Chapter Text
Robin startled when she heard the rumble of a deep baritone voice.
“Alright, love?”
Robin opened her eyes and said,
“Pat?”
Robin looked into fond, gentle eyes and felt the world – however slightly – come back into focus. The ringing in her ears began to dim and she blinked back a flood of tears.
“I thought you’d left,” Robin managed as she glanced at the door to 26 Denmark Street and briefly wondered how long she had been leaning, in her lovely new pink dress, against the dirty exterior wall with her eyes closed.
“Loo,” grumbled Pat as she reached into her bag, her hand emerging a moment later with a pack of SuperKings.
Robin blinked wildly.
Did she just hear everything?
Robin observed Pat extract a cigarette – She couldn’t have – and drop her hand into her bag once again to retrieve her lighter. She did. Of course, she did. Both of our voices were echoing in the stairwell. Pat lit her cigarette – Maybe she didn’t hear – and dropped the cigarettes and lighter back into her bag. Out of loyalty, Pat had intentionally not looked at Robin who knew that Pat was giving her a moment – one that Robin knew that Pat knew she needed – to pull herself together. Pat took a long pull on her cigarette and as she exhaled, her eyes met Robin’s.
Pat heard everything.
Immediately, Robin felt the internal dam that held her emotions at bay, begin to crack.
“I’m going this way,” came Pat’s measured tone and she pointed up the road. “Want to walk with me?”
Robin took in a sharp breath, nodded her head gratefully and they fell into step with one another. Robin wasn’t sure if Pat was walking to the tube station, and decided that if the tube wasn’t Pat’s destination, then she could surely hail a taxi from anywhere. They walked silently for a minute or so before Pat said,
“D’you know what you’ll answer?”
Robin didn’t have the energy to pretend that she didn’t know what Pat was talking about.
“Strike is infuriating,” she responded.
Pat laughed and took another drag from her cigarette.
“I didn’t mean him.”
Robin stalled on the sidewalk – I guess I didn’t know what she’s talking about – then took a few long strides to return to Pat’s side and said,
“Oh.”
“Well, you must have an answer if you know he’s planning to propose,” said Pat, and then she added, “found the ring on accident, eh?”
Pat was certain that Robin had not found the ring accidentally and Robin was certain that Pat, certainly knew this. This caused Robin’s fondness for Pat to swell and she laughed softly. Robin reached for Pat and touched her arm, causing the two women to halt on the sidewalk.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” Robin whispered.
Pat took another long drag from her cigarette.
“D’you wanna come play bridge?”
Robin barely registered the bark of laughter that escaped her lips.
“Now?!”
“Yeah, now,” replied Pat with a small smirk. “You’ve not been happy lately and –”
“I’m fine, Pat,” Robin quickly quipped and resumed walking.
Pat cut her eyes at the back of Robin’s head and followed, Robin slowing her pace so that Pat could easily catch up.
“Fine, right,” came Pat’s raspy voice from over Robin’s shoulder, “if you say so. You didn’t ask, but I’m going to tell you this and you can take it or leave it. ‘s up to you . . .”
Robin turned her head to look at Pat.
“I don’t think you should talk to Murphy or Strike right now. Leave it. Give yourself some time.”
Robin’s head jerked forward and the pair walked together for a minute in silence before Pat stopped at a corner and said,
“I’m going this way.”
Robin looked down the road and knowing that Pat did not live with her husband Dennis, and his pigeons, on this street, or even in this particular neighborhood, raised her eyebrows in a silent question.
“Going to my kids.”
“And you’re playing bridge?” Robin asked.
“Yes,” replied Pat and she dropped her cigarette onto the pavement and ground it out with her heel. “Wanna come?”
“It’s Ryan’s birthday,” replied Robin.
Pat gave a slight, inconsequential shrug.
“I’m supposed to ditch my boyfriend, on his birthday . . . At the Ritz?!” Robin’s arms were gesticulating wildly. “And – And – And go play bridge?!”
“If you want to,” replied Pat calmly.
“I can’t . . .”
“No?”
“I’m supposed to lie to my boyfriend on his birthday, Pat?”
Pat’s eyebrows arched and Robin’s eyes clinched shut.
Listen to me. You act like you haven’t been lying to him the whole bloody time.
“What do I say to him?” Robin whispered and slowly opened her eyes.
“You’ll think of something clever,” said Pat as she retrieved another cigarette from her bag. “Come on. It’s this way.”
Maybe I should start with: ‘Sorry Ryan, I only started dating you so I’d fall out of love with Strike’.
Pat turned and began to walk again. Robin sighed and stared at the back of Pat’s head. Suddenly, as if not in control of her body, she moved, following Pat down the sidewalk and walked toward some unknown flat, filled with unknown people to play a game that she didn’t know how to play.
They’d walked in silence for half of the block when Robin said,
“Where are we going?”
“Daughter-in-laws,” replied Pat’s growl.
“So, I’ll meet your son?”
Pat took a long drag on her cigarette, then said,
“No. He’s dead.”
Robin came to an abrupt halt.
“Pat,” Robin offered, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“’Course you didn’t,” said Pat, who stopped and turned to face Robin.
“I’m sorry. I—”
“’s’alright. There was an accident.”
Pat motioned for Robin to resume walking.
“I’ll tell you about it someday,” continued Pat, whose syllables were marked by smoke.
They continued to walk in silence. Robin was feeling like an emotional wrecking ball and didn’t need an additional layer of contriteness added into the mix. So immersed in her own thoughts, Robin’s pace slowed and Pat noticed.
“It’s just around the corner,” said Pat.
“Pat, I—”
Robin searched for the appropriate words and when she arrived at nothing, she said,
“I can just call a cab. I can still make it to the Ritz.”
“If that’s what you want,” replied the tempered Pat. “Why don’t you walk the rest of the way with me? You can use the address if you want to call a cab and you’ll have a safe place to wait.”
Robin stared blankly at Pat, who looked up and down the street.
“Not that this isn’t a safe neighborhood,” Pat continued, “but you might as well not have to linger outside some strangers’ flat,” she finished in a rather manner-of-fact tone.
But I am going to a stranger’s flat. But I would be lingering outside some strangers’ flat.
Despite Robin’s internal monologue, she nodded and fell into step beside Pat.
“Y’know,” growled Pat, “my granddaughter has a saying.”
“What’s that?”
Pat glanced sideways at Robin and exhaled a large cloud of smoke.
“If it isn’t a fuck-yeah, then it’s a no,” Pat said flatly.
“What’s that supposed to—”
This time, Pat didn’t look at Robin. She simply continued walking. A moment passed and Robin said,
“You heard everything, then?”
“Aye.” Pat nodded. “Not intentional.”
Robin suppressed a laugh.
“And?”
“And what?” Pat replied.
Robin shot her an exasperated look and Pat took another drag off her cigarette.
“He is telling the truth.”
Robin couldn’t contain her gasp. Her stomach flipped and she felt a cold electric shock run through her body.
“Did he . . .?”
“’Course he didn’t say anything to me. He wouldn’t,” Pat replied. “But he’s right. Everybody else sees it.”
Robin felt like her head was spinning.
“I gave him a piece of my mind though,” Pat said, then was stopped by a small fit of coughing. “Told him,” Pat continued, “that that’s no way to propose. You don’t propose marriage after yelling at the woman you love. And certainly not on a grungy metal staircase.”
Pat shook her head and flicked her cigarette into the gutter. Meanwhile, Robin, was temporarily paralyzed.
Don’t make the same mistake twice.
Robin flashed on the hug she and Strike had shared on the stairs when she had run out of the first dance of her wedding to Matthew.
Cormoran Strike is in love with me. Stop it. Stop it right now.
“He’s not in love with me. He’s manipulating me,” Robin said defiantly.
Pat stopped and looked directly at Robin.
“I don’t think you believe that, Robin.”
Robin, who looked like a deer caught in the headlights, stared at Pat.
“Do you honestly think that Cormoran Strike would tell you that he’s in love with you when he’s not?”
Robin’s heart was pounding and her ears were ringing again. Pat offered the question with a level of sincerity and gentleness that, once again, made Robin’s fondness for her swell.
“No,” Robin croaked. “But why now?”
Pat shrugged and ushered Robin along the sidewalk once again.
“He’s a man . . . So, that’s a start,” offered Pat.
Robin laughed and dug into her bag for a tissue to mop up the tears that were leaking out of her eyes. Pat cut her eyes toward Robin once again, watched her dab at her eyes gently enough to not smear her makeup, then said,
“I believe him when he said he was trying to figure out a good time . . .”
“He’s had years, Pat.”
“Aye, but—”
“I was single!” Robin cried out to the otherwise empty street.
Pat stopped again and Robin was desperately trying to not have to reapply her makeup. Pat reached into her bag for another cigarette, slowly lit it, and covertly eyed Robin.
“You were going through a divorce then,” said Pat diplomatically.
Robin scoffed.
“And his aunt was dying.”
Robin softened.
“I was surprised when you started dating Murphy. I thought the two of you might talk things through after we got the bomb in the office and he got the machete in the back.”
Robin made a sort of mumbled, gurgling sound. She immediately thought of her thirtieth birthday.
You’d be even more surprised if you knew about the botched kiss at The Ritz.
Pat interrupted Robin’s rumination when she said,
“Come on.”
This simple instruction set Robin’s body in motion once again.
“I suspect that’s why he booked that fancy hotel in Scotland,” Pat said, rather bluntly.
“Why? What?” Robin replied, flustered and feeling as though her emotions were about to explode out of her body.
“To get away from London for a few days. To talk to you about this.”
Instantly, Robin knew that Pat was correct. Hadn’t she known it as well? The thought of traveling to Scotland with Strike had, at the time, filled her with a cocktail of anticipation and panic. She’d known it at the time. I knew. She knew that something was building and she knew what it was.
And it scared the living shit out of me, so I ran away from it.
“So,” Pat continued as they turned the corner, “I believed him when he said he was trying.” Pat waited a moment then said,
“Why didn’t you go with him to Scotland?”
When Robin didn’t reply, Pat took another drag and exhaled another large cloud of smoke. They walked in silence past a row of brick buildings until Pat stopped, took yet another drag and looked intently at Robin. Meanwhile, Robin was sifting through a whirlwind of memories, most specifically related to their recent trip to Sark. If Murphy hadn’t texted me and if I hadn’t broken down over dinner, would Strike have brought this up? … Had he wanted to? . . . Was he trying? . . . He was so gentle and supportive when I told him about the pregnancy. Then I was the one intent on talking exclusively about work. I was scared . . . After years of wanting to speak more about our personal lives . . . After years of wanting to know more about Strike, I was the one determined to control the conversation. Why am I so scared? I’m scared he’ll break my heart. I’m scared he’ll get bored. I’m scared that we’ll ruin everything we’ve built. He's scared too, I think. Didn’t he just say he was afraid of fucking things up?
“Murphy is very handsome . . .” Pat offered and Robin, who was wrenched out of her inner monologue, couldn’t stifle her soft bout of laughter. “But Robin, if you’ve known he was going to propose and you don’t yet have an answer . . . Well, love, that should tell you something.”
A moment of silence passed.
“Not that I mind seeing a Paul Newman look-alike saunter into the office every now and then,” Pat said quickly.
Robin looked up at the building to avoid looking at Pat.
“Not that what I think matters. What matters is that you’re unhappy,” Pat finished.
Robin eyes dropped from the brick-front building and looked at Pat.
“What makes you think I’m unhappy?”
“I can tell,” Pat said. “Both of you have been depressed for months.”
“Both of—”
“You and Cormoran,” Pat interrupted. “Haven’t seen him this depressed since you were undercover.”
Having no response to this, and, in an attempt, to change the subject, Robin asked,
“Is this it?”
“Aye,” said Pat, who eyed her through the cloud of blue-grey smoke.
Robin blotted her eyes once again, but it was a feeble attempt to keep the dam in place. Hearing that she had not succeeding in hiding her emotional and tormented personal life as well as she thought she had, something inside Robin broke. Pat was studying her discreetly and saw the moment Robin’s internal levee broke, saw her chest heave and watched the tears fall in rapid succession. After a minute of desperate sobs, Robin managed to speak.
“He’s drinking,” Robin choked.
“Him?”
Once again, Robin couldn’t contain her soft bout of laughter, except this time it was mingled with snot and hot tears.
“No, sorry,” she said and shook her head. “Ryan.”
Pat made a gruff, disapproving sort of sound, that Robin registered immediately as disapproval.
“He’s been stressed at work—”
“Aren’t we all,” Pat quipped. “He’s got a drinking problem, has he?”
“Yes,” Robin conceded. “He’s been sober since we started dating, but he’s an alcoholic.”
“Not sober now though, is he?”
“Yes, he’s going to AA,” Robin quickly replied.
Pat released another of those gruff, disapproving sorts of sounds and Robin brought her hands to her face.
“I don’t know if he’s still drinking. He says he’s not,” a defeated Robin said quietly. “He’d been filling water bottles with vodka. Drinking it right in front of me.”
A new round of hot tears streamed down Robin’s face and Pat pulled fresh tissue out of her bag and passed it to Robin.
“God! I’m so stupid,” Robin sobbed.
Pat placed a gentle hand on Robin’s shoulder and said,
“Sometimes we see what we want to see. Be gentle with yourself.”
A minute passed and Robin’s sobs slowly subsided. When Robin’s breathing steadied, Pat said,
“Take it from me. You shouldn’t marry a man you don’t trust.”
Pat let the silence linger for a moment before continuing,
“’m not saying you should marry him . . .” Pat chortled. “But, I suspect you trust him more.”
Pat let the silence linger once again.
“I’m not saying you should marry either one of them. That’s for you to decide. And you’re an intelligent and talented woman, Robin. Any man would be lucky to have you, so long as they deserve you. You coming up, then?”
Robin, who had given up on the idea that she wouldn’t have to redo her makeup, pressed her increasingly sodden tissues against her cheeks.
“I don’t want to be a bother, Pat,” Robin managed between suppressed sobs.
“You’re not.”
“I don’t want to impose, Pat.”
“There’s plenty of room. No problem at all. You’re welcome to come up,” Pat persisted.
“I don’t know. I’m a mess, Pat.”
“All the more reason to come upstairs. There’ll be food and some brandy. Play some cards if you want,” said Pat. “Take some time.”
“What a fucking mess,” cried Robin.
“Yeah, well . . . That’s life, innit.”
Despite herself, Robin laughed again.
Sounds like something Strike would say.
“Thank you, Pat.”
“No bother,” Pat replied as she ground out another cigarette butt under her heel and Robin continued to blot at her cheeks.
“Come up with an excuse to tell Murphy yet?”
Robin groaned as she was now forced to admit to herself that her anxious mind had – in one of the extended silences of their walk – come up with a lame, yet believable lie to tell Murphy.
“Yes. I’ve thought of something,” Robin conceded.
“Come on, then. Send him a quick text, then I’ll introduce you to the family.”
Robin hesitated as Pat placed her hand on the doorknob, then removed it as if the knob was on fire.
“Tell me something,” said Pat, “if you didn’t know Murphy was planning to propose . . . if it had come as a surprise . . .would you have had the same response to Ryan as you just did to him on the stairwell?”
Robin’s body shuddered.
“‘You’re insane. You’ve lost your mind’” Pat quoted and as she registered Robin’s clear, but silent, affirmation, she said,
“Thought so. Well, are you coming up?”
“Yes,” said Robin. “And Pat . . .”
Pat halted the motion one makes when they’re pulling keys out of their pocket and turned.
“Thank you,” Robin said, her eyes still watery, but a genuine smile had spread across her face.
A warm nod and a wise smile spread across Pat’s face. But, before Robin could truly appreciate it, Pat’s face went slack, then hard.
“I’ll introduce you as my friend not my boss. They don’t know what I do.”
“Wh—Ah—OK,” Robin stammered.
Robin realized her face must have been contorted in confusion when Pat said,
“Signed that NDA, didn’t I?”
Grateful again – most especially on this night – to have a meaningful reason to laugh, Robin shook her head in disbelief.
“That’s not what the NDA is for, Pat. Is Dennis the only one who knows what you do for a living?”
“I tell Dennis every—Well, not everything” – Robin was immediately reminded of the multiple attacks she’d endured over the past few months and how there was never a question about telling Strike and always a question, or if she was honest, a complete dismissal of a question surrounding any idea of telling Ryan – “I tell him” – I told Strike about my pregnancy. My own mother doesn’t know about the pregnancy.—"what he needs to know And yes, he is.”
Despite Robin’s ongoing internal ruminations, she heard Pat answer her question. And then she heard Pat’s voice again. It wasn’t the Pat that stood in front of her just now, but the Pat from a few moments ago. ‘But, I suspect you trust him more.’ Pat’s baritone was echoing in her head when Robin recognized that time had seemed to expand and she’d just been throttled back, into the present moment. Taking a brief moment to compose herself, Robin said,
“I consider you a friend, Pat, so we’ll both be telling the truth.”
Robin was sure something not unlike a grin had spread across Pat’s face, but it was hard to tell, as Pat was looking at the right pocket of her jacket and extracting a large set of keys on a simple silver circle. To Robin, it looked a complete mess, but Pat rotated the circle and eyed a number of gold keys that appeared to be identical. She honed in on one and swiftly pushed it into the lock. The door swung open with ease and Robin, who suddenly felt as though Pat could tell her she was MI5 in her thirties and Robin would have believed her, followed her over the threshold and into the building. As they ascended the stairs, Robin said,
“I wonder if we’re not making the most of your skillset, Pat.”
Pat scoffed.
“Do I get that pay-raise, then?”
Robin laughed.
“I’m joking,” said Pat.
Robin stepped onto the landing behind Pat and began to follow her up the next staircase.
“You deserve it though,” said Robin, which guaranteed her a grunt in response.
Robin smiled at the back of Pat’s incomprehensibly black hair and said,
“Y’know Strike doesn’t really take a salary. Nothing substantial, anyway. He pays for his essentials and dumps everything back into the business, including going toward paying all our salaries.”
Pat didn’t respond to this.
“He’s come into money from the sale of his Aunt and Uncle’s house in Cornwall. That’s how we – er, he—had the money to buy the Land Rover,” Robin finished as they reached the next landing and Pat led her toward the third door down, on the right.
“I wasn’t fishing,” said Pat.
“Didn’t think you were. It’s just the truth, Pat. You do deserve that pay bump, and you’re bloody well worth it” – Shit, I sound like Strike – “if we can do it, we will. I’ll look into it personally.”
“All right,” said Pat as she extracted her vape pen from her bag. “Thanks.”
Pat eyed Robin for a second, then said,
“One more thing before we go inside.”
“What is it?”
“You and Cormoran fight like an old married couple.”
With that, Pat knocked twice at the door and it immediately opened to reveal a woman about Pat’s age. She was skinny, with grey hair and she was wearing slightly too much makeup.
“Patty!”
Robin, who felt the increasingly familiar feeling of being punched in the emotional gut, followed Pat through the door and into the flat.
*****