❝ PICKET FENCE! ❞ → GRAY ✓

→ iii.viii

Act Three, Scene Eight

→ ❝ i'm not leaving my husband! ❞

             Much to the hospital staff's chagrin, Carol hadn't left Michael's side for days. It was the first time that Carol had used the Peaky Blinder's power for her own influence – she knew that if she wasn't married to one of them then there was not a cat's chance in Hell that she would have been permitted to stay. Perhaps being wife to the cousin of a family renowned for their aggression and control did have its perks.

            Tommy had tried to get her to leave. He told her that, as Michael's wife, she was needed at the family meeting they were having, with or without her husband. It had taken all of Carol's might not to spit in his face, and instead she settled on icily telling him that she wanted no part in family business until Michael was better and they could attend the meetings together. With an understanding sigh, Tommy had left after placing a kiss on her forehead and reminding her to eat dinner that day.

             Carol spent most of her time painting with the watercolours that Tommy had bought for her. She wasn't very good at art, but seeing the paint flow across the page relaxed her, briefly taking her mind off the pain that Michael was in. In the four days that she had been in the hospital, she had managed to finish five paintings (none of which she was especially proud of), and each of them were scattered around the dreary room, bringing at least some life to it.

             The next day, Tommy made a reappearance with a new black dress draped over his arm. Carol was only slightly confused as she looked up from her current painting; it had been Ada bringing her a change of clothes every day so far.

             "Hello, Tommy," she greeted him, holding up her half-finished piece in his direction, "Do you like it? It's my mother," she used the end of the paintbrush to point at the outline of a woman, "Burning in hell," she motioned to the cacophony of red and orange swirls around her with an accomplished smile.

             "It's very detailed," Tommy cleared his throat. Carol placed her tools onto the bed, happy that Tommy appreciated the effort she had put into hating her mother, "Look, Ada said you've already got a hat here. I bought you this to wear for John's," he paused for a beat, "Funeral. Get changed and I'll take you."

             Carol furrowed her eyebrows and involuntarily took Michael's limp hand in her own, "I'm not leaving," she said, shaking her head, "I'm not leaving my husband. How can you ask me to do that?"

             Tommy held his breath for a second, pointing to Michael's unconscious form, "I know it's not what you want to hear, but Michael would want you to go. He knows how close you and John were, he'd want you to be able to say goodbye."

             Carol couldn't meet Tommy's eye, bobbing her knee up and down and biting the inside of her cheek, "You're just saying that," she shook her head, though part of her knew that truth lined his words.

             "I'm not here to argue with you," Tommy said, the dress still resting on his arm, "But I don't want you to do anything you'll regret. The opportunity is here to honour John, and if you want to take it, you can take it."

             Carol sighed. There was something about Tommy that drew her towards him; she felt safe around him, and he commanded her with the loving authority that she wished her father had. She looked at Michael, watching as his chest rose and fell rhythmically, and tried to imagine what he would tell her to do. The answer was not what she was hoping for.

             "At the rate you're going, Thomas Shelby," Carol snatched the dress from him and moved behind the screen to get dressed, "There's going to be nobody left in this fucking family to honour."