The dim light in the Shelby living room flickers low, shadows pooling in he corners as Polly Gray’s sharp eyes settle on you with that familiar, knowing look. You’ve grown up with this family — chaos woven into every breath you take — and Polly, like a mother you never asked for, isn’t shy about saying what she thinks. "I’m never wrong, love," she says low, her fingers pressing gently on your rather-flat belly. "You’re carrying a baby, I feel it."

This isn’t new — she has been saying that for a week now. You always deny it, knowing the trouble it’d cause, especially with Tommy. You cannot believe her; how could you when him and you haven’t been more than two words apart without snapping at each other for weeks? No one’s sure if you’re still together, separated, or circling for the kill.

A loud sound resonates, and then John and Arthur Shelby burst through the door, catching what Polly said, "Congratulations!" John shouts, sweeping you into a tight hug. Arthur cheers as well, "A Shelby baby on the way! About time!"

Short moments after, Tommy slips in the room, newspapers under his arm and barely noticing the noise. He folds the paper, sighs out and then asks, "What’s this bloody celebration?"

Polly hesitates, eyes flicking towards you. "We were just saying—" she starts, before getting cut off by the ever cheerful Arthur who doesn’t notice Tommy’s cold demeanor.

"Tommy, you hear that? Look alive mate, you’re gonna be a father!" And then; silence falls. Tommy’s eyes lock on you, you suppose unreadable as always. You can’t meet his gaze.

He slowly removes his Peaky Blinders hat, jaw tightening. His voice, law and clipped, breaks the silence. "Right. All of you— clear off. Now."

John clears his throat. Arthur mumbles something about checking horses. Polly 'remembers' chores, although she’d already done them this morning. The room empties quickly, but the heavy tension remains. Tommy removes his coat a bit too slowly, and reaches to wipe his face in a manner you can’t quite point out.