𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐗𝐕𝐈.
the other woman
❝ A DIRTY, DEFECTIVE, UNCONSCIOUS DAUGHTER ❞

BIRMINGHAM,
ENGLAND 1922 — 1924

♜ ━━━━━ IN ALL HER LIFE, Adeline had never met any of Tommy's women, likely because none of them had been permanent enough.

Not 'til Grace of course.

Pol had banished Del to her room without any explanation. She'd not done anything wrong, would you believe it. In fact, Della'd been a saint nearly all week. She had to be, after all. She was trying to win them over with good behaviour so they'd let her come along to the races next week. She was doing good, too.

Her Tommy'd not been round much lately, but when he had, she'd done her very best to nod and obey and smile and generally not annoy him. She'd run the most boring errands for Arthur and for John without complaints. She didn't fight with Finn. She'd offered to muck the stalls for Curly, and she'd not caused havoc in Uncle Charlie's yard. She'd minded Polly's every instruction, even went so far as to ignore her gang's half—arsed plans to cause mischief.

It was shockin' how much harder it was to be good than bad, but she was making the effort and it was showing.

That said, it was appalling to Del when she'd been woken at the crack of dawn and dumped into a cold bath. If Polly had ever bathed her roughly before, it was nothing compared to her supervision of this morning's routine. All on Tommy's orders, apparently. Her aunt made her soap all over twice and drew fresh water in the tub for each rinse. Then she stuck Del's head in the basin and scrubbed her body with soap and a brush.

Polly'd trusted the girl to bathe herself for years, but then, with seemingly no warning and before the sun had even risen, she'd invaded her privacy and provoked an infuriated: "F—ck's sake! Can't a girl take a bloody bath in this house without the whole f—ckin' family involved?"

She got a whack on the back of her wet head for that one.

Then, to top it all off, Del was forced into a straightjacket of a dress.

"It's new all the way from Paris," Polly'd told her, "A present from your father, to be worn only for very special occasions."

It seemed absolutely ridiculous to Del, for her father to think she'd care so much about a special new dress from Paris, France. If he really wanted to surprise her, she'd have liked a new book or a football or gun of her own or some such shite. As it were, Tommy'd bought her a dress, and it was a little white thing that touched her knees, complete with a wide bell collar with bright blue trim and an insulting amount of lace and bows. Polly'd done up her curls something pretty, combed through them, ignored Del's every wince and cry until her hair was suitable to her tastes.

Adeline looked like an uppity twit, and Finn had laughed his arse off before Pol'd kicked him out of the house and then ushered Del upstairs and locked the door.

All her good behaviour, all those good deeds, for absolutely nothing.

Del figured she'd have to make a runner, flee as far as she possibly could before whatever evil plan Pol was cooking up could come to full fruition. She'd eased out the window of her room, slipped and climbed her way up the roof, and was perched like a bird ready to lift off to the next rooftop when a voice startled her from her flightpath.

"And what d'you think you're doing?"

Ah, bloody hell.

The girl halted her running start halfway 'cross the rooftop, boots with tied laces hanging round her neck, soot smeared straight down the front of her dress. Del's body was frozen from tip to toe, blue eyes wide, mouth bone dry, palms instantly slick. She ever so slowly turned, trying not to fall over the edge, heart hammering in her ears, so strong she could feel a pulsing in her fingertips.

The sight below was just what she feared, if not worse.

Tommy stood there looking up at her, fully dressed in his best suit and his peaky cap. And by his side stood a blonde woman dressed in a wide ribboned hat and one of the most posh dresses Del'd ever seen. She looked... familiar.

Something sour flavoured her tongue.

His question didn't really require an answer, it was clear enough what she thought she'd been doing.

Del swallowed hard, croaking anyway, "Lovely weather we're havin'."

Her father was not amused. The woman didn't bother with a smile either.

"Come on." Tommy used a singular finger to direct her, "Come on down."

Adeline hesitated. Which was stupid, even she herself had to admit. Even if she could outrun Tommy (which she certainly could not), there was nowhere to run, not really anyway. True, Del could make it a few rooftops over, but by the time her feet hit solid ground, she'd be surrounded by every Blinder within the two mile vicinity. Then she'd surely be killed.

Down was the only way forward.

Conscious of the fact they were watching her each and every move, Della's hands were still slick when she climbed down the drainpipe. She slipped a few times, Del did, always managing to catch hold just before she tumbled to her death, cutting her palms and her shins to ribbons instead. When she was certain the drop was safe, Del let herself fall until her bare soles connected with the cold damp pavers, feeling the grit and grime squish between her toes.

No one spoke, tension so thick you couldn't slice through it if you tried.

Del chanced a glance upwards, and she nearly winced at the look on her da's face.

He was looking her over, Tommy, scanning her from head to toe with a frowny sort of scowl.

She was a proper mess, she knew. She didn't often get new dresses, Del; she hadn't much need of them. It wasn't that they'd not had the money for it or they weren't willing, but Del was always content using Ada's old things if Finn's didn't suit. She'd sufficiently ruined this one but; this new present from her da, special delivered all the way from Paris, France.

Pol would surely kill her. If neither Tommy nor Del killed herself first.

"You've... something on your face."

Del looked up, face flaring pink beneath the soot and ash smeared across her cheek and forehead. The posh woman was staring at her now too, pristine white gloves holding out a pristine white handkerchief.

They both looked so clean and pretty right now, her da and this strange woman staring down their noses at her. A matching set, they were, and Del was the odd man out. She'd never felt so out of place round her da before, not since she'd not known he was her da. It wasn't a good feeling. In fact, it was a terrible feeling.

Del suddenly felt the absurd urge to cry, feeling a lump rise in her throat. Her hand shook when she took the handkerchief and dragged it over her face, doing absolutely nothing but smearing it instead of cleaning it. She let herself hide in the meager safety of the handkerchief for a few seconds before she tried to hand it back.

"You keep it." The woman gave her a small sort of smile.

Del shifted uneasily, fisting the dirty cloth in her hand. They were both looking at Del's father now, waiting for him to make the first move. He was disappointed, it was clear as anything. Aunt Pol's plan suddenly made sense, and Del wanted to die. He'd bought her a new dress for this occasion specially, to introduce her to this pretty lady.

Tommy dragged up a breath from deep inside himself, "Well, Grace... if you can recognise her, this is our Adeline."

Grace. Oh, Del knew that name, all right. It was all coming back now. The barmaid. The f—cking spy. What the hell was she doing here? The woman — Grace — put on a smile, careful and uncomfortable all at once. Her knuckles were turning white as she clutched at her little handbag.

"Hello again, Della."

Del flinched, a scowl immediately taking over her features.

There was something particularly unsettling 'bout being called by her nickname by someone she didn't actually know. By someone who betrayed her d—mn family. Her little nose scrunched and her lips twisted in a not—so—subtle way. They were both watching her, her father and this traitor, expecting her to do something, say something.

Something solid swelled up in Del's throat, like a hot rock that refused to budge and let her breathe. She fisted her pleated skirt in her palms, trying to wipe her sweat, trying to hide her trembling.

"Del..."

The hot rock in her throat slipped and landed in her belly with a thud, growing spikey and prickling her insides. Her father was eyeing her somethin' shocking, wearing that old familiar menace that always came whenever she'd done something wrong. But she hadn't even done anything, was the thing. Not so much, anyway.

Del could barely choke out a sort of lie, "I'm s'posed to say it's a pleasure to see you again."

She wasn't really going to say it, just that she was supposed to. It was the best she could do under the circumstances.

Grace looked just as strangled, "Pleasure's all mine."

Tommy sighed, "Why don't you show us inside, eh Adeline?"

Del flinched again when her da took the traitor's hand, massaging it a little, holding it tightly like it was she that was the most uncomfortable in this situation. Del stiffly swiveled around, shoulders tight and feet numb to the pain of walking on rocks and glass and old cigarettes to the front door.

They filed into the parlour, and Del felt a flash of hot panic when she noticed the suspicious lack of activity surrounding them now. Their house on Watery Lane'd never been silent, not once in Della's memory. There was always somebody doin' something either in the house or the shop, someone yelling, someone fighting, money being passed, food being consumed. Number six was currently a ghost town, and the emptiness felt vaguely foreboding.

Her da shut the door behind the three of them, and the sound had a dull permanence about it.

The girl wasn't permitted to sit on the couches, not in the soot—covered state she was in. Instead, so, Del stood before Tommy and the traitor with her hands folded before her and her head slightly bowed, like a prisoner awaiting their sentencin'. Together, they were her judge, jury, and executioner, her father and his guest, sitting comfortably on the old couch. They were far too close to one another, her da's hand still intertwined with the traitor's, their shoulders brushing and leaning far too into one another.

The sight of it was making her angry. And queasy.

"Adeline. Soon, Grace is going t' be staying with us for a while..."

He'd said this as if to soften her, prepare her for the killing blow. It didn't help but. Del simply shot him a confused glance. In the Shelby family, 'for a while' meant anything between three days to thirty years.

"For the foreseeable future, in fact." Her father was studying her in a way that made her want to run away. But there was no chance of it, not when, without further ado, he off—handedly announced, "We're gettin' married."

Del blinked. Once. Twice.

Finally, she managed, "You're... what?"

"You heard me."

"I didn't," she insisted because surely she couldn't have.

She really f—ckin' couldn't have. It made no sense. None at all. Tommy couldn't be after marrying anybody. Not the traitor. Not the posh lady. Not anybody. She needed him to explain himself, to repeat himself. He obliged all too readily.

He reiterated: "We're gettin' married, and we're expectin'."

They were gettin' married, Tommy and Grace. The words were repeating over and over in her head. They were gettin' married and they were expectin'. Del'd only stood there, dumbly, just staring, looking between the two pretty people in silence.

"Expectin' what?" Della finally managed, feeling like she was floating.

The traitor stiffened and her da gave Del a look that made her skin prickle.

"A baby, mine and Grace's." Tommy spoke slowly, in a voice he usually reserved for Uncle Arthur when he was being incredibly thick, "A new brother or sister for you to look after."

Del had whiplash, or something like it.

Once, when Finn was still young enough to consider Del a viable playmate, they'd been caught standing on the bank of the cut with Uncle John's Webley revolver. The men had been back only a few months then, and Finn and Della decided it was high time they moved up in the world of Peaky Blinders. And by Del's own admission, this naturally meant they needed to start practising their shootin'.

Her auntie Ada had been the one to catch them, and Finn nearly blew her away when he'd gotten nervous and pulled the trigger. Luckily, the bullet flew wide and missed Ada by a mile, but it somewhat deafened Del near a week. She remembered that terrible high—pitched ringing in her ears, and Polly looking halfway between furious and worried when she found them.

That was exactly what was happenin' now. Her ears were ringing somethin' shocking, and this time it was her da caught between looking furious and absolutely worried.

Della stood, numbly, staring at him — just him. The traitor was shelved and forgotten, and Del couldn't look anywhere else but at Tommy. Her eyes were huge and watery and she was begging for some kind of explanation. She needed to sit down. Her knees were wobbly and she needed to sit down.

A replacement. The word cut through her so sharply that it stole away all her breath. Tommy got himself a new wife and a new child; a new family because he got it all wrong the first time, didn't he? A dead wife and a defective child. Too dirty. Too troublesome. Too dead. That was what Del and her mother were. Now that he had replacements on the way, why would he need Del? He wouldn't. He really f—ckin' wouldn't.

Della didn't know how to proceed.

"A baby..." She croaked, "With the traitor?"

"Adeline."

He'd never smacked her. Not once, not for any of the bad that she'd ever done. In fact, he'd told her he wouldn't even when she explicitly begged him to. She thought he might smack her now. She swore she could see him considerin' it. Suddenly she was terrified of that.

"Congratulations?" It was a question, an uncertainty.

Tommy gave a near imperceptible nod of approval, "Good girl."

Del's eyes darted back and forth between her da and the traitor's faces. Her chest was so tight, it was impossible to draw in breath at all. Suddenly, she was terrified she was going to pass out. The corners of her vision were beginning to blacken. Her head was feeling sort of swoopy—like, and there was a strange tingling sensation where her lungs were meant to be. She would not pass out in front of them. She would not show them how defective she was.

Della struggled to sound normal, "Can I leave so?"

Her father's brow arched and his eyes widened slightly, as if this was the wrong thing to say. The traitor, too, looked a bit taken aback. Offended, perhaps. It didn't matter but. If she didn't get out now, Del was going to crumple right here in the middle of the parlour.

A dirty, defective, unconscious daughter...

Finally, her, well, just Tommy shrugged a shoulder, "If you'd like."

"I'd like..."

Del could feel his eyes that matched hers piercing into her back as she managed to turn and lurch towards the doorway. She could hear the perfect pair of them talking as she pulled herself up the bannister and stumbled up the stairs, their low words becoming whitenoise to her burning ears. She barely made it to her room before she collapsed on the floor and laid there for five hours.

No one noticed.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

A week later, she was lying in bed and sorting through her treasure box of knives and bullets and things, when Tommy knocked and entered 'fore she even allowed it. He sat on the side of her bed, looked at her soberly, and then the corners of his lips twitched upwards into a smile. Or something close. 

"Orright. So." He was beginning to preface some things he said by clearing his throat, and Del briefly wondered if he was sick, but he looked the same. For the most part, if a bit nicer dressed. "I don't exactly know how t' explain this..."

That in of itself was unsettling. When did Tommy ever not know how to explain something? It seemed all he'd been giving her was explanations lately.

"Orright, well... Just say it," Del replied tightly, trying and failing not to squirm, "Have I done somethin'?"

She didn't think she had, that didn't mean anything but. There seemed to be an endless supply of things she was getting in trouble for these days, all without even trying. She liked it much better when she knew what the hell she was getting whacked for.

"No." Tommy paused, and then he arched a brow, "Have you?"

That was a trap. That was most certainly a trap.

Del sucked in her lips and refused to say another word. His face was getting harder and harder to read; just like it used to be back during those first years after the war. She couldn't tell if he was annoyed or amused. She hoped it was the latter. All the same, her Tommy trudged on.

"I wanted to explain t' you that..." The girl couldn't believe it; her father was actually fidgeting, flicking his lighter on and off. "Del, you know you're a Shelby, yea?"

"That's... what I've been told, yea." Del frowned deeply at him, squinting a bit, "What's happenin'?"

"What's happenin' is," Tommy cleared his throat again and fished round for a cigarette, "I'm tryin' to tell you the facts of our life."

Disgust hit her like a smack in the face, and her confused frown turned into one of panic.

"Please don't!" Del tried to stop him with huge blue eyes, rapidly shaking her head, "Really, please, don't. Polly told me everythin' already, Da."

"That's not—," Tommy stopped and gave her a strange, somewhat uncomfortable look, "Everything? What exactly d'you mean by 'everything', eh?"

"Uhm. Well, you know..."

Unsure of how to explain it exactly, Della raised her hands to form a bit of a crude symbolic gesture but Tommy quickly raised a hand of protest before she could continue.

"Enough. Enough of that, I understand. But that's not what I meant." Two fingers rubbed at her da's temple as he sighed. Then he suddenly grew serious. In that voice he usually reserved just for business, without a hint of amusement, he groused, "I want you t' take a look at this business, at your clothes, at your new school. Take stock of how far we've come, as it were. From now on, us Shelby's will need to act in a way that is more appropriate to our station—,"

Tommy paused, watching Della locate an elusive bug bite somewhere on her shin.

"Our station," he repeated tightly, once she'd found and sufficiently scratched said bug bite, "And you will need to live up to our name—,"

Del was growing increasingly more confused, still scratching at her shinbone.

Tommy persevered in spite of her.

"We're movin' up in the world. It's no longer enough for you to know how to hold your own on the streets. Or to face off with the coppers. Now that there's higher stakes, people will have higher standards. And it won't be good for you if you show me up. So you'll need to behave accordingly," he concluded steadily.

Stunned, Del frowned down at her reddened shin and then up at Tommy, whose cigarette and lighter seemed to concern him greatly. She did not speak to him. She was content to let the silence go on 'til her da took it upon himself to explain further. He usually did.

"D'you understand?"

She really didn't, she took her best guess but, "We've to behave like uppity f—ckers?"

"No." Tommy sighed tiredly, "But we don't want to give any of those uppity f—ckers we'll come across the satisfaction of being right about us."

"Right about what?" Della was trying hard to understand.

"They've ideas about us, that's all. Doesn't matter, Del. And while we don't give a f—ck what they think, or who they are, we're not to give them any ammunition. Orright?"

"Yea..." She sighed with a shrug, "Orright."

Del didn't realise how hard that'd be.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Life sharing her father with another woman remained a horrifying yet abstract concept for the few months of Grace's presence, as Del had very few nice things to say to her, and she saw her only at certain meals and occasionally round town 'fore she went home. It was summer and she was with her gang and therefore far too busy, then everything changed but.

Apparently, 'higher stakes, higher standards' meant that Tommy had to buy them a f—cking mansion.

Arrow House, he called it.

It was a monstrosity, really.

Huge and frigid and dark, and Della hated it. It was out in the middle of bloody nowhere; some English country manor house amongst the woods and rolling fields. It couldn't be further from the comforting darkness of Small Heath.

Red—bricked and black accented looking like some kind of gothic mansion from a scary story or moving picture. There was a confusing web of halls and rooms that were impossible to navigate, and all of it was full of ornate vases and paintings and chandeliers that provided no warmth at all. Del's new room looked even worse; too impersonal, too big, too much space to fill. And cold. Always cold.

Della would be trapped in its vastness.

Trapped with the maids who were busy with taking care of the house, with Tommy who was busy with business as usual, and with Grace who was busy growing It in her belly.

The days went by in the deadly gloom that descended whenever Grace appeared. Grace who was filling shoes that were not hers. Who didn't seem to understand that and tried to step into them readily.

As life resumed its daily pace against Del's will, the blonde woman acted as if she had always lived with them. She was there for breakfast, there when Del peppered Tommy with her usual questions, there for lunch, there when Del caused chaos round Tommy's office, there for dinner, there for when Del tried to talk Tommy out of her bedtime.

Della did what Della did best, and she caused trouble. She set traps, played pranks, made Arrow House a place of torment. She snuck black ink in Grace's tea and hid slimy frogs in her pockets and put firecrackers under her chair. All glorious pranks, to be sure. And yet Grace wouldn't f—cking leave. It was shocking. It was infuriating.

Her da had never ever made her apologise for anything. True, he'd have Polly give her a hiding something shocking, a hiding and he would force her into an admission that she was wrong, but never an apology. He figured he ought not to make a habit of it.

Apologies were a weakness.

If he wasn't going to do it, Tommy wasn't about to hold Del to the standard. 

Maybe this bad start was why things were the way they were.

'Cause Del didn't apologise for the fact that she didn't like Grace. Perfect saintly Grace whom her father adored for some unknowable reason. They didn't like her either, the family. But they bit their tongues and bore it because once Tommy had his mind set on something, there'd be no changing it. Della hadn't wised up yet but, and she was never very good at holding her tongue.

It didn't turn out very well for Del.

Tommy would have none of it; her behaviour, her scowls, her general demeanor. He gave her a tongue—lashing to remember or he'd just ignored her completely. What he could manage, he would punish. What he couldn't, he just set aside. He was good at that, simply ignoring problems 'til they remembered their place, 'til they fell silent.

But the feelings festered. As did the hatred. And the feeling of being unwanted.

Della wasn't accustomed to sharing her da. She didn't like it. Not one bit. And that was abundantly clear.

Despite the one—sided battle waging, Grace tried so hard to get nine year old Del to like her to no avail. The traitor put in effort, the girl supposed. She smiled and attempted conversation, asking questions in a tone that was specially designed for the dim—witted and the young. All the while Del stewed in silence, sprinkling in the occasional, 'Yea', 'No', and most often, 'Dunno'.

Del couldn't think of a nice thing to say to her. In fact, she couldn't think of anything to say to her, and even if she could, she wouldn't want to. The extent of most conversations went just so:

"How are you, Della?"

"..." She'd receive a glare from her da and she'd no choice but to mumble, "Fine... Thank you, Grace, how're youse?"

"Very well, thank you. What have you been up to lately?"

"Dunno."

"Don't you do anything?"

"Yea."

"And you surely have friends?"

"Yea."

"Well, what do you all do together?"

"Dunno."

Altogether, not successful conversations.

Tommy would simply roll his eyes, look away, and move on.

Strangely enough, it wasn't Del's fast mouth or her dirty feet or her penchant for mischief that caused the most problems.

It was her hands.

Since they'd moved to Arrow House, Della's hands had started feeling detached, just as defective as the rest of her. They twitched and clenched at the ends of her wrists in a humiliating way, as if they too, were out of her control. They fluttered and felt like they might disappear in that horribly obvious way Del was certain everyone noticed. The girl was painfully aware of their every movement. When she was forced to sit down to meals with Tommy and Grace, Del begged her hands, over and over in her head, not to betray her too.

Yet almost every meal, she broke a glass and cut her palms.

She couldn't even feel it.

But she could see the mess.

With her mess, Della suddenly felt terrified Tommy might realise how defective she'd become, what a disappointment she was, sad and repulsive, breaking things like a baby. He already had the new baby on the way; he didn't need to deal with another.

She didn't fit into this new definition of 'family'.

Del could feel it.

The voices whispered it.

This anxiety — combined with a feeling of immense anger so overwhelming she thought she'd combust — caused her to talk and question too much, to snap and hiss too much, to make too many messes, to say yes to whatever he asked, hoping her hot—and—cold nature might induce regret, pity, even love.

Della was trying, and failing, to express her confusion and fear by rebelling against the idea of a child Tommy and Grace might want.

She kept breaking glasses.

If this was what her father's 'new direction' looked like, she knew she'd be breaking glasses 'til the end of her days.

Del missed the old house that she'd been raised in, the one above the shop, the one too small and too loud and too hot in the summers. She missed Aunt Pol's stern comfort and also her cooking, the way Uncle Arthur threw her in the air, Uncle John's jokes and even his tickling too, her gang and their adventures, and being so close to Uncle Charlie's yard and Curly and the horses. She missed her gang she never got to see. She missed her bedroom, the one she used to share with Finn before he outgrew her. That seemed to be a common theme of late.

Outgrowing Adeline.

Tommy had been gone even more than usual.

Pulled in so many different directions, it felt near impossible to ever pin him down.

The fact that she now had a God—awful massive house was little compensation for her father's absence. Del had never thought about it, but life was trailing Tommy to and from the Garrison, Tommy's eyes alive with complicated plans to make her world more exciting, the times Tommy would stand in her doorway and tell her stories with double meanings, her constant attempts to get Tommy's attention.

With him, life was routine; without him, life was unbearable.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Tommy had Del right where he wanted her. 

The girl had begged to live with Polly when her father was set to move to the big house with Grace and It. She wasn't much one for cryin' but she did that day, on her knees before where Pol sat, face buried in her lap as she pleaded. Her aunt stroked her hair and kissed her crown but was a good soldier, despite.

The decision had been made.

When Tommy made up his mind, there'd be no changing it. No matter who you were; daughter, aunt, brother, what have you.

Adeline would stay at the big house and she would live with her da and his new family.

Things weren't just uncomfortable between Tommy and Del, it was d—mn near unbearable. Pol'd shared her request, told her da Del'd wanted to move in with her aunt instead, testing the waters as it were, venturing whether or not this could be an actual possibility. Something violent had flooded Tommy's eyes. Something violent, something enraged, something that looked terribly like heartbreak.

People act angry when they're hurt, Polly had tried to convince Del to no avail, Sometimes it looks the same.

This didn't matter to Del but. Hurt meant nothing to a nine year old who'd suddenly been left in the dust. Literally and figuratively, as Della stood all alone in the drive while they drove off in a fancy new car.

He dumped her at some strange house and then pissed off for his early honeymoon to America with Queen Grace with not so much as a hug goodbye. Simply a nod, looking down at her through cigarette smoke and a blank expression.

"Don't cause trouble."

"Same to you."

It was a quick response, snapped out without thinking. Del stiffened for a half a second, expecting a whack 'bout the head for her trouble. None came but. Tommy only raised a brow and puffed another cloud of smoke. She tried not to cough when she breathed it in through her nostrils.

"Good girl."

And then Tommy was gone, in his cloud of smoke and a swish of a black coat.

He'd been gone for months, missing her tenth birthday and Christmas too. He only called to speak to her when he could be arsed, and in those months of absence, Del grew to hate him. She hated him, that b—stard, that absolute b—stard. She hated Tommy and she hated Grace and she hated the whole bloody world.

Mostly, but, she hated herself.

Because when he called, when the phone's long drawn sound rang throughout the cold empty mansion, Del would forget everything; her dignity, her honour, why she was mad at him in the first place, and she'd sprint from wherever she was in the house to answer.

Because no matter how hateful and angry she felt, it was still nice to hear his voice; to be reminded that he wasn't all some fantasy that she'd made up, after all.

And then there wasn't even any time to appreciate his return home because Grace was there and then their little b—stard was, as well.

The b—stard, it was a boy, and Della sat on the top step when he came into the world screaming somethin' shocking. Del was wearing only her nightgown, skin goose—bumped and cold while she glared at the painted portrait of the holy mother, Grace, on the wall of the staircase.

Mary, the new maid (one of the near hundreds her da recently hired), tried and failed to take Del's hand when she was led into the master bedroom. The girl felt out of place when she stepped through the threshold, like an observer rather than an actual occupant of the home. Lying in the massive bed, nearly glowing, Grace didn't notice her. Her da was holding It in a way that made Del feel all tight inside, wearing a smile she'd never seen before.

She wondered if Tommy had looked at her like that, when she'd been born. Had her mother watched them just as Grace had, sparkling and shining with happiness? Had her father cradled her close to his chest just as the b—stard was, fingertips slipping across her cheekbones and dark lashes?

Tommy looked up at her then, a twinkle in his eye when he'd beckoned her closer. Her legs carried her there before she even realised, and she stared numbly when It gurgled up at her.

"Here she is, Charlie." Tommy was saying somewhere distant, "Your big sister, eh?"

Della caught sight of his little wrinkly face, Charles', all bloodied and sticky. He was loud, and he already took up too much space, too much time. He was wiggling, little hand searching the air for something to hold onto. Her own hand twitched, she didn't reach for him but. Charles looked like them a little, she guessed, round the mouth and nose. He didn't have those sharp Shelby looks but, nor their dark hair or cold blue eyes. He was more fair, softer.

It made Charles look as radiant as the sun, and Del as dull as dirt.

Grace finally saw her there, "Would you like to hold your brother, Della?"

Before she'd even a chance to respond, Tommy was already moving the b—stard into her arms.

"No..."

Della backed up slowly, drifting towards the bedroom door, the b—stard still outstretched in her da's arms. She felt her body trembling, still goose—bumped and sweating now as well. They were watching her again, the perfect pair of them with their perfect little baby while Del disappeared out the door.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Del and Finn became friends again.

Probably in the only way it was always going to happen for them: one getting the other into sh—t.

Della'd been forced into another straightjacket dress that was all lace and frills and the ugliest f—ckin' thing she'd ever set her eyes upon. Of course Grace thought it was the sweetest thing she'd ever beheld. Del was to attend the b—stard's first communion in it.

Regrettably.

Della was the last to leave the big house that morning. She'd put it off for as long as she could. At first, she'd flat out refused to wear the dress. Then refused to put on shoes. Then refused to go downstairs. Only when Mary threatened that the trio downstairs might just decide to leave did Del kick it into gear. Somehow the thought of them being a happy little family without her seemed worse. So, when she finally convinced herself to climb into the new fancy motorcar, the girl already had a scowl on her face.

Grace smiled politely, "You look beautiful, Della."

"No," Del didn't believe her.

Her father met her eyes in the rearview mirror, a glimmer of warning in them. Della quickly looked out the window, blowing out her lips to release a deep sigh. The b—stard squirmed in his mother's lap, cooing at his sister. There was a pause in conversation as both Tommy and Grace smiled affectionately down at the baby, her da stroking his cheek tenderly. Hands twitching, Del suddenly thought she might vomit.

"No?" Grace repeated her, sounding confused, "Being beautiful is part of being a lady. Don't you want to grow up to be a lady?"

"Not particularly," she snapped.

The blonde smiled and shook her head, "Of course you do."

Grace clearly didn't understand Della that well.

Scraped knees, torn stockings, dirty dresses. Wild enough to drive Grace round the bend, too resilient for her to rein in. Swimming in the Cut, kicking a ball on the street, racing on the rooftops with her best mates. She'd come back to the house up from where her adventures took her, soaked to the skin with mud and sweat and rain and was never happier.

Sticking her in a mansion like Arrow House was like putting her in a prison. These fancy clothes with bows and lace to put her on display was just cruel. At least to Del, at least to anyone paying attention. When they'd arrived at the church for the b—stard's blessed communion, the family fairly lost their shite at the sight of her.

Polly sighed and shook her head.

John scoffed and Arthur cursed under his breath.

Ada patted her shoulder and Finn laughed at her.

Del wasn't meant to be what Tommy wanted her to be now. 

Della was rough and tumble, gutsy and hard. Charles was soft but. Much softer than Del herself ever'd be. Maybe it was down to being raised in some big fancy mansion like Arrow House or maybe Grace's fine breeding. Del didn't much care but.

Either way, Charles was the more refined of Tommy Shelby's offspring.

Del vowed to avoid the b—stard 'til the day she died.

They'd all filed one—by—one into the church, the whole bloody Shelby family, like this was something any of them would actually dream of doing, 'til it was only Della and Finn outside.

Then, in a sudden burst of camaraderie, Finn took one good look at her, resisted the urge to laugh, and then shoved her into the biggest puddle of mud she'd ever seen in her puff. Del yelped and landed into that steaming pile of shite with a rather comedic splat! Immediately, the girl was covered from head to toe, the dress was sufficiently ruined, and she had deniability.

It hadn't even been her fault.

Della looked up from her mud puddle and she grinned, "You're a good man, Finny."

"Sorry, Del." He was nearly wheezing for breath through his laughter, "You looked, uh, very nice, you did... You just..."

"I looked a twit, I know." She looked down at herself with a rather helpless shrug, "It's orright. You fixed it now, eh?"

He happily flicked her ear, "'Fixed' is one word for it."

Del snorted and Finn reached to drag her back to her feet, managing to scrape by with only a small dirty handprint on the cuff of his nice suit coat. The feeling of the mud seeping through her clothes began to get gross, and she squirmed in discomfort. That was when she caught a whiff of what she was covered in.

"F—ck's sake, you couldn't choose another puddle, Finn?" Della groaned and tugged a fistful of her dress towards him, "Smell it."

"What?"

"You're so old that you're deaf now? I said, smell it, thicko."

Reluctantly, Finn leaned close and inhaled a ghastly whiff of the now browned dress, "Bloody hell! Is that—?"

The girl nodded dejectedly, "It's on my mouth, too. My mouth, Finny! It's a bloody miracle I didn't swallow it!"

Finn was huggin' his gut as he gasped, "Holy sh—t, Del..."

"I'd say it is, we're on church grounds, don't you know?"

Finn was laughing even harder now. Del smirked, glad he was enjoying himself.

"Think this place just got fertilised." She gave her dress another half—hearted but utterly disgusted sniff, "Cow sh—t? I think?"

"'S what you get for lookin' like that." Finn's laughter died down so he could sigh in great dismay, "Making you dress like that, disgraceful... Tom's gone mad, hasn't he?"

"Round the f—ckin' bend."

For a moment, they simply looked at one another; the pair of them smiling sadly. They were both thinking it; Finn just said it first.

"Missed you, kid."

"Missed you, too."

Finn threw an arm across her back, not caring one bit she was covered in sh—t, and Del dropped her head against his shoulder, feeling the best she had in ages. They stood like that a long time, looking over at the Bentleys and Bugattis and Mercedes and whatever other bloody motorcars the Shelby family now owned. Gone mad, indeed. In any case, it felt good to have Finn back, after she'd already lost so many.

"And what happened to you then, eh?"

Del and Finn both spun at the sound of that voice, each of them looking just as guilty as they had throughout every day of their childhoods. Tommy stood there in his nice suit and tie, cap shading his eyes while he peered at them.

Then, with a smile like butter wouldn't melt, Del replied, "Finn accidentally tripped me."

"Accidentally," Finn agreed smoothly.

Tommy's brow arched and his sharp eyes darted between his daughter and his brother. He said nothing but. He simply hummed and dug round his pockets for a cig and a light.

"Mm. Well." He finally responded, "I wouldn't want t' be you when Grace sees you."

"You won't let her kill me but," Del challenged, brows raised.

After a long beat, her father smirked, "No, I won't. Come on, I'll give you me coat and we'll stand in back together, eh?"

Finn teased her mercilessly as Tommy helped her on with the sleeves; they swallowed her arms and hands completely. Then with his dark coat over her dress, the girl disappeared into the church with her father and her best friend at either side.

Maybe all wasn't lost, after all.

━━━━━━ annie speaks ━━━━━━

whew, that was a monster of a chapter! hopefully you didn't feel like it was too long? there was so much to cover and so much happened. things are changing again. del finally officially met grace which didn't go very well, finn and del finally made up and are pals again, charlie was born who del currently hates (i love how their relationship grows and she becomes the protective big sister he needs), and tommy is being his unpredictable self on whether or not he's a good dad. what a mess! also, del's whole psychosomatic hand thing remains a problem...

and now we dive into season 3! this section of the book will definitely be a bit shorter due to certain... plot reasons that will be made clear. i'm so excited to hear your thoughts on it! in any case, who's ready to attend a certain wedding? oh boy, does del get into some trouble...