"Delivery for you, Mr. Shelby," Frances' voice echoed through his office. It sounded so distant but these past few days, everything had been very distant and silent too. No laughs in the house or voices, just himself. "Mr. Shelby—"

"I'm coming," he cut her off briskly, rising on his feet. He took a minute to inhale deeply, close his eyes and put his coat on.

He turned on his heels, pushing the curtains aside so he could see and the bodies on the ground were enough to bring back the nauseous feeling he had since reading the letter. Margaret was there. They were wrapped her in a grey bag, although she was trash and he couldn't help but feel overly angry about it. Margaret Shelby didn't deserve to be wrapped in a stupid grey bag.

The sky was awfully blue and cloudless, the sun was almost warm on his face as he knelt down to the bodies. Five of them. Four of them were his men, the other one was his wife. He took the time to cut them one by one and closing their eyes when they weren't closed, Aberama pained him the most. Polly had just gotten engaged to him and seemed happy. So happy.

Releasing a shaky breath, he brought the pocket-knife to the top of the bag and teared it open. There she was. He gasped loudly, covering his mouth with the palm of his head as he instantly looked away. For some reasons, it hadn't truly hit him yet, that she was dead but now that he was seeing it, everything felt so dark. Her eyes had been closed, her lips were still a little red from the lipstick she used to wear every single day but her skin was pale and cold to the touch.

Thomas didn't know how long he stayed outside, staring at his wife's face. It was his little sister's voice that pulled him out of his thoughts, she reached for his arm and pulled him back on his feet. Ada always had been a strong woman, he thought as he felt her hands on his face. She never cupped his face that way, but he used to—before the war, before he grew so cold. Ada used to seek their attention whenever she could, she loved them really and they loved her equally.

"Tommy," she pleaded, her voice soft. As though she had gone twenty years back, Thomas could hear her little childish voice from before. "Oi, look at me!"

"I can't, Ada," he articulated. breathless. "She's—Maggie is gone. I don't—I can't," he mumbled. "I was supposed to go, not her."

"Life is unfair, Tom," she reminded him. Their mother used to tell them this a lot growing up. Life's unfair, Tommy. Get use to it. Her soft yet firm voice echoed in his mind. "Maggie loved you and she'll continue to do so, wherever she is."

"But—That's the thing, Ada. She isn't here anymore."

Ada let out a sigh, licking her own lips as her eyes darted towards Margaret, "How are the boys? Have you talked to them?"

"Frances did."

"Tommy!" She shouted angrily. "They are your kids for fuck's sake! Take care of them."

"I just—I don't know how to. Charles was easy after Grace's death, he loved Mag and Elliot loves his mum too much," he muttered.

"And? Chin up," she whispered, lifting his head. "You're Thomas Shelby and your boys need you. They need you more than anyone else, not Frances, not me. You."

He didn't say another word after that, he let her lead him back inside as she muttered a few words to France before dragging him upstairs. He glanced towards Elliot and Charles' room, which appeared to be empty for now. They were maybe in the playroom, they spent most of their days in it but the house was too quiet.

"Aunt Ada!" Elliot exclaimed with a shaky voice and Ada let go off Tommy's hand, taking his son in her arms instead. Thomas watched as he hid his face in the crook of her neck and sobbed quietly, then he found Charles in the corner of the room. Absolutely silent. He held a wooden toy in both of his hands, his eyes all puffy and his nose red from all the crying.

"Charlie," Thomas heard himself say. His son looked up, biting his lower lip as he tried to stop his cries. "Hey, look at me," he added softly, pulling up his pants so he could kneel closer to him.

"Is mum really gone, dad?"

There, it stung more that he intended it too. His lips parted slowly, his mouth went dry and he did his best to think a nice way to explain it. Because whatever he would tell him, it always came back to one single fact, he was responsible for her death. How could he even face his—their two sons after that? But, he had to. I wasn't scared. She wasn't scared, she had written on the white paper.

He cleared his throat, somehow finding the strength to speak again, "Mum is gone, yes," he answered, suddenly he was back at Grace's funeral where Charles could barely say a full sentence but had restlessly cried for his mother. "But, she's in a better place. Mum needed to rest."

"Who is going to take care of us?"

It wasn't supposed to hurt so much, but it did.

"I am," he replied.

Charles let out a hum, not convinced by his father's words. His false promises. He couldn't blame him really. Instead, he rose on his feet and walked towards Elliot, he always liked Thomas better.

"Daddy," Elliot whispered, immediately seizing his two legs and hugged him tightly. Thomas could feel the way his heart cry at the sight of his two sons broken, or how Elliot desperately clutched onto him. He needed that too.

"I'm sorry, Elliot."

That was the only thing he managed to say. Sorry. Such a stupid word, really. Perhaps, he could say sorry and not mean it because he always did that. Most of the times, he didn't mean it but today he did. He was sorry, awfully sorry for letting Margaret take the bullet meant for him and sorry she was taken from this world.

Next thing he knew, Elliot was sobbing violently and Thomas immediately picked him up in his arms. Ada had moved towards Charlie, and he noted to be thankful for that because she always had a way with him.

"I'm sorry that mum is gone, Elliot. I can't bring her back but I can try to be a better father, can I?"

"You are already the best," he muttered, his face hidden in his neck as he could feel his salty tears on his neck. "Aunt Ada said mum was in a better place..."

"And, she is," he whispered softly. "She is in a much better place. We will make her pretty and then we will lay her in a black caravane, just like she wanted to. And we will watch her go, alright?"

"Yes, alright."

The next hour, Thomas stood in his office, a cigarette between his lips because he decided to stop drinking. He wanted to be clean for himself but the children mostly, he needed to be sane.

He had personally moved Margaret's body, he didn't want anyone else to touch it. A woman was supposed to arrive in a few to make her pretty, as pretty as she could but it truly didn't matter to Thomas. She would always be the most beautiful.

"Tommy, I called everyone," Ada chirped in, walking in the office and her heels clicked on the wooden floor. "They will be here at two."

"Thank you."

And at two, Thomas stared as everyone made their way inside the house. Arthur was the first to find him, he hugged me tightly and perhaps sobbed into his shirt too. When he found the courage to walk out of the room, he avoided everyone's stare and strolled outside. Not a single person said a word, they followed him blindly next to the river where she loved to go so much. Elliot and Charlie took each one a hand, and Thomas let out a sigh of relief at the contact.

You're not alone, it said.

The caravane was black, just how she had asked in the letter. Black and pretty. He stared at it for a mere moment then turned on his heels.

"Thank you for all coming," he started, clearing his throat and looked each one of them. Polly, Arthur, Ada, Johnny dog, Lizzie, Finn. "As you are all aware, Maggie passed away last night. And—"

—and it should have been me, he wanted to shout but instead he composed himself and let out a breath.

"—she always said she wanted to go in a nice black caravane. Today, she goes. Arthur, come here."

It took a lot more for Arthur to actually find his way in front the family, he shakily grabbed the piece of paper he had spent the whole day writing on.

"I don't have a lot to say, but we will find the people who did this and they'll pay."

Thomas should have cut him off but he clasped his hand on his brother's shoulder, encouraging him to continue his speech because they both knew that Thomas couldn't. As he took a step back, Arthur started speaking again but this time words were slowly fading away until it was just a mere buzz in his ears. All he could do was stare ahead of him, his blue eyes set on the black caravane that he had once watched on fire when John passed away, and now Maggie was in it.

Was this goodbye? Was he really saying goodbye or was he telling he would see her in the afterlife? Sure enough, his time would come too.

"Set it on fire, Tom," Johnny Dogs said behind him.

"Alright."

Just like that, Margaret was really gone. Her body merely ashes, her laugh and voice were already fading away. He didn't know if it was a kind of mechanism coming from him—trying to forget faster and easier so it hurt less. Like he had said to Frances years ago, there's no rest for me in this world and somehow he meant it. There was no rest for him, not until he drew his last breath.

"I'll miss you, Mag," he whispered, looking up at the sky as if her face would appear at some point and smile down on him. But, nothing. Instead the sky was blue and sunny.

This night, he laid in bed with his eyes wide and with her side of the bed cold. He should have known that he would get punished, he should have prevented it. This night Thomas Shelby promised himself something: to be a good man.

——————

AUTHORS NOTE, short but hurtful epilogue x