𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐈.
the changes
❝ WE'RE PEAKY BLINDERS ❞

BIRMINGHAM,
ENGLAND 1919

♜ ━━━━━ HAVING A father took getting used to.

Adeline's life could be defined into two acts.

Before he was gone, and after he came back.

Before he was gone, she couldn't say a word, mumbled nonsense to him when speaking through baby pink gums. Content to hold and be held when venturing. She'd thin wispy hair and dimples in her chubby arms and legs.

After he came back, she could string words into sentences to tell stories and to tell lies. She was clever and bright, full of temper and spite. A force to be reckoned with. Long hair and even longer limbs.

And now he was back, Adeline had come to learn one very important thing:

Thomas Shelby was a man to be feared.

It was another one of the changes in the new act, and his daughter noticed it almost right away.

In her first days of knowing him — when she'd become certain he'd not be going anywhere again, Della started studying the man who produced such instant terror when he walked the roads of Small Heath.

The streets would be alive with shrieking playing children, and outside every pub were men gathered together, smoking and drinking. Cutting through soaring industrial buildings, Garrison Lane would often be busy with horse traffic, the odd motor, and even a delivery lorry. On the corner, Jeremiah Jesus would be preaching his fire and brimstone sermons while a beggar would be playin' an accordion and blind men shook their tin cups for coin.

And then, Thomas Shelby arrived.

All conversation and laughter of any kind instantly stopped.

Whispered word went round the other children and mothers like wildfire. All games were frozen. Washing was left wet and wrinkled in baskets. Mothers turned to the crowds of children full up of Della's mates to summon their own.

The drinking men looked at their shoes when Tommy walked by. Some factory workers went so far as to dart into doorways to avoid his gaze. The beggars stopped and bowed when her father passed. Even coppers were nervous under the ever watchful eye of Thomas Shelby, nodding their heads and touching their caps while they offered, "Morning, Mister Shelby"'s.

Del'd never seen anything like it.

It was almost impressive, and also terrifying.

It wasn't that he himself scared her, she didn't think so at any rate, and it wasn't that she didn't like him. It wasn't anything like that at all. She liked to watch him and she'd never avoided him; in fact, sometimes she went out of her way to track him down and pounce on him — whether he'd wanted her to or not.

The thing was, but, the men — her uncles and her father, they were different than Polly, Ada, and even the ever reliable Finn said they would be.

Her uncle Arthur drank like a car in need of petrol, he didn't wrestle round with her and Finn like he was supposed to, and his quick violent anger was something to cower from. Uncle John did indeed smile and tell jokes, but he was always smoking and treating the younger kids like there was a great immovable wall between their ages.

And her da... well, her da was nothing like they said he would be at all.

Tommy didn't laugh. He didn't put on voices for stories; in fact, he didn't tell stories at all. He was... cold, mostly silent, and often vacant. Sometimes he'd take to staring off into the middle distance, and Della could just tell he wasn't aware of anything or anyone round him, even her. Especially her.

He wasn't round much, and she was never allowed to come wherever it was he and the oldest of her uncles disappeared to, only to return home nearly in the middle of the night with blood on their caps and bruises on their knuckles.

He didn't sleep, and when he did, he didn't sleep well. She knew he'd been pretending not to notice when she complained about the strange smell coming from upstairs, the opium pipe burning like a brand in his mind.

And in the mornings, when she passed his bedroom on the way downstairs, Della chanced barely a step inside because she was scared of what hid beyond what she could plainly see. The sun was sparkling on the empty whiskey bottle on his nightstand, the opium pipe was hidden away in a little box, and grey and black ashes were the bed of the limp pale corpses of half—smoked cigarettes.

She could tell Pol was worried, Del could sense things like that; she could see it how she looked at him like he'd slipped through their fingers.

Slipped through their fingers like so many others.

Del eyed Tommy sometimes, from the other side of the table on the extremely rare occasions they'd eat meals at the same time. He'd glance up and there she'd sit, staring at him with a cocked head. She was unashamed about it, Della was. And there was something nearly analytical the way she studied him, which seemed to Tommy like quite a complicated thing for such a young child.

In any case, Tommy quickly decided that there was nothing more uncomfortable than a stare like that, like being a bug under a microscope while she tried to decide if she wanted him or not.

He could be never sure what she decided. 

Because Del didn't call him da. 

He was Tommy, simply her Tommy, the one whose bedroom was next to hers, the one who was supposedly in charge of her every move, the one who stopped the bleeding when she fell off Uncle Charlie's shed roof.

They all tried to remind her; Polly, Finn, Ada, even the girl's older uncles, but there was nothing for it. She couldn't seem to accept the information as truth. She'd spent nearly her whole life just waiting for her da to come home, and she wasn't sure what to do now that she wasn't waiting anymore.

Today, as always, Del seemed to forget.

As soon as Ada decided her appearance was fit for public consumption, Della was off. From the very moment she could stand on her own two feet and put one in front of the either, Del was not just walking — but running. The second she was dressed, she ran down into the betting shop (which had been much busier lately), and she barely dodged four men placing their early morning bets, ducked between Lovelace's thick legs, jumped over Finn's extended foot, and slid to a sharp stop before Polly's table, hands clapping down and breathing heavy.

"Can I go out?" Del gasped it rather than said it.

She'd looked so nonchalant about it, Aunt Polly, barely looking up when she'd waved a cigarette—holding hand to the men by the office.

"You've to ask him."

Della was instantly baffled.

No decision had ever been deferred to anyone besides Pol before. Not ever, even though the men had been back for nearly a year now. To think that Tommy had any authority over her, especially in place of Pol, seemed absolutely mad.

This must be part of those changes, Della supposed, those changes that Aunt Polly was always talking about. Whether they were good or bad, she couldn't be sure yet. It felt like all of a sudden, the rug had been pulled out from under her. Like she was on the back foot in her own house; not a good feeling at all.

Polly was merciless, even if mostly justified.

When Del hesitantly turned, the man himself seemed just as caught.

Tommy'd been mid—discussion with the loud one — her uncle Arthur, and by the look on the eldest brother's face, the ongoing conversation about Tommy taking charge of drumming up new money didn't seem to be a pleasant one.

He shot a sharp look she couldn't quite understand to their aunt, and he was hard for Della to read again. Maybe he looked confused. Or perhaps it was surprise? He might have been worried, too. Really, her Tommy was impossible to read. His lips were thinned, his brow was tight as well. He looked rather put on the spot, and everyone was watching to see what he'd do.

It was like they all were convinced, his brothers, his aunt, the boys, even the betters; they were all bloody certain that Thomas Shelby would absolutely in no way be capable of handling nearly six year old little Della. And that was fair enough, it really was. He had no business knowing how to handle a little girl wanting to go out and play.

Neither knew what to say, if there was even something to say at all.

Del swallowed hard, fidgeting a little, "Ah... can I go out... Tommy?"

The man just managed to hide the flinch that came along with the sound of his name on his daughter's tongue.

Polly didn't bother to hide a sigh.

Tommy looked at their aunt who informed him, "She's to stay between the lane and the yard only."

"It's the rule," the girl nodded solemnly.

"Out with who?" He lit a cigarette, speaking in such a flat tone of voice, it was unclear to her whether he'd asked a question for the first few seconds.

"Ruthie and Georgie, Margo, and Henry." It didn't occur to Della he wouldn't know who these people were, "Just me gang, is all."

Standing by the blackboard, Uncle John nearly burst his shite laughing beside Scudboat.

"Your what?"

Del gave a sigh like a weary old woman, and Tommy had to bury his smirk when she put a hand on her hip like he'd seen Ada do all throughout their childhood. She'd a look like John was being incredibly thick while she stretched out the words like that'd make more sense.

"My gang."

His brothers still laughed, and something uncomfortable unfurled in Tommy's chest. It was so simple for them; to laugh with her, to tease her, to let her run wild round them. She wasn't that used to any of them, really, but she could bear their presence better. It was natural, easier. He tried to figure out what it was that he was feeling, and he bristled at the realisation it was... jealousy. It irritated him. Made him feel like a right b—stard and no mistake.

Del's sheepish grin at his brothers was nearly too much to stand.

Tommy trudged on, "You've your coat?"

"I'll, uhm, grab it."

His eyes trailed down the short length of her and stopped when they reached her feet, "Those're your only shoes?"

Del nodded with wide eyes, confused and rather pleased to be holding his attention for so long. This was quite unusual. They barely held a conversation between them, much less one centered fully around Adeline herself.

"They've vents," she informed him, voice low and serious like she was offering insider information.

Her uncle Arthur had laughed through his gruffness, "Don't your toes get cold, little Della?"

"Not if I run fast."

The room'd gone quiet and she didn't know why. Her eyes darted nervously back to her aunt, as if looking for support, for answers. But Pol gave her nothing, only staring up at her nephew to await an answer. Del bit her lip and followed her lead. As she always did.

Their gazes caught, Del and the man did. Blue eyes much too big freezing on one another, locking the other person in place. To her infinite surprise, he was studying her just as she was him.

Tommy's jaw had tightened. His face was blank, true, but not his eyes. For as much as they could cut into you with one single glance, they were also the very same she saw when she looked in the mirror. It was familiar. And strange. Those eyes that mirrored her own were flashing with all sorts of emotions, ones Del couldn't even begin to decipher fast enough.

Like he couldn't decide whether to smile or frown, like he was confused, unused to being so unsure of how to proceed, flashes of fear somewhere in there, something bright at the end.

His jaw stayed tight, glancing quickly at Pol as if he wasn't sure he was allowed to instruct the girl, as if he was asking for permission. Polly near rolled her eyes, muttering under her breath something Del couldn't hear.

Once he was assured he had permission, the man nodded briefly to the door, "You can go."

Del offered a tight smile and backed a few unsteady steps away 'fore she turned and dashed off again, immediately going full speed in her small holey boots.

Tommy's argument to drum up new money just gained another perfect example.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

On the oil—slicked surface of the Cut, a beer bottle floated.

Like always, Del had spent most of her day running and terrorising Small Heath with her gang — more or less in the bounds of Watery Lane and the yard. Her gang'd long ago been formed of other five and six year olds, a collection of kids who also had no fathers in living memory. All of them had this in common, little kids confused about the state of their new world. Their stories had been similar between them, odd sounds in the night and strange fathers largely adverse reactions to loud noises of any kind.

They'd passed round the football, threw rocks at passing lorries, and she even got to watch poor Danny Owens go spare in the Garrison. When the other kids got called home for baths and food, no one came looking for Del. So she avoided the carts and the occasional motor to trot over to her uncle Charlie's yard. The six year old meandered down the grimy streets, kicking a can 'cross the gravel, knocking it with a stick when it went astray.

"Oh, say, let us fly, girl. Where, dear? To the sky, girl..."

She sang quietly to herself, humming the bits between she didn't quite remember.

"Come, Josephine, in my flying machine—,"

"Orright Della—girl?"

She looked up to find her uncle Charlie emerging from a small office near the gate. He was a gruff sort of man — hard as iron and not at all equipped to deal with little children, and this naturally meant Del adored him.

Della was running yet again, not noticing that she seemed to stomp into almost every muddy puddle along the way. The water sprayed up and soiled her previously white stockings, and Del tensed in fear, peeking up at Charlie for the briefest instant. He didn't even seem to notice. Uncle Charlie was good like that, Del thought, he'd not mind her gettin' all dirty as long as he'd not be blamed for it.

"Orright!" She hopped to a stop, hair flopping onto her back, "Anythin' excitin', Uncle Charlie?"

"No more than usual." He replied carefully, clearing his throat, "And you, causing trouble?"

"No more than usual," Del beamed, her freckles like little angel kisses in the scant sunlight.

Back in the old days, with the men still gone away wherever it was they were, everyone was always busy. Running, running, running all the day long. Pol was busy with the keeping of the house and the kids and the shop, and she couldn't always manage having trouble underfoot. Trouble meaning Della, who'd not known a moment's peace a day in her entire bloody life.

As much as she was loved, Del was also a terror; always moving, always asking questions, always singing songs.

Polly, bless her, she'd tried everything to distract her, but in the end, Della'd occasionally be deposited at Charlie's yard. The old Rom was a blessing during those days in the war, and despite Pol's initial fear that he'd rub off on her, Charlie's less than pleasant demeanor was almost endearing in the voice of a scrappy four year old.

Besides, Charlie's yard was an endless source of entertainment for Del.

There was always something to do, some mischief to get into.

With the wooden gun Uncle Charlie'd carved her, Della could take down the most dangerous of cowboys, or she could pretend to be a pirate captain on the high seas when he'd let her go on the canal in one of his barges. She could help Curly with the horses or play pretend knights in the attic tower or swim in the Cut if her Uncle Charlie was agreeable.

On the rainy days when he'd not let her play outside, she'd practise her reading because Polly had said, We may not have much, but we still have our bloody standards. And apparently 'bloody standards' meant Della knowing how to read. So she'd sit in the stables sounding out her words with Curly 'cause he'd never judge her.

The yard was a fantastic collection of junk and treasure of every kind with the bonfire and the stables for dray horses. The little menace knew the yard just as well as she knew her own house. So she recognized instantly that the massive sort of crates, hidden away behind the stables, were new.

Del's little nose wrinkled, "What's those?"

"Ah—,"

"Is it secret?"

"Now—,"

"Is it food? Is it coal? Is it treasure? Is it—?"

"It's none of your concern is what it is, girl." Charlie snapped before sighing at her wide eyes and gruffly redirecting her, "Best stay out of it, Della—girl. Now, you go round that corner, you'll find I've got myself another visitor this morning."

The visitor, as it turned out, was none other than Finn.

Familiar gravel crunched under Del's feet, the holes in her shoes meant her toes felt numb with cold. She could feel the heat of the factory on her back where the steam hammer was pounding against steel and setting off an explosion of sparks. Bare chested men were silhouettes against the white hot furnace, swearing and swigging beer and what not.

Del watched one of their many discarded bottles pass through the Cut. She was supposed to be watching in case Uncle Charlie or Curly showed their faces, but she couldn't help being distracted.

A bullet shattered through the air, splashing into the black water beside the bottle.

Finn held a Webley revolver, poking out his tongue and aiming it with both hands at the brown glass. He cocked the trigger with both thumbs with some difficulty and fired again. This time, the bottle smashed into a million glassy pieces.

Del danced round the older boy like a little rabbit, "My turn, my turn!"

"F—ck off! Three for me, three for you." He pointed out staunchly, "I still 'ave one to go."

Finn was Adeline's bestest friend but also her greatest annoyance. He was nearly eleven, and almost five years older, and therefore, he determined himself her supreme protector and also her direct supervisor. Finn liked to think of little Del as his sidekick, but it was clear Del'd soon enough be the true mastermind of their misadventures.

The little girl groaned, but she knew better than to disagree. A deal was a deal. There was no use arguing. Still, she couldn't hide her impatience as she bounced on the tips of her toes and watched the boy take aim once more.

"Finn? Della?"

The pair of panicked kids spun, and Del heaved a sigh of relief. It was orright, just Ada. Her aunt might've had some power over them, but she'd never once whacked them. The older girl had her hands on her hips and her expensive white heels oozing in the mud. Dressed to kill as always, her fancy clothes contrasted sharply with the grime of their surroundings.

"Orright Auntie Ada?"

When he turned, Finn had turned the gun with him without even noticing, so that it was now aimed straight at his older sister. Ada stared down the barrel of the gun with little more than a blink and a smile.

"Orright, my pigeons, d'you want to put the gun down?"

"It's Uncle John's," Del informed her gamely.

Finn was quick to add, "I found it on the sideboard."

"Put it down on the ground very, very softly 'cause the trigger is cocked."

Finn and Del shared a miserable look. It was beginning to feel like every good and fun thing that was worth doing was now being restricted on the grounds of 'too dangerous' by the adults in their lives. All the same, her uncle and best friend huffed a sigh and began to slowly put the revolver down. Then, a sudden bang from the foundry made them all jump and the weapon slipped from his hand.

As soon as it hit the ground, the gun went off.

A massive bang echoed through the air. Ada did a little dance of shock, but fortunately the bullet flew wide. Wide enough to nearly shoot Della through and through. The girl could feel the heat of it slice by her cheek, close enough to brush her hair and feel the burn on her skin. Del jumped and shrieked, cupping her ringing ears. Ada then leapt forward and grabbed the gun, unloading it like a professional and slipping it into her handbag.

Del's eyes were squeezed tightly shut as she rubbed her ears to make sound return. Eventually, she realised she was being shaken by her shoulders so she peeked open her right eye to find her aunt and uncle both gaping at her. Ada's face was close to her own, with Finn just over her shoulder. Her lips were moving, but with the ringing in her ears, Del couldn't hear a thing.

"Wha'?" She asked, too loudly.

Del knew enough to recognise a curse when she saw it on Ada's lips.

Finn was fretting, shaking her shoulder, patting her sore ears.

"John is a dead man!" Del could only just hear Ada over the ringing. "Aunt Polly will rip his balls off."

As if her words had conjured her, none other than Aunt Polly was striding across the yard — face fierce and mouth spewing disapproval. Finn visibly paled at the sight of her, but Del was busy trying to tell if she'd gone deaf. She rapidly shook her head back and forth, as if trying to shake the sound back, short curls flipping in her eyes as she did. She snapped her thumb and middle finger by her head and she exaggerated a yawn a few times, trying to pop her ears.

After they'd finished talking about whatever else, Pol swept low and took Del's face in her worn hands, "You orright, Lamb? Can you hear me?"

Del squinted, still talking much too loudly, "...Yea?"

Pol's painted lips pursed. Ada cursed once again.

The girl fretted, "Will you tell our Tommy?"

Finn swallowed hard.

If he found out Finn'd good as deafened his daughter, there was no telling what Tommy'd do. Finn might even be killed. That would be sad. Della would miss him, for sure. And Uncle John, too. Pol heaved a sigh, tossed a few unknown words over her shoulder, and then got right to business. She picked up Del, snatched Finn's hand, and marched off down the tow—path with Ada following in their wake.

Even if she couldn't hear a thing for the rest of her life, Adeline realised there was at least one benefit from all this:

Finn now owed her big time.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Del'd been confined to the house for the rest of the evening, which felt more like a prison sentencing than much else. Sound had mostly returned by now, though it was a bit like being underwater. Pol was fairly certain her pain'd go away soon; the same couldn't be said for poor Uncle John. He was in for it. But as long as she healed up right, Tommy wouldn't have to know.

Polly mercifully promised Finn that.

Della was in the shop when Tommy shoved open the double doors with both hands. She was standing on one of the chairs next to Scudboat, moving today's coin into little stacks of ten. It was good practise, anyway, for when she'd attend school next year.

Tommy took one look at her and said, "Out."

Del still couldn't hear properly, and it showed. "Eh?"

The man stopped just a few steps from her, frowning slightly, "What's wrong with you, then?"

"Uhm..." She shifted, eyes darting out at Finn who was looking pale, "Nothin'."

Tommy hesitated, but after either deciding to believe her or deciding it was too much effort to press, he sighed, "Good stuff. Then, out you go."

Del's whole body slumped under the weight of his dismissal.

"Ah, but—,"

"Polly's rule, Adeline: you're not allowed in family meetings. Out."

He was giving orders now as well? Since when? He seemed as unsure of it as she was, but he was putting on a good front, she had to give him that. Uncertain of how to proceed but certain that his order was at least based upon Polly's rules, Del knew best to obey. The girl's expression was dubious when she hopped off the chair with a loud bang.

Then, she stopped right by the doors and cocked her head, still speaking a little too loud, "Youse do Chinese magic, Tommy, to make the horse win a race?"

He looked caught off guard, but only briefly, "Where'd you hear that? Your uncle Arthur?"

"Eh?" It took a second for her to make sense of his muffled words before her eyes widened in understanding, "Oh. Nah, from me gang. Georgie's mum said so."

"Did she?"

"Yea."

"Mm."

Then, without confirmation one way or another, the man nodded her out the door. Her bottom lip puckered, but not knowing how to resist, she huffed and then awkwardly shuffled round him.

Tommy watched her go, and Del watched the big green doors shut in her face.

The dismissal left an uncomfortable feeling in her chest, made her feel all tight and cold inside.

The feeling was mutual on the other side of the doors.

Tommy and Della both moved on.

The evening was only made worse when Finn (of all people) tried to give her orders, too. He thought himself able to order her upstairs and away from the conversation which was not on at all. Del thought she might strangle the boy beside her. Instead, she picked up Arthur's UK Boxing Magazine from the side table and pointed to the picture of the big champion, Bombardier Billy, on the cover.

"This looks like you," she said to Finn.

It was the nicest thing she could think to say to him, it was of no help at all but. He happily ignored her. She angrily scowled. He was blocking her view of the crack between the doors, where the family meeting was ensuing, and he was refusing to move. The bloody b—stard.

"Ah... just..." It seemed she had no other choice. It was time to remind him. Slowly, she smirked and she arched one thin brow, "Think you owe me one, Finny, don't you? Hate for our Tommy t' find out what happened this afternoon..."

Finn's eyes widened just as quick as a glare took its place, "You wouldn't..."

"Wait and see," she threatened mercilessly.

For a six year old, Del could drive a hard bargain. Finn wasn't sure who she was more like — Polly or Tommy.

Finn huffed but obliged — which was for the best, really. Her uncle shoved her head down so she'd no choice but to lie on her belly to peer through the thin crack in the green double doors to the shop, but at least she had a view now. It was hard to see round Uncle Arthur's back, she could see just glimpses of the others but. They'd all gathered on the other side, the family and the other Blinders, having a meeting.

There was only a glimpse of Pol through the slice, "So, this copper's gonna leave us alone, right?"

"There are Irishmen in Green Lanes who left Belfast to get away from him." That was her Tommy, his low tones floating through the door to the kids on the other side, "They say Catholic men who crossed him used to disappear in the night..."

Della and Finn immediately looked at each other, all thoughts of betrayal forgotten, eyes wide with that kind of excitement only kids could feel at the first sign of danger.

"Yea, but we ain't IRA. We bloody fought for the King!" Uncle John was gettin' excited now, voice bright and vicious, "Anyway, we're Peaky Blinders. We're not scared of coppers!"

Del and Finn grinned even wider, nearly humming with the thrill of it.

"He's right," the back of Uncle Arthur growled.

"If they come for us, we'll cut them a smile each!"

"So, Arthur." Her da dryly turned back to her eldest uncle, bored now that the business was done. "Is that it?"

Arthur seemed a little fuzzy, "What d'you think, Aunt Pol?"

"This family does everything open." Their aunt's voice was pointed and calm, "You've nothing more to say to this meeting, Thomas?"

"No." It was hard to see Tommy now, she could hear his cool voice speaking without any uncertainty, "Nothing that's women's business."

Del's nose scrunched in great offense.

Pol did much the same, "This whole bloody enterprise was women's business while you boys were away at war. What's changed?"

"We came back."

One day, when she was big enough, she'd be involved in family meetings. She'd not be cast out. She'd not have to peek through a crack in the door. She'd be sitting at that table and she'd have a say in what was going on. One day, she'd be a real Shelby. One day, her Tommy would see just what a daughter could do.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"And the Lord will smite the unholy when the Great Judgment comes."

Long after the sun had set and little girls like Adeline Shelby had been sent to bed, the street preacher Jeremiah Jesus still walked through the dark grim streets of Small Heath, Birmingham.

"And judgment is coming, my friends..."

He had a Bible in one hand, a cross round his neck, and his eyes on the fancy motorcar containing the inspector from Belfast slowly encroaching into Peaky territory.

"Judgement is coming to this wicked city!"

━━━━━━ annie speaks ━━━━━━

*screaming* surprise update!! i was going to try to wait to post it but i got so excited, i couldn't! important note: i'm going to try to post weekly so about every sunday, you an expect a new chapter for this book so be sure to be on the look out for that :)

anyway, anyway, let's talk this chapter! we're really just setting the scene and depicting all of what del's relationships with the family look like. as you can see, tommy and del are extremely, uh, how would you describe it? awkward? distant? my man tommy is so traumtized and del is so confused and they're a whole disaster, i love them. i can't wait for you guys to see how their father-daughter relationship builds and how close they grow. it's going to be a wild ride. also, enter inspector campbell. i literally hate this man, i can't wait until little baby della takes out his knees.

i really hope you liked this one! i'm super nervous about it and i can't wait to hear your thoughts, see you next sunday xx