Chapter Text
Robin heard the door behind her slam shut and tried to gulp down the fresh air outside, anything to stop herself shaking, to try and gain control of her panic. Breathing hard, it took all she had not to burst into tears.
Scared that Strike might follow her – she felt she could take no more just now – she took off down the street, only realising when she reached the intersection at Tottenham Court Road Station that she was not heading for the Ritz. She stopped short which elicited a grumble from the suited man with a suitcase who had to step around her when the light turned green. She frantically looked around, trying to find a spot where she could stay for a few minutes and process. Tears were still threatening to burst and her hands were trembling.
I’m in love with you.
Making a decision, she crossed Charing Cross Road and then ducked into a small pedestrianised alley that led her into Soho Square Gardens where she habitually spent her lunch breaks if the weather permitted. It was busy as always, of course, but without the noise of busy intersection she had just left. She took refuge on a bench that luckily had just been vacated by a pair of tired looking tourists. She buried her face in her hands and concentrated on her breathing.
Marry me.
She could not process it, wanted to believe she had misheard him. The audacity… She was expected at the Ritz. Murphy was waiting, ring in his pocket – and even as she thought this, having intended it to fuel her righteous anger, she only felt dread. She had told herself she did not know what to do about Murphy’s proposal. But that had been a lie – and the shock of hearing Strike speak had been what had dislodged the realisation. She knew what she wanted. She had known for months. Murphy had felt it, too. She had not wanted to move in with him, had in fact been relieved when they had been gazumped. She had not wanted to meet his parents. She had even – because she felt a sudden cruel urge to admit it all to herself now – told him that she loved him for the first time solely out of habit and to avoid the awkwardness of not saying it back.
Don’t make the same mistake twice.
She had married Matthew against her better judgement. She had done it because it was expected and because she had not known what else to do. And now, Murphy was waiting for her. He was a good man and he loved her. And she would break his heart.
She thought again about Kim’s ex, dead in his car. Charlotte bleeding out in her bathtub. Murphy depended on her. His job, his relapse… Could she drop him now? Would she be responsible for whatever happened next? And would she be able to carry it on her conscience?
She pulled her phone out and sent a short text to Murphy to buy herself some time.
Sorry, running late
And Strike… How dare he! To keep this from her for months, years, then spring it on her… And then she saw his expression, the way he had looked at her – not the way he had he in the stairway, but in the kitchen on Sark. When he had held her shoulder. There were so many memories of him grinning at her, smiling, proud. Should she have seen it? Had she seen it?
She remembered their conversation after he had almost broken her nose when they had talked about Ilsa matchmaking. She had felt them then, the unspoken words. He had almost kissed her outside the Ritz. He had hugged her during the first dance at her wedding and had she not felt that he might be thinking what she was – that they could just run away together? She remembered the words about Charlotte.
She knew I was in love with you
She thought of the bracelet he had given her that was so much more thoughtful than any other present he had ever received from him. And she remembered the two of them in the car, talking about Bijou.
Because sometimes if you can’t get what you want, you take what you can get
She had felt then that he had wanted her to ask, but she had refused. She had refused because she had not wanted to hear the answer… She had known it then, she now reflected. And she had not asked, not wanted him to say out loud what she had felt was there.
Or maybe not. Maybe it was all her imagination, some kind of wishful thinking or projecting her own feelings onto him, misinterpreting his words. Maybe he knew how she felt and was using it to keep her close, to stop her from moving on with Murphy... No, she did not believe that, however much she tried to convince herself.
But even if – and it was a big if – even if it was true, even if he felt the way he claimed – which she had to admit did seem to add up with what she remembered. Only… Did it make a difference? Once more, Charlotte came to mind.
Funny. You look a bit like Madeline
She remembered the way the words had pierced her heart, the betrayal she had felt. This most certainly did not add up with the picture of Strike who had silently been in love with her for months and years now.
She knew for a fact that there had been a number of women he had gone out with over the years and none of them had been treated well. Nina, Bijou, Ciara Porter, Madeline and whoever else she still didn’t know about. She gave Strike credit enough to assume he had not acted the way he had out of the enjoyment of causing them pain, so what if anything did it matter if he intended to treat Robin differently?
And if he did treat her better, was she willing to forgive him for the way he had treated his former girlfriends with so much casual disdain? There was a certain solidarity there and a shared wariness of a man who acted like Strike had. She was not willing to accept his feelings for her as an excuse for how he had treated past lovers.
Her phone buzzed in her hand.
Ok, waiting inside.
This led to another unwelcome thought. What would be her excuse for the way she was about to treat Murphy? Murphy who had been with her, had held her, had done everything right. He was waiting with a ring and all she could do was think of Strike.
I wanna be with you. Permanently.
She had to squash the urge to shout, to kick things. Why? Today of all fucking days. Why did it have to be today when she had enough on her fucking mind with Murphy? Would one unwanted proposal not be enough to deal with for today?
A sob escaped her lips and she pressed her shaking fingers to them. This brought another part of the memory forwards.
Easily remedied
He had almost kissed her. He had wanted to kiss her and he would have had she not stopped him. Had she not often wondered what that would feel like, taste like? Had she not yearned for that, mostly in the moments before falling asleep or after waking up, at those times when she had not been conscious enough to supress it?
‘Fuck, fuck, fuck,’ she muttered to herself.
I was scared of fucking it up. This. Us.
That, of everything he had said, had rung true the most. She could feel that, could empathise. She had pondered that herself for so long. Only she had long ago come to a decision. The decision that it was not worth it to risk it, that the agency and the friendship meant more.
I don’t want to be your fucking friend.
Only now, he had taken the decision from her. Because now, surely, it was too late.
Marry me.
How could they come back from that? And then… Would she want them to go back? Something inside her was stirring, an always ignored little voice that had suddenly found a glimmer of hope. Was this not finally, after all those years of wondering and aching… No. It was crazy.
He might say he wanted her, but what did that even mean? She had never once – until tonight – seen him express any desire to commit to anyone. In her mind, he had always valued his independence above anything else. How would she know that she would be the exception?
Everyone else can see it – Why can’t you?
She heard Matthew say: “I always thought you’d end up with Strike.” Charlotte had written it into her fucking suicide note. Ilsa knew. Her own mum had asked her about it…
And here she was, sitting on a park bench when she should be at the Ritz. But instead of thinking about the proposal that was about to happen, her mind kept drifting back to the one she had just heard.
Marry me.
It hadn’t even been a question. It had been blunt and rude. He could not possibly have expected her to say yes. He probably had not even meant to say it, she reflected. Contrary to what she had told him, she did not actually believe he was insane.
‘Fuck,’ she muttered again and pushed herself to her feet, suddenly unable to stay still any longer. She checked her watch. If she set off now, she would be twenty minutes late for Murphy. She had to go. Nothing would be resolved by her not showing up. She was tempted though, to simply turn and go back home, get in the land rover and take off, somewhere where neither man would be able to find her.
She thought she heard Matthew shout. You bailed out on uni. Now you’re bailing out on us. You even bailed on your therapist. You’re a fucking flake. She would not prove him right by simply walking out on Murphy without an explanation. And she would not be like Strike, breaking up by ignoring her partner. She would do this the right way – or at least as right as she could because she felt the time to do it properly had passed.
She made her way through Soho, and walking helped to calm her down a little. At least, her breathing was fairly regular now even though she still felt lightheaded. When she arrived at the Ritz, she half expected to see Strike standing in front of the doors, waiting for her. To her relief, there was nobody there except a doorman and she made her way inside without incident.
Before finding Murphy and their table, she ducked into the bathroom to check her appearance. She was looking flustered and her eyes were a little swollen – but all she could do was brush her hair and fix her mascara. And then, wondering if she had only done it to put off the moment she had to see Murphy, she finally made her way to the restaurant.
A uniformed waiter guided her to a table for two where Murphy was waiting, looking even more handsome than usual in a dark blue suit. He got up to kiss her when she joined him. His lips brushed hers and she was dejected to discover that this made her feel almost nothing – the slightest tingle in her stomach, but that was it. Nothing compared to the lurch her insides had made when Strike had approached her in the stairwell.
‘You alright?’ Ryan asked, looking at her carefully. ‘What kept you?’
He was not stupid and she did not want to lie again. With a twist in her stomach, she remembered just how much she had lied to him over the past months. ‘Strike,’ she told him truthfully.
A small scowl appeared on his handsome face, only to be wiped away almost immediately. Robin reflected just how much this apparently baseless jealousy had always annoyed her. Only now did she consider that Murphy did in fact have very good reason to dislike Strike. Equally, she realised that she might finally have found the reason why Strike had suddenly decided to dislike Murphy after they had concluded work on Edie Ledwell’s case.
‘New case, is it?’ asked Murphy as they took their seats.
‘No, just wrapping up. Our client for the Silver Vault case was there for a final meeting.’ And just like that, she was lying by omission again. But nothing in the world would make her tell Murphy what Strike had just told her – not to mention that she did not even think it would be possible for her to phrase it. ‘I’m sorry I’m late.’
‘That’s okay. You’re here now.’ He smiled and looked so genuine as he said it that Robin felt guilt rise up in her stomach. He was a good man. Leaving Matthew had been easy – she had been so filled with righteous anger that she had had no qualms about hurting his feelings. This would be much harder.
She made an effort to smile at him, then opened the menu. They made small talk about the food until the waiter came over to take their order. After he had gone, Murphy took Robin’s hand.
‘So, what do you think?’ he asked, indicating the room around them with the other.
‘It’s beautiful,’ she said – and it truly was with its golden candelabras and elaborately decorated walls. She had seen the restaurant advertised as “sparkling” and that had not been an overstatement.
‘I’ve tried to make an effort,’ Murphy added before Robin could think of something more substantial to say. ‘I know it’s been difficult, I’ve been difficult. I’m just so grateful for you and everything you’ve been doing over the past few months.’
Robin did not want to hear this. She had decided, finally, that she did not want to accept his proposal – or better yet, she did not even want to hear his proposal. She liked being with him, he was good company. He was caring and thoughtful, he had a good sense of humour and the sex was great. But she did not want what he wanted. She did not want the house with the spare bedrooms. She did not want conversations about babies and egg freezing. She did not want an engagement ring and least of all another wedding. And, perhaps most crucially, she did not want him.
At least some of her thoughts must have shown on her face because he was watching her again. ‘Something’s going on.’
She took a sip of her water to buy some more time. It was his birthday. He was facing an enquiry at work. He had just gone through a relapse. Was she really going to break his heart as well, today of all days? But she could not bring herself to lie again, this time fully consciously, when he asked if she wanted to marry him. This, she finally realised, was a lie she did not want to carry on her conscience. Besides, it would only make it worse if she said yes tonight and then had to tell him no later, maybe after the news had been announced to mutual friends and family.
‘I want…’ She chose her words carefully. ‘I need to be honest with you.’
His eyes widened. ‘Robin?’
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before speaking. ‘I’m sorry. I… I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. And I know it’s your birthday and I’m being a complete arsehole but… I need to say this and you need to hear it and I just can’t put it off any longer. I’m sorry, I should have said it earlier but I kept telling myself…’
‘You’re breaking up with me?’ He sounded stunned.
‘No! I mean… I don’t know.’
He ran a hand through his hair and gave her a weak smile. ‘You’ve lost me.’
‘Sorry,’ she repeated. ‘It’s… It’s not easy to explain. I love you, Ryan. I really do. You’re a wonderful man and I’ve been very happy in this relationship.’
‘I’m sensing a “but” coming.’
Robin nodded. Now was the time to be honest. ‘I don’t want to move in with you. I don’t want kids – or at least, I can’t see myself wanting them anytime soon. This relationship has gone as far as I want it to go. I don’t want another wedding.’
He stared at her, lost for words. ‘We’ve… When we were looking at houses, I asked you, Robin. I had a feeling and I asked you when the house fell through. I wanted you to be honest and you said…’ His voice was turning into an angry whisper in deference to the other guests around them.
Guilt settled even heavier into Robin’s stomach. ‘I’m sorry. I just… it made sense to buy a house together and I liked the idea at first. Only… when it got too real, I realised and then… then I didn’t know how to tell you. I never wanted to hurt you. But I just… It just can’t keep going like this.’
‘We could have taken it slow – if you’d only said…’
‘But that doesn’t change anything, Ryan. You want the house, the kids and the wedding. And that’s okay, it’s perfectly reasonable. But I don’t.’
The waiter returned with their food and placed it in front of them with an apologetic smile, apparently aware that he was interrupting an important conversation.
Murphy glared at his beef wellington as he picked up his cutlery. ‘Well, this wasn’t the way I imagined the evening to go…’
They kept talking for over an hour and Robin had to give Ryan credit for listening to what she had to say. For the first time in their relationship, Robin felt able to say things as they truly were without fear of causing a conflict. She could sense that he was angry and disappointed but she could hardly blame him for that. He had in fact been much more collected than she had hoped for him to be – maybe the gentile restaurant around them had helped.
When they stood outside on the pavement to say goodbye, Robin suddenly felt tears in her eyes. For a moment, she felt the urge to take back what she had said, to suggest they try to work it out. Because yes, Ryan might not be perfect, but being with him was less scary than being alone – and certainly a lot less scary than thinking about Cormoran Strike… But she remained silent, knowing she had said all she had to say and there was only one conclusion to be drawn.
Murphy enclosed her in his arms and she heard him give a small sob as well. They held each other as people bustled around them and traffic rolled past. She was reminded just how much she did like him.
‘I will miss you,’ she muttered into his shoulder. ‘And thank you. For everything.’
He sniffed and wiped his eyes. ‘I’ll see you round, Robin.’
As she watched him walk away towards the entrance of Green Park Tube station, Robin remembered the last time she had stood on this stretch of pavement. It had been over two years ago when she and Strike had celebrated her 30th birthday. He would have kissed her then if she had not reacted the way she had and she could not help but wonder how it all would have gone differently had it not been for that split-second reaction of shock.
She had shouted at Strike for not telling her about his feelings before. But now, with some time to calm down, she had to admit herself that she had not made any effort to listen. She thought again of the bracelet that lay in her flat and almost automatically, she started to walk towards Picadilly Circus.
She stopped by the statue of Eros and remembered the night Matthew had proposed to her in this very spot. She had been delighted and thrilled. What she had not known at the time was that it had been the end of an era. The very next morning, she had started work at the agency and everything had changed from there.
That had been seven years ago. She knew that if she asked Matthew, he would say that this had been because she had fallen head-over-heals for Strike. She knew that wasn’t true. At least for the first few years, she had harboured no feelings for him other than sympathy and platonic friendship. It had only been later that this had changed, after she had truly gotten to know him – and things with Matthew were getting worse and worse.
After one last glance, she strode resolutely on, past Eros and the tourists posing on the steps in front of him. Her feet carried her almost automatically to the one place that might be able to provide some answers for the questions she still had.
By the time she arrived in Denmark Street, she had still not worked out what she wanted to achieve, exactly. She did not even know whether she was hoping to see lights that indicated that Strike was home. A part of her wanted to shout at him, a part of her never wanted to lay eyes on him again… and a small and quickly silenced part of her wanted to curl up in his arms.
The windows of the office were lit.
Emboldened by what she had already achieved that night by speaking honestly about her feelings, Robin let herself in and began to climb the staircase. This was where she had first seen Strike – who had been unkempt, injured and in a truly foul mood at the time. He had almost pushed her down the stairs, then saved her life by grabbing her breast. And had not so much about their relationship mirrored that very first meeting? Him being a grumpy and thoughtless bastard, but still the person she could rely on when it truly mattered?
He was sitting at Pat’s desk, looking at something on the computer but raised his head as she pushed open the door to the office. The desk in front of him was cluttered with the remains of an Indian takeaway – and rather incongruously, a margarine tub and a saucer with peas. There was a can of beer as well, but thankfully no bottle of whiskey. Tom Waits was playing.
She would not have wanted to talk to him had he been drunk – which she had considered a possibility and one of the main reasons she had been hesitant to come back here tonight. But neither had she wanted to spend all night thinking about what had been said.
‘Fish playing up again?’ she asked as he stared at her in disbelief.
‘Yeah…’ he said cautiously. His eyes flickered to her hand and a smile appeared on his face when he saw that there was no ring. For a moment, he had wondered whether she had told Murphy everything and then stopped by to tell him to bugger off. He got up.
‘I’ll get us some tea,’ he announced. ‘Or would you rather have whiskey?’
‘Tea,’ said Robin. She could not yet bear the thought of alcohol clouding her senses, the fear of another attack still too present in her mind.
Strike got to work with the kettle while Robin shrugged off her jacket and sank down onto the sofa, watching him in silence. Neither of them spoke until after he had handed her a cup. He did not join her on the sofa, feeling it might be too intimate. Instead, he pulled Pat’s desk chair over and sat across from her.
‘Look, I’m sorry. What I said… It all came out wrong.’
She nodded her acknowledgement. She had calmed down enough to believe that what she had heard had not necessarily been what he had intended to say. She considered apologising for having called him insane but decided that she had not calmed down enough to admit fault of her own.
They lapsed into another short silence, sipping their tea.
‘So… how was dinner?’ asked Strike and even if she had not known him so well, she would never have fallen for the casual tone.
Robin found that she could actually not find the words to express what had happened in a single sentence.
‘Sorry, you don’t have to…’ he added while she was still searching for the right words to describe her evening. It had been so many things at once… difficult, infuriating, liberating, sad, even genuinely interesting…
‘It’s hard to say,’ she muttered finally. ‘We broke up.’
Strike knew he ought to say “I’m sorry to hear that,” but did not think himself capable of pulling it off in any way that did not sound smug. He stayed silent instead.
‘You really caught me on the wrong foot earlier.’
‘Oh, Robin, I’m so sorry. I really didn’t… I didn’t mean to shout it at you.’
‘But why? Why today of all days?’ And even as she said it, she knew that she was just as guilty of confessing things at the worst possible time. She had waited until the day Murphy had wanted to propose to her to break up with him. Was what Strike had done really any worse?
Strike gave a rather humourless chuckle. ‘Well, turns out I’m a fucking coward, I guess. And I… well, I really didn’t want to watch you marry another guy who isn’t good enough for you… not without knowing I had tried all I could, at least.’
Robin suddenly had to blink tears away and hid her face by sipping her tea. Hearing Strike say this so matter-of-factly made her stomach swoop and her heart swell. The feeling was almost balanced out, however, by the knowledge of how much pain she had caused Murphy by leading him on to believe that there might one day be a wedding.
‘And I’m not saying this because I’m afraid you’ll leave the agency, for the record. I might be an arsehole sometimes but I’m not a manipulative cunt. You’re my best friend, Robin. I wouldn’t do that to you.’
Robin stifled another sob. ‘Yes, I know. I just… there’s been so much stuff you haven’t told me and with the press articles… Those women… It just got to me.’
This made him swallow. It hurt him deeply that she had doubted him but he also knew that he deserved her reaction for the way he had treated past lovers. ‘I was ashamed,’ he told her. ‘I didn’t want you to… well, I didn’t want you to know how much of a prick I’d been.’
Robin thought back to the text from Lorelei she had spotted years ago without his knowledge. If you want a hot meal and a shag with no human emotions involved there are restaurants and brothels.
‘I’ve not… Bijou was the last one. I realised, after… Well, it was a fucking mistake, from beginning to end. Ilsa warned me but I was a stubborn bastard who wouldn’t listen. I’m so sorry for all the stress it’s caused you, and all that press interest. I promise you I’ve learned my lesson.’
‘When I heard about that baby – and you hadn’t told me. With my miscarriage…’
Strike had reached a point of blind recklessness, no longer caring about consequences. He knew that this might be his one chance to speak his truths. It might be all or nothing so he had to give it all he got. And anyway, he was already in way too deep for it to matter.
He ran a hand across his face. ‘I never meant to hurt you. I couldn’t… It was just a nightmare. I’ve never wanted kids but the thought that I had become a father… And I’d have become like my own father to that child. I’d have been a shit, resented it. I just… I was so scared and you… well, I didn’t want you to think of me like that. You’re the most important person in my life and… your opinion matters to me most of all.’
Again, Robin was caught off guard by this sudden and uncharacteristic outburst of honesty. She reached out a hand and he grabbed it, squeezing gently for a second before letting go again. Robin withdrew the hand, flexing her fingers in an attempt to dislodge the prickling feeling that lingered where their skin had touched.
They sat in silence for another while and this time, it was Robin who broke it.
‘During the first dance at my wedding…’ she said and trailed off into silence, wondering how to pose the question. As it turned out, he had already understood.
Strike gave her a sad smile. ‘I wanted to ask you to come away with me.’
She nodded. ‘I would have said yes.’
Warmth spread through Strike. There had been hope, ever since she had entered the office. But just because she had dumped Murphy didn’t mean that she wanted him, he had kept on reminding himself. She might have come to salvage their friendship. Telling him this, though, pointed in a very promising direction.
‘I called you. From the honeymoon. I wanted to tell you.’
‘You did?’ asked Strike, wrecking his brain fruitlessly.
Robin pulled a face. ‘A woman answered. She called you Cormy-Warmy. I hung up.’
‘Fuck,’ muttered Strike. He could piece it together now. It must have been the night he had spent with… It took him a moment to find the name. Coco. ‘I had tried to call you and your father told me you’d gone on your honeymoon. I… well, I couldn’t understand why you’d have gone after everything…’
Now Robin buried her face in her hands. ‘I should have dumped him for good when I found out he cheated the first time. I should never have gone back. It was all such a mess and I… I should never have married him.’ She gave a small laugh – or maybe it was sob, she could not be certain herself. ‘You must have thought I was so stupid…’
‘I’m in no position to judge. You have no idea what I went back to Charlotte after…’
‘Maybe, but I still feel stupid.’ She wiped her eyes. ‘You know what? Matthew hated you from the first day I met you.’
‘I think I’ll take that as a badge of honour from that prick,’ grumbled Strike and she made that sound again, somewhere between a laugh and a sob.
‘I changed when I started to work here,’ she reflected. ‘This job. It gave me so much. You trusted me and I realised I was good at this. It reminded me who I had wanted to be before…’ She trailed off.
‘You saved me. I would have gone bust within weeks without you.’ He wondered if that would have made him go back to Charlotte and if he had, if she would still be alive. Or whether it would have still all ended the same way, only with him more scarred. ‘You were a fucking miracle. Still are.’
Another silence.
‘Robin?’ He waited until she looked him in the eye. ‘I’m in love with you.’ Even if it had been such a relief to say it at all, this time it felt a lot better than shouting in the dingy staircase. He held her gaze, wondering whether he ought to elaborate further.
She reached out her hand again and when he grasped it, lowered her eyes to it. ‘I… I’ve already had to make a huge decision tonight. It was a whole mess and I… I just need time to figure out what I want before… well, before I start something else.’
‘All the time you need,’ Strike agreed eagerly. Pat had said he could not expect her to say it back and upon reflection, he found that he agreed. He had sprung it on her, she had been with Murphy. This wasn’t the resounding “you’re insane” from earlier, it wasn’t even a “no” and that was as much as he could have reasonably hoped for.
‘Thanks,’ she sniffed. Yet another silence stretched. ‘I could really use my best friend just now,’ she said eventually, tears clinging to her lashes.
‘Budge up, then,’ said Strike and indicated for her to make space for him on the sofa. She obliged and he sank into the cushions next to her. After a moment’s hesitation, she leaned her head against his shoulder. Instinctively, he slung an arm around her and in response, she shuffled even closer, cheek resting on his collarbone.
‘Thanks,’ she said quietly.
‘Don’t mention it.’
‘It’s good to finally talk about all this,’ she mused. It had been exhausting keeping all those feelings to herself, without anybody to talk to about them.
‘Yeah,’ he agreed and reflected that it might be even nicer that she was now in his arms. They had hugged before, of course, even shared a bed once. He tried to convince himself that this felt no different, just a hug between friends. He was unsuccessful.
‘When I ran from Chapman Farm,’ she began and he wondered whether she, too, had thought back to the night they had slept next to one another. ‘I knew you’d be there. I knew you’d save me.’
Strike wanted to promise that he would always save her – but he thought of the man who had attacked Robin in her car just a few weeks ago and decided that it would be stupid to make a promise he could not possibly keep. ‘I’ll always be there for you,’ he said instead and squeezed her shoulder gently.
She made small gulping noises and he realised she was crying again. As always with crying women, he was unsure what to do. It was not for lack of experience. He could not count all the times Charlotte had collapsed sobbing into his arms. But for Charlotte, sadness had never been just that. Tears could turn into rage just as quickly as into lust.
‘You’ve had a rough year,’ he told her gently. Chapman farm, the miscarriage, the stalker… It was a miracle she was still standing upright and he greatly admired her strength.
They sat like that in silence for a long while in which Strike tried his best not to feel too happy in deference to the fact that she still emitting the occasional sob. He hated that she was so unwell but loved that she was letting him comfort her.
Eventually, though, Robin sat up and began to rummage in her bag for a tissue. ‘It’s late,’ she noted after a glance at her watch. It was close to midnight and she was well and truly exhausted. The prospect of having to travel all the way to her flat – when she was still fearing having to burst into tears at any moment – was most unwelcome.
‘I’ll drive you,’ offered Strike instantly. ‘Unless you want to get a cab.’
Robin sighed. ‘I might just kip on the sofa.’
Strike had already opened his mouth to suggest that she could take his bed and he’d take the sofa when he decided at the last moment that this offer would probably not be received well today. ‘Need anything?’ he asked instead.
‘Don’t think so, but thanks,’ muttered Robin. She shuffled into the inner office where she habitually kept a small holdall with a few clothes, just in case she ever needed to change her outfit in the middle of the day. There was also a toothbrush in there as well as some other basic toiletries.
‘I’ll get you a blanket,’ he told her and made his way upstairs to his flat. When he returned with a blanket, a pillow and a towel, Robin was in the small bathroom on the landing. He set them down on Pat’s chair and made quick work of tidying away the remains of his takeaway from Pat’s desk. He had just shut down the PC and fed the fish another pea when Robin returned in sweatpants and a plain t-shirt.
‘Thanks, Cormoran,’ she said with a look at the things he had brought her.
‘You’re welcome,’ he replied a little awkwardly. ‘Well… good night, then.’
‘Night,’ Robin muttered back. She was incredibly grateful that he made no attempt to hug or even touch her as he walked out of the office and closed the door. They were in a weird limbo and she did not like the feeling but she would not be making any decision on that tonight. She needed time to sort herself out.
She was woken the next morning by the sound of footsteps on the stairs outside. Hearing them made her start and only after she had remembered where she was, did she calm down. She heard the door to the street slam and concluded that Strike had just left the house. Her watch told her it was a little past eight in the morning.
She felt far from well rested. The sofa was anything but comfortable and the street outside noisy. In consequence, she had woken periodically throughout the night and then had been kept from going back to sleep by all the things she still had to think about.
As she pushed herself up, she regretted not going back to her flat the previous night as that would have had the pleasant advantage of waking up in the privacy of her own home. She sighed and got to work getting ready, wanting to get home as quickly as she could.
She was just folding her blanket, having gotten dressed and brushed her teeth, when her phone rang. The caller ID told her it was Ryan and she felt a pang of unease as she answered.
‘Hello?’
‘Robin? I’m at you’re place. I’ve got your stuff, will you buzz me in?’
‘I… I’m not home, sorry.’
Silence rang down the line.
‘Where are you?’ The question was asked in a tone of deliberate calmness that made Robin tense.
‘I… I slept at the office. I was exhausted.’
More silence.
‘I see.’
‘You see what?’ asked Robin apprehensively.
She expected Murphy to throw accusations of infidelity or insults but he said nothing.
‘I didn’t sleep with him – I know how it feels to be on the other side, remember?’
Another silence followed. Then… ‘Sorry.’ Robin did not think the apology genuine but was willing to appreciate that he was making an effort for the sake of peace.
‘Thanks for bringing my stuff. Will you be home later? I could drop your things off and pick up mine,’ she suggested.
‘Yeah, fine. See you later, I guess.’ He hung up and Robin sighed. She knew she had just scraped by an argument and that did not bode well. Perhaps she should have expected this kind of reaction but she had been – and still was – hoping that they could at least stay civil. She certainly had no interest in fighting him. On the contrary, she felt she owed him and wanted to offer support through the tough time he was having.
She heard the door to the street open and shut and a few moments later, Strike appeared in the open office door, holding a large paper bag from Café Nero.
‘Morning. Fancy some breakfast?’
‘You didn’t have to. I could have picked something up on the way to my flat.’
Upon waking up that morning, he had once more reflected on his declaration of love and had concluded that he had gone about it very, very wrongly, even considering his desperation. He now regretted even talking to her in the stairway instead of simply asking her to come back into the office for a minute. He was also mortified to remember that he had shouted at her.
‘I know – I wanted to. I feel owe you for... well, creating this mess.’ He gestured vaguely.
‘Kind of you to call me a mess,’ said Robin sardonically.
‘No, I wasn’t…’ insisted Strike, then noticed she was smiling. ‘If you’re gonna be mean, I’ll just eat it all myself.’
Robin actually gave a small chuckle – a very small one, before her expression turned serious again. ‘I think I upset myself just as much as you did,’ she admitted. Her separation from Murphy was causing her almost as much heartache as Strike’s sudden declaration of love.
‘Yeah, still,’ he grumbled.
When she did not reply but instead turned towards the kettle, he took that as his cue to clear some space on Pat’s desk.
‘Did you sleep okay?’
‘Not particularly,’ she admitted. ‘But good enough, I guess. Thanks again for the pillow and the blanket.’
‘Don’t mention it.’ He had slept badly himself which was very out of character. His mind had been reeling with possible outcomes of their current predicament. Since Robin had not given him any answer other than that she needed time to process, his mind had provided him with every possible scenario from eloping to breaking up the agency and never seeing each other again. It had been maddening.
Over their breakfast – Strike had bought a variety of pastries and a few breakfast rolls of which he let Robin have first pick – they discussed work. Robin had chosen the topic and Strike was happy to go along. It was comforting to know that this at least felt like it always had.
Robin left after they had finished eating and reached her flat without any incidents in the relative calm of Saturday morning. Once she had showered and changed, she once more found herself staring at the picture on her wall, remembering the warm sun and sparkling sea of Sicily. She was struck by how much she yearned for a change of scenery.
On a spur of the moment, she checked online for flights out of London and found that she would theoretically be able to get on a plane to Majorca that afternoon and arrive in Palma just two and a half hours later.
She sighed and closed the website. It was impossible, she needed to work and…
Then again, Strike had told her he wanted her to take time off. And just for once, she wondered if it might not just be a good thing, not necessarily be away from her job but to be away from him. She was no longer angry at him – well, maybe she was. But she was no longer furious at least, and he had been exceptionally considerate late last night and that morning, especially for his standards. But she still had no idea how to face him, really. Even their professional and reasonably amicable conversation that morning had been overshadowed by what they were not talking about.
She opened the website again to check for a return flight. She had the first appointment with her new therapist booked the following Friday afternoon. She could barely believe her luck when she discovered that there was in fact a return flight on Friday morning. It would only be five days but she was beginning to believe her plan might actually come to fruition. She checked for hotels and found plenty available at a reasonable price so early in the season.
She sat for another few minutes, thinking. The longer she did, the more she wanted to do it, just get away from everything – Strike, Murphy, the memories of the man in the green jacket waiting outside her flat. She picked up her phone.
‘Robin? You okay?’ asked Strike.
‘Yeah, fine. Listen… I know it’s a big ask and very short notice but… well, I was wondering if I could take the week off. I’d like to get away, get my thoughts in order.’
Strike’s answer was prompt. ‘Take as much time as you need.’
‘I know I was scheduled to work…’
‘Don’t worry,’ he interrupted. ‘We’ll manage.’ Even if he would have to do double shifts himself all week, he would want her to take the time off.
‘Thanks, Cormoran. I owe you.’
‘You don’t. Where’re you headed? Your parents’?
‘No, I… I’m looking at a last-minute flight to Majorca. I’ll book it now and be back Friday, back to work Saturday.’
‘I can do next weekend, you could stay ‘til Sunday, make it a full week,’ he suggested.
She was amused by how much enthusiasm he was showing considering that she was basically offloading all of her work on him. ‘No, Friday’s fine. I’ve got an appointment to keep. Thanks again, I really am grateful. I’ll see you Saturday.’
‘I’m looking forward to it,’ he said, and he meant it.
They hung up and half an hour later, Robin was packing her suitcase, flights and hotel booked. She was also collecting any odds and ends of Murphy’s she could find around the place and stowed them in his second gym bag. It was mainly clothes, toiletries and a few personal items – a book, a mug she had gifted him, a spare water bottle, a phone charger he had left the last time he had stayed over. She was glad to have her head filled with her holiday as it kept her from agonising about packing up his things.
She dropped by his flat on the way to Heathrow. He looked fairly haggard when he opened the door for her but to her relief, she could smell no hint of alcohol. ‘Thanks,’ he said as she handed him his bag.
‘How are you feeling?’ she asked.
He shrugged. ‘Mum’s coming over later. I told her and she insisted.’
Robin, who had not breathed a word to her own parents and was not planning to until she had arrived at the hotel in Palma, guessed that he had probably had no choice. As she assumed his parents had known about the planned proposal, they would have wanted to know the news. She felt another pang of regret but also relief in knowing that there would be someone keeping an eye on him.
It was raining when Robin got off the plane and it kept raining all evening. Dejected that her plan to enjoy warmth and sunshine might just fall short, she skipped dinner altogether and instead went to bed early. She fell asleep instantly, truly exhausted from a short night, travel and the emotional strain of the last two days.