Arabella || Peaky Blinders [Michael Gray]

four

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.