Tommy Shelby finally recognises the extent of his mental damage. An Illness that is eating away at his conscious being, devouring every last morsel of sanity in his head.
An illness that finally forces him to seek counsel from a professional.
To fi...
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Alfie Solomons wasn't exactly anyone's first idea of an affluent, eloquent or well thought of individual - but he certainly had contacts with those who were associated with people of that calibre.
With Tommy's request in mind, Alfie spoke with his men who he felt were best at running this 'rumour spreading errands' - and they were quick to escape the grotty, gravelly burrows of Camden and emerge into the more fortune/flourished burrows of London.
They addressed the correct people - psychologists at the local specialises colleges and universities and other members of the public who were in somewhat of a healthy hierarchy status where they addressed others.
Before long, word had spread - all sorts of wonderful lies:
'I heard that she charges an awful lot more simply so she can use the extra for her own selfish means.'
'Apparently she is under qualified.... that's not to be unexpected, of course, we are dealing with a woman!'
'I was told I could get cheaper and better counselling from student males at the college! I don't know why I was wasting time with her!'
-
A few months later ~
Another day of utterly depressing wintery weather had cast itself over the city of London.
The fire in Verity's hearth was roaring loudly, to compensate for the bitter chill outside. The wind was something awful, it's bluster howling outside and whisking up a blustering chaos in the leafless branches of the trees. Not to mention the sky had been dark all day, like it had been threatening rain but was now saving it all up for a hefty storm.
Sighing, the psychologist read another semi-threatening letter from the bank and set it onto her desk, her painted fingertips pressed to her temple, a shade of glaring red that seemed to match with her current mood - animosity, confusion and frustration - like a red curtain falling over her mind.
From the rug in front of her desk, Nina's son Harry played happily with his train set - his gurgles an innocent interruption to her torrent of negative thoughts.
Her hazel eyes left the sight of Harry and instead flickered to her paper diary, which was just filled to the brim with crosses and scribbles over names - previously booked appointments which had all but been cancelled.
Verity had tried her upmost to contact her patients - but none of them ever answered or some were very off with her, making strange accusations about the quality of her work and the price. Either way, whatever was happening, it was jeopardising her work and her livelihood.
Verity had a feeling this sudden influx of changed minds and cold shoulders was from tempting, enticing whispers of college psychologist trainees - offering practically free appointments to help with their studies. Of course she was mad, but what could she do? They were a huge governing body who thought very little of a woman's opinion. Verity just hoped her clients went for treatment their and saw the lack of empathy and quality in the treatment, and came crawling back.
Sighing heavily, Verity once again cast her eyes back to the letter. This was the fourth letter in 6 weeks, and the bills were wracking up and she did not have the means to pay it. The stress she felt was like a pulling, raging ocean - the waves tangling around her like a Kraken and dragging her into the depths...
A single tear rolled down Verity's cheek as she gave into the pent up anxiety and sheer frustration. She was so worried about losing everything, as she wasn't only supporting herself - she was supporting her sister and little Harry too. Their parents had already bank rolled them for a few weeks and Verity was far too embarrassed to ask for more. She was at her wits end, trying to look for work of any kind in her field only to be snubbed.
Blotting a tissue over her cheek to absorb the trickle of salty tears, Verity looked at the cream and brass coloured phone on her desk. Her mind felt like a fleeting deer in that moment, dancing in and out of the path of a predator - heading in an unknown direction but feeling so pressed to do something ... otherwise she could lose it all.
Like a fleeing deer approaching a cliff, knowing it would have to jump and take the chance - or face being mauled to death.
Snatching up the phone, her fingers dialled round the numbers, and she could not believe she was having to do this. She felt she really was scraping at the bottom of the barrel... but who better to contact when he'd so brashly made a promise of work...
And working for a Shelby, came riches. That was one thing for sure.
After she'd managed to call through the connection, Verity's breath hitched in her throat. That voice she'd heard for the best part of around 3 months.
"Tommy?" She cleared her throat after his passive greeting.
"Verity." He said, in a plain but acknowledging tone, "I thought we were of the understanding that I would contact you if I was ready for an appointment." He added, "...unless that's not the case?"
Verity screwed her face up and bit her lip, she hated that this would probably give him some great satisfaction.
"I wanted to ask whether..." she felt as if she was choking the very words up like bile, "... whether your offer was still open."
Her throat was incredibly dry and she reached for the glass of gin and tonic on her desk to wet the tightening, gasping feeling in her throat.
There was a pause that felt far too long for Verity's liking, as she pursed her lips together - waiting for a response.
"You know where the club is, don't you?"
"Yes." She answered, rubbing her aching head with her free hand.
"Fine. I'll see you down there Saturday afternoon. 3 o clock. No later."
Verity quickly scribbled the details down, her heart hammering loudly. She had done it, thrown herself off that cliff and was now in a weightless freefall of uncertainty.
Tommy was scant with any farewells as usual, ending the call after he'd said all he needed to. Verity felt incredibly vulnerable and wondered whether she had done the right thing, and hoped in reality Tommy felt no victory in her acceptance of his offer - oh how wrong she was.
She had no idea of the smirk on his face, the quiet succession of selfish pride that flooded him knowing his work must of paid off. Work that Verity could never of imagined Tommy was capable of - she thought it to be the work of jealous men in her field and that was it.
Yet, she found she was unable to focus on overthinking what had happened to her business right now - as all she could think of was the events to unfold on Saturday.
She'd be lying if she said she did not feel out of her depth.
