𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐃𝐘 𝐎𝐅 𝐖𝚰𝐍𝚰𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐁𝐘 | ❝ I never thought too much about death. ❞
━ IN WHICH Winifred Shelby finds a sweet boy amongst the coal and smog of Small Heath. Or, alternatively, Winifred Shelby falls in love with a lie...
Exams are over and I'm still alive. Andy bought the cigattres for me. I cannot spell that damned word. Cig a rets. Nope, that feels wrong as well. I prefer the slang. It's easier. But he bought them and even though I offered to pay (he just had to go into the shop because if I'm seen buying them and a Peaky Blinder is the one who hears of it, my aunt Polly will know I'm the thief) he told me no.
"You haven't got to pay when I'm around."
He said in his handsome voice. I've quite grown to like the sound of it. Especially when he says my name. "Winifred." It sounds like velvet personified. I love hearing my name from him. Nobody calls me Winifred save for Polly or Tommy when I'm in trouble.
"WINIFRED MIRIAM SHELBY!!!!!"
God, I've so many memories of Pol shouting my name from the house while I dirty my Sunday dress in the coal smeared streets. Or that time I cut Fawnie's hair as a way to help Johnny because he was busy and couldn't get to her and he screamed at me so loud I cried. He apologized soon after and told me not to take scissors to my sisters hair EVER again.
I swore an oath.
I remember once when Tommy took me riding that I startled the horse and it nearly kicked me, he grabbed me faster than I've ever seen a human man move and probably saved my life. Not many people survive a horse's kick to the nogging.
Middle of March | Dear Diary,
Sylvia says I'm getting better at reading agendas. Fawnie's also getting incredibly good at long division. She still needs to write the steps down but she's learning so fast. I swear by the end of this school semester she will be caught up to me. We go on spring holiday soon. Some call it "Spring Break", I think it's an American saying.
It sounds stupid in my opinion. You don't call a holiday a break for fucks sake.
I found a black cat behind the house and when I tried bringing him inside, Polly smacked me. She's never struck me on the cheek before but she said how bad luck a black cat is and then read my tea leaves. She didn't tell me how they were. Just told me to come up to my room.
That's how I found meself writing today. My penmenship is truly something to behold. I'm getting much better at remembering the proper letters. I was taught cursive as a child and now I'm being forced to learn how to print. I hate it.
Trying to separate my letters is very quite difficult. Fawnie's fucking amazing at it because she was taught print first and NOW she's learning cursive. It's like we're teaching one another. I wish Finn would stay in classes for more than ten minutes. Maybe he wouldn't be so thick if he did. But he never listens to anyone.
In the future he's going to regret never learning. The only thing he's good at is counting. Suppose he's going to be the next John Michael Shelby.
I just remembered we go to the circus next week!
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