Grey. Grey was all Eileen Campbell could see as the train rolled closer to its final destination - Birmingham. It was also all Eileen could feel as the realisation slowly dawned upon her that this city was her new home. Her mind felt empty, numb, glum - much like the colour grey.

The journey from Belfast had been long and tense, as Eileen continuously refused to make eye contact with the man sat directly opposite her. The stained wood table between them was covered in files and the air was clogged with the stench of pipe smoke - only twenty minutes or so left to go she roughly estimated. Only twenty minutes left until she was forced to start from scratch again in a place of which her father insisted was full of death and crime.

"Eileen."

The thick Irish accent of her father cut her train of thought short and Eileen reluctantly turned her head to look at him, there was only so long that she could continue to pretend that he did not exist.

"Yes, father?" She acknowledged, her tone bitter and expression blank.

The man looking back at her certainly displayed an exterior of strength and dignity, yet Eileen knew on the inside her father was hurting. Whilst there was obvious friction between the two, the Campbell family had not always been so strained and up until a few months ago Eileen had greatly admired her father. It was the death of their mother and wife that really brought the divide down between the pair, as Eileen was forced to move away from her home comforts and follow her father across the country on his continuous mission to find power. This mission had first started in Belfast, where her father had successfully rid the streets of most crime and corruption. Whilst the busy city had not been the same as her home village, Eileen had been happy in Belfast and had just been beginning to find her footing when her father informed her that his expertise was needed in England.

The air between the two seemed stale, as Chester Campbell searched his daughter's face for some sign of emotion. At merely twenty young years of age, Eileen commanded a presence that he was still bewildered by and the resemblance between her and her mother was uncanny.

"I know you're reluctant to be coming to Birmingham," He sighed slightly as the words left his lips, "But entering such dangerous streets, there are some faces I need you to be aware of." Campbell's statements provoked no reaction from his daughter, and her piercing blue eyes stared back at him defiantly. Sensing that Eileen did not plan on responding to his comments, Chester Campbell rooted through his files until he found the faces he had become all too familiar with in the recent weeks.

"This here is Arthur Shelby." The first picture placed on the desk before Eileen depicted a slim and older looking man, she judged him to be in his later twenties. Dressed in uniform, Arthur looked honourable but Eileen sensed there was more to the man in the picture. His eyes suggested a man burdened by hardship and the young girl wondered what had caused the man to look so troubled. Before Eileen could think any further on the matter, the picture was swiftly replaced with another, a man her father claimed was known by the name Freddie Thorne. By glancing over the information on the page Eileen soon learnt that Freddie was a member of the communist party and one of her father's top priorities with regards to 'cleaning up' the streets of Small Heath.

After flipping through a few other case files, Eileen's father hesitated before sliding the last file over the table to his daughter. "And this here is Thomas Shelby."

Unlike the other photographs Eileen had glanced at, Thomas' caught her eye. Like his brother, Arthur, the military uniform and slick appearance suggested a man of noble stature and patriotism. Yet, when Eileen's eyes trailed down the page and read of the actions of the Peaky Blinders, she was stunned to imagine how the man in the picture fitted such awful crimes. Even in black and white print, Eileen noted that Thomas Shelby was an attractive young man, with sharp bone structure and a defined jawline. Lingering on the photo for perhaps a fraction too long, Eileen looked up at her father and asked, "These Peaky Blinders, what exactly do they do?"

Eileen knew that as Chief Inspector, her father had been sent to Birmingham under Churchill's orders to retrieve some supposedly stolen guns - information she had only acquired through various eavesdropping and snooping. As for the rest of Birmingham, she only knew what her father told her - that being there was dangerous.

Mulling over the question, Chester Campbell looked out of the window as the train passed blocks of houses and began to slow down. "I believe we're soon to find out."

Dragging their bags through the streets of Small Heath, Eileen was taken back by the state of the place. Prostitutes were offering themselves openly on every corner, whilst it seemed you could walk no more than a few paces before encountering another beggar. Whilst she was certainly not an emotional person, the sight of it all created a lump in Eileen's throat and she had to force herself not to lock eyes with any of the poor souls begging at her feet. Fortunately, the walk to their lodgings was not far. However, Eileen's relief was short lived and the young girl had to resist the urge to scream as she realised the crumbling and gloomy building looming before her was now to be known as 'home'.

"I'm to head down to the station to brief my men," Her father stated, after they had both struggled to lug their bags up the winding staircase leading to the top flat of the building. "And you are to stay here." Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Eileen simply nodded in response and pulled her suitcase into one of the bedrooms. As Eileen expected, the interior of the building was no better than the exterior and the bed springs practically screeched as she sat down on the mattress and fumbled for a cigarette. Using a match to light, Eileen inhaled the smoke deeply and let her eyes flutter over momentarily. The smoking was a habit her father did not approve of but it was practically the only thing she had available to help calm the nerves brewing in the pit of her stomach. Why was she here? Glancing out of the window to the left of her bed, Eileen wished to be anywhere else. She wished to be back in Ireland, where people laughed and sang, where she had friends, where she felt safe. Whilst stubborn with her father, Eileen knew that he could not change their current circumstances and she felt bad for being so difficult with him in the weeks leading up to their departure. Certainly a stern and at times intimidating man, Eileen loved her father and knew that he was all that she had.

With that in mind and a few more deep drags, Eileen let out a frustrated sigh and stood from her position on the bed. "Fuck it…" She mumbled, quickly rummaging and finding a coat from within her suitcase. There was no way she was staying in that flat on her own for another second. If she was to stay in Birmingham she would have to explore it on her own.

Colder than anticipated, Eileen walked briskly down the streets to circulate some warmth into her legs. She guessed her father would be occupied atleast until supper time, meaning she had a few hours to kill venturing the crooked streets of Small Heath. Surveying her surroundings, Eileen assumed people weren't use to newbies coming to Birmingham, as it seemed every other head was turning in her direction. Admittedly, it was hard not to notice the young girl as she hurried through the streets. With dark chocolate brown hair and ice blue eyes, Eileen was a pretty girl of petite frame and height. Her looks were perhaps what made Chester Campbell so protective of his daughter - the girl was a striking image of her mother and whilst he had failed to keep one of them safe, he would not lose the other.

Eileen's fingers tugged at the collars of her coat, pulling the fabric closer to her body as she paced down the street. She could practically feel the eyes of hungry men burning into her skull as she rounded the corner into an alleyway and walked towards what she could only assume was a dock. The initial fear and nerves that Eileen had felt when arriving in Birmingham were beginning to slip away and the brunette was actually enjoying having a moment to herself for a change. Ever since her mother had passed Eileen had felt suffocated, it was like people were expecting her to crumble. Yet, Eileen stood tall and composed. Though young in years, she was thick skinned and rarely shed a tear; something she had learnt was necessary when your father was a Chief Inspector.

The cold air of a Birmingham afternoon hit Eileen as she finally exited the alleyway and the girl smiled slightly as she took in her setting. Along the canal, boats were beginning to sail, packed to the brim with crates and there was a familiar smell of hay lingering in the air. However, Eileen's moment was cut short and the brunette turned her head a fraction too late to prevent an older and slightly crazed looking man running directly into her.

THUD. A groan escaped the girls mouth as she hit the ground, though she had managed to cushion the fall slightly by putting her hands out before impact.

"S-Sorry miss." It took Eileen a moment to register the voice addressing her and she peered up to meet the gaze of a small bald man, dressed in full suit and hat.

Accepting the hand that was extended to her, Eileen allowed the mystery figure to pull her to her feet.

"Not to worry," she smiled, "But I do believe I might be lost."

"L-lost," the man seemed to stutter again and laughed slightly, "Lost very far from home."

It took Eileen a moment to consider the man's words, then she laughed - her accent. She had almost forgotten her Irish twang would set her apart from the normal Birmingham crowd.

"Very far from home," She agreed.

"Curly," the man announced, extending a shaking hand towards her.

A smile continued to tug at Eileen's lips as she shook the gentlemen's hand. Curly, what a peculiar name she thought.

Just as Eileen was about to introduce herself, another man approached Curly with a horse being gently led behind.

"Curly, Tommy wants the old girl turned out before night." The man roughly shoved the horse's reins into Curly's open palms and stalked off before he could even utter a response.

"What a gorgeous horse…"

Regardless of the odd circumstances, Eileen's attention was immediately drawn to the beautiful creature standing before her. She'd grown up around horses, practically breathed them. As her hands found their way to the horses thick black mane, she immediately found her mind taken aback to long Autumn days spent in the barn with her mother. They were fond memories that she had almost forgotten she still had.

"What's her name?" Eileen asked, realising Curly was still stood beside her in a slight daze.

Shaking his head as though to clear his mind of all thoughts, Curly looked back to Eileen. "Edna she is called, Irish gypsy name meaning-"

"-Freedom of spirit," Eileen finished the sentence for Curly with a smile tugging at her lips. "I have a cousin called Edna back home."

Beginning to walk with the horse, Eileen found herself following after Curly as he continued to think allowed. "She's a friesian thoroughbred charmed by gypsies for good luck."

"Does she race?" Eileen asked, struggling to keep up with Curly as he weaved through the crowded work yard. She was unsure whether her presence was a burden to the horseman but her curiosity quickly pushed the thought aside.

Curly seemed to laugh at Eileen's question, "Races but never wins."

The pair had now arrived at a set of stables and Curly was at work mucking out the surroundings in order to supply Edna with rest for the night.

Eileen knew that this was probably her time to leave. Her father would likely have a heart attack if he knew what she was up to - hiding in dark stables with men she knew for no more than for a few minutes. Though, as Eileen looked to Curly, she knew he was a kind man. Simple in his ways and odd in his conversation, the horseman had kind eyes and she sensed with it, a kind heart.

"Why does she never win?" Eileen asked. Admittedly not an expect on horse racing, the brunette wondered why these men would keep and treasure a horse that was bringing them no winnings.

Curly glanced up from where he was crouched shovelling piles of dirty hay. "Tommy doesn't want her to win," he replied, before looking slightly alarmed that the words had even left his own mouth. "Mustn't discuss business with strangers Tommy says."

Not wanting to panic the workman any further, Eileen decided that this was her queue to leave. Just as she was about to turn her back on Curly and leave the stable, she couldn't help but ask one more burning question.

"Who's Tom-"

The sound of footsteps cut Eileen short from her question and she quickly turned her head to investigate the new presence in the already crowded stable.

"Who's your new friend, Curly?"

The deep and rough voice somehow cut through the air like butter, spreading a sense of comfort and warmth that Eileen could not quite describe. But with this warmth came a sinister tone and Eileen's mind was struggling to judge whether the new company was friend or foe. Though the stable lighting was dim, Eileen had no difficulty in identifying the figure stood before her. Merely a few hours ago she had found herself admiring those harshly chiselled cheekbones.

Stood before the brunette was Thomas Shelby - or Tommy Shelby she was now coming to realise. The name Tommy seemed out of place for the man and gave a false sense of innocence to an intimidating figure.

Eileen's blue eyes locked with Tommy's own and though the pair were yet to speak, she could already sense trouble on the horizon.