#finding delilah

“This fuckin alarm I swear…” he murmured as he aggressively clicked the “Stop” button on his phone. Lucas blinked slowly, staring into the corner of his room, trying to fully ground his body into the real world. He was already debating if he even wanted to go, which of course the answer was and would always be no. However, saying no or skipping wouldn’t be an option because if his mom or his older brother, Nolan, found out then well…it wouldn’t go so well for Lucas.

With the only choice he had left, Lucas stood up and stretched as he grabbed his towel. He made sure to turn off the heater because he knew that if that warm water hit his back, he would be falling asleep standing up with a loofa on his ass. Cold showers hurt but he needed to be awake to make sure he doesn’t even end up taking the wrong bus again.

After his shower and getting changed, Lucas grabbed his stuff and headed out the door. “Ahem!…” that sound of angry throat clearing could only be one person—Mary Woods, Lucas’ mother. “Are you forgetting something?,” Lucas looked around for the answer, though of course he already knew what it was that she was referring to.

“I don’t know mom, you tell me if you know” he said playfully.

“You’re not leaving this house until you give your mother a hug, Lucas Peterson Woods.”

Lucas sarcastically rolled his eyes but still walked up to his mother, wrapping his arms around her smaller frame. When he pulled away, his mother had a proud and satisfied smirk on her face.

And now it was time to face Hell a.k.a Campus.

Well you see…Lucas didn’t entirely hate going to class. It was great, it was big, it was nice overall. But hell can’t be called hell without its demons and devils. He hated the people at Campus. Not all of them of course. The only people he liked or could tolerate was his best friend—Isaiah Jesus, anyone who doesn't try to mingle around randomly, or those who sit alone blasting music in their headphones so nobody would talk to them.

Isaiah once revealed to another group of friends that back in High school, people used to make Lucas write essays, love confession letters, homework, you name it. They all asked him because he had the best handwriting, the way he writes always somehow ends up working in their favour.

As soon as Isaiah’s friends heard about it, they started to ask for small favours from Lucas. It started out as just asking him to proofread their essays and get his honest opinions, then it progressed into editing their work and sending out emails to their professors, and even job applications. Lucas had become a ghostwriter. Were they taking advantage of him? Sure. But Lucas always made sure that he would get something out of his service. He was getting paid. The price varied on how long or how much effort it would take to produce the letter you wanted him to write.

This was the origin story of Lucas’ hatred for the people he went to school with. He was even starting to hate Isaiah a little after that incident but at least he’s getting his money’s worth. And Isaiah was his best friend from High school, how could he just throw him away like that?

The moment he stepped a foot into campus he immediately turned up the volume in his earpiece. Walking past through the swarm of students. He could probably name half of them. Those were mostly the ones who had paid for his service.

Isaiah

Isaiah: Yo, meet me at the Cafeteria later

Lucas: Ok

Isaiah: See ya bro 😛

Seen

Lucas searched for Isaiah, his eyes scanning through the cafeteria. After a few seconds of failed searches, Lucas decided to call Isaiah instead when suddenly a heavy hand slammed against his back.

“Lucas, There you are! Been trying to find you everywhere bro”

Lucas brushed away Isaiah’s palms from his shoulder, “You told me to find you at the cafeteria…and besides, we always meet at the Cafeteria. And you never get anything”.

They both sat down on one of the benches. It had become a routine for them to waste time before class because Professor Jones never actually started the class on time but instead, he would talk about anything and everything else other than what he was teaching. Lucas tried to pretend he didn’t notice Isaiah staring right at him while he was scrolling through his phone. Every time Lucas looked at Isaiah, he’d avert his eyes and awkwardly scratched the back of his neck.

“Okay, what the hell do you want Isaiah? You keep staring at me like I’m your unrequited love or something” Lucas snapped.

“I just wanted to ask you for a favour” Isaiah trailed.

Lucas raised a brow, demanding that he finish his sentence. Isaiah let out a deep sigh, his shoulder dropped as he tried to find the right words to say to Lucas that wouldn’t make him mad.

“I want your help writing a letter to this girl for me”

There it is. Lucas’ jaw slackened, scoffing at his request. Great, now even his own so-called best friend is asking.

“Wow…and here I thought you were actually my friend, Isaiah” Lucas said sarcastically. “I can’t say that I’m not hurt by it honestly”.

Isaiah’s palms dragged down across his face, “Look, I’d never ask this from you like ever in my life, I swear! But I’m really desperate here man…”

Lucas could only roll his eyes at Isaiah, at his request, his stupidity, his existence. Mainly because he thought, why the hell did Isaiah need him to write a letter for a girl? Isaiah was a natural flirt. It was very well known. So when did he get all romantic and suddenly found the urge to write a letter?.

“Fine. But why do you suddenly want to write a letter? Just go up to her and shoot your shot like you always do with every other girl”

The suggestion made Isaiah’s eyes blow wide open and shake his head aggressively.

“Nah I can’t. Like I actually can’t”

“What? Why? Are you suddenly too in love or what?” Lucas asked exasperatedly.

“Cause her brothers are scary bro!”

The silence between them was painfully loud. Did his ears deceive him? Since when did Isaiah care about any of that? This was coming from the same guy whose ex-girlfriends mostly all had strict parents which he completely disregarded.

“And since when has that ever stopped you?”

“Nah, they're actually crazy. Her whole is family actually, I’ve heard all kinda shit about them”

Lucas shook his head. “Who even is this girl?” He asked. The shift in Isaiah’s body language was visible. “Awh man she’s amazing. Her name’s Delilah Shelby and she’s beautiful I’m telling you, her laugh is contagious”.

Delilah Shelby? Lucas has heard of her but he’s never seen her around Campus before. He’s heard that one of her older brothers owns a gin company, the same one that his mom likes to drink. Shelby’s Gin. So she was a pretty big deal then. Still, Lucas was still confused why Isaiah needed him to write a letter. But if he was willing to pay the price for it then why not.

Lucas cut Isaiah off as he blabbered on about something else, “Fine, I’ll write it for you. But you’re going to have to give more than just beautiful here if you want me to write something for you”

Isaiah thought about it for a moment. “I mean…she’s funny and pretty?”.

“Wow, very detailed. Really shows me how much you like her. But I guess if you’re willing to pay then I guess I’ll make something up”

Isaiah’s eyes lit up with excitement. He didn’t think that Lucas would actually take up on his favour. Though he wasn’t so sure about making a payment. They were friends after all, so shouldn’t he get some type of compensation? But he didn’t want to argue any further. Not like you could or should do so with Lucas Woods.

—

After class

The halls were bustling with students. All of them rushed to get out, pushing their way through. Lucas had to hold in his frustration as he tried to make his way out. Isaiah had left right away after class and didn’t even bother waiting for Lucas, as always. Isaiah promised to wait for him at the parking lot. Lucas put on his earpiece in hopes that it would help regulate his frustration as well as control the anxiety being in crowded places.

Everything was going well so far. He managed to maneuver himself through everyone that got in his way and held in his anger when he would get pushed by others.

Until of course, something would happen.

Someone had run past him and knocked him over his shoulder, which caused him to drop his phone. The phone hit the concrete pavement, harshly scrapping it. This was his only phone. And he just got it just a few months ago. He saved up for years to get himself a new phone. An iPhone at that, and he didn’t even have AppleCare. When he went over to pick it up, it was just as he expected—cracked. It made his phone look like fucking spider webs. Lucas was about to snap and give this woman a piece of his mind. But before he could, she stopped in her tracks and turned around. Her eyes widened in horror when she noticed the state of his phone.

“Oh god…I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to do that. Oh god, I’m so terribly sorry” she apologised profusely, swinging her arms around frantically.

Lucas’ jaw tightened, “Yeah, well sorry’s not going to fix my phone”

“I know, I’m sorry. I’ll get you a new phone I promise!”

Was she serious? After taking a good look at her, it seemed like she genuinely was going to get him a new phone. Lucas sighed as he pinched on the bridge of his nose.

“Look…there’s no need to get me a whole new phone. It’s just cracked. Just pay for the broken screen”

The tension in her entire body began to relax, “Oh okay. Y-yeah of course. You should give me your number so we can find a date to meet and fix your phone” she said as she handed him her phone.

He pressed his number on the phone and passed it back to her.

“What should I save your name as?” She asked.

“Lucas,” he replied.

“I’m Delilah by the way. And again, I’m so sorry. I promise I’ll fix your screen.”

Delilah? Maybe it was a different Delilah. But he had to make sure that this was the same Delilah that Isaiah had a crush on.

“Delilah Shelby?”

Her eyes brightened at the mention of her name. “Y-yeah. How did you know?” She laughed awkwardly.

Lucas shrugged, “Heard about you before, that’s all. Anyway, don’t forget to get back to me”

Delilah nodded her head at the reminder, “Oh right! Yeah no, I won’t forget to do that. I have to go now Lucas. And once again for the millionth time, I’m so very sorry. Okay bye!” She said hurriedly as she sped away once again, disappearing into the distance.

So this was the girl that Isaiah fancied. Isaiah’s taste is definitely very unique, he thought to himself as he made his way to the parking lot, holding his now cracked phone in his hands.

It was easy to spot Lucas. Isaiah could easily see that furrowed brow from a mile away. He waved his hands at Lucas so that he would see him.

“Yo Lucas, what took you so long?” He asked. That’s when he noticed the cracked phone that Lucas had in his hands. “What the fuck happened to your phone?”.

“Nothing, someone bumped into me and made me drop my phone but it’s okay, I have it all in control”

Isaiah left it at that, not wanting to further anger his friend. “Anyway, about that letter”, Lucas stopped him before he could finish his sentence. “Before I write it for you. You have to at least talk to her before you start writing love letters or else she’s going to think that you’re a weirdo. As if you already aren’t”

“You’re probably right about that…”

Lucas scoffed, “When am I never”

“I’ll do it tomorrow then” Isaiah said.

“Or you could just text her,” Lucas suggested.

Isaiah stopped in his tracks, looking at Lucas as if he was speaking in another language. “And how will I do that? I don’t even have her number”. Lucas rolled his eyes at Isaiah’s genuine stupidity.

“You could ask for her number, dumbass. But that’s not going to be a problem because lucky for you,” he said as typed something in his phone.

Ding.

Isaiah felt his left pocket vibrate. He reached for his phone and went to check what Lucas had sent him.

Isaiah let out a loud and dramatic gasp, “No way. No fucking way. You actually got her number! How did you retrieve such sacred information bro?”

“I have my ways” he said nonchalantly as he continued walking, leaving Isaiah speechless.

“I’m going to cherish this, you have to help me text her properly later, please!” Isaiah begged.

“Are you going to walk or not?” Lucas asked with an annoyed tone.

Isaiah beamed with joy and he immediately ran towards Lucas who was already all the way to the bus stop. He could not stop staring at Lucas, watching him with a sheepish expression as he listened to the songs in his earpiece. Lucas closed his eyes to block out Isaiah.

“Could you stop staring at me?”

“What would I do without you?” Isaiah teased.

“I don’t know. Die probably” Lucas replied coldly.

—

The moment Lucas got home, all he wanted to do was melt into his bed after all that had happened today. His clothes were pulled off right as he entered his room and tossed his bag across the floor. Even if he wanted to rest he couldn’t, not when his cracked phone was staring right at him and somehow seeping into his mind even as he closed his eyes.

And just as he was about to finally accept the fate of his phone and get some shut-eye, his phone lit up with a notification.

Delilah

Delilah: Hey, it’s Delilah again

Delilah: Do you want to talk about the date to go fix your phone?

Lucas: Sure, how about this

Saturday?

Delilah: Sounds good! How about 2pm?

Lucas: I’m okay with that. And you’re going to pay for it? Mind you, I don’t have AppleCare so you’ll have to pay for the full cost of the repair.

Delilah: Yep don’t worry I’ll settle it all, I mean…I have to anyway. I broke your phone 😭

Lucas: Yeah you did.

Delilah: I’m sorryyyyy :(

Lucas: This Saturday, just remember that.

Delilah: 🫡🫡

Seen

At least that much was settled. Now Lucas could finally let his mind and body rest. Just 30 mins would suffice. That would be enough rest before he had to complete another task—write that letter for Isaiah.

But there was one more problem.

Isaiah didn’t specify what he wanted Lucas to write in that letter. Did he expect Lucas to just wing it? That wasn’t quite his style. When Lucas writes letters or emails for others he needs the full detail. The tone. Are you happy, sad, or pissed? How happy or pissed are you? How much does this person mean to you? Etcetera. Without the details that he needed, Lucas could not produce the letter yet. Lucas needed to ask Isaiah how he wanted the letter to be written.

But not right now. Because right now was beauty nap time for Lucas and that time was sacred and not to be disturbed in any situation.

—

Unfortunately for Lucas, 20 mins later, his phone started to ring relentlessly. Lucas glared at the name of the person who was calling him—Isaiah. He answered the phone, putting it on speaker.

“Hello?” Isaiah called out.

“What” Lucas groaned.

“Lucas! I’m texting Delilah right now, what should I say?”

Lucas furrowed his brows tightly, “What do you mean by that? Just say what you always say with other girls I guess”

“Nah I can’t do that. I told you her brothers are crazy, what if they see her texts…”

Lucas didn’t even bother finding a response for that idiotic comment.

“Just say hi or something. If she asks where you got her number just be truthful about it”

“Say hi, be truthful. Got it. Alright…I’ll go text her now. Wish me luck” Isaiah said before hanging up.

After the call, Lucas was left staring up at his ceiling and unable to go back to sleep no matter how long he’d close his eyes. Suddenly, it hit him that he didn’t manage to ask Isaiah more about what he liked about Delilah and how he wanted him to write the letter. At this point, he was already too lazy and exhausted to call back and ask.

So he decided that he would just do it on his own. He’d already met Delilah so he would just go off based on his first impressions. And he knew Isaiah well enough to know how he would write a letter. Lucas sat up and stretched his limbs, blinking away the crust around the crevices of his eyes. He took out a piece of paper and a pen from his bag, placed it on his study table and began writing.

Dear Delilah

Too stiff? It definitely was too stiff if it was coming from Isaiah.

Yo Delilah

Yeah, no. Too much like Isaiah.

Hey there, Delilah

The pencil stops writing for a moment. Lucas blinked, rereading what he’d just written down. “That’s perfect”.

Lucas snickered at his own creativity as he continued writing down. Something told him that she would really like that sneaky little joke. After careful planning and erasing, Lucas was finally done with his draft. Now all that was left is to write it again with nicer handwriting, with no mistakes.

Hey there, Delilah.

What’s it like in Birmingham?

If you think me writing letters is cheesy then you’re probably right.

But I figured it’s easier to put things on paper than to fumble around in front of you like an idiot.

I guess I just want to let you know that I think that you’re such a fun person to be around.

Try not to cringe too hard.

—Isaiah from Business

Lucas leaned back in his chair as he scanned the letter once more. The letter was complete. Now all that’s left was to make sure Isaiah had texted Delilah. Lucas wondered how bad her brothers could be that Isaiah would hesitate that badly. It’s not as if this would be the first time Isaiah would encounter a scary family member.

Lucas was pulled away from his train of thought abruptly when his phone buzzed with three rapid notifications. There was no way Lucas could mistake who it was. Isaiah sent a text message of himself chatting with Delilah followed up with a “Oh my god she’s so cute”

Lucas clicked on the sent image and it seemed like they had a decent conversation. Double texting and even using emojis. That was just something Lucas wouldn’t do.

Everything in Lucas’ to do list had been crossed off for today. Tomorrow he would have to meet with Delilah to get his phone fixed. Lucas was too tired to let his head be swallowed by unnecessary stress. All he had to do now was get some sleep and meet up with Delilah tomorrow just as they promised.

—

Saturday

Lucas stood in front of his mirror staring at his own reflection, thinking about the plans that he had made last night. Listing off each one because it brought him comfort.

“Meet Delilah, fix my phone, go home…” he chanted to himself as he got ready. Lucas liked routines and when he has his day completely planned out and can get quite irritated when something interferes with it. He was going to make sure that everything went according to his plan.

But knowing his luck, he knew to expect some sort of problems. Not much he could do about that though. Taking a deep breath and long exhale, he left the house.

As he approached the Apple Store Lucas stopped in his steps. The place was way bigger than he expected. And he would be lying if he said that it didn’t scare him. His eyes scanned the area and that’s when he saw a familiar face standing in the midst of the crowd. When Delilah spotted him, she gave him a big energetic wave, slightly hopping on her tippy-toes so he could see her better.

“Lucas!”

Lucas picked himself up as he walked over to her direction, trying to maintain his composure. Delilah immediately caught on his discomfort just from how much he was tensing his eyebrows and jaw.

“Why are you tensing so much? What, are you nervous to be seen with me?” She teased.

His facial muscles softened almost instantly when she pointed it out. He didn’t even realize how nervous he had been to be in a place like this.

“A little. I hate big places like this” he admitted.

Delilah shook her head, “You’re just like my brother, hates big crowded places and furrows his eyebrows 24/7”

Before Lucas could come up with a smart response, Delilah grabbed his arm firmly and pulled it with her as she walked through the sea of people. They made it to the entrance and if the outside was bad, the inside was horrible. Terrifying even. People were walking and talking in all directions. There was no way to escape or block anyone in a situation like this. “What is this place…” Lucas thought to himself. Forget his phone, he did not want to be here at all.

“Come on, pretty boy, we’ve got a phone to fix,” Delilah said, pulling Lucas to the counter.

“Hi there! See, I broke my friend's phone screen. Is it possible for you guys to fix it by today? Also he doesn’t have AppleCare but that’s still okay right? Yeah—okay just wanted to make sure”

Delilah spoke with confidence. He was slightly amazed at how her words naturally flowed from her mouth and how her body moved with such fluidity. It didn’t seem like she had what she wanted to say all planned out in her head but instead it was already on the tip of her tongue. Even her laugh seemed natural. He wondered if she was always like this or if she just switched sides when it came to social situations. Either way, it was still impressive. She impressed him.

“Lucas! Fortunately for you, they said the condition of your phone is not so major and can be fixed in about an hour, so…let’s go!” Delilah said excitedly.

Lucas looked at her confused. “Go…where?”.

“Well if we’re going to wait here for an hour we might as well go out and get something to eat because I’m starving”

“Why can’t we just wait here until it’s done?” He asked.

Delilah groaned. “You don’t actually want to wait here for a whole hour do you?”. Lucas' eyes dropped down to her face. She had that face of an impatient child. It reminded him of his nephew when he didn’t get what he wanted.

“I don’t see a problem with it. You’re just impatient. But fine, let’s go get some food. I haven’t eaten anything yet anyway” Lucas said as he exited the store.

Delilah rushed out the door, trying to catch up with Lucas. As they walked side by side, Delilah’s eyes caught sight of an ice cream shop and instinctively began running towards the direction of the place.

There was another problem.

Lucas doesn’t like ice cream.

Lucas fiddled with his fingers as he watched Delilah already ordering what she wanted. She looked over her shoulders, “Lucas, what did you want?”.

“Vanilla, just vanilla” he blurted out.

They were handed their ice cream cups and found a spot to sit near the window where they could see the street. Lucas scooped his ice cream and hesitantly took a bite, wincing as the cold of the soft cream hit his teeth.

“What’s wrong?” Delilah asked.

“I-uh…I don’t really like ice cream actually” Lucas admitted.

Delilah’s body perked up, tilting her head slightly. “What? Then why didn’t you say anything? If you did, I wouldn't have gotten you ice cream”.

Lucas waved his hand at her. “It’s okay. I’m already eating it. It’s not bad, I just hate how it feels on my teeth”.

She nodded, though she felt slightly guilty that she had made Lucas eat something he wasn’t fond of. A thought slowly came to her mind as she swallowed her ice cream. “Oh! Right, your friend texted me last night…” she said suggestively.

“Oh yeah? Which one” He asked without looking up from his ice cream. “Isaiah, said that you gave him my number. Never said you could give my number to anyone. You’re lucky he’s cute and definitely my type”.

“And what’s your type? Flirty and dramatic?”

“Playful and confident. And cute”, she added. “But confidence is always important”

Lucas shrugged, seemingly unimpressed with her answer. “Seems pretty vague,” he said. Delilah didn’t disagree with his comment. “True, but not everyone can embody it perfectly or naturally”.

Lucas couldn’t argue with that. I mean he already saw the best example of her statement happen right in front of him. Before he even realised how deep he was in his thoughts, he’d already finished his cup and he even slurped the remaining melted bits. Surprisingly, he was able to get through the way it felt against his teeth. Their conversation had become a distraction. One that worked so well that it even made someone like Lucas forget that he doesn’t like something, Is this what it felt like to be comfortable with someone? Though it was too soon to say so for sure, either way, he did feel proud that he was able to make small progress for himself. And Delilah was the one who helped him get to that stage.

Delilah’s phone lit up, “Oh! Your phone, it’s been fixed. Have we really been talking that long?” She laughed at herself.

Lucas hadn’t realised that as well. Actually, he found himself not realising a lot of things throughout the day with her. Like how fast time went by, how he enjoyed being outside as much as he didn’t want to admit it.

“Lucas, come here. I need you to see that I’m actually going to pay” she hollered.

Towering over her, he stared as she tapped the card on top of the reader, the machine didn’t take long to accept the payment. “Here you go, you’re all set” the employee said as they handed the newly repaired phone back to its rightful owner, Lucas held his phone closer to his eyes, carefully observing it. There were no traces of the cracks like yesterday.

Lucas took his phone and was headed to the exit. “Ahem!” Delilah cleared her throat, looking at him with the same expression his mother gave him whenever he’s forgetting something. Confused with what he did wrong, he raised a brow.

“Say thank you”

Those few words made Lucas go quiet. He looked at her as if she was crazy for making him say it. Truthfully, he didn’t want to. But he was being put on the spot so now he felt like he had to.

“Thank you” He said flatly.

“Thank you, who?” She prompted.

“Delilah”

Delilah clicked her teeth frustratedly, “No, not me. The employee that fixed your phone!”

“Oh. Thank you” He corrected himself, facing the employee.

A deep sigh left her lips. He didn’t say it in the right tone that she had anticipated but she at least his heart was in the right place. His stoic and cold demeanor didn’t faze her one bit. She’d seen this her whole life growing up with Tommy, her second older brother was the exact same way, so she felt that she naturally knew how to handle and tackle someone like Lucas Woods. And if she squinted her eyes just slightly she would be able to see a glimpse of Tommy Shelby through the blurry lens of her vision.

Delilah stretched her arms up with a satisfied sigh. “Mission accomplished, Phone fixed, ice cream devoured, and you even learned to say thank you. I’m proud of you, Lucas.” She teased. Lucas rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth betrayed him with the tiniest smirk. Delilah gave him a playful nudge with her elbow. He brushed past her as they headed down the street.

“You’re lucky you paid for my phone, Shelby. Or not I wouldn’t have been tolerating you this whole time”. She skipped to keep up with him, laughing.

“Oh, I know I am”

Lucas shoved his hands into his pockets and stared ahead, he tried not to think about how much he didn’t hate this—being around people. Maybe it only applied to people he found tolerable, he concluded. Both of them said their goodbyes. It was awkward and stiff, mainly on his part, but it was effortlessly warm on hers. She waved as she walked away.

Lucas stood there for a second. Thinking to himself.

His father lowered his belt and took one good look at the angry red welt on Malcolm’s back. “Sit down boy,” he instructed. His father placed a hand on Malcolm’s back making him hiss at the painful sting. Maybe it was guilt that crept across the old man’s face—or something like it. He couldn’t seem to meet his son’s gaze. Malcolm relented and sat stiffly next to his father as he was told, looking down at the floor, fiddling with the seam of his trousers waiting for what his father would say next.

“Now, you know why Papa gets really angry when you talk and play with people you don’t know….” His father’s voice faltered, trailing into the thick, suffocating air.

Malcolm bit down on the inside of his cheek, “But Papa…she’s not people…I know her”

Delilah wasn’t just anyone. She was his light. His sanctuary. The only soul whose laughter stitched something broken inside him back together. Malcolm would never allow anyone to speak ill about Delilah. She was his escape. And the only girl who’s energy made him smile. Her happiness made him happy. And that was all he needed.

“Her family are a bunch of gypsies for goodness sakes boy!” He bellowed, his face grimacing, causing the wrinkles on his forehead to deepen.

The insult hit harder than any belt. Malcolm shot to his feet, fists clenched at his sides.

“Why does that matter Papa? You go to the same church as her Aunt and help those same gypsies that you spit on! Mama was a gypsy, so what do you have to say about that?!”

“Well look where that fuckin got her!”

Malcolm stared in disbelief at his father’s words, at his audacity. His mama had passed away from a sickness two years ago. He hadn’t known exactly what sickness had hollowed her out, but he remembered her pale skin, the blue veins mapping across it like rivers, the way Nolan had sat by her bedside everyday—changing her dressings, feeding her broth—while their father disappeared to do God knows what.

His mother had the palest skin like snow. Eyes sunken like a beautiful worn sculpture.

“What does that mean?” Malcolm choked out.

“Your mom was cursed, boy. Magic. Cursed by her own fucking community”

“How do you know Papa? Why would they curse her?” he demanded to know.

“Some of them heard about what I did, and I guess they didn’t like that” His father shrugged nonchalantly, as if he wasn’t the cause of the problem. The whole situation that caused them to move to Small Heath in the very first place.

Malcolm sat back down and raked his fingers through his hair. His mother was a whore, Nolan was a known thief. Malcolm always knew that his family wasn’t really favoured by others back in his hometown. Never knew that the hate was so strong enough to kill someone.

His father was a criminal, constantly on the run from the law. Not sure what crime it was that led to his father threatening everyone in the village that he would kill them if they opened their mouths. But all Malcolm knew that it must’ve been horrible. The only people in the family who seemed to know about his father’s crime were his mother, Mary, and Nolan. And Nolan…he always looked like he'd seen it all.

“What did you do Papa…what did you do that made them so mad? Why’d they take it out on Mama?” Malcolm questioned with his head in his hands, fingers pressing deeply into his temples. Whatever the answer was, Malcolm knew he would still keep his mouth shut, and go on with whatever his father told him to do. He was always a Papa’s boy. He was always praised for it.

“What I did is none of your business. We came all the way here to make a name for ourselves. In here, we are no longer criminals”

Malcolm figured it was useless to try and ask and pry any further. It was clear that his father was never going to tell him and that he was probably going to die never knowing. He was just confused and wondered why it was his mother that was dragged into all this. Why his mother got the other end of the stick. Nolan once told him before he went to fight in France, “You can always reject your father, but you’ll always have your mother’s blood”. Malcolm never understood what that meant. Even now after Nolan had passed. People are always quick to blame your mother for how you turned out. So maybe whatever his father did, the village couldn’t take out their anger at him, out of fear of what he would or could do, then his mother would be the next choice.

“One more question Papa…”

“What now?”

“How long do I have to keep calling myself Malcolm?”

Delilah’s home, 1934

The lights were dim and the air was quiet back at Delilah’s humble abode. She lived in a small two story terrace building on the edge of Small Heath. It was much quieter here, slightly fewer gangs walking around, but still a walking distance from Saint Judes Church and Watery Lane. Her family had strongly advised her to move away from Small Heath when she mentioned that she wanted to continue living there. Everything happened there. Her whole life began there. It felt like she was letting go of everything she ever held on if she moved elsewhere. And Delilah didn’t like to let things go.

“You can’t stay here Dilly,” Polly urged.

“But Polly…I can’t seem to let go of Small Heath”, Delilah whispered.

“You need to move somewhere better, my love, your heart needs peace and Small Heath gonna give you that”

She knew that Polly meant well and was trying to help with her anxiety. Delilah was always weary and paranoid of something happening to her or anyone else in her family. It got to the point where her paranoia had caused her to be awake at the latest hour of the night, walking slowly to her siblings room, opening their doors hauntingly slowly, worrying that something might happen to them.

Ada would lift her blanket and invite her in and hold her tight, letting her know that she’s okay. “Come here Dilly, lay with me, see I’m right here…I’m okay”.

It always scared Arthur the most when she would peek at his door, but he always reassured her as well. “Bloody hell Delilah…You scared me. I’m alright, love”.

John never questioned it and would sit outside on the dining table, distracting her with meaningless conversations.

Oddly enough, Thomas never flinched. Maybe it was because he never slept and was just as paranoid as her. He shared the same fear, always hearing the sound of a pickaxe picking on the back of his wall. Delilah would always invite herself onto his bed, hugging him tightly and he would do the same. He had quickly learned that squeezing her tightly was effective in making her racing heart beat at a gentle pace.

Her home was warm. Not much furniture that filled the space. She liked it that way, not much clutter, especially since her mind was already very much cluttered with thoughts all over the place. Her bed was placed perfectly where the sun would shine through the window but wouldn’t glare directly into her eyes, but instead, bath her in its golden rays. Delilah didn’t do much at home. Her routine consisted of waking up, sometimes she would have breakfast, call Ada and Tommy, and sit on her couch until she would get tired and fall asleep.

She lived alone and didn’t, if not, never had anyone over at her home. But this was going to change because Ada had called a day ago while Delilah was preparing to go to sleep.

“Evening Dilly, are you free tomorrow?—of course you are, you’ve got nothing to do anyway”

Delilah scoffed at her sister’s snarky comment, “Well if taking care of Izzy counts then yes, I am very busy”.

“No, feeding and sleeping with that ginger cat of yours does not count”

Delilah laughed, her siblings never did like her ginger cat, Izzy. Arthur called it a dangerous thing because she bit him once and he now has a grudge. When John was still alive he would call her lazy girl, which wasn’t necessarily wrong. Tommy didn’t even want to be near it.

“If that’s the the case the no, I am not busy tomorrow”

“Good, I’ll be coming over tomorrow. No reason, just figured I wanted to see my cute little sister, mourn, and drink wine while we talk about our wonderful family”

Ada strutted through the busy streets with her large fur coat. Her makeup was elegantly done as always, red rogue perfectly making her lips stand out. She clutched her handbag and walked past the crowd. Ada had an aura and energy around her that made others turn their heads at her when she walked by.

Knock knock knock. She waited patiently for her little sister’s arrival. Soon later, Delilah slowly opened the door and immediately brought a smile to Ada’s face.

“Ada!” Delilah squealed as she yanked her sister inside by her arm.

Ada gasped but quickly balanced herself back on her feet and crossed her arms around her chest, looking at Delilah with that same look she always had. That “I missed you like crazy” look.

“Morning Delilah, I’ve missed my little sister,” Ada said with a playful raised brow as she wrapped her arms around Delilah’s frame.

Delilah assisted Ada to sit on the armchair and went to the kitchen. Ada removed her fur coat placing it on the coat rack, before sitting down comfortably.

“Wine or Whiskey?”

Ada scoffed at the question.

“Whiskey is for heartbreak. Wine, now that’s for grief”

Delilah was amused by that statement. It reminded her of a time where one of Tommy’s friends, or something like that, told her that Gin was for the melancholy and Rum was for violence. But she didn’t have any of those, so it was either Wine or Whiskey. Though wine was usually used for toast and celebrations while whiskey was more for numbing the pain, there was no use in numbing a pain that would never go away. So instead we commemorate it. And Polly was a person to celebrate.

Delilah poured the drink into their cups and they both raised a toast, “To Polly, one hell of a woman she was” said Ada. Delilah nodded and took a sip of her wine.

“That she was”

As they drank, Ada wrapped an arm around Delilah’s shoulder and layed on it. Ada took a deep breath and released a deep sigh. One that dissolved all the weight in her chest. Delilah let her eyes close shut gently. Just having Ada—her only sister, here with her was enough to anchor her back to the ground beneath her very feet. Delilah didn’t know that all she needed to remind her that she’s still real was for another human being to hold her hand and say, “I see you”.

“You know I’ll always be here with you right Delilah?” Ada blurted, her fingers lovingly brushing down Delilah’s brown curls.

Delilah melted into her sister's arms and grunted.

“I’ll remind you that you’re my little sister, and a very special woman in my life, if you go missing, be it physically or spiritually, I’ll never stop finding you”

Silent tears fell from Delilah’s eyes, Ada’s warm hands brushing circles on the small of her back. Ada's eyes flickered upward to the photo of Polly and John in his uniform framed very nicely near the fireplace. Delilah took the pictures from their rooms after they passed away.

“That's a nice picture of them you have there”

Delilah wiped her hot tears away, “Mhm…I don’t want to forget what they look like. I’ve already forgotten what Mom and Dad look like. And Malcolm…”

The mention of Malcolm’s name made Ada sit up straight. “Malcolm? wasn’t that your boyfriend as a kid?”. Delilah swatted Ada’s arm and Ada giggled playfully.

“No he wasn’t my boyfriend. He was just a really good friend of mine back when I was 9. I don't know why, but I have really bad memory. I seem to have forgotten what he looks like already…”

Ada shrugged, “Well it was 17 years ago, that is a long time, Dily”.

Delilah nodded and sighed. She realised that she was starting to forget faces when she couldn’t even get an image of her mother in her head when asked what she looked like. All she could remember was that she had beautiful blue eyes and a voice soft like a feather. And John, she almost forgot if he had brown or blond hair, or if he had freckles on his skin.

So for Polly, she promised she would never forget what she looks like. Polly had beautiful brown curls that she never failed to style so beautifully, every tie and every hairpin fit so perfectly. She had eyes that commanded and hands that could make a man crumble. Those same hands that soothed all her siblings to sleep

“I miss Pol, Ada”

“I miss her too love, let’s just sit here together and talk about her okay? I have all day”

Lucas Woods was wandering around Saint Jude’s Church. Everyone in Small Heath always joked about how Father Woods never leaves the Church. How his soul is stuck there. If you needed someone, you could bet your last penny that Lucas Woods would be there, sitting gracefully on a pew, staring off into the distance.

When the Church was empty—which was always the case, he walked out and found himself at the back of the Church. An overgrown grass patch with wildflowers, and an oak tree in front of him. The oak tree was calling for him to lay underneath it. For once, he felt his chest tightening and his heart telling him to just lay down and let the grass settle on him. Lucas made his way to the tree and hesitantly lowered his body down onto the grass. The tree leaves and long branches sheltering him from the blazing sun. He felt the tight strings stitched into his heart loosening slightly as he rested.

He must’ve fallen deeply asleep because he didn’t realise that there was another person who had been watching him as he rested.

“Delilah?”

Delilah’s eyes widened and she shook her head, “Oh, Oh! Lucas I’m so sorry! I was just walking around here and saw you laying down and thought something had happened to you…” she sputtered.

Her genuine concern was something that Lucas loved about that girl. He could not help but smile at her trying to explain herself. He blinked awake, sunlight shining in his eyes.

“That’s alright Delilah, I was just sleeping. Sorry to worry you my dear”

Delilah’s cheeks flushed a light shade of red. Lucas scooted a little to the side and patted on the empty space next to him. As soon as she sat next to Lucas she could feel the tension in her shoulders relax. Lucas was looking off into the distance as he always did and Delilah was staring at him once again. He just looked so unexplainably at peace but so tired at the same time. The way his eyes had heavy bags but the way his skin was reflecting off the sun so breathtakingly. She always thought everyone she saw was beautiful. And Lucas was beautiful. So painfully beautiful.

Lucas turned to face Delilah and gave her a warm smile, catching her off guard. “Is there something on my face?” he teased. Delilah laughed, “No Lucas, it’s just that…” she reached her hands out as she spoke, and her fingers rested ever so lightly on his textured skin. Lucas watched—feeling his heartbeat quicken and his face warming up slowly but he found himself never wanting her hands to leave.

“Just what, Delilah?”

“Just that you look so beautiful”

His eyes locked onto hers, a mix of surprise and vulnerability reflected in his gaze. As she touched his face, a gentle warmth spread through his body. He remained silent, unsure how to respond to the sincerity in her voice. The word "beautiful" hung in the air, unfamiliar yet deeply touching. For a moment, time seemed to pause, with only the sound of their quiet breathing filling the space between them. His silence wasn't indifference; it was the quiet reverence of someone hearing something beautiful for the first time.

“I’ve never heard that one before,” he mused.

Delilah didn’t respond. Instead, she just let her hands rest on his skin. She didn’t need him to believe her words. But she always felt that she needed to let others know just how beautiful they looked. She couldn't help but be captivated by the unique features of everyone she met. Each person's face told a story, and she found herself drawn to the distinct qualities that made them who they were. With an infectious enthusiasm, she'd often blurt out compliments, her words spilling from a genuine place of admiration. "You're so beautiful," she'd say, her eyes sparkling with sincerity. The way someone's smile lit up their entire face, the quirky shape of their eyebrows, or the radiant glow of their skin—each trait was a masterpiece in her eyes.

“You’re beautiful yourself, Delilah”

Delilah smiled sheepishly at his compliment. Hiding her face in her hands. “Goodness… Lucas, I'm so sorry” she chuckled.

“You just look like someone I once knew,” She muttered.

HMP Birmingham, 1934

The guard didn’t even look him in the eye when he unlocked the cell door.

“You’ve got a visitor,” he muttered.

Michael Shelby stood from the narrow bed, smoothing the wrinkles from his worn shirt. His expression sharpened with suspicion—he wasn’t expecting anyone. Not yet, anyway. His boots scraped against the cold floor as he followed the guard through the dim corridors, passing faces he no longer bothered to remember.

In the visiting room, a single man sat at the far end, hands folded neatly in front of him. He was young, but the way he carried himself made him seem older—like something gnawed away at him from the inside out. His clothes were modest and neat. The kind you wouldn’t glance twice at on the street. Michael slid into the chair opposite him, the wood groaning faintly under his weight. The stranger lifted his head, pale eyes meeting Michael’s without much urgency.

“You’re the visitor?” Michael asked, one brow lifting.

The man simply nodded. No name. No pleasantries.

There was a long pause, just the steady ticking of the clock on the wall. Michael drummed his fingers against the table, impatient. “Well?”

The man spoke, his voice low, almost bored. “Your wife made arrangements. She’s paid well.”

Michael leaned forward slightly. “Arrangements for what?”

“To take care of Thomas Shelby.”

The words hung heavy between them. Michael’s jaw tightened.

“No”

The visitor tilted his head, studying him the way one might study a flickering candle, wondering how long it would last.

Michael’s voice was steady. “I kill Thomas Shelby myself. But Arthur goes first.”

The man said nothing, only tapping a finger lightly against the edge of the table. As if he had heard the same thing a hundred times before. Michael went on, voice hardening, “Arthur’s a rabid dog. If I don’t put him down first, he’ll come straight for me. It has to be him first. Then Tommy.”

At last, the man gave a small nod. “As you wish, Mr Gray” he said easily, like the outcome was none of his concern. He stood, smoothing the front of his coat, preparing to leave. But just before he turned away, he glanced back over his shoulder.

Fortunately for Delilah, her boredom would soon come to an end, because she could see the familiar back silhouette of an 11 year old boy with dirty blonde hair just one factory away from her.

“Malcolm!” she hollered.

Malcolm flinched, his shoulders tensed, and turned his head back at the sound of her voice. He squinted his eyes to see just who it was that was hollering at him, in the middle of the day, in these streets. When his vision began clearing up, he could see 9 year old Delilah excitedly waving both her arms at him, her brown hair bouncing as she jumped and lifted her arms, thinking that he couldn’t see her. Malcolm pursed his lips and gave her a quick nod and a small wave to let her know that he saw her.

“Malcolm! Come over here!” she yelled with her hands closed together in the shape of an “O”—forming a makeshift speaker.

Malcolm flinched again. He was not expecting Delilah to have such loudness and bass in her voice for such a small girl. He was even more surprised that no one around seemed to mind. As if this wasn’t the first time Delilah was screaming and yelling at 8am. He made his way down to where she was, and when he was finally face to face with her she could see his blue eyes shimmer in the sunlight again.

“Hi Delilah, what are you up to so early?”

“I could ask the same for you,” she replied with her arms akimbo.

He closed his eyes and gave out an exasperated smile.

“I was just walking around, no one’s home today so I figured I’d go for a stroll, you know?”

Delilah’s eyes widened with excitement. “Well coincidentally…I too have nothing to do! So why don’t you play with me?”

Malcolm scratched the back of his neck and his face seemed visibly nervous and scattered with uncertainty. “Umm…Papa says I’m not to go around with people I don’t know”.

Delilah held his hands, “But you know me Malcolm. You know my name and so does Ada and Aunt Pol. So you are very well known sir”

He didn’t answer immediately, his mouth slighthed parted. Maybe a little taken aback and amazed by her confidence. She leaned in, her face scrunching into a pleading pout. Big brown eyes—her most persuasive weapon.

Malcolm sighed quietly, barely audible, and nodded. “Alright. Just for a little while.”

Delilah squealed and pulled his arm, leading him to the back of Saint Judes Church. He gasped and released a breathy laugh as he tried to catch up with her speed. “Slow down, Delilah”.

—

They wound up under the Oak tree that had flowers of all kinds scattered across the overgrown grass. “This is my favourite place. Polly usually prays inside and I stay out here when she takes too long”

They sank into the grass, shaded by the wide canopy. The air was drowsy with pollen, and the quiet was thick enough to settle into their skin. Malcolm folded his legs neatly, his posture rigid despite the relaxed setting. His coat, clearly borrowed or handed down, hung off his thin frame, and the sleeves swallowed his hands and he wore a flat cap too big for his head. Around his neck hung a tiny wooden cross, and he clutched it like a secret.

“Why do you always hold that cross of yours?” She asked curiously.

Malcolm looked down at his cross and squeezed it softly again. “It belonged to my older brother Nolan. He died in the war”.

Delilah sat up, looking at him with guilt in her eyes. “I’m sorry Malcolm”.

Malcolm turned to look at her and shook his head once, “Don’t be sorry Delilah. Papa says that he was brave and died a good man. I believe him. My big brother Nolan was the best”.

Delilah balanced her head on her knees and closed her eyes, “My brothers are fighting in the war as well. Tommy, Arthur, and John. So I really don’t know what I’d do if any one of them dies”.

“Do you miss them?” he asked curiously.

“I miss them a lot”

—

After a while, they decided to go play by the riverside. They tossed stones and attempted to balance on the slippery stones. Malcolm had his pants cuffed all the way up to his thighs. They were enjoying themselves when Delilah asked about his family abruptly.

“Me, Papa, and Nolan moved here not too long ago. Papa found work” he answered.

“What does he do?”

Malcolm paused to think of a proper response. After a few seconds of thinking he shrugs, “I’m not really sure what he does, All I know is that he helps around with the Church—crates, cleaning, fixing. All kinds of stuff for the church really”.

He stopped in between hops, “What about your old man?” he asks as he tries to balance on the stone but then fails, falling in the water causing a big splash to wet her checkered skirt.

“Well, my dad isn’t usually home. He disappears for a long period of time and then randomly shows up again days or weeks later”.

“That’s strange”

“I know…what about your mother?”

“She passed away two years ago, when I was nine. She was awfully sick” Malcolm replied, throwing a stone. “She looked like you”. Delilah blinked for a moment before responding, “My mother passed away too. Aunt Pol takes care of me and Ada”

“Ada?, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her before”

“She’s my older sister. She’s the prettiest girl in Birmingham, I want to be just like her one day”

Malcolm plucked a wildflower from near the riverbank and tucked it into her hair. “You don’t need to be like her. You’re already pretty like Delilah” he said with the softest smile.

Delilah’s cheeks flushed and she giggled, lunging at him in a burst of joy. They both tumbled back into the grass, laughing, breathless. Malcolm placed his hands so gently on her back. The moment was soft, light—suspended in a kind of joy that only children know.

Their enjoyment came to an abrupt halt when a loud baritone voice tore through the air.

“Malcolm!”

Delilah figured that it was most definitely his father. She immediately pulled him behind a nearby bush. She hadn’t even managed to see his face. She didn’t want to. It wouldn’t be the first time she saw a man who was angry. “I’m sorry, you stay here,” he whispered, panic touching his voice. He cupped her face with both hands, his thumb brushing her cheek like it was the last time he would see her.

“I have to go”

And then he was up, darting toward the voice. The wooden cross bounced against his chest as he ran, disappearing around the corner.

Delilah sat where he left her, the flower slipping from her hair into the grass, her small hands curling into the earth.

—

The next day, at the same spot beneath the old oak behind the church, Delilah saw Malcolm again. He walked slowly toward her, his steps small and careful. When he got close, she noticed faint red marks on his arms, like he had been swatted hard.

“Did that happen because of yesterday?” she asked quietly, her voice trembling. He shook his head. “No. I talked back to Papa. That’s all.”

Delilah’s face fell. “I’m sorry.”

Malcolm reached out and gently held her face. “It’s not your fault. It could never be.”

But as the days passed and they continued to meet, Delilah saw the bruises begin to darken. The marks multiplied—on his arms, his back, sometimes even his cheek. Polly, without question, helped apply ointment to his skin when she found them when they would go to her house to play. Delilah didn’t ask how Polly knew. Polly always seemed to know.

One day, while they sat beneath the oak tree, she caught sight of an angry welt on his back as his shirt shifted upward when he reached for a branch.

“Malcolm,” she gasped, her hand covering her mouth.

He froze.

“What happened?”

He didn’t answer. Just looked away, silent. Delilah’s eyes welled. She threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly. “I can’t do anything to help,” she whispered. “I wish I could, I’m so sorry Malcolm.” He hugged her back, “You would never hurt me, Delilah. And I would never hurt you.”

She pulled back just far enough to kiss his cheek, in hopes that it would comfort him, even if she was the one crying. He looked startled, then leaned in and kissed hers in return, wiping away her tears with rough calloused fingers.

“Don’t cry,” he said softly. “I’ll be alright.”

His voice trembled. “You make things better, Delilah. You make this life bearable for me. You’re not the reason I get hurt. Please don’t ever think that.”

But one day, when Delilah went to look for him in the streets, she couldn’t find him.

She searched every corner of Small Heath. Asked around the church. Looked for his father. Nothing. Days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months.

Finally, during one of her visits to the chapel, one of the nuns took her hand and said gently, “You won’t find him, dear. He’s gone back to his hometown.”

Delilah’s heart shattered into a million pieces.

To her young mind, it could only mean one thing— it was her fault. He was gone because of her. He had to leave because she made things worse and that he would never come back because of her. And that belief never left her.

The moment he stepped out of the dark to meet with the open sky once again, a tall shadow fell over his own. A man stood ahead, still as stone, with eyes like empty wells and a face that told no stories. This was the same man that visited Michael a while back.

“How are you, Mr. Gray?”

Michael reached into his coat, pulling out a cigarette and lit it. He exhaled a long drag, smoke curling past his lips like a sigh he’d been holding in for years.

“Let’s talk later,” he muttered.

The man only nodded, lips twitching at the edge with a faint amused smile. They got into the car without another word. Just silence and the hum of wheels on damp cobblestones as they drove toward the Gray mansion, where Michael’s wife, Gina, was waiting for his return.

The Gray Mansion

The house stood pristine and pale against the streets, with white walls polished like pearls. Inside, they were greeted by Gina Gray herself—sharp-eyed, bare-shouldered, red lipped, and very aware of her own presence. She rose from the couch and pressed a kiss to Michael’s lips.

“Oh, Michael. How I’ve missed you.”

They embraced for a moment, but as soon as his arms dropped, the cold edge in his face returned.

“Gina, we need to talk about the plan.”

She rolled her eyes but lounged back on the velvet couch like a black cat basking in the sun, stretching slow and gracefully. Then she glanced toward the stranger beside her husband.

“I see you’ve met the assassin I hired” she says nonchalantly. Michael nodded but his focus wasn’t on the man. His mind was already working, unraveling every possible route toward the man he truly wanted dead. Every pathway to Thomas Shelby. And Michael Gray had made a career out of proving the impossible wrong.

“So, what’s the plan, Mr. Gray?” The assassin’s voice pulled him back from his thoughts. Michael dragged a hand down his jaw, “Right.” Michael cleared his throat. “You do exactly as I say. Kill Arthur Shelby. Tommy will expect something and he’ll use Arthur as a shield. But I’ll deal with Tommy myself. I’m the one who ends it”

Gina sat up and began rubbing his shoulders. “And what about Delilah?” she asked. “You know she will try to intervene somehow if she hears about it. And Arthur’s got a big mouth”

“Has Polly never told you about…”

Michael’s jaw tensed at her words. He gripped Gina’s hand mid-stroke tightly. “About what, Gina?” She arched a brow, “About the men that she’s killed”.

Michael’s stare hardened. There was a pause and heavy silence. He had heard about it of course. Polly’s stories weren’t for children, but he’d listened anyway, when he was still trying to understand what kind of man he was meant to become when he first stepped foot back into the family tree. When he was still a boy straddling two worlds. Maybe that was his warning.

“No. We don’t kill women or children” He stated.

“And I’ve decided that Delilah Shelby is not a threat to our plans. So you—” he pointed at the assassin.

“you just do what you’re told”

The assassin nodded, eyes half-closed, as if he hadn’t really been listening. Truth was, he didn’t need to. The job was simple enough for a man like him. But one thing stuck. Kill Arthur. And if that’s what Michael wanted then that’s what he’d do. He turned his heel, heading toward the door once he got the message.

“Wait” Michael’s voice rang behind him.

“What do I call you?”

The man glanced back with bored and unreadable eyes and gave him a lazy smile.

“You can call me Malcolm”

Shelby Company Limited Office, April 7th 1934

Wherever Michael moved his pieces, Tommy had already played the next move.

In the hush of the Shelby Company Limited office, Arthur sat stiffly with one leg bouncing, fingers drumming against his knee. Johnny Dogs leaned back in his chair, chewing the frayed edge of a matchstick. Both men glanced at Tommy, who stood at the window with one of his hands buried in his pockets and the other on a cigarette, watching the street below him like he was waiting for someone to appear.

“Michael’s out,” Tommy said, voice low and sharp. “I hope you remember everything we discussed last month. Everyone needs to be where they’re meant to be”.

Arthur and Johnny sat in silence as they took in the weight of Tommy’s words. Blood will be shed. And it involves family. Who would’ve thought that the blood that would be shed on the day itself would be of your own? Arthur let out a long exasperated exhale. “Fuckin hell Tommy…you sure about this?”. Tommy didn’t entertain his brother’s wariness, just taking another drag instead. “Feels wrong yeah? Especially when it’s family” Johnny Doggs finally spoke, breaking the silence.

Tommy blew out a line of smoke, “It’s not family anymore. It’s war”

Arthur’s doubt crawled down his spine and settled in his gut. “It’s just…it’s Polly’s boy”.

Tommy looked at his older brother dead in the eyes. “And what did Polly do when Michael turned on us?”. Arthur had no answer. Not one that could change the moment. Not one that could change the war already begun. Tommy walked to his desk and opened a drawer, pulling out a thick black journal and flipped to a page marked with a black star.

“April 10” he said, tapping the page with his two fingers.

“Why April 10 Tommy?” Arthur asked. “Because that’s the day I plan to discuss business with him Arthur”. Johnny Dogs flicked his toothpick out the window. “What about Delilah and Ada? They know about the plan?”

“No. And we’re keeping it that way. Once we’ve done what we need to do. I can finally celebrate my Dilly’s birthday. Peacefully. Just as I promised” he said as he closed the journal shut.

“I’ll bring peace to this family once and for all”

He left the office, leaving the two men without a word left to say.

Flashback: London, 1922

The city was louder than Small Heath. Delilah could feel it in her teeth, the way London didn’t wait for anything or anyone. It coughed smoke and spit iron and made no apologies when it broke you.

She had been staying with Ada for two months. The place was very much an open space but warm nonetheless, and Ada was too hard headed to ever make her little sister feel unwelcome. Still, it wasn’t home, not the way the old Shelby household used to be before everything fractured. Delilah was quieter here. She didn’t know the streets like she did in Birmingham. She didn’t quite trust the rhythm of the place. But she took long walks sometimes just to think, or sometimes just to get away from the shouting in her own head.

That’s when she first started running into Alfie Solomons.

Always in the same alley near the back of the bakery. Always leaning against the wall like it belonged to him.

“There she is,” he said the first time. “Small Heath’s favourite girl. Come to haunt the alleys of Camden, have you?”

She blinked, “…Excuse me?”

“I said Hello. Perhaps you couldn’t understand my cockney accent” He joked.

That became the pattern. Alfie didn’t “greet” people—he announced his presence like a revelation. Every time she passed, he had a new insult, muttered like prophecies.

“Tell your brother his soul’s wearing thin, he’s got death written all over his face”

“Your lot breed tragedy like rabbits, you know that? Put your family name on a bottle, you could sell despair by the pint”

She never quite knew if he liked her or hated her. And she could never quite tell if she wanted to slap him a lot of the times. But she always found herself agreeing with what he had to say. He didn’t seem to be a threat, and so she kept walking by. Until the day he stopped her. It was raining. As it always was in London. She saw him before he called her, standing outside the bakery in a thick coat and a strange glint to his eyes. Alfie pulled something out from his pockets—Glasses. Delilah raised a confused brow to the older man.

“Now see these glasses? Yeah these…these…are not just ordinary glasses that I use to read the fuckin newspaper love”

“These glasses,” Alfie said as he tapped the frames. “Are made with magic my dear. Made by a magician in Stepney. They show me things. Glimpse and flashes of the future”. Alfie slipped on his glasses and looked directly at Delilah from the lenses. “And lately, right. Every time I look at you…I see something that upsets my poor stomach”.

Delilah froze in her steps. She couldn’t fully grasp what Alfie was telling her. From magic glasses to a bad omen. But his message was clear.

“Don’t ask when. Don’t ask how. These don’t come with calendars unfortunately, they’re fucking cursed eyewear”

Delilah found the voice that was hidden at the back of her throat. “And what am I meant to do with that kind of intel, Alfie?”

“Get your house. Stay out of trouble. And don’t stand still long enough for your fate to catch you by the hem of your pretty little dress”

She wanted to laugh. Wanted to brush it off. But there was something in his eyes—something she had never seen in Alfie Solomons before. Worry.

“Delilah” he said again, quietly this time as if trying not to startle her. “I don’t see you where you should be and it worries me. I can see light on your face despite the blood that had stained it before”.

“Anyway. You want a bun?”

Delilah’s house, 9 April 1934

There was a loud and harsh knock on the door. The moment those knocks landed, Delilah immediately knew that it was unmistakably Arthur. Delilah opened it slowly, raising an eyebrow as she looked him up and down. He held a bottle of whiskey in one hand and a crumpled bouquet of wildflowers in the other. “Happy fuckin’ birthday…bit early, I know”, he grinned, cheeks already flushed with red. “But I’ll be away tomorrow, so I figured… well, figured I’d swing by and celebrate with my favourite little sister”.

She crossed her arms, bemused. “It’s not until the twelfth, Arthur”

“Aye,” he said, pushing past her into the hallway. “Close enough. You’ve never complained about an early drink before” The scent of whiskey followed him like a stubborn stain. She sighed, shutting the door behind him. Half an hour later, the two of them were on the couch. The bouquet now sat in a chipped jar on the table. A record hummed softly in the background. Arthur had poured generous amounts of whiskey for both of them, though he seemed to be drinking enough for the two of them. “You alright?” Delilah asked, watching the way his hand trembled slightly and the way his grip on the bottle tightened as he brought the glass to his dry, chapped lips. “Course I am. Just glad to see you smilin’ again”.

“Don’t get sentimental on me, Arthur”

“I’m always sentimental, Tommy’s too busy fuckin’ planning and pacing, Ada’s always busy for shit, and you…” He trailed off. “You’ve been away”. Delilah looked down at her glass, swirling the golden liquid. “It’s been hard Arthur”.

“I know,” he said softly. “I know, Dilly”

The silence that followed was too empty. So Arthur filled it the way he always did—with more liquid courage. “I’m camping out tomorrow,” he slurred a little. “Near Saint Jude’s. Gonna be quiet there. Get away from all the noise”. She turned to him with her brow raised. “Camping?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, blinking slowly. “Just for a night or two. In case… y’know. In case things go sideways”.

Her fingers froze around the glass. “What do you mean?”. Arthur waved a hand like he was swatting at flies. “Nothing serious. Just Tommy’s plan. That thing with Michael…”

Delilah sat up straighter, “What do you mean ‘that thing with Michael?’ What plan?”. Arthur shook his head. “Forget I said anything. I’m drunk. You know how I get”. He groaned and wiped a hand down his face. “It’s nothin’ for you to worry about, love. Just some family business as always”.

“Does Ada know?”

“Tommy said to keep her out of it. And you too”

She leaned back, “You’re all terrible at keeping secrets”. Arthur laughed. “No one keeps secrets in this family. We just wait for them to bleed out.”

“Might run into a bloke—Malcolm or whatever the fuck his name is—near the church”

Her glass paused at her lips. “Malcolm?” Delilah set her glass down. Her fingertips suddenly went cold. “You should go home and get some rest, Arthur.” He blinked at her. “Already?”

“You’re drunk.. You need to be sober for tomorrow anyway”

Arthur nodded and stood up to take his leave. “Happy advanced birthday Dilly” he said, slurring slightly as he spoke. The moment that door was shut, Delilah returned to the living room and plopped herself on the couch.

Malcolm.

A name from her childhood. A boy she had long buried. Her mind ran wild with millions of possibilities. Could it be? No—it was impossible. Malcolm was gone. He had left. Disappeared. So why did the name rattle in her bones? And why, when she closed her eyes, could she suddenly remember the way the little wooden cross used to hang around his neck?

Saint Jude’s Church, 9 April

The lamplight outside flickered against the rain-slick streets of Small Heath. Delilah Shelby stepped into the stillness of Saint Jude’s, her boots soft on the old stone floor. The door creaked behind her as it shut. A figure sat in the front pew, motionless under the dim glow of the altar candles. For a moment, she held her breath.

“Oh,” she said aloud, shoulders easing just slightly. “It’s just you”

Lucas turned slowly, the candlelight catching the sharp planes of his face. “Delilah” he greeted gently, folding his hands in his lap. “It’s late.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” she said, walking forward to him. “Arthur came over earlier. Said he wanted to celebrate my birthday early since he’s going away”. Lucas tilted his head. “And is that so unusual?” Delilah let out an exhausted laugh, “It is when he gets drunk and starts talking like a drunk father”

She dropped onto the pew beside him, rubbing her hands together. “He said something earlier. That he’d be camping out near the church. Said he wanted to be close…in case anything happened”. Delilah felt an irresistible smirk forming on the side of her lips, “Tommy, you’ve done it again haven't ya?” she scoffed.

“And he mentioned a name,” she added.

“Malcolm. That was the name of my childhood friend. From when I was nine. We met here—back behind this church. Used to sit under the oak tree and watch the clouds” she swallowed.

“He disappeared one day. Never told me why. I looked for him everywhere. Thought maybe I did something wrong. Thought maybe he hated me for what happened” her fingers clenched on the plush of her thighs as she spoke.

“I… I can’t even remember what he looks like anymore.” Her voice cracked painfully. “Isn’t that horrible? He was everything to me. And I’ve forgotten his face”.

“And now Michael’s planning something, and Tommy’s hiding things from me again. They think I don’t see it, but I do” Her eyes filled with vulnerability behind the tears that flowed. “Blood’s going to be spilled. I feel it in my bones. I dream of it. Polly’s not even cold in the ground and already the whole family is rumbling”. She turned to Lucas suddenly with desperation written across her face.

“Michael’s awful. But he’s still someone’s boy. Polly’s boy. I don’t want this family to bury another son”

Lucas’s expression remained. “Then pray,” he said softly. “Pray for your family. Pray that you never have to suffer again from the things they bring into your life. That the violence leaves you behind. Just once”. Delilah blinked away her tears and lowered her head, hands clasped tightly. Her lashes trembled as she closed her eyes. Her prayer was quiet. Whispered in her heart more than spoken.

Please let this stop.

Please don’t let any more sons and daughters live in fear

Please keep them safe.

Please keep me safe.

“Open your eyes, Delilah”

Her lashes lifted slowly. He stood in front of her, hands steady. She saw the barrel of the gun pointed between her eyes. Her lips parted in a slow breath.

“You prayed to be free from your family’s violence,” he said. “And so you shall be.”

His thumb brushed the wooden cross at his neck. That’s when she finally recognised it. “Malcolm?” she called out to her old friend with glassy eyes. Her vision was beginning to haze before she could fully take in his face once more.

“No. My name is Lucas Woods. Malcolm is long gone. And both he and I cannot bare to watch you suffer any longer”