A Christmas Journey ~ Tommy Shelby (Fluff)
[Masterlist] [Taglist]
Summary: A Journey back from London in the Christmas Season with his secretary doesn't go as planned
Note: written for @runnning-outof-time and her Holiday Bingo Challenge . You always have such incredible ideas for us to join in on celebrating your milestone - congratulations! I chose forced proximity, a family tradition, subtle hurt/comfort, and (self) confession
All my writing is produced by an adult and created with an adult audience in mind (18/21+). You are responsible for your own media consumption. I do not consent to my work being translated, copied or posted elsewhere on this platform or any other.
Wordcount: 2473 words
The outside looked like one of these paintings one could buy in a collection to hang in some corner of a large room, a quiet, calm, peaceful scenery, an image of the countryside snoozing under a blanket of freshly fallen snow, coating field, house, and trees alike.
It was the kind of cold that ought to make one stark a fire and climb under a blanket, warm tea in hand.
Only it wasn’t a painting, and to Tommy Shelby, there was nothing calming about it.
The cold, especially a cold like this, meant problems, and problems meant a slowing of work, of traffic, of business. And he had neither time nor means for that.
The end of the year, of any year, meant hastily signed contracts, quickly closed deals before the new tax year would start, as well as end-of-year obligations, useless mingling for Christmas parties, dinners, company celebrations, and the like, as well as the demand of anyone and everyone wanting a piece of him.
It meant he was stretched out even more so than usual.
A particular contract that needed signing before the New Year had made him rush to London earlier today, taking only his suitcase and one of the Birmingham Secretaries with him. That way he had time to fill her in during the train ride there about what was going to be discussed in the meeting.
She was fairly new, and more a typist than a secretary, with quick, nimble fingers that could dance over the typewriter at a dizzying speed.
Now she was quite a sight, bundled up against the cold in a thick coat, with scarves and gloves, and a hat that drowned out her face.
She had taken those off once inside the train compartment and was now removing her coat as well, revealing what looked to be a home-knitted woolen cardigan.
Tommy glanced up from his reading, a business report about the annual revenues from one of his factories, as soon as she opened her mouth to speak, only to see she had changed her mind, instead offering him an embarrassed smile.
With a hum he returned to his reading, only to see her scoot about on her seat out of the corner of his eye.
“Mr. Shelby?”, she asked after a moment, unable to keep still “Is there any task you have for me during our ride back?”
Tommy considered for a moment, but there was no way she could transcribe with the bumpy up and down of the train, so he shook his head.
“Would it bother you if I did some knitting then?”, she asked, reaching for her hand.
“It’s a tradition in our family - my Ma’ always makes sure we get a new pair of socks in each year’s stocking and this time I wanted to surprise her with a pair of her own, even though it’s a bit foolish.”
She offered him an embarrassed smile.
“I’m not much good so I’ve had to start over.”
“Fine.”, Tommy grumbled.
What a silly gift, he thought, remembering the knitted socks from his earlier days. They had been warm enough, but not perfectly so.
Bothersome to mend, and too thick in good shoes, he had had no qualms about throwing them out a few years back in exchange for softer, more delicate Merino socks, which were just as warm.
“Thank you!”, she said, beaming from ear to ear as she reached into her bag and pulled out a ghastly dark red ball of wool, and two brown needles, a good half sock hanging from the edges.
Before she began, she scooted closer to the light source of their compartment, bringing her right across from him.
Tommy’s eyes returned to the numbers and comparisons, as the clicking began.
As if the rattling of the train hadn’t already been enough.
It was persisting, never-ending, click click click, click click, click click click.
After a few minutes, even the hiss of the wool made his jaw tighten in annoyance.
The lines on the paper became impossible to read with the neverending sound.
Click click click, click click click, hiss, click click click.
Always uneven, always unpredictable.
It was a sound to make a man go mad.
“I’ve changed my mind.”, Tommy said sharply, snapping the file shut. “Can you stop?”
She looked up, needles in hand, with thread wrapped around her finger, her eyes wide and round as dinner plates.
“Oh.”, she gasped surprised, staring at him in disbelief for a split second before she cleared her throat and nodded.
“Of course Mr. Shelby, I’m sorry, Sir.”
She scrambled to tidy up, hastily twisting the needles and sticking them back into the ball of wool as if she was afraid he’d open the window and toss it out if she wasn’t quick enough in the removal of his ire.
“No need to apologise.”, he mumbled.
The moment he opened the file again, they heard the brakes screech as the train came to a slow halt.
For a split second, there was silence all throughout the train. Then the both of them looked towards the window, seeing only darkness.
They were in the middle of nowhere.
Her whispered “Oh no.” gave voice to Tommy’s thought.
“Wh-what just happened?”, she asked breathlessly, her hands clutching onto her brown leather bag.
“I’ll see what the conductor says.”, he muttered as he got to his feet. “Just stay here.”
A delay was the last thing he needed when all he wanted was to get home, make the calls to Boston and New York, finish revising that speech, and - there was something else that he knew he had forgotten, but he knew it would come back to him.
But unless they got moving soon, it wouldn’t matter at all.
The last thing he wanted was to be stuck in a train with a good half hundred strangers, and in a compartment with his little typist.
That strange feeling of irritation and subtle anger spurred him on as he walked nearly half of the train before he found someone in charge, already swarmed by a dozen other passengers.
He was lanky as a tree, with a narrow face and small piglike eyes.
“Please, Ladies and Gentlemen, stay calm!”, he assured them all, both palms outstretched. “Retake your seats, I am sure we will resume the journey shortly. There is no need to be concerned.”
That did little to block off the hail of questions, to which his only response was to flair his hands as if they were all little flies bothering him.
He had to practically shove them back into their respective compartments all the while nodding and repeating his meaningless babble over and over.
Tommy stopped his flight to the head of the train.
“What’s going on?”, he demanded to know.
“There is no need for concern!”, the conductor told him, “I am sure the journey will resume-”
“The name’s Shelby.”, Tommy hissed, undercutting any attempt of him to repeat his speech for the umpteenth time.
The man’s little eyes went wide.
“Oh, well, in that case, Sir, well,”, he began to stammer, wiping his hands on his uniform.
Tommy raised his brows in impatience, urging him on.
The man’s face turned the colour of his uniform.
“Due to the snow, Sir, they are having to clear a railroad switch ahead of us before we can continue safely. It will only be a moment Mr. Shelby, Sir.”
Tommy gave a single nod and patted him on the shoulder before returning to his compartment, thankfully first class, which meant it was mostly abandoned this time of night, with only his secretary being the other one.
“And?”, she asked breathlessly, getting up from her seat as soon as he entered.
“It’s fine.”, Tommy assured her, before sitting back down again.
Even though the door blocked out most of the noise, the restlessness and uncertainty found its way into their compartment, infecting first her and then him too, and more so with every passing second.
“You know,”, she mumbled after a near half-hour of tense silence and stolen glances out the window, “There’s stories about this happening in the United States. They can’t get the train to work again and the people freeze to death.”
“It’s not the train.”, Tommy told her.
Besides, it wasn’t that cold. Sure, it was chilly, but nothing compared to the winters spent in the trenches, unable to properly get a fire going. Here they were dry, with a roof over their head and coats and scarves to warm them.
His secretary didn’t seem convinced. She kept craning her neck to look out the glass door for any sight of any possible change, her hands nervously picking at her bag.
It was making him nervous too.
“We won’t freeze to death either.”, he assured her dryly.
“Are you sure? Because it already feels a lot colder if you think about it. And we are out in the middle of nowhere. No one will know where we are and-”
She shut herself off at the sight of his gaze and quickly averted her eyes, her hands still fidgeting nervously, her whole body shaking.
What an easy life she must’ve had for a mere thing like an unplanned train stop to put her in this state.
But then again, she was so young, part of this new, reckless generation who had been little more children during the war. And it was all too easy to paint the world a bit brighter for little ones, to hide the nasty truth behind soft lies and gentle facades.
And now the girl was unsettled by a little train delay, poor thing.
Tommy had suffered half a dozen a ride on the trains that carried him back and forth during his time in France.
Still, when she began trying to breathe heavily to steady her nerves, he felt a pang of pity in his chest. And her nervousness was beginning to irritate him.
“Why don’t you take up that knitting again?”, he asked.
“Oh no, I don’t want to annoy you.”, she quickly said, shaking her head.
Tommy huffed, a twitch in the corner of his lips.
“I’m not reading, so it won’t bother me.”
She was slow to reach for her bag, surveying his every reaction.
Tommy made sure to give none as she reached for her things, and slowly began to knit again, her eyes darting from her work to his face and back, eager to see any sign of disgruntlement.
But when she found none, she slowly settled into her knitting more and more, until she was fully focussed on that.
Tommy allowed himself to watch. The repetitiveness in the motion, even if the sound had irritated him earlier, seemed to calm him now.
Especially watching the tips of the needles work together, settled his heartbeat.
It wouldn’t be the most perfect sock, which was clear to see even now, but the longer Tommy watched, the more times she repeated it, the more he felt the idea growing on him.
But his words, or rather the fact that he said them out loud, even if it was just a mumble, surprised him.
“I don’t think it is foolish.”
The clicking stopped as she looked up.
“I beg your pardon, Sir?”, she asked.
“Earlier,”, Tommy explained, “You said I’d think it foolish. I don’t. It’s a sweet thing to do for your mother.”
She bit her lip and lowered her hands, growing flustered at his words, with a smile forming on her lips.
“Oh I don’t know.”, she admitted, “I do hope she likes it, but in the end it’s just a little part of Christmas. Our Christmas I mean.”
She offered him another shy smile.
“It’s not as grand as your Christmasses, I’d wager. With a ten-foot tree and a hundred baubles but it’s nice.”
Tommy hummed in response, as he let his eyes find the darkening landscape.
These days his Christmasses were like stepping into a glossy catalog, every inch of the house decorated, countless candles shining, a hoard of wrapped presents with large bows, steaming meals, and more sweets than anyone could ever eat in a whole year, let alone a few days. Every treat, every delicacy, it was all right there.
As it should be, a part of Tommy thought, the part that was proud of all he had achieved and that he could share it with his family, with his son. He alone would receive a dozen presents worth more than a factory worker’s annual wage.
But another part eyed those slightly uneven socks closer.
They were far from perfect, and yet every loop was laced with care and effort.
The memory of the socks his mother and Polly had knitted for him in years past, which he had thrown away as soon as he could afford to, made shame creep up his cheeks.
He already knew what he would get from them this year - cufflinks from Polly and a tie needle from Ada to match, expensive gifts, undoubtedly. Like every year.
Expensive, flashy gifts for an expensive flashy holiday. And that was it.
Nothing close to the memories of his childhood, even if they were feeble and poor in comparison, but at least they had been excited about it, about the food, about the oranges they would sometimes receive, about snow, even about the hymns they’d sing, less for the meaning and more of them all doing something together.
Singing together, cooking together, decorating together - and now the cooks did the cooking and the maids the decorating.
All Tommy did was pay. Like with any other day.
Taking a deep breath, he shifted in his chair and shook his thoughts.
There was no need to deprive Charlie of all the presents he could afford, anything he could enjoy. But perhaps the boy would want to do a little more than merely opening and receiving gifts.
Perhaps he’d like a little tree to decorate on his own, just a little one, even if it ended up not nearly as perfect as how Frances would instruct the maids to do it. But then again, those socks wouldn’t be perfect either.
The longer he thought about it, the more he came to enjoy the idea.
Maybe they could even take the horses out into the forest and he could pick one for them to cut down.
Just as it had taken hold in his mind, they heard a mechanic screech before the train slowly started moving.
“Oh thank God!”, the secretary cried out, dropping her needles in her lap and offering him a relieved smile.
But Tommy’s mind was already back in that snow-coated forest to the back of Arrow House in which Charlie would choose their Christmas tree. A proper one, not flashy and big, but real.
~
Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed and as always I'd love to hear your thoughts!
Taglist
Overall
@lilyrachelcassidy @jyessaminereads @chlorrox @watercolorskyy @books-livre @quarterpastmidnight @lilyevanswhore @polishcrazyone @zablife @just-a-harmless-patato @stevie75 @flyingjosephine-blog @runnning-outof-time @cillmequick @alex-in-the-wilderness @babayaga67 @butterfly-skinnylegend @shelbydelrey @mrkdvidal1989 @raincoffeeandfandoms
Tommy
@knowledgefulbutterfly @babayaga67 @signorellisantichrist @lespendy @geeksareunique @look-at-the-soul @lothbrokcore @rangerelik
171 notes
·
View notes