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  7. 𝑇𝐸𝑁

𝑇𝐸𝑁

TrΖ°α»›c Sau

☾
𝑇𝐸𝑁

The suitcase in the corner of her room stared back at her from behind the pile of dirty clothes. She still hadn't unpacked yet, deciding to live from her case. It taunted her still, calling out ideas of how she could leave and where she would go. The souvenir lay on top somewhere under the jagged clasp- a gift for her mother, would she ever see her.

But now, Anna wasn't so sure. Australia was a new start for her. A new start under beautiful sun and across glowing beaches with people she actually liked. Mr and Mrs Bagley, Maya and... Elliot. Elliot, the first boy to have ever liked her in a way that was more than friends. Anna had embedded herself in far too much, she was stuck, held tightly by the guilt of leaving.

But if she didn't leave, she would be abandoning the dream of finding her family, the dream that had been prevalent since she was taken away. Either way, she would be betraying someone, but Anna had to think of the easiest way. Was it as hopeless as it felt, trying to leave to find her mother? Would she ever even get there?

After the other day on the beach, she had decided.

Anna's hands edged to take the suitcase in her hands, pulling it onto her lap so her fingers could fumble with the lock and pull it open. The gift still lay on top- she would have to find another use for it. She began to pull her clothes out, the neatly folded material gliding through her hand and into separate piles on her bed. It was like she was pulling her life apart, dividing it into aspects. Her Sunday dress, given to her by her Aunt and as white as an angel's wing to the right. A pink blouse, the prettiest she owned and given to her by Josephine, to the top. All from memories that she cherished. Australia was the place to make new ones, she decided.

So Anna unpacked, slipping her clothes into the small set of drawers in her room. She sorted through everything, until she came to the bottom, her hands brushing over the hard casing, expecting to slip straight over. But it wasn't empty. She lifted the object up, hearing the flicking of pages as the bottom of a book fell from gravity, opening to the page she held.

Her diary.

Anna had written little by little until the large, leather-bound book was near completion. She had begun it on Christmas, a year in her second home. The diary weighed heavy in her hands despite the fact that almost half of the pages had been ripped from the spine leaving jagged edges that threatened to rip through her skin. She was an angry writer apparently, much went to waste.

She flicked to a random page.

π·π‘’π‘Žπ‘Ÿ π‘‘π‘–π‘Žπ‘Ÿπ‘¦,

π‘‡π‘œπ‘‘π‘Žπ‘¦ π‘‘β„Žπ‘’ π‘šπ‘Žπ‘› π‘“π‘Ÿπ‘œπ‘š π‘‘β„Žπ‘’ π‘Žπ‘‘π‘œπ‘π‘‘π‘–π‘œπ‘› π‘Žπ‘”π‘’π‘›π‘π‘¦ π‘π‘Žπ‘šπ‘’ π‘‘π‘œ 𝑣𝑖𝑠𝑖𝑑 π‘€π‘Ÿ 𝑅𝑒𝑖𝑑. π΄π‘“π‘‘π‘’π‘Ÿ 𝐼 π‘Ÿπ‘Žπ‘› π‘Žπ‘€π‘Žπ‘¦ π‘™π‘Žπ‘ π‘‘ π‘€π‘’π‘’π‘˜, β„Žπ‘’ π‘€π‘Žπ‘ π‘›'𝑑 β„Žπ‘Žπ‘π‘π‘¦. 𝐼 π‘‘β„Žπ‘–π‘›π‘˜ β„Žπ‘’'𝑠 π‘šπ‘Žπ‘˜π‘–π‘›π‘” 𝑛𝑒𝑀 π‘Žπ‘Ÿπ‘Ÿπ‘Žπ‘›π‘”π‘’π‘šπ‘’π‘›π‘‘π‘ .

She was lucky to even be able to write. Not many her age could. Will couldn't. But in her first home, the woman was a teacher and would force her to spend hours at the kitchen table reading and writing. She had only spent four months there before she tried to run, hobbling down the busy road.

𝐼 π‘π‘Žπ‘› β„Žπ‘’π‘Žπ‘Ÿ π‘‘β„Žπ‘’π‘š π‘‘π‘Žπ‘™π‘˜π‘–π‘›π‘” π‘›π‘œπ‘€. π‘†π‘‘π‘Žπ‘“π‘“π‘œπ‘Ÿπ‘‘. π‘‡β„Žπ‘Žπ‘‘'𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒 π‘šπ‘¦ π‘“π‘œπ‘’π‘Ÿπ‘‘β„Ž π‘‘π‘œπ‘€π‘› π‘›π‘œπ‘€. 𝐼 𝑗𝑒𝑠𝑑 β„Žπ‘œπ‘π‘’ π‘‘β„Žπ‘’π‘¦ π‘π‘Žπ‘› π‘šπ‘œπ‘£π‘’ π‘šπ‘’ π‘π‘’π‘“π‘œπ‘Ÿπ‘’ π‘€π‘Ÿ 𝑅𝑒𝑖𝑑 𝑔𝑒𝑑𝑠 π‘Žπ‘›π‘”π‘Ÿπ‘¦ π‘Žπ‘”π‘Žπ‘–π‘›. 𝐼 β„Žπ‘Žπ‘£π‘’ π‘‘π‘œ 𝑔𝑒𝑑 π‘Žπ‘€π‘Žπ‘¦.

Anna snapped the book closed.

She didn't open it again until she returned from meeting Maya and Elliot. They had even asked if she was okay, as she apparently looked upset. But all Anna could think about was the diary and of all the stories and memories and promises she had written over the years. It reminded her, yet again, of the past. Though she had unpacked and refined herself to finally stay in one place, the guilt had prodded at her again.

Anna lay on her bed, tucking herself in the corner of her room. She was shaking, from nerves or the cold (it could have been either). She flicked it to another random page.

11 π‘‘π‘’π‘π‘’π‘šπ‘π‘’π‘Ÿ 1917.

π·π‘’π‘Žπ‘Ÿ π‘‘π‘–π‘Žπ‘Ÿπ‘¦,

π‘Šπ‘–π‘™π‘™ π‘‘π‘’π‘Ÿπ‘›π‘’π‘‘ 𝑑𝑀𝑒𝑙𝑣𝑒 π‘‘π‘œπ‘‘π‘Žπ‘¦. π‘‡β„Žπ‘’ π‘“π‘–π‘Ÿπ‘ π‘‘ π‘‘β„Žπ‘–π‘›π‘” β„Žπ‘’ π‘€π‘Žπ‘›π‘‘π‘’π‘‘ π‘‘π‘œ π‘‘π‘œ π‘€π‘Žπ‘  𝑠𝑖𝑔𝑛 𝑒𝑝 π‘‘π‘œ π‘‘β„Žπ‘’ π‘Žπ‘Ÿπ‘šπ‘¦. π‘‡β„Žπ‘’π‘¦ π‘€π‘œπ‘’π‘™π‘‘π‘›'𝑑 𝑙𝑒𝑑 β„Žπ‘–π‘š.
𝐻𝑖𝑠 π‘‘π‘Žπ‘‘ 𝑖𝑠 π‘“π‘–π‘”β„Žπ‘‘π‘–π‘›π‘”, 𝑏𝑒𝑑 β„Žπ‘’ π‘‘π‘œπ‘’π‘ π‘›'𝑑 π‘ π‘’π‘’π‘š π‘ π‘Žπ‘‘ π‘Žπ‘π‘œπ‘’π‘‘ 𝑖𝑑. π‘π‘’π‘–π‘‘β„Žπ‘’π‘Ÿ π‘‘π‘œπ‘’π‘  β„Žπ‘–π‘  π‘šπ‘’π‘š. π‘‡β„Žπ‘’ π‘€π‘Žπ‘Ÿ 𝑖𝑠 𝑠𝑑𝑖𝑙𝑙 π‘”π‘œπ‘–π‘›π‘”. π‘€π‘œπ‘Ÿπ‘’ π‘π‘’π‘œπ‘π‘™π‘’ π‘Žπ‘Ÿπ‘’ π‘™π‘’π‘Žπ‘£π‘–π‘›π‘” π‘‘π‘œ π‘“π‘–π‘”β„Žπ‘‘ 𝑏𝑦 π‘‘β„Žπ‘’ π‘‘π‘Žπ‘¦.
π‘‡β„Žπ‘’ π‘œπ‘™π‘‘ π‘šπ‘Žπ‘› π‘‘π‘œπ‘€π‘› π‘‘β„Žπ‘’ π‘Ÿπ‘œπ‘Žπ‘‘ 𝑙𝑒𝑓𝑑 π‘‘π‘œ π‘“π‘–π‘”β„Žπ‘‘ π‘™π‘Žπ‘ π‘‘ π‘€π‘’π‘’π‘˜. 𝐼'π‘š π‘ π‘’π‘Ÿπ‘’ β„Žπ‘’'𝑠 π‘Žπ‘™π‘šπ‘œπ‘ π‘‘ 𝑠𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑦. π½π‘œπ‘ π‘’π‘β„Žπ‘–π‘›π‘’ π‘€π‘Žπ‘›π‘‘π‘  π‘‘π‘œ π‘”π‘œ π‘‘π‘œπ‘œ. π‘π‘œπ‘‘ π‘‘π‘œ π‘“π‘–π‘”β„Žπ‘‘ π‘œπ‘π‘£π‘–π‘œπ‘’π‘ π‘™π‘¦, 𝑏𝑒𝑑 π‘ β„Žπ‘’ π‘€π‘Žπ‘›π‘‘π‘  π‘‘π‘œ 𝑏𝑒 π‘Ž π‘›π‘’π‘Ÿπ‘ π‘’, π‘‘π‘œ π‘™π‘œπ‘œπ‘˜ π‘Žπ‘“π‘‘π‘’π‘Ÿ π‘π‘’π‘œπ‘π‘™π‘’. π΄π‘š 𝐼 π‘ π‘’π‘™π‘“π‘–π‘ β„Ž π‘‘π‘œ π‘€π‘Žπ‘›π‘‘ β„Žπ‘’π‘Ÿ π‘‘π‘œ π‘ π‘‘π‘Žπ‘¦? 𝐼 π‘‘π‘œπ‘›'𝑑 π‘€π‘Žπ‘›π‘‘ β„Žπ‘’π‘Ÿ π‘‘π‘œ
𝑔𝑒𝑑 β„Žπ‘’π‘Ÿπ‘‘.
𝐼'𝑣𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑒𝑛 π‘‘π‘Ÿπ‘’π‘Žπ‘šπ‘–π‘›π‘” π‘Žπ‘π‘œπ‘’π‘‘ β„Žπ‘œπ‘šπ‘’ π‘Ž π‘™π‘œπ‘‘ π‘‘π‘œπ‘œ. 𝑀𝑦 π‘Ÿπ‘’π‘Žπ‘™ β„Žπ‘œπ‘šπ‘’. 𝐼 π‘‘β„Žπ‘–π‘›π‘˜ π‘Žπ‘π‘œπ‘’π‘‘ π‘€β„Žπ‘’π‘‘β„Žπ‘’π‘Ÿ π‘šπ‘¦ π‘šπ‘œπ‘‘β„Žπ‘’π‘Ÿ 𝑖𝑠 π‘ π‘Žπ‘“π‘’. 𝑀𝑦 π‘π‘Ÿπ‘œπ‘‘β„Žπ‘’π‘Ÿ π‘‘π‘œπ‘œ. 𝐴𝑛𝑑 π‘šπ‘¦ π‘π‘œπ‘’π‘ π‘–π‘›π‘ . 𝐼 π‘€π‘œπ‘›π‘‘π‘’π‘Ÿ π‘Žπ‘π‘œπ‘’π‘‘ π‘€β„Žπ‘’π‘‘β„Žπ‘’π‘Ÿ π‘‘β„Žπ‘’π‘¦'π‘Ÿπ‘’ π‘“π‘–π‘”β„Žπ‘‘π‘–π‘›π‘”. 𝐼𝑓 π‘‘β„Žπ‘’π‘¦'𝑣𝑒 π‘ π‘’π‘Ÿπ‘£π‘–π‘£π‘’π‘‘. 𝐼 π‘€π‘–π‘ β„Ž 𝐼 π‘€π‘Žπ‘  π‘€π‘–π‘‘β„Ž π‘‘β„Žπ‘’π‘š.

Anna sighed. Reading the diary didn't help. She still wondered the same things to this day. She wondered if they had fought and if they had survived. But now, all she could think about, was if she would ever see them again. The day with Elliot didn't help as she thought it would.

27 𝐽𝑒𝑛𝑒 1922

5 months ago, the last entry.

π·π‘’π‘Žπ‘Ÿ π‘‘π‘–π‘Žπ‘Ÿπ‘¦,

π΄π‘’π‘ π‘‘π‘Ÿπ‘Žπ‘™π‘–π‘Ž. π‘‡β„Žπ‘’π‘¦'π‘Ÿπ‘’ 𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 π‘šπ‘’ π‘‘π‘œ π΄π‘’π‘ π‘‘π‘Ÿπ‘Žπ‘™π‘–π‘Ž. 𝐼 π‘Ÿπ‘Žπ‘› π‘Žπ‘”π‘Žπ‘–π‘›, π‘Žπ‘“π‘‘π‘’π‘Ÿ 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 π‘‘β„Žπ‘’ π‘β„Žπ‘œπ‘‘π‘œ, π‘‘β„Žπ‘’ π‘œπ‘›π‘™π‘¦ π‘‘β„Žπ‘–π‘›π‘” 𝐼 β„Žπ‘Žπ‘£π‘’ 𝑙𝑒𝑓𝑑 𝑙𝑓 π‘šπ‘¦ π‘“π‘Žπ‘šπ‘–π‘™π‘¦. π½π‘œπ‘ π‘’π‘β„Žπ‘–π‘›π‘’ π‘˜π‘›π‘’π‘€ 𝐼 π‘€π‘Žπ‘  π‘™π‘’π‘Žπ‘£π‘–π‘›π‘”, 𝑖𝑛 π‘“π‘Žπ‘π‘‘ π‘ β„Žπ‘’ β„Žπ‘’π‘™π‘π‘’π‘‘. 𝐡𝑒𝑑 𝑠𝑑𝑖𝑙𝑙, 𝑖𝑑 𝑑𝑖𝑑𝑛'𝑑 π‘€π‘œπ‘Ÿπ‘˜. 𝐼'π‘š 𝑏𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑑 π‘‘π‘œ π΄π‘’π‘ π‘‘π‘Ÿπ‘Žπ‘™π‘–π‘Ž.

As if on cue, the photo slipped from the next page, falling into the curled up blanket on her lap. She didn't pick it up and instead stared down at it flatly.

Anna wasn't in the photo. Her mother couldn't afford a photo after she and her brother were born. But it included her mother, and her cousins, the three brothers. Her heart lurched, she could barely even remember their names. Thomas. John. Arthur. She couldn't put the names to a face. All younger than they would be now, but handsome with the same smile. A smile that she recognised from looking in the mirror.

The haze had cleared just by looking at the photo. Anna wouldn't feel guilt anymore; she wouldn't be staying.

☾

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TrΖ°α»›c Sau
Tags: #1920#adathorne#adventure#annagray#arthurshelby#australia#birmingham#blinders#johnshelby#michaelgray#peakyblinders#pollygray#romance#shelby#thomasshelby#tommyshelby#ww1