Destruction of the Mind / [Thomas Shelby | Peaky Blinders]

chapter / three

Florence managed to pass through her first night at the bar stress-free, but more importantly, free from dealing with any of the Peaky Blinders. Harry was ushering the final drunk men out of the bar whilst she wiped the oak tables with a damp rag, the circle jug stains disappearing in an instant.

"Go on, you lot. Get 'ome, you'll frighten yer' wives if ya' stay out any longer!"

Once they were out, he closed and locked the door, then turned to give a smile of approval to Florence. She nodded in acknowledgement and carried on wiping down the last few tables. She returned the rag to behind the bar, where she picked up her belongings and ripped off her apron.

"That was a long night." She sighed, but with a pleasant smile on her face. "I really ought to thank you for actually giving me this job, Harry."

"Don't worry 'bout it, doll. Just be back here tomorrow, same time as tonight, aight? Now run off 'ome, don't get 'urt."

She waved Harry goodbye before unlocking the door and stepping out into the cold, dark night. She began her walk to the end of the street, keeping her gaze primarily in front of her to stay out of trouble as she heard voices echo through pitch black alleyways, and shouts from angry wives through the open windows of houses.

"Now what've we got 'ere, then?" She heard from beside her, a hand grabbing at the sleeve of her blouse, pulling her away from the road and into a short dead-ended alley.

There was a bonfire burning dimly at the end, near an old rickety fence. It barely illuminated her location but it was enough to see the dirty, chubby face of an unknown man. She backed up until she felt the wall behind her.

"Now, sir, if you please - I'm just on my way home to my husband, he'll be mad as hell if I'm home any later and..." He cut off her speech.

"Oh, come off it," He growled, inching closer to her, "yer' just a fucking whore, I see ya' coming out of the pub just now."

"Aye, get off of 'er," A strong voice shouted from the mouth of the alley.

Almost immediately, the man retreated. In the dim lighting, Florence could see he was starting to sweat as he looked at the figure who was walking towards them.

"Mr. Shelby, I'm sorry- I didn't mean it," The chubby man breathed heavily, "We was just playin', weren't we, darlin'?"

"Most certainly not." Florence spat, gaining confidence against the man whilst he was in such a barbaric state. "Don't touch me ever again, you hear me?"

The man nodded and scuttled off next to what Florence presumed was his bonfire, leaving her standing next to another man that she didn't know. She half-turned to look at him, but in the dark, she could only see the silhouette of his peaked cap and his crystal blue eyes.

"Thank you very much, sir, I best be on my way." She said, tipping her head to him in thanks, before almost jogging away from the scene.

He didn't reply, just turned his head to watch her leave before walking deeper into the alley with his fists at the ready. 

Florence hurried to the bed & breakfast, breathing heavily at the ordeal that just took place. She hated that it was only her first day at the job, and she'd already been jerked around by some horny, most likely drunk, man. She went straight up to her room and undressed, climbing into bed and staring at the ceiling.

 The male cowering in fear said the name 'Mr. Shelby' and Florence couldn't help but realise that one of the Peaky Blinders had saved her, which probably meant she owed them a hell of a lot.

The following morning, she woke and asked Cora if she could have a bath. The old woman agreed and Florence began to fill up the bath with buckets of hot water, excited to relax and forget about the events that occurred last night. She hadn't dared tell Cora, not wanting to worry her. She climbed in the bath, sighing in content as the hot water soothed her aching joints. She then grabbed the bar of soap, proceeding to clean her skin thoroughly as if she could wash away last nights events if she could scrub hard enough.

Florence dressed in a similar style to the day before, yet this time with a baby pink striped blouse with a long black skirt which, once again, finished just below the knee. This time, she draped her thin coat over her arm, prepared for the cold walk home after work.

She plastered on a brave smile as she walked down to the Garrison for her second shift, popping behind the bar and stuffing her things on a shelf beneath it, retrieving her apron. Harry greeted her with a small 'hello' and she begun to serve the customers. The doors burst open and a tall, well-built man stood in the entrance. His full lips were in an almost straight line, his face void of emotion. His strong jawline stood out, making his face contain such a quirky yet beautiful edge to it. Those eyes, however, Florence instantly knew those eyes. They bore into hers as he walked over to her side of the bar and took a seat directly in front of her.

She didn't realise that the whole bar had become silent, the other men only speaking in less than a whisper as if this man had cast a spell on them, getting rid of their usually loud booming shouts. She now knew for sure that he was one of the infamous Shelby brothers, but which one?

"What can I get you?" She questioned him, eyeing him carefully as reached into his tweed blazer pocket for a cigarette and a box of matches.

"Glass o' whiskey, please," He murmured, a cigarette sitting between his teeth as he lit a match, "You aren't from 'round here, are ya'?"

Florence had grabbed a glass and set it on the table in front of the handsome man, replying with a simple 'No, I'm not' as she filled the glass half way with whiskey. She returned the bottle before standing in front of him again, leaning closer to his ear. She could smell the scent of stale cigarettes and liquor as she got close to him, but for some reason, she thought it suited the man.

"I want to thank you again, for last night." She whispered, before returning to her original stance and grabbing a cloth from under the bar to wipe down the counter.

"You from London?" He asked her, taking a drag from his cigarette.

She nodded in reply as she moved the cloth around on the surface in small circles, trying to keep busy to avoid his hard gaze.

"My name's Thomas Shelby," He said to her, downing his glass of whiskey, then placing his cigarette back into his mouth. "thanks for the drink."

He slammed a shilling onto the counter, next to his empty glass and Florence watched as he stood up, walking into the private room she knew belonged to the Peaky Blinders. She took the money and popped it into the box under the counter, carrying on with her cleaning. A few men had their eyes on her but she ignored them. She couldn't help but assume that Thomas Shelby didn't usually familiarise himself with women, especially barmaids from London.