𝙋𝙧𝙚𝙮, John Shelby

- 23

- CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE -

- IN WHICH SHE'S ON HOLIDAY

. . .

RORY HAD ADMITTEDLY been counting down the days until she would be going to London with the Shelby brothers, the girl finding it both surprising and incredibly kind of them to invite her on their short day away from home.

She was skeptical of how that worked out for John's kids, though the two adults had then managed to find a private Nanny who was happy to look after the rather chaotic bunch whilst they were gone. Thus with that sorted, they were enabled to leave the house much later than they often did and join the car on the pavement outside.

"They wouldn't let us leave until Ror told them another bloody story." John buttoned up his blazer as they reached the car, the girl laughing a little as Arthur ruffled her hair.

"They love you too much, eh?" The eldest Shelby chuckled, waiting for the two youngest adults to climb into the back of the vehicle so that he could sit in the front with Tommy.

"What can I say?" Rory perched on the edge of the back, fingers pressing into shimmering metal to keep herself from tumbling off the side. "Apparently the stories of my cousin making a fuck up of everything we do makes for good entertainment."

Arthur shook his head softly, sitting on the car door as it steadily began down the road. "Right!" He yelled, voice echoing down Watery Lane and the neighbouring roads alongside it. "The Peaky Blinders are going fucking on holiday!" He stood up on the chair, Rory and John laughing as they clasped onto the back of his jacket and tugged him back into the seat.

"Sit down, you mad bastard!" His laugh grew louder, the man stumbling wobbly back into the chair as Rory reached up to take the cap from his head and drop it onto her hair, letting it fall lopsidedly as she leant backwards a little.

"Gonna need that cap back later, Rory." Arthur spoke above the engine, the car swerving around the corner at the end of the lane. "You never know what could happen in London."

The Miller girl rolled her eyes playfully, lifting the hat from her head and dropping it into his lap. "London's fine, Arthur, it's the havoc you lot seem to attract that's the issue."

"You don't like it, Rory?" Tommy asked, eyes briefly watching her in the reflection of the car window before looking back down at the road.

She shook her head, elbows resting on her knees, face falling into the palms of her hands. "I wouldn't say I don't enjoy it.." She allowed her mind to grow clouded, thoughts running over the past year's experiences. "It's not like I know any different. Billy and I have grown up with the Birmingham Boys, and when our family members went to war my mum, aunts and myself had to run the stables. It would be far too boring if we lived normal lives - but conversely it would be interesting to see what it's like to be dull and classically English."

"Classically English." John grinned as he quoted her, gaze moving from the girl to the scenes around them.

There was yet to be a moment when he thought her dull.

. . .

"Look at this. Look." Arthur mused, slamming the car door shut, leaving a half asleep Rory to lie on the leather chairs whilst she waited for them to admire the random crowd of green hills they'd come across. "I love it. Scudboat's Esme has always been right about one thing; you can't beat the countryside." He stated, the Miller just about making out the enthusiasm in his tone as her mind drifted away. "I think I want to live in the country one day... and keep chickens.. yeah."

"We'll see you London, Arthur." John's voice was closer to the girl's head than at first expected, her eyes batting open to watch Tommy remove the material covering whatever was stored in the boot of the car. "For fuck sake!" He groaned, looking down under the material, Rory sitting up after noticing the shovels that were being distributed.

"This isn't quite what I remember London looking like." She stated, jumping out over the side of the car, catching the shovel that was thrown at her all too quickly. "Yeah, last time I went there were buildings, roads, living people."

"We need to bury him." Tommy ignored her comment, the three others paying distinct attention to the blood covered face in the space that could've been used for something a little more interesting.

"Who the fuck is that?" John's question was something of a large space of contemplation in the rest of their minds, Rory suffering a lack of remembrance for the man.

"It's Irish business." Tommy replied, resting on the handle of his shovel. "I thought it best if I dealt with it on me own." He wiped his face, leaning forwards to look at the corpse. "Come on, we did a thousand of these in France... John, grab his head."

"So we're not really going to London?" John asked, walking round to join Rory at the more blooded up end of the body.

"Once we bury him, then the holiday begins."

Rory rose her brows as she watched the body get lifted from the boot, the woman reluctantly following behind as it was dropped, the men waiting on her so that they could begin shovelling the dirt.

She had no idea how she had been stitched into this event. But alas, she would have to follow through if she wanted to go to London.

And after the last few heavy days of work, there wasn't a bone in her body that didn't want to go there.

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