Chapter Four
"Tommy will get you bloody killed."

"Miss Newell, you're late."

Arabella grimaced as she carefully shut the door behind her, turning around to face the stern older woman. "I'm so sorry, Mrs Willows," she rushed out, her breathing still a little shallow from how fast she'd hurried to work. "I overslept, it won't happen again."

Arabella quickly tried to scrape back her untamed brown hair, which had messily spilled out all over the place. Arabella's hair was usually very neat and tidy, but the girl had barely had time to brush a comb through it before she left in a hurry this morning.

"This is the third time in two weeks you've been late, Miss Newell," Mrs Willows pointes out.

Arabella paused as she was slipping off her coat, sensing the tone in Mrs Willows voice. She swallowed thickly, lifting her head to look up at her boss.

"I know," Arabella responded shamefully. She hung her head, trying to gain some sort of sympathy from the woman. Mrs Willows wasn't completely heartless, but she was a very stern woman. "I've been working late and I've just been so exhausted and–"

"That is no excuse, Miss Newell."

Arabella nodded her head slowly. She was right, it wasn't an excuse, Arabella just wished the woman would have some bloody sympathy for her for once. "You're right, Mrs Willows. I'll make sure it doesn't happen again," she promised, offering her a small smile, but Mrs Willows' lips tugged into a firm line, causing Arabella's stomach to drop.

"This is not the only issue, Miss Newell," the woman said. "There have been three order mix ups in the last month. And when I asked Miss Harmon, she tried to take the fall for it. However, I know that these were your orders."

Arabella's heart sunk. She rubbed a hand over her face exhaustedly, wondering how the hell she was going to get herself out of this mess. "Mrs Willows–"

"There were already a number of customers who refused to place orders with you because of your brother's involvement with the Peaky Blinders," the woman interjected. "And now that number seems to be growing. This is affecting my business, Miss Newell," she continued. "You've seen the books."

"I have seen the books, Mrs Willows, but–"

"I'm sorry, Arabella, I have no other choice," Mrs Willows said, and for the first time, Arabella detected some sense of sympathy in her stern eyes.

"Mrs Willows, I really need this job. I–"

She paused for a moment. "I cannot allow this to keep happening. I'm sorry, Miss Newell, you are no longer employed here. I wish you the best."

The older woman turned and headed back into her office without another word, leaving Arabella dumbfounded in the middle of the shop. Her eyes begun to sting with tears, but she shook her head, breathing in deeply to compose herself. "Okay," she whispered to herself, turning back towards the door. "Okay."

Arabella walked slowly down the black cobbled streets of Small Heath, faces passing as a blur. The sky had overcast with thick, dark grey clouds, weighing even heavier on her already low mood.

Arabella needed both jobs, especially now with her brother injured and unable to work for a few days. They weren't going to be able to make ends meet with her only working at the Garrison in the evenings. She could ask for extra shifts in the daytime, but it wouldn't match up to the pay she was receiving at the flower shop.

With a sigh, Arabella turned the key in the lock, stepping foot into her house, immediately being overwhelmed by the strong smell of tobacco.

"Mase?" She called out, wrinkling her nose at the taste as she headed into the living room, where her brother was spread out across the couch with the morning newspaper resting on him, and a cigarette in his hand.

"The fuck are you doing home so early?" He questioned, glancing over the top of his paper with a frown.

"Got sacked," she told him, dumping her bag and keys on the table.

"Bloody hell, Bella," he muttered, putting out his cigarette and closing his paper shut, sitting up properly. "What did you do?"

"I overslept again," she mumbled, moving to sit on the edge of the couch. Mason studied his sister for a moment, noticing the prominent bags underneath her tired eyes. Her skin was pale, face sunken slightly where she'd been losing weight. She looked exhausted.

"I'm not bloody surprised," he said, moving from the couch to comfort her. "You work too hard."

"For us," she reminded, as Mason placed a hand on her shoulder. "Because if I don't–" she cut off, her voice catching in the back of her throat. Arabella's eyes began to water, and she desperately willed herself to hold her tears back.

"I can take more jobs," Mason said as Arabella's gaze dropped, a single tear sliding down her cheek. "Tommy will–"

"Tommy will get you bloody killed," she suddenly snapped, lifting her head again. Mason watched her in silence for a moment, as more tears began to tumble down her cheeks. Arabella wiped them away harshly, her eyes narrowing at her brother. "And then what? After you're gone? Then what do I do then, huh? You ever think about that?"

"Of course I do," he said quietly, his voice softening at the sight of his sister. Arabella rarely got so upset, in fact, he hadn't seen her cry since she found out their father had died. "Arabella, I'm not going anywhere."

"That's what dad said and look what happened," she choked out, squeezing her eyes shut to stop the flow of tears. It didn't work, so she turned her head away from her brother instead.

"Bells," Mason started, but paused, realising he had no words to say. Arabella sniffled, wiping her eyes again, and Mason reached out, gently placing a hand on her cheek.

She looked to the floor, head hanging lowly, a moment of silence passing before she spoke. "I know," she practically whispered.

"What?"

"I bloody know," she spoke up, turning her head to look at him. Mason's hand dropped back to his side, as Arabella angrily brushed the tears that were somehow still falling down her face. "I know about Peter Morrow."

Mason's stomach dropped, a wave of nausea overcoming him. He swallowed thickly, a neutral expression on his face. "What are you talking about?"

Arabella scoffed, shaking her head as she slid off the edge of the couch. Mason winced at his poor response, regretting not choosing a different approach. "Don't play dumb with me, you know exactly what I'm talking about," she bit back, poking a finger at his chest. "Don't think I haven't noticed how many Blinders have been following me around lately."

Mason's body stiffened, his jaw clenching tightly. Arabella watched him through an expectant glare, a suffocating heaviness settling around the room.

"How?" He eventually asked her.

"I overheard you and John talking the other week," she told him. "That's why I was so angry when you got injured. I thought it was to do with that. I thought I–" the firmness in her voice slipped, punctured by a slight wobble of emotion. "I thought I was going to lose you."

"It wasn't Morrow."

"I know," she said, moving away from him to face the window, eyes glazing over darkly. "But one day it will be."

"We're going to stop it," he said, sure of himself, but Arabella wasn't convinced. "Tommy said–"

Arabella's blood boiled, and she whirled back around. "Tommy? Tommy doesn't bloody give a shit, Mase!"

"You know what, you can be such a–" Mason cut off, thinking better of his words. Silence pushed down on the siblings. He shook his head. "Forget it."

"No," Arabella bit back. "Say it." She took a step forwards, and then another, the heavy footsteps from her black boots sounding louder in the suffocatingly quiet room. "Fucking say it."

Mason inhaled sharply. "No."

Arabella's jaw tightened as she desperately tried to reign in her growing frustration. "I get it, Mase," she finally spoke, stare hardening as she met his eyes. "I do, I really do," she continued, Mason shrinking back slightly as she moved towards him. "I don't understand, I'm unreasonable, ungrateful," she listed off on her fingers. "That sound about right, yeah?"

"Arabella," Mason cautioned.

"I'm clueless," she interrupted, continuing on. "I'm not like dad. Because at least if he was still here–"

"He would understand?" Mason interjected, patience thinning with his sister. "Yeah, he fucking would. At least dad would–"

"At least dad wouldn't give a shit about you going off and getting yourself killed!" She snapped back. "At least he wouldn't care about the awful things you do to people!"

"Oh my God, you actually don't have no fucking idea." He shook his head, almost feeling the urge to laugh. "You wouldn't even be able to comprehend the things I saw at war," he retorted back. "The things I still see now. What that fucking does to people. At least dad–"

"At least dad started a war with a gang that he never fucking finished!" Arabella shouted, blood pounding heavily in her ears as she grew more and more frustrated. "At least dad, the genius fucking businessman, gambled away our fucking inheritance and left us with nothing! At least dad drove mum to–"

"Shut your mouth," Mason snapped, grabbing her shoulders. "Shut your fucking mouth!"

Arabella roughly shoved him off, taking a step back back. "I wish I didn't care about you," She gritted her teeth. "I wish I didn't give a single shit about what happened to you–"

"Fuck off, Arabella."

"–Because you sure as hell don't give one about me," she snapped, holding her stare. Mason looked back at her with empty eyes – eyes that used to hold so much joy, so much love, and now they were cold, they were so cold. "Morrow will be doing you a favour getting rid of me, huh?"

Mason closed the gap between them, but Arabella stood her ground, tilting her head up to meet her brother's harsh eyes.

"What are you gonna do?" She challenged, her voice lowering darkly. "Take my eyes? Cut my tongue?"

Mason shook his head, roughly barging past her, almost knocking Arabella off balance. "You're a fucking bitch."

He snatched his coat from the rail and stormed towards the door, almost ripping it from its hinges as he left.

The door slammed shut behind him so loud, and with so much force, that the entire house rattled. Arabella stood in the middle of the lonely room, hands shaking, and body trembling, all alone again.

A/N

Arabella needs a hug