she shrugged. “actually, we left at seven. He just lives too far from anywhere,”
He nodded, thinking, scowling, “Nine hours,”
“What?”
“Each visit lasts nine hours now? You left in the morning,”
She stilled for a second. “What is it, Duke?”
“I’m just saying,” he concluded, too casual to be real, “you've been going there a lot, you stay for hours,”
“Well, I only stayed later today. He insisted we had dinner, he’s been asking for a while and I just agreed this time,”
“Why?” that one came out sharper.
“Because-” she exhaled, frustrated, “because he’s old. He’s old and he’s lonely, Duke. He spends the whole day in that house, it’s just him. I get worried,”
“Why?” he asked, a bit too quietly. “He’s not yours,”
“Well, mine doesn’t give a fuck about me,”
Duke scoffed. Yes, of course she'd put it like that. “Alright,” he mumbled.
“Alright?” she arched a brow. She knew he wasn’t. “So, no greeting then? We last saw each other at seven in the morning,” she paused, realizing she'd have to be a little more straightforward, “you didn’t even kiss me.”
Somewhere between lazy and obligated to, he stood up and went to her. Duke stuck his hands in his pockets, not fully willing, but decided to do it anyway. She kept looking at him.
He leaned in, not soft enough to end the argument yet not harsh enough to make it seem he was angry. Protocolar. When he pulled away, she held the lapels of his suit, not tugging, not bringing closer or asking for more. A tiny reminder she didn't want to fight. That time, she leaned in, not for a kiss, slightly touching their foreheads together. Duke let it happen, and the second peck was less tense.
Still, a second after, he collected himself and walked out of the kitchen.
♡
Melissa was developing the habit of touching people's faces. Tommy seemed to be her favorite victim now. Henry kept riding his bicycle in circles in front of Tommy's door. The sunset was near and Duke should be there to pick her up soon.
Which, of course, was something he had never done before.
“You didn’t come with your car today?” Tommy asked. They were all waiting by the door.
“No,” she shook her head, “your son brought me, he’ll pick me up,”
Tommy gave a small hum, cradling the baby's head. “Does he treat you well?”
She glanced at him with a faint smile. “Why? Will you scold him if he doesn’t?”
“If you want,” he said with something that resembled amusement.
“Tsk, he treats me very well,” she was softer now, “I just wish he wasn’t so… distant,”
“Distant?” Tommy repeated.
“Yeah,” she crossed her arms, “he doesn’t visit, doesn’t ask, barely calls Charlie either, I just wish he was a bit more present in family subjects,”
Tommy didn’t answer, wondering if that was how his brothers, Polly and Ada felt about him.
“If my parents treated me the way you do,” she added, “I wouldn’t stay away like he does,”
Melissa stuck her tiny fingers in Tommy’s collar. Henry started to ride a bit too fast to be safe in the gravel. Tommy didn’t know what to say, she didn't understand the complexity of his and Duke's troubles and he didn't want her to anyway. Things were better this way.
The sound of an engine getting closer made her get the baby from his arms. “Alright then,” she muttered, “not this week, but I’ll come next,”
Henry ran ahead when his dad's car got in sight. Tommy nodded and froze when she wrapped an arm around him. Hesitantly, he reciprocated, also with only one arm.
From the car, Duke only saw how she rested her head on Tommy's shoulder. How Melissa was so comfortable with them both.
“Dad!” Henry called, “what do I do with my bike?”
“Hm,” he cleared his throat, “wait, we'll find a way to take it home.”
♡
“Oh!” she had said earlier, putting on her earrings, “I forgot to tell you, my mum called,” her discomfort was evident, “she and my dad want to throw a party for my birthday.”
“A party?”
“Yeah. I tried to talk her out of it, but-” she shook her head, “you know what they’re like.”
“Why now?” Duke asked, a little too flat, “They never cared before. Never showed up.”
She paused. The way he never measured words was always in a limbo of funny and rude, to be truth, she quite enjoyed it.
“Because you, me, the children and a cake from the local bakery isn’t a ‘proper party’ in their eyes.”
That was a bad idea. Fucking terrible. Melissa bounced lightly on her mother's leg as they all waited for the water to boil. Tommy’s kitchen was quiet, he leaned by the stove with Henry clinging to his leg, the rest of them were sitting.
Including Duke, who announced he would accompany her in the visit.
He watched how comfortable she was there. Had set the table, didn't try to fill the silence. For her, it was just an evening tea with her family. Nothing more.
As soon as the water boiled, Tommy shifted the kettle from the stove to the table. She immediately shifted the baby into Duke’s arms and stood up, pouring the water into the cups.
“Tea, love?” she asked Henry.
“I want cake!”
“There’s no cake,” Tommy replied, guiding the boy to sit beside him, already reaching for the bread and jam.
They looked like a family of their own, Tommy, her and the children. She fit into it too easily. Not as a guest. Something else. He didn’t care to name it. She surely cared for Tommy enough for that. When she caught Duke staring, she smiled in an affectionate, acknowledging gesture.
Once they were all served, she sat back down. “Is your back any better?” she asked Tommy.
“No,” Tommy tilted his head, “your time will come,”
“I hope so,” she laughed under her breath, “what about Charlie?” she continued, “I haven’t seen him in a while,”
“Neither have I,” Tommy said, “don’t you talk to his wife?”
“Sometimes,” she nodded, “but every time I call it sounds like there’s an army of babies in the background, so I suppose that explains it… still, we should arrange something. All of us, same day.”
Tommy nodded in silent agreement. Duke said nothing, just sat there with the baby in his arms. Not unwelcome, but unnecessary.
♡
“Ah, wait!” she said suddenly, turning as they headed out. Sunset was near.
Melissa had returned to Tommy’s lap and Henry, again, was clinging to his leg.
Duke stepped in, pulling the boy gently toward himself. Subtly rushing the goodbye.
She reached into her coat and pulled out a card. “My parents are insisting on throwing me a birthday party,” she said, making a face, “which I personally think will be awful, but since they're insisting on me,” she handed it to Tommy, “now I’m insisting on you,”
Tommy examined the card briefly, fingers tracing the gold details. “How old?”
“Twenty-seven,”
He nodded slightly, then concluded, “I’m not going,”
“What?!” she let out a short laugh, “you could at least pretend to have an excuse,”
The children giggled. Tommy adjusted the baby against his arm. Duke stood a few steps away, not interrupting, his face alone gave the dudgeon away.
“I’m serious, Mr. Shelby,” she added, “I don’t even want the party. It wasn’t my plan, but if I have to endure it, I’d rather make it bearable… and I’d really like you there.”
Tommy sighed, looking at the card again, considering his options.
“Me too, grandpa!” Henry cut in, loud and certain. That put the ghost of a smile on his face.
♥︎
The dress, undeniably beautiful, had started to feel uncomfortable hours ago.
The salon was decorated in gold and white. Balloons, flowers, something close to extravagant. Her parents hovered over everything. Commanding the party like a quarter.
Guests smiled, toasted, talked, people she hadn’t seen in years spoke to her like nothing had changed. The few children who had been invited had already disappeared, only reappearing in bursts, running across the room in loud groups.
Her husband had disappeared too. Figuratively and literally. First, she asked him to change his tie and the way he wore it. Then, the uncertainty of his dad's presence and then, gone.
When Tommy entered the room, all the heads turned. Dark clothes. Cap low. The conversations turned into whispers, about the presence of a MP, a Shelby, a gangster. She picked up a glass and went to him without hesitation.
“To be completely honest,” she said, offering it, “the wine in your cellar is much better,”
He took it. Nodded once. “Where are the children?”
“Whose children?” she joked, “mine are running around, don’t worry, they’ll find you. Now, your son seems to have disappeared,”
“Yeah,” he sipped on his drink, “he does that,”
“Yeah,” she exhaled, “I noticed.”
♡
Three hours later, the room got quieter. The gift table was full and the champagne bottles empty. All, or almost all of the guests had got a share of the birthday girl, a report of her life in which she omitted the most shocking parts.
Duke had only appeared again to sing happy birthday. Offering nothing more than a polite smile when she mentioned him on the toast she proposed. Then he disappeared again.
She found Tommy again near the edge of the room. “You’re free to go now, by the way,” she said, approaching him, “even though you didn’t bring a gift,”
“Are you expelling me?”
“Yeah,” she smiled, “before this turns into something unbearable. You won’t even be able to turn the car in a few minutes,”
He scoffed, half humorous, half "I had my fill of this sort of occasion".
“I’m glad you came, Mr. Shelby,” she added quietly, “It’s important for me and for the children to have-” she chose the words, what was he to them, really? “-you around,”
“...take care of him,” Tommy concluded, abandoning his glass on a table.
For a second, she watched him disappear between the other guests, and turning on her heel, she headed in the opposite direction. The garden was quieter, less crowded.
She found Duke sitting on the edge of the fountain, glass in hand, fidgeting with the bottom. His face looked younger like that, low eyes, visibly upset.
“We’re almost making it,” she announced.
“Making what?” he asked, distant, not looking at her.
“Through this day,” she sat beside him, letting out a breath as her head dropped against his shoulder, “God, I hate it. I hate when they try to interfere in my life,”
“They’re parents,” he said, staring ahead, “it’s what they do,”
“You always say that,”
“Because it’s true,”
She hummed, arms sliding around his, gloved fingers lightly squeezing. “Your dad’s leaving,”
“Yeah?”
“Hm-hmm,” she lifted her gaze, watching him. His leg started bouncing. She rested her chin against his shoulder, “maybe you should say goodbye,”
Duke hesitated. She gently took the glass from his hand in silent encouragement, didn’t say anything else, just waited.
He went. When he came back, a few minutes later, she was still there.
“Yeah?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he nodded, “he’s gone,”
“Good.” she stood up, arms wrapping around his neck, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Let’s go inside. I need to talk to my parents,”
“I don’t want to talk to your parents,”
“Oh,” she huffed, “neither do I.”
♡
With the guests gone. The servants worked in removing the decorations. While she threw the gifts into a large sack, Duke waited in the car.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” her mother’s voice cut the silence.
She didn't lift her head, just kept gathering the gifts. “What?”
“Inviting that man,” the mother sounded less controlled now, leaning towards anger.
“My father-in-law?”
“Yes,” she sighed, “unfortunately,”
“Mum, I’m not-” she paused, something caught her eye, a small red velvet box out of place among the rest. She slipped it into her purse instead of the sack, “I’m not going to fight you,”
“Neither am I,” her mother replied, softer now, “it’s your birthday. I just wanted it to be special, you spent years confined with that man and your children,”
That tone made her look up, “that man is my husband,”
“Arguably,”
She exhaled in disbelief, “He is, and I’m not confined, I’ve celebrated every year.”
“Oh, have you?” her mother tilted her head, “how?”
She didn't answer. Didn’t feel the need to.
“Why didn’t you ever invite us?” the mother insisted.
She let out a humorless laugh, “What for? So you could criticize everything?”
Tying up the sack, she left the salon.
♥︎
The house was quiet when they got back. The children had fallen asleep in the car, Duke carried one, she carried the other. Neither spoke much, worn out by performing her parents' middle class fantasy.
In the bedroom, she threw the sack into a corner and sat at the end of bed, hair already loose. She tried to reach the dress closure, neither angle did it. Sighing in frustration, she laid on her back, listening to radio Duke turned on in the living room. Soon, the smell of tea filled her senses, he usually didn't have it, but knew she did every night.
Then it clicked. She picked her purse, curious, searching for the velvet box. Not many of her jewelry came in those. Not because her and her husband couldn't afford it, it just wasn't a habit between them.
Inside, there was a pair of earrings. Not loud, not “look at me I'm middle class”, tasteful, chosen by someone who seemed to know her. Underneath, a tiny card with no signature:
For taking care of my son and my grandchildren. Happy birthday.
A tiny smile grew on her face. Sneaky fucker. It was understandable where her man got it from.
The floor creaked behind her, Duke got into the room, party attire replaced by a white undershirt, “What is this?”
“From your father,” she explained, not wishing to prolong it further. Then she closed the box and put it in the drawer, “did you make tea?”
“Did,”
“Good,” she concluded, wishing for nothing more than the night to end, “help me off this dress then.”
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