sabrina. peaky blinders

𝑆𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛

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𝐶ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑆𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛: 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝐼𝑟𝑖𝑠ℎ 𝐵𝑎𝑟𝑚𝑎𝑖𝑑

The previous evening had ended on a better note than that of which it started, despite the fact that John had ended up drunker than they both wanted him to be. Sabrina had found it funny, his slurring state and discovered a surprising drunk quality that the Shelby boy possessed: he felt an overwhelming need to scream football chants every time someone walked through the door. He also liked to find obscure ways to compliment her. She had also found herself blushing, more than she wanted to, all night.

After a while, Tommy had helped her lug him back to watery lane, where John placed a sloppy kiss to her cheek before falling through the front door, face first. She laughed, and so did Tommy. It was the first sound she had heard out of him all night, even if it was just a low chuckle.

Harry had picked her up on it from the second she walked through the door for her first shift at the Garrison. She brushed the comment off with a small smile, before cringing at the strong smell of alcohol that lingered in the air. It was more prominent than it usually was, and she couldn't help but think it was all John's doing.

The soft morning light shone through the stained glass as the door was opened unusually early. Sabrina was in the private room, piling the many left over glasses into a basket, when she heard a feminine voice, with a light, southern Irish accent.  

"I'm here about the job as a barmaid." The voice asked.

"Are you mad?" Harry replied, the sound of continuous sweeping coming to a halt.

"Am I what?"

"Do you know about this place?" He asked again, rather harshly. Sabrina stuck her head around the door, the glass basket balanced between her hip and arm.

"I saw it in an advertisement." She argued, holding up the paper that had been held in her hands.

"Job's been filled." He said dismissively, going back to mopping the cigarette buts once again.

"It was in yesterday's paper." She pressed, stepping forward to gain his attention.

"Believe me, love, I'm doing you a favour." He argued back, shaking his head but looking to the floor.

Sabrina pushed the door open gently and walked to place the basket in the bar, acting as if she hadn't been listening in only seconds before. She looked to woman, she was blonde and rather petite, wearing a pretty matching set and a hat.

"I'm not asking for favours, I'm asking for employment." The woman said, pressing for the job, the paper in her hands shaking lightly.

"You're too nice." He said.

"How would you know?"

"And too pretty." He added and Sabina's eyebrows dropped questioningly.

"What does that mean?" Sabrina asked.

"They'd have her up against a wall." He replied and Sabrina shook her head.

"But I'm fine?"

"And I have experience and references, too." The woman said, taking out another sheet of paper from behind the news one, eagerly.

"What part of Ireland are you from?" Harry asked, pausing his sweeping once again, and standing up, hunched over the brush.

"Galway. I worked in Dublin." She replied.

He glanced quickly at the crucifix that hung around her neck. He was almost convinced. "Me mother was from Galway."

He shook his head. "You're too pretty."

"Watch." She interrupted him as he moved to turn around. "And listen."

The woman's voice was sweet and strong as she sang, walking around the bar picking up the silver, metal buckets from below the bar stools. It must be an Irish ballad, Sabina thought, as it was unfamiliar. She watched as she swirled the three spittoons around and poured them into one, turning to place it on the bar as her song drew to a close. Her voice and expression showed no reaction of horror or disgust.

"My boyhood friends and my own relations, have all passed on now like the melting snow." She stood in the middle of the room once again, as her soft voice left the air.

"In Ireland my singing made them cry and stopped them fighting." She said finally, as the room was left in silence.

Harry sighed. "Well, I hope you know a lot of songs."

She smiled, watching as he walked to the back room, leaving her to show herself to the door. As she turned to leave, Sabrina called for her to wait.

"Why don't you sit, since we'll be working together soon." She suggested, as she walked to the back of the bar, taking out two glasses and placing them down as an offering.

The woman hesitated from a moment, glancing between Sabrina and the two glasses before nodding and sitting at the bar. Sabrina grinned and poured a glass of gin for them each. Harry wouldn't mind, surely, she thought.

"Isn't it early for that?" The woman asked as her slim fingers slowly reached for the glass, bringing it to her nose. Her eyebrows dipped, as she realised her eyes had been correct: it was alcohol.

For the first time since the woman had walked into the pub, Sabrina had finally been given a chance to actually look at her face. She had soft features, that matched her delicate voice. She was pretty.

"I would have said the same thing not so long ago." Sabrina said, smiling faintly at the thought of drinking in the morning, in Paris. What would Mr Babineaux think of her now, drinking while at work in a pub? "After a couple day in Birmingham, well, it changes you."

"You've just come to Birmingham too?" The woman asked, the gin glacé still full in front of her.

"In a way. I was born here but I went to Paris straight after the war." Sabrina said.

She looked surprised, even though, Sabrina assumed, she had done the same.

"Why'd you go to Paris?"

"Education. I wanted to study literature. There was no way I was getting it here and, even though there was no way, being a woman, I could get a degree, it was the best thing for me, then." Sabrina replied.

"So what about you?" Sabrina asked, being as polite as possible. It wasn't often people would come to Birmingham. "You're from Ireland."

"I'd rather not speak of that." She said, sadly. "They aren't fond memories."

"I understand." Sabrina said. "I'm Sabrina."

"Grace." The woman smiled, holding her hand out.

"I think you'll like working here." Sabrina said, reaching her own hand out to shake it.

"Yes, I think I will."

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