Calloway // Michael Gray x Reader - Peaky Blinders Fanfic

Chapter 47

Calloway

I lie in the dark with Michael. My head laying on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. He smells like soap and white musk, his chest rising and falling with each peaceful breath as he sleeps.

I love him. I love him with every part of me, and it causes a strange dichotomy, an ache in the hollow of my throat. I don't want to lie to him. To deceive him.

I also won't risk him getting hurt. Not for me.

Polly's gentle knock comes at the door. Two fast, two slow, just as we'd agreed. I take a moment to inhale, to appreciate how Michael feels against me.

And then I carefully slide free.

"I have your clothes here," Polly whispers, handing me a black fabric rucksack as we make our way silently down the stairs. "You can get dressed in the car. I've parked us up the road, so the engine won't wake him."

"We're driving all the way to London?" I ask in a whisper.

"Of course not. Just to the train station."

We slip through the front door, Polly pressing a finger to her lips as a reminder not to make any noise as we shut the latch behind us. My heart pounds so loudly in my chest, I'm amazed that doesn't give us away. Polly's dark eyes shine with mischief, with elation, as we step out into the cool Birmingham night.

It's so cold my breath escapes me in a cloud, and I tuck my hands firmly into my pockets to try and warm them as we make our way up the street.

"Great thinking," I tell Polly, "doing this two nights early."

"Well, we know he's not home. We checked his hotel bookings in Birmingham. Tommy will be so focused on keeping us away the night of the speech, maybe even suspecting we'd head in a night early. He'd never suspect us of choosing tonight to act."

"Polly..." I hesitate as we get in the car, as I pull the layers of black fabric from the rucksack and begin to dress while Polly starts the engine to life. "We are doing the right thing, aren't we?"

She turns to look at me. "If you're having second thoughts, love, you go back now. Go keep Michael safe and warm. Either way, I'm pushing ahead. I won't let him get any more involved in all of this. It's..." She swallows. "It's my job as his mother."

"I'm not having second thoughts. I just... don't like lying to him." I finish dressing in the black fabric, folding my clothes and chucking them in the back seat.

Polly chuckles. "You're a better wife than I ever was."

"Not a wife," I remind her.

"Sorry. Girlfriend," she corrects herself. Then she's quiet for a moment. Mulling something over before she voices it. "Thank you for loving him," she finally says. "For keeping him safe."

I awkwardly run the bag strap through my fingers. It's difficult enough for me to voice my feelings to Michael himself, let alone discuss them with anyone else. Especially his mum.

But, it's Polly. And so I tell her quietly, "There's no need to thank me."

She smiles at me as we pull into the train station. "Even so."

"I mean it." I try to sound unaffected by my words, try to hide the way they pain me deeply. "None of this would be happening if not for me. It's my fault he's in danger. It's my fault you all are."

"Just another Tuesday night for us," Polly says, taking my hand and giving it a quick squeeze. "You'll soon learn we do danger well, and we do it frequently. Michael was always going to get tangled up in it eventually. At least now he has you."

I smile at her gratefully. Her eyes flicker, like she wants to say more, but stops herself.

I take the opportunity to end the conversation before I feel even worse, and get out of the car. We make our way to the platform and wait for the train. The wind breezes past, and I turn, frowning at a shadow in my peripheral vision. Worrying it's one of Mosley's men tailing us. But there's nobody there. Just us, waiting.

The train light comes into view round the corner, the plume of steam chugging and the squeal of brakes announcing its arrival. Nerves dance in my stomach. After this, there's no going back.

We board the train. It's mostly empty, only a bare handful of stragglers on the carriage. We take seats, and Polly presents our tickets to the conductor, informing me she'd been wily enough to buy them earlier that day. I rub my gloves hands together.

The conductor gives us an odd look. I suppose we do look rather strange. Two women, in this day and age, in pitch black black trousers and turtlenecks and hats and boots. And that's without him seeing the pistols we have concealed. We look like cat burglars. I suppose for tonight at least, we are.

The train begins to gather speed and momentum. I cannot make out much of the countryside that flashes by, but I've caught this train enough to know we'll surely be speeding past fields and farmlands. The last time I took this train, I'd felt sick at the thought of Michael breaking my heart.

I glance to the other end of the carriage, and blink.

Surely I'm imagining Michael sat there. Surely it's just because of my late night musings, my sleep-deprived mind feeling jumbled.

But he raises his eyebrows. His cool gaze locked on me.

And when he stands and approaches us, Polly clasps my arm.

"Fuck," she mutters.

We've been caught out.