Arabella || Peaky Blinders [Michael Gray]

five

Chapter Five
"I don't hate you as much as you think I do."

The doors to the Garrison opened with an overwhelmingly loud crash, startling Arabella from her light sleep. Harry took a step inside, the early morning sunlight spilling in after him.

Arabella, who sat slumped in a chair, head rested against the table, groaned at the sudden noise, slowly lifting her pounding head to see what all the fuss was about. The brightness of the light made her draw back slightly, and she quickly threw her hands in front of her eyes to shield them, squinting slightly as she tried to make out who the figure was, and where she actually was.

"Bloody hell, Arabella," Harry commented in surprise. "What are you doin' here?"

Arabella rubbed her tired eyes, trying to register her surroundings properly through the hazy fog in her mind. "Where am I?" She mumbled, her eyes slowly following him round the room, and then to the bar.

"The bloody Garrison," he answered, bending out of sight for a moment to reach into the cupboards. Arabella winced as she heard the clanging of glasses. "What the hell happened?" He questioned, running the glass under the tap and filling it with water. "You were s'pose to close up and then go home."

Arabella groaned again, slumping over the table once more. "I did the first bit," she mumbled, the sound becoming muffled as she pressed her cheek against the table. Harry sighed heavily and grabbed a clean rag from the bar, heading over to Arabella and hitting her lightly with it. "Ow!" She yelped, jolting upwards again to push him away.

Harry shook his head, placing the glass of water down in front of her. "Drink this." Arabella fell back against her chair, but obliged, picking up the drink and taking a sip. She swallowed thickly, feeling a little nauseous. "You're a bloody nightmare, you," he told her with a shake of his head.

"Please don't fire me," she muttered, her head falling into her hands again in exhaustion. She could barely remember any of what happened the night before. Other than the fact she got absolutely plastered.

"I don't do the firing anymore, love," he reminded her. Arabella had forgotten that, of course, as the pub now belonged to the Shelby's, it was down to them to do the firing. She decided that her head hurt too bloody much to think anymore.

As if on queue, the door swung open again, the light blinding Arabella once more. "Ugh," she murmured, her head falling against the table with a light thud, a little harder than she'd intended. "Ow."

"Mr Shelby," Harry greeted warmly, as he always did. Arabella sunk lower in her chair, not caring what Shelby it was, whoever they were, she really didn't want to see them. "What can I get you?"

"Just a word with this one," Tommy Shelby replies, indicating to Arabella, who didn't even bother moving. Instead, she prayed for the ground to swallow her whole.

"Right, yes," Harry said, sensing the tone. "I'll head out back."

Once Harry had disappeared out of sight, Tommy pulled out the empty seat beside Arabella, the loud noise of the chair legs scraping against the floor making her wince again. "You're starting on the drink early," he commented teasingly as he sat down.

Slowly, Arabella lifted her head, watching him through half-opened eyes. "What do you want?"

Tommy took in her appearance. Her brown hair, which looked like it had been originally tied up, was disheveled, large strands sticking out everywhere. The makeup around her eyes had smudged, highlighting her exhaustion even more, and the corners of her mouth were tainted slightly by smudged pink lipstick. There was a large stain on her grey dress, which he could only assume was a spilt drink. To put it simply, Arabella looked a mess.