I'LL WALK BESIDE YOU
by Michelle
Chapter 1
but we’ve got this.
- Ed Sheeran: Vega
“You did what??” Robin asked incredulously, her eyes wide as she couldn’t tear her eyes off Sam Barclay, standing in the middle of the outer office that morning.
Pat, the office manager, sitting at her desk, followed her example with her own inimitable style – looking at the beloved subcontractor from behind her glasses, with mildly raised eyebrows. Strike, who was standing at the doorframe leading to the inner office, with his arms folded on his chest, was unable to suppress an amused smile.
Barclay couldn’t wipe the smirk off his face as he was giving his account of the events that had led to the successful closing of their latest case of a cheating wife.
“I requested her tae give me her favourite knickers an’ asked her tae spray them wi’ her favourite perfume. I can tell ye, if her husband busted in at that moment, ye wouldnae had the pleasure tae give him the evidence yerself an’ I’d be a dead man walkin’ now. He’s no dafty.”
Both women kept staring at him for a few more seconds, then burst into hysterical laughter. Strike chuckled and shook his head.
“Sam,” he said then, still grinning. “You’ve just become the unofficial king of seduction and deception. This one will be hard to beat.”
“Cheers, boss, jus’ don’t tell it to my wife or I’ll end up sleepin’ here,” the Glaswegian smiled, pleased with a job well done.
“You wouldn’t be the first one,” Strike remarked, glancing with an amused smile at Robin, who immediately remembered her first weeks in the office, covering up for her then-boss, who temporarily had to turn the inner office into his bedroom as well back then.
Robin wiped her tears as she finally calmed down.
“You bloody deserve that weekend off, Sam. Go and have fun with your wife,” she said, still smiling widely.
“I would leave out the perfume on her knickers, though. Might be too… distracting,” Strike added with a mischievous grin.
Robin almost choked on her tea, while Pat uncharacteristically laughed for the second time, suddenly having the time of her life. Barclay just chuckled and with an “Aye, boss,” he happily walked out of the office.
Strike walked to Robin, seeing she was still coughing.
“You OK?” he asked with concern.
“I’m fine,” she croaked, flashed a smile, and hid behind the tea mug, taking another sip, desperately trying to hide her blushing. The mental image of Strike holding the piece of women’s undergarment in his hands was difficult to erase from her mind. Specifically, her undergarment…
She failed in her hiding attempt, though, for her partner smiled knowingly, and it took a good moment until he took mercy on her and looked away, walking over to the kitchenette to grab his own mug of tea.
“I had no idea it would be such an exhilarating experience when I came to this office at first,” Pat remarked, still openly grinning - possibly the first time since she had been the office manager on Denmark Street.
“And we had no idea what a terrific asset you’d be to us, Pat,” Strike said truthfully, surprised by his own statement. Pulling each other’s leg; that was more their style of communication.
Pat seemed genuinely touched by his words, and if he was bold enough, he’d say he could see her eyes glisten behind her glasses.
When his eyes landed on Robin, he noticed she was observing him with a soft, warm expression, smiling. Suddenly, he felt vulnerable, having exposed his softer side in the professional environment. He quickly looked away, well aware of Robin’s knowing look.
His mild embarrassment was interrupted by the ringing of Robin’s mobile phone. She glanced at it, still mildly dazed from the wonderfully warm and light atmosphere in the office, and seeing her brother’s name on the screen, she grabbed the phone and stood up, walking toward the inner office. A sudden shiver of premonition hit her.
“Sorry, that’s Stephen,” she said to Strike when passing him, not shutting the inner office door behind her, though.
He wasn’t sure why, but Strike had a sinking feeling that something was about to disturb the pleasant atmosphere in their agency. As he stood at the desk where Robin had sat just a moment ago, he was unable to tear his eyes away from the open door that his partner just walked through. The few short sentences he heard then confirmed his suspicion.
“Stephen, hi. What….” he heard Robin say before she went silent for a long moment. When she spoke again, her voice was low and shaky.
“When?”
Strike’s heartbeat suddenly accelerated from fear – he had experienced too many phone calls like this in his past.
“OK… I’ll get a train right away,” Robin continued quietly. “See you later…”
Strike was desperate to see her, to do anything she needed right then, whatever bad news she had just received. But when she finally emerged from the inner office and stopped at the door, staring into nothing ahead of her, he was suddenly unable to move – her face was as white as a sheet, her eyes carrying an uncomprehending and disbelieving expression, mixed with shock and pain.
“Robin?” he asked quietly, really worried now.
She snapped from the first shock and looked at him with lifeless eyes. “That was Stephen…” It took a long moment for her to say the words.
“My dad died… Heart attack…”
Strike felt his heart sink as a rock to the bottom of the ocean, his eyes filled with compassion and pain shared with her. Before he managed to say something, his partner grabbed her bag and coat absently.
“I’ve got to go…” The sudden chaos in her mind reflected in her still uncomprehending eyes. She cast a brief glance at Strike before opening the office door. “I… Sorry… I’ll call you later.”
After she shut the door behind her, a deafening silence befell the office. Strike had a momentary sense of déjà vue from a few years before, then Pat was the first to speak.
”Life never gives us a break, does it? Poor thing,” she remarked, her eyes still pinned to the door, her voice even deeper than usual. Then she looked at her boss, noticing the emotions playing across his face.
“Can I say something?” she asked, looking from behind her glasses as usual.
”Go on,” Strike replied, sounding like a robot, his mind miles away.
”It might seem unorthodox, but this is probably the best time to show her.”
Strike immediately became alert and looked at her, narrowing his eyes, his unspoken question hanging in the air.
“To show her what she really means to you?” Pat added knowingly, her eyebrows raised. “She could do with some support from her… best friend.”
Strike didn’t miss her hesitation before the term her best friend, suddenly having the alarming feeling that he had been caught out. His heart was breaking for Robin (vividly remembering his own personal encounter with death, especially when his mother and later, his aunt died), but he knew Pat was right. He knew Robin would be surrounded by her family, but he wanted to be the one to comfort her, to be there for her whatever she needed. Strike wanted to be the one she would lean on in the first place.
“Could you do me a favour, please?” he asked Pat after his moment of contemplation. “I need you to find me a train connection to Masham for tomorrow morning.”
※※※※※
Robin opened the front door of her parents’ old house and almost ran out, shutting the door behind her. The fresh air invading her lungs was what she needed the most in the stifling atmosphere of the grief filling the walls of her childhood home.
When she arrived in Masham the afternoon before, she hadn’t had much time to process the news. Her task was to console her mother, be there for her brothers and their families, as always. Fair enough, the matriarch of the family was trying to hold herself up well enough not to break down and cry every few minutes. Had there ever been a question where Robin got her mental strength from, Linda Ellacott answered it for everyone at the worst times the family could remember - well, apart from the attack on the only daughter of the house.
And yet, as the night came and Robin finally shut the door of her bedroom, sleep evaded her for long hours. At least four times, she interrupted staring at the dark ceiling and glanced at her phone. No message. More precisely, no message that she was hoping for, one that could bring at least a bit of light into the misery she was living through at that moment.
She wished she could talk about it, talk about how she knew she should probably cry but somehow, she felt hollow and cold, and no emotions could touch her enough deep within to bring her the physical release. She wished to hear that it’s not abnormal to hope it would all be over already, and she wouldn’t have to dread the compassionate words and handshakes at the funeral in four days, combined with the pitiful looks of those who ‘felt sorry’ for the Ellacotts’ already divorced child, despite being in her early thirties. Robin loved her home place, but there was a reason why she preferred city life. Its anonymity and privacy were certainly a privilege at times when she needed it the most.
However, the one she was hoping she could talk about it all obviously decided to give her space to mourn - Strike went silent.
With a heavy sigh, Robin walked down the few steps into the yard, stopping at an old wooden bench. For a moment, she observed the sunlit horizon over the green fields ahead of her. Memories of her father going for long walks with her in the same field when she was a child flooded her mind, mingling with the images of her sitting on a small bicycle being pushed by her parent and taught to ride it as a little girl of barely four. She closed her eyes and exhaled into the crisp, late March air.
When she opened them again, the view had changed slightly. Robin focused her look on a tall, dark figure slowly and a bit heavily approaching the Ellacotts’ family house. The familiar sight made her gasp - with surprise and joy as well.
That’s why he went silent...
Nothing could stop her as a wide, grateful smile appeared on her pale face, and with quick steps, she reached the small gate, falling into his arms without any restraint. Neither of them knew how long they stood there, silent and holding on to each other tightly, but neither one of them felt like letting go.
“I’m sorry for barging in without announcement,” Strike said eventually quietly while Robin still held on tight to him. “I just thought…” Silence finished the words he didn’t dare to believe strongly enough to say out loud - that you might need me.
“Thank you…,” Robin whispered and slowly pulled back, allowing their eyes to meet.
“Sorry,” she chuckled, awkwardly avoiding his look for a moment. Then she gently freed herself from his arms still embracing her. “Come in.”
“I don’t think your mother would appreciate--- ”
“I appreciate it. She will as well, don’t worry,” Robin interrupted him, resolved.
“I don’t want to intrude; I was going to find somewhere to stay in town after I...”
“Don’t be silly,” she chided him with a smile, despite the fatigue and grief colouring her voice, and took his overnight bag. “We all need a bit of distraction, and what’s better than London’s best private investigator?” she teased him and walked into the house.
Strike took a deep breath, exhaled loudly and followed her into the unknown.
※
Crossing the threshold of Robin’s home was something Strike had never imagined before and he did it with mixed feelings. Of course, his main wish was to be there for her in one of the hardest times of her life. He also felt a strange thrill of having the opportunity to get to know his partner even closer.
On the other hand, he was slightly scared of the homeowner’s reaction on seeing him - he was convinced that the name Cormoran Strike was not exactly a popular one in the family, especially after the fiasco at the dinner with Robin and her brother Jonathan over a year ago. Robin never talked about it after they cleared the air, but he had his ideas - not all of them were unfounded ones.
When they entered the kitchen, Strike spotted the figure of an older woman staring out of the window. Her shoulder-long, brown-dyed hair mingled with a few silvery strands.
”Mum?” Robin said softly, and Linda Ellacott turned around. When she spotted the man by her daughter’s side, she didn’t say anything for a moment, but then a small smile appeared on her exhausted face.
”Mr Strike,” she said calmly, surprising the detective. “It’s nice to see you again after all this time.” Her smile reached her eyes.
Of course, the damned wedding, Strike thought, how could she forget my glorious accident with the flowers?
”It’s Cormoran, Madam,” he suggested gently.
”Very well,” she replied. “Linda,” she added and outstretched her hand. Strike accepted it with a small smile.
”I’m sorry for your loss,” he said then, his eyes clearly revealing that his words were genuine. “I’m not going to disturb you; I only came to see if…” He glanced at Robin, looking for the right words. Her smile gave him courage. “… if there is anything I could do to help. I’ll be in town for a few days should you need me at any point.”
Linda slowly released his hand and sighed.
”That’s very kind of you, Cormoran, but Robin and her brothers have everything under their stride, it seems,” she said with a sad smile. “In fact, I feel rather useless.”
”You need to rest, Mum,” her daughter interrupted her. “There are a few tough days ahead of you. Everything has been taken care of.”
”There is a tough rest of my life ahead of me, my dear,” Linda remarked knowingly. “But I appreciate what you do, I really do.” She patted Robin’s arm.
Then she walked over to the kitchen sink and started washing the teacup she used earlier. Robin glanced at Strike, who was resolved to leave, but Linda’s voice stopped him.
”Please, take Cormoran to Stephen’s old room and make sure he gets clean towels.”
“I thought I could take Stephen’s bedroom and Cormoran could stay in mine,” Robin interjected. “It’s closer to…” She glanced at her partner with a small smile, then looked back at her mother. “It’s more convenient for him.”
Linda did neither object nor ponder about her daughter’s unfinished sentence. She only smiled, added, “Very well then,” and turned back to the sink.
Strike just managed to say “Thank you,” before Robin ushered him towards the stairs, in her mind regretting that her parents had turned the downstairs spare bedroom into a storage room a few years ago. It would have saved her partner climbing up and down the narrow staircase, putting more pressure on his half-leg.
But Strike’s mind was miles away from the steps he was ascending behind Robin. The idea to come here and support her seemed like a good one at first, but now he wasn’t sure he had the right to be here. He didn’t belong to the family, he was only a friend of one of them, albeit the best friend. Moreover, he was about to take Robin’s room, her own private space of so many years… As a man very protective of privacy, suddenly he felt like a stalker.
The frown on his face must have alerted Robin as they stopped at her bedroom door.
“It’s the stairs, isn’t it?” she asked, worried about his leg. “I’m sorry, we don’t…”
“The leg’s fine,” Strike interrupted her quietly. “I just…”
“What?” she whispered.
“Are you sure your family will be all right with this?” he replied unusually anxiously.
Robin smiled, relieved that this was the only reason for his concern.
“If they start biting, I’ll protect you,” she quipped with a mischievous gleam in her eyes.
Strike couldn’t help but chuckle.
“Remind me to thank your self-defence teacher,” he said then, still smiling, the warmth in his eyes caressing Robin somewhere deep inside, so much that she needed a great deal of self-control to break their eye contact and open the door.
As they entered, Strike looked around and was struck by one thing – how welcoming the space looked. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting before they walked in, but he couldn’t wipe the smile off his face now that he was in and immediately felt like… home.
“I tried to make this look like an adult room before I moved to London,” Robin started with an embarrassed smile, “but there are still a few reminders of my… well, younger years.”
“I always knew there was a hidden hippie behind that Holmes mask,” Strike reacted with amusement as his eyes admired a handful of remaining posters of The Cure, Kate Bush, U2 and R.E.M. on the wall next to the wardrobe. “Way before Becca entered the office,” he smirked, referring to one of Robin’s disguises during one of their investigations.
“I’m not that much younger than you,” she replied with a challenging smirk of her own. “Besides, I grew up with the 80s. Dad almost broke the old turntable with the Born In The USA vinyl…”
Strike suppressed a chuckle, imagining Michael Ellacott, the professor of sheep medicine and the editor of a magazine called ‘Sheep Management’ rocking to Bruce Springsteen. His amusement vanished immediately though when his eyes found Robin again.
As her voice faded, the cheerfulness of reminiscing suddenly died like the parent she had just lost. She was staring absent-mindedly at one of the posters, and he could almost feel the pain that shot through her when she so cruelly brought them back to reality. Without thinking, he reached for her hand, squeezing it gently. Robin took a shaky breath and smiled, meeting his grey-blue eyes again, her hand mirroring his gesture. Without knowing it, both of them suddenly thought how perfectly their hands fit together…
“The bathroom is right next door,” Robin said then quietly, hypnotised by his warm gaze again. She smiled, shaking off the enchantment. “That’s why I wanted you to have this room. You don’t have it far to… You know.”
Her mild embarrassment was endearing, and Strike felt once again humbled by her thoughtfulness and care. Of course, she knew that hobbling on one foot in the long corridor in the middle of the night was anything but convenient for him.
“Thank you,” he said, and his eyes spoke about much more than gratitude.
Reluctantly, Robin slowly released her hand from his.
“Well, I… I’ll get you some fresh bedding. There are clean towels in the first drawer,” she pointed at a heavy wooden chest of drawers by the wardrobe.
A few more seconds of silent gazes and smiles, and then she was gone, leaving him alone, immediately feeling like he’d just lost a limb all over again.
Strike took a deep breath before exhaling loudly, settling his nerves. Whatever the next few days would bring, he was sure Robin appreciated him coming, and that was all he needed to know. His eyes lovingly inspected the room, wandering from object to object, taking in everything that gave him more glimpses into what the woman he loved was like.
Startled by his thought, he frowned. His recently clarified feelings toward his partner and best friend still hadn’t lost their monumental meaning and deep impact on him.
He sighed, momentarily closing his eyes to steady his heartbeat. Lately, he had been having a harder time with bottling up his emotions. Especially after his life had hung by a thread, when lying in the hospital bed with an almost fatal stab wound to his back, he finally faced the hard facts of his life and his thoughts of which direction he wanted it to go in the future. More importantly, with whom…
Strike’s eyes landed on Robin’s bed, with its neatly smoothed cream-coloured duvet and pillows. Inadvertently, he inhaled deeply, hoping he could catch traces of her scent on the bedding before she replaced it with a new one. He wasn’t sure if it was his imagination or if he could really smell the perfume she had chosen as her belated birthday present that he had bought for her…
With his senses reeling, Strike shook his head, desperately trying to chase away any physical signs of how much his best friend affected his heart and mind.
This is definitely not the appropriate time!
As if drawn by his own will, Robin suddenly reappeared in the bedroom, smiling and carrying a pile of fresh bed linen, including another duvet and pillow, putting it all on the chest of drawers. She folded her duvet and with the pillows, and put it on the small, fabric armchair nearby. After stripping the fitted sheet, she reached for a clean one and started putting it on the mattress, when she noticed that Strike took the other end of the sheet, helping her to stretch it out.
Their eyes met, and neither of them could hold back a wide smile before returning to their work. Without realising it, they both had the same thought of how easy and pleasant this feeling of simple domesticity between them felt.
“If we ever went bust with the agency, we could start a new business,” Strike remarked with a smirk. “Ellacott & Strike Services – We bring new life to your bed.”
Robin snorted but didn’t miss the fact that he put her name first in the name of their imaginary business. The feeling of extreme affection for her partner ignited her whole being all over again.
“Sounds like an advert for a porn films production company,” she remarked dryly, earning a chuckle from him.
They finished their work in companionable silence, and for the first time since receiving the devastating news, Robin felt that she just might survive the next few days somehow – as long as Strike remained by her side.
※※※※※
Chapter 2
The day shifted into the late afternoon and found Strike standing in the Ellacotts’ front yard, pulling on his e-cigarette that he had switched to lately. It wasn’t just his recent serious lung injury that forced him to make some changes in his lifestyle, including going on a diet and working more on his physique. As he was watching the purple and pink shades on the sky, reflecting the sun setting down over the fields ahead of him, he contemplated even more how much his view of life had changed over the recent months.
The long weeks he had spent on his hospital bed, mostly staring into nothing, his brain being the only muscle he was allowed to move without restrictions, he had a lot of time to think about his life leading up to that moment. All its dramas, victories and losses, pain, grief, unresolved issues, hopes and dreams, love…
Strike shivered at the last word, knowing very well that it was love that his mind was preoccupied with most of the time. He couldn’t forget the feeling of elation as Robin unexpectedly appeared at his hospital bed one night, and he found out that her date with Murphy didn’t end up as the DCI would have hoped. That night, he knew that he never wanted to let his chance, however small, slip through his fingers again.
His friendship with Robin was getting deeper and more solid with each passing day since then, and he wasn’t holding much back anymore. The before so painstakingly kept physical distancing from her was long forgotten, Moreover, he noticed that she enjoyed, sometimes even initiated little, seemingly random moments when their hands brushed or one of them laid their hand on the other’s arm or shoulder here and there. And now, only a few months later, he was in Yorkshire, in Robin’s family home, providing emotional support for the woman who gave him the happiest moments of his life without even knowing it.
Just as he pulled his coat tighter to ward off the sudden wind chill creeping into his bones, the soft sound of footsteps approaching him made him smile.
“I thought I might find you here,” Robin said, smiling, when she stopped next to him.
Strike looked at her fondly. She still looked a bit pale, slight shadows under her eyes reflecting her fatigue, but in his eyes, she was still beautiful. Her warm smile did wonders to his heart. He desperately wanted to focus on supporting her in this difficult time, but he was helpless to fight off the onslaught of emotions he felt toward her.
“The wake is arranged,” Robin stated then in a sombre tone, looking at the sunset. “Stephen managed to book Dad’s favourite pub.”
Her voice was matter-of-factly, almost detached. It was as if she was using a highly professional approach to a very personal matter.
“I guess he had a lot of friends,” Strike replied, trying to apply a neutral tone.
“He had a lot of acquaintances, but only a few really close mates. But once he let someone in, he was the most loyal friend… Mum’s the one in the family who’s got friends all over the town.” Robin sighed. “He wasn’t much into constant socialising. His family was everything to him. He was… happy that way.”
A small smile flashed on her face and Strike wondered whether she had inherited this trait from her father. In the years he had known her, Robin didn’t seem to have too many friends in London and spent much of her time at work even past their usual hours, mostly sharing space with him in their office. Their occasional curry nights at Nick and Ilsa’s or their weekly catch-up on their cases over a couple of pints in The Tottenham were some of her very few outings that he could call socialising. And they included him. It seemed she liked spending time with him, on whatever the occasion. They felt comfortable with each other, however tiring or bad their day may have been before. For Strike, socialising stood somewhere toward the end of the scale of his likes and needs, the only exception being his friends Nick and Ilsa. The socialising he truly enjoyed, though, was with Robin by his side, whatever the time and place.
“Anyway, dinner is ready,” Robin changed the topic, knowing he must have been hungry.
Strike’s smile faded a bit, and she sensed what he was thinking.
“We might not have the appetite, but we still have to eat something,” she added.
“True,” was all he was able to reply. Sometimes words are superfluous…
“Come on,” Robin said, smiling, shocking him when her hand took his as she led him back inside.
She just needs support, to hold on to something, someone, that’s all…
He gladly let her.
※※
The dinner was a subdued but not uncomfortable affair, with Robin, her mother, her brother Jonathan (who stayed as an additional support for Linda) and Strike sharing the table. Robin’s brothers Stephen and Martin left for their respective homes earlier that day, promising to return the following day after arranging some other things needed for the funeral.
Surprisingly to Strike, no one in Robin’s family acted awkwardly or hostile towards him. It almost seemed as if after years of Robin’s devotion to the agency, they fully accepted that wherever she was, Strike was her natural extension, so his presence wasn’t really a surprise to them. At the dinner, he was even politely asked about his family, and to Robin’s mild shock, he didn’t dismiss the questions and replied to as many as he felt comfortable with.
After dinner, they all shared a cup of tea in each other’s, mostly quiet but not tense company before Linda excused herself and retreated to her bedroom for the night. Jonathan left soon after, leaving Robin and Strike alone in the living room, sitting by the fireplace.
For a while, they were just gazing into the fire, sitting side by side on one of the comfy sofas, each deep in their own thoughts.
“How are you doing?” Strike asked then, finally breaking the silence.
Robin sighed. “A bit shit,” she replied.
As she looked at him, they both chuckled, each recalling the same conversation between them from the past. Back then, it was on the occasion of Robin having found out that her ex-husband cheated on her.
“I know,” Strike acknowledged quietly, his eyes fixed on the fire again.
He didn’t want to betray how much her pain affected him. A similar experience from some time ago was deeply embedded in his memory – the time when he lost his aunt Joan to cancer. Back then, it was Robin who gently and with her unparalleled compassion kept him going on his worst days.
Robin observed him for a moment, then a fond smile appeared on her face.
“I’m really glad you’re here,” she said, her voice weaker than usual.
When he looked into her sad eyes and saw the tears that were threatening to fall, his arm went around her shoulder and pulled her gently to his side.
“Me too,” he said softly, resting his cheek on top of her head after she carefully nestled into him, enjoying the softness of his jumper and the warmth radiating from his body.
It took only a few minutes until Strike noticed that Robin had fallen asleep, her head still resting against his chest. He didn’t have the heart to wake her but glanced toward the staircase leading upstairs. Fully aware of the strain it would pose on his half-leg’s hamstring, he slowly managed to stand up without disturbing Robin and gently lifted her in his arms. She felt as light as a feather to him, fast asleep. He carefully walked up the stairs, paying attention to correctly balancing every step, and felt his heart beating in his throat when she suddenly snuggled more into him, moving her head in her sleep so that he could feel her soft breath in the crook of his neck.
Thankfully, he reached her bedroom without problems and slowly lowered her onto the bed, carefully taking her trainers off and covering her with the duvet. Robin sighed in her sleep and turned a little in his direction so that Strike got a full view of her face, rounded by the halo of her golden hair. The persisting paleness was still there, along with the veil of sorrow and tiredness, creating a few fine lines around her eyes. He knew she was exhausted, being on her feet all day, taking the pressure off her mother and helping her brothers to sort out the necessities.
He wished there was much more that he could do for her apart from what he was doing. Over the years, he gained a huge respect for Robin’s ability to deal with any difficulty life or work had thrown at her. Her strength and courage were as impressive as her compassion and devotion to work. The problem was, in her desire to help others, she often forgot about herself.
After a few more moments, Strike finally - and reluctantly - decided to let her rest and retreat to his own room. However, not before slowly and with a feather-light touch of his large hand stroking her head, unable to resist the urge to offer her some comfort even in her sleep.
He turned away and walked out of the room, quietly closing the door behind him. Still holding the door handle, emotions unexpectedly overwhelmed him, and he closed his eyes, letting out a heavy sigh. He opened them again and turned to go to his room, but froze on the spot when he noticed Linda standing at the door of her bedroom, holding an empty glass in her hand.
Strike was tongue-tied, unable to come up with anything cohesive. Sure, he hadn’t done anything wrong or indecent; hell, he wasn’t even sure if Robin’s mother had seen him carry her daughter in his arms. And yet, for some reason, he felt embarrassed.
However, when he saw Linda’s genuine smile appear on her face, the corners of his mouth slowly turned upwards and he nodded before walking away and disappearing into his room.
※※※※※
It was barely eight o’clock in the morning the next day when Strike turned another rasher of bacon on the pan in the Ellacotts’ kitchen. He got up quite early after a not-very-restful sleep, his brain overloaded with thoughts that simply wouldn’t go away and let him drift into a state of oblivion. As soon as the early spring sun lazily showed its first morning rays, he got up and decided to make breakfast for his hosts. It was the least he could do, not only for welcoming him to their home so gracefully.
“That smells wonderful.”
Linda’s voice startled him, but he mustered a small smile.
“I thought I’d give you a hand. I hope you don’t mind---“
“Of course, not!” Linda interrupted him, gratitude reflecting in her eyes.
“It’s almost ready,” Strike stated and popped a couple of bread slices into the toaster. “Coffee?”
“Yes, please. Milk and one sugar,” she answered with a smile. He passed her a mug and returned to work.
For a few quiet moments, she just watched him at work. He was precise, every one of his moves purposeful and skilled, keeping the work surface clean as he progressed - all of it showcasing his military background where tidiness became as natural to him as breathing.
Linda realised she never properly asked Robin about her partner, what he was like as a person. All her perception of him until recently was the result of a few dramatic events that happened to Robin and involved him. She knew she couldn’t go by anything that Matthew had said about Strike, because it was obvious that her daughter’s ex-husband hated the detective right from the start.
But the more she had the opportunity to watch Strike in everyday life, the more she liked him. As far-stretching as it may have sounded, he had even some traits that reminded her of her late husband, especially the quiet yet impressive way he carried himself. She finally understood why her daughter held her partner in such high regard. It wasn’t only his brilliant investigating skills and his willingness to give Robin the chance to do what she had always dreamed about. Despite his rather rough exterior, Cormoran Strike seemed like a genuinely good man to her, attentive, respectful, kind and every bit of a gentleman. One image especially burnt in her mind from the night before, cementing Linda’s favour of him – the image of the sleeping Robin being carried in his arms to rest. And there was one other thing…
“Here you go,” Strike interrupted her train of thought when he put a full plate and cutlery in front of her. “You should eat something; you’ll need the energy,” he added, the genuine care in his eyes making her smile. It was the first truly heartfelt smile since the day her world shattered to pieces.
“Thank you,” Linda replied and took a bite of a perfectly crunchy, buttered toast. “I could get used to this.”
Strike chuckled. “I have my moments,” he remarked, glad for the chance to lift the mood a bit.
“Oh, I think you have quite a few,” Linda reacted with a knowing smile, and she could swear he blushed before lowering his eyes. She chuckled. “Michael had the tendency to burn toasts…”
Her voice trailed off, the smile vanishing from her face. Her eyes welled up as she kept staring at the toast in her hand. Her bottom lip started quivering and her hand quickly reached to cover her mouth. Regardless of how strong the stabbing pain in her heart was, she refused to let it crush her. She knew it would eventually, but today was not the day.
Strike let her emotions run free, silently standing at the table as if to say You’re not alone, but tactfully not looking at her. When she composed herself, she flashed a quick smile at him while wiping away the tears that managed to escape her eyes. She appreciated the understanding she saw in his eyes.
The detective returned to the counter, loading another plate with some toasts and bacon. After preparing another mug of coffee, he put it alongside the plate on a tray he found in one of the cupboards and walked with it toward the kitchen door.
“I’ll be right back,” he informed Linda, passing her by.
She had no doubts about where his steps would lead him.
※※
He knocked gently on the door and didn’t have to wait long for a response.
“Come in,” he heard Robin’s voice and opened the door, walking in while balancing the tray easily in one hand.
Robin was sitting on the bed with the duvet still pulled over her legs. It looked like she had just woken up a few minutes ago, her hair slightly tousled and her eyes veiled with the last remains of the sleepy haze. Her smile at the sight of him, however, was as bright as if someone pulled the drapes away from a window to let the sunshine in.
“I thought I was still dreaming when I smelt the bacon,” she said, her widened eyes admiring the contents of the tray Strike just carefully put next to her on the bed. Suddenly, she felt ravenous and immediately took a bite of one of the toasts. With a sigh, she closed her eyes for a moment.
“Sorry… I’m starving,” she said shyly.
“I don’t blame you; you have barely touched anything apart from tea yesterday,” Strike remarked, with a soft smile. His heart bathed in the knowledge that he could make the start of her day a bit brighter.
Robin took a sip of the coffee, but when she swallowed the chewed bit of bacon, she suddenly stopped eating and her eyes met Strike’s gaze. Her blissful expression faded as she observed the familiar features of his face, and the smile lingering on his lips. All at once, she found herself fighting back tears – she couldn’t remember when was the last time someone showed so much care for her to bring her breakfast to bed. And they weren’t even romantically involved. Although…
Strike noticed the shift in her mood and was mildly alarmed.
“Robin?” he spoke softly, worry clouding the blue of his eyes.
She smiled, savouring the way he said her name. Acting purely on instinct, she leaned towards him and pressed a brief, soft kiss on his cheek.
“Thank you,” she whispered, swallowed hard, then lowered her eyes and hid behind the mug, taking another sip of her coffee.
Strike was speechless at first, releasing the breath he didn’t realise he was holding when she leaned toward him.
“’s all right,” he replied quietly, still a bit dazed.
Robin recovered meanwhile, enjoying her food.
“I could get used to this,” she said then, licking the dripping butter from her index finger.
“That’s what your mother said.” Strike chuckled, but internally thinking he could very easily get used to bringing Robin breakfast to bed every day.
She lifted her eyes, her mouth half-opened.
“You made breakfast for Mum?” she asked, amazed.
He shrugged and replied as if it was the most ordinary thing in the world. “Yeah. Not that I had much to do otherwise.”
She knew he was downplaying the thoughtfulness of his action in a typical Strike fashion. But she also knew what kind of man he was – the most caring and empathic man she had ever met. She shook her head and a slow smile crept across her face. Strike tried to decipher the expression on her face for it held many emotions – gratitude, awe, tenderness, love…
His brain froze for a moment, and he had to rewind the last emotion he thought he saw. But Robin suddenly laughed and reached for the last bit of toast on her plate, which she so quickly and expertly cleaned.
“One thing’s for sure,” she said then, suppressing a grin.
“What’s that?” Strike asked, quickly brought back to his senses.
“You’ve gained a friend for life in her.”
He snorted, but inwardly, his heart swelled with the feeling of victory.
Robin glanced at the time on her mobile phone. Sadly, no matter how wonderful the start of the new day has been, reality reminded her of what she still had to face. She sighed.
“I need to be at the florist at ten. She’s expecting me. I should start getting ready,” she said, her tone more sombre now.
“I’ll go with you,” Strike informed her without a blink of an eye.
The look she gave him was more rewarding than her excitement over the breakfast.
“Cormoran, you don’t have to---“
“I know… I’ll go with you,” he repeated, allowing no debate about the subject.
Robin swallowed the freshly threatening tears and smiled.
“OK…"
He stood up, taking the tray with the now empty plate and mug with him.
“Take your time,” he stated on his way out before closing the door.
Robin’s eyes remained staring at the door for a while, then she ran her hands over her face and exhaled loudly. A new day had begun and she was needed again. It was time to pull herself together.
※※
“Man, you really know your way around the kitchen,” Jonathan said to Strike, with a respectful nod, after having cleared his breakfast plate.
“The Army,” the detective remarked. “It teaches you to be independent.” He turned to face the younger man. It was obvious from his knitted brows and the earnest look in his eyes that he had something more to say, something more important.
“I’m sorry for being a tit at the dinner back then,” Strike apologised, cradling his mug of tea.
Jonathan looked up from his own mug and saw the genuine regret in the detective’s eyes.
“I’m not exactly sorry for what I said but the way I said it; it was wrong and rude,” Strike continued, decided not to be a hypocrite.
There was a brief moment of silence as they observed each other.
“Good to know you still think me an idiot,” Jonathan said then, amusement playing on his face.
The detective snorted, sensing the tension had been broken between them.
“No, I…” He sighed. “I wasn’t exactly myself that day, and you were just an easy target for my venting. I may not share your opinion of everything, but I behaved like a real prick, and I’m sorry.”
Jonathan smiled and outstretched his hand to him.
“All good,” he said. “I wasn’t exactly diplomatic myself. I’m sorry, too.”
Strike returned his smile and accepted his hand for a shake. Suddenly it seemed to him that Robin’s youngest brother matured somewhat over the almost two years since they had met last. Or maybe the sudden loss of his father had made him aware of the more important things in life, definitely closing the door behind his youth and stepping into the proper and often painful adulthood.
As they both turned to their drinks, a voice at the door made them turn their heads.
“I don’t want to interrupt your heartfelt reunion but we have to go now,” Robin said, smiling.
“Coming,” Strike replied immediately and put down his mug after one last sip. “Thanks, mate,” he said to Jonathan, with a pat on his shoulder, and walked to the hallway to retrieve his coat.
Robin’s smile lingered at her brother for a moment, who returned it before paying attention to his tea again.
They were already driving to the town, with Robin behind the wheel of her Landy, when she finally found the words.
“Thank you,” she said, her eyes on the road.
“For what?” Strike asked, looking at her.
“For what you said to Jonathan. He can be a little arsehole sometimes but he’s not a bad guy. It was really nice of you,” she replied and dared a glance at him.
Strike smiled, averting his eyes to the winding road ahead of them breaking the green and grey landscape in two halves.
“I thought it was only fair. I meant what I said.”
Robin’s mouth stretched into a grin. “So you do still think he’s an idiot?”
They both looked at each other and snorted.
“No,” Strike denied then. “He seems more…”
“Grown up?” Robin added.
He chuckled. “Yeah, something like that.”
“Well, someone has to do the growing up,” she concluded, and Strike thought he loved a cheeky Robin Ellacott.
※※※※※
Chapter 3
And I know love leads to pain
But memories serve our sweetest refrain.
- Ed Sheeran: Life Goes On
Strike stood still by Robin’s side while she finalised her order with the florist. Against his own will, he couldn’t stop mulling over his friend’s choice of flowers for the funeral - white Stargazer Lilies…
As they walked out of the small shop, crammed with flowers and greenery of all kinds and colours, his head was spinning - partially from the heady mix of various scents bombarding his nostrils from every direction and partially from a specific memory involving the same lilies Robin had just ordered. A memory that he would have rather erased from his troubled mind.
He was so engrossed in his thoughts that he only acknowledged Robin’s presence when her hand landed on his forearm, making him stop walking just as they had reached her Land Rover, parked up on the curb of a quiet side road.
”Are you all right?” she asked, puzzled but also curious.
”Yeah, I just…” Strike replied, and laughed, shaking his head, still bewildered. He finally cast a confused look at her. “White Stargazer Lilies…”
Robin sighed. ”I should have known you’d remember,” she remarked, wincing. “It was Mum’s wish. The white ones are often used at funerals, you know?”
“It’s fine, I just…” Strike couldn’t shake off the memory of Robin hating the very same flowers he had given her on one of her birthdays - out of sheer desperation to get a last-minute present because of course, he had forgotten about her special day again.
”I get it,” he said with a deep frown, suddenly feeling ashamed. “Getting funeral flowers on your birthday is not exactly a sign of friendly affection.”
Robin couldn’t help but feel sorry for him and smiled.
”It wasn’t…” she sighed, exasperated. Her eyes wandered about the empty street before settling on his face again.
Oh, sod it; I might as well tell him…
“The main reason why I was so annoyed when you gave them to me was that they reminded me of Sarah bloody Shadlock,” she said, rolling her eyes. “She gave them to me and Matthew at our housewarming party. There, you can stop being upset.”
She threw her hands in the air and exhaled louder than she intended. A small apologetic smile appeared on her face, followed by a shrug.
Strike’s frown still lingered above his deep blue eyes that held a curiosity she found difficult to ignore. It said, There’s more to it.
”What was the other reason?” he wanted to know with the relentlessness of the shrewd investigator that he was. They had torn down a lot of barriers between them over the last few months, and he wasn’t as afraid to ask about something so personal anymore. He was hungry for her thoughts.
Robin swallowed hard, lowering her eyes, suddenly unable to bear the intensity of his piercing gaze.
”It was nothing, just… I knew you had forgotten again that it was my birthday, and that’s fine, some people don’t remember their friend’s birthdays and---”
”Best friend,” Strike interrupted her.
”What?” Robin was startled.
”You’re my best friend,” he corrected her with an insistent tone.
Robin found herself with her mouth open, staring at him. He sounded almost offended that she would have omitted such an important detail. She managed to find her words then.
”Yes, I know… Anyway… I was just… I don’t know… really angry and disappointed because I thought….”
Strike’s frown and his narrowed eyes were willing her to continue. Her fingers were absent-mindedly playing with the zipper on her jacket, and she felt like one of their clients, hiding something important from them that could change the course of the investigation.
”I thought you didn’t care about me,” she blurted eventually, closing her eyes for a moment, then letting out a heavy, shaky breath.
When she opened her eyes again, she could barely contain a gasp. In an instant, Strike’s expression had changed into disbelief and something resembling sorrow.
”How could you ever think that?” His question was simple, but the pain in his quiet voice was raw and cut deep. “After all we’d been through up ‘till then?”
The truth was, Robin didn’t know the answer for sure.
Miscommunication? Better said, the lack of any regarding anything personal between us? she thought immediately. But if so, it wasn’t entirely his fault if she was fair.
”I don’t know… I guess we didn’t talk that much about… such things back then… I’m sorry…” she concluded after some struggle and dared to look into his eyes. Suddenly, she felt her old insecurities and fears creeping back into her mind, pushing the strong and brave Robin Ellacott temporarily into a dark corner.
Strike knew he would be crossing the line again, but he couldn’t care less at that moment. With one fluent move, he gathered her in his arms and held her tightly. There was a strong sense of protectiveness and urgency in his hold. Robin instinctively wrapped her arms around his waist, releasing a long sigh of relief.
”Never, do you hear me?” Strike whispered into her ear after lowering his head. His timber baritone voice sent shivers down her spine. “Never again think that I don’t care about you!”
There was so much more he wished to say, his heart shouting the same three words over and over again into the silence stretching between them, but this wasn’t the right time to say them out loud. And yet, he wished, oh, he wished… so badly that his chest hurt more than his whole body after the explosion that had torn half of his leg off.
”I know now,” Robin spoke softly, her breath warming the place close to his heart where her head rested. He could swear he felt it even through the thick layer of his coat and the sweater underneath.
”Good,” he replied, his lips dangerously close to the small, exposed bit of her neck as he breathed in the scent of her skin, instantly thrown back to the memory of their hug at her wedding. Back then, she smelt of roses. Now, she smelt very lightly of musk and bruised flowers. And then he remembered the impossibly soft feel of her lips on his cheek...
“Try to remember that for the future,” Strike added after he swallowed hard. “Just as I’ll try to remember setting a fucking reminder about your birthday on my phone for a month in advance so that Pat doesn’t have to shove it in my face on the day.”
She laughed into his chest, breaking the intensity between them.
You made it up for me the following year, she thought, her smile slightly fading as she remembered the less-than-satisfactory ending of her birthday celebration at The Ritz that night. She wouldn’t remind him of that, though…
In the confines of Robin’s embrace, Strike finally felt relaxed and comfortable again. Maybe too comfortable… Reluctantly, he pulled back to look at her, his arms still around her, although not as tightly anymore.
”You don’t have to do that,“ Robin said, a gentle smile back on her face. “It’s all right; nobody’s perfect.”
He knitted his eyebrows, feigning hurt. “How dare you ruin it, Ellacott? I’m trying fucking hard here!”
Robin laughed even more, her head falling on his chest again. She couldn’t help but tighten her hold on him, even if just for a little longer.
”You didn’t forget my last one,” she remarked with a wide smile, hidden from his view.
”Guess my brain had temporarily reached its limit for screwing up. But well, you know me…” Strike replied, amused.
”Yep, I do.” She chuckled, suddenly feeling proud that it was true.
Robin finally pulled back, and after one more look into his eyes, she slowly released him, reaching into her pocket for the car keys. Strike saw it as a cue they would be on their way again and walked around the Landy to get to his seat, still smiling and mildly dazed from the scent of her skin lingering in his memory.
”Strike…” her voice stopped him in his tracks, and he lifted his head, meeting her eyes across the Rover’s roof. “Thank you… for understanding, for… everything. It means a lot to me.”
The familiar wide, lopsided smile reached his eyes. “The feeling is mutual.”
With a beaming smile and a heart beating at a rate that could easily rival Ussain Bolt in his best form, Robin entered her battered, beloved Landy and sat down next to her equally battered and beloved best friend, whose grin didn’t disappear for a good while after they had set out on the journey back to the Ellacotts’ house.
※※
Robin entered the large kitchen, walking over to join her mother. Her arm went around Linda’s shoulders, and she pressed a peck on her cheek.
“Hey,” she said quietly. “We’re back.”
Linda’s smile was tired as she patted Robin’s arm, leaning a little into her for a moment.
“We’ve got everything sorted as you wanted,” the younger woman continued softly. “The flowers will be there in the morning on the day.”
“Thank you, darling,” Linda replied, genuinely grateful.
Robin watched her work for a while. Linda was dusting icing sugar over the apple pie she baked while Robin and Strike were in town. She was quite generous with the sweet, snowy layer, and her daughter contemplated remarking something about catching up on all the chocolate bars she had missed out on before her ill-fated wedding but then thought the better of it. She knew her mother well, and she knew that Linda would do anything but sit and stare into nothing now that her world had fallen apart so unexpectedly. Robin herself knew how devastating shutting oneself off from the world could be, having lived through her own trauma years back. Whatever made her mother go through the day, she would let her do it, watchfully standing by. A little, insistent voice in the back of her mind asked her What about you? but she chased it away, as many times in the previous three days, and opened the nearest cupboard.
“Tea?” she asked, glancing at her mother, who had turned on the sink tap and started washing up after her baking. Even after years, she refused to use the dishwasher one of her sons had installed in her large, rustic kitchen.
“No, thank you, dear. Stephen made me one just a little while ago,” Linda replied with a grateful smile.
Robin took out two mugs and popped a teabag in each, for her and Strike. Although the end of March was near, the whole of Yorkshire was mercilessly tested by bone-chilling weather, and after their outing in the gloomy morning, both detectives craved something warm.
“I must admit, he’s actually really… nice. Really nice,” Linda remarked suddenly, smiling into the sink while waiting until Robin filled the kettle. “There is something very pleasant about him.”
Robin almost dropped the kettle, but didn’t look at her mother. There was no need to ask who he was. She moved away from the sink and turned the kettle on, resting her hands against the worktop while waiting for the water to boil.
“I didn’t really get round to talking to him at the wedding. His manners are not at all what I had imagined.” Linda paused again as Robin gave her what reminded her of a look of annoyance over one’s favourite pet being insulted. “I mean… I didn’t really know what to expect as you never really talked about him as a... man.”
“There was never a proper chance,” Robin said, more settled again. “And Matt’s stupid jealousy and arrogance when badmouthing him everywhere didn’t help either.” Her voice was coloured with bitterness.
“Matthew was never a good judge of character or the most tactful man if I’m honest,” Linda admitted, bemused.
Why did you want me to marry him then for so long? Robin couldn’t help but ask in her mind. However, she decided not to comment on the biggest mistake of her life – willingly wasting a year of her life in a marriage which most of the time, had brought nothing but misery upon her.
“In truth, I’ve always assumed that there was a bit more under that rough exterior, even after that dinner disaster with Jonathan back then,” Linda continued about Strike. “I knew you could never respect and be friends with someone rude and arrogant.”
Robin remembered that fateful evening at her back-then housemate Max. All it was supposed to be was Strike giving Max some information about the army, at the aspiring actor’s request. All it turned out to be was Strike getting drunk before he had even arrived, venting his frustration from what preceded the dinner on Jonathan and his friends, and making Robin very upset.
“He had already come drunk to the dinner,” Robin explained. “His biological father called him that night and told him he had cancer… They’ve been estranged all his life. It just threw him off-balance.” She let her mother digest the information before continuing.
“I know that people who don’t know him closer think he’s rough around the edges, and he definitely has his flaws but…” Robin paused, exhaling, as she stopped stirring the tea in the mug and looked absently out of the window. She couldn’t suppress a gentle smile.
“He’s incredibly kind, empathic, decent and honest… His commitment to the job is so inspiring… Cormoran’s like a dog you throw a bone at. He chases it wherever it falls until he gets it, even if he has to run for days to find it. And he’s bloody clever; he’s an excellent people reader.” She chuckled and glanced at Linda. “He’d figure you out before you could figure out yourself.”
Linda’s eyes lit up with fondness as she observed her daughter with unmasked interest while Robin continued.
”Did I tell you that he almost killed me on the staircase when I first arrived at the office?” She snorted. “It was an accident, but his reflex was so quick that he probably saved my life.” Her voice softened. “I’ve never trusted any man in my life as much as I trust Cormoran. When I’m with him, I feel…” A long pause caused by a firework of emotions exploding in Robin’s heart. “Safe... and valued.”
Suddenly aware of herself, she flashed a smile at her mother and returned to finishing the teas.
Despite the grief she was living through since her husband had passed away, Linda couldn’t stop smiling, her eyes lingering on her only daughter.
“You should be careful,” she said when resuming her own work at the kitchen sink.
”Why?” Robin shot her a curious look.
Linda turned off the tap again, and while drying her hands in the kitchen towel, she looked at her daughter and stated the obvious fact.
“Because in case you’re trying not to, you might reveal more than you are willing to admit to yourself. And what’s more,” Linda added, smiling, “to him.”
Robin stared at her mother with an unnerving feeling that in a single unguarded moment, she had exposed her heart to its bare core. She swallowed hard. A quick smile was all she could manage to mask her embarrassment before averting her eyes to pick up the two cups of tea and go back to the living room. Suddenly, she heard her mother add one more observation, stopping her at the door.
“He’s stronger than one would assume with his handicap.”
Robin’s look was puzzled.
”I can’t imagine it being easy to carry an extra load up those stairs with his leg,” Linda added with a knowing smile.
It suddenly dawned on her… Only now, Robin stopped to think why she never wondered how she made it to bed the night before. They were sitting at the fireplace… A vague memory of someone lifting her appeared in her mind, its contours faint. The feeling of safety and warmth stepped forward immediately, though, refusing to be overlooked. Strike…
She didn’t know whether to kick herself or revel in the fact that he would risk an injury to his leg for her well-being. He could have just woken her up and told her to go to sleep, but he didn’t. Somewhere deep inside, a blossom of something started opening up, hope for something she had been dreaming of but never believed could be true…
“I’ll bring the pie,” Linda said softly, failing to wipe the smile off her face. The warm look in her eyes rested on her daughter, who was visibly struggling to keep her emotions at bay.
”OK,” Robin replied barely audibly and left the kitchen.
What she didn’t know, though, was that just as she turned away from the kitchen counter, prepared to leave, Cormoran Strike moved away from the shadow of the kitchen door, where he was out of sight, and hasted back to the living room to resume his place on the sofa. He didn’t intend to eavesdrop. All he wanted was to ask for a glass of water, but suddenly his body refused to move when he caught the conversation topic between mother and daughter.
Robin also didn’t know about the smile that softened his features and the exhilaration that made him suddenly feel like he could run a marathon, even with a metal leg.
※※※
Strike took the last sip of his tea, then looked at the page of the photo album he had just turned. He was sitting next to Robin on one of the sofas in the spacious living room, which reminded him of the pictures he saw in the Country Life magazine he browsed through while waiting for his medical appointment once. They were facing Linda and Robin’s older brothers Stephen and Martin, sitting on the sofa opposite them and browsing through a similar album in Linda’s hands. Jonathan was sitting on the floor next to his mother, his legs stretched out and his head leaning against the sofa’s armrest.
“Oh, this was in Cayton Bay, the first holiday we went to taking the Land Rover,” Linda said fondly. “Jonathan had just turned four.”
“Oh God, is this the one where I won the children’s Fancy Costume contest?” Stephen asked, embarrassed and frowning.
Martin grinned. “If you mean the one with you dressed up as Tin Man from The Wizard of Oz and Mum wrapped you in tin foil from head to toe, then yes, that’s the one.”
“Jesus, remind me never to mention that to Annabel,” his brother remarked, embarrassed even more. “I had enough of Jenny laughing her tits off at it.”
“Don’t worry, bro,” Jonathan joined the conversation. “That wasn’t the most embarrassing costume you’ve ever had on. Remember the Baywatch outfit – those way too small trunks were smashing.”
He laughed as a cushion landed on his head where Stephen threw it. Robin shook her head, a fond smile settling on her face. She paused to think about how much she loved her brothers, with all their flaws, pulling her leg time and time again, and joking about her divorced or single status, sometimes to the extent it was driving her crazy. All in all, there was an undercurrent of genuine care between all of the Ellacott siblings, instilled by their parents ever since they were born. Whenever things got rough for any of them, there was always someone on guard, ready to soften the blow.
Strike watched the emotions play on Robin’s face as she was lost in her thoughts. He didn’t want to stare but caught himself moved by her soft, almost vulnerable expression, and a gentle smile tugged on his lips. Strangely, he didn’t feel out of place sharing the space with the Ellacotts. He liked the sense of humour Robin’s brothers shared; their exchange reminded him of his friends Nick, Ilsa and Shanker. Maybe that’s why he felt an unexpected wave of belonging, which he was trying not to get used to. He knew he was there only for a few days and once the funeral was over, he would be back in London, sitting in his small attic flat alone, only with his memories.
But Robin will be back too…
After a few seconds, he forced himself to look away from Robin, only to meet Linda’s eyes. Judging by her smile, his musing didn’t go unnoticed.
“Did you ever dress up?” Strike asked Robin then, trying to sound casual.
Robin snapped back to reality as she registered his question.
“Oh… yeah, but nothing special,” she answered, not keen on elaborating when she remembered her costumes as a child, which were even more ridiculous than her brother’s.
“Come on, can’t be that bad,” Strike teased her, raising his eyebrows.
Damnit, Strike, why do you always have to catch me out?
“Come on, Rob, I already humiliated myself,” Stephen challenged his sister, smiling.
She rolled her eyes and sighed, unable to suppress a smile, though, noticing Strike’s curious expression.
“Sporty Spice,” she said then, shaking her head. Seeing the puzzled look on her friend’s face, she elaborated more. “One of the Spice Girls, the most popular girl group of the 90s.”
Strike’s mouth twitched with amusement. “I know who they are.” He chuckled at her amazed expression – an interest in pop culture was certainly not something she connected her partner with. “It’s just… I see you more like Scary Spice.”
The brothers laughed as the mischief in his eyes broke Robin – she grinned and playfully punched him into his arm.
“Good one, Cormoran,” Martin acknowledged, still grinning. “Trust me, she looked scary.”
“I was eleven,” Robin interjected, mildly annoyed. “And I had to improvise since somebody…” She pointed at Martin. “- forgot to put the bag with my tracksuit that I wanted to use into the Landy.”
The sombre atmosphere was lifted, even if just for a while, and everyone appreciated it, especially Linda. A feeling of warmth spread in her chest as she watched the friendly interaction of her family. Family… She suddenly realised there was one person who was not a family member, and yet…
Her eyes landed on Strike again, seeing the gentle expression on his face as he watched Robin when he listened to something she was explaining to him while pointing at some photo in the album in his lap. He wasn’t family on paper, but seeing the way Robin subconsciously leaned closer to him, her arm brushing his for a lingering moment, he might as well have been. His bulky, rough frame perfectly fit around Robin’s slender, feminine one. They looked almost like two puzzle pieces, shaped in a completely different way, and still fitting together perfectly…
Strike turned over another page in the album. His eyes fell on a photo with Skegness, 29th of July 1990 written underneath. Its colours were slightly faded, but the image was clear, and he felt a slow, soft smile growing on his face at the sight of a sweet little girl with blond braids, proudly sitting on a black donkey.
“Noddy?” he asked, casting a knowing look at Robin.
She let out a quiet gasp caused by utter amazement.
“Bloody hell, Strike! How come you…?”
“Yeah, I’ve heard I have quite a good memory,” Strike cut her off, amused at her stunned face. “For some things, at least,” he added.
Did she really think he could ever forget their conversation on the Skegness beach? It was one of his most treasured memories - a time when they allowed themselves to dive into much more personal territory, including some of their childhood memories.
“Yes, Noddy…” Robin replied eventually, smiling and still amazed that he remembered something so… insignificant about her. “And I won the race that day,” she added proudly.
“Never doubted you,” Strike replied, admiring the photo again. He was strangely thrilled, suddenly not feeling like a stranger on a visit to his friend’s house. It almost felt like he was a part of her memories, a part of her.
His eyes then dropped to the photo below, in which Robin was still sitting on Noddy, but a tall, handsome man with a pleasant, calm face was standing next to them, smiling proudly. Robin’s father…
It wasn’t the first photo Strike had seen of Michael Ellacott that day, but all the same, he glanced sideways at Robin to see her reaction. With the sight of each photo of her father, her face grew more melancholic. Even the light jokes she threw in between couldn’t have changed that. Strike watched the tension in her building as the time progressed, although she was trying extremely hard to hide it. He expected this reaction from the start; grief needs time and, above all, space to manifest itself, and he had yet to see Robin buckle under its weight. He marvelled at her mental strength, he always had, but especially in this, highly personal matter, Strike couldn’t help but think that his best friend was the strongest woman, no… person he had ever known.
Robin interrupted his musings as she suddenly stood up and started collecting the empty tea mugs from the coffee table.
“I’ll help you,” Linda said immediately.
“It’s fine, Mum. I’ve got this. More tea, anyone?” Robin’s voice was unnaturally high-pitched, and her smile forced. When everyone politely refused the offer, she collected the tray and walked away, aiming for the kitchen.
Strike wasn’t fooled for a second.
“Excuse me,” he said, a hint of a frown on his face, and raised himself to follow his partner.
As he entered the kitchen, he saw Robin furiously scrubbing one of the mugs under running water. She was applying so much pressure to it that Strike worried it might break in her hands and cut her. But she seemed completely oblivious to the danger. Her jaw was tight, her mouth drawn into a thin line, and her eyes pinned to the mug in her hands.
Strike slowly, as not to startle her, walked toward her, and once he stood by her side, he covered her fast-moving hands with his large one, stilling her, though he noticed her hands were shaking. With his free hand, he turned the water tap off. Robin didn’t flinch, but she didn’t dare look at him. The irrational fear of her true emotional state being exposed to anyone, especially to her partner, gripped her with its iron fist.
“Accepting help won’t make you any weaker,” Strike said quietly but firmly, his eyes focusing on her face.
“I know that,” she managed to reply with a weak, strained voice, her chest heaving now.
“Robin, you can’t keep trying to do everything by yourself and shutting your pain under lock and key,” he pressed on. “I've been there. I know how it feels, and it's a fucking scary place to be in." He paused. “Lt me help you.”
He slowly pulled his hand away and waited for her response.
She hesitated for a moment but then turned on her heel and hurriedly left the house through the back door leading into the garden.
Strike’s frown deepened, and with a heavy sigh, he followed her out.
The late afternoon was veiled in dark, thick clouds gathered in the sky, sucking all colours out of the world and covering everything with angry shades of grey.
A storm was coming.
※※※※※
Chapter 4
Before I save someone else
I’ve got to save myself.
- Ed Sheeran: Save Myself
Need air… I can’t breathe… I just… can’t breathe…
Robin ran through the garden, stopping after a few metres, bending over and trying to catch her breath.
No, no bloody panic attack again… Not this time!
She forced herself to stand upright again and take a few deep breaths to steady her nerves. Once she managed to do so, although still extremely tense, she was set on busying herself with something. She walked over to the nearby garden shed and started pointlessly re-arranging the alignment of small, empty terracotta plant pots, turned upside down and decoratively lining the area around the shed.
With every step Strike took closer toward her, his heart grew heavier. He stopped a few steps later, giving her physical space for whatever had to come next. The clouds painted the sky in even darker shades than before, and the sound of thunder echoed in the distance. Despite the low temperature, the air was thick, making breathing more laborious. The detective braced himself mentally for the inevitable.
Robin was still pointlessly moving the plant pots, her pace frantic now, causing her breath to get shorter and heavier, but she was relentless.
“Robin…” Strike spoke calmly.
“It’s not fair,” she suddenly said between gritted teeth. “Not fair!”
He didn’t respond just kept watching her, feeling the first, cool raindrops landing on his face.
“It’s way too soon… He should be here,” Robin continued, moving the pots about, her body language betraying her weakening self-control. “He should watch his grandchild grow and make Stephen teach her about sheep… and love and be loved by his wife, instead of letting her go to bed crying every night…” More furious pots moving, followed by slamming the shed door shut after the sudden gust of wind had opened it.
“He should enjoy Martin finally building a life for himself… and Jonathan graduating from Uni in a few months…”
She paused, contemplating the plant pot in her hands and getting soaked from the rain that was suddenly heavy now. Her chest was heaving again as if she had been running.
“He should watch his failure of a daughter finally having found some fucking true happiness and purpose in her life!”
Strike expected it but jerked anyway as the pot crashed on the shed wall against which Robin had thrown it with all her strength, exactly at the moment when a loud thunder reverberated above them.
All hell broke loose in the sky, turning the rain into an aggressive downpour. Yet Strike remained rooted to his spot, mercilessly getting drenched, his eyes straining to see Robin, who was now grabbing pot by pot and smashing them against the garden shed in fury, oblivious to getting soaked as well. Her strength was wavering though, as the last pot she threw didn’t break, only fell to the ground into the mining field of terracotta shards.
As if the sudden look at the damage she had done broke something in Robin, she covered her face with her hands and almost bent over as the first heart-wrenching sob escaped from her throat, followed by more, each of them louder and more desperate.
Only then did Strike finally move, approaching her slowly from behind. His arms wrapped around her and pulled her close, anchoring her to him. Robin’s suffering was tearing him to pieces inside, but he held her tight, until she surrendered after a short and weak fight, and leaned into him helplessly, her hands grasping at his forearms for support.
“It hurts…!” she cried her pain out, her breath hitching between the sobs. “I can’t stand it…!”
“I know,” Strike admitted painfully into her ear, his eyes squeezed shut. “But you’ll learn to live with it… I promise you.”
Using her last strength, Robin turned around in his arms and buried her head in his chest, letting her despair and grief run free and her tears mingle with the wall of rain. Strike’s drenched coat felt cold against her cheek but she barely noticed it. She needed the support that had carried her through so much over the years, she needed him. Her crying was slowly losing its intensity as the sudden excruciating pain in her chest wore her out and started weakening.
The rain kept battering them with its icy hands as they stood there in a tight embrace, shivering in the middle of the downpour.
Let it all out, Robin… I’m here…
The clouds in the sky started tearing apart, letting a glimmer of light onto the land as the storm was slowly letting go of its anger. Robin finally stopped crying and despite trembling from cold, she melted completely into Strike’s solid frame as he tenderly stroked her wet hair, plastered around her face.
“Come,” he said then quietly. “We better get inside.”
She followed him without a word, still leaning heavily into his body as they walked, his arms resting firmly around her shoulders.
As they reached the back door, they spotted Martin and Jonathan standing there, their faces the same image of sorrow, compassion and understanding. They draped a blanket each over Strike’s and Robin’s shoulders as they all entered the house again. With some effort, the detectives scraped off their boots so as not to sod the floor with the mud from the garden.
Strike’s arm went around Robin and he looked up again, seeing Linda standing at the living room door, watching them. Stephen stood behind her, his hands resting on her shoulders. Linda’s tears-strained face spoke for her, just as Strike’s eyes did for him. Robin’s senses were numb after her internal battle, and she barely looked up as they passed her mother and oldest brother. And since understanding, just like pain is a universal language and doesn’t need verbal expression, no one uttered a word.
※※
Robin was standing in the middle of the bedroom, back to her senses but totally devoid of energy, feeling as though her body was not her own but only some shell where her mind and soul were randomly trapped. Although she had known the room ever since she could remember, having been a part of her family home, the place suddenly seemed like a faraway land to her – strangely familiar and yet not feeling like home.
Strike had just returned from the bathroom and wordlessly started towelling her wet hair, not minding his own, the state of which was lamentable after the rainstorm. His hands worked carefully and systematically, drying out as much moisture as they could from her golden strands, which seemed much darker now. Robin’s tired, reddened eyes watched him attentively while he was working.
She didn’t usually have many possibilities to stand so close to him and see the finest details of every trace of his unmistakable face. The intensity of his grey-blue eyes, the many fine lines around them and on his wide forehead as deep focus knitted his thick eyebrows, the first hints of silver in his stubble and hair, the slightly off-centred lips she couldn’t help but drop her gaze to…
Robin felt like in an absurd dream. Only a few minutes ago, she was drowning in her deepest sorrow and depression, yet here she was, her focus solely on the man tending to her well-being, standing so temptingly within her reach.
Is it possible to feel grief and yearning at the same time?
Obviously, it was.
Strike finished the towelling and slowly combed Robin’s hair. She was transfixed by his gentle movements and his warm gaze when he looked at her.
“Will you be all right with changing or shall I send your Mum to help you?” he asked then, his eyes still on her, not failing to notice that she was shivering.
“I’ll be f-f-fine,” she stuttered, only then realising how cold she felt.
“OK, I’ll be right back, I’ll just…” He pointed at his drenched clothes and left her with a small smile, closing the door discreetly behind him.
Still in a strange daze, Robin’s head finally decided to co-operate and her trembling hands reached for the hem of her sweater as she started undressing.
Strike closed the door of his bedroom and leaned his forehead against it. The past half an hour had taken more strength out of him than a full day of the toughest training in the Army. He could barely feel his three-and-a-half limbs, freezing from the cold but ironically, he was burning up at the same time. The way Robin studied his face while he was drying her hair shook him to the core.
Stop it… right now! How twisted it is to find pleasure in it with a funeral hanging in the air?!
Annoyed with his lack of self-control, he pushed himself off the door and after grabbing some clean clothes, he started stripping the wet layers from his body. The last thing he put on then was his navy blue zipper jumper, instantly making him feel warmer. He put the wet clothes in an empty Tesco bag that he always had in his holdall, to deal with later. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment, steadying his nerves. Only then did he set out for the kitchen.
※※
Linda Ellacott was staring out of the window into the now-darkening evening sky that carried no traces of the storm that had just passed. The raw emotional display of her daughter’s feelings left her deeply shaken; she herself was standing on the edge of an abyss, trying to do everything in her power not to fall into it. She knew, though, that strength is short-lived and sooner or later, the thread holding the nerves and mind steady would snap and cause havoc before things would calm down again.
She turned her head at the sound of Strike’s distinctive footsteps as he walked in.
“Are you all right?” he asked with care, causing a small smile to appear on Linda’s face.
“Yes, thank you,” she replied, although her eyes told a different story, and he knew it.
“Sorry, I just…” he said quietly. “I thought Robin could do with some tea.”
“Of course, and you too, I guess. That was some storm…” Linda replied, quickly wiping away her tears and taking out two mugs from the cupboard, passing them to Strike. He caught the double meaning of her words, but smiled and silently started with the tea preparation.
Once the kettle switch went off, Linda found the strength to speak again.
“How is she?”
He sighed before answering. “Better.”
Linda nodded and remained silent for a moment, swallowing the tears that were threatening to fall again.
“Robin has always tried to be so strong.” Her voice was quiet. “Not only since… you know.” Strike nodded. “I think she’s always felt she has to prove herself. No surprise with three brothers by her side…” She leaned against the worktop and turned her face to him while was stirring the teas.
“My sons are all good boys, but bless them, they can be quite difficult sometimes. Robin has always been the one who tried to find balance and restore peace between us all. She’s not afraid to tell them off, but she only ever tells the truth, and they listen to her. Well, most of the time.”
Strike couldn’t suppress a smile.
“I can believe that,” he remarked fondly, able to relate a lot.
“She has always been the one trying to look after others more than herself, and it started to worry me after some time. Michael was the same… When Robin was with Matthew, I thought she had found someone who would look after her, but that was true only for a short while. Even before the marriage, I knew it couldn’t end up well because I could see that for some time, she wasn’t happy in that relationship, with Matthew being the dominant one. It was difficult to believe that the same strong woman we knew from home was almost someone else when being with him.”
Her words made Strike look at her, his interest piqued. Of course, he knew she was right, but it was still quite unexpected to hear it from her. He thought she was always in favour of the marriage.
“Michael and I have always supported her, whatever choices she had made. But it wasn’t until she started working for you that she found a real purpose. Before that, she often seemed a little lost and uncertain of the life she was supposed to lead by conventional standards. She wasn’t happy and yet, she was still going on for others, while struggling herself. “
Strike observed her quietly, not sure where all this was leading, but eager to know anyway.
“See, Cormoran, what I’m trying to say is that I am very grateful you are in Robin’s life... Not just for giving her the chance to do what she loves, but mainly… for looking after her. Not only these past days but ever since the beginning. Maybe we haven’t shown much gratitude over the years, probably because we didn’t ask her enough to get behind what we knew mainly from the newspapers or TV. I know Robin values your friendship more than anything else, and knowing she has someone in her life she trusts completely and who has her back makes me happier than you could imagine.”
Strike wasn’t often lost for words. Whatever emotional state he was in, he was mostly able to react to any kind of comment, regardless of how distressing, offensive or moving it was. However, Linda Ellacott managed to render him speechless. It took him a while until he was able to speak again.
“Robin…” he started, searching for the most accurate words. “She has made everything better for me, at work and in life. I look after her because I…”
He lowered his eyes for a moment, almost revealing too much. His effort to sound casual proved a failure.
“I care about her… She sees me for who I am, without insisting on changing me. No woman… No one else has ever done that. She’s my best friend.” And so much more…
It was getting difficult for Strike to bear Linda’s penetrating look. His emotional defence barrier, which he so often used when speaking about anything personal, got huge cracks in the last few days. Linda’s smile grew wider as she regarded him knowingly, with fondness he would never have expected when he had crossed her threshold.
“I guessed as much,” she stated, patting him on his forearm before making to leave the kitchen. Suddenly she turned on her heel to face him again, as his eyes couldn’t help but follow her.
“You know, I think you should talk to Robin… when the time is right,” she said quietly. “I may not be young anymore, but I’m not blind yet… And we never know how much time we get with those we… care about.” Her voice faded.
Strike was stunned, finding it hard to believe what he had just heard. However, deep inside he knew there was no question about what she meant.
When the time is right… A sense of déjà vue hit him hearing those words.
“Better take that tea up to her before it gets cold,” Linda added warmly before disappearing from his sight – and making him speechless again.
Robin was standing at the same place where Strike had left her before leaving the bedroom. She was dressed in dry clothes, though, clad in a flannel shirt and her joggers, wearing thick winter socks. Her first instinct was climbing into bed but for some reason, she remained rooted to the spot and staring at the door.
“I’ll be right back…”
What was wrong with her? Her rational thinking was clearly gone after her breakdown when she was dumbstruck by the mere thought of Strike’s hands in her hair, remembering the precious – for him surely just practical – moments from not long ago…
She took a shaky breath and decided to hide in bed after all, when the door suddenly opened again, revealing Strike, carrying two mugs of steaming tea.
“Here,” he passed her one but took it back from her only a moment later when he noticed her violently shaking hands. She had almost spilled the tea.
“Sorry,” she apologised, closing her eyes, feeling ashamed. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me…” Her breath hitched.
“A belated shock,” Strike said calmly, putting both mugs on the bedside table next to the switched-on elegant, cream-coloured lamp. “You’re still recovering.” He noticed her whole body was shivering. “And bloody freezing.”
Without thinking, he took off his jumper and gave it to Robin, remaining in his T-shirt. She stared at it, comprehending only slowly. She had her own spare sweaters…
“Put it on,” he said matter-of-factly and moved to the bed, pulling the bed cover and duvet away a little.
Without further questions, she did as he asked, her trembling hands pulling the zipper right up to her chin. She closed her eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply. His warmth and masculine scent still lingered in it. Although the shaking hadn’t stopped yet, the mental relief came immediately – as well as something more powerful…
She turned around to look at what he was doing and saw him standing by the bed, watching her. He outstretched his hand to her, raising his eyebrows.
“Would you rather join the polar bears?” he asked, his practicality back in place.
Robin managed to walk the few steps toward him, wondering how come he didn’t shiver from the cold, and finally climbed into bed. Strike started pulling the covers over her, but her shaking hand caught his wrist, stopping him; her eyes were afraid to look at him, though.
Strike neither moved nor spoke, staring at her trembling hand which was burning his skin… Then he looked at her face, seeing her internal struggle playing out clearly on it. The woman who had never asked for help in any personal matter, and always prided herself on being able to deal with anything even if all hell broke loose, The same woman was now asking for his help. And it didn’t take him more than a second to understand what she silently wanted him to do.
“OK,” he said with a barely audible voice, making her finally meet his gaze. The relief in her blue-grey pools was immense – she had half-expected him to refuse.
“But first, have a bit of this,” he said, reached for one of the mugs on the bedside table and put it closer to her mouth.
Robin managed to take a couple of clumsy sips, then moved a little to the side of the bed. Strike watched the shivering bundle in his jumper that his best friend had turned into, and suddenly felt something restricting his throat. It was painful for him to see her in such a state, but he was grateful that she chose him to be the one to comfort her. Instinctively, she must have known that he would have done anything for her...
He sat down on the edge of the bed, taking a deep breath. Then he slowly stretched out his large bulk on the mattress, ignoring the slight pressure of his prosthesis, and leaned against the headboard only inches away from her. Robin was sitting with her arms around her knees, suddenly feeling very vulnerable but she dared a look at him. The smile that reached his eyes touched her deep inside, and she fought fresh tears away. As bizarre as the situation may have seemed, he was there for her, throwing personal boundaries out of the window, because that’s what best friends did…
Strike opened his arm to her, inviting her to share his warmth. Robin happily accepted, lying down and leaning into him. He pulled the covers over her, and his arms went around her, rhythmically moving his hands up and down, to warm her shivering body. Robin’s face was resting on his chest and she could hear his heartbeat – it wasn’t slow but it was calming her shaken nerves. So many times in the past, she had imagined them like this, although the context was miles away from the one they had found themselves in now.
Her feelings for him were as strongly present as ever before, maybe even more so, but this felt different. She was like a broken porcelain vase, holding intact with the help of strong glue, although the damage had created a visible pattern. In Strike’s arms, she felt like the broken pieces of her soul had fallen into place, making her whole again. At that moment, she couldn’t have asked for more.
“Thank you,” she whispered after a while of silence in the softly-lit bedroom. Behind the window, the early evening covered the land with a velvety blue veil.
Strike gently stroked her hair.
“You’re not a failure,” he said quietly. “Quite the contrary. You’re exceptional in every possible way… and your father knew it.”
Robin, whose shaking was already subsiding, moved her arm under the covers and snaked it around his waist, burying her head even more into his broad chest. Her only reply was a deep, shaky sigh that ruffled Strike’s T-shirt, tenderly touching his heart with an invisible hand before his arms locked tightly around her.
※※
Linda pushed the half-opened bedroom door open and stood still, transfixed by the scene revealed to her. She came to see if her daughter was feeling better but the sight of Robin peacefully sleeping in Strike’s arms brought water to her eyes. She swallowed hard, feeling a sharp stab at her heart for having lost the same precious connection to someone special. But then her motherly love prevailed, and a ghost of a smile appeared on her troubled face.
She quietly entered the room, walked over to the bed and put a plate with a few ham and cheese sandwiches on the bedside table. She cast one more look at the two people resting in each other’s arms after some heavy moments. Both of their faces looked tired but relaxed; their entwined bodies reminded her of the two puzzle pieces again.
Suddenly she felt like a stalker and mildly embarrassed, although still smiling, Linda left the room, quietly closing the door behind herself and another difficult day of their lives.
※※※※※
Chapter 5
Sneaks its way past, infecting everything
And every chapter has an end
But this is one momentous sequel, don't you think?
- Ed Sheeran: Borderline
Cormoran Strike was sitting on the stony steps leading to the lavish, symmetrically designed gardens in front of an old mansion house, and contemplating his second beer. The wedding reception was about to start soon, but thankfully, the bar was already open. Despite the fact that the detective hadn’t slept for more than twenty-four hours and spent about six hours in the car racing to get to Robin’s wedding, his brain was still functioning, albeit much slower than usual. His stump was throbbing from the running he did from the car to the church, but that pain was barely noticeable compared to the ache he felt in his heart.
It’s done… She’s officially out of reach…
He squinted in the sun glaring on his face but failing to warm him. The coldness he felt inside would be difficult to drive away.
“You surely know how to enter the stage, Mr Strike,” a manly, cheerful voice said behind him.
Strike turned his head and saw a tall man in his mid-sixties, with a friendly face and sincere eyes take the last few steps toward him. His suspicion was confirmed when the man outstretched his hand in his direction.
“Michael Ellacott, Robin’s father,” the older man stated.
“Cormoran,” Strike replied, accepting the hand after he stood up to walk up the stairs. “And it wasn’t exactly what I had planned.”
An amused smile appeared on Michael’s face. “Well, it was certainly memorable. What exactly did you plan, if you don’t mind me asking?”
The detective chuckled, then sighed, very tired.
“I think… not letting my friend down by ignoring her invitation,” he said. “But mainly, apologising and asking her to come back to work.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Michael remarked.
Strike raised his eyebrows. “Really?”
“Of course!” The older man laughed. “I know my wife doesn’t seem to appreciate it and I’m truly sorry about it, but Robin’s finally doing something she loves and seems really good at it. I must confess, I was a bit angry when you fired her, but then she told me what she did, and I can’t really blame you, not to speak about the fact that it was bloody dangerous for her.”
Strike smiled, feeling relieved.
“Your daughter is the most headstrong woman I’ve ever known, with an extremely strong moral compass. Meaning, things can get a bit… challenging sometimes,” he explained, grinning.
“Oh, tell me about it.” Michael shook his head. “I only wish she was more like that in her private life.” His eyes suddenly had a faraway look.
Strike wondered what he meant; Robin definitely seemed headstrong enough for him even outside of work.
“Anyway…” Michael smiled again. “It’s good of you to come, Cormoran. I know my daughter and I know she’ll appreciate your plan.”
“I really hope so,” Strike replied. “She’s not just really good at what she does; she’s exceptional."
It should have been a mere stating of a known fact, yet the softness in his voice betrayed him, and he blamed his fatigued brain for it. Suddenly he was paying a lot of attention to his beer glass.
Robin’s father observed him for a moment before he spoke again.
“Trust her, Cormoran, but also, look after her. She deserves to be looked after well.”
Strike searched his eyes, instinctively feeling there was more to his words.
“I will,” he replied. “I always have… apart from this one time, but that won’t ever happen again. I promise.”
No more words were spoken between them as the older man smiled once more. Strike nodded and watched him walk back toward the guests scattered in groups across the perfectly cut lawn, chatting or sipping happily on their drinks.
The detective exhaled loudly, releasing at least some pressure that was sitting on his chest, and decided it was time for another drink indeed. He was shattered, hungry, heartbroken and barely keeping his eyes open. But he still had to talk to Robin and by Christ he would, no matter how long he’d have to wait.
After getting his beer, he walked back to his spot on the stairs and sat down heavily, relieved to take the pressure off his injured leg. He closed his eyes in the face of the sun again and although he wasn’t a believer, he couldn’t help but pray…
※※
Strike was standing at the large living room window of the Ellacotts’ family home, looking out at the sunlit morning that bore no traces of the storm from the day before. The coffee was getting cold in the mug he was cradling; deep in his thoughts he almost forgot about it.
The memory of his conversation with Robin’s father appeared unexpectedly, just like the recollection of his feelings from back then. It had been one of the most painful days of Strike’s life, when he thought he had lost the most precious thing he had, both in life and at work. He remembered very well the hollow, cold feeling in his chest while he was waiting for Robin to appear so he could beg her to return to work. And yet, he could never forget the way her wedding dress gently swayed around her curves as she slowly and a bit hesitantly walked toward him, the sunlight catching in her golden hair, decorated by delicate, white roses. He had never seen anything so mesmerizingly beautiful. And then he remembered the hug on the stairs which nearly robbed him of his senses…
“Penny for your thoughts?” Robin’s voice brought him back to the present.
“Be careful what you wish for,” Strike teased her, smiling.
She raised her eyebrows. “You never know, I might like what I’d hear,” she added.
He finally looked at her, and her gaze almost broke him.
Robin’s eyes travelled to the window, cradling her own mug of coffee. Her courage waned a little and she didn’t dare keep looking into his eyes. He sensed her tension.
“Strike, last night…”
“Was all right,” he stated, making her look at him after all. “Your heart broke and needed support. And before you say it, yes, I could have said no, but I did what I wanted to do. You needed to feel safe, and if falling asleep in your best friend’s arms was what you needed to do so, I was more than happy to help.”
They were gazing at each other for a while, both having so much more to say and yet not finding the words. Robin wished to tell him it wasn’t just her best friend’s arms she needed and appreciated; Strike dying to tell her how not one night he had spent making love to Charlotte for the better part of sixteen years could ever compare to the incredible few hours he had spent watching and feeling Robin sleep on his chest…
A small smile finally found its way on Robin’s face, and she didn’t even bother with hiding the admiration in her eyes.
“You are amazing,” she whispered, only then realising how revealing her words were. But she didn’t care; she wanted him to know.
Strike’s mouth went dry, but he managed to maintain self-control somehow.
“If we’re playing with adjectives then after last night, you know which one I would use for you,” he replied quietly, his eyes darkened but calm. Exceptional…
Robin’s smile widened, making Strike grin. His irresistible trademark made her heart leap and she couldn’t help it – she laid her hand on his arm and squeezed it gently before putting down her mug and leaving him alone for a moment. When she returned, she had his blue jumper, neatly folded, in her hands. She looked at it fondly for a longer-than-necessary moment before passing it to him.
“Thank you…” She found it surprisingly hard to part with the physical representation of his nearness.
Strike gently refused it, his hands brushing hers. “Keep it,” he said, then blinked. “For now…You might still need it.” He looked back to the window. Suddenly he felt he was pushing too hard; he had to slow down for her sake, keeping his feelings in check for a bit longer…
But Robin found him anything but pushy. Her wide smile returned as she pressed the jumper to her chest in an involuntary move.
“A piece of the Cornish giant to keep me warm,” she teased. “Bloody lucky me…”
When their eyes met, the electricity between them was palpable again. The sound of the footsteps on the staircase broke the magic, though, and each of them retreated to the safe zone – side by side, looking out of the window and finally taking a sip of their coffee.
※※
It was a surprisingly beautiful, sunny day when the world was saying farewell to Michael Ellacott. After the chilly, mostly grey and occasionally wet days since his passing, the much warmer and brighter weather, which had seen the return of colours into everything, seemed almost indecent. But Strike would be the last one to protest.
He had his share of funerals to attend in his life in the past – Leda, Joan, a few soldiers from his unit in Afghanistan... Here, as a self-invited guest, he probably should have felt embarrassed, but the way the Ellacotts accepted and welcomed him since his unexpected arrival, and above all, the fact that Robin quite obviously appreciated having him near, was more than enough reason why he was wearing his Italian suit under his coat that day. Moreover, he had difficulty hiding his shock when Stephen told him he would sit right behind Linda and her children at the memorial.
Strike was expecting he would pay his respects from somewhere in the back, and the fact that he somehow made it among the closest members of Michael Ellacott’s family both stunned and unnerved him. But as soon as he sat down next to Stephen’s wife Jenny and little daughter Annabel and saw Robin sitting almost right in front of him, he was able to relax.
Even the almost constant fidgeting of the toddler sitting next to him and now and then studying him with the large three-year-old eyes didn’t unsettle him, although he wasn’t keen on children, except his favourite nephew Jack. He couldn’t quite grasp why someone would bring a toddler to a funeral but didn’t dwell on it for long. Casting a few glances at little Annabel, he suddenly found it hard to find that angry-looking, bald monkey he remembered from the photo Robin had shown him after the girl was born. And when Annabel suddenly grinned at him, he couldn’t suppress an amused smile and spontaneously, without thinking why, he winked at her. The girl giggled quietly and turned back to her mother.
Strike’s smile slowly faded, before a bemused expression settled on his face, while his eyes still lingered on the spot he saw Annabel’s face grinning at him. He looked up and saw Robin watching him with a smile that revealed she had seen his little exchange with her niece. The softness in her unguarded look caused a strange sensation in the pit of his stomach. It was as if she suddenly saw something in him that he himself had never seen before.
I still don’t really like children… even if this little monkey is quite tolerable…
Before he could react in a more sophisticated manner than just stare, Robin turned her head again, so he could only see her profile. He sighed quietly and tried to focus on the memorial that was just about to start.
※
Everybody gathered around the place where Michael Ellacott was about to be laid to rest. Masham wasn’t a large town, but still, the number of people who came to say goodbye to their own was impressive.
Linda made every effort to keep calm, holding on to Martin’s arm. However, her daughter clearly saw the strain on her face. The tight jaw and the watery eyes set firmly on the coffin in front of her were all-telling. Robin briefly squeezed her hand, exchanging a small, sad smile with her. The breakdown she had suffered two days earlier left her emotionally depleted, and she was just barely holding up physically.
Strike, who had silently accompanied Robin on their walk from the memorial, gently stroked her shoulder and wanted to join people in the back but she stopped him.
“Please…” she breathed, unable to finish, but her eyes begged him.
A little nod and a small smile was his reply as he took a couple of steps to stand right behind her, so close that Robin could feel his warmth on her back. She fought off the urge to lean back against him. While he was there, she knew he would not let her fall, whatever happened.
“Thank you,” she whispered, looking ahead.
Strike didn’t reply, but his heart was aching for her, knowing what power grief had over her. He laid his eyes on the coffin ahead of them, thinking about the past and wondering why some people’s lives are made of endless funeral processions and saying goodbyes.
As he was listening to the vicar’s words about the inevitability of returning where we came from (translated in his mind as from nothing to nothing), he briefly lifted his eyes to the ocean-blue sky, with only a few white smudges of puffy clouds. He caught sight of a heron, elegantly floating in the air high above before disappearing in the distance. Being familiar with symbols and various interpretations of practically everything in life due to his late mother, he couldn’t stop thinking about what the bird represented. Among other things it was patience, helping us to slowly but surely arrive at our desired destination; wisdom, derived mainly from life experience; transformation, meaning that wherever we start in life, we always have the potential to transform into something greater; and self-possession, as the ability to stay in command of oneself, accept things as they are and make situations work in one’s favour.
Strike was suddenly hit by the significance of all these in his own life. As with every human being, he had evolved and matured, and life had taught him lessons that seemed almost inconceivable when he first set foot on the grounds of his university in Oxford. He had gone a long way since then, suffering injuries to his body, heart and soul, but fate had also given him a job that he loved and another, possibly the greatest gift of his life, and he finally felt that his good fortune was within his reach as it had never been before. As he looked back at the place where the undertakers were just lowering the coffin with Michael Ellacott’s body to become one with the earth, the memory of their only encounter resurfaced in his mind again. He couldn’t help but feel strangely moved at how much trust the man had placed in him, without even properly knowing him. Strike had made a promise that day and knew that he intended to keep it, come what may.
The funeral had ended and people who had known the deceased created a beeline to express their sympathy to the family. For the second time, Strike intended to step aside and join the line to pay his respect, but for the second time, Robin stopped him in his tracks. This time, as if she had felt his intention, her left hand reached behind her back and found his hand, stilling him. His heart leapt, and Strike couldn’t resist gently entwining his fingers with hers. It wasn’t the most natural position for a handhold but it would do.
It’s all right, Robin; I’m here…
Had he imagined it or did he really hear a sigh of relief coming from her? Either way, he watched as people passed her and the rest of the Ellacotts and mostly silently shook hands with them before moving on. All the time, Robin’s hand remained in hold with Strike’s while she used her right hand to shake hands with familiar faces but also a few strangers, politely accepting their condolences. Whether it was common decency or a simple lack of curiosity, no one questioned the presence of the total stranger standing behind the only daughter of Michael Ellacott.
Robin felt relief when the last person in the beeline shook her hand and moved on. She closed her eyes for a moment and in an unguarded moment, she involuntarily leaned back slightly, making gentle contact with Strike’s chest. The brief moment of physical reassurance helped her steady her nerves. What neither of them expected to see was one more person suddenly approaching them with a slow, weary step.
Matthew…
There was an awkward moment of silence when their eyes met, Robin looking emotionless, her ex-husband genuinely sorry. When his eyes travelled to Strike, standing like a watch tower behind Robin’s slim frame, there was a surprising lack of anger and hatred that used to be in his look years before when he was still a part of Robin’s life. As he glanced down at the detectives’ intertwined hands, Strike didn’t miss a look of resignation in his eyes.
“I’m really sorry for your loss, Robin,” Matthew finally spoke quietly, deciding not to use the usual Robs as he used to call her all the years since they had known each other. “He was a good man.”
Robin nodded a little, appreciating his words. “Thank you,” she replied with genuine gratitude. Whatever had transpired between them over the years, he was there at the time of her greatest need in her early life, and she respected that. But she was also too tired to say anything more.
Matthew lightly shook her hand and to Strike’s surprise, he nodded in his direction before moving on to the rest of her family. Robin remained standing at her spot for a few more moments, even after her mother and brothers started slowly walking away, Linda with her arm still around Martin’s and wiping the silent tears from her face.
Strike felt the sorrow coursing through Robin’s veins as if it were his own. Instinctively, he leaned forward and gently kissed the top of her head. He couldn’t see Robin closing her eyes, making a tear escape and run down her cheek, but he felt her squeeze his hand, acknowledging and appreciating not only his gesture but especially his presence.
After one last look at the still uncovered grave where her father rested now, she slowly turned to Strike, reluctantly releasing his hand. As their eyes met, Strike’s hand moved on its own will and gently wiped the tear off her cheek. A small smile appeared on her face, and without the need for explanation, she reached for his other hand, holding it tight, making him smile. He looked one last time at the grave of her father and with a little nod, he silently followed Robin as they set out to catch up with her family.
※※※※※
Chapter 6
- Ed Sheeran: Page
“Stephen, be so kind and act like a father to your child, please. Poor Cormoran must feel like a human toy by now,” Linda said, accusingly raising her eyebrows at her oldest son, who was amusingly watching the detective at the wrestling contest with his offspring, who was giggling all the time.
The toddler was winning, despite Strike’s effort to rid himself of the little oppressor.
The Ellacotts and their London guest were back in the house after the wake that later afternoon, all a little tired, in a mild melancholic state, but all relieved they had time and space for themselves again.
“All right, miss,” Stephen said and walked over from his armchair by the fireplace to pick up his daughter. “It’s time we headed home so you could hit the hey,” he added, but to his surprise, the girl was like a magnet, not wanting to let go of the detective’s healthy leg.
”Come on, Annabel, be a good girl.” Her father was getting frustrated as the tiny hands clutched at Strike’s trousers, unwilling to let go. His wife watched this little wrestling contest with amusement like everyone, except her husband.
Strike himself didn’t do anything, he only observed Stephen’s hopeless fight and smirked. Somewhere back in his mind, he felt a surprising satisfaction about the fact that for whatever reason, he was so popular with the youngest member of the Ellacott family. And all he had to do was pretend a little boxing match with the girl and make funny faces.
If Lucy saw me now, I would never hear the end of it, he thought, suppressing a chuckle. His sister knew how impartial he was to children, her son Jack being the only one of the kind that he held in an affectionate regard.
”That’s really enough now, Annabel,” Stephen said, unnerved now, especially when he saw the girl slip down to her knees and suddenly wrap her little arms around Strike’s prosthesis. She noticed something new, solid and hard, and before anyone could do anything, she pulled on the detective’s trouser and pulled it slightly up.
The adults in the room suddenly froze, realising how Annabel unwantedly invaded Strike’s privacy in the worst possible way. All of them apart from one - the detective himself. He found the bewildered face of the child amusing, especially because he was convinced she was trying to understand how that ‘thing’ worked. The next moment he knew, her little fingers started curiously exploring the cold metal.
“I’m ever so sorry, Cormoran,” Stephen said nervously, finally managing to drag his daughter from the detective, lifting her up in his arms.
”No worries,” Strike replied with a smile. “Could have been worse; she could have gone for my beard.”
His visible ease about the incident helped others relax and they chuckled. Stephen passed Annabel to Jenny, who was already standing. Only then did Strike turn his head to look at Robin, sitting next to him. His smile slightly faded at the sight of her expression - it was the same one he had seen before the memorial service after his other little exchange with his partner’s niece. It was even more penetrating and more faraway than before as if Robin forgot that she was not alone in some hideaway spot but in clear view of everyone around her. She quickly recovered and looked away after flashing a smile at Strike.
His first instinct was to worry about Robin’s possible thoughts, but he didn’t feel worried at all. He enjoyed the amusing exchange with Annabel, and although it didn’t make him completely change his attitude toward children, he realised some of them might be acceptable, maybe even fun to be around. There was still the business with nappies, snot and no proper sleep for at least a year, but with a little (or a lot of) effort, it just might be worth it in the end…
You are definitely losing your mind, Strike thought suddenly, realising he had let his train of thought slip into a territory he usually wouldn’t even think of entering. Children were a nuisance, very inconvenient in his job, absolutely unimaginable…
His eyes absently dropped to the screen of the mobile phone in Robin’s hands.
”From Pat,” Robin said with a sad but grateful smile. “From the whole office but it’s got her language all over. I swear I can even smell the scent of her vape.” She chuckled; Strike smiled. “I’ve only just checked my inbox, I just couldn’t…” Her voice faded, and she lifted her eyes from the phone, looking at her partner.
”It’s all right,” Strike assured her. “I’m sure they understand.”
Robin nodded and averted her eyes from his gaze. She put her phone on the coffee table, stood up and walked out of the living room, briefly followed by the eyes of others present in the room.
※※
She was sitting on the bench in front of the house, soaking in the last warm rays of the spring sun. Her eyes were closed, her head leaning back against the wall, and she was deep in thought. Robin needed a bit of space and some fresh air. It had been an exhausting day, exhausting few days, in fact, and she was glad it was almost over. Now would come the time to start processing the reality and learning to live with it as Strike called it.
As if knowing her thought travelled to him, Strike suddenly appeared at the open door and after watching her for a moment, he asked: “Can I join you?”
“Of course,” she replied, her position unchanged.
When he sat down next to her, only then did Robin open her eyes and sigh. For the first time in almost a week, it was not a heavy sigh, but rather one of partial acceptance. She still didn’t look at Strike, keeping her gaze ahead.
”It seems that little traitor of my niece has adopted you,” she said with an amused smile.
”Yeah,” agreed Strike, mirroring her expression. “I was told I make a good impression on women.”
Robin glanced at him with raised eyebrows before they both snorted.
”No, seriously,” she continued. “Annabel usually despises strangers and yells like mad. You should take this as a compliment.”
Strike had a flashback to the photograph of a little bold monkey screaming her lungs out. Still in there somewhere then, he thought and smirked.
”Thanks. But if you ever mentioned this to Lucy, I will sack you for good,” he remarked.
”You can’t. I’m your partner,” Robin countered with a grin, without looking at him.
Strike shook his head and sighed, pretending misery.
”Remind me why have I fucking done that?”
“Because I’m brilliant and just as good as you, even though it annoys you.”
“Damnit…” Strike sighed again. “It really does.”
Robin chuckled, making him smile.
“I like this,” she stated after a brief quiet moment, gazing into the slowly setting sun over the waves of green fields ahead of them.
“I admit you hardly get a better view in London,” Strike remarked truthfully.
“That’s not what I meant.”
That caught his interest. Robin finally turned her head to look at him.
“I meant us.”
Her words knocked the wind out of Strike’s lungs, making him freeze, with his eyes firmly gazing at her. He was hoping against hope that she meant what he thought she meant.
“The peace…,” Robin continued, and Strike realised he was holding his breath. “The understanding, knowing each other… the way we don’t have to say anything to know what we think or feel…”
She paused for a while, and Strike’s mind was reeling from the possible implications of her words.
“The way how comfortable we are with each other. The-”
He noticed Robin’s breath hitch in her throat before she averted her eyes, a gentle blush rising up her cheeks.
“-friendship…” she concluded, with a small smile before looking at him again, her whole face speaking of something much deeper, though.
Strike couldn’t take his eyes off her, only now noticing the hammering beat of his heart in his ears, drowning out the sounds of the singing birds and the leaves rustling in the nearby trees, touched by a gentle breeze.
This is it… This is finally it… Honesty or we’re screwed…
As if by a touch of a magic wand and without a blink of an eye, he made a decision, one that would finally put an end to the endless torture and ever-more-agonising dance around the intense and obvious feelings between them. To hell with fear…
He stood up and asked a simple question.
“Walk with me?”
Something in his piercing look and the way he asked the question made Robin shiver. She sensed he had something important to say and she couldn’t help but hope her intuition was right about what it was. Willingly, almost eagerly, she replied quietly, “Sure.”
He opened the little gate and let her pass before following her, walking out on the pathway leading them along the fields. The ember and gold of the setting sun mingled with streaks of crimson as if a painter couldn’t decide whether to blend the red into the background or make it prominent, so they just smudged the canvas with a few random brush strokes. Robin couldn’t help but be mesmerised by the spectacle unfolding in the sky. Just as they approached a little, half-open wooden gate in the low stone wall, leading out into the open field, she stopped. She accepted the invitation immediately and walked through, stopping a few steps further.
Strike followed her and took his place by her side. To any random passer-by, the detectives would be two people watching the sunset. If they knew them well, they would see two people on the threshold of a new beginning.
“Renewed hope,” Strike said, enjoying the warm hues colouring the sky.
“What?” Robin was uncomprehending but didn’t look away from the horizon.
“A colourful sunset,” her partner elaborated. “People attribute a lot of symbolic meanings to it, one of them being the renewed hope, a new beginning, a revived spirit. It says that things will turn out okay.”
Robin smiled. No matter how much Strike disliked astrological ‘bollocks’ and anything spiritual, his broad general knowledge (mainly forced at him by Leda and conveniently resurfacing from time to time) covered even these areas.
“Before you ask, yes, I actually do think there is some truth about it,” he remarked before she could reply.
Robin raised her eyebrows, amused, and cast a side glance at him. Feeling her surprise, Strike looked at her.
“I know, I’m supposed to be the stodgy one, not a romantic tosser talking of the magic of sunsets.” He shrugged.
“I never thought you boring,” Robin disagreed, with a chuckle, and averted her eyes again. “You’re anything but.”
He smiled, and couldn’t take his expressive blue eyes off her profile. It was illuminated by the warm glow of the last sun rays, brightening Robin’s eyes and bringing them to life again.
“Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?” she whispered, with a bewildered smile.
Strike’s initial thought was to keep his comment to himself, but his newly-found resolution meant that he perished it, so he replied – calmly but convincingly, still focusing on her face.
“I am looking at it.”
Robin’s enchantment burst like a bubble, and she turned her head to him. Their eyes locked and she finally saw it, clear, intense and untamed in his gaze at last – the raw emotion speaking of need, want and desire. And something else, even stronger, that made her stomach lurch and her heart start racing. She swallowed hard and took a deep, shaky breath.
Strike knew she understood. There was a reason why Robin was the best empath he had ever known. However, she deserved more than just her own deduction. After all the years of denial and confusion, she deserved to hear the truth from him. A deep sigh tore from his throat as he shook his head and took a few steps back as if needing space to gather the courage to tell her everything he had been painstakingly bottling up for years.
“The thing of having both work and private life,” he started, “I never believed in it. I saw no way how they could work together without one affecting the other if something went really wrong in either of them. I believed that if I mess up something privately, it would affect my work and screw everything up... After breaking up with Charlotte, I was convinced that I could never mix both again, that if I wanted to succeed at detective work, I couldn’t involve feelings into the equation, meaning no real relationships, perhaps convenient ones, but no heart reigning over my head again. That’s why it eventually didn’t work out with either Elin, Lorelei or Madeleine and I decided I was done with false attempts.” He paused.
“I thought Charlotte was the last woman who would ever have rattled my emotional cage, until…” He raised his eyebrows.
Strike glanced absently at his feet and chuckled before lifting his eyes back to Robin, with a soft expression. “… until the day I almost killed a head-strong and fucking beautiful temp at my bloody staircase.”
There were very few times when Robin Ellacott had been speechless – this was one of them. She half-expected it and still… It hit her like a truck, finally confirming what she had sensed for years.
“I can’t tell you everything that made me change my mind,” Strike continued. “I can’t because we would be stuck here all night, and I would fail miserably because even Catullus wouldn’t help me describe it without sounding disgustingly cheesy. Besides…” He paused again, the old insecurities resurfacing again.
“I may be the best private investigator in London…Well, the second best, annoyingly after you, of course…” He quickly glanced at Robin and saw an amused smile on her face. “The point is, I may be great at my job, but as you may have noticed over the years, I find it very difficult to deal with more… personal matters... Christ knows I’ve tried, and tried very hard to tell myself that this could never work, that I’d be risking losing both if it went tits up - my best friend and my business partner.”
Strike paused and took a few slow steps towards her before speaking again.
“Thinking about it now, losing my business partner would ruin my career, but losing my best friend… you would bloody kill me…”
Robin silently watched him pour his heart out like he’d never done it before. In all the years they’ve known each other, they’ve gradually opened up more to each other, but never like this. The raw honesty of his words pinned her to the ground and tied her tongue.
“For years I’ve been shutting up Lucy, Ilsa and everyone else who has seen through my bullshit, keeping a wall between us and clinging to every excuse to keep it up - Matthew, the agency, my independence, my respect for you as a partner and a person, my own stupidity.” He sighed, shrugging helplessly and shaking his head, not leaving her eyes, though. “It’s all bollocks…” He snorted, then made another step closer to her.
“We know each other from head to toe, exactly as you said… We like being together, and don’t tell me you don’t,” he stopped her possible protest, more out of conviction than out of fear she might deny the fact. “I may be thick sometimes, but I’m not blind, Ellacott.” He raised his eyebrows and a smile softened his rough features.
“I can’t do it anymore… I can’t stand this emptiness every time you walk away from the office at the end of the day, or the panic seizing me every time there might be someone else on the horizon for you. I can’t keep it inside anymore; it’s been eating me for years, this… feeling...”
“What feeling?” Robin finally spoke, and Strike noticed her eyes were glistening.
”You’re London’s best private investigator, you should know bloody well by now.” His honest eyes revealed the whole truth. He realised that due to circumstances, it wasn’t the most appropriate time to tell her, but he knew it was the right time.
“You know I’m generally a stubborn arsehole, but the thing is…” He took one final step toward her, being a breath’s distance away from her face. “I’m not afraid anymore. I’ve learned that both good and bad times are a part of the package deal, and that if it’s with the right person, these moments don’t break us but make us stronger. You taught me that because you are that right person, the only person I want to share my life with, whatever remains of it.”
Strike went silent but his eyes were willing Robin to speak. She didn’t move; her face was unreadable.
“I appreciate silence after a day full of chasing criminals in dodgy places but please… say something?” the detective was getting nervous.
After a quiet moment that seemed like an eternity to him, Robin shook her head and the changed expression on her face made Strike’s heart leap.
“Cormoran Blue Strike…You’re the biggest idiot in the world, you know that?” she said quietly, with a beaming smile, as a tear escaped from her eye. “I’ve waited for years for you to say that…”
Later, they didn’t remember who made the first step. Like two magnets with the correct polarity, attracted to each other from the very first moment of their first encounter, they were finally ready to stop defying the laws of physics and the heart.
In the middle of a not-so-gentle kiss, they finally pulled back from each other, catching breath, leaning forehead to forehead. Strike couldn’t get enough of running his fingers through Robin’s silky, golden hair. He noticed that she was trembling, and held her tighter. This new intimacy felt like lava that had just erupted from a volcano, running down the hill – burning him to the core and yet not destroying but warming something precious hidden deep inside him, something he had thought seven years ago would never be ignited again.
”I know it’s wrong, but I’m scared of one thing… that I won’t be good enough for you one day…,” Robin whispered with closed eyes.
He cupped her face and made her look at him. “I’m terrified that I will never be good enough for you,” he replied quietly.”But I know that together we are the best for each other, and I also know that whatever happens, we’ll be fine. After all that we’ve been through together, knowing all of each other’s scars that life had given us, how couldn’t we be? We’ll always find a way, a good one.”
Robin suddenly started laughing, making Strike stop and look at her with a confused smile.
”I know I’m a grotesque moron but I had no idea I’m that buggered,” he remarked, amused.
”No, it’s just…,” Robin said, still chuckling. Then she looked into the deep grey-blue of his eyes. “Do you know what date is it today?” she asked; an enigmatic expression settled on her radiating face.
”Err…. March, 29th?” he replied, admiring her slightly flushed cheeks.
Robin’s smile got wider as she nodded without elaborating on the fact.
Strike shook his head with a confused smile when it suddenly hit him - as if it was possible to forget the date of his final break-up with Charlotte Campbell, although she was nothing more than a bittersweet memory in his mind.
“Seven years ago today… It was exactly seven years ago that you walked into my office for the first time,” he breathed.
“Our office,” Robin corrected him with pride, thinking fondly of that day, and her eyes glistened.
”Shit, sorry, of course, our office.” Strike chuckled and put a loose strand of hair behind her ear in a seemingly subconscious manner. The touch of his warm fingers on her skin felt electrifying, though.
”Seven years,” he whispered, shaking his head. “That’s a fucking long time to wait.”
”I totally agree.” Robin nodded, grinning.
“It’s a sign,” he said then.
”You don’t believe in signs,” Robin countered, amused.
”True, but I believe in us.” Strike’s smile grew wider. “And I can’t stop thinking about you in the wedding dress,” he added quietly, finally feeling free to admit to her how the image of her on her ill-fated wedding day had been haunting him for years. His eyes were drinking in every colour shade of her blue-grey eyes as the memory of years back brought a lump in his throat.
The smiles on their faces slowly faded; both were suddenly hit by the meaning of what Strike had just said. They kept staring at each other, both wanting to say something but for a while, unable to do so.
“Bloody hell, Strike… Did you just… propose to me?” Robin finally asked incredulously. Her facial expression was frozen like a film reel stuck in the same frame; only her eyes blinked several times.
Strike suddenly panicked he had crossed the line between them not with one step but a giant leap - he knew getting married was the last thing his partner thought about since her fiasco with Matthew.
Fuck… fuck! Why the hell did you say that?! You’re barely together for what, two minutes, and you’re thinking of bloody wedding bells already? You’re not the marrying type anyway!
He was trying to talk reason into his mind but in vain. He knew now he couldn’t fool himself. Life had changed him too much, and Robin played not a small part in his transformation.
“No,” Strike blurted and swallowed hard, his eyes and avoiding her gaze. “I mean… not exactly right now, but… just letting you know I wouldn’t be entirely opposed to the idea at some point in the future, since I know how you’re not keen on getting married again anytime soon. But just in case, should you ever wish to do so.” He dared to look at her and added quickly. “Preferably before I hit the state pension age, but I am willing to negotiate that possibility as well if…”
”Strike…” Robin interrupted his stream of words and put a hand over his mouth.
The detective froze, his lips tingling from the soft touch of Robin’s hand. He noticed her eyes were glistening again.
”I know, too much, too soon.” His words were muffled, spoken into the palm of her hand. He seemed in his own world, stubbornly trying to rectify a mistake he thought he had made.
”Strike!” Robin laughed, finally silencing him. His eyes found hers again, nervously waiting for her response. He was hoping he hadn’t messed up things beyond repair.
”Just shut up,” Robin said with a smirk and slowly dropped her hand from his mouth, fleetingly grazing his scarred lip with her thumb.
Strike finally relaxed and allowed himself a smile. Robin leaned into his large frame and kissed him so thoroughly that his head started spinning.
”Was that a yes?” Strike murmured with a cheeky smirk when they came apart, intoxicated by the kiss.
Robin laughed, this time properly, and embraced him tightly. She couldn’t wipe a grin off her face.
”What was the thing about you reaching the state pension age again?” she asked then sheepishly.
It was Strike’s turn to laugh. He buried his head into her hair and inhaled the scent of her shampoo blended with Narcisso. He exhaled loudly, finally letting the long years of tension vanish in thin air, grasping the new reality with all his being.
“I love him, darling… One day you’ll feel like that about somebody…”
His mother’s love was ill-fated, marking him for most of his life, leaving him with a feeling of disillusion and misconception, strengthened by his complicated and draining relationship with Charlotte. However, Leda’s words caught up with Strike eventually and finally, he knew what she had meant.
Finally, his heart was at peace.
※※※※※
Chapter 7
Easy come, hard go
then life goes on.
- Ed Sheeran: Life Goes On
Tomorrow, Robin and I are going back to London. Robin and I. Robin and I…
The thought gave Strike shivers, but he couldn’t stop thinking about those three words that suddenly had such a different meaning to him. Despite the post-funeral atmosphere still in the air, he had spent the last three days walking on clouds, feeling inside like a silly teenager who had finally landed the girl of his dreams. Cormoran Strike had never thought in overly sentimental ways, but for once, he didn’t care. Besides, Robin Ellacott wasn’t just any girl, she was exceptional and he was extremely lucky to have her wanting him as badly as he wanted her.
Robin and I… he repeated to himself again, just in case it was just a wondrous dream he would wake up from and open his eyes to the grey, dull reality. No, he wasn’t dreaming, he realised, smiling, when he looked at the woman sleeping next to him – sharing a bed with him.
Robin and I… How sweet did those words sound… How incredible! It took him almost six years to understand that nothing else existed for him and one more to find the guts to do something about it. No one else could ever fit in the equation, only Robin.
Strike forced himself to stop grinning and took a deep breath. He still hadn’t forgotten why they were in Masham, Robin’s hometown. It had been only four days since her father’s funeral and she would still need some time to fully come to terms with his loss, and he would be there day and night to help her go through it.
“I had a lovely dream,” Robin suddenly interrupted his contemplating, waking up just as the sun started shyly peeking out above the horizon.
Strike looked at her, his grin returning. “And you woke up into a nightmare.”
She snorted and poked him in his rib, making him chuckle as he pulled her slender body closer to him. Her face lost the playful expression.
“I don’t care if it’s a nightmare as long as you are in it,” she said earnestly.
His heart skipped a beat as many times in the previous days, and he sighed. Suddenly he knew his amazement of the new reality would never go away. His hand reached for her cheek, studying it tenderly with his thumb, savouring that he was finally allowed to do it. Strike knew every line of her face by heart after the seven years they had worked together, and yet he was looking at her with newfound admiration as if he had revealed another layer of her personality. Unable to resist any longer, he gently tasted her lips again.
“What was the dream about?” he whispered then, his gaze hot like a grey-blue candle flame.
Robin’s cheeks turned red and she lowered her eyes, with a shy smile.
“Oh,” Strike said, his eyes smiling.
“Yes, oh,” she repeated, amused.
The detective moved her beneath him with one swing of his large body, but mindful of her considerably lighter frame. The look of his eyes was intense.
“Shall I make you dream again?” he asked with unmasked desire.
Robin grinned. “In a minute.”
The deflated expression on Strike’s face made her chuckle.
“There is something else I want to do first,” she explained, her voice getting more sombre as she traced his cheekbone with her fingers.
He regarded her with a curious look. Robin smiled at him.
“Thank you,” she said with a quiet, moved voice.
“For…” Strike pondered.
“For everything. For coming here, for helping me, us to cope, for being the best partner and friend for seven years, for letting me stay when you had every reason to let me go, for making my dreams come true, for making me feel worthy again…” She paused. “I’ve wanted to tell you so much for so long but I always lacked the courage when I should have found some. I just…” She tried to catch her breath after the flow of words that had come out of her like a mighty stream rolling down the hill.
“My life has been very nice and pretty shitty in equal measures, and you have been the only thing that has always made sense to me… Whatever we had been going through, no matter how close or distant we had been at times, you have always been the constant in my life and never let me down. I have never felt more safe, comfortable or myself with anyone else but you, so… thank you.”
Strike’s intense gaze was the only reply she got for a while. It seemed as if the deep blue of his eyes got even deeper as she watched the reflection of her own face in it. Only once he finally blinked and a small, playful smile appeared on his face did he speak.
“You have really prepared for this, haven’t you?” he teased.
“Strike! I’m serious!” Robin exclaimed, unable not to smile when he laughed.
“So am I,” he said quietly then. “I love you.”
He said those three words without hesitation, fuss or timidity, saying them as he meant them, without pomp and circumstance but heartfelt and unafraid. He was so absorbed in telling Robin everything that was on his mind when he had opened his heart to her four days ago that he only now realised those three words remained unspoken. They had been long overdue, and Strike refused to keep them locked inside for a minute longer. Saying them out loud felt liberating, exhilarating and absolutely right.
“I love you,” Robin added her own bit, with eyes as bright as diamonds and a smile that told the story of something long-buried and deep.
Her life may have suffered a heavy blow a week ago but it’s true - every cloud has a silver lining, and Robin had learned the truth of this saying in the most beautiful way possible.
The kiss that followed was sensual, sweet and honest, something they both hoped their new relationship would be.
“Now you can make me dream again,” Robin whispered into his half-opened mouth, her lips lazily grazing his.
Strike didn’t need to be told twice. After all, he was a soldier, and soldiers obeyed their orders.
※※
That early April morning in the Yorkshire plains was crisp and chilly. It was as if the winter wanted to usurp at least one more day from the greedy spring, relentlessly on its heels. Nevertheless, the sun was dazzling and hopeful, and Strike had a spring in his step, even if mildly affected by his half-metal leg. He pulled his collar up to ward off the cold biting his cheeks.
As he walked down the streets of Masham, his mind drifted back to Robin, still sleeping in her family home, unaware of his early morning stroll. A gentle smile tugged at his lips when he remembered the soft features of her resting face, so much more peaceful than when he had arrived in the town over a week ago. He left her a note on his side of the bed, explaining that he had some errand to run and would be back soon. She didn’t even stir, finally having succumbed to some proper, deep sleep, so much needed after days of mental exhaustion.
Strike had always enjoyed walking; it cleared his mind, especially when it was in turmoil, and helped him to focus on the right track again. That morning, though, his mind was as clear as a forest spring, unaffected by negativity and in a state that had eluded him for most of his adult life – the state of absolute peace. As he unhurriedly observed the morning life in the sleepy town, he found himself smiling all the way, something so uncharacteristic for him, that he had to chuckle.
And then he saw it – the high tower of St. Mary the Virgin church, the place where Robin so infamously got married what seemed now like an eternity ago. The painful memory of his hasty and slightly chaotic arrival followed by watching his partner getting married to a man Strike couldn’t stand (and vice versa) resurfaced, but this time, it didn’t make him frown. The old ghost of defeat and loss had finally been exorcised, letting the positive moments step to the front.
Strike wasn’t a religious man or a man of any spiritual belief per se, yet he could feel the weight of the centuries lying on the place of worship breathe on him, touching him with some invisible hand all the way back from the Anglo-Saxon times. He stopped at the front door and looked up at the clock under the tall tower roof. It showed almost eight o’clock and indeed, in just a few seconds, he heard the bell resound over the town’s marketplace. Five days ago this time, he was preparing to support Robin on one of the worst days of her life. Five days ago, her father was laid to rest at the cemetery behind the same church where years before, he had walked his daughter down the isle. Such was the circle of life.
Strike started walking again, his steps leading to the churchyard. He didn’t have time to get a proper view of the town’s only cemetery on the day of the funeral, but he didn’t have anything else to focus on now. His eyes skimmed the gravestones he was passing, some dating back to the seventeenth century. There was something strange about old cemeteries, sometimes eerie but sometimes strangely soothing, and the detective realised that on that day, he found the rows of old and newer tombstones calming.
It was still quite early for a visit so Strike wasn’t surprised he hadn’t passed anyone on the way to his destination. Only a few birds ignored the hour and cheerfully sang their songs in the trees. It didn’t take him long to reach the place her was looking for. Michael Ellacott’s grave was still largely covered by flowers, and just for a moment, Strike had a flashback from his deep past; he stood like this many years ago, as still a boy, looking at the last resting place of his mother.
He remembered well the grief and confusion he had felt back then, something that he had never properly healed from but that had become less oppressive since Robin entered his life. Now, standing at the grave of a man he had barely known but who had meant so much to Robin, Strike also remembered his aunt Joan, who he had lost untimely as well, and who had meant much more to him than he had ever admitted to himself in his earlier life. Losing parents can have a different effect on different people, but it leaves its mark on each of them.
The detective’s eyes were firmly set on the freshly covered grave ahead of him, his eyebrows knitted in a slight frown as he was deep in thought. Earlier that morning, when he decided to visit the last resting place of Robin’s father once more before leaving, he didn’t think twice about the reason for his intention. Now, standing there, he had no difficulty saying the words out loud, speaking to an imaginary listener – something he had never done even at the grave of his own mother.
“Don’t worry about Robin. I will take care of her for as long as I live. I promise,” he said solemnly, with a clear understanding of his statement.
He remained in his spot for a moment longer before turning back toward the pathway, ready to leave, when his eyes landed on a familiar figure standing nearby, watching him.
“I had a feeling you might be here,” Robin said quietly, with a gentle smile, her hands deep in her jacket pockets.
Strike smiled back at her, wondering if she had stood there long enough to hear his repeated promise at the grave. She gave him no sign to find out, but it didn’t matter.
“Do you need some alone time?” he asked when he joined her and held her hand.
“No,” Robin replied. “There is nothing I have to say to him that you can’t hear, but I’d rather say it now. It might be a while until we’re back again.”
“Okay,” he acknowledged quietly.
And so he stayed, right by her side, listening to Robin telling her deceased father all the things she didn’t while he lived, and that she finally felt free to speak about now. He listened to words full of regrets but also gratitude, sorrow but also hope, and above all, the words of love – the love she felt for the man standing next to her, and the love of a daughter for her father. As his eyes beheld Robin’s pale face, glistening eyes, slightly trembling chin now and then, and the barely visible morning mist adding more softness to her features, Strike couldn’t hold back the burning in his own eyes.
He averted his gaze, turning away from Robin, in an attempt to control his sudden emotional turmoil. It was a challenge, but he managed to do so by taking a few deep breaths and swallowing some unshed tears.
“Are you all right?” he heard Robin’s soft voice and felt the gentle touch of her hand on his arm.
He turned to her, flashing a smile, as he put his arm around her shoulder and kissed her forehead.
“That’s what I should be asking you,” he replied after a deep sigh. “But yeah, I’m fine.”
Robin searched in his eyes, seeing the real truth behind his words.
“I’m okay.” She nodded, holding their precious eye contact. “Too early for a pint?”
Strike chuckled. “Definitely, even for my considerably low standards,” he answered.
“Okay, coffee then,” she stated and took his hand again.
After one last, long look at the grave, they left Michael Ellacott to rest in peace and set out for the closest café.
※※※
Robin zipped her small travel suitcase shut and put it on the floor. Her eyes skimmed once more her childhood bedroom, which she had shared with Strike in the previous five days. Old memories mingled with new ones, creating a colourful mosaic of events and emotions. Despite the still-lingering melancholy in the back of her mind, she couldn’t help but smile.
Next time I’m back, I won’t come alone…
“Ready?” a timber voice reminded her there was someone else in the room with her.
“Yes.” She grabbed the handle of her suitcase and walked over to the door where Strike was waiting for her, smiling, his holdall in his hand.
“You will be back soon,” he reassured her softly.
“We will be back soon,” she corrected him, with a smile. After a peck on his lips, she left the bedroom.
Strike’s look lingered on an indefinite spot for a moment, trying to imprint even deeper everything that had happened in this place in the past few days, both the good and the bad. He knew it would remain embedded in his memory forever, reminding him once more that life was unpredictable indeed and could surprise us in any way.
He smiled and temporarily closed the door to some of the most memorable moments of his life, until he would be back to add some more to his collection.
※※
“Are you sure you have everything, darling?” Linda asked her daughter when they stood at the front door of the Ellacotts’ family home.
“If not, it will not run away,” Robin replied playfully, but seeing her mother’s stern look, she decided to behave. “Yes, Mum, don’t worry.”
“Sorry, I just…” Linda’s look softened.
“I know. It’s fine.”
Robin pulled her in a tight hug, kissing her cheek.
“Are you sure you’ll be all right? I could stay longer,” she asked.
Linda smiled bravely and stroked her cheek. “Of course, I will. Stephen and the boys will be nearby. You need some time to come to terms with it yourself… Besides, your agency needs you.” She glanced at Strike, standing at the bottom of the stairs, allowing the women a private moment. “And someone else,” Linda added warmly.
Robin blushed inadvertently, still unused to the fact that the new status of her relationship with her partner was known to her family.
“Okay, see you soon. Love you,” she said and hugged her mother once more before walking toward her Land Rover.
Strike smiled at her as she passed him by, then turned back to Linda only to find out she had already descended the few steps to join him.
“Thank you, for everything,” the detective said genuinely heartfelt.
Linda put her hand on his arm and gently squeezed it.
“If anyone should express gratitude here, it’s me, and not just for your support over these past few days,” she said, her eyes revealing much more. “Despite her grief right now…” She glanced at Robin, who was putting her suitcase in the back of the Landy. “I know that for the first time in her life, she is truly happy. And that’s all Michael and I ever wished for her.”
Strike was searching his brain for a reply but in vain. His own happiness, a sense of pride and contentment filled his heart so much that he couldn’t put his feelings into words. Instead, he just nodded, and a wide smile reached his eyes. Purely on impulse, he kissed Linda on her cheek.
“Take care,” he said quietly and left her to join Robin in the car.
As he sat next to his partner (in every sense of the word now), their eyes met. In the still morning sun penetrating the windscreen, Robin’s hair shone like liquid gold and her face, without make-up and still bearing traces of the past week’s emotions, was glowing. At that moment, Strike thought to himself again how beautiful she was, and his hand involuntarily went up to his chest, covering the place where his heart was.
Robin’s hand reached out to his stubbly cheek, her thumb caressing it as her eyes expressed so much more than she was capable of vocally at that moment. Strike slightly leaned into her palm, briefly closing his eyes, still so new to such gestures from her and extremely enjoying every second of them.
“I think this is the time to drive off bloody happily into the sunset,” Robin said, with a smirk.
Strike’s smile widened. “Let’s go home.”
She turned the ignition key, and they looked out through the side window, seeing Linda, Stephen, Martin and Jonathan standing at the front door and waving. They waved back, and then the old Land Rover set out on its journey back to London.
※※※
Almost six hours and two coffee and sandwich breaks later, the detectives stood in front of the familiar, shabby front door of their office building. Strike casually looked up towards their inner office sash window, noticing it was still open. He glanced at his watch, seeing it had just gone half past five.
“Pat?” he guessed.
“Probably,” Robin agreed, with a smirk. “She’s the head of the agency without us and feels great responsibility. She would never leave on time.”
Strike chuckled, remembering the days of his frequent mostly amusing clashes with their secretary.
“You’ve missed her, haven’t you?” Robin teased.
Strike wiped the grin off his face and shook his head. “Not in a fucking million years.”
His fake attempt didn’t fool Robin, her grin confirming it.
“All right, maybe a little,” Strike admitted with an amused smile. “I bet that’ll change the moment she starts reading me her bloody notes on what needs to be done ASAP and reminding me it’s not her job to do it.”
Robin laughed, then pressed a lingering kiss on his warm lips. That erased his temporary dismay immediately.
“Do it again,” he begged quietly, his large hand steadying her against his bulky frame. “Please…”
The smile on Robin’s face widened as she teasingly grazed his lips, then looked into his eyes.
“Work first, fun later,” she whispered and after one last fleeting kiss, she put the key into the door lock, opening it.
Strike reluctantly let go of her hand and moaned. Robin disappeared inside with a grin, and he took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. He looked up into the sky, painted with patches of grey clouds gathering above Denmark Street. The first raindrops fell on his face and he briefly closed his eyes, letting them cool his cheeks.
He thought of a boy many years ago, walking aimlessly on the seashore of Cornwall after receiving the most disturbing news of his life.
He thought of Leda Strike and her long-lasting grip on his soul and mind, throwing him off-balance throughout most of his existence.
He thought of his days as a soldier which taught him order and self-discipline and instilled a deep sense of morality and justice in his heart.
He thought of the very first days of his agency, when struggle and near-bankruptcy were real words and hung above him like the sword of Damocles.
He thought of Joan, Ted and Lucy and their never-wavering trust and love for him which he had for so long unconsciously pushed aside.
And he thought of the almost torrential rain, soaking and freezing him to the bone, and the shivering and helpless woman in his arms, who not only saved his agency but in some otherworldly way, saved him.
“Are you coming in or not, Mr Strike?” a familiar deep, gravelly voice spoke from the door.
The detective turned his head and smiled, seeing a woman struggling with her umbrella, obviously on her way out of the building.
“Nice to see you again, Pat,” he said, and after letting the secretary out, he walked through the front door. “Everything all right?” he asked, trying to sound casual.
Pat gave him a shock as for the first time he could remember, she literally grinned at him before she spoke. “I thought I would have to lock you both in the inner office and throw away the key so you do something about that will-they-won't-they silliness finally.”
Strike frowned but then snorted. “You know what? That’s actually not a bad idea,” he pondered. “You have my permission to do it anytime you like. By the way… I think we’ve been through enough together, so don’t you think you could start calling me by my first name?”
Pat chuckled, then her look softened, reflecting motherly affection.”Welcome home, Cormoran.”
She smiled once more, turned around and walked away into the light April rain.
Strike’s smile lingered on his face. Home… He thought of Robin waiting for him upstairs.
Yes, home…
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