Bloodsport ; tommy shelby

𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒖𝒆

London, 1919.

Another scream rippled through the echoey rooms of the small women's refuge in Bethnal Green. It was the early hours of dawn, and the neighbours were sure to curse whoever was making so much noise.

"Keep pushing, I can see a head," the middle-aged midwife said calmly. She hid her panic well, despite being well out of her depth. "Go on, Maude, quickly!" She called over to the trainee nurse, who was just as clueless as her mother in how to deliver a baby.

The young girl gulped back her fear and went in, supporting the baby as it made its way into the world. "Oh my god," she gasped as she pulled it out. Her mother whispered a quiet prayer. "It's a girl!"

"Do you want to hold her?" The midwife asked. Everyone in the room turned to the mother, who was leaning back against the headboard.

Iris blinked back tears but managed a nod. Her eyes followed Maude as she clipped the umbilical cord before carrying the bloody infant over. Iris' vision clouded with tears as she placed the baby in her arms. She blinked quickly, letting them fall so that she could see her daughter.

The sun was coming up as she stared down at her child's tiny face, and yet an aura of light seemed to surround the small creature she held in her arms. The baby let out a piercing scream that rivalled her mother's from just moments ago, and all Iris could do was smile and sob with her.

"What are you going to name her?" The young girl asked timidly.

"Willow," Iris said, looking down at her child's beautiful blue eyes. Willow Shelby.

♞

Luckily for her daughter, Iris was an insomniac, and was always awake to soothe her — or attempt to — when she woke up crying. It was all she seemed to be able to hear. If her harrowing dreams weren't enough to keep her up at night, the sound of babies crying up and down the halls was driving her stark mad.

She moved her bed so that it would be right up against the window where she could sit at night and watch the street-lit glow of the streets of London.

The sound of her daughter letting out a small cry started Iris out of her bed one night. She padded across the room to the cot and stared down at the little thing.

"Why are you awake?" She whispered softly as the baby sleepily blinked up at her with ice blue eyes. Even just a few months old, she had her father's same intense stare. "You can't sleep?" She asked, picking the gurgling child up and gently holding her in her arms. "Neither can I."

She held Willow on her bed by the window, stroking her soft cheeks. Life had a completely different feeling to it now that she had a child. At first Iris had been almost too scared to touch the beautiful, fragile thing that she had birthed, too worried that she would tarnish her utter perfection. But as the months had passed, Iris barely left her room, and wouldn't allow anyone else near her.

"Do you want me to tell you a story?" She asked quietly. She looked up to her windowpane, watching the quiet streets for a moment. "I know a good one."

to be continued ...