Archive of Our Own ^beta

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

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 had passed to do it properly.

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 aways almost immediately. Robin remembered 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 30^th 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.

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 of tea. 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, not 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 run 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.

Chapter Text

When she was woken by bright sunlight the next morning Robin’s mood lifted instantly. After a leisurely breakfast at her hotel, she spent her first day strolling along the beach and drinking coffee with a view of the sea. It was not quite warm enough to swim but still a lot warmer than it was in London. In the afternoon, she bought herself some ice-cream and ambled through the narrow streets of the old town before returning to her hotel.

Back in her room she called her mother. In a conversation that lasted almost three hours she finally told her everything from her miscarriage to her separation from Murphy. The only thing she left out was Strike’s confession of love – she would have to be completely sure how she felt about it herself before she told her mother. Linda was shocked and angry at first that she had not been told earlier but soon mother and daughter were both crying down the phone together. Robin suddenly had the urge to see her parents – something that she had not felt in a long time as she always dreaded being lectured on what she ought to be doing. Just now, though, she simply wanted a hug from her mum.

As they said goodbye, Linda promised to visit Robin in London soon and after they had hung up, Robin noticed that she had received a text from Strike while they had been talking.

Hope you’re doing well

Robin smiled and texted back.

Sunshine’s lovely. How’s London?

Cold and rainy, as ever. Have a great time!

Thanks!

That was as much as she heard from Strike during her holiday for which she was quite grateful. She missed a call from Murphy the following afternoon. She had rented a car for the day to do some walking along a coastal path she had been recommended and apparently, there had been no reception. She texted him an apology and asked what he had wanted – even though deep down she would have preferred not to reply at all. She felt she owed him some courtesy. Her text remained unanswered and she made no further attempt to contact him. The point had been to get away from everything and think things over in peace after all.

She went on hikes along the coast and in the mountains, let the sea lick her feet and enjoyed her food in the sunshine. It was wonderful to have time to herself, no pressing schedule or date to keep. She was able to sleep late or go to bed early without having to consider anybody else. She could change her plans on a whim, doing simply what she wanted in that moment – which was mostly soaking in the bright sunlight and the sea air.

When she was packing her bags on Friday morning – the days had flown past – she went over the conclusions she had reached.

Firstly, she had concluded that ending things with Murphy had undeniably been the right choice. The more distance there was between her and the relationship the more she realised just how many things she had said and done without really meaning them. She had even begun to question how much she loved him – and maybe whether she did at all. She found it hard to detangle her confusing mix of feelings for him – pity, gratitude, fondness, irritation…

Secondly, she had decided to get her eggs frozen. Not because she wanted kids but because she knew that as little as five years ago, she would have said that she definitely wanted children of her own. Right now, she was quite sure she would never want any – but she could not with confidence say that she might not change her mind in another five years. Also, she had to admit to herself that she was probably not in the right mindset to make lasting life decisions at the moment. So getting the eggs frozen would leave her free to postpone making that decision – and having to make one less possibly life altering decision now was something she desperately wanted.

Thirdly, she had decided to talk things over with Strike before deciding if she wanted to give a possible relationship a go. A large part of her wanted to and even at the thought, her stomach lurched almost uncomfortably. Her anger had mostly dissipated now and she was actively missing him, not just the work. She thought about them sharing their office, theorising together, driving to interviews. She missed how he’d smile at her when he saw her and even how he’d always exchange glances with her behind Pat’s back with that air of annoyance that she knew masked genuine endearment.

Her more rational side warned her not to be too rash. She had no idea how exactly he imagined this possible relationship and what he would need from it. The stakes were high as both of their livelihoods depended on their joint business. She needed to make sure that they were open and honest from the start as a failed attempt at a relationship would have far worse repercussions than her break-up from Murphy. There were good reasons why she had so far refused to pursue a relationship – despite her feelings for her partner.

Still, in the taxi to the airport, she daydreamed about what it would be like. She assumed that their work together would remain mostly the same, as would their friendship. There would probably be more shared meals and evenings, possibly whole days of free time spent together whenever the work rota allowed. They would talk more often and about more private things, not just work and some daily business.

That was about as far as she dared to assume her and Strike to be on the same page. Everything else she felt she would need to discuss before developing expectations – and that could only be sorted out with a proper conversation.

She texted him.

On my way home. What’s on my rota for tomorrow?

His reply was prompt.

We got the surveillance jobs covered but if you could take a look at the files and accounts that’d be great. Pat’s off sick and I haven’t had the time.

Will do. Are you free for dinner tomorrow?

She stared at her phone until his reply arrived a minute later.

Sounds great. Do you fancy anywhere in particular?

My place. I’ll cook.

She wanted peace and quiet for what she knew would be a long and emotional conversation that might very well involve tears, at least on her part. She preferred privacy over a public scene in a restaurant – even if it would be less romantic. Then again, nothing could possibly be worse than shouting “I’m in love with you” in a dingy stairwell so she would no doubt do better than him.

The one disadvantage of this more intimate setting would be that he might expect the evening to end a certain way… The one thing she was certain Strike would have a simple opinion on was the one thing she was nervous about. Physical intimacy. She was painfully aware that he had had many more sexual partners than she had and thus much more experience and probably expectations. Additionally, she had spent such a long time forbidding herself thinking about touching him or being touched by him that it still felt odd to her. It would probably take some getting used to.

Looking forward to it

Me too

And then, when she was queuing for the security check, her phone buzzed again, this time with a longer text.

Thought I’d tell you. Murphy’s been by the office looking for you. Wardle and Pat were there and told him you were on holiday. According to Pat, Wardle and Murphy had a go at each other. Everyone now knows you broke up.

Also, just fyi… Pat overheard our conversation on the stairs last week but she’s promised to keep shtum.

Robin re-read that text several times and it provided enough food for thought to last her until she was back in London. She had the urge to call Murphy and ask what the hell he thought he was playing at turning up at her workplace unannounced but decided against it. She did not want to add any fuel to the fire.

She wondered just what she ought to start with at that afternoon’s therapy session – there were so many things on his mind that to even list them without explaining would probably take up the whole hour.

Strike had deliberately put off telling Robin about Murphy visiting the office until she was on her way home. Maybe it had been superfluous to tell her at all since Murphy might have contacted her directly. He considered this to be unlikely as Murphy had apparently been unaware that Robin was even out of the country. He found himself hoping that she had blocked him altogether.

He had made a conscious choice not to relay both Pat’s and Wardle’s opinion that Murphy had been drunk during the encounter. He did not really want to be the person to relay news of a further relapse – and excused this decision by telling himself that it was really none of his business.

He was glad that Robin had suggested a one-to-one meeting so soon after her return. He had been on edge all week, knowing that it was now up to her to decide how their relationship would proceed. He had had to resist the urge to text or call her daily, simply to check in on her. He had had to remind himself that she had asked him for a chance to process everything in peace – which he wanted to respect, nerve-racking as it was.

He been working very hard since he had picked up most of the shifts that needed to be covered in Robin’s absence. It had been exhausting but also quite rewarding to know he was working hard to let her have something she needed – even if that thing was time away from him. And at least it meant he was tired enough to sleep well at night.

Robin was still cooking when her doorbell rang on Saturday night. She checked her watch. ‘You’re early,’ she told Strike through the intercom.

‘Well, first time for everything,’ he replied gruffly and she buzzed him in. She waited in her doorway for him to exit the lift. He smiled at her, then noticed her puffy eyes and slightly runny nose. ‘You okay?’

‘Onions,’ she told him with a laugh and stepped aside to admit him. ‘I’m making curry.’

‘Need any help?’

She set him to work chopping veggies while she washed the rice. Strike asked about her holiday and she told him about the beaches, cliffs and food. It seemed they had unanimously decided that they would get to the main topic over dinner.

The doorbell rang again and they exchanged a look. ‘You expecting anyone?’ asked Strike.

Robin shook her head, fairly certain she knew who it would be. She had missed a call from Ryan when she had been in the air yesterday and then received a text today, asking her to meet. She had replied that she would be busy catching up with work but that she would try to find the time once she had gotten on top of everything.

She had just picked up the receiver of her intercom, still trying to work out what to say, when there was a knock on her door. ‘Robin? It’s me,’ said Murphy’s voice

She sighed. Arranging her face into what she hoped was a neutral expression – instead of annoyance that he was crashing her evening with Strike – she opened the door. ‘Hi, Ryan. How did you get up here?’

He looked unhappy and the bags under his eyes betrayed uneasy nights. He held out a bouquet of roses that she ignored. ‘I got here just as the bloke upstairs was leaving, he held the door for me.’

Robin remained silent and waited for him to explain why he had come.

‘I wanted to talk to you.’

‘Ryan, I… I think I said everything I had to say last week. And tonight really isn’t…’

But he ignored her and pushed past her into the hall and then the sitting room where he offered the bouquet to her again. When she refused to take it, he laid it on her coffee table.

‘Ryan…’ She was trying to find the right words, well aware that Strike – who had mercifully so far stayed out of sight in the kitchen – would be able to hear them. The last thing she needed was Strike and Murphy getting into a fight.

‘Look, we’ve been together for two years. You can’t just expect me to bugger off…’

‘I don’t – but I just can’t see what this is achieving. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking and I haven’t changed my mind.’ If anything, it had redoubled her resolve.

‘We both made mistakes, I know we have. I’ve come to tell you… I’ve decided I want to stay with you, even if you decide you never want kids. We don’t have to move in together, either. We can do everything at your pace, and I won’t push. I just… well, I don’t want to lose you. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me and I realise I need to compromise…’

Robin stared for a moment. ‘Ryan, I… I don’t want to be someone’s compromise.’

‘Every relationship’s a compromise.’

‘Then this is a compromise I’m not willing to make. I don’t want to be with someone who orients their whole life around what I want. You’d resent me. And besides, it’s over. We ended it and I don’t…’

‘You wouldn’t have needed to end it. If you’d just told me earlier, I might have…’

Robin shook her head, still painfully away that Strike was in the next room. ‘I know I should have told you sooner and you know that I’m sorry. But it’s too late now.’

‘I know we’ve both made mistakes but we can still fix this.’

Robin suddenly found herself transported back to the night she had left Matthew. We’re trying to save our fucking marriage…

Her reply was almost identical, although not nearly as angry. ‘I don’t want to fix it.’

But in contrast to Matthew who had been outraged, Murphy seemed to crumble. ‘Robin, please. I know I messed up. I know you deserve better but I love you and I…’

Robin’s heart twisted but she cut him off. ‘Ryan, I’m sorry. And now really isn’t a good time. I’ve got a visitor and…’ She told herself she was interrupting him just as much out of her desire to spare him the embarrassment of finding out Strike had listened to him say this as for her own reluctance to hear him plead.

He glared. ‘Visitor? Who?’

‘Ryan, please. Please, just leave…’

But Murphy had already stepped past her, towards the bedroom. Passing the kitchen, he stopped dead. ‘You!’

Robin caught up with him and saw that Strike was standing by the stove, spatula in hand. He looked to her. ‘I can leave and give you some priv– ’ but Murphy cut him off.

‘You fucking bastard! It’s been you all along, you’ve been telling her lies about me, spreading rumours…’

Robin stepped between them, placing a hand on Murphy’s chest. ‘He’s never talked to me about you.’ This was true, although she was aware that the lack of any mention of Murphy on Strike’s part spoke of a severe dislike just as plainly as words could have. ‘Please, Ryan. Please, just leave. We can talk another time.’ She had her back to Strike but hoped he could still feel that she wanted him to stay quiet. She did not want this escalating.

Murphy’s eyes now fixed back on her and he slapped her hand away from his chest. ‘You’re fucking him. I knew you were. You were at his place last week. The same night you broke up with me. It probably wasn’t the first time, was it? How long have you…’ His voice was rising.

His words finally triggered enough anger in her to overrule her guilt and desire not to hurt him any further. ‘Ryan, for the last bloody time. I broke up with you because I could tell we wanted different things and I realised that I’d been lying to you for months trying to make it work. It wasn’t because of him!’

He scoffed. ‘I believe you were lying but that’s about it.’

‘You want to talk to me about lying? You never told me it was you who messed up at work, you never told me about your drinking.’

He glared at her. ‘We talked about this. You said you forgave me.’

‘Well, I lied. And besides, you never told me the whole truth.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘You were drunk the night I got pregnant! I knew it then and I know it now. And you’re still lying to me!’

This, finally, seemed to be enough. Murphy stepped back and shook his head in a desperate denial. Then, another flicker of malice appeared in his eyes. ‘How do I even know it was mine?’

Her anger, red hot just a moment ago, suddenly felt cold as ice. ‘Fuck you,’ she said. ‘Fuck you. And now get out or I’ll call the police on you. Let’s see what they make of this on top of all the other shit you’re already in.’

He glared at her and at Strike who was still silent. Then, he turned on his heel and stalked off, slamming the front door as he left. Robin heard his footsteps echo in the stairwell outside. She let out a deep breath and felt it catch in her throat. A small sob escaped her lips and her hands were shaking.

Strike crossed the kitchen in two quick steps and laid a hand on her shoulder. He was unwillingly reminded of the night he had split up with Charlotte. It had been a fight not unlike this one. Charlotte had claimed to have lost a child and he had accused her of lying. He had even also had the suspicion that the child had never been his in the first place. He tried to shake the memories of Charlotte off. She was dead and he would be damned if he still let her interfere with his love life.

‘Fuck, fuck, fuck,’ Robin muttered and leaned into him. Encouraged, he slung an arm around her waist, letting his hand rest on her hip.

‘I’m sorry,’ he told her.

‘Wasn’t your fault,’ she declared, tears now brimming in her eyes.

‘I think it is, at least in part. He isn’t stupid.’ This was about as generous as Strike was prepared to be when it came to complementing Murphy.

‘But we haven’t… We’ve never done anything that…’ But she knew at the same time that this was a lie. There were other kinds of deceit than physical intimacy. Had loving Strike while in a relationship with Murphy not been just as bad as Matthew fucking Sarah? The thought made her stomach twist painfully.

Strike looked down at her. She was still standing with her back to him, her neck only inches from his lips. He would only have to bow his head and he’d be able to kiss her. So no, they had never actually done anything – though at least on his part this was not for lack of desire. It was actually becoming very hard to resist so he stepped back. He did not have an answer for her, other than to say that he could not care less about how Murphy felt about his and Robin’s relationship. Well, so long as he left Robin in peace at least.

She shook herself and cleared her throat, then stepped over to the stove to check on the food. ‘Did you keep an eye on it?’ she asked, her voice far from steady but determined to change the subject.

‘I did my best,’ admitted Strike who had – but could not deny that he had been distracted by the conversation in the next room. He knew that none of what had been said had been meant for his ears but it had been impossible not to listen, both acoustically and in terms of curiosity.

Robin stirred and tasted the curry. It was fine but the rice was slightly overdone and sticking to the bottom of the pot. ‘Let’s just eat,’ she told Strike who did not have to be told twice.

They settled at her little dining table. There were no flowers (apart from the roses Murphy had brought that she unceremoniously dumped into her bin), no candles, nothing. ‘Next time we have dinner we should go somewhere at least a little romantic,’ she said after she finished her first few mouthfuls.

‘Next time?’ asked Strike, raising an eyebrow at her.

She mirrored his expression. ‘Changed your mind already? I thought after you’d proposed…’

He actually groaned and ran a hand through his hair. ‘Yes, I know. It was all… I know that wasn’t the right thing to say. I’m sorry.’ He watched her and saw that the corner of her mouth was twitching. She was teasing him and he was very much relieved that they could apparently not only talk about this but make jokes as well. ‘I should have bought you the ring first, obviously, and asked your father’s approval.’

Robin snorted despite her best effort to keep a straight face. The very thought was hilariously absurd. Strike joined her laughter, fuelled by mirth but also relief.

‘I’m not taking it back, for the record,’ he said after they had eventually sobered up. ‘But I don’t expect an answer.’

She considered him. It was just so weird to hear him talking like that. ‘You’re not going to get one any time soon,’ she told him truthfully. After the whole mess with Murphy, there was nothing she wanted less than an engagement ring.

‘That’s okay. Right now, I’m just happy you want a second date.’

She smiled. ‘I might want more than a second date,’ she told him.

‘What, three?’ he asked in mock consternation. ‘I don’t know. That might be moving a bit fast for me. Dunno if I’m ready for that much commitment…’

She laughed and choked on a mouthfulof curry as she did. When she managed to stop spluttering, eyes watering, Strike was grinning at her. She just grinned back and they both dissolved into laughter again. Robin was transported back to their evening at the Ritz bar where her father’s job had amused them to no end for no apparent reason. It had felt the same way, the unforced comfort of being with Strike, of sharing a joyous moment without any agenda or pretence.

Because of the laughter, their food had gotten cold before they had a chance to finish it. Robin did not mind that in the slightest, though. She finally felt right. She was with Strike whom she trusted more than anybody in the world and finally, finally they were honest with each other. All the forced professionalism had disappeared.

Eventually though, they did sober up and Robin took a deep breath to start the conversation she knew they needed to have.

‘If… if we decided that we want to be in a relationship, how would that look?’ she asked.

He appeared slightly puzzled by the question. ‘Well, I thought… you know when two people are a couple? That’s roughly what I had in mind.’

‘There are couples all the way from “let’s hook up for sex once a month” to “let’s buy a house in the countryside and have seven kids”,’ she told him.

He chuckled. ‘Okay, true. Well, I sort of see us somewhere in the middle but I think I’d be flexible on what and how exactly it would work so long as I’m with you.’

Robin felt simultaneously flattered by his admission and annoyed that he did not seem to grasp why this question was important to her.

‘Why don’t you tell me what you need and I tell you if that’d work for me,’ he suggested.

‘Well, no, because you just told me you’ll say yes to anything,’ she reminded him. She took a deep breath and decided to elaborate. ‘I want to do this – us, I mean. But I need to be sure that there is a realistic chance of it working, that we want the same things. I don’t want us to go in blind and find out next year that it’s not working. What we have at the moment is too precious for me to risk that.’

Strike understood now. ‘That makes sense. Well, okay, let me think.’

Robin waited in silence for a few moments.

‘I want to keep working with you and being your best friend, just as we’ve always been. Nothing would change there, I would just want us to be… more. More time together, mainly. And, well…’

‘Sex?’ she supplied bluntly, trying to cover up her insecurity.

Strike was slightly taken aback by the tone. ‘Well, yeah… amongst other things, eventually.’

‘Do… do you want to move in together?’

‘Yes, eventually,’ he said again and she watched him, waiting for an elaboration. ‘I’m happy at my flat,’ he admitted. ‘It’s convenient… but I would be willing to give it up in exchange for something better – less lonely, more comfortable. I don’t have a timeline, though. When we both feel the time is right.’

Robin liked that answer. ‘And holidays? Will you take me to meet Lucy?’

Strike chuckled. ‘She’d be thrilled.’ He refrained from saying that Lucy had told him to marry Robin years ago. ‘I don’t suppose your family would be…’ he mused.

Robin pulled a face. ‘Well… no,’ she admitted. ‘Not at first. But I’m sure they’d come round eventually.’ She considered him. ‘You’d come to Masham with me for Christmas?’ she asked, the idea almost ludicrously strange.

‘If you’d like me to,’ he replied honestly. When he imagined a Christmas spent with Robin, it was just the two of them but he was more than willing to try to be a part of her family. If nothing else, they could not possible by as bad as Charlotte’s family and he had been able to deal with that too. He highly doubted Robin’s mother would climb into his bed naked in the middle of the night. ‘And you’d come with me to Lucy and Greg’s? Listen to that smarmy git give us business advice?’

Robin laughed. ‘I like Lucy.’

Strike imagined what it would be like, taking Robin to Lucy’s. He knew what she would ask and suddenly, he felt he had found something that might derail his plans for a relationship. ‘Robin,’ he asked. ‘What about kids?’

Robin considered her answer. They had talked about this before and Strike’s answer had been a definitive “no” that she did not expect to have changed.

‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘If I do… I’d have to have my eggs frozen and do IVF. Ryan’s been at me about that…’ She sighed. ‘I don’t know. I don’t want them right now. I love the job too much to give it up and I’d never be able to make both work at the same time.’ She looked to Strike. ‘If I decided I wanted kids…’ she asked, letting the sentence trail off into silence.

Strike thought about this carefully. A part of him wanted to tell her that he would do it, for her. He was not sure, though. He had known he didn’t want kids basically since he had been a kid. He knew his attitude to be caused by the manner of his upbringing and the reluctance to commit to the responsibilities of parenthood. ‘I can’t tell you,’ he admitted truthfully, the question too abstract and complex. ‘I think that’d be something we’d have to discuss in detail when the time comes… but I think there’s room for a compromise.’

‘I decided to get my eggs frozen,’ she stated, her eyes alert as she watched for his reaction to this announcement.

‘That’s your choice. If you ever decide you do want kids, even if it isn’t with me, I’d want you to have the option. I wouldn’t want you to regret not having kids just because I didn’t want them.’ He paused. ‘It would be a hard no on seven, though,’ he said, reminded of the example she had given earlier.

She chuckled and felt a tear on her cheek. When Murphy had been telling her about “keeping options open”, she had always felt pressure and an agenda, even when he had assured her there wasn’t one. She felt very different now and wondered whether it was stupid of her to take Strike’s word for it.

‘What else? Do we decide who gets to sleep on which side of the bed?’ he asked, trying to lighten the mood again.

‘Dibs on the right,’ she said.

Strike pretended to consider this. ‘Is that looking from the bottom or the top?’

‘Either way. I don’t mind.’

‘Well, I’m not sure I can accept that. We might have to take turns.’ Robin laughed at his ponderous expression and he grinned at her. ‘Seriously, is there anything else you need to know?’

Robin thought about this, sure that there had to be a million other questions. She could just not think of any of them at the moment. She shook her head.

‘We’ll work it out,’ said Strike. He reached out and grasped her hand. ‘We’ve known each other for a long time. We both know what’s at risk. I know I’m willing to give this all I got and if you are, too, I think we can do it.’

She squeezed his fingers and considered him. His expression was open and unguarded, his fingers gentle around hers. She imaged them walking together, hand in hand. She thought of him making her breakfast, of going out to dinner. She imagined driving the land rover, Strike next to her, hand lying on her thigh as they talked.

‘Yes,’ she said finally, her head spinning as she processed what she had agreed to. ‘I trust you.’ She had to. The things she held most dear in her life – her career and her friendship with him – now both relied on this working out.

Strike had the sudden urge to jump up and dance around the room, but instead settled for a grin so wide it made his face hurt. He knew what she trusted him with – it was the same thing he had trusted her with. They now held each other’s lives in their hands.

Both grinning madly, they tidied away their plates and settled the sofa together, Robin’s head resting on Strike’s shoulder again, much like they had sat a week ago. Contrary to a week ago, they held hands.

‘I’m so glad you didn’t call me here to tell me to fuck off,’ he told her, playing with the fingers of her hand.

‘As if that was ever a possibility…’

‘I distinctly remember you telling me I had lost my mind,’ he reminded her.

‘Well, yeah… but you sprung it on me. It just… It made everything crumble. But I’m sorry. You know I didn’t mean it, right?’

‘Of course.’

‘I’d spent years and years trying to convince myself I feel nothing for you but friendship. I think it’s fair to say that was a complete waste of time and effort…’ She sighed.

‘If only I’d asked you to run away with me on your wedding day?’ he asked.

She nodded. ‘Yes. Or if only I had kissed you at the Ritz.’

Strike wanted to ask about that. The memory still stung, even now when she had just told him she regretted it. ‘Why didn’t you?’

‘I… well, I just couldn’t bear the thought that you’d tell me it was a drunken mistake the next day.’

‘Ah…’ said Strike into the following silence. He supposed she was justified to think that – it sounded like him. He wondered if he would have. Would he have been prepared back then to stake everything on one card – his business, his friendship with her, his heart? Back when Charlotte had still been alive to meddle, when he had not yet known how it felt to stand by while another man planned to propose to her. Maybe he would have tried to pass it off afterwards, out of fear. He liked to think that he wouldn’t have.

‘Ilsa said I hurt you. I didn’t mean to. I was just scared,’ she admitted.

‘You told Ilsa about this?’ he asked in shock.

‘Yes, why?’

‘She never said!’

‘I’d hope not. She’s my friend!’

‘She was my friend first,’ he said, intentionally laying on the tone of betrayal. ‘I’ve known her since primary school.’

Robin laughed. ‘When did you tell her?’

‘After I was almost stabbed to death,’ he said bluntly. ‘Nothing better than that to make you sort out your priorities.’

‘No wonder she tried to meddle. Do you think we ought to thank her?’ mused Robin. ‘She’ll go mental when we tell her.’

Strike chuckled. He tried to picture a few more reactions. Lucy would be thrilled, certainly. She had always wanted him to be in a steady relationship. He didn’t suppose she minded much who it was with so long as it wasn’t Charlotte but she definitely approved of Robin. Pat would be happy enough, he reckoned, but she would be disappointed not to see much of Murphy any longer. As for Barclay, Midge, Shah and Wardle… He wondered if it would take them by surprise – and whether that would be a reflection of his acting skills or their detective abilities. Joan and Ted would have been delighted and it gave him a pang of regret to know that this had happened too late for them to see.

‘Well, for what it’s worth, I’ll wait for you to kiss me,’ Strike announced. He had tried to kiss her twice and both times she had clearly signalled him no. He didn’t want his ego to have to suffer a third blow – and he wanted to make sure that when they kissed, she definitely wanted to.

She lifted her head off his shoulder and turned to look at him. It took her a moment to find the right words. ‘If… When I do…’ she began. ‘I still… I want us to take it slow.’ She knew this might well be a disappointment to him. It had been why she had been worried about inviting him to her flat for this conversation. He might expect the intimate setting to mean they would have sex.

‘Your pace, Robin,’ he told her. ‘For everything. I’ve played my cards. It’s up to you.’

He had never been with a victim of sexual violence before. Or at least – he had to admit this to himself knowing the statistics – he had never knowingly been with a victim of sexual assault before. He was prepared to be careful, patient…

She studied his expression for any sign of annoyance or impatience at her request. He held her gaze, having nothing to hide. He had meant what he said. The desire was there, of course, but he could keep it in check – he had been doing it for years. In the end, he wanted to be sure that she enjoyed everything just as much as he did – both because he cared about her happiness and (more selfishly) because that would ensure that she would want to keep doing it in the long term.

She turned where she sat, now facing him. Still watching him closely, she ran a hand along his stubbly jaw, from his chin to his ear – stopping short so as not to touch his recently stitched wound – and back again. She scooted a little closer, pulling her legs up so that her shin lay alongside his thigh. Strike stayed still even though he wanted nothing more than the cup the back of her head and pull her close. Their faces were less than a foot apart.

‘Do you ever wonder,’ she asked, ‘if it might not live up to expectations? When it happens for real?’

‘Don’t worry, I’ve had stellar reviews,’ he replied deadpan, his eyes darting from her eyes to her lips and back again.

This made her smile, which in turn made him want to press his lips to where the corner of her mouth was twitching upwards.

Her fingers were still moving, now curling into the hair at the back of his head. Her other hand was on his chest, resting just above the spot where his heart was thumping wildly. He wondered whether she could feel it – and what she would make of it if she could.

Robin was watching, exploring. Matthew had often accused her of finding Strike sexy. Back then, she had denied it and it had not been a lie. If anything, she had been attracted to his intelligence and kindness, not his looks. She had often wondered what other women saw in him. Now though, she could see it too. She liked how his eyes sparkled and his mouth creased when he smiled at her. She liked how tall he was, that he could make her feel protected. There was something rough about him, juxtaposed with the fact that she knew unequivocably that she was safe with him, that she could trust him.

She leaned in a few centimetres and felt him take a rugged breath. Now interested, she pulled away a little. She wondered if he really would wait. She would not mind if he didn’t. If he kissed her now, nothing in the world would make her stop him. His hands were resting on her hip, fingers twitching occasionally.

Strike was beginning to regret his assertion from earlier that he would wait for her to kiss him. He would have been okay to wait; he had not expected her to tease him. She leaned in again and her face was so close, a mere inch from his now. She paused there and it felt like there was electricity crackling between them. He had never wanted to kiss anybody so much and he had just resolved to say “please”, prepared to beg if need be – when she finally, finally closed the space between them.

Their lips met. It was just a gentle brush, just the tiniest taste of what was to come. Excitement rolled over Robin like a wave all the way down to her toes. She was testing, carefully, pressing another kiss to his lips, this one a bit longer. He had his eyes closed and his hands held her tightly now. It was only when she leaned in the third time that he moved, sliding a hand from her hip to her back and up to rest between her shoulder blades. His touch steadied her and she leaned in the fourth time.

Strike was using all his self-discipline to remain still, to let her explore as she wanted. The first brush of lips had made goosebumps erupt all over his body. As soon as it had started, it was over again and he might have thought he imagined it when her lips returned. He tried to stay still, to be patient and enjoy. He managed, but only just. When their lips met for the fourth time, he had had enough.

He kissed her back. She tasted like the curry they had eaten and her lips were impossibly soft. He pulled her closer and over his lap so that she sat with her knees on either side of his thighs. He kept one hand on her hip but let the other slide up to the back of her head, cupping it gently. She had given a soft gasp of surprise when he had all but lifted her on top of him but it had not made her break the kiss. The hand on his chest had clenched into his shirt.

Robin did not remember ever kissing like this. It was a moment of infinite release, of years of longing finally exploding into reality. Lips and tongues were moving together hungrily and she already feared the moment when she would have to stop for air and breathe. She would have quite happily given up on the whole thing just to make the kiss last.

When they did break apart, they were both panting. Robin rested her forehead on his collarbone and waited for her thumping heart to slow down. ‘So,’ she asked eventually. ‘Did it live up to your expectations?’

‘No,’ replied Strike and waited for her to raise her head and look at him to add, ‘It exceeded them greatly.’

She laughed and let her head sink down again, slinging one arm around his neck, holding him tightly. He bent his head and pressed a kiss to the soft spot just beneath her ear. ‘And yours?’ he hummed, his voice reverberating through his chest and into hers.

‘I think I agree with whoever said “stellar”.’

He chuckled again, then sighed. ‘Fuck, Robin. Why haven’t we been doing this for six years?’ Just this kiss had been better than anything he had experienced with any of the women he had been with since Charlotte. None of them had been able to make his heart beat so fast, his head spin and his stomach lurch. Robin had kissed him and he now felt like a lovestruck teenager. He could no longer fathom why he had never had the courage to bring this about earlier.

‘Because you’re my best friend,’ she told him. She didn’t say it was at least in part because she’d felt silly and inexperienced – she still did a little. He really was a very good kisser and it filled her with some unease to consider that he would have had to do a lot of practice – and who he had done it with. Exactly how many women had he had? She knew that she did not want to know but… she wanted to know. What memories was she competing with?

She thought of the curvaceous Bijou who Strike had fucked standing up against her bedroom wall according to Ilsa. Then there was Madeline who had looked so much like Robin, only more confident and glamourous. Lorelei had been gorgeous as well, clever and funny. Ciara was literally a supermodel. And Charlotte… she had been famously good-looking and Robin was very certain that she had had all that sexual experience that she felt she lacked herself.

She had had two partners in her life and the sex with Matthew had been nothing but boring in retrospect (although at the time, the predictability and security had been what she needed), and increasingly frigid as their relationship had gone on. Being with Murphy had been much more satisfactory but she very much doubted she had learned anything she could wow Strike with. Was he not bound to get bored once he found out just how little she had to offer in that respect?

Strike meanwhile felt a sensation that he had not experienced since his good days with Charlotte. It was the sudden and nonsensical wish that time would stop around them and that this moment would last indefinitely. He just wanted to keep holding Robin without the possibility of fucking things up or the world around them throwing a punch to knock them off balance. He did not want to think about the future and how the relationship would work as it intertwined with the business. He did not want them to tiptoe around all the baggage they both carried. Just like this was perfect.

He ran his hand slowly up and down her back, stroking gently. There had been so many times over the years when he had feared to have lost her, unable to do anything to protect her. Somehow, he felt he could maybe make up for that by holding her now. He slung his arms around her tightly, pulling her flush against his chest.

Robin pressed gentle kisses against Strike’s jaw, his beard stubble scratching against her lips. His arms were all but enveloping her and she felt as though she just might want to melt into him. She only paused because she found his cheek wet and her lips suddenly tasted salty. Astonished, she drew back a little and found her suspicion was true. It was very unlike him to shed a tear.

‘Do… do you want to talk about it?’ she asked carefully.

Strike was struggling, unable and unwilling to put his thoughts into words. He just shook his head.

‘But it’s okay?’ she asked cautiously.

‘Fine,’ he said thickly, wiping away the tears. ‘I’m not even sure… Just carry on.’ He was engrossed in a confusing mingle of emotion. There were elation, joy and immeasurable relief that at long last his love seemed to be headed for a happy ending. Then there was fear – of making a mistake, of messing things up, of losing everything. There was some guilt, also, and grief for Charlotte. The emotions he was experiencing now kept throwing him back to her, to the last time he had felt like this.

They remained on the sofa like that for an hour or so, sunken into each other. They exchanged more kisses, most sweet and gentle but some most certainly passionate. Strike kept a firm grasp on himself, never letting his hands wander anywhere precarious. He ran them from her hips over her back and through her hair, down her arms and up the outside of her thighs, wanting to touch as much of her as he could without going back on his resolution not to be too forward.

They did not do much talking, too busy to feel and experience the new sensations. Robin was entirely caught up in them and a part of her wanted to go back on her plan to take things slow. Her more rational part intervened, however, reminding herself that she was still in a state of emotional turmoil. She needed to take things slow – or relatively slow considering the intense snogging they were doing – in the hope of not getting too overwhelmed.

Strike eventually bade his goodbyes in deference to the fact that they both needed to be up early for work the next morning. He left Robin’s flat and made his way to his car. In the dark and preoccupied as he was, he only noticed the figure leaning on the hood waiting for him when he was no more than a few yards away. Murphy straightened up as he approached, fists clenched by his side.

A part of Strike welcomed the idea that he might get a chance to belt the bastard – if Murphy threw the first punch it would make for a very good excuse to vent the anger he had been feeling since the argument in the kitchen. On the other hand, he considered that Murphy was just as tall as him and physically a lot fitter. He still had his reflexes from his time as a boxer but that might not be enough. Also, Robin would certainly have to say something about it after…

He stopped at a safe distance and waited for Murphy to speak. He was going to do his best to deescalate the situation.

‘Did you fuck her?’ asked Murphy.

Strike had suspected that he was drunk when he had seen him earlier. He had known his way around alcoholics since childhood and the way Murphy had been talking to Robin had set off his alarm bells. Now, though, there was no doubt in his mind. Murphy’ tone was harsh and there was the slightest slur in his speech. Strike was unhappy about this development as the more drunk Murphy was, the more difficult it would be to reason with him.

‘Don’t you think she’d have asked me to stay over if that was the case?’ he asked back, feeling that ignoring the question might just antagonise the other man further.

Murphy shrugged. ‘Might have chucked you out. Maybe you’re shit in bed.’ His expression contorted into a jeer.

Strike did not reply to this and if Murphy thought he had hurt him, he had been wrong. Strike truly could not care less what Murphy thought about the quality of his sex life. He walked around his car – maintaining some distance to Murphy to have advanced warning should there be a physical attack – and unlocked it.

‘Oi, I’m talking to you,’ said Murphy loudly.

‘Look, Murphy. I get you’re angry. You want a fight – but I don’t and you’re not going to goad me into one. I’ll be happy to punch you back if you start but I don’t see how that would benefit either of us. Frankly, “hangs around outside ex-girlfriend’s house drunk and punches her colleague” will not look good in your enquiry, and it certainly won’t make Robin feel any more fondly of you.’ Murphy glared at him. ‘I’m leaving, and so should you. Get some help.’

Murphy still stood on the pavement when Strike pulled out of the parking space, staring after the car in silence. After he had turned the first corner, Strike called Robin.

She took some time to answer. ‘Cormoran? I was in the bathroom…’

‘Yes, sorry, just a heads up. I just met Murphy outside your flat.’

‘God, what did he do?’

‘Nothing, it’s fine. Just thought I ought to let you know in case he knocks on your door again.’

‘Oh, right, thanks.’

‘I er… I think he might’ve been drinking,’ he added after a moment, deciding to share the information. It was not exactly true – he was in fact certain that Murphy was severely intoxicated.

Silence answered him.

‘It’s not your fault,’ Strike implored. ‘His alcoholism is no more caused by you than Charlotte’s mental illness was caused by me.’

‘Yeah, I… I know.’ She did not sound convinced. ‘Thanks. I won’t let him in, I promise.’

‘Take care.’

‘I will. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

Chapter Text

In fact, they did not see each other for another few days. Work had taken over and even though Pat had returned to the office, there was still a lot of catching up to do. The first time they met was on Wednesday when Strike handed over surveillance to Robin – and this was by necessity a short meeting. They texted later that day.

Are you free for dinner tomorrow?

Robin considered the question for a few minutes before replying. She had another long day of surveillance ahead followed by her second therapy session. She already knew that she would be exhausted because she had not been sleeping well – as had been the case all week. On top of her recent trauma, Murphy had taken to calling her in the middle of the night, sometimes drunk.

The first time had been tearful and contrite, confessing to a further relapse and admitting fault for the argument they had had in her flat. Robin had been cool at first but then relented and subsequently tried to console him. She felt it her responsibility to provide support in what she knew was a difficult time. Over the next few nights, more calls had followed and Murphy appeared to be increasingly unbalanced.

He was either angry or sad or both and Robin found it harder and harder not to be antagonistic when he interrupted her sleep. Yet, she had not had the heart to block him as she felt she was at least in part to blame for his misery – and she still entertained the hope that those late-night conversations might help him. Also, she feared that he might spiral even deeper into his addiction and desperation if she cut him off – even though she was beginning to suspect that the calls might in fact be harming both of them. She could not bear the thought that he might do himself harm and for her to be responsible – even indirectly.

And then, when undisturbed by Murphy, her thoughts kept running wild, mulling over her conversations with him as well as Strike. Ever since they had shared those kisses on her sofa, she felt like she was on edge. She had tried to figure out why exactly but could not get past the assumption that it was a confusing mix of desire, guilt, elation and fear. What she was certain about was that she missed him and she hoped that seeing him again would detangle some of her emotions.

Also, memories of the various attacks on her person had been resurfacing ever since she had returned to London, often manifesting as nightmares. Amplified by her lack of sleep, she felt a constant fear of being watched and followed. She supposed some of it might be because she knew that she would be reliving those moments in therapy sooner or later. More likely, she guessed that her overall emotional turmoil had resulted in this rather fragile mental state in which she was not resilient enough to keep her thoughts and anxiety in check.

Sure, I’d love to

I’ll book us a table somewhere romantic, shall I?

Would you mind if we did a takeaway at your place?,

Robin texted back, knowing that she could not be bothered to dress up for dinner or appreciate any kind of restaurant the next evening. She wanted to see Strike but keep it as simple as possible.

No problem

She was proved right in her assumption. She had gone from work to her appointment and then straight back to Denmark Street, exhausted. Strike opened the door for her when she knocked and she was met by the aroma of chicken and roast potatoes.

‘No need to look so surprised,’ he said with a mock frown, having caught her expression.

She laughed and pecked him on the cheek. ‘I know you can cook,’ she reminded him. ‘But I also know you don’t usually like to.’

He did not argue but just grinned. ‘It’s good to see you.’

She tried to ignore the way her stomach swooped as he said this simple sentence. ‘You too,’ she said and knew that she was also grinning stupidly. Her therapist had actually called her out on it when she had mentioned Strike earlier. ‘Need any help?’ she asked, trying to steer them gently away from the emotional moment.

‘Sit down, it’s almost done.’

Robin had not been in his flat for a while and looked around as he was busy at the stove. The table was already set and as always, the place was perfectly neat. It also still looked as though he had just moved in with barely any personal items on display even though Strike had lived here for over six years. There was one unusual thing that caught her eye, though: a small bouquet of roses stood in a vase on his table.

‘You got flowers?’ she asked in surprise.

‘Yeah, can you believe it, they’ll actually sell those to anyone?’ he asked back in a tone of mock consternation. ‘Didn’t even ask to see ID or ask what I was planning to do with them.’

Robin chuckled and then tried to stifle a yawn.

‘You okay?’ he asked, looking up.

‘Fine, just a long day.’ To be truthful, she felt shattered. Her therapy session had gone well but it had drained her. It was mentally exhausting to talk about and reflect on her feelings. She had not yet told Strike about her therapy other than that she had been looking into it a few weeks ago. He had not asked, either, and she appreciated his restraint. ‘You?’

He told her about his surveillance and she was grateful for an easy topic over dinner. Discussing cases and strategies felt comfortingly normal and safe now that their personal relationship was changing so rapidly. A part of her was in fact still wondering if kissing him on the cheek had been the right way to greet him. He had probably expected a proper kiss after their meeting that weekend.

Strike watched Robin closely over dinner. She was keyed up somehow but truly tired. He had originally planned to suggest a little stroll through Soho after their meal, maybe grabbing some desert or a drink but he revised that plan considering her mood. Instead, he resolved to simply follow her lead when it came to the way they would spend the rest of the evening.

After they had finished their food, he insisted to take care of the dishes by himself. ‘I got it. Besides, there’s no space for both of us anyway.’ – which was the truth as his tiny kitchenette was barely large enough to accommodate him. ‘Just sit,’ he told her, gesturing to his couch and indicating his remote control. ‘Pick a movie.’

He made quick work of the washing up while she zapped through the channels and when he turned back to Robin, she had fallen asleep on the sofa, curled up in one corner, remote still in hand. He watched her for a minute, unsure what to do with himself. If she was tired enough to fall asleep mid-conversation, he ought to let her sleep. On the other hand, he was sure she would be mortified to find that she had gone to sleep on his couch.

Upon deliberation, he turned off the TV and covered her with a blanket. He then fetched the book he was currently reading and settled down on the other side of the sofa, making sure to keep some space between them. The last thing he wanted to do was crowd her.

Robin woke with a little start and it took her a moment to realise where she was. As the disorientation faded, embarrassment settled in. ‘Shit,’ she muttered and found Strike’s gaze. He was sitting next to her, reading. She checked her watch. She had been asleep for over an hour. ‘Sorry, that was rude. Why didn’t you wake me?’

‘You looked like you could use some rest,’ asserted Strike. ‘Don’t apologise, it’s fine. And you needn’t have come tonight if you were so tired. I’d have understood.’

‘No, I… well, I want to spend time with you.’

‘Come on then,’ he said, extending an arm. She considered him for a moment, then scooted closer and leaned against him. He slung his arm around her and continued to read.

She closed her eyes, trying to relax again. She very much appreciated that he wasn’t pushing her – neither into more physical contact than she was comfortable with nor by prying into why she was so exhausted. She felt him breathe slowly, heard him turn pages. It was nice and calming… yet still, that confusing mix of feelings was still inside her.

Her stomach was fluttering slightly and his arm around her made her feel protected and safe. His proximity also sent little tingles through her entire body. But yet even at this moment, she was wondering what Murphy was up to and if he was coping – and if he wasn’t, if she could have prevented it. She was sure that Strike could feel this in some way, notice that her thoughts were preoccupied. He was annoyingly perceptive at times, usually at precisely those moments when she did not want him to be.

‘Do you wanna talk about it?’ he asked, eyes still on his book. He had analysed all the clues available and concluded that her tiredness could not be explained simply by a long day of work or a short night. He had seen Robin after long workdays – she was usually able to deal with them without much trouble. He also noted that she had asked for a takeaway at his place instead of a date at a restaurant the previous day, implying that she had known she would be tired. He knew there was something going on – and the easiest way to find out what would be if she told him.

‘I don’t know,’ she answered.

‘You don’t have to but whatever it is, I’m willing to listen.’

She sighed and considered it. It might be nice to voice some of her thoughts, just to let them out. On the other hand, she felt silly even feeling like she did, not to mention voicing it. And besides, Strike had rarely proved himself fond of dwelling on negative feelings.

‘I’m… I’m just not in a good place at the moment,’ she said, trying to keep it vague. ‘Like you said… rough year.’

He squeezed her gently. ‘If there’s anything I can do to help… If you need more time off, I can manage that. If you’d rather be at home and have your privacy tonight, I’d understand. Whatever you need and whatever I can do.’

‘No, I like the work. I think it’s doing me good, to have something to do.’ Running away again would not help. Majorca had been beautiful and it had helped while she had been there – but it was certainly not an indefinite solution. ‘And I meant it when I said I wanted to give this a go. Us, I mean.’

‘So did I,’ he agreed. ‘But if this isn’t right for you at the moment, we can do it next week or month or in six months. I’m not going anywhere.’

Hearing these words, an involuntary sob escaped Robin’s lips. Strike put down his book and slung both arms around her. ‘Would you like me to call you a taxi?’ he muttered into her hair.

Robin failed to stifle another sob. She did not want to leave, especially when he was being so kind. On the other hand, she did not want him to think she was a complete mess. He had often told her that he admired her strength and courage – she wanted him to keep that picture of her.

She was unable to formulate a reply and he kept on holding her, gently stroking her back as she cried. It had not escaped his notice how drained she was looking – not just physically. He hadn’t seen her this bad since a few weeks after Chapman farm. It unsettled him greatly that this sudden worsening of her mental health coincided with the beginning of their romantic relationship – even if the two might not be linked by causality. He desperately wanted her to understand that his top priority was her wellbeing but he was unsure how else to phrase it without her thinking he was pushing her away. Also, the last two things he had said seemed to have made it worse.

Over time, Robin’s sobs died down and her breathing slowed. It took him a while to realise that she had fallen asleep again. He did his best to sit still so as not to disturb her but eventually he had to get out of the uncomfortable twist his body was in. As gently as he could, he pulled his arms away and rested her against the pillows as he extracted himself and got to his feet. He watched her, once more unsure what to do.

Her phone buzzed on the table and he saw Murphy’s caller ID. Certain that she would not want him answering the phone to her ex but equally unwilling to wake her, he let it ring. After a minute, Murphy gave up – or the call went to voicemail. Moments later, it buzzed again. This repeated again and again. He watched the phone ring helplessly. If it were up to him, he would have Robin block him. He had met his fair share of alcoholics both privately and professionally. He was entirely certain that prolonged contact with Murphy would do nothing but cause Robin further distress – and possibly Murphy as well as it would not do him any good to put off facing that she was not coming back to him.

He then decided to utilize his most successful strategy when it came to pushing his private worries from his mind: he picked up his laptop and started to work. He sat at his table rather than on the sofa with Robin who was lying down in a way that made it impossible to sit down without touching her.

Eventually, after what felt like at least half an hour, the phone finally stopped ringing.

It was after nine when Robin stirred. Strike looked up because she was whimpering and for an awkward moment, thought he was witnessing an intimate dream. Then he saw her expression – eyes still tightly shut, her face contorted with terror. The noise she was making was truly distressing to listen to – sucking in shorts breaths of air as if too tense to cry out.

‘Robin?’ he said and when she did not react, repeated himself more loudly. ‘Robin?’

He wondered how best to wake her up – leaning over her when she was possibly dreaming about being attacked seemed counterproductive. Instead, he got up, letting his chair scrape against the floor loudly.

Robin flinched violently and opened her eyes. Her gaze darted around the room for a few seconds before settling on Strike who remained by the kitchen table, scared to intimidate her if he approached.

‘You okay?’ he asked.

Robin nodded, trying to dislodge the image of a naked Taio Wace in a Retreat Room from her mind. ‘Fine,’ she lied automatically.

Strike sighed and sank back into his chair. Her watched her calm herself down. Her eyes kept flickering to the window nonsensically. ‘I’m your best friend, right?’

Robin nodded, guessing what he was about to say. He was worried about her – and she did not want to hear him say it. She spoke before he did. ‘It’s okay. I’ve found a therapist. Prudence recommended her, actually. I’ve been twice and I think… well, it’s too early to say but I hope it’ll help.’ She sighed. ‘It’s stirring things up though. I think it’s one of the reasons I’ve been… on edge.’

Strike was immensely relieved to hear this. ‘If there’s anything… If you need time off for appointments, I can pick up extra shifts. I don’t mind.’

‘It’s fine. I’ve asked Pat to work the rota around it.’

‘Good.’ A familiar silence settled around them, the kind that they had shared for years. Strike wanted to ask more but was afraid to be too personal. Then, he shook the feeling off. They were meant to be different now – he had told her he loved her so she could not possibly misinterpret his interest. And if she didn’t want to tell him, she was perfectly capable of saying so. ‘Have you been having a lot of nightmares?’

Robin considered him. She had also felt the old walls for a moment, the sensation that there was a topic in the room that should not be spoken about. She was actually quite glad that he had asked anyway, despite the fact that she did not particularly want to elaborate on the subject. ‘Sit with me,’ she told him and padded the sofa beside her.

He complied. ‘You gonna jump me to change the subject?’ he asked to lighten the mood as he dropped down next to her.

She smiled weakly. ‘No, I… I was just hoping this would make it feel less like an interrogation.’

‘I didn’t mean…’

But she interrupted him. ‘It’s fine.’ She watched him settle down. ‘Yes, I’ve been having a lot of nightmares.’

‘About Wade King?’

‘Sometimes. It’s all of them, they seem to be taking turns.’

‘Shit,’ muttered Strike. ‘And just now?’

‘Chapman Farm. Taio in… in the Retreat Room. And Daiyu’s ghost outside, waiting to pull me under if I ran from him.’

Strike was unsure what to respond. He wanted to growl and say: “I’m really glad I belted that fucker, and I wish I could do it again.” But he was not sure if that would be helpful. He could tell her that he was sorry for ever letting her go to Chapman Farm and indirectly being responsible for all the trauma it had caused her. He felt like that would not necessarily be better.

‘What can I do to help?’ he asked finally.

‘Nothing, I suppose. But you do… you do make me feel safe.’

‘You are safe,’ he assured her. ‘I swear, you’re 100% safe with me.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Well, maybe not from me being an insensitive idiot. But I try not to be.’

She chuckled but sobered up very quickly. ‘I’ve been… I need to ask you about something.’

‘Shoot.’

She hesitated for a moment, well aware that she was going to touch a sensitive subject. ‘When I talked to Valentine…’

Strike’s heart sank. ‘I can say with almost complete certainty that it was a lie,’ he said pre-emptively. ‘I’m a shit, I abused Charlotte, it was my fault she tried to top herself, was it?’

‘Pretty much,’ muttered Robin, lowering her gaze to her hands. His words were harsher than the ones she would have chosen but she was quite glad she did not have to be the one to bring up the accusations. ‘He… he said you hit Charlotte… and that you… you cheated on her.’

Strike closed his eyes and considered how best to phrase his answer. ‘The only times I ever laid a finger on her was to keep her from hurting me – or herself. You remember the first time you saw me, right? She had thrown an ashtray at me when I was trying to leave and when she found me in the office, she scratched my face before taking of…’

Robin did recall the cut under the eyebrow and scratched face. ‘Yeah, I remember.’

‘I never hit her. Never. I won’t deny I hurt her. We both… we said horrible things to each other, did horrible things. We were cruel and vindictive, brought out the worst in one another. Those fights… It was… That whole relationship was fucked up.’ He shook his head, unable to find the right words. He decided to get to the other accusation and continued with a sigh.

‘Charlotte broke up with me so many times, I can barely count it. And then afterwards when we got back together, she’d deny that we were ever broken up and she’d accuse me of cheating if I’d been with someone else in the meantime. She’d twist every word I said and deny whatever she had said before. There was no arguing with her. In the end, it was just easier to take the blame and move on, let her believe what she insisted on. But I loved her – that’s why I always came back when she called. I know I didn’t cheat on her however hard she tried to convince me I had…

‘Charlotte lied,’ Strike added, the words now coming in a rush. ‘She lied to everyone, including herself. It didn’t even matter what it was, big things, small things. I think it was some kind of game for her, to see if other people would accept the reality she dictated. Valentine knows that as well – she’d pull the same crap on her family – but it’s easier for him to blame me for what Charlotte did than accept that him and his fucking family did their bit to fuck her up…’ He ran a hand across his face and took a deep breath to calm himself. ‘Sorry, that was… Sorry.’

Robin had listened almost in shock as the words had poured out of him. She had not expected this much information delivered with so much passion. She could count on one hand the times that Strike had voluntarily mentioned Charlotte and occasions when he had volunteered details about the relationship that had spanned the majority of his adult life were rarer still. Also, Charlotte was evidently still an emotionally charged subject for him. 

‘I’m sorry. I should never have listened to him…’ She trailed off and Strike got the feeling there was more.

‘Did he say anything else?’

Robin hesitated.

‘Come on, let’s have it,’ said Strike, determined to hear the worst. ‘More shit about me?’

Robin shook her head. ‘No… well, yes, but that wasn’t… He… he said Charlotte had a nickname for me.’

‘She did?’ asked Strike apprehensively.

‘Yes… PP.’

‘PP? The fuck does that mean?’

‘Pit Pony. Because I keep following you blindly like a dumb pony, apparently…’

‘Fuck’s sake,’ grunted Strike. For a moment, he wished Charlotte were alive just so he could shout at her. He forced himself stay calm and not begin to rant about Charlotte again. ‘I didn’t know that,’ he pressed out.

‘No, I figured you didn’t…’ mused Robin. ‘She was cruel, wasn’t she?’

‘She could be,’ admitted Strike. ‘In this case, I suppose she was jealous.’

‘Jealous?’

‘Because every time she begged and tried to coerce me to come back to her, I chose the business – and by extension you – over her.’

Robin remembered Valentine’s assertion that the relationship between Strike and Charlotte had in fact not been over for good before Robin had ever met him. It was disconcerting to have Strike confirm that Charlotte had tried to get back together multiple times. She thought back to the paralympic reception where she had seen them leave together. ‘Did you ever…’

‘Hell no,’ insisted Strike. ‘I broke up with her the night before we met – and I’ve never regretted it for a second.’

Robin felt quietly reassured by this – even though she knew there was no point in jealousy as Charlotte was dead. She remained silent.

Now that the subject of him mistreating women had been mentioned, Strike felt compelled to make another point. ‘And for the record, I’ve never had to pressure or coerce any woman to sleep with me, either. In fact, all the women I’ve been with since I’ve known you have come on to me.’

She raised an eyebrow at him at the words and he knew that she must have heard arrogance in them. ‘You’re telling me Ciara Porter…’ she began, letting the sentence trail off.

Strike shrugged. ‘Well, no accounting for taste apparently, even among top models.’

Despite herself, Robin laughed and Strike joined in with a grin.

‘Those press articles, they really messed with my mind,’ muttered Robin after a minute. ‘I can’t even tell you why. Like Valentine… They really got to me for some reason. It doesn’t even make any sense – I know I can trust you more than anyone.’

Elated to hear this, Strike considered his answer. ‘When you’re stressed and traumatised, it’s harder not to let stuff like that get to you.’

‘I suppose.’

‘Robin, you’re my best friend. I wouldn’t mess you around and I wouldn’t have told you I loved you if I didn’t mean it. I know just telling you that you can trust me won’t be enough but I hope I’ll prove it to you if I ever get the chance.’

Robin considered him, wondering if she dared ask the question she wanted answered. It was very personal and would reveal some of her own insecurity. But if Strike was serious, if he wanted her to trust him… ‘I liked Lorelei,’ she said quietly. And she had, despite her jealousy – or maybe she had been so jealous because she too had liked her. It made it all the worse to know that Strike had treated her badly, though.

It took Strike a minute to formulate a reply, to work out what he wanted to say. Again, he settled for the truth. ‘I spent sixteen years with Charlotte, on and off. I loved her – I really did, despite everything and it damn near broke me. So when we split up, I told myself I’d never tell another woman I was in love with her unless I truly meant it, unless I was sure that I wanted to spend my life with her. I liked Lorelei and I didn’t want to hurt her, but I didn’t feel that way about her. I couldn’t tell her I loved her because… well, it would have felt like a lie and an insult to everything I went through with Charlotte. That’s why we broke up – although I should have talked to her about it. I was a dick to her, and to Elin and Madeline too.’

Robin stared at him, once more surprised by his honesty. She had presumed his reply to be something along the lines of “we didn’t fit together after all” or even “we wanted different things”. She had most certainly not expected such a heartfelt confession. ‘But… you told me you’re in love with me.’

He had to smile at the look of confusion and astonishment on her face but did not elaborate. She had understood him correctly.

Robin licked her lips, his honesty giving her the courage to share a confession of her own. ‘I told Ryan I loved him because he said it first. I said it back without even thinking, because that’s what he expected me to say. It… it was automatic. I didn’t even know if I meant it afterwards.’

Strike, who had been hoping for her to reciprocate the declaration of love ever since he had made his own, was suddenly glad that she had not said it. He would rather not hear it for a while yet than wonder if it was genuine.

Robin shuddered and drew the blanket around herself. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘For being honest. And telling me all that.’

‘I should have done it a long time ago, I think,’ he mused. ‘Well, you know why I didn’t… but whatever else you need to know, you can ask.’ He had nothing to hide anymore. In fact, keeping secrets had been what had led to that calamitous and desperate encounter on the stairs when he had shouted “I’m in love with you”. He was done with secrets.

Robin nodded and leaned against his shoulder again. She was still pale and he supposed that it was exhaustion that was making her shiver as his flat was unusually (and in his opinion almost uncomfortably) warm – it always was after cooking. He guessed that what she needed at the moment were peace and rest and while he believed her when she had told him he made her feel safe, he could also tell that their new relationship was inevitably creating some unrest at the moment. He too felt a constant awareness of how their dynamic was changing, of trying to gage what would and what would not be appropriate at the moment, what the other was expecting, not to mention the heavy subjects they had been discussing just a few minutes ago.

‘You should get home,’ he told her.

She checked her watch and nodded. ‘Yeah, I suppose you’re right.’

‘Will you let me drive you?’

‘You don’t have to. I can take the tube; it’s not that late.’

‘I know I don’t have to. I’d like to.’

She raised her eyebrows at him. ‘You don’t have to keep trying to make things up to me. It’s not your fault all this.’

‘I know. I’d still like to drive you.’

Robin considered the offer. It would be nice to have him drive her but she was worried she of setting a precedent. She did not want to be a liability in his eyes, like a child that needed to be dropped home. Eventually she nodded – she was exceptionally tired and not ready to say goodbye just yet. ‘Just this once. And thank you.’

He squeezed her shoulder happily.

They walked to the China Town car park where his BMW stood and Strike noticed the way Robin kept looking over her shoulder, checking the dark doorways and alleys they passed, and flinching if passers-by veered close to her. He lightly draped an arm around her shoulders. ‘Okay?’ he asked, prepared to withdraw if she indicated it wasn’t. Instead, she slung her arm around his waist and they walked together side by side.

They had walked like this before – or at least as close as this – when he had hurt his knee at Earl’s Court Station, only a few months after they had first met and back when she had only been his secretary, not his partner. So much had changed since then – or maybe it hadn’t.

“Lean on me,” he could still hear her say. “Do it.”

And he had. He wondered if she thought of this as well as he steered her through the diners and tourists of Soho. He had leaned on her and now he held her up – and he hoped he would be able to do it metaphorically as well as literally.

Their journey by car began largely silently, each of them hanging on to their own thoughts. They were halfway to Robin’s flat when her phone began to buzz again. From the way she checked it but did not answer, Strike concluded that Murphy was calling again.

‘He called when you slept,’ Strike told Robin, despite the fact that she would have seen the missed calls.

Robin’s hands tightened around her phone. Murphy’s picture was flashing up at her, smiling. She had taken the photo on a walk in Regent’s Park after they had been dating for about a month. The memory of their times spent together and her guilt made tears spring into her eyes again.

‘He keeps calling,’ she admitted. She would never usually have told Strike any of this, preferring to show him an edited version of herself, one that was competent and had her private life in check. However, after all the revelations he had made about previous relationships tonight, she felt she could share too. ‘Sometimes at night as well.’

Strikes first reaction was to suggest she block his number but he swallowed it. She would have been able to think of that herself. ‘What does he want?’

Her eyes were still on Murphy’s picture on her phone – it was buzzing once more. ‘It’s different. Sometimes he’s fine, he just wants to talk, and sometimes he’s sad and I try to cheer him up.’ She made a conscious choice not to mention his anger.

‘Does that work?’

She shrugged. ‘Sometimes… well no, not really. Or… it might help in the moment but… I think I just hurt him again and again ‘cause I’m not what he wants. I just can’t be, not anymore. But I feel so guilty…’ She paused. ‘He’s drinking again. I think a lot,’ she confessed. ‘And I’m scared of what’ll happen to him. That’s why I try…’

Strike, like Robin, thought of Charlotte, dead in a bathtub. He thought about the calls he had ignored and the voicemail messages he had deleted without listening to them. He could not in good conscience tell Robin to ignore Murphy. A part of him was still struggling with the fact that he might have saved Charlotte had he answered the phone, had he come running as he had done so many times before.

‘Alcoholism is an illness,’ he said into the silence – and it was true silence now as the phone had mercifully stopped buzzing at last. ‘He won’t get better until he stops drinking – and you can’t make him do that.’

‘He’s got AA meetings.’

‘That’s good. That’s where he needs to be.’

‘I know. And I want him to stop calling but I told him he means a lot to me and he could rely on me if he needed a friend. I feel responsible for how things ended between us. He isn’t a bad person, he was good to me. It’s the alcohol that’s changing him but I can’t… I just… I don’t know what to do.’

The had reached Blackhorse Road and Strike pulled into a parking space a little way down the road from Robin’s building. In Strike’s opinion, Robin had done more than her duty when it came to Murphy. He did not consider it a moral obligation to support a former partner through a relapse after the breakup – but he did understand that this attitude might be considered heartless by others.

Robin mentally shook herself, trying to dislodge her thoughts from Murphy. ‘Anyway. Thanks for driving me…’

But Strike had already opened his door and was walking around the car to hold hers for her. As he should have foreseen, he was way too slow and she was already getting out when he arrived. She gave him an amused smile – probably because of this sudden and uncharacteristic burst of chivalry.

He walked her to the door of her building, using the chance to scope out if anyone was hanging around. He didn’t spot anybody. Robin was digging for her keys in her purse.

‘Good night,’ he said as she pulled them out, not wanting to give the impression that he expected to be asked in.

She considered him, keys still in hand, and he stood, waiting. She then reached out with her free hand, placed it on the back of his neck and pulled him down for a kiss.

It was a proper kiss, quite unlike the peck on the cheek she had greeted him with. He held her hips and kissed her back, his stomach doing summersaults. How could it be that just kissing her felt so good?

Because you love her, you daft sod, his brain told him, isn’t it obvious?

‘Thank you,’ she whispered against his lips. ‘For your patience.’

‘Anything for you, Robin,’ he muttered back.

They broke apart and Robin gave him a rather awkward little wave as she stepped inside.

He remained where he was, looking up at her windows. After a minute, the lights were turned on and a few moments later, Robin’s silhouette appeared against the window. Strike raised an arm to wave up at her and she waved back, then drew the curtains. He turned and walked back to his car, satisfied in the knowledge that she was safely at home.

Chapter Text

Two weeks passed and Robin felt like their relationship just sort of… happened while life at the agency went on as usual with just a few minor – though quite pleasant – changes. Those mostly expressed themselves in Robin and Strike’s interactions. Greetings were more warm than usual, smiles exchanged more freely and they texted each other more frequently, checking in throughout the day, chatting about this and that. It all felt easy and natural. Both were relieved to find that at least so far, their working relationship appeared unimpeded by their private one. Although… there had been the occasional stolen kiss, twice when they had handed over surveillance and once even in the inner office while Pat was taking her lunch.

They had not made an announcement to their staff (on the contrary, they had refrained from any behaviour that might give their change in status away) but both Strike and Robin were aware that Pat knew what was going on. The mere absence of animosity or awkwardness in the aftermath of the scene she had witnessed on the stairs would have been enough for her to come to the right conclusions. However, she had neither commented nor (as far as Robin could tell) mentioned the matter to anybody else.

If any of the subcontractors had noticed anything, they had so far not said anything outright. Barclay had pointed out Strike’s good mood and asked who he was shagging but Strike doubted that he had meant anything by it. Midge had told Robin that she was well shot of Murphy whose appearance in the office during Robin’s holiday had made the rounds among the subcontractors. Neither Shah nor Wardle had touched on the subject of their private lives. Robin did however have the feeling that the latter had something to say on the matter of her breakup from Murphy but was holding himself back so far, possibly aware that it might be considered inappropriate to comment on his superior’s private life.

Robin and Strike had not yet met outside of work again so far. At first, Robin had been scared that he might treat her differently given what she had let him see of her mental state – which he had not, of course, just like he had not treated her differently after she had told him about the rape or her panic attacks. His only reaction had been an assurance that he understood and would be patient. This was also why Strike had refrained from asking her out again. He had made it clear that he was willing to give her all the time she needed and had told her she should feel free to ask him whenever she was ready to.

Thus, she was currently trying to gage when she might have enough energy to enjoy an evening with Strike. She did not want a repeat of last time – which had turned out to have been quite productive in retrospect but had definitely not been what she had had in mind. She was trying to concentrate on her therapy and the homework the therapist assigned her when she told her she wanted to do more.

Still, she somehow managed to convince herself that Strike would be growing impatient almost every time she did not see him for more than a day or two. She would expect him to be cool and taciturn when she next saw him, fed up with her dallying and inability to even commit time to see him. Each time, though, this fear would puff away when she saw the way he smiled at her as they next met. She knew him well and he was not good at feigning warmth.

Both Robin and Strike happened to be working in the office at noon on a Friday so decided to take lunch together. They walked to the nearest Tesco for a meal deal and took it to Soho Square where they shared a bench in the sunshine.

‘How are you doing?’ asked Strike as they conversation reached a lull.

Robin understood this to be a very different question to the “You alright?” he had greeted her with in the office that morning to which she had replied “Yeah, fine, thanks”.

‘Better,’ she said honestly. ‘Not great but, yeah… I’m doing okay, I guess.’

‘How are you sleeping?’

‘I’ve asked Ryan not to call me at night and he hasn’t been.’ Murphy had been sober again for over a week now. She knew it wasn’t a long time but it was a start and she was quietly hopeful. She had already noticed little changes in him when they spoke. He was less emotional and more able to accept her boundaries, not solely trapped in his tunnel of misery. ‘I still have nightmares, though.’

‘It’s a start,’ muttered Strike through his sandwich. ‘How’s it going with your therapist?’

‘It’s good,’ said Robin, smiling at the way he tried to sound casual as he asked. ‘I really do like her and I think I’m starting to make progress. It’ll still be a while though, before… well, it’s been a lot.’

Robin’s phone buzzed and five seconds later, so did Strike’s. Considering this an odd coincidence, they both checked their messages and found an identical text from Ilsa.

Would you like to come over for dinner tomorrow? I’m making Nick cook

‘Does she know?’ asked Strike, looking from his phone to Robin’s.

‘Not unless you told her because I haven’t.’ She had talked to Ilsa on the phone about her breakup with Murphy while she had been on holiday. She had not mentioned Strike at the time, and neither had Ilsa other than to ask if he knew she had gone away. Ilsa had been checking in on her via text every few days since then and had suggested meeting for a coffee but Robin had so far not had the time or energy to commit to a date. She had been feeling bad about that.

Robin considered Strike and then the text. ‘Question is…’

‘… do we tell her?’ Strike finished her thought. He had received a text from Ilsa a few days after Robin had returned from her holiday, asking about her. He had gotten the feeling that Ilsa wanted to make sure he knew to treat her with care – and he had replied that he was aware Robin was struggling. He had not disclosed anything about their romantic interactions, though.

‘I don’t want to lie to her.’ She had done so much lying lately, mostly to Murphy. She was thoroughly sick of feeling dishonest.

‘Well, we don’t have to go. If we don’t go, she probably won’t ask.’

Robin laughed and shook her head at his reasoning. ‘You’re impossible.’

‘I know,’ sighed Strike but he too had to grin. ‘I just… I’ll happily call you my… girlfriend or partner or whatever. But you said to take it slow so I don’t know whether it’s the right thing to go and announce it to people.’

Robin smiled again and leaned in to give him a short kiss. His concern touched her.

She typed a reply to Ilsa.

I’m coming and so is Cormoran. Thx for the invite!

There was a prompt reply.

With him, are you? Be there at seven and tell him not to be late!

Robin showed the phone to Strike who chuckled and pushed the last bite of his sandwich into his mouth. ‘Did you tell her? What I said to you, I mean, on the stairs.’

Robin shook her head. She had known that Ilsa would want to know but she had wanted to work things out for herself first. She greatly valued Ilsa’s advice as a friend but Robin knew her to be biased in this case. She had been rooting for her and Strike for years now.

‘Maybe just as well. She’d have my head…’

Robin grinned at him. ‘I’ll just let you explain when they ask how we got together, then.’

Strike groaned in mock anguish which made Robin laugh even more. She only stopped when he cupped her cheek and pulled her in for a kiss that she happily reciprocated.

‘What was that for?’ she asked as they parted.

‘Because I can,’ he replied simply. ‘Now come on, work to be done. Barclay’s due in twenty minutes.’

After a debrief with Barclay, the afternoon passed fairly uneventfully with both of them sitting at the partners’ desk together, each engrossed in their own work. They had unanimously decided to stay late, simply because it was nice to sit together and work. The companionable silence was broken when the phone rang. Since Pat had already left, Robin got up and walked into the outer office to answer it before the machine cut in.

‘Strike and Ellacott Detective agency,’ said Robin as she picked up the receiver, ‘Ellacott speaking, how may…’

She was interrupted by a yell so loud she jumped and almost dropped the receiver.

‘I read the fucking article. You lying bitch!’

She flinched and held the phone away from her ear. In the inner office, Strike moved, possibly because he had heard the voice on the other end of the line all the way in the other room – even thought it was not on speaker – or because her reaction had alerted him that there was something wrong.

‘Who’s that?’ asked Strike while a tirade of insults spewed from the phone. He stopped next to Pat’s desk.

‘Ryan? What’s going on?’ asked Robin, more shocked than angry. He was definitely drunk again and the thought felt like ice in her stomach. She had been hoping so much that he would manage to stay on the wagon.

‘You dare ask me that? I finally read that article. That lawyer, Bijou What’s-her-face, who you claimed was in a year long relationship with your business partner,’ he spat out the words as though they were poison, ‘is in fact denying anything of the sort, and so is he. So now I finally know for a fact you lied to me, and he covered for you. How long have you been fucking behind my back?!’

Robin stood, stunned, without any idea what to say. This accusation had been cropping up again and again and she had always flat out denied it. This, though… She did not want to tell Murphy that the press story – which had come out weeks ago so she didn’t even know why he had read it now – was a lie. She found that she did not trust him with that information. Not to mention it would be a further lie to stick to the pretence that Strike was seeing Bijou.

‘I’ve never slept with him,’ she said as calmly as she could muster. Even as she said it, she was outright lying again, even if it was by omission, refusing to tell Murphy that she and Strike were in fact in a relationship. If he was angry now when he only suspected there was something going on, she did not want to know what his reaction would be like when she confirmed it. Her eyes were on Strike who had heard most if not all of what Murphy had said. He was silent.

Another wave of fury erupted from the phone, insults to both her and Strike as well as general profanities. She listened in silence for another minute and then finally made the decision she had known deep down she would have to make since they had broken up.

‘Is he there? Of course he is… Fucking prick! I’ll get him, you tell him that. Hear me, arsehole? I’ll get you by your grubby…’

‘Ryan,’ she said, speaking over him. ‘I’m sorry you’re angry but I don’t have to listen to this. I don’t want you calling me anymore. I’m going to block your number.’

She waited for another moment, trying to gauge whether he had even heard her.

‘Block me? Fucking slut, as if I’d ever want to talk to you again. You’re lower than scum, you’re…’

Strike reached out to press a button on the phone and Murphy was cut off mid-sentence.

The sudden silence rang through the office.

‘Fuck,’ breathed Strike. ‘You okay?’

Robin shook her head. Her eyes were wet and her heart beating fast. Strike pulled her into a hug and she grabbed fistfuls of his shirt to stop her hands from trembling. This, Robin realised, was a mess they were both responsible for. Him for screwing that stupid woman, her for lying to Murphy about a non-existent relationship.

‘Shit, shit, shit,’ she muttered as she leaned into his chest.

‘Was that how he always was? When you said he kept calling you at night?’

Robin shook her head again. ‘No, never like that.’ Her voice was slightly shaky and she felt it rise in pitch as she kept talking, desperate to explain why she had subjected herself to this. ‘It’s not really him. It’s the alcohol. He’s not really like that…’

Strike did not comment on that, unwilling to either accept these excuses for Murphy’s behaviour or criticise him – which in turn might lead to Robin making further excuses. As she had accused him of manipulation, he still maintained a position of wanting to stay out of her business as much as he could when it came to Murphy. He wanted her to come to the conclusion that he was a prick by herself so that he could never be accused of meddling.

‘Why did you ever have to sleep with that bloody woman?’ asked Robin, voice slightly muffled as her face was buried in his shirt.

‘Stupidity and loneliness,’ replied Strike immediately and so deadpan that she had to laugh through her tears. ‘Believe me, I wish I never had.’

She did believe him, not least because she had been witness to the other problems his interactions with Bijou had caused. ‘And I should never have told Murphy about you and her…’ she admitted, looking up at him.

‘Just out of interest, why did you tell him I was dating her?’ Strike had his theory but wanted to hear it from her.

‘It was after the night I slept in the office – when the man with the gun had been outside. I thought I’d get him off my back ‘cause he kept implying I’d slept in your bed. I didn’t even think about it, I just wanted him to leave me alone. I’d had enough pestering from Matthew on the subject.’ She fixed him with her gaze. ‘Why did you play along?’

‘Because I don’t like him,’ Strike replied with a small shrug.

Robin sighed and leaned into his chest again, eyes closed and trying to focus on her breathing. The phone rang again but before she could react, Strike had muted it. Her mobile rang next and after declining the call, Robin blocked Murphy’s number with shaky fingers. When Strike’s phone buzzed a few minutes later, he slid it from his pocket still trying to decide whether to block the number outright or get in a chance to tell the fucker just what he thought of him first.

Then he looked at the caller-id and lifted the phone to his ear instead. ‘Yes?’ he said, turning away from Robin and walking over to the window.

Robin who had also expected the caller to be Murphy was surprised and tried to catch what was being said. To her mild disappointment, she could only hear Strike’s half of the conversation.

‘Cormoran, how are you?’ said Jonny Rokeby.

‘Fine, you?’ replied Strike, taken aback by the call that had come out of nowhere.

‘Good, good, yes. The reason I called… I’m meeting people from my record label in town but I’m early. I thought if you were at home, I could drop by, maybe have a look at the office…

‘Cormoran?’

Strike had remained silent for so long that Rokeby must have thought he the line had been disconnected.

‘I’m here,’ he muttered and glanced at Robin. Her tears had dried and she was now back at her desk. ‘Yeah, I… That’d be fine if that’s what you want. When do you think…’

‘Jackie, how long to Denmark Street?’ Rokeby said, apparently away from the phone, and then after a few seconds. ‘Ten minutes according to my driver.’

Strike felt the sudden urge to remind Rokeby not to lead any paparazzi to his office but decided against it. He would trust that Rokeby knew to be careful – and silently reflected that this was an entirely new sentiment when it came to his father. Trust.

‘Okay,’ he said instead.

‘Great,’ said Rokeby, sounding genuinely pleased.

Strike pocketed the phone and found Robin looking at him expectantly.

‘That was Rokeby,’ he explained. ‘He said he’s in the area and wants to drop by, see the office.’ He was quite stunned by this. He had not talked to Rokeby since he had visited his house several weeks ago to sort out his trouble with the press. There had been an agreement to meet for a beer but so far, neither of them had tried to arrange anything concrete.

‘That’s… well, that’s nice of him,’ said Robin cautiously, unsure what Strike wanted to hear. ‘To take an interest, I mean.’

Instead of considering it nice, Strike was wondering whether the fact that Rokeby just “happened to be in the area” was fabricated. Maybe he had called on such short notice to give Strike less time to change his mind about meeting. Then again, he felt he owed Rokeby the benefit of the doubt and maybe even some common curtesy after he had helped him out with his lawyer. There had been nothing about their last meeting that Strike could reasonably take offense at.

‘Would you like to meet him?’ he asked Robin.

Robin was curious by nature but conscious of the fact that she might be intruding. ‘I don’t have to,’ she said diplomatically. ‘But if you’d like me to stay, I’d like to meet him.’

‘You’re welcome to stay.’

Then, another question plopped up and both of them asked it at the same time.

‘How would you like me to introduce…’

‘What are you going to…’

Both fell silent and smiled at each other. Strike knew that he would never get to introduce Robin to any other parental figure. Leda was long gone and he had missed his chance to take Robin to meet Joan and Ted. He knew Joan in particular would have liked Robin and it gave him a pang of regret that this was probably his fault, for waiting too long to accept the way he had felt about Robin. Then again, he truly could not care less about Rokeby’s thoughts on his romantic partners.

‘I like “partner”,’ said Strike, speaking first. The word offered plausible deniability in all directions.

Robin smiled. ‘So do I.’

Strike remained where he stood, by the window looking out onto the street. Robin quickly straightened her desk before stepping over to him. She slung an arm around his waist. ‘Are you worried?’ she asked.

‘No,’ replied Strike truthfully. It wasn’t so much worry as confusion when he thought about Rokeby these days. He had hated the man with vigour for several decades. It was hard to see him as anything other than an irresponsible and thoughtless man, even if as he had matured Strike had accepted that these characteristics (much like anything else) might have resulted from circumstance.

Parts of him were battling. There was his reasonable side that viewed Rokeby for what he probably was – a flawed man who appeared to want to do his best. Then there was a hurt teenager who vigorously hated the man who had never cared about him. And lastly, very quietly, there was a voice of a lost young boy, still – despite everything – yearning for affection from a father who had never lived up to the title.

Strike clenched and unclenched his fists as they watched a car pull up outside and a man dressed in black get out of the back seat. Rokeby looked around, his gaze resting for a minute on the window display of the guitar shop next door before disappearing from view as he approached the front door. A moment later the doorbell rang.

Strike ambled over to buzz him in, then stood awkwardly in the door to the stairwell. Robin hung back as they listened to Rokeby’s footsteps getting closer.

She had not often seen Strike out of his depth. Except when in physical danger, he would not show any indication of nervousness or insecurity. Neither did he now, exactly – a casual observer would probably not have noticed anything amiss – but the tension in his shoulders and the monosyllabic answers in the deliberately unemotional tone told her that he was feeling far from relaxed.

Rokeby smiled as he appeared in the door, first at Strike and then at Robin, with something that to her appeared to be genuine warmth. He was tall and gangly, his clothes as dark as his incongruously black hair.

‘Hello, Cormoran,’ he said. ‘It’s nice to see you.’

‘Hello,’ said Strike. Another dilemma had suddenly occurred to him. He usually referred to his father as “Rokeby” in his head. He could hardly introduce him to Robin like that, though.

‘This is Robin Ellacott, my partner,’ he said, gesturing to Robin who stepped closer at his words.

Rokeby gave her what seemed to be another genuine smile and held out his hand. ‘I’m Jonny. It’s good to put a face to the name – Pru’s been telling me about you.’

‘It’s nice to meet you,’ said Robin, smiling back. She was doing her very best to remain relaxed. She thought she managed not to be starstruck but it was a little unnerving to hear that Rokeby knew about her. ‘I’m making tea. Would you like a cup?’

‘I’d love a cuppa, cheers. I’m not staying long though. I’ve got a dreadfully boring dinner to get to,’ he said, turning back to Strike.

As Robin got to work with the kettle, Rokeby looked around, taking in the office furnishings. There had been extensive renovations after it had been blown up, getting rid of the cheap furniture Strike had bought when he had opened the agency but there was still a slightly ramshackle air about the place. Robin had never considered this a problem – she had never wanted to work in a sleek office that would only remind her of her temping career – and by extension Matthew.

‘This feels like there’s actual people working here,’ observed Rokeby. ‘Most offices these days are grey and white, chrome and glass, aren’t they?’

Strike chose to understand this as a compliment and not an underhanded insult. He talked Rokeby through the basics of the office and the workings of the agency – which he felt was better than strained small talk. If Rokeby was disinterested, he hid it well. He nodded along and asked a few questions that Strike was glad to elaborate on.

They had settled in the inner office when Robin joined them with three mugs of tea and a plate of biscuits a few minutes later.

‘Cheers,’ said Rokeby again as he accepted his. ‘Pru’s been singing your praises, you know. She likes you.’

‘I like her, too,’ said Robin truthfully. ‘She was very generous and helped us a lot with one of our cases.’

‘She’s a good one,’ agreed Rokeby proudly. He helped himself to some biscuits. ‘I’ve just eaten but these are great.’

‘Didn’t you say you were going to dinner?’ asked Strike, trying to sound puzzled and not like he was accusing Rokeby of lying. He did not know whether he succeeded and Robin felt the mood in the room shift slightly.

‘Ah, it’s one of my rules, and I found out the hard way. See: never go to one of those posh places hungry,’ said Rokeby. He had either not noticed Strike’s expression darkening or chosen to ignore it. ‘I know they say you’ll be getting food but that’s a lie. I was close to starvation the first time I ate at the Dorchester… Had to go down the chippy after, got there just in time!’

Strike actually chuckled and Robin relaxed with him. She had expected the meeting to be stilted and awkward on both fronts but Rokeby was surprisingly calm and open. Robin believed his happiness at seeing Strike to be genuine, as well as his interest in the agency. There was of course the possibility that he was a good actor but it seemed unlikely. Strike was on edge but much less antagonistic than she had expected him to be. He, too, appeared to be genuinely trying. It was fascinating to watch.

‘What were you doing before you started here?’ Rokeby asked Robin. ‘Police?’

‘No, I was temping,’ she explained. ‘I came here as a secretary, just for a week initially.’

‘But she was a natural,’ added Strike. ‘I was extremely lucky she agreed to stay on.’

‘I had wanted to do investigative work when I was younger but I had given up on the idea,’ said Robin, pleased by Strike’s words. ‘I had been working towards a degree in psychology.’

Rokeby asked her more about what work she had done as she had started at the agency, and then more personal questions about her family and where she had grown up. Robin was adept at small talk and thus happy to answer. Nonetheless, she got the feeling that Rokeby was using the opportunity to make conversation with someone less emotionally involved in the situation while still showing Strike that he was taking an interest.

Quicker than she had thought possible, the half hour Rokeby had announced to stay had passed. They all got up and Rokeby paused in the door, eyes once more on Strike.

‘I’m having a small party weekend after next, just family and some old friends. I’d love for you to come – and bring a guest if you like,’ his gaze flickered to Robin. ‘I’d understand if you didn’t want to, I know it’s a big ask. Pru will be there with her family, and Al too. They’d love to see you.’

Strike acknowledged the invitation with a short nod. ‘I’ll have to think about it,’ he said and to his surprise, found that this was true. Had Rokeby asked him just an hour ago, he might have made up an excuse on the spot, never considering to go. But he had been mellowed slightly by the way he had conducted himself and by how much Robin seemed to like him. Usually, she was a good judge of character.

‘Let me know, I’ll text you the details,’ said Rokeby. ‘It was good to see you, Cormoran. And nice to meet you, Robin. I hope we’ll see each other again.’

With those words, he disappeared down the stairs. Both Robin and Strike waited in silence until they heard the door to the street close.

‘So?’ asked Strike. ‘What do you think?’

Robin considered her answer. ‘He’s a lot more genuine and down to earth than I expected. I know there’s all that history between you, I haven’t forgotten that. But just considering what I saw of him tonight… I think I like him.’

Strike nodded. He had thought the same thing. For a moment, he had been a little worried that Rokeby might be flirty with Robin but to his great relief, he had seen nothing but polite interest. He was aware that he had been watching a carefully edited version of Rokeby. He didn’t think Rokeby would have cared much about Robin had he not sat with them, watching them interact.

‘Do you think he clocked we were… you know?’ asked Robin. ‘He was asking me all those things.’

‘Might just be because Pru told him about you,’ mused Strike. Upon reflection, he thought it vaguely likely that his sister had told Rokeby about their working relationship. What struck him was the fact that Rokeby had remembered.

Robin remembered Prudence’s words to her, during their first meeting. I’ve been dying to meet you, given that you’re clearly the most important person in Corm’s life. Had she said something along those lines to Rokeby? That would certainly explain why Rokeby was taking an interest in her during his attempt to build a relationship with his son.

‘Are you thinking of going? To his family gathering?’ asked Robin.

Strike gave a non-committal grunt. ‘If I did,’ he said finally, ‘would you come?’

Robin smiled brightly. ‘Sure. I’d love to see Prudence again.’

‘I’ll think about it,’ muttered Strike and then threw a glance at his desk. ‘I wanna finish going through that file but… would you like to have dinner after? It’s late.’

Robin smiled again. ‘Why don’t you get that done and I’ll get us a takeaway in the meantime.’

~oOo~

Strike and Robin met the following afternoon at Trafalgar Square where they got on the bus that would take them to Wandsworth where Nick and Ilsa lived. Having anticipated the inevitable half hour delay, they arrived promptly and walked the rest of the way at a leisurely pace.

The previous evening had been what Robin had hoped it would be: a shared meal and good conversation, followed by sitting on the sofa in his flat pretending to watch TV but really mostly kissing. There had been moments when either or both of them had been lost in thoughts – him about Rokeby and her about Murphy – but those had passed in mutual understanding.

Robin had been very glad to have had what felt like a low-stakes chance at a do-over for what might be considered their second date. She had been in a much-improved state of mind yesterday – although she still felt far from well overall. His undemanding patience and good humour had helped to reassure her and the butterflies in her stomach – which she felt not little embarrassed about given she was a grown woman and not a teenager – had done their bit to make her forget her anxiety for most of the evening.

As they walked along now, Robin stepped closer to Strike and slung an arm around his middle. He reciprocated gladly, draping an arm across her shoulders.

‘What’s that for?’ he asked as they walked on.

‘Because I can,’ she replied, echoing his words from the day before. ‘It’s okay, isn’t it?’

‘Well, now you mention it, perhaps it’s better if we keep our distance. There might be a chaperone in the shrubbery, prepared to tell on us,’ replied Strike deadpan.

Robing chuckled. ‘I didn’t know how you feel about this. It’s quite public, isn’t it?’

‘I don’t care,’ replied Strike truthfully. ‘Well… provided we’re not on the job, obviously.’

Robin imagined the two of them turning up to a client meeting holding hands and barely supressed a shudder. The very thought was mortifying. ‘Definitely,’ she agreed.

‘Although,’ mused Strike. ‘Might be useful for some surveillance jobs, to be there as a couple. Less conspicuous in a restaurant and so on.’

‘I think we make quite an incongruous couple,’ Robin objected. ‘We might arouse more suspicion.’

‘That’s true,’ admitted Strike. ‘People would wonder how you managed to get with someone who’s so far out of your league…’

Robin laughed and they stopped by the Herberts’ front door, letting go of one another. Both eyed the doorbell with some anticipation. This would be the first time properly declaring that they were a couple.

‘Quick and easy?’ asked Strike and offered Robin his hand. She rang the doorbell, then grasped it.

It was Ilsa who opened the door with a smile a few moments later. ‘Nice to see you, come o– ’ She broke off mid-word when she spotted their linked hands. Instead, she let out a shriek and clasped her hands to her mouth. ‘Oh my god, oh my god!’

Nick stumbled into the hall from the kitchen, alarmed at his wife’s scream. ‘What? What’s wrong?’

Ilsa still seemed unable to find words and just gesticulated to their guests. Nick began to grin and had just opened his mouth to comment when the sound of a pot boiling over reached them. ‘Shit!’ he exclaimed instead and ducked back into the kitchen as quickly as he had appeared. Ilsa was still emitting delighted shrieks but had lowered the volume somewhat.

Robin and Strike had advanced into the hall and let go of one another. Both were sporting amused and slightly unnerved smiles at their friend’s antics.

Ilsa pulled them both into a hug simultaneously. ‘Finally. Finally!’ she exclaimed and squeezed them tightly. ‘I knew it! I always did! But you’ve always been so stubborn…’

‘Fucking hell, Ilsa,’ said Strike, spotting actual tears in her eyes. He had not expected the news to be met with this much emotion. ‘Calm…’

‘Don’t! Don’t you dare tell me to calm down! You don’t know what it’s like, having to watch not one but two of your friends pining away for…’

‘I wasn’t…’ Robin and Strike began to protest in unison but Ilsa cut across them.

‘Don’t try to take me for an idiot! I knew years before the two of you did, apparently, so I won’t listen to any of it!’

Robin laughed and shrugged off her coat. Strike did the same, with a scowl that did not manage to hide the amusement in his eyes.

‘And don’t swear. Benji’s been picking up new words left, right and centre,’ Ilsa admonished him, wiping her eyes before she led them into the kitchen.

Robin immediately went over to greet their godson who was in a highchair, babbling away happily as he watched his father cook. She pulled a few faces at him and tickled his feet while Strike kept his distance. He watched her from the corner of his eye as he hugged Nick and exchanged pleasantries.

All available evidence had always suggested that Robin liked kids and knew how to interact with them. He himself did not – or at least, while he might not dislike children on principle, he made a habit of keeping a distance whenever possible (his nephew Jack being the only exception). He had always categorically excluded the possibility of starting a family.

He had only very recently truly considered his reaction if in a few years’ time Robin were to tell him that she had decided she wanted a child of her own. He had told her “I think there’s room for a compromise” and he had not lied, exactly. But maybe, in the heat of the moment and pressed for time, he had said what he knew she wanted to hear without thinking first. He had since thought about that sentence a lot and at times regretted having said it.

Now, though, watching Robin and Benji, he found himself genuinely entertaining the possibility. He pictured a cot and Robin holding a baby; a little girl with her strawberry blonde hair who held his hand as they walked along the road; a boy in an Arsenal kit kicking a football at the park…

However, almost as soon as they had come, these images were replaced by others: screaming, shouting and crying; slamming doors and tears; sleepless nights; tantrums at the supermarket and the judgemental glares of fellow shoppers; broken hearts and worry; and – above all – a feeling of helplessness and the knowledge that he was doing it wrong.

No, he did not want the pressure and the responsibility for a whole human, someone he had the risk of letting down and messing up permanently. But for a second, he had been able to see the appeal and now he settled with the feeling that should it come down to it, he might in time be able to see the positives.

Nick followed his gaze and raised his eyebrows. ‘Don’t tell me you…’

‘Hell now,’ muttered Strike, shaking his head sharply to indicate that Nick should not speak this out loud. He did not need Ilsa drilling them on the topic of children. Although, for all he knew, Robin had told her about her infertility and she would know to stay clear. He certainly hoped so.

‘Food’s done,’ Nick announced instead, raising his voice.

All five of them settled around the dining table. Benji had apparently already had his dinner so was only given a few cucumber slices and some banana while the rest of them had chili. However, conversation quickly got difficult as Benji began to voice his displeasure at the situation.

‘He had a late nap,’ Ilsa explained over the sound of her son fussing. ‘He’d usually be in bed already but we thought he’d last until after we had eaten.’ She gave Nick a meaningful look, urging him to take care of the problem. Robin guessed she could not wait to get answers to her questions. Nick relented and quickly wolved down the last of his food. 

‘But I expect a summary,’ he insisted as he picked up his wailing son and left the room.

‘So, spill!’ demanded Ilsa as soon as the room was silent. ‘Who was it?’

Robin indicated Strike who rolled his eyes. ‘Ilsa, do we really have to…’

‘Either you tell me yourself or I just make Robin tell me the next time we meet.’

Strike shot a glance at Robin who just shrugged. She did not think she would resist if Ilsa pressed her on the topic, even if they refused to answer tonight. And besides, Ilsa was her friend. She saw no need to keep secrets – but she would prefer Strike to tell the story himself, just to be sure that he did not feel like she had been talking behind his back.

‘Fine,’ sighed Strike. ‘I told her I was in love with her by shouting it in the staircase outside our office.’

‘You what?’ asked Ilsa who had very obviously expected something different.

‘And then I accidentally asked her to marry me and she told me I was insane and left,’ added Strike.

Ilsa looked to Robin for an indication that Strike was making things up but Robin just shrugged again. ‘I had to leave. I was on my way to the Ritz because Ryan was about to propose to me there.’

‘You are insane. Both of you!’ exclaimed Ilsa. ‘You’ve had years to work something out and this is what happens?’

‘I was desperate,’ admitted Strike. ‘Although in retrospect I do admit it was not ideal.’ Robin snorted and Strike grinned at her. ‘But it did work out,’ he added.

‘Okay, okay. I need you to start over and explain what happened. Slowly.’

And they did. Strike did most of the talking to explain the scene on the stairs, then Robin took over to talk about her breakup from Murphy and her return to Denmark Street later that night.

‘… and then I decided I wanted to get away, which is why I ended up in Majorca,’ she concluded. ‘And when I got back, we talked and we decided we both wanted this. And that’s it.’

Ilsa shook her head in exasperation. ‘Honestly… I swear, I can’t imagine any two people who seem to be less capable to communicate! Years it’s been. Years!’

‘Perhaps we needed that time,’ mused Robin.

‘Rubbish. You were just as in love with each other three years ago as you are now. And you are no better than him!’

Robin was slightly taken aback. ‘Ilsa, we thought you’d be happy about this.’

‘I am. But this… honestly. Why couldn’t you just have talked, like normal people? It would have saved both of you – and by extension me – a lot of misery.’

‘Well, I’m glad we put you out of your misery then,’ said Strike who was beginning to get annoyed for real. His good humour was running low. He knew he had been an idiot – he did not need Ilsa to keep telling him.

‘Sorry,’ said Ilsa, realising she had crossed a line. ‘I am happy. This is what I wanted for the both of you. It’s just been extremely frustrating to witness, that’s all. I’m glad it worked out in the end.’

After that, the evening’s atmosphere became increasingly relaxed. Nick returned after Benji had gone to sleep and was treated to a quick retelling of the story. They then settled in the living room. Robin and Strike had taken the sofa. As they chatted, he was leaning back, his arm stretched out along the backrest, above the spot where Robin sat.

This alone was enough to make her feel a pleasant warmth. It was a small but important sign that they were comfortable with each other’s proximity, something they had shied away from for years.

They sat talking until after midnight at which point Ilsa indicated that they ought to be going to bed as Benji would be up at the crack of dawn. Strike and Robin said their goodbyes and stepped out into the cold night together. Through the closed door, they heard Ilsa call to Nick. ‘Can you fucking believe that?’

Both began to laugh and they settling into back into the configuration that they had walked in on their way to their friends’ house – Strike’s arm around Robin’s shoulders, hers around his middle.

‘Wanna share a cab?’ he asked.

‘Sure,’ agreed Robin. If she was entirely honest, what she really wanted was more time with him, just the two of them. With her arm around him, she felt as though she might as well have walked back all the way to central London. It wasn’t an option, of course, and she did not feel quite comfortable inviting him to her flat to spend the night.

They ambled along slowly, both determined to delay the inevitable goodbye.

~oOo~

‘Robin?’ said Strike’s voice on the phone, sounding annoyed. ‘I’ve just got off the phone with Sheldon.’

‘Yes?’ asked Robin. “Sheldon” was the nickname of a new clients, an acquaintance of Spanner’s and one of three founders of a tech startup. He had hired the detectives because he was worried his partners were planning to force him out.

Shah had come up with the nickname. “My wife loves that bloody show,” he had said with a sigh. Strike had never seen it but it had made Robin chuckle so the name had stuck. So far, Sheldon had always conducted himself in a polite and reasonable manner which made Robin wonder what he could have done to tick off Strike.

‘His mates are going out to dinner, supposedly catching up with old friends from uni but he thinks they might try to get them involved with the company – or sell secrets. He wants them followed – which I have to admit seems reasonable. But it means I won’t be able to make dinner.’

Robin’s disappointment was soothed by how annoyed he sounded at having to cancel. Dinner had been planned for a week (they had agreed on it the morning after their visit to Nick and Ilsa’s) and it had already been postponed once. Today was Monday and the first evening they were both available – or had been. It would also have been the first visit to a restaurant as a couple – all previous dates had been conducted at either of their flats.

‘Where’re they going?’ she asked, an idea taking shape.

‘I wrote it down, some Italian place in the city.’

‘I could do with Italian.’

‘It’s fine, I didn’t call you to palm the job off on you…’

‘No, I mean we could do it together.’

Strike briefly reflected that he had resolved not to mix work and his love life – and then he agreed anyway. ‘I’ll make the reservation.’

Robin arrived a few minutes before Strike who was tailing on of the targets from home. A quick scan of the little restaurant told her that there was only one table set up for five people and as it was so far unoccupied, she wasted no time to take the opportunity this provided her. She walked past on her way to the bathroom and by rummaging in her handbag, deliberately dislodged a packet of tissues and a lipstick. The latter rolled under the intended table and while kneeling to pick it up, she managed to stick a small bug to the underside of the table before the helpful waitress arrived to help her.

By the time their targets arrived shorty followed by Strike, she was settled at her table and browsing the menu. In deference to the fact that he was wearing the glasses with the integrated camera, she limited her greeting to a simple smile.

‘I think I got a good shot of them all,’ Strike said as he drew up his chair. He removed his glasses and by pretending to fiddle with them before setting them down made sure to keep as much of the relevant table in frame as he could. It was not much as the tables in between were also occupied. ‘We won’t be able to hear much,’ he mused, then to his delight saw Robin grin. ‘Ellacott, you’re a fucking marvel!’ he exclaimed, only just remembering not to shout.

She still shushed him, inwardly blossoming at his praise. ‘I got lucky.’

‘I’ll tell you what you got,’ said Strike. ‘You got us dinner on our client and we have to do nothing at all other than ignore the target. It’s almost like we’re getting paid for our evening back.’

His genuine joy made Robin’s heart swell – much like it had earlier when he had sounded so disappointed about the cancelled evening together.

‘Then let’s enjoy it.’

‘Oh, I already am,’ insisted Strike. ‘You look beautiful, by the way.’

‘Thanks.’ She was not used to compliments from him, least of all in this casual and matter-of-fact tone. He made it sound so obvious, as though the observation were the most natural conclusion to reach. She was hardly dressed up either – this was a casual restaurant so she was in a white shirt, cream cardigan and jeans, her hair in a plait.

‘You’ll have to have the lasagna, by the way,’ he told her with a slightly apologetic smile over his menu. She gave him a questioning look and he elaborated. ‘They originally said they were fully booked so I had to convince them to give us the table. I told him it was your birthday and it was your favourite.’

‘Forgot by birthday, did you?’

‘No, I said I had originally booked another restaurant but they messed up the reservation.’

‘Lucky you. I’d be mad if you forgot by birthday,’ she teased him.

‘Noted,’ he said with a chuckle, reflecting that he was not likely to forget her birthday ever again. After lying to the restaurant staff on the phone, he had briefly begun to wonder what he could do for Robin’s birthday. ‘Any wishes?’

‘It’s still months away,’ she said with a smile.

‘I might need months to come up with a present. You know I’m bad at it.’

‘You’re not. I loved my thirtieth.’ She smiled at the memory, then realised something. ‘I mean, I don’t expect… It was a lot of money you spent that time, I don’t…’

‘It’s fine, I enjoyed it just as much as you, I think.’ he interrupted. ‘I consider every penny well spent. Although it is a relief to hear you’re not with me only for my vast fortune…’

She chuckled and reflected that in fact, she loved that they were making the same money. She had always hated not that Matthew had made more than her per se, but that he had make her feel like she lesser for it, like she wasn’t pulling her weight.

Conversation flowed easily. They discussed work at first, always a topic that provided them with plenty to talk about.

‘Does it bother you,’ Robin asked eventually because she had been pondering this, ‘that we talk about investigations when we’re together?’

Strike considered this. ‘I don’t think so. I’ve always loved working with you and it just… well it feels natural. But we don’t have to if it bothers you.’

‘It doesn’t,’ replied Robin. ‘Is that odd? I think plenty of people would hate this… Maybe tell us we need to keep private time private, stuff like that.’

‘It would bother me if we only talked about the agency,’ Strike mused. ‘Because that would feel like we’re just colleagues. But it is good that we talk about work – I very much rely on your opinions.’

She smiled at his flattery. ‘I’ve always loved discussing cases with you. But I’m not sure now, in retrospect, if I enjoyed it so much because it was the only way I could justify spending time with you.’

‘Ah, that I’ve been guilty of as well,’ he admitted with a sheepish grin. ‘And driving places with you, the further away the better.’

Robin nodded enthusiastically. She remembered the drive to Devon that had almost made her miss Matthews’s mother’s funeral. It had been so long ago and looking at it now, she wondered if even then she had done it at least in part to get to spend time with Strike.

Strike winked at her. ‘Truth be told, Ellacott, I don’t much care what we talk about and what we do. I just enjoy being with you.’

His words made her stomach flutter happily. ‘Me too,’ she admitted and he grinned at her.

‘Lucky that,’ he hummed in his deep voice and reached across the table for her hand. She squeezed his fingers.

They spent much of the rest of their meal reminiscing on trips they had taken together, remembering funny moments and reflecting on missed opportunities. The sentence “I wanted to say this at the time” was used several times by both of them. It was wonderful to finally voice those unsaid thoughts and to hear what they had both hoped the other had felt at the time.

It was almost by chance that Robin noticed that the table they were supposed to be watching was getting ready to leave as they were both so engrossed in their conversation.

Strike signalled the waitress for the bill and resolutely refused Robin’s offer to pay her half. ‘It’s your birthday,’ he reminded her.

‘Fine, but my treat next time,’ she insisted with a smile. He grinned back.

Strike then pushed himself up, hurrying to catch up with their targets while Robin stayed behind to retrieve the bug. She managed it easily, searching for an imaginary tub of lip balm under the table. She made a quick detour to the bathroom and left the restaurant to the friendly goodbyes from the helpful waitress.

She was surprised to find Strike walking towards her as she stepped out into the night. ‘Lost them, they split up,’ he told her, not looking at all concerned. ‘Sheldon’s colleagues got into a cab, one’s waiting at the bus stop and I followed the other two to the tube. One entered the station, the other kept walking.’

‘Pity,’ said Robin, trying and failing to sound disappointed as he pulled her into a hug. She slung her arms around him and tilted her head back to press her lips to his. ‘I’ve wanted to do this all night,’ she confessed as they parted.

‘Me too,’ he admitted. He buried his nose in her hair, breathing in the smell of her shampoo and perfume. It still thrilled him still that he was allowed to do this, to be so close to her and enjoy it without having to pretend he didn’t.

She stayed where she was, enveloped by his arms and his bulk. ‘I don’t want to say goodbye yet,’ she said, talking to herself at much as to him.

‘Me neither,’ he agreed. ‘Will you walk with me?’

He draped his arms around her shoulders and she snaked hers around his middle, and in this now already familiar configuration, they set off down the street towards the river. Night had fallen while they had been eating and hundreds of lights were reflected in the Thames. They crossed the Millennium Bridge and then walked west on the South Bank.

‘This is quite romantic,’ Robin mused as they settled on a bench near Gabriel’s Warf.

Strike had suggested the break primarily because he had felt his knee starting to protest but was now quite pleased with himself. He slung his arm around her shoulders again and she shuffled closer, leaning against him. ‘Next time we’ll do it without working,’ he assured her.

She chuckled. ‘It wasn’t exactly a lot of work. But yes, we should go out just the two of us.’ They both sat in silence for a moment. ‘It’ll take effort, making time,’ she mused after a minute.

He made an affirmative noise. With both of them working erratic and sometimes very long hours, plus being responsible for filling in if there was the need, it was hard to schedule time together. ‘We both understand, though. That makes it easier.’

‘True.’ Robin was already feeling the relief of not having to explain the long hours and other inconveniences to a partner who did not fully understand. Even Murphy who was in a similar line of work had never quite understood just what the agency and the work meant to her. Strike did, though, because he was the same.

It was late by the time they arrived at Westminster Station where they finally parted. She was catching the Tube, he was walking home.

‘I enjoyed tonight,’ she told him as they hugged goodbye.

He smiled. ‘Is that a yes to a second date, then?’ he asked, his eyes twinkling.

‘I’ll call you,’ she replied, also smiling.

They shared one last kiss and would have been tempted to follow it up with another and another had there not been people around them, making their way to and from trains. They parted reluctantly and Robin forced herself to turn around and towards the ticket gates.

When she exited Blackhorse Road Station half an hour later, a text was waiting on her phone.

Please text me to let me know you got home safe

She smiled and hit the call button as she began to walk the rest of the way home. Strike picked up on the second ring.

‘Hello,’ he said and despite the fact that she was miles away, she knew that his husky voice was vibrating in his chest. It was wonderful to hear it – and she reflected that this was slightly ridiculous considering that had spent all night together.

‘I’m calling about that second date,’ she said.

‘Really? Aren’t you supposed to wait at least a day to put a bloke out of his misery? You might be considered too eager…’

‘Who says I called to confirm?’

‘True,’ he admitted. ‘Called to let me down gently, have you?’

‘I might have.’

He chuckled. ‘Playing hard to get, I see…’

They kept chatting all the way until Robin reached her flat. ‘I’d love that second date,’ she told him when she stood in her hallway. In fact, she half wished she had gone back to his place tonight, spent the night and maybe even…

‘Yeah, me too,’ he replied, interrupting her train of thoughts. He sounded earnest now. ‘Robin, I… I really am loving this. Us.’

‘Yeah,’ breathed Robin. ‘Yeah, me too.’