peaky blinders imagines

the inexorable change of seasons; john shelby

The bottoms of your dresses always seemed to be dyed black, and it drove your mother insane. She'd be beside herself whenever you came home, inquiring as to where exactly you'd been spending every waking hour of every day, and growing increasingly agitated at your repeat evasive statements.
She assumed you were drinking, had joined the caravan of girls who parked themselves next to whatever coal bin smelled least noxious and passed around a bottle of whiskey, speaking far too loudly about the useless men they'd chosen to become involved with.
You'd never had an interest in those day drinkers, but you suspected they'd find your man to be the most carefree and reckless of them all.
-
"C'mon!" He urged you, hand entangled tightly in yours as he tugged you along winding back alleys, an empty urban wind whipping in your hair. You laughed at his urgency, a rapid pace unbefitting of the lazy Sunday afternoon you currently found yourself in the grip of.
"John Shelby, are you hiding me from your brothers?"
"Not-hiding," he said, pace slowing to a walk, "'m protecting you from 'em so they don't rip you to bloody shreds. I'd like a piece of you first."
Another laugh escaped you, but you didn't miss the genuinely affectionate look he tossed over his shoulder, taking a hard right and stopping at the entranceway to a garden.
It wasn't much to look at, mostly a mess of almost overripe tomato vines and the occasional blooming gardenia, but you recognized it as the land behind his home, seven blocks south and three units down from yours.
"Why'd you bring me here?" you asked, winding your arms around his neck and kissing him before he had the chance to answer you.
"Well, that, mostly," he answered, cheeks heating to a dark red while his left hand scratched the back of his neck and his right securely slipped around the curve of your waist.
"Mostly?" you taunted, raising the question only for the pleasure of seeing him slip into an even darker mauve. To your surprise, his hand left the base of his head where it had steadied itself and fumbled in his coat pocket, pulling out a box about the size of the palm of your hand.
"Go on, open it." Both his hands joined together behind your back as you took the dark green box from him, pulling it open to find a necklace.
The chain was plain enough, a shade slightly darker than sterling, but on it had been strung a ring, one with gold rim and a small emerald set as its crown jewel. Before you could open your mouth to express your delight, John cut you off.
"It's my mum's wedding ring. She, ah, wanted me to give it to a girl I love. 'N the chain is from the shop down the street, y'know, Allmans. Didn't want you to think I was proposing too soon or anything."
"You love me?" You asked in a nearly silent whisper.
"I do, yeah. Not a problem?"
"No, idiot," you found yourself laughing for the third time in the span of ten minutes, balancing your palms on his chest and leaning in to kiss him softly, "I love you too."
-
Autumn was on the edge of turning into winter, fireplaces finding their first use since March, and temperatures threatening to drop low enough for snow.
Nevertheless, you found yourself warm enough, tucked into a small corner behind the coal shed with John's body crowding yours in.
He'd been kissing you for the last few minutes, cap pulled tight over his hair and casting shadows over his face.
"I missed you," he murmured, brushing a stray hair out of your face.
"You were only gone for two days," you chastised him, smiling all the while. He'd gone to Manchester with his brothers for the weekend, purportedly to visit some third cousin of theirs, and he'd been torn up about leaving you for so long. These anxieties were vocalized to you repeatedly, and he'd refused to let you see him off, afraid he'd blubber like a child in front of the family.
"Two days too long."
You shook your head, and he leaned in to kiss you again, your hands finding purchase on the nape of his neck before sliding up to lightly grip his cheeks.
He flinched when your index finger brushed under his right eye, just barely, but enough to make you notice.
You pulled away immediately, carefully peeling John's hat off as he looked down in shame. A large bruise formed a ring around his right eye, with his pupil forming the bullseye. You inhaled sharply, and he shook his head.
"Don't say anything, love, please."
"I don't like you fighting," you muttered back to him.
"What was I meant to do?" John asked, throwing his hands up in frustration. "He was talking bad about you!"
"He doesn't know me."
"Doesn't matter, he said my girl's a whore, I fucking broke his nose and I don't regret it, now do I?"
You sighed and leaned forward, resting your forehead against his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around you, hands combing through your hair, and you found it impossible to stay angry with this not quite man, who was still so rash he'd throw punches to defend your honor to someone who didn't know you.
-
Winter had overstayed it's welcome by the beginning of February, the magic and twinkling lights of the season giving way to bitter cold and routine, unforgiving snowfall.
It was the coldest day of the season so far when you saw John off, your baby bump barely visible beneath your layers of clothing.
He'd held your hand tightly all the way to the station, staring nearly incessantly at the swell of your stomach, seemingly willing the war to end so he could meet his daughter that much sooner.
You'd never been a crier, and neither had he, but John let you sob into his arms without comment as the train pulled into the station. Pulling away, you brushed your hands down the front of his coat, trying to straighten him out as much as possible. He caught your hands to stop you, kissed you, rubbed his thumb over his future first child, and left.
As you watched the train chug out of the station, belching noxious fumes into the already suffocating air of Birmingham, you felt your youth die with him, springs and summers of love and the pink juice of strawberries fading away into the reality of death and motherhood, and their constant intertwining in your life.