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wonderlanddreamer · 18 days ago

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Daddy Dearest.

[1919] Watery Lane, Birmingham

The unexpected return of their estranged father ignites tension within the Shelby household, particularly for Lydia, who faces the daunting presence of a man she's never known. [Season 1 - Episode 5]

[Part of The Lydia Saga]

Lydia was acutely aware of the exact moment the atmosphere in the room shifted. She had been sitting quietly at the worn kitchen table, her small hands diligently moving a pencil across a piece of paper as she sketched. Polly, always bustling with energy, was nearby, her attention focused on organising the cluttered cupboards. The comforting aroma of freshly baked cookies lingered in the air, a sweet reminder of the treat Polly had just handed her. Lydia savoured the last crumb, a smile playing on her lips.

The tranquillity was abruptly interrupted by the creaking of the heavy front door as it swung open. It closed with a resounding thud, echoing throughout the room and causing Lydia to pause, her pencil hovering above the paper. Her senses heightened, she listened intently as three or four sets of footsteps echoed down the hallway. The first she immediately recognised as Arthur's; his steps were heavy and purposeful, a sound she had become accustomed to over the years. But the second set of footsteps was different— heavier, unfamiliar, and carrying an air of uncertainty that piqued her curiosity.

The silence of the room was gradually filled with the sound of muttering voices as the footsteps grew louder, approaching the kitchen. Lydia could hear John, his voice laced with irritation, and then immediately Arthur trying to hush him. She counted the sounds: four sets of footsteps, Arthur, John, Finn and someone unfamiliar.

As they all piled into the kitchen, a moment of silence enveloped the room, a rare pause in the usually bustling Shelby household.

Arthur didn’t look at her. He didn’t look at anyone. He just stood there, a little straighter than normal, but his shoulders looked heavy, like he was carrying the weight of the world on them. And maybe he was. Lydia knew Arthur carried a lot. He carried his anger, his temper, sometimes even his sadness, all bundled up tight inside him like a fist.

Beside him was a man she didn't know. Tall, broad, his face etched with lines like a roadmap, and his eyes… his eyes were dark and shadowed. They held a hardness she didn't understand. This man was a stranger; unlike the familiar faces of her brothers and Polly, this man carried an aura of something unknown, something unsettling that made the little girl instinctively wary.

Polly’s reaction was immediate. She tensed visibly upon laying eyes on the man, her expression transforming into one of exasperation as she slammed shut the cupboard doors and set both hands on her hips. With a dramatic roll of her eyes, she addressed him directly as he took a seat at the table beside Lydia. “What the bloody hell are you doing here?” she demanded, her voice cutting through the tension like a knife.

The man clicked his tongue, his gaze shifting from one family member to the next, finally settling on Lydia. His eyes lingered on her, causing her to instinctively shrink back. There was something unsettling about the way he looked at her, as if he recognized her from a distant, almost forgotten memory. Yet, Lydia couldn't recall ever meeting him. Her eyes darted to John, who was leaning against the sideboard. He was chewing furiously on a toothpick, his hands buried deep in his pockets, his entire posture radiating tension.

“Can’t a father visit his children?” the man drawled, turning to ruffle Finn’s hair affectionately. Finn responded with a smile, smoothing his hair down with his hands. John gave Finn a light tap on the shoulder, motioning to the spot beside him with a casual tip of his head. Finn obediently moved to his brother's side.

Polly scoffed, her voice dripping with incredulity as she muttered under her breath, “Father…”

Lydia was struggling to process his words. Her pencil lay discarded next to her drawing, and her wide blue eyes were fixed on the man sitting beside her. She had never met her father; he was a figure shrouded in mystery and rarely mentioned. Surely this couldn't be him—the man whose presence was causing such discomfort in what was usually a warm and welcoming room. Yet, he smiled at her.

“My, my, little lady. How you’ve grown,” he said fondly, reaching out to gently brush away some crumbs from the corner of her mouth. Lydia was unaware of how John stood a little taller when his father reached a hand towards her, like a lion ready to pounce to protect its cub from any potential threat. Arthur noticed, though, and it deepened his frown. He moved to stand behind Lydia, placing his hands reassuringly on her small shoulders, leaning over the back of her chair.

“You remember Dad, don’t ya Lyds?” Arthur encouraged gently. Although he knew her answer would be no, he hoped his words might ease the anxiety that was evident in his little sister.

“How would she remember someone who’s never even bothered to make himself known?” Polly snapped back, her voice sharp and filled with a protective anger.

The warmth seemed to vanish from the stranger's eyes as his smile faded, leaving a colder demeanour in its wake. Lydia felt an urge to move, to stand by John and Finn's side, but she found herself trapped in her seat, unwillingly captivated by the man beside her. The comforting presence of Arthur nearby gave her some solace, and she adjusted herself on the chair, feeling his hands press a little more reassuringly on her shoulders.

“Ya must be hungry, Dad. Lemme fix ya something,” Arthur offered, moving towards the cupboards with a feigned casualness. Lydia watched him with curiosity, she’d never even seen Arthur so much as butter a slice of bread.

“Aye, son. That would be much appreciated,” the man replied, leaning back in his chair as though he were settling into a familiar place.

“Don’t get comfortable,” Polly sighed, moving completely out of Arthur’s way, making it known that she would not be assisting him.

Ignoring Polly's pointed remark, he leaned towards Lydia, extending a hand as if for her to take. “Why don’t ya come and give ye old man a hug, eh Lydia?”

Lydia hesitated, not wanting to embrace him but equally reluctant to appear impolite. She glanced at John, silently seeking his guidance. His subtle shake of the head was enough to reassure her that she didn't have to do anything she was uncomfortable with. She shook her head gently and shuffled slightly away from him. “No, thank you,” she replied quietly.

“Ah, don’t be like that, darlin’. Come, Daddy wants to get a good look at ya,” he insisted, reaching further to take her hand. Lydia frowned, sensing the unease that filled the room. Everyone seemed on the verge of intervening, even Finn, but it was John who broke the silence.

“She said no,” John declared firmly, his hand leaving his pocket to extend towards Lydia protectively. “Lyds, c’mere.”

Lydia scrambled off her chair and made her way over to John, instinctively positioning herself slightly behind his leg. His hand settled reassuringly on her shoulder, a familiar gesture that eased the tension within her. Despite the comfort and security John provided, her gaze remained fixed on the stranger who had intruded into their home, claiming to be her father. Although John’s warmth provided a comforting presence, Lydia felt a longing for Tommy, his absence leaving a void which signified how much she relied on him in times like these.

The sudden clatter of a plate against the table pulled Lydia from her tangled thoughts as Arthur placed a sandwich in front of their father. The man looked up with a smile, acknowledging Arthur's effort. “Thank ye, you’re a good boy,” he said, his voice dripping with a kind of approval that seemed out of place.

Arthur took a seat across from their father, and the older man bowed his head and joined his hands in a gesture of prayer. “Bless you, Father, for these bounties we are about to receive…” he began, his voice steady and measured.

Polly, unable to hold back any longer, released a long, exasperated sigh. Her hand moved to her temple, rubbing it in frustration. “Jesus Christ…” she muttered under her breath.

“Please woman,” the man interrupted, turning to Polly with a judgmental gaze, “Not in vain.”

Polly's eyes snapped to him, her patience wearing thin. “Finish your sandwich and sling your hook,” she retorted sharply.

Lydia's eyes widened at Polly’s abruptness. It was rare to hear her Aunt speak so directly and harshly to anyone, and it only reinforced Lydia's instinct not to trust this man. Her 'father' casually picked up a knife from the table, waving it carelessly as he spoke.

“Pollyanna, I am a guest of the head of this family,” he declared smugly, gesturing towards Arthur, who sat a little straighter, clearly taking the words to heart. “So why don’t you maybe, tend to your mangle or your scuttle.”

John didn't miss a beat, his voice cutting through the tension with quiet authority. “The head of the family ain’t here,” he corrected.

Lydia felt a wave of relief at John's firm words, though the absence of Tommy's steadying presence was palpable. At the table, Arthur shifted uneasily under the scathing look from their father, who seemed to silently demand an explanation for why his eldest son and namesake was not recognized as the head of the family. Lydia hated seeing Arthur so skittish, struggling to answer the unspoken question.

“Tommy, um, he sometimes helps me with, uh, with business, Dad,” Arthur stammered, trying to justify the unspoken hierarchy.

Lydia exchanged a glance with Finn, both of them sharing the same discomfort. Their father looked sceptical, but before he could respond, the sound of the back door opening and closing drew everyone's attention. Tommy entered the room, his presence commanding immediate attention as he rounded the corner and took in the scene before him.

“Aye, well. Speak of the devil,” their father said as he stood to greet Tommy, “How are ya, son?”

Tommy barely acknowledged him, his eyes scanning the room, silently assessing each member of his family. When his gaze settled on Lydia, he seemed to take in everything—the way she stood behind John for protection, the worry etched on her face, and the silent plea for safety from the stranger in their midst. This sight ignited a fierce protective instinct within Tommy, prompting him to turn to their father with a subtle shake of his head, his voice calm yet carrying undeniable authority.

“Get out,” he ordered, leaving no room for negotiation. He nodded towards the door, making his intentions clear.

Seemingly unfazed, the man stretched out his arms, feigning innocence. “Come on, son. I’m a changed man.”

Tommy's voice remained steady, but the gravity of his words was unmistakable. “This family needed you six years ago, when you walked out on it. Not now. Get out of this house.”

Arthur, still seated, averted his eyes to the floor, caught in a struggle between loyalty to his brother and a longing for his father. “Tommy, he’s different…”

“You shut up,” Tommy commanded, and Arthur fell silent, his conflict unresolved.

Feeling the tension, Lydia moved a little more behind John. She hated it when her brothers argued. Sensing her discomfort, John leaned down and wrapped an arm around Lydia’s knees, effortlessly lifting her to his side. She melted against him, resting her head on his shoulder, her eyes fixed on Tommy, drawing comfort from his presence.

“It’s alright, son,” their father said to Arthur, sensing the internal conflict and the words left unspoken. He knew Arthur didn’t want to undermine Tommy, and so he added, “Arthur Shelby never stays where he’s not welcome,”.

The unwelcome guest rose from his seat, collecting his belongings and draping his coat over his arm. He cast a glance at Tommy, who stood firm and unyielding, his gaze locked on his father, signalling that his departure was expected. Despite the tension, the man couldn’t help but feel a grudging admiration for his son’s assertiveness. “Quite somethin’ you’ve become,” he remarked with a hint of approval.

As he turned to Lydia, settled in John's arms, he reached out to her. But John instinctively shifted, turning away to keep Lydia out of reach. Resigned, their father sighed and made his way to the kitchen door, exiting the house with a sense of finality.

The room was enveloped in a heavy silence for a few moments. Finally, Arthur broke the quiet with a resigned sigh. “He’s our Dad,”

Tommy, avoiding Arthur’s gaze, looked over at Lydia. He noticed how her eyes followed him, seeking the comfort and reassurance that only he could provide. Tommy moved towards her, and John gently eased Lydia forwards, allowing Tommy to take her.

With a tenderness that belied his usual manner, Tommy lifted Lydia effortlessly into his arms. She instinctively wrapped her small arms around his neck, finding solace in his embrace.

Arthur, unable to contain his frustration, stood abruptly, the legs of his chair scraping harshly against the floorboards. His eyes were filled with a mix of emotions - anger, longing and confusion. “Tommy,” he started, but Tommy cut him off, turning to face him.

“If you want to see him, Arthur… you want to see him? You can go with him.” Tommy’s voice was firm, leaving no room for argument as he gestured towards the door their father had exited through. Arthur hesitated for a moment, his inner conflict etched on his face, before storming off, leaving through the same door, Lydia watched him go, her heart heavy with worry.

As she nestled closer into Tommy’s arms, she felt his chin rest gently atop her head. His voice when he spoke was a soft murmur, a calming comfort to her troubled thoughts. “Everything’s alright now, little one,” he reassured her, his words wrapping around her like a protective cocoon, “I’ve got you,”

Lydia nodded against his shoulder, feeling the weight of her worries begin to lift. In Tommy’s arms, the chaos of the world faded away, leaving only the safety and security his presence promised. She knew, with unshakeable certainty, that as long as Tommy was there, she had nothing to be afraid of.

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