TROUBLE - peaky blinders

01. the enigma at hand

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CLARA SHELBY WAS AN ENIGMA. At least, that's what her Aunt Pol called her. Of course, the words that followed the phrase varied from 'go to your room.' or 'you're too much like your brothers.' — but it was true.

Clara Shelby was an enigma.

To most, she was that 'Shelby kid', the kid who wore her brothers hand me downs, she was the kid who'd discarded dresses for daily wear— (not because she wasn't fond of them, but because of their impracticality when it came to roaming the streets of Birmingham). She was the kid who was commended as smart but far too reckless for her own good as well for the good of her family, she was the kid who had a knack for finding trouble.

Arthur had once called her a weasel— said she slipped out of punishments quicker than the renowned vermin, (this remark had earned him a scornful scowl from the girl in response). Aunt Pol often told the girl that she had been running circles around her brothers from the moment she was born and Clara wouldn't have it any other way.

Being the second youngest Shelby already held her at a disadvantage and the fact that she was a girl just made things increasingly worse, so running rings around her siblings was not only terribly amusing, it showed her that no matter how hard her siblings tried, they'd never understand or diminish her wild streak.

I mean, there truly was no denying that Clara Shelby was an enigma.

"CLARA MARTHA SHELBY, YOU'LL BE LATE!"

And the enigma had school to attend.

Clara swung her legs over the side of the bed. She had been dressed for a while now but had chosen to stare at her ceiling rather than to face the day ahead of her. The girl bounded down the creaky stairs, entering the small kitchen where her aunt had arrived to cook breakfast for her and Finn. She glanced towards the empty seats at the table, noting her older brothers absence as she entered.

"Grab a slice and off you go." Her aunt instructed sternly, her eyebrows raised as she spoke. "And if you're hungry for more, you should've thought about that before you decided to be late."

"Not like I woke up wanting to be late," Clara answered, through a mouthful of food with earning her a smack from a tea towel. "Just happened."

Clara grabbed her coat from the coat rack and shrugged it on before grabbing the faded, grey peaky hat and dashing out of the house and onto the stone covered street. The people passing immediately shifted their gaze from the house, quite like they always did when they saw the door of number six Watery Lane open.

"Took you long enough, Shelby."

Clara whipped her head around to face William Clarke, who stood brazenly against the brick wall of the house.