Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
ᴛᴡᴇɴᴛʏ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ 𝑃𝑜𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤𝑠 𝑏𝑒𝑠𝑡
❦
It felt wrong to celebrate. Perhaps it was only Arthur who thought that. But his situation was different. He was thinking of very different things as his family gathered.
"Hold on. A few words I'd like to say from the heart, and this time, you're gonna let me finish Tommy."
Arthur didn't know what had convinced him to speak up as Tommy finished his brief speech. The words were tumbling from his lips before he could stop them, coming out far merrier than he felt as he sat around his family in one of Tommy's large reception rooms. The fire was roaring a rosy orange in the hearth and the drink had certainly warmed his stomach enough to make him feel cheery. But all of the usual things did not have the same effect on him.
With his crystal glass of whiskey in his left hand, his right tucked into his pocket, Arthur stood to make his speech. There wasn't much for him to say- they'd all been there when Changretta was killed and they all shared the same sense of relief. There was nothing to inspire, no reason to try and motivate with humour. They weren't going off to fight again, after all. There had finally, for once, reached the end of something.
"Now, as you all know, Arthur Shelby is dead. 'Cause of that, Tommy's offered me a way out. A new identity. Start a whole new life for meself," he said. "I've thought about it. Made a decision."
He hadn't thought about it. He hadn't made a decision. Not until that moment, at least. In truth, his thoughts over the last two days had been entirely consumed by Maria. That path of his life felt like a dead end.
Arthur grinned, holding out his lean arms. "I ain't going fucking nowhere!"
His family cheered to him, and Arthur smiled even wider. It was that feeling that he loved, that he stayed for. The feeling of forever being comforted by those around, of being supported and wanted.
"Our enemies are gone. Dead, all of them. For the first time since me, me two kid brothers, Tommy and John, enlisted in the Warwickshire Yeomanry, we have peace," Arthur said, looking to Tommy who stood still in the corner of the group. "So, I think I'd like to make a proposal, that all of you, the Shelby Company Limited, insist that Tommy here take some time off. Time you took a holiday Tom. Put your feet up. War's over. No one wants to kill us."
Light laughter circulated the room and Tommy stayed quiet. Arthur held his glass up again. "To peace," he said softly, and then the repeats followed. "To peace."
As the drinking and chattering began again, Arthur returned to his own glass, of which was now empty. It looked pitiful, as he poured in the golden-brown liquid rather desperately, watching the bottom fill as it sloshed across the rim. It took Polly five minutes to make her way toward him. Five minutes in which Arthur could feel her watchful eyes laying on his back.
"Is it really peace if you're at war with the woman you love?" Pol said as she came toward him, leaning so she could speak in his ear, stealing his drink for herself as she did so.
"We're not at war, Aunt Pol."
"No, it's worse," she said, pausing to take a swing at the whiskey. "You think about her in each waking hour, while she hates you. At least a war would be exciting. This... this is excruciatingly at a standstill."
Arthur sighed heavily and took the drink back from her. "Can you not, Polly?"
She scoffed and raised her eyebrow in the expression that she usually did when she was unimpressed. He'd learned not to be bothered by it, but that didn't mean she didn't intimidate him. "So what are you going to do?"
"What am I going to do?"
She nodded her head, gesturing to him with two hands. "How are you going to fix this?"
"I can't fix this now. I let her think I was dead. She went to my funeral and then I killed her fucking brother," Arthur snapped, letting out a mad breath. "It doesn't matter that I had to do it." He looked away. "Not in her eyes."
He pulled the cup towards his lips, feeling the need to tip the whole thing back and pour himself another. It wouldn't do much, but he had to force himself to think of anything other than the white powder that could give him a little relief. At least he had some control of the alcohol. But as he went to drinking, Polly took the glass forcefully from his hand, and instead of bringing it to her own, she tipped the liquid into one of the table's ornaments and slid the glass to the other end of the table.
"You want to fix things?"
Arthur paused, and then decided to be truthful. Polly would see through him either way. "More than anything in the bloody world."
He'd thought about her at night when he tried to sleep, in the morning when the light graced the tops of the rows of roofs on Watery Lane like a glowing halo and he thought about her now. It was always the look of horror on her face that was brought to mind. The tear-stained cheeks and crazed eyes. The look of betrayal was a better description. He saw the gun in her hands and heard the accusations fall from her red lips.
'Because I have hate.'
Hate could not be fixed, as Polly would have it. Hate burned in the heart, scarring and scorching a permanent mark of remembrance. Maria did not use the word lightly. She hated him. She hated him with every fibre of her being for what he did. And Arthur hated himself a little for it too. The world could end in fire and flames, for all he cared. Arthur truly wanted her more than anything on earth.
"You softie," Polly teased, surprising him with the tone of her voice.
"Shut up," Arthur groaned, rolling his eyes. "Don't tell Tommy."
"Everyone knows, Arthur. Everyone knows about her," she said surely, glancing to Tommy, who was watching them from where he sat on the arm of a chair beside Lizzie, her head resting against his leg. "I'm the only reason they're not interrogating you."
"You knew before everyone. You're fine with it all? How? Why?"
"I could see it in her eyes," she said, and he could recognise the soft smile on her face. "And in her belly."
Arthur did not seem to register her meaning.
"I can help you mend the wounds. If you let me sort it all my way."
You can't heal wounds that are too deep, Arthur thought. He'd seen enough in France to know when an injury was fatal. The gash that'd torn him apart from Maria was one of them. How could she possibly bring their relationship back from the dead? Those were the thoughts that ran through Arthur's head, though admittedly in a far less articulate manner.
"You can try," he said, and even those words alone filled him with a dreaded hope.
Polly smirked. "That's all I ask."
She left him feeling weak. That prior feeling of comfort felt useless now. If she wanted to fix things for him, then he would let her try. But no matter what happened, Arthur couldn't let himself dream. He just dreaded to think of what Polly's plans entailed.
