☆

CLARA SHELBY HAD ALWAYS LOVED CHRISTMAS AS a child. She loved the music, the warmth, the delicacies reserved for the holiday. She loved receiving gifts from a chubby man who stuffed himself down a chimney. She loved decorating an emerald tree. She loved how her family would all gather and eat dinner together.

When her brothers went off to war, Clara stopped dwelling on the Christmas spirit. She had spent the entirety of Christmas Eve and Christmas morning, sitting on a wooden stool by the door, refusing to open any gifts as she waited for her brothers to walk in with sacks of toys and smiles across their faces, just as Tommy had previously promised. But they never did. And so that Christmas passed, and then the next, and the next until it was clear that her brothers wouldn't be returning in time for the turkey to be cut.

And when her brothers did arrive home four years later at the beginning of December, their Christmas hadn't been a Christmas at all. They'd had their usual gift opening, they'd had their music playing, they'd had the decorated tree and the plum puddings, but it hadn't been the same.

Clara was older now. She knew there wasn't a jolly, red and white man slipping down her chimney during the night, she knew that her brothers weren't as happy as they tried to seem, she knew that the bitterness of the holiday had touched her heart. The girl kept to herself on Christmas, drowning herself in copious amounts of warm drinks, laughing when necessary and trying to act as if the holiday was her favourite like it had once been.

She wasn't fooling anyone.

The Shelby's had noticed her withdrawn attitude to the holiday and although they knew it was all a part of growing up, watching the girl fall out of love with one of her most favourite times hit a nerve. The girl no longer liked Christmas as she had before.

After the birth of Charles, Grace had urged Tommy to throw a proper Christmas get-together, to turn the long halls of Arrow House into their own little Winter Wonderland. She'd urged him to host dinner and a corresponding party. The man reluctantly agreed, giving into his wife's pleading.

Clara Shelby strolled through the grand doors of Arrow House, bundled up in the heaviest coat she owned, her cheeks and nose kissed red from the frosty air. On her hands, she wore her black leather gloves, a pair she'd almost worn to death. Her hair was thrown up messily under her hat as she sniffled and coughed from the cold.

She didn't know why she was here. She'd received a telegram at the office from Tommy telling her to be at Arrow House before noon. Clara had driven over, in the icy weather, the sun doing nothing to warm her.

"Ah Francis," Clara greeted, as the woman stopped in her tracks. "Is Tommy in his office?"

"I believe he is, Miss." The stern woman nodded, folding her hands in front of her. "Would you like tea?"

"Maybe later," the girl answered briefly, swivelling on her heel as she walked deeper into the hearth of the house, getting warmer and warmer. Her boots clattered against the wooden flooring as she tracked through the halls to reach her brother's office.

Stopping outside the door, she allowed her gloved knuckles to rap loudly on the wood. Clara huffed as she heard a grunt from inside, and taking it as a signal to come inside, the girl swung open the office door, stepping into the room.

Tommy's head lifted slightly, his eyes flickering to her before returning to his work. "You shouldn't be wearing your coat and hat inside, it's rude." He stated nonchalantly.

"Just because you're moving up in the world doesn't mean you get to correct my rudeness," she replied, slipping off her hat and jacket involuntarily. "Besides, your house is fuckin' freezing and the drive over was shit, I think I deserve some leeway."

"Right, sit down," Tommy said, pushing his papers to the side. Clara raised her brows, sitting on the chair opposite her brother, crossing her legs as she leaned back. "I need you to do something for me."

"You always do," The girl scoffed.

"Clara,"

"Fine...what might that something be, Tom?"

☆

What seventeen-year-old Clara wasn't expecting was to be holding a clipboard with a pencil tucked behind her ear, directing a group of Blinders where to put a twelve-foot tall tree on Christmas Eve. She had planned to spend the day in her poorly lit kitchen, with a cigarette and a book in hand, yet it seemed that her brother had other ideas. Her nose scrunched as maids strung popcorn and cranberry strings around the large living room, as she tried to analyse what to do next.

A loud squeal snapped the girl out of her thoughts as Charles ran towards his aunt, his arms waving as he greeted the girl. Clara was quick to scoop up the young boy, a small smile plastering across her face as he babbled. The girl had grown to get over her phobia of kids...the slightly bigger ones anyway, babies were still completely out of the question.

"Hello, Charlie," she mustered a grin, holding him at her hip as she steadied him. "Enjoy dinner with your mum's family, eh?"

The young boy continued to babble nonsensical words as Clara nodded enthusiastically. Her eyes darted towards Grace and Tommy who were talking quietly amongst one another. The girl hadn't been so quick to forgive the former barmaid, the only reason she even got on with the woman was that whether or not she liked it, Grace was now family.

"It looks amazing in here," The blonde woman smiled, waltzing towards Clara and Charlie while Tommy disappeared out of sight.

"Of course it does, I'm in charge." The girl smugly smirked, handing Charles back to his mother. "This tree just needs to be steadied and decorated, and a few odd wreaths need to be placed and then you, Charlie and Tom can decorate the bare tree in the parlour. I should be done and dusted in around an hour or so. If you want, I'm sure Francis can grab you guys tea or whiskey or whatever."

Grace nodded, her blonde curls bouncing as she whisked Charlie away, presumably into the walls of the parlour.

"Right, decorations are over there and remember, less is more does not bloody count in this situation...now, get to work!" Clara yelled as they began to drag copious decorations over to the tree.

The girl watched as baubles were hung on branches of the tree, the faint sound of music from the radio was floating out and filling the room with the Christmas spirit. Men whistled along to songs as they worked, wanting to earn a little bit of extra money for the Holidays. The girl monitored the people working, checking in with the staff about food arrangements for the next day along with other tasks. Clara Shelby was an organiser. She liked things to be a certain way, she liked having her own little control over her own little things. To her, this task of organising a perfect Christmas was single-handedly the best and worst thing to happen to her in weeks. She liked the concept of the idea. She liked trying to bring life back to the traditions she used to love, yet in other ways, this entire task was draining every bit of fun from the holiday. She'd been planning these two days for a week, the stress of a singular word resting on her shoulders.

Perfect.

Bloody 'perfect'...the one thing Clara had never achieved.

Her entire family was counting on her to make tomorrow the best day they could ever have. The girl was already coming down with a headache as the cook blabbed about goose and turkey. Clara swiftly tried to clear up any confusion. She longed to pull out a cigarette to clear her mind, but she wouldn't, not until the work was done.

An hour and a half later, the men had cleared out of the house, leaving it to be decked out in an array of reds, greens, golds and whites. Clara allowed her lips to quirk up, her shirt sleeves rolled up to her elbows as she examined every nook of the house. Satisfied with the job, she placed her clipboard down on a side table, grabbed her jacket and went to find the house's residents.

Tucked away in the parlour, Tommy sat with a drink in hand watching as Grace helped Charlie decorate the tree. The girl watched through the crack in the door, watching as the fire blazed, setting the perfect scene. Part of her wished she was as young as Charlie once more. Part of her wished she could bask in the happiness of the holiday.

Shaking her head, the girl knocked, pushing open the door. "The house is done," she spoke, shrugging on her coat. "I'm off...I'll see you guys tomorrow."

"You're leaving?" Grace asked, standing up from beside Charlie.

"Yeah..?"

"Oh, stay!" The woman pleaded, "It's so frosty out there, you won't make it back to Small Heath for hours."

"Thanks, but I'll take my chances...have a nice night ." Clara nodded, tipping her head. She closed the door, spinning on her heel as she walked through the halls of Arrow house. Her leather laced hands gripped her upper arms as she walked through the house.

She could hear him before she saw him.

"Finished?" Tommy asked, raising a brow as he stepped out into the hall.

"Hi, Tom, I'm great, how are you?" Clara replied, rolling her eyes before continuing. "The stockings are hung, candles are lit, dinner is planned and everything is done, bar the tree in the parlour, which as you know Grace and Charlie are decorating right now." She listed smoothly, "Everything is done..." The girl brushed past her brother, her aching body longing to sink into the comfort of her bed.

"You used to love decorating the tree."

Clara sighed, turning on her heel to face her brother.

"Yeah...things change, Tom."

"What happened to your Christmas spirit, ey?" Tommy mused, tapping ash from his cigarette.

"It died, just like every other good thing in the world." Clara mocked, rummaging for a lighter for her own cigarette. Tommy stepped forward with his gold lighter, allowing the girl to use it. She held the cigarette to the flame, before silently taking a drag, raising her eyebrows at her brother. There was a thick tension between them. Clara didn't know why, but there was.

She was no longer little Clara Shelby. He no longer needed to legally look after her if he didn't want to. Tommy let out a small 'hmpf', as he inhaled smoke.

"What's so funny?" The girl grumbled.

"Just thinking about how you used to throw a strop if you weren't the one to put the star on the tree."

"What are you doing, ey?" Clara scoffed, "I need to go home."

"Finn's gone to Pol and Michael's, John's with Esme and the kids, Arthur is with Linda, who do you have?"

Clara rolled her eyes, "Oh, so this is a pity conversation?" She scorned, she let out a curt laugh, brushing past him."Piss off, Tommy."

"Clara, bloody wait would you?" Tommy sighed, pinching his nose. "Just stay here tonight? Actually no, you have to stay tonight."

"Tom, let me go home. I'm tired, I'm cold and I really just want to be alone for Christ's sake!"

"Too late," Tommy shrugged.

"You're ridiculous."

"I got two of my staff to flatten three of your tires," he informed her nonchalantly, "Looks like you're stranded here...I'll see you in the parlour in around...five minutes?"

Tommy raised a brow and strolled off back to his wife and child, leaving the girl standing there in disarray.

"What the fuck?!" The girl cursed, throwing her hands in the air.

"Ah, no swearing Clara...or dear, old Saint Nic might put you on the naughty list!"

"Oh, you are an intolerable ars-"

☆

Clara sat on an armchair in the parlour, her jacket shrugged off, as her leather-cladded hand clutched a glass of whiskey. Charlie giggled and laughed as he strung baubles on the tree with Grace. Tommy sat beside her in his armchair, his cigarette weaving a thin line of smoke through the air. Music filled the air from the radio beside the fire. The girl had been staring into the flames for far too long. Her eyes traced the flicker of the sparks and the way the fire curled around the wood.

She'd been sitting silently for an hour, staring off into nothingness and occasionally smiling at Charlie as she mentally went over the plans for tomorrow. Her eyebrows furrowed in thought as she mentally ticked off all the tasks she'd completed that day. She swirled her whiskey in her glass, before gulping the remains down.

Watching as Charlie began to whine as he was lifted into Grace's arms, she placed the glass down on the table beside her.

"It's time for you to get to bed, mister." Grace smiled, her nose scrunched as the boy squirmed. She tickled under his arms causing him to giggle and squeal. Kissing Tommy on the head and bidding the two a goodnight, she left the parlour. Clara resumed her mindless staring, as the two siblings sat in silence. She didn't know how long had passed as the two sat and stared, it was only when Tommy stood up and dusted himself off, did Clara even move her gaze.

"I've got to finish up some work," he huffed, lighting a cigarette.

"And I'm gonna steal one of your books," she told him, standing up as she wandered towards a bookshelf on the far wall. "Any suggestions?" Tommy shook his head as the girl's fingers trailed the book spines. "This any good?" She held up a brand new copy of Dracula, its pages untouched.

"Wouldn't know," he shrugged, letting the smoke billow from his lips. "You can have it."

"I was going to take it anyways," Clara dismissed, waving her hand as she sunk into the armchair. "Have fun,"

"Don't stay up all night," Tommy warned, "You have a big day tomorrow."

Clara squeezed her eyes shut. As if she could ever forget.

"Yeah, I know, I know."

"Goodnight then," with that, her older brother left the room, leaving Clara all by her lonesome, curled up by the fire with Dracula propped up on her lap.

☆

CLARA HAD WOKEN UP THE next morning still in her suit from the night before, Dracula precariously placed on the side table and a woollen blanket draped over her. She rubbed her eyes tiredly, squinting in disorientation as she pieced together where she was. The sun had yet to break through the overcast, but the brightness off in the distance signalled that morning had come.

With a loud yawn, she wrapped the blanket around her trying to keep the growing chill at bay while she pushed herself to her feet. Her shoes had been removed, and now lay beside the armchair. Clara sniffed, reaching down and lacing her shoes on, trying to push back the thoughts of the day ahead of her.

Perhaps her older brother thought he was doing her a favour by making her plan out this extravagant day. She did not share that sentiment, in fact as each second passed, a pit of dread began to form in her stomach. Clara kept the blanket around her as she left the parlour, making her way through the long and winding halls of Arrow House.

It was quiet and Clara basked in the silence. She seemed to be the only Shelby awake- something she was utterly thankful for. Her footsteps echoed through the wooden flooring, as she walked towards the kitchen where the chaos had seemed to have already begun.

Upon entering, she could see staff rushing to and fro, carrying dishes among dishes in and around the kitchen. Clara ducked beneath a tray of pastries making her way towards the maid's kitchen where a small table was placed along with a few chairs and a countertop with a stove and kettle. She could see Francis talking to a small gathering of maids, all donned in their black uniforms. Clara almost laughed at the sight. How had her brother gone from the small house in Small Heath to the grand palace she stood in with maids and chefs and groundskeepers.

How far fetched it all seemed.

"Miss. Shelby," Francis straightened up upon seeing the wandering girl.

"Oh, don't stop on my account," Clara managed a weak smile, "Just here for some tea."

"Why don't you go back up to the parlour and I'll bring some up right away?"

Clara looked towards Francis, unfaltering at the woman's urging. "No, no, I'll be out of your hair in a few minutes, I'm perfectly capable of making my cup of tea." She walked towards the empty kettle and filled it with water.

"Miss Shelby, I must insist," Francis tried again, placing the kettle on the lit stove.

"It's Clara, Francis," the girl reminded, "and I just want to get a cup of tea for myself before the horror show today, is that too much to ask?"

"Of course not, Miss Shel-Clara." Francis corrected, "If you would just allow me to handle the stove, it's very hot."

"I'm not a child, Francis, I've got this." Clara chuckled, waiting for the kettle to whistle. "You seemed busy when I came in, why don't you continue that or something..?" Clara almost thanked the heavens when the kettle finally let out a piercing whistle.

Francis looked at the girl in minor disdain as she grabbed a mug and tea leaves along with the tiny strainer. She carefully placed the strainer on top of the mug before placing the tea leaves inside. She carefully gripped the kettle, glancing behind her at Francis who was practically looming over her.

"I'm not going to drop it," Clara chuckled, pouring the hot water into the mug, before placing it back down onto the stove. "See!" She stirred her tea, leaning against the counter.

"Very well," Francis nodded, walking back into the kitchen followed by two other maids. Clara smirked, pouring milk into her mug before re-adjusting the blanket around her shoulders.

The girl blew the steam away from the tea, tentatively creeping out of the kitchen and back through the halls. She sipped on the drink, letting the warmth engulf her, sitting down on a chaise lounge placed carefully underneath the window. She looked out over the grounds, the green grass speckled with icy diamonds that shimmered under the rising sun. What a beautiful morning to such a horrid day.

"Up already?"

Clara tilted her head towards the voice, her eyes trailing towards Tommy who stood at the end of the hall.

"I could ask you the same," she replied, taking another sip of tea, turning her head back towards the window.

"Just waiting for Charlie to wake up," Tommy cleared his throat, moving the girl's legs so that he could sit down beside her.

"Well, he's a baby...he sleeps, that's what they tend to do," Clara muttered, wrapping her blanket around her body even tighter.

"Mhm...are you ready for today? Everything in order?" He asked.

Clara let out a soft sigh, biting down on her lip. "Yeah...yeah, it's, um, yeah...it's in order." She mumbled, taking a long gulp of her tea. She was beginning to wonder whether or not she should've slipped alcohol into her drink.

"Good...good," Tommy huffed, resting his hands on his knees. "Finn's gonna bring you an outfit when he comes round later."

Clara didn't respond, merely raising her eyebrows and looking down at her hands. She allowed the silence between them to settle. There was so much she could say to Tommy, yet she found the words being trapped in her throat, unable to escape. They sat, and they stared at different things of course. Tommy at the wall and Clara at the wide land outside the window.

"Right, I should go see if Grace and Charlie are awake," Tommy huffed, pushing himself to his feet.

"I'll be here," she whispered almost spitefully,

"Don't forget the dinner," Although Tommy had said it in a teasing manner, the girl felt a coil of anger begin to unfold within her. She promptly stood to her feet, her throat tightening. Clara did not say a word as she placed the half-drunk cup of tea on the windowsill, and waltzed away from her brother. She needed air, preferably air that her brother had not touched.

She pushed the grand doors open, inhaling as much of the crisp, winter air as possible. Clara leaned against the brick wall, her head tilted back as her eyes closed. Her fingers were drumming against the stability of the wall. She had everything prepared but why did she feel so disorganised?

Clara pulled out a packet of expensive cigarettes she'd nicked from Tommy. Her fingers fumbled with her lighter, letting the flame flicker and light the end of the cigarette. Taking a sharp inhale of the smoke, she swallowed before letting the remnants billow around her.

Her eyes trailed the sky, while she tried to prepare for the afternoon ahead of her.

☆

CLARA WAS SLOW AS SHE DESCENDED THE STAIRS. Her feet were dragging her down the steps which echoed under her boots. She could hear her family from the dining room, their loud voices drifting and filling the haunted silence that usually lay over Arrow House. Finn, Polly and Michael had arrived first, they had only just entered the home when Clara had quickly grabbed her suit from Finn and rushed off again. She had no time for niceties. Ada was second to arrive with Karl, Clara hadn't even seen her yet. John's lot had arrived last, but that was expected. They were never early nor would they ever be.

Clara took a deep breath before entering the dining room. Her mind was slowly going through each task, her eyes flitting from the table layout to the staff on duty.

She used her fingers to count the tasks, each more laborious than the last.

"Clara, Happy Christmas!" Ada rushed towards the young girl, her arms wide. Clara ducked under her arms, barely acknowledging her sister.

"Yeah, Christmas...oh, that's not meant to be there," Clara murmured, walking past her shocked sister and over to the table, where the centrepiece lay askew. Her hands straightened it out, her eyes fixed on the object before she moved away. The girl dodged her family's greetings, moving towards the kitchen. Her hand tugged on her sleeves as she chased after the staff.

"Francis!" She called out, picking up her pace to catch up to the housekeeper.

"Yes, Miss Shelby?" Francis stopped in her tracks, her face pinched from stress.

"Clara," the girl quickly corrected with a shake of her head. "Could you possibly check when the chef is going to finish cooking dinner?"

"Right away, Miss Shelby."

Before Clara could correct her again, the woman disappeared. The girl pressed a hand to her head. She needed to think straight. She needed to unravel her mess of a mind. Without another thought, the girl lit a cigarette, her earlier thought of 'not until the work was done' was completely out the window at this point.

She took a long drag, hoping the smoky tendrils would soothe her throbbing headache. Clara watched as Francis reappeared, her grim face sent the girl into high alert. She stood rigidly as the woman approached her.

"The chefs are running a bit behind, Miss Shelby," the woman informed her.

"Of course, right, um..." Clara stammered, "Anything else not going to plan?"

"Everything else seems to be alright."

"Okay...okay," Clara let out a small breath, nodding her head, backtracking towards the dining room. Her eyes were cast down while she stubbed out her cigarette, her fingers tapping against each other as she counted through tasks.

"Alrigh, Clara?" John laughed, tipping a glass of whiskey towards her.

"Mhmm..." Clara grabbed the glass from her brother and downed it with ease before handing it back to her confused brother. She moved past him and Esme, weaving around the children running about.

"Clara," Tommy nodded as she briefly passed him. She faltered in her steps backtracking towards the man. "Dinner sorted?"

Clara's throat tightened as she silently nodded. Her eyes quickly flitted around the room, going from Polly and Michael to Arthur and his new wife Linda. The girl backed away from the blonde woman. Her day was already miserable, no need to add to it. She skittered around the edge of the room, standing off to the side, a newly lit cigarette in her hands.

Clara's eyes were wide as she sucked in the chemicals, her gaze straight ahead of her whilst the people around her drank and laughed merrily. A staff member passed carrying an empty tray, causing the girl to step forward and grab the staff's attention.

"Could you possibly grab Mr Shelby's most expensive whiskey and pour me a glass?" Clara spoke quietly, glancing around carefully. "Actually scratch that...bring the whole bottle." The man nodded and rushed off, leaving the girl to exhale and squeeze the bridge of her nose.

"You better give me some of that,"

Clara looked to her side at Finn who had stationed himself beside her. It seemed as if his hair had been cropped shorter, most likely by Pol.

"Why you standing over here?" He asked, leaning back against the untouched, pristine wallpaper.

"Don't wanna talk to anyone." She answered simply, glancing at her brother. "Why are you over here?"

"Trying to avoid Ada," Finn shrugged, "She's been trying to push her communist shit again, can't take it."

For the first time that day, Clara let out a small chuckle. "Can't blame you for trying to escape." She sighed, inhaling more smoke.

"The place looks good," Finn commented, "Tommy couldn't do this if he tried."

"I hate it," She stated, looking around in disdain. "I just need this day to end so I can go home."

"Miss Shelby,"

The girl turned towards the man who was holding out a large glass bottle. Clara let a wolffish smile grace her face as she took it from his hands with a quick thanks.

She nudged Finn and quickly slipped out of the room, the boy in tow. The girl found herself sitting on the grand stairs, opening the bottle with a satisfied grin. She took a long swig of the drink, letting the liquid burn the inside of her throat. She passed it to Finn, who followed in suit and drank some before handing it back.

"That is some good shit," Finn coughed, as the girl nodded.

"Tommy's finest, usually reserved for his more distinguished guests," Clara rattled, "Well, Finny boy, I reckon we're well distinguished, therefore it is only our right to drink this."

"I agree,"

The boy laughed, his head dropping as the noise from the dining room echoed in. A bell rang out, its clanging bouncing off each and every wall, alerting the two youngest Shelby's. Clara stood to her feet and bounded down the stairs, stashing the bottle in a random house plant, hiding the glass behind the leaves. As she entered the room, she watched as Tommy took the seat at the head on the table, Grace on his right with Charlie on her lap and Pol on his left. The girl glanced around before slipping into the seat at the end of the table, one usually reserved for the hostess (who had seemingly abandoned that sense of etiquette to sit by her husband). Clara sunk into the seat with Finn on her left and John's eldest, Katie on her right.

They were far away from the older members of their family, shoved down to the end with John's lot and Karl. Clara was tense as the food began to be brought in, her entire body yearning to go back out to the staircase and drown herself in the bottle of expensive whiskey. She watched as the food was placed down onto the table, plates upon plates of potatoes and vegetables filling the empty spaces along with not one, but three huge turkeys whose browned skin glistened under the light.

Clara sat back in her chair, a cigarette in hand as her family dug in, noisily talking and laughing. She did not feel like eating. So she sat and watched. She watched as her niece and nephews messily poured gravy over their food with infectious, juvenile giggles. She reached forward, taking a glass of red wine from the table and sipping on it. The older Shelby's and Gray's at the top of the table were talking amongst themselves, making toasts and enjoying the food. Her eyes drifted from her aunt and cousin to her sister and her brothers. She faltered as her eyes locked with Tommy's who sat what had felt like miles away. He subtly nodded his head towards the food. She knew he was trying to get her to eat. Clara merely raised her brows and downed her wine with a smug smile, before she moved her attention away from him.

Beside her, Finn was shovelling food into his mouth like a starved animal. She chuckled at her younger brother, watching as he struggled to swallow.

"Christ, Finn, slow down!" She remarked, pouring herself another glass of wine. "You'll bloody choke,"

"fis 'ood ish amasin'" he moaned with a full mouth before he swallowed with a small noise of restraint. "It's a good way to die."

Clara shook her head and continued to drink from her glass. As the dinner continued, her family relaxed into the bliss of the holiday. As plates cleared, the staff practically rushed to remove them so the dessert dishes could be placed. From the top of the table, she could hear Arthur tapping his knife against his glass to make a toast, before the glass of course shattered, waving him to curse loudly despite Linda's glare. He now had the entire table's attention.

Clara sighed, rubbing her temples as she leaned back further into her chair. Only another few hours, she mentally chanted.

"So...uh, I'm making a toast!" Arthur boomed, as John clapped loudly for him. "First to the chefs, my god, what a fuckin-" he glanced down at Linda. "Sorry...what a great meal. And now, most importantly a toast to my brother, Thomas Shelby!" John and Michael both cheered loudly, earning laughs from the table. Clara did not laugh. She remained straight-faced and stared at her older brother. "To Tommy, for putting together this amazing, Christly day." The entire table cheered and clapped as Tommy cleared his throat, to speak up.

"Alright Arthur, c'mon..." Tommy nodded, his eyes glancing cautiously towards Clara who was spitefully shaking her head.

"A toast to Tommy!" John called out, interrupting the man. All of the Shelby's and Gray's echoed John's words. Clara did not. She watched as her brothers cheered for Tommy once more.

And that was the last straw.

Clara suddenly slammed her wine glass on the table, shattering it on impact. The room suddenly fell into silence, all eyes on the infuriated girl. She stood to her feet. Her eyes shot daggers at her brother opposite her, who looked rather guilty. Clara let out a cruel laugh while everyone looked at her in shock.

"Fuck you," she spat bitterly, her eyes solely trained on Tommy.

Without another word, the girl waltzed out of the room. Her body shook with anger as she did so. She grabbed the whiskey from the plant in the hallway and walked straight out of the house. The bitter wind was like shards of ice penetrating her clothing as she stormed across the frosty grass. The wind whipped her hair into a manic frenzy around her head, sending loose strands floating in the air like a halo.

Part of her wished she'd brought a jacket, her arms folded over her chest, her teeth gritted to force back any chattering. The bottle was clutched firmly in her arms, her feet dragging along the grass. Clara stormed past the stables even though her heart yearned to break out Dangerous, Thomas' horse, and ride off into the wide, wide world. Several long strides later brought her to a thin stream that cut through the grass, its water flowing steadily despite the frosty conditions.

Clara sat down on the grass, her legs folded as she leaned back against the dewy ground. She uncapped the bottle and lifted it to her lips, gulping down the burning liquid. She knew the day was destined to go sideways, she expected nothing less of her family. What she hadn't expected was her brother to pull the rug from underneath her feet and steal the credit she deserved.

Clara was infuriated, angry, vicious even, however, the girl was also exhausted. She was so worn out from the day she'd been planning for two weeks only for it to collapse in on itself. She was so tired. Her head lulled to the side as she took another swig of the bottle. She could hear footsteps crunching on the grass behind her, yet she refused to turn around. Finn sunk into the grass beside the girl, prying the bottle from her grip and taking a drink of it.

"Wish you'd stayed to see Tommy's face," he chuckled.

"If I had, I would've cut it,"

"Fair enough," Finn nodded, handing the bottle back to the girl along with a set of keys. "I took Arthur's keys on my way out. He left them on the table by the door, if you wanna steal his car."

"Nah..." Clara sniffed, but she pocketed the keys nevertheless. "I'd rather take Tommy's horses but I can barely see or think straight."

"Could you ever?" Finn mused, raising a brow at his sister. Clara snorted. She actually snorted.

"No...no, I couldn't." She shook her head, her mind instantly flashing to the blonde Angel she had the privilege of knowing.

"Exactly," Finn spoke. "Look, you look miserable-horrible even. It's Christmas, you need to perk up one way or another."

"Not gonna happen, Finn...sorry."

"I brought cake?"

The two youngest Shelby's turned to face John as he strolled towards them, a plate of cake and three forks in his hands.

"Had to pry it out of my bloody kid's hands." He snickered, balancing the plate carefully as he sat down. "Think one of them started crying..."

"Well, they're not out here, hand it over," Finn ordered, grabbing a fork. John huffed out a laugh as he handed Clara the other fork. "Bloody starving."

"Finn, you practically ate the entirety of the food at our end of the table." Clara retorted.

"Bloody missing dessert though," he whined.

"Your fault," John replied, tilting his head. He swivelled to look at Clara who had yet to take some cake. "Tommy hasn't said a word since you left."

"Good..." Clara nodded, drinking from the bottle once more.

"Is that his-?"

"Most expensive bottle? Yeah." The girl answered, looking at the drink.

"Pol looked ready to blow, so did Ada," John said, "they all figured Tommy was probably in the wrong about whatever happened in there."

"I did all this," Clara stated, her sharp voice cutting across her brother's. "That, the food, the decorations, the fucking alcohol, all of that? That was me."

"That was you?" John questioned.

"Yeah...Tommy bloody forced me to take the job and then forced me to stay here last night. That house is hell on earth I swear. He made me stay. I didn't want that. I wanted to be at home with my fucking book in my small fucking kitchen, fucking alone." She angrily spat, the alcohol storming her veins. "It seems like everyone gets what they bloody want except me and I'm so fucking done...I'm done." John and Finn's eyes travelled behind them as Clara paused.

"Clara," Tommy spoke up, the girl scoffed and looked behind her. He stood with his hands overlapping in front of him.

"What do you want, Thomas?" She snarled.

"Let's take a walk,"

Clara rolled her eyes, reluctantly standing to her feet. She kept her hand around the almost drained bottle. Her vision swam as she stood up, gritting her teeth as Tommy watched carefully.

"Start talking," she gritted, her feet trudging against the dirt. Clara was in no mood to please Tommy Shelby and she was too close to hitting and kicking him.

"I owe you an apology,"

"Yeah, you do."

Tommy was silent as they walked.

"So?" The girl started, looking at her brother.

"I'm sorry,"

"You should be. Are we done here?"

"No, I shouldn't have forced you to do this,"

"Are these Grace's words or yours?" Clara suddenly questioned, "Is she mad that this perfect little Christmas isn't so perfect?"

"Clara, we talked about this-"

"Did we? Because I don't think we did. We don't talk, Thomas. You say stuff and I'm supposed to agree, but I'm not a puppet and you do not pull the strings."

"You love Christmas,"

Clara shook her head as he changed the topic once more.

"I used to love Christmas, but that was before, okay?" She angrily spat.

"Before what?" Tommy pried.

"All of this!" Clara snapped, "Do you know when you guys were at war, I spent all of Christmas Day waiting on the steps of six Watery Lane waiting for you guys to come home. For four years. You said you'd be home by Christmas, you weren't and I understand why, but I waited y'know? I was young and naïve and stupid. Besides, I'm older now. Christmas wasn't Christmas then and it hasn't been since. And that's okay. Or at least it would be okay if everyone just left me alone!"

She took a deep inhale, her fingers pressing against her forehead which was beginning to pound from her inebriated state.

"I just want to be bloody alone," she huffed, taking another swig of the drink before Tommy snatched it from her grip.

"You drink all of this?" He questioned, turning it over in his hands.

"Yeah, me and Finn shared it," She nonchalantly shrugged, "figured that due to emotional duress, we both deserved it."

"Fair enough," Tommy sighed.

"It is, isn't it?"

"I didn't give you your gift," he said briefly.

"What? Was this glamorous day not gift material?" Clara snarked.

"As it turns out, no," Tommy answered. "Come on."

Clara huffed and followed her brother towards the stables. "Can't you just let Finn drive me home?" She whined, sounding awfully like a child. "Best gift you can give me at this rate."

"After this, you're free to leave," he nodded, gesturing for her to enter the stables. Clara scowled and kicked at the straw as she entered, her eyes cast on the floor.

"Look if you're about to make me shovel shit again to 'remember my roots', I will be shovelling that shit into your bed." She warned, wrapping her arms around her torso in an attempt to keep warm. Her eyes scanned the stable, passing over Dangerous and another two familiar horses (one for Grace and the other was a foal, intended for Charlie someday). At the end of the stable, a beige horse stood in its stall, its head tilting around as it shifted on its feet.

"That's Whiskey," Tommy informed her, his eyes glancing down at the empty bottle in his hands before going back to the beige horse. "Name seemed fitting."

"Lovely creature," Clara complimented, stepping towards the animal who leaned into her touch. She examined the horse carefully. "A stallion? What, no mare for Dangerous?"

"The horse isn't mine," Tommy stated, as Clara glanced at him. "Bought him off the Lee's."

"You gonna give him to May to race?" The girl asked, striking the horse's muzzle. "Thought you put the May business behind you."

"He's yours...if you want him." Tommy eventually revealed. Clara froze. Her hand dropped to her side as she turned to face him.

"M-mine?" She stammered, squeezing her eyes shut tight before pressing a hand to her forehead. "Is this your way of bribing me for forgiveness?"

"No...it's not," he sighed, "Happy Christmas."

"Yeah..." Clara looked down at the floor. "When can I move him to the Yard?"

"You can't,"

"And why not?"

"No room. He has to stay here." Tommy shrugged.

"What about Cannon's stall?" Clara questioned.

"It's taken, we stabled a new horse there last week." He answered.

"So, the poor creature has to stay here, with you?" She asked in disbelief. "I need him in Small Heath, I'm not driving out here every time I want to ride my horse, it's illogical."

"Exactly," He nodded. Clara looked up at her brother who had raised a brow. "Charlie misses seeing you, besides you can't spend all your time in Watery Lane alone."

"Again, with the pity!" Clara breathed out in annoyance. "How many times do I have to tell you that I prefer being alone?...besides, what about Finn? He lives there too!"

"From what I've heard, he's always out," Tommy answered.

"Is this all because you don't trust me enough to just bloody leave me be?"

"I do..."

"Then keep the bloody horse and just for once in your life, let me breathe!" Clara's chest rose and fell, her fingers threaded through her hair. "I don't need gifts, I don't need tasks, I just need to be at home. Now, is that all?"

Tommy didn't say a word. Clara shook her head with a laugh before pushing past him. She slipped her hands into her pants pocket. Her fingers linked around the set of keys Finn had stolen from Arthur as her teeth sunk into her lip. She was going to go home and she was going to sit and read and drink.

And Clara Shelby finally allowed herself to smile.

While it was not the merriest of Christmas', Clara found joy in taking Arthur's car all the way back to Small Heath where she spent the night alone, with a gramophone and a book, reading until she fell asleep. That was all she wished for and it was the best present she received that holiday. What she wasn't aware of, was that the Christmas that had just ensued would be her last remotely normal Christmas, one with less heartbreak and grief.

But what went unknown, left many with content hearts.

☆

HAPPY HOLIDAYS LOVELIES AND DONT FORGET THAT I ADORE YOU ALL <333