How that drive seemed to last for an eternity. Surroundings passed by like old film; bland, dull surroundings – their usual vivid pallor all but diminished by the greyness of the early afternoon.
Verity had tried to drop off to sleep countless times, but the noisy engine of the high end car and it's ability to make the whole chassis of the car tremble almost meant Verity instead just seemed to linger exhaustedly on the edge of a conscious state. Her eyes drew in the changing environment – from the solid greys and whites of the London city to pale greens and browns of the early March countryside.
Barely a word was exchanged during the drive up to Tommy's manor, and that was partially down to the fact Verity was just about awake at some points – but other than that Tommy made no hassle to start a conversation about anything He just drove, piercing blue eyes fixated on the dark grey roads ahead as if his mind was locked in focus. Maybe it was just another one of his ways, however it did little for reassuring Verity or instilling any feelings of true 'welcome' in her.
-
Many hours after they had set off from London, the pair arrived at the Arrow Manor as the darkness of the early night's had long drawn in. Wheels crackling over the crunchy driveway gravel, Verity's mind flashed back to the last time she was here. That was when she had a car, and she had a flash of pain in her heart remembering how she'd had to sell her mode of transport when her psychology career first when down the drain.
The Bentley halted outside of the imposing large double doors at the front of the gorgeous and graceful old manor house. It looked very picturesque at night as it did in the day, its immediate grounds softened in golden light from the various black oil lamp style posts littered about the driveway.
Too busy drawing in the beauty of the place once more, Verity had all but missed Tommy lifting her bags from the back of the car and making his way inside of the foyer. She'd just grounded herself back on Earth again to catch the image of the back of him flurrying through the hallway in that hurried stride he always seemed to have – his steps fast and purposeful, she wondered whether he ever really stopped.
Wandering inside, Verity clutched her small purse in her grasp. It was hard to stop the images plaguing her mind as she stepped inside the large main hallway, looking upon the small seating area by the hearth – the large grand oak staircase and the seemingly endless stream of doors that led off to various rooms.
Shrugging off her camel coloured coat, she watched as Tommy placed her bags down by the bottom of the staircase. She found it somewhat amusing, she very much doubted that Tommy Shelby played personal assistant for many people.
"You make quite the nice Bellboy." She stated with a small smile, and almost regretting the remark for a few seconds when she saw the look on his face. In his initial expression, it could have been mistaken for something along the lines of... 'dangerously offended'? It panicked her.
However, she immediately relaxed when he smirked almost – dipping his head and his features practically concealed by the brim of his signature Peaky cap. She was sure he'd done that on purpose.
"Perhaps I was one in a former life." The remark was so nonchalant that it appeared he didn't hold her quip with too much severity, which was an instant relief for the psychologist.
A low creak and a bar of light suddenly flooding into the low-lit hall caused the two to look in the direction. Stood in the doorway of the dining room, Tomato soup around his mouth – was young Charlie Shelby. Verity almost felt ashamed at how quickly her mood lifted on the sight of that sweet child. He had been the redeeming quality of her last visit.
"Daddy!" The boy raced forwards at the sight of his father. Tommy was midway through removing his coat when his son practically knocked into him, arms wrapping around so tightly as if he was afraid to ever let go.
It felt like an incredibly rare sight – like witnessing a unicorn creating magic in the middle of a fairy clearing – seeing Thomas Shelby so soft, tender and unashamedly affectionate. He murmured some happy hellos and gave his son a hug that very much reciprocated the one he had received. For those few moments, the leader of the Peaky Blinders was just another doting father. The cap and coat he donned like a second skin thrown carelessly to the ground all for the sweetness of a reunion with his child.
That's when Verity was reassured that everything he tried to put up – the stony cold front, the bitterness and the defensive sarcasm was all but a mask. A mask that shielded him, a cloak that deflected anyone into thinking he never had a soft side. But that was so clearly wrong, and Verity felt silently reassured that he was not the elusive, dangerous figure he wanted to paint himself out to be.
"Have you finished your dinner?" Tommy asked as he pulled away, crouched on the hall floor and eye level with his bright-eyed son.
"Not yet, I heard the car coming and I wanted to see you!" the boy chirped excitedly, Tommy listening away as he wet his finger with a little spit and then wiped away the smattering of bright red tomato soup from around the boy's mouth.
"Right, well you go and finish your food." Tommy instructed as he stood up, holding the boy's hand tightly and looked across at Verity. "And daddy's friend Verity will come and sit with you."
A silent instruction from the Blinder.
It seemed in all his excitement; young Charlie had not even noticed Verity standing there. His smile grew even wider as he set eyes on the sweet faced, pretty lady he remembered from those months ago.
"Verity!" he squeaked, letting go of his father's hand and rushing over like an elated puppy. Sinking down into a crouch, Verity opened her eyes wide for the little boy who ran over with such enthusiasm and childish elation – it warmed her heart so. It was times like this she reminded herself she had lost her nephew and having Charlie around might help her with that.
"Hello young Master Shelby." Verity crooned playfully, pulling back from their big hug with a large grin – framed by her rose-pink lips. "I did miss you." She confessed truthfully and judging by the look on Charlie's face he felt the same. It was clear he had so many things he wanted to talk to Verity about, but she managed to guide them both back into the dining room – where Tommy had already crept away and asked Francis to prepare something for Verity.
Walking the expansive distance to the top of the spacious dining room, Verity sat in the chair adjacent to the one at the head of the table – where Charlie sat, napkin tucked into his jumper and chatting away happily about his day of learning and riding his favourite pony.
As interested as she was in hearing the delightful recount of Charlie's day, Verity could not help but gaze around the dining room she had not stepped in for so long. She did not remember there being so many paintings – many of portraits of Tommy, some of his prized horses and other family portraits – namely one of Charlie, Grace and himself sat happily together. Gazing back down at the table, she focused on how the shining oak top carried on for miles like some optical illusion. How lonely it must have felt for a poor young boy eating there alone night after night. How lonely everything must have felt in general in a house so big that was inhabited by so few.
At the end of the room, the door creaked open and surprisingly Tommy stepped in. What was not surprising was his usual unemotive expression and the lit off-white cigarette that hung loosely from his lips.
"Daddy!" Charlie called excitedly, nearing the bottom of his bowl of soup – Verity still managing to finish hers despite getting it later. She had been starving, not having eaten properly for the entire day.
"Aren't you going to eat with us?" Verity dared to ask, a disguising politeness to her tone when really, she felt rather awful for his son who had wanted to spend quality time with him since he got home.
"I can't. I have things to do." Tommy quickly said, remaining at the end of the room with his hands tucked into the pockets of his smart black trousers. Verity could not exactly say she was extremely surprised by his response.
"I was just letting you know Francis has prepared your room for tonight so feel free to go to bed at whatever time you want." He stated, and an instant pout came from his son.
"That's not fair!" Charlie sulked, "You say I have to go to bed when you or Francis tells me to!"
Tommy started to pace across the room towards his son, drawing a long take on his cigarette.
"That's because," Tommy started, a plume of smoke following his patronising words, "I don't want you to end up looking like me."
His statement rather amused both Charlie and Verity alike. She ended up covering her face slightly, it was more the shock of him saying it that took her by surprise. He may have been a bastard to her early on, but Verity had to give it to him that he was always one step ahead.
"Now come on," Tommy ushered, "Finish up your dinner. You need a bath." He ruffled his son's hair. The mention of the word bath caused an instant crumpling on Charlie's face.
"I don't want a bath!"
Lifting her spoon from her empty bowl, Verity gently tapped the flat side of the spoon against the tip of Charlie's nose, leaving a red blob from the remnants of tomato soup.
"You need one now." She teased playfully; the sounds of his little giggles made her feel a lot less burdened in this incredibly crazy situation. "Now come on, if you get bathed in time – I'll read you a story before bed."
That promise was enough for Charlie to wolf down the remains of his tomato soup. Leaving Tommy to silently skulk back off to his large bookcase lined office in peace.
-
Whilst Charlie was taken up to the main bathroom by Francis, Verity settled into her room. It was the same suite she stayed in last time and unpacking her things there with a feeling of somewhat permanency felt overly alien to her. As she hung things up in the oversized wardrove and tucked things away in the broad French dresser, Verity began to ruminate about how she felt little place of belonging in the world at the moment. She felt like a poor sly trapped in a spider's web between so many different people's worlds – Tommy's, Arthur's, Scarlett's and Eli Valentine's. She had lost everything she had known – her career, her family and her normality and she found herself in a position she would have detested to be in 6 months ago.
Yet why did it not anger her as much as she expected it would to be here? To be living under Tommy's roof? She felt like she was supposed to be gutturally enraged with herself for letting herself slip into this reality – yet somehow, although feeling immensely out of place and nervous at present, she felt no animosity. She put some part of it down to being around Charlie, but another part was undeniably the fact she felt she was building some form of real trust for Tommy. She was trying to teach herself to start letting her guard down more around him and accepting him for who he was.
Scarlett's words from so long ago rang clearly like church bells in her head:
'give him a chance.'
The sudden knocking on her door caused her to jump, she threw some things back down in her case before she padded over to answer it.
"Francis." Verity smiled as she opened the door to the reputable Shelby maid.
"I hope I wasn't interrupting you, Miss Grant." She said politely, "Master Shelby asked me to come and get you. He said you are reading him a bedtime story?"
Breaking into a smirk, Verity shook her head softly in amusement. It was clear Charlie was a child who never forgot when someone promised him something – she imagined he had probably got that from his father.
-
"... and so, they lived happily ever after." Verity whispered softly, sitting on a white high-backed rocking chair at the side of Charlie's bed as he looked on with sleepy eyes, yet as moments passed – Verity could see his brows furrowing.
"What's the matter Charlie?" she asked, readjusting the blankets up over him as he squirmed a little with a frown.
"Why do the storybook endings always have families living happy forever?" he asked, clearly upset by it, "When that's not how it is in real life."
A quick glance and the hurt in his eyes was prevalent – this poor kid. She was no child psychologist, but Verity recognised emotional damage in anyone. The least she could do was be there for a boy who probably never got the chance to tell someone how he was really feeling.
"All the children have happy mummies and daddies who love each other." He then added, looking at Verity with watery eyes. "I don't have a mummy and I don't think my daddy is ever happy."
She reached across the blankets and took his hand softly, giving it a gentle squeeze.
"You can talk to me about it, honey. I know it's not easy for you." She encouraged softly. "Why do you think daddy isn't happy?" She wanted to know what this child had seen, what he had been exposed it. It might be that Tommy was hurting his son without even realising it.
"Sometimes I've been to daddy's office and he's asleep at his desk – he drinks a lot of that stuff." That stuff obviously being whisky. "He never does anything with me anymore. We never go riding, he never has time for me."
As he opened up, he became more and more upset and Verity decided it was not good to get him so emotionally wound up when he was supposed to be settling for the night.
"Ssh," Verity whispered quietly and stroked her thumb over the back of his hand. "I know your daddy loves you and cares about you a lot. Work is busy for him, but I can always talk to him for you." She reassured the child who looked more optimistic at that statement. "Try and get some rest okay?" she said kindly, leaning over and kissing his forehead gently. "Goodnight."
Flicking off the lamp in the corner of the room, Verity walked carefully to the doorway, hand finding the ornate brass knob to pull it closed.
"Can't you be my mummy?" Charlie's small voice piped up as Verity was about to the shut the bedroom door. "Can't you marry daddy and make him happy?"
It was an innocent question from a child, but it sent her mind reeling. As much as she was trying to open herself up to the idea Thomas Shelby was not out to catch her out, the thought of marrying him made her internally fizzle with confused disgust and curiosity all at the same time.
"Charlie, your mummy is Grace and she will always be your mummy – whether she is here or in heaven." Verity assured the boy, "And me and your daddy are friends. Nothing more." Her voice remained level and realistic.
"But we can still be best friends." She added to leave the conversation on a high note, "Tomorrow we'll go for a long ride with the horses. But you have to go to sleep or you will be tired."
With that, Charlie obediently let his head hit the pillow and Verity could peacefully leave him to rest for the night. Sighing softly, her eyes remained locked on the red runner carpet beneath her feet as she headed back down the grand oak staircase. She did not quite feel like sleeping yet, her mind was rather stimulated after that conversation with Charlie and she actually felt a slightly thirst for a cool glass of gin and tonic.
Passing under the glorious and grand painting of the late Grace Shelby, Verity paid her a small sign of secret respect and nodded to her gorgeous portrait.
'Your boys miss you a great deal.' She thought, hoping that it somehow made it through to Grace in the spirit side.
Hands sliding along the smooth polished surface of the banister, Verity reached the base of the stairs and stepped into the hall, her heels clicking off the surface and echoing around the open space. She searched the dining room, back kitchen area, cosy room and living room and could not find a single trace of Francis. Once she had got the thought of a gin and tonic into her head, she could no longer get rid of it. Desperate measures were called.
Stepping cautiously across the hall and into the cove where the doorway of Tommy's office was nestled, Verity pushed the heavy wood back and revealed the long office draped in warm fire light – the varying intensity's of the flames light dancing across the walls in small flickers.
At the end of the room, Tommy sat at his desk – buried in a stack of papers, glasses on the end of his nose and a large bottle of whisky placed to his right side.
Knocking lightly on the wood of the door beside her, Verity flashed a wane smile the moment Tommy looked up.
"Sorry to intrude," she started, "I was hoping you could direct me to the nearest trace of gin. I can't find Francis anywhere."
It took him a moment, icy blue eyes trained on her but then Tommy nodded – removing his glasses and gesturing her to come in.
"Good timing really," he said, "There's actually something I want to talk to you about."
That phrase left her feeling a little restless, but none the same Verity wandered up through the office to the large leather chairs that sat proudly facing the Blinder's stacked up desk. She watched on wordlessly as Tommy went to the decanter by the bookcase behind him, listening along to the peaceful glugging of gin leaving the bottle.
Moments later, she was presented with a gin and tonic that unsurprisingly nearly burned her face off with its strength. Nevertheless, a gin was a gin, and she'd had enough Tommy Shelby made gin and tonics now to know never to expect a weak one.
"I wanted to ask you about how you'd feel cutting your shows down from 4 a week to 2 – one on Friday night and one on Saturday night."
This suggestion came as quite a shock Verity had been expecting him to maybe mention something about finding her a new house but instead, he had put this to her? She was about to answer when she thought better – she needed to ask where this had come from.
"Why have you asked me this? Has Arthur said something?" she started to panic that this might be the beginning of the end. If she lost this singing career than she really had lost everything.
Shaking his head, Tommy rested his elbows on his desk, looking over at her troubled expression with eyes that were vaguely reassuring for once.
"It's nothing bad, Verity." He responded. "I'm thinking of your commute frequency whilst we're trying to find you somewhere. You're going to be knackered if you're travelling all the fucking time."
Oh. Oh. She was really quite stunned; he was genuinely regarding her wellbeing for once... over the profits of the club? She felt a buzz of unfamiliar emotions.
"Of course, your pay won't change considering I've instigated this change." He added whilst she sat there in dumbfounded silence.
Grounding herself, she took a generous sip of the overpowering drink and swallowed it down before even thinking of something to say.
"I... I'm – are you sure?" she responded back, a clearly confused and astonished look about her face. Nodding slowly, Tommy lifted his tumbler of whisky for a sip – his face never once displayed anything but seriousness – like he was conducting a business meeting. Yet despite that, there was a flickering of softness and humanity behind his eyes that rarely lingered there. Something Verity was very much the kindler of.
After a few moments of silence, and the alcohol beginning to make her feel warmed in the stomach – Verity confidently raised up a question after musing over all these new propositions.
"Why are you doing this for me?" she asked, "Helping me find a home, letting me stay here, hindering your company profits so I can benefit the same wage for less days working?" she scoffed a little in disbelief at the statements she was recounting.
"None of this benefits you in any way yet you're doing it for me."
Tommy never let his eyes leave hers as he had another generous mouthful of whisky, taking his time too as if to add tension to the moment.
"I am." Was all he said, setting the glass down with a gentle clunk on the desktop. "I am doing it. Is there any need to question it?"
Her pink lips quipped into a smirk, shaking her head. It was so like him to answer a question with a question. She decided she was not going to get any form of sensible answer and collected her gin glass with a humoured smile.
"Thomas Shelby, the day you are open with me, I will most likely pass out from sheer shock." She remarked playfully, stepping away from the desk as she rested her hip against the side of the chair she was previously sat on.
Eyes trained on her, unmoving and drinking in her effortlessly beautiful being – Tommy ruminated quietly on her words. The day he was open...
Open about everything?
About what he had really done to her?
He shut his thoughts down quickly, lest the wave of guilt grab him once again and pull him into its murky depths.
"An open book just asks for trouble." He merely trajected, watching as Verity moved back towards the door of the office, grading the tall glass in her hand. She was smiling softly to herself, as if reading into and analysing his statement.
"No, you're wrong." She smiled as she lingered by the door. "If a book is never opened, how is anyone ever supposed to find out all the good things about it? Books that remained closed forever die out with their inner delights hidden for good."
Pleased with her response, she turned back to face the doorway and headed on through.
Not even the slightest bit aware of how her simple little silly observation had left the leader of the Peaky Blinders with a new perspective.
-
A/N; ON GODDDDDD. I love writing soft Charlie and Verity moments, expect more over the next couple of chapters 😊 Plus some exciting twists to come soon 😉