Rat Catchers

Coming Home (Twice)

(Disclaimers: Firstly, obviously none of the Peaky Blinders characters are mine - I have just borrowed them for a story about kid. As for the kid: Rose Shelby is the daughter of Thomas Shelby and his first love, Greta Jurossi. For the purposes of this universe, Greta fell pregnant, the pair were hastily married, Rose arrived, Greta fell ill and died six months later, Tommy went to war etc etc...)

Rose had not particularly looked forward to Christmas. It seemed set to be a lonely, joyless occasion. She'd refused point blank to partake in the charade of leaving drink and food for Father Christmas and his helpers; she'd in fact made it a point to sneak into her brother's nursery after lights out to tell him in no uncertain terms that there were no such people. Leaving Charlie tearful and confused had given her some satisfaction, but it had done nothing to truly improve her mood.

When her father had shaken her awake in the dead of night, her first thought had been that Charlie had grassed. Yet, not ten minutes later she was bundled into the back of the car, wedged next to Frances and a very sleepy Charlie, inexplicably heading for home.

#

Returning to Small Heath left Rose spastic with happiness. The big house, even after years of living in it, had never felt anything like a home. It had been quiet and empty and enormous and the echoes of drunken ramblings and gunshots had always faded away before she could discover their source. In Small Heath the houses held each other close, they were small and cramped and you couldn't walk ten steps without bumping into someone, being shoved out of the way in a hurry or have a hand messing your hair in passing. The voices sounded of home, the food tasted of home, the rooms smelled of home.

#

She did cry when they set her Uncle John's vardo on fire and she jumped out of her skin when there were guns fired; but she'd not seen her uncle or her cousins in so long that once the fire was out and she was back in the small house eating dead man's cake on the stairs while the grown-ups poured whiskey on the floorboards and into their grimly set mouths, she could already feel the bubbles of joy rising again.

#

Her father sat her down in the kitchen the next morning.

"Right, my little love," he said, crouching before her, looking her dead in the eye. "I know you're chomping at the bit to get out on the street; but before you do, there's some new rules you need to know."

Rose nodded solemnly. She'd have promised the moon.

"These are important rules and they're not to be broken, not under any circumstance."

"Yes."

"Now. I'm going to tell you the rules and, if you can repeat them back to me without mistake, your Uncle Arthur'll give you ten p and then you can go out."

"Really, Uncle Arthur?" Rose shot a questioning look at her uncle by the window.

"Listen to your da, Rosie."

"Rule number one," Tommy began. "You ask permission before you go out. Rule number two, you're to go no further than Water Street or Frith Lane on either side, and if you go down by the canal, you stay between the bridges."

Rose bristled slightly at the rapid shrinking of her territory but thought it best to keep her mouth shut.

"Rule number three. You don't speak to anyone you don't know. If you see an unfamiliar face, you turn and you run home. Rule number four. You come home before dark." Tommy looked at his daughter intently. "Is that very clearly understood?"

"Yes."

Arthur dug a copper from his pocket and held it up between two fingers.

"Go on," he said.