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CLARA SHELBY WAS AN ENIGMA. At least, that's what her Aunt Pol called her. Of course, the words that followed the phrase varied from 'go to your room.' or 'you're too much like your brothers.' — but it was true.

Clara Shelby was an enigma.

To most, she was that 'Shelby kid', the kid who wore her brothers hand me downs, she was the kid who'd discarded dresses for daily wear— (not because she wasn't fond of them, but because of their impracticality when it came to roaming the streets of Birmingham). She was the kid who was commended as smart but far too reckless for her own good as well for the good of her family, she was the kid who had a knack for finding trouble.

Arthur had once called her a weasel— said she slipped out of punishments quicker than the renowned vermin, (this remark had earned him a scornful scowl from the girl in response). Aunt Pol often told the girl that she had been running circles around her brothers from the moment she was born and Clara wouldn't have it any other way.

Being the second youngest Shelby already held her at a disadvantage and the fact that she was a girl just made things increasingly worse, so running rings around her siblings was not only terribly amusing, it showed her that no matter how hard her siblings tried, they'd never understand or diminish her wild streak.

I mean, there truly was no denying that Clara Shelby was an enigma.

"CLARA MARTHA SHELBY, YOU'LL BE LATE!"

And the enigma had school to attend.

Clara swung her legs over the side of the bed. She had been dressed for a while now but had chosen to stare at her ceiling rather than to face the day ahead of her. The girl bounded down the creaky stairs, entering the small kitchen where her aunt had arrived to cook breakfast for her and Finn. She glanced towards the empty seats at the table, noting her older brothers absence as she entered.

"Grab a slice and off you go." Her aunt instructed sternly, her eyebrows raised as she spoke. "And if you're hungry for more, you should've thought about that before you decided to be late."

"Not like I woke up wanting to be late," Clara answered, through a mouthful of food with earning her a smack from a tea towel. "Just happened."

Clara grabbed her coat from the coat rack and shrugged it on before grabbing the faded, grey peaky hat and dashing out of the house and onto the stone covered street. The people passing immediately shifted their gaze from the house, quite like they always did when they saw the door of number six Watery Lane open.

"Took you long enough, Shelby."

Clara whipped her head around to face William Clarke, who stood brazenly against the brick wall of the house.

"Yeah, yeah," The girl grumbled, putting on her cap as he pushed himself off the wall and fell into step beside her. "Whatever."

"Heard the Sloan's were slagging you off the other day." Will began, his hands in his pockets as they walked.

"Yeah, I dealt with it." Clara dismissed.

"As much as I'd love to agree, James said you shagged him by the cut."

Clara stopped in her tracks. She let out a deep sigh before continuing on, with an incredulous looking Will.

"So...what are you going to do?" The boy questioned, his arm slinging around her shoulder. Clara merely tilted her head with a laugh causing the boy beside her to grimace.

"Oh, I really don't like the sound of that laugh."

☆

"LIGHT IT UP, WILL!"

It was later in the day and the two had managed to get their hands on all of the books and belongings the Sloan brothers kept within the school. A few bribes here and there with fellow students and people were more than willing to give the pair the information they craved.

Clara stood in front of the pile of books and bags— of all which inscribed with the name 'Sloan', while Will ceremoniously dropped a match onto the pile, flames licking every inch of the bundles.

"There's something so great about watching something you don't like burn." She stonily remarked, tossing another Sloan belonging into the fire.

"Always knew you were a pyromaniac." Will shrugged in amusement, watching as the fire sparked.

"I wouldn't say pyromaniac..."

"Would fightin' them not just be easier?" Will questioned, waving the smoke away from him.

"Nah, this is more effective. You see, their father's been coming around the shop lately, placing large bets. John once told me that anyone who places larger bets than usual on the horses has either gone mad or skint." Clara shrugged, as Will pulled out a box of cigarettes, offering her one whilst he lit his on the open fire.

"If they're skint, they can't replace half of this stuff and will eventually come crawling back to place even bigger bets on horses or they'll be forced to take a 'loan' from the blinders— a loan which they won't get because my brothers may be a bit thick but they don't deal with idiots."

"Oh, you're evil, Shelby." Will chuckled.

"And don't you know it." The girl grinned mischievously, taking a puff from the cigarette.

The two watched as the piles slowly reduced to ash, cynical and successful smiles plastered across each of their faces. If there was a pair not to mess with it would be Clara Shelby and Will Clarke. The childhood best friends had been a menace to the people of Small Heath for as long as they could walk. The two were almost inseparable, their friendship persevering through the years.

They were a force to be reckoned with, one that often went untested by most.

The two watched as the fire crackled and sparked, but their moment of serenity was interrupted as a loud, angry yell sliced through the silence, causing both, Clara and Will, to turn in their spots.

"OI, SHELBY! YOU'RE DEAD!"

Clara Shelby was often told that she asked for trouble, yet she found that trouble seemed to happen anyway, with or without her consent. It's not like she actively went out looking to provoke a fight, but the Shelby name had a deadly reputation and there were a lot of people out there who were willing to test it.

It came as no surprise that the Sloan brothers had come to fight, their sleeves had been rolled up and their faces tinged a comical crimson. Clara swore that if it were possible, smoke would be pooling from their ears. It seemed as if the brothers had resorted to an attack dog mode of sorts, one which Clara and Will adapted to easily.

Perks of growing up around Shelby's is that every self-defence technique under the sun had been taught and learned since a young age— much to Polly's chagrin.

Clara spat out the blood that had spilt into her mouth, as she rushed forward, sending another sharp punch to her opponents face. Hastily, the girl spared a glance at Will, who was currently holding George Sloan in a headlock as the latter kicked and struggled to break free.

The girl focused her mind back on the punches being thrown her way and with a swift moment, she caught the boy's wrist. Clara smirked in glee as she reached up and grabbed James Sloan's head, slamming it down onto her knee, causing the boy to crumple to the floor with a satisfying groan.

There was a loud crack followed by another crash as George's body hitting the gravel. Clara lazily shoved her hands in her pants pockets as she witnessed Will send another kick to the body before making his way towards her.

"Christ, look at the state of you." Will chortled, his eyes scanning the girls bruised and bloody face.

"You don't look any better." Clara laughed, taking in the boys bloody nose and multiple cuts. She looked towards the Sloan brothers who were stumbling away in defeat with a sly grin. "I can't say I feel bad for 'em."

Will snickered as he shrugged on his jacket which had been unceremoniously flung to the floor before the fight had occurred.

"Pol and Tommy are gonna kill me." She moaned as she plucked her jacket from the gravel. Her hands precariously smoothing out her dirty shirt, which had been splattered with droplets of blood.

"Uh, Clara..."

The girl looked up at the sound of Will's panicked tone. Thomas Shelby was striding across the dirt, his coat flapping with the wind as he approached them.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit." She cursed lowly, shrugging on her jacket, hoping to hide her bruised hands but even then she knew that Tommy was no fool and all he had to do was look at the duo to figure out what had happened. "You should go."

"Not a chance, Shelby." He dismissed, standing beside her as her brother's looming figure grew closer. As soon as the man had come into closer range, the look on his face sent nervous shivers down their spines. "On second thought..."

"Go on, Judas." Clara retorted, as the boy nodded and bolted off in the direction in which the Sloan brothers had hobbled off.

"Clara."

The girl winced as she turned to face her older brother. Clara quickly, clasped her hands behind her back as Tommy halted in front of her.

"Hello, Tom!" She plastered her biggest, most insincere smile across her face.

"Walk." He stated harshly, grabbing her shoulder and dragging her along as they

"Look, I don't know what you saw—" Clara began, stumbling as Tommy kept his tight grip on her jacket.

"What I saw was you fighting."

"No! We weren't fighting!" She choked out, her voice high as she tried to scramble for an excuse. Tommy stopped in his tracks, his hand still clamped on her shoulder.

"Show me your hands then." He said scarily calmly, his eyes piercing hers. Seeing that there was no way he was backing down, the girl scowled and lifted her bruised knuckles into sight.

"I...uh, I fell?" She stammered, as the man shook his head and began walking once more.

The rest of the walk home consisted of Clara trying to weasel her way out of trouble and in other cases it may have worked, but she was dealing with Tommy Shelby— the brother who people claimed was just like her when he was younger, so the lying only seemed to dig her into a deeper hole.

"In." He ordered, opening the door to the betting shop, his hand still clamped on her shoulder.

"Get off." She whined, shrugging her shoulder trying to loosen his tight grip.

"No,"

The man led her into the den where the family had already gathered. All of them looked expectedly towards the two, more specifically the freshly bruised and battered Clara, who offered up a sheepish grin.

"Right, Clara, fuck off," Arthur boomed with a teasing smile, as his arms gestured for her to disappear into the room behind him. "Family meetin', Finn's already inside."

Clara rolled her eyes but just as she went to trudge towards the kitchen, Tommy's hand on her shoulder pulled her back.

"Sit down," he ordered, nodding to the empty seat beside Pol and John.

"You can't be serious." Arthur scoffed, "Tom, there's no need for her to be here."

"Oh thanks, Arthur." Clara retorted, "So welcoming."

"Given the state of her, I presume this meeting might be good for her to hear." Tommy drawled, ignoring the girl's comment as he leaned against the wall.

If looks could kill, Tommy would be dead a hundred times over. Arthur looked furious as his nostrils flared and eyebrows scrunched together. Clara took this opportunity to sit down on the seat, which earned her a flick to the forehead from John as he silently winked down at her.

"I called this meeting because I got some news from Ireland." Arthur began, his focus shifting to the family gathering. "Scudboat and Lovelock got back from Belfast last night. They were buying a stallion to cover their mares. They were in a pub in the Shankhill Road yesterday and in that pub, there was a copper handing out these."

Arthur handed out a few printed flyers and passed one straight to John. Both Ada and Clara leaned closer, their curiosity besting them as they looked down at the flyer.

"'If you're over five feet and can fight, come to Birmingham'." John read aloud, his eyebrows raised as puzzled murmurs rose.

"They're recruiting Protestant Irishmen to come over here as Specials," Arthur explained, his arms now folded as Pol took the sheet.

"To do what?" Ada piped up.

Before Arthur could answer, Tommy had begun speaking. "To clean up the city, Ada." He spoke up bluntly. Clara glanced towards her eldest brother who she could see was trying to hide his surprise at Tommy's knowledge.

Whatever Tom was talking about, it was clear that Arthur hadn't a notion.

"He's a Chief Inspector." Tommy continued, "The last four years he's been clearing the IRA out of Belfast."

Pol cautiously held the flyer out to Clara. The girl took it with no hesitation and scanned the page, tuning out everything around her. Looking up in confusion, she decided to test her luck.

"Why Birmingham?"

All eyes flitted to her as she raised an eyebrow.
There was silence. And silence meant two things— one, she wasn't supposed to talk, or two, they had no idea.

Arthur opened his mouth to speak but instead, he opted to take a swig from his flask. Clara watched as Tommy stepped forward, taking the mantle as everyone looked at him.

"There have been a lot of strikes at the Austen works and the BSA factory lately." Tommy commented, "Papers are talking about sedition, revolution. I reckon it's Communists he's after."

Even from across the table, Clara could hear Ada's small intake of breath at the word. The girl actively avoided looking over to her older sister at the action in fear that someone would notice the fleeting glance. She knew of Ada's constant rendezvous with Freddie Thorne, she knew that Ada had routinely been sneaking out.

How did she know?

As if some odd twist of fate, both Ada and Clara had clambered out of their windows one night at the same time, each of them sneaking off to their preferred locations. The two had frozen in their steps before rushing off. The next morning at breakfast, they'd had sworn to keep each others secret — and so they had.

"So this copper will leave us alone, right?" Pol asked, tapping the ash from her cigarette as she looked to Tommy.

"There are Irishmen in Green Lanes who left Belfast to get away from him. They say Catholic men who crossed him used to disappear in the night."

"Yeah, but we ain't IRA. We bloody fought for the King." John scoffed, looking around. "Anyway, we're the Peaky Blinders. We're not scared of coppers. If they come for us, we'll cut them a smile each, ain't that right, Clara?"

"That's right, John." Clara grinned, as her brother ruffled her hair. A few chuckles resounded around the room, yet Arthur and Tommy remained dead silent.

"We're just all going to have to be more careful. That's all." Tommy finally concluded while he tossed the crumpled flier into the fire. "So Arthur, is that it?"

"What do you think Aunt Pol?"

Clara tilted her head to see her eldest brother who looked down at the woman whose gaze had settled on Thomas.

"This family does everything open." She spoke, taking a drag from her cigarette. "You have nothing more to say to this meeting, Tommy?"

Silence.

"Nothing that's women's business." He answered shortly, shaking his head as Clara suppressed a loud scoff. She was already in enough trouble as it was and sometimes it was best to leave things unsaid.

"This whole bloody enterprise was 'women's business' while you boys were away at war." Polly snapped, her icy tone sending shivers down Clara's spine. "What's changed?"

"We came back."

It hadn't taken long until everyone dispersed, leaving Pol and Tommy staring at the girl who was fiddling with the cuffs of her shirt, actively avoiding the piercing eyes of her brother and aunt.

"What happened this time?" Pol sighed, her stern eyes finally meeting Clara's as she pulled out another cigarette in preparation for the girl's excuse.

"Fell?" Clara answered, attempting to reuse her earlier excuse only to be clipped behind the ear by Thomas. "Ow, what was that for?!"

"Lying." Tommy snapped, turning to Pol. "She was fighting...again."

"No, I wasn't!" Clara argued but before Tommy could rebuttal, Pol held up her hand causing the two to go silent.

"Tommy, what happened?" She asked cooly, ignoring the protests from the girl.

"Charlie tipped me off that he had seen her down by the cut." The man started, "When I got there Clara was covered in bruises and splatters of blood and two boys were crawling off." He turned to face the girl, who was mumbling 'snitch' under her breath. "Still sticking to the whole, 'fell', story, ey?"

"Yes," Clara answered stubbornly, her ears burning red.

"Show me your hands," Pol ordered, causing the girl to lift her bruised hands into the light. Her aunt tutted as she assessed the damage. She was silent and somehow Aunt Pol being silent was worse than her yelling.

"We agreed on no more fighting." Tommy gritted.

Clara rolled her eyes and leaned back on her chair, sighing as she gave in to the accusing looks. "Those bastards deserved it." She groaned, rage still coursing through her veins. The girl flinched when Tommy clipped her behind the ear once again.

"Watch the language." He stated sternly.

"Fine." Clara snapped, "I don't regret it though."

"Jesus Christ, Clara, I thought we agreed that there'd be no more fighting, full stop." Pol scowled.

"You also said not to take shit from anyone." The girl snickered as Tommy hit the back of her head again. "What?! I'm quotin' her...Look, nobody's dead, just bruised, honestly I don't see why it's such a big deal." Clara tilted her head as she spoke, her eyes flitting between Aunt Pol and Tommy. "Can I go wash up please?"

"Fine." Pol grumbled tiredly, Clara nodded gratefully and stood up, quickly making her way into the Shelby kitchen.

"Oi, Clara, get back here for a second," Tommy called after her. Clara stopped in her tracks before backtracking towards the table where the man sat with his cigarette.

"Sit." the man ordered, pointing at the seat she'd just been sitting in. Clara was hesitant but she complied, her eyebrows scrunched up in confusion as Tommy joined her, sitting across the table where Ada had once sat.

"Now you're going to listen, and you're going to listen well, got it?" Tommy began, he stubbed out his cigarette before leaning back in his chair. "You hear me?" When the girl nodded the man sucked in a breath and mumbled out a short 'good'.

"There's going to be a few changes 'round here and I need you to listen. Like you know, a special copper is coming from Belfast to clamp down on Birmingham. You need to rein it in. No ifs or buts...no more fighting, understand?"

Once Tommy had finished, Clara slumped back into her chair. "What if I don't pick the fight?" She theorised. "What if they start on me first?"

Thomas sighed, his eyes squeezing shut. "Then you talk yourself out of it or defend yourself, no pointless fights." He stated.

"Why is it such a big deal?!"

"Doesn't matter, do you understand?" Tommy answered.

"Well, it obviously does matter since you're being such a pain 'bout it, so..."

"Yes, or no, Clara Martha Shelby," Tommy gritted his teeth as he spoke, "Do you understand?"

"Yeah."

"Good."

Clara stood to her feet, rolling her sleeves up as she scrunched her nose in distaste. "I'm gonna go wash up now." She said, scratching her head, ignoring her body's aching and complaints. Once she'd finally disappeared out of view, Tommy let out a frustrated sigh.

"That girl will be the death of you." Pol chuckled, "She's almost as bad as you lot when you were her age." Thomas took one last puff from his cigarette before stubbing it out on an ashtray. "That girl is a menace, there's no stopping her, no matter how many times I've tried."

"Well, Clara is going to have to learn that we're back, meaning half of the shit she's done before won't be tolerated...especially now."

Polly laughed loudly, shaking her head in amusement. "Oh, let's just wait and see how that turns out." She said. "That girl has a mind of her own and you think that you have it under control until you find her sneaking out at all hours to be with the horses down by the yard. So, good luck, Tommy..with that bloody thinking you'll need it!"

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HELLO YOU BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE!

WELCOME TO THE FIRST CHAPTER OF TROUBLE, I'm afraid that it is not my best work but alas there is only so much you can do! This is more of an introduction to my OC and how she operates!

Thank you so much for reading and please vote and comment bc I am a WHORE for attention 😩