For The One Who Stayed - Peaky Blinders

XIV. for the one who stayed

☾

Effy sat with Arthur the whole night. She was afraid he'd use a kitchen knife or throw himself in the fire. They didn't speak, they didn't need to. The heavy silence hung in the air like a shroud. The rubiginous appliances, once symbols of domestic normalcy, now seemed to mock the fragility of life. Arthur crouched in front of the fireplace, dying, the both of them—him and the flames, his eyes vacant and haunted by nothing but pure shame. His hands trembled slightly as he absentmindedly traced the rim of his cuppa, the bitter taste lingering on his tongue.

Across from him, Effy— she was in the corner, sitting in silence, her gaze fixed on the patterns of the linoleum floor. And him. The tension between them was palpable, a silent exchange of unspoken words that carried the weight of the recent act. The morning sunlight filtering through the curtains failed to penetrate the heavy atmosphere, leaving the room in a muted, despondent stillness. The quietude enveloped them, a stark reminder of the permanent end of their being, and the profound impact it has on those left behind. Of the one, who was left behind.

The scars of his attempt were still fresh, both physically and emotionally. The distant hum of traffic outside and the sound of people seemed inconsequential compared to the storm raging within Arthur.

Gazing into the abyss of his tea, Arthur's hands, once steady and reliable, betrayed the inner turmoil that consumed him. His fingers traced the ceramic edge almost mechanically, a desperate attempt to ground himself in the tangible. The weight of his niece's presence across the table was both a comfort and a torment. He could feel the unspoken questions in her eyes, a desperate search for understanding and reassurance. Yet, the words eluded him, trapped in the recesses of his guilt and shame.

He grappled with the silent plea for connection from Effy, a connection he feared he had severed irreparably. The bitter taste of regret mingled with the tea on his tongue.

He was her favorite uncle.

Effy, her mind was numb. She was so angry at him, and when Polly came she couldn't speak. She just couldn't and so Arthur had to. And the look that her great-aunt had given her was so distant yet warm, that woman could suck the pity out of Arthur and give it to Effy.

Polly told her to go upstairs and sleep, but the girl wouldn't budge.

Tommy came home eventually. He looked at his neck. He put his large palm on his shoulder. Said a few things, so did Arthur. He took off his coat. She heard the mention of Polly. Left it unfinished.

And only then he looked at his daughter.

Her legs were up on the chair, her arms wrapped around-- squeezing it to her chest. She didn't look back at him. Tommy gave one last look of reproach to Arthur before heading toward Effy. He didn't say anything as he took her by the hand, but she sat stiffly. Tommy— understanding that she was elsewhere, mad at the word mayhaps, — instead picked her up in his arms, one hand under her knees and one supporting her back. She was heavy, not the little ten-year-old he used to carry, and who he had left behind. But he carried men twice her size in the war, and she felt so light now.