•·.·' ❪ hostile — act one ❫ '·.·•
| CH. 4 |

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CHARLOTTE WILLIAMS IS NEVER ONE TO LIE, she'll be blunt and brutally truthful — not a care in the world for the person. That's one of the many reason the Shelby family adores her so much, she can say things for them or their brand without feeling a single form of sympathy. No, she's not a psychopath, just simply doesn't care. Half of Birmingham knows who she is, either they've had a rough run in with her, or she's served them in the Garrison, or they've watched in fear as she's patrolled the streets with the Peaky Blinders.

That's why when she waltzed down the same cobbled areas, smashing her fist against broken doors, the person inside took no time in answering for her. Charlie smiles up at the worried woman, flicking a few coins to her feet, "Two bob for your picture of the King."

"What?" The woman questions, her arm wrapped securely around her small son.

"Bring it to Watery Lane." Charlotte smiles, doing one last small wave before wandering off, joining up with John again as they approach the massive fire, portraits of the King being burnt while men cheer happily.

"Chuck 'em on, boys." Tommy motions, throwing his arm around Charlotte's shoulders, pulling her closer, smirking down at her.

Arthur steps beside them, chuckling while biting the cork out of his beer bottle, "Well, I hope you know what you're doing."

Charlie smirks, taking Tommy's cigarette from his lips and slowly taking a hit from it, "He always know what he's doing, Arthur. Well, most of the time."

A hand taps rapidly on the woman's shoulder, causing her to straighten up, eyebrows furrow as she whips around to face the man, handing Thomas his cig back, "Uh, hello?" She mutters.

He smiles weakly at her before moving his gaze to Thomas, "You're Mr Shelby?"

Tommy glances over at him briefly, "I am."

"You said I would be protected." The man says, eyeing Charlotte suspiciously, completely unknown to why she's still stood there without pissing Tommy off for invading his private conversations.

"You're protected." The Peaky Blinder nods, his eyes still focussed on the massive fire that's lighting up the street.

"What's goin' on?" The man questions, looking around at the crowds of people.

"There are some things I want you to write down." Thomas ignores his main question, waiting until the man has his notepad at the ready before continuing, "Now, first of all, it's not that the people round here are disloyal to the King. It's the opposite. You see, we don't want our beloved King looking down and seeing the things that are being done to us. So, we are taking down his pictures."

"But— but why are you burning them?"

"We went through fuckin' hell for our King. Walked through the flames of war," He snaps his head to the side, glaring at the man, "Write all this down. And now we're being attacked in our own homes. These new coppers over from Belfast, breaking into our homes and interfering with our women. We don't think our King would want to see that happening. So, we're lighting fires to raise the alarm."

"May I ask you, in what capacity do you speak?"

"No capacity." He shakes his head, "I am ordinary man. I won gallantry medals at the Somme. I want you to write in the paper what's going on 'ere." He waves his head, "Go on, go."

Without another word, the paper man leaves Charlotte and Thomas side by side in front of the fire, sharing a cigarette while the crowds watch them in uncertainty. The woman rolls her eyes, "You definitely have a wide bloody vocabulary, Thomas Shelby. Forget fighting, you could speak for England."

"Don't be jealous just 'cause I listened to the words people used when we were younger." He chuckles, "Ain't my fault you were so bloody naughty."

"I wasn't naughty. Just refused to listen, there's a difference." She smirks, tapping her nose knowingly.

・❥・

Charlotte slumps down in the chair in the Shelby's kitchen the next morning, eating a piece of toast while reading the back of the newspaper Aunt Pol's holding. Joshua's sleeping soundly upstairs in a spare room, meaning the woman shouldn't worry, but she can't help it.

Ada steps into the room, straightening out her dress and smiling over at the blonde woman, earning a small wave in return.

"Nice of you to join us." Charlotte smiles, watching Ada as she grabs a slice of bread, "Where you been, eh?"

"In bed." She replies, sliding into a seat and grabbing the jam from the middle, scooping it out with a butter knife, "I couldn't sleep. Then I couldn't wake up. Then I was cold and then I had to go for a wee. Then I was with this bear on a boat, but that were a dream." She glances up at Pol, "Why are you reading the paper? I've never seen you read the paper. I've only ever seen you light fires with them."

"BSA are on a strike." Aunt Pol sighs, placing the newspaper down in a huff, "The miners are on a strike. IRA are killing our boys ten a day."

Charlotte inspects Ada closely, noticing something off and meeting eyes with Polly, realising she's seen the same thing, "Stand up." Charlie demands.

"Why?" Ada questions with a mouthful of bread, peering between the two women.

"Just stand up." Aunt Pol says, following and approaching having her, "Side on."

Suddenly, she pushes a hand against Ada's boob, gripping it for a moment before being shoved away. Pol shoots Charlotte a look, nodding subtly while Ada gasps, "Oi! What are you doing?"

"Ada," Charlie sighs from her seat, placing her half eaten toast back on the plate, "How late are you?"

Ada throws her arms up in the air, taking in a deep breath, "One week." She shakes her head, noticing the glares from the two lady's in front of her, "Five weeks. Seven if you count weekends. I think it's a lack of iron. I got some tablets."

Pol sits back down, "But they didn't work?"

Ada does the same, pursing her lips, "No."

Charlotte claps her hands, straightening up in her seat, "Better go to the bloody doctors then. Get you checked for- you know what for."

・❥・

Charlotte tightens her grip on her small wooly coat while Polly and her stand silently outside the doctors, waiting for Ada and both taking hits from their cigarettes. Hiding their faces from passers by with their large hats, knowing that if they're caught, rumours will be spread and that's the last thing anyone needs or wants.

After long anxious moments, Ada finally steps out from the run-down building, lighting herself a cigarette and Pol dashes to her side, dragging both women along the street, "Keep bloody moving." She directs harshly, "If anyone sees us here, they'll know."

"I'm not getting rid of it." Ada's voice breaks slightly, as if she's thought about the situation way too much in the previous minutes.

"Just come home and we'll talk about it." Pol mumbles, keeping her head lowered and a tight grip on the worried lady beside her.

Ada shakes her off angrily, "Get off me, or I'll scream, I swear."

The three women stop in the middle of the street, glancing back at one another until finally Aunt Polly rolls her eyes, edging closer to Ada, "Alright, you want to do this on the street? Let's do this on the street. Who's is it?"

"If I tell you, you'll tell them and they'll cut him to pieces." She replies, sighing heavily.

Charlotte steps closer, idea popping in her head, "Not if he marries you they won't. Will he marry you?"

"I don't know." She shrugs in a panic, "I don't— I don't know where he is."

"Jesus christ, Ada." Charlie's eyes widen and a low chuckle passes her lips at the woman's wildness.

"Look, he's gone away, but he said he'd come back." She hurries to reply, not wanting to judged anymore than she already is.

"Yeah, but, they all fuckin' say that." The blonde scoffs, recalling all her previous one-night stands and how they all ended the exact same way.

Ada shakes her head, her voice cracking more, "He's not like that. He's a— a good man."

Charlotte sighs, pulling the crying lady into her arms softly, rubbing caring circles on her back, regretting her slightly harsh words.

"He will come back, Charlie. I know he will!" She states, breathing heavily over the Charlotte's shoulder, eyes locked on Aunt Polly's worried ones.

"I'm sure." Charlie hums, pushing her away slightly so the trio can resume their silent walk home, glaring at judgemental passers who were curious if they're reasoning for being out so late.

・❥・

Charlotte was back to scrubbing the horrible old tables of the Garrison the next day, leaving Joshua in the caring hands of Aunt Pol while she resumed to her every day life. She pushes the pub door open with her shoulder roughly, noticing Grace talking to an older fellow, presumably serving him. She gives the barmaid a nod before throwing on her own apron, lazily picking up the wet rag and waltzing across the room to the tables.

She'd been working in the popular pub for years, too many to count. She started just before the men went off to war, knowing she'd have to earn money some how and Josh being too young at the time to participate in the war or in most jobs. The Garrison was a place she had the most amazing memories in, she'd met some of her closest friends there — also some enemies, but she always managed to win.

"Charlie, chuck the dirty water away, will you?" Harry orders from behind the bar, motioning to a metal bucket filled to the rim with dank water.

She rolls her eyes, knowing that he could easily do the short task himself but loves to watch as the clumsy woman does it instead, usually stubbing her toe onto a table or slipping back in a puddle much to the surrounding customer's amusement. Instead of an accident this time, the water ends up all over Thomas Shelby's feet in the street, causing him to groan in annoyance.

"Fuckin' hell, Char. These were brand new." He glares up at her, one of his hands occupied by a collar rope of a gorgeous white horse.

"They aren't new, Tommy. Pol just cleaned them for once." She snorts, stepping over the wet patch and running her palm against the horse's smooth nose, "He's a beauty."

"Damn right." He mumbles, "You know it ain't like me to pick a ugly stallion."

"I'm Grace." A voice calls from the back door, the lady owning it offering the man a small wave, which he returns with a subtle nod.

"I know who you are." He replies blankly, peeling his eyes away from Charlotte and over to the other blonde.

She hums awkwardly, rocking back on her heels, "What's his name?" She motions towards the horse.

"He doesn't have a name." Thomas shrugs.

"Poor boy deserves a name." She chuckles quietly, clearly trying to make conversation with the uninterested man in front of her.

Thomas rolls his shoulders back, raising an eyebrow at her, "You have something to say to me?"

"The other night, you came into the pub and I was singing, you said singing wasn't allowed." She explains, swallowing thickly, "I'd like there to be one night a week where there's singing."

He takes a deep breath, glancing over at Charlotte, who's holding in a laugh, her hand covering her smirking lips as the other lady continues her request, "I think it'd be good for everyone. Saturday nights. Harry was too afraid to ask you, so... I am."

"But you're not?" He raises an eyebrow.

She nods, "I am. But, I love to sing."

"You sound like one of those rich girls who come over from Dublin for the races," He mumbles, "Do you like horses?" Gently, he pushes Charlotte away from the stallion to fix the saddle she had moved to stroke the coat underneath. Thomas goes back to looking over at Grace, "How'd you fancy making some extra money?"

"Doing what?" She glances up at him as he jumps onto his horse.

"Dig out a nice dress. I want to take you to the races." He smirks before riding off, turning his head at the last second, "You too, Charlie! I'm sure John will take you!"

She cups her lips, her jaw clenched in annoyance, "You're a fuckin' bastard, Thomas Shelby!"

In any other instance, and with any other person, they'd be shot dead on the spot for speaking in such a manner to the leader of the Peaky Blinders. But, it's not anyone, it's Charlotte Williams, who's managed to scrape through life with a free pass from the family, being lucky enough to regularly rough them around and not endure the usual consequences.

From beside her, Grace gasps quietly, eyes wandering all over Charlotte as she turns around in a huff, marching back in side, resuming to wiping down the tables like nothing happened. Inside, Charlie was pissed. Tommy usually asked her to go to the races with him, it was their thing, something they'd been brought up to do together. And here he was asking the new posh girl out in front of her like it were nothing. She's not jealous, never would she be jealous of Thomas Shelby's love life. If anything, she was grateful he was finally getting the chance to get a lady so then he'd stopped bothering her so bloody much. But, they were still best friends — it stung, to the say the least.

Across the Garrison, Harry and Grace are having a conversation, their eyes watching as Charlotte wipes tables, humming an unknown tune.

"They seem close." Grace mumbles, "Her and Tommy."

Harry nods, "She's close with all the family. They love her like she's one of their own. You should see 'em all when they're drunk in 'ere, they're like bloody animals when they're all together."

"How come she can be so— so rough with them?"

"She's Thomas' best mate. The pair were inseparable for most of their lives, until he went off to war. That whole thing separated them slightly, but their still like this," Harry crosses his index and middle finger, "She's a lovely lady. She may seem like a total cow, and most of the time she'll bite your face off, but eventually she'll be true with you, you know what I mean?"

"Not really." Grace shakes her head, "How did the two meet? Her and Thomas, I mean."

"Through their mothers, I think. The two older ladies were extremely close and managed to line up their births, having their children two days apart." He smiles at the thought of it.

"When I first arrived I thought they were together together." The barmaid states.

He snorts, shaking his head, "Lord, no. Tommy and Charlie and best mates, nowt' more. So many men have come in here, begging for Charlotte but she's never had any of it, that was what made me think she was saving herself for Tommy, but I soon realise they're too close to have a thing. It would ruin their dynamic, you know?They're too similar to go romantically. Though, that's just my take on it. The poor woman is sick of being asked if she's Thomas' wife, the thought of belonging to a man annoys her a lot."

"I don't blame her. I think me and her will would get a long if she wasn't so hostile." Grace smiles.

Harry takes a deep breath, stepping away from her and turning to the till, "I don't think you would."

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not much tommy in this chapter and quite a lot of time breaks but whatever

don't expect fast updates because i'm lazy and school is annoying so... yeahhh

word count: 2677