Chapter Text
Chapter 3.
On Sunday, Strike and Lucy both woke up late, and barely had time to tidy up before they had to head to Falmouth, but, thinking of his chat with his sister the previous day, Strike used part of the few hours they had in the house to pack boxes of photographs for him to take home. He was just in Ted and Joan’s bedroom, packing the photographs into the suitcase he’d brought to St Mawes mostly empty to fill up in Cornwall, when he received an unexpected message from Robin.
Thanks for the thoughtful presents, I thought they were lovely, and I’m wearing the earrings right now, they’re gorgeous. Hope everything is going well in St Mawes, let me know if you need a ride home, might be working late. Rx
Strike re-read the message three times, his heart beating fast in his chest with excitement. He was still looking at his phone when Lucy appeared.
‘We should get going, the ferry leaves in twenty minutes. I’ve just triple-checked all the doors and windows, everything’s locked. Are you OK?’
‘Sorry?’ Strike looked up. ‘Did you say something?’
Lucy frowned, her blue eyes transforming with concern, and walked closer.
‘Are you all right?’
‘Yeah, yeah. It’s just uh… Robin texted.’
‘Oh, she’s not fighting again, is she?’
‘No,’ Strike walked to her and showed her his phone.
‘Stick! A kiss and an offer to pick you up? That is really nice, very well done. What did you gift her?’
‘A massive bouquet with hundreds of flowers, a heartfelt birthday card, a collector’s edition of songs from Joni Mitchell, her favourite artist, with like lyrics, artsy stuff… plus some Cornish turquoise ear pendants that uhm… may or may not,’ Strike said carefully, realising he hadn’t asked Lucy for permission before taking them, ‘have belonged to Mum.’
‘You gifted her Mum’s turquoise pendants? The ones with the silver discs that dangle from the turquoise and have dolphins in relief? The ones Grandma gave her?’ Lucy inquired, and Strike blushed brightly.
‘I didn’t know Grandma gave them to her,’ said Strike. ‘But yes. I’m sorry, I know I should’ve asked, but I found them between my boxes in the attic the other day and I thought—,’
‘You thought if you had them someone must’ve given them to you, since I inherited most of Mum’s jewellery,’ said Lucy, and she smiled softly. ‘And you’d be right. Stick, don’t you remember I gave them to you years ago?’
‘So that’s why I had them,’ Strike had found the jewellery, still in its Cornish jewellery shop box from, he’d assumed, the 1960s, but if it was his grandmother’s, then much older than that, in a box with his name on it, up in the attic, months before, visiting Ted.
He hadn’t asked Ted about them, but Strike had been unable to remember how he had come to obtain them, since he remembered, like Lucy, that she had inherited most of their mother’s belongings, being a woman. Strike had always loved seeing their mother wearing those ear pendants, made of recycled sterling silver and Cornish turquoise from the mines where their grandfather had once worked, but he couldn’t remember knowing before that they’d belonged to their grandmother first. Lucy and Strike had never known either of them, as they’d died when Ted and their mother were both quite young.
‘I’m allergic to nickel,’ said Lucy, ‘can’t wear anything with nickel, even if it’s just a bit. Those earrings have sterling silver mixed with nickel, don’t you remember my ears and around the ears used to get all red and swollen whenever I wore them? So years ago I said to you, Corm, you keep them, maybe one day you’ll meet someone you’ll want to give them to, specially since my sons are not interested in earrings. So you gave them to Robin, that’s sweet! They’ll go with her eyes.’
‘God, you’re right, I remember that now. It’s so far back,’ said Strike, massaging his temple. ‘I’m glad you’re happy about it, because between Chapman Farm and all the stuff that’s been going on, I really forgot to ask you for permission. I thought they’d look great on her. So they were Granny’s?’
‘Yes, Grandpa gave them to her, with the silver and turquoise which he had mined himself, and she left them to Mum, who gave them to me when she was still alive,’ Lucy explained. ‘So what are you going to text Robin?’
‘I’ve no idea.’
‘Did you tell her they’re a family heirloom? They’ll mean more if you do.’
‘No… you think I should?’
‘Of course,’ Lucy encouraged. ‘Tell her you thought of her when you found them, flirt a little.’
‘I shouldn’t flirt with someone in a relationship.’
‘Well, you don’t have to be painfully obvious, Stick. But let’s get going or we’ll seriously be late, you ca message her calmly in the ferry.’
Strike decided that was a good idea, so he waited until they’d sat down in the ferry with their things, relaxing and enjoying the ocean, before pulling his phone out. Having spent the walk from the house to the ferry thinking of what to say, and now knowing that Greg would be coming to pick Lucy up and had offered him a ride home too, the words now flowed easily.
I’m really glad you liked them. The earrings belonged to my grandmother/mother/Lucy. Apparently my grandfather, who was a miner, got the turquoise (which is rare in Cornwall) and the sterling silver from Cornish mines himself, and had the jewellery made for Grandma. Lucy can’t wear them, because she’s allergic to some nickel that’s usually mixed in the silver, so she was really happy to hear they would go to someone we value as much as we value you, given the lack of ladies in the family (or boys with earrings I guess). Anyway, I saw them and I thought they’d look great on you, so I hope you’re not allergic, but feel free to give them to Annabel if you are! Thanks so much for the kind offer as well, but Greg’s already getting us, and you’re going to be tired, we only arrive to Paddington at around ten. I hope you’re having a fantastic birthday, and that you had fun last night. I heard the party was epic! I’m sorry again for everything. Hope we’re on the mend? Cx
He took several deep breathes, staring at the waves. He felt his phone vibrating in his pocket with a message as they arrived to Falmouth, but because they were on a rush to find something to eat and then get their train, Strike didn’t bring his phone back out until they were sitting down inside the train to Truro, their first stop on the way back to London. It was, as hoped, an answer from Robin.
My God, from your Granny? Cormoran! That is so special. I’ll take the best care of them, I promise. So far it seems I’m not allergic, I’ve been wearing them all day, they’re very comfortable and beautiful… Gosh, Cormoran, it means a lot. I had a lovely time, drank a bit too much if I’m honest, took me a second to orientate myself when I woke up in the morning, lol. Yeah… We’re on the mend. Just give me a bit of time, yeah? I’m sorry. R
Strike released a deep sigh and he showed the message to Lucy whose blue eyes scanned it before looking at her brother with a sad smile and squeezing his knee.
‘It’s not bad,’ said Lucy with hopefulness. ‘She’s meeting you halfway. It shows she misses you and she wants things to get better with you, but her heart isn’t quite there yet.’
‘How often do I have to tell people the heart is just a muscle? It doesn’t have to get anywhere,’ said Strike. Lucy kissed his cheek.
‘Resilience, Stick. She loves you, I can tell.’
‘You, Ilsa and everyone else better be right, because if you’re not…’
Strike began to compose a response, writing with only one finger.
That’s OK, I understand. Take your time.
This time, Robin’s answer was immediate.
Thank you. Means a lot.
Strike couldn’t help feeling sceptic and unsure about how much better could things be getting. After all, their fight was still quite recent, and even though Robin was not the type to stay resentful and angry for long, she seemed to have gotten more hurt than angry, and Strike thought that might last longer than anger would. But arriving home late that night, Strike was surprised to find a big bag full of still warm Singaporean take-out, just the kind he liked, hanging from the handle of their office door, with a note with his name on the outer part, for Strike to see the bag was for him, and inside, in Robin’s handwriting, a slightly more hopeful message than the texts had been:
Blue
Here is a shell for you
Inside you'll hear a sigh
A foggy lullaby
There is your song from me
- JM.
It only took Strike a few seconds to realise JM stood for Joni Mitchell, and his song accelerated, re-reading the lyrics, and smiling to himself. Picking up the bag, Strike headed upstairs to his attic, and as he prepared to eat everything Robin had gotten him, he found the song, named Blue, in his computer, and let it fill the silence in the attic. But as he ate and read about the song online, learning it had to do with a romance between Mitchell and James Taylor, Strike realised Robin had not just picked a song that was, by many, considered a love song, and that by all means sounded like Mitchell explicitly telling somebody that she loved him, but on top of things, there was the name, Blue. And Strike knew that Robin knew Blue was his middle name, his actual middle name, one Charlotte had sometimes called him even within Robin’s earshot. There was no way Robin hadn’t thought of that, when using that song.
The possibility of Robin sneaking a message of love to him in a bag of his favourite food made Strike’s heart beat so strongly that for a moment he felt dizzy, left his food, and lied down on his bed, fantasizing with the idea of going over to Robin and kissing her. But he couldn’t. Lucy was right. Robin’s affection towards him wasn’t going to disappear from one day to the next, but he had hurt her and disappointed her, and if he rushed the process, it wouldn’t be good. Robin needed time to really, properly deal with her feelings, whichever those were, and decide when she was ready to welcome Strike into his life. And in spite of what seemed like a big step, there were no real guarantees that Robin would get warmer towards him any time soon.
Over the next few weeks, it became clear that Strike had been right to suspect Robin’s silver branch didn’t mean she was quite ready to forgive him just yet, because although she had some moments of warmth towards him, and sometimes wore her new earrings in her presence, it seemed like the memory of how he’d hurt her came back to her at times, and turned her attitude cold again. And as a result, the next few weeks were some of the most depressive of Strike’s life.
Ted’s dementia seemed to be worsening in strides, and he begun to fail to remember Strike himself, or Lucy. A couple of times they took him to Lucy and Greg’s for family barbecues, inviting Nick and Ilsa and letting the boys play together, and Ted behaved very much like he was out of it. Lucy was getting more worried and stressed, and in consequence, so was Strike, who found Robin’s attitude, still cold and distant towards him in spite of the Sunday gestures, in addition to having to spy on Dominic Culpepper because of their cricketer case, unhelpful on top of everything else. He had begun to get stress headaches, and to struggle to sleep properly at night, even though he was always tired, so when his car got a flat tyre as he drove back home from a long surveillance on the first Friday night of November, it was the last straw.
‘You f*cking useless thing,’ Strike grumbled, having gotten as far as to take the old wire out before realising he had no spare tyre available. Puffing, he leaned against the car, which at least he had managed to park safely between two cars in a residential area, and suddenly he realised he wasn’t too far from Nick and Ilsa’s. Nick, the son of a cabbie, was just your guy if you had a flat tyre.
Thanking God for the small mercy, Strike locked-up the car and began to push the wheel he’d taken out, wheeling it down the pavement, walking in the direction to Nick and Ilsa’s house. It was hard work, because the wheel was heavy and punctured, and pushing it required bending down at an uncomfortable angle, but at least, gasping and cursing, Strike saw the lights on in Nick and Ilsa’s house like water in the desert, and, thanking heavens, he put the wheel against the garage door, behind Ilsa’s car, and walked to the door. His hands were so dirty now, that he pushed the doorbell with his elbow.
After a few minutes, Nick opened the door, surprisingly dressed in a nice shirt and trousers.
‘Oggy, what a lovely surprise!’ he said cheerfully, and then frowned, seeing Strike’s grumpy and sweaty face, then his black hands. ‘Blimey, are you OK?’
‘I got a flat tyre, not far from here, Abercrombie Street, and I don’t have spares,’ Strike explained. ‘I thought perhaps you could help me patch it up? I brought it here, it’s by the garage.’
‘Oh, of course, bit of a mercy that it happened nearby. Come in, we were just having dinner. We’ll work better with a full stomach, unless the car is somewhere awkward and we need to move it?’
‘No, I managed to park it and I put up a note and all, perks of always carrying a notepad with me. Can you open the bathroom door for me? I don’t want to touch anything with these hands, Ilsa will kill me.’
Nick opened the downstairs loo for him and Strike began to wash his hands. As he was doing so, Strike heard laughter nearby.
‘sh*t, I’m sorry, you were having dinner with someone?’ Strike asked Nick, looking at him through the mirror.
‘Don’t worry, it’s Robin and Ryan,’ said Nick. ‘Ilsa’s been spending a lot of time with Robin, helping her to prepare for the trial with the UHC, so she thought it’d be nice if we invited them over, have a nice evening together, bit less work.’
‘sh*t, I should go, then,’ Strike sighed. He knew it’d been too good to believe it. ‘Robin are like cats and dogs these days.’
‘Don’t worry, we know.’
‘You know?’ Strike asked, surprised, as he did his best to scrub the dense dirt out of his hands.
‘Robin commented she’d gotten annoyed with you and the friendship wasn’t on its best moment, but now is a good opportunity to patch things up, no? Have a relaxed dinner, a bit of a laugh, remember what you like about each other…’ Nick suggested. ‘She’ll understand, you can’t plan a flat tyre.’
‘I swear, you and your wife? Bloody meant to be,’ said Strike, referring to their tendency to play matchmaker, and Nick laughed.
‘I know, isn’t that great? I’ll go tell them.’
Nick turned around, and appeared in the dining room, where Ilsa was entertaining Robin and Ryan over a succulent dinner, a moment later.
‘Guess what? Oggy got a flat tyre down in Abercrombie Street, he doesn’t have a spare, so he brought the flat tyre over. I thought we could invite him for dinner and then patch it up in a better mood,’ said Nick. ‘He’s just washing his hands.’
‘Oh poor thing, of course,’ said Ilsa, standing up. ‘I’ll get a plate,’ and then she stopped and glanced at Robin, ‘that’s OK, right?’
‘My God, Ilsa, of course, it’s the very least,’ said Robin, and she also got up. ‘I’ll get him a beer, he’ll be cursing everything.’
When Strike showed up, his hands red from the intense scrubbing, there was already a plate, a beer and cutlery waiting for him, and Robin was in her best behaviour.
‘I hope it can be fixed easily,’ Robin said, after Strike explained he was returning home from work when something had pinched the tyre, and he’d barely have a few minutes to park before it was completely flat.
‘I would’ve changed the tyre, but I forgot the car’s second hand, and I already bought it using its spares,’ Strike explained. ‘Never had the original wheels, so I’ll have to buy them. It won’t be cheat, but I figured, good old Nick always has a tyre repair kit, maybe we can do enough of a repair to take the car to a garage without needing to get it towed.’
‘Wouldn’t be a cabbie’s son if I didn’t,’ said Nick. ‘We’ll do it in the garage, won’t be a problem. And if it can’t be repaired, if the tear’s too big, then we’ll tow it with my car, I have the right sort of equipment,’ said Nick. ‘It’s just a few feet, you were lucky enough to get a flat tyre right next to a garage.’
‘Bloody hell, not bad for my first flat tyre in years, isn’t it?’ said Strike, cheering up. ‘Can’t thank you enough, Nick. Next pub outing’s on me.’
‘You stay the night,’ said Ilsa, reaching for Strike’s forearm, ‘don’t be ridiculous, you guys can’t stay up late to fix this, and it’s all dark and you’ll think better sober and under the light of day. You’ll fix it in the morning.’
‘I have nothing to do, if you’re free,’ said Nick, and Strike nodded.
‘Fantastic, I can do morning,’ said Strike. ‘I was going to visit Ted, but I can move that a few hours.’
‘How is Ted doing?’ Robin asked, trying to be friendly, and caring genuinely about his health.
‘Worse, but at least he has no idea what’s happening to him, so he can be happily oblivious.’
‘Poor Ted,’ said Ilsa, frowning. ‘We’ve been coming to see him on Sundays, with Benjy, that always cheers him up…’
Conversation steered towards Ted for a while, before deriving to other things. Strike, who was happy with beer and a good dinner, topped off with pudding afterwards, didn’t even mind talking to Ryan about his own things, even if he normally couldn’t care less about the policeman. He also kept in mind his firm resolution to be the ideal best friend, which included enormous efforts to make it appear like he was quite fond of Ryan and happy to listen to him. At least when he looked at him and feigned interest in his things, Strike had an excuse to look at Robin, who was looking not just beautiful, but actually hot. Her buzzcut had grown just enough to cover her head with a thin layer of short, blonde hair, and she had taken to wearing dangling ear pendants that drove Strike’s attention to her beautiful neck, so that eventually he had to avoid looking at her just to keep his sanity intact.
After dinner, Ryan offered to help Nick and Strike, so they went to the garage and took the broken tyre out of the wheel. The hardest part was to figure out where exactly the puncture was, but seeing how small it was, at least it meant they’d easily patch it up. Nick did that part on his own, with the same skilled hands with which he fixed humans up when needed, and with that, the worst was done.
‘Now we’ll leave it to dry properly,’ said Nick. ‘And tomorrow morning we’ll put it back in the wheel and put the wheel back in the car.’
‘Thanks, Nick, you’re my hero,’ said Strike, grinning and patting his friend’s shoulder, leaving the garage with him.
They found Robin having a glass of wine while chatting with Ilsa, sitting together on the sofa. Strike had no doubt that Robin, a petrol head, would’ve been far more useful than Ryan to help with the flat tyre, but at least she looked happy and, with his problem fixed, so was Strike, who even felt a little warmer towards Ryan now his mood had been restored, even if the stress had left him with a dull ache behind his eyes.
‘Well, I’ll finish this and we can get going, then,’ said Robin, reaching for her glass of wine, which she’d put on the coffee table, once the men arrived with the good news.
‘Oh, don’t hurry, I actually meant to discuss something with Corm in private, if that’s OK,’ said Ryan. ‘Seeing as he’s here. Just a quick work thing,’ he told Strike, who exchanged a puzzled look with Robin. They hadn’t been on the same page much lately, but Strike knew that in that moment, they both agreed it was odd for Ryan to want to discuss a work thing with Strike, and not Robin, who was his business partner. Seemingly realising the same thing, Ryan blushed and added; ‘Got a case with an ex soldier, so I could pick your brains on military stuff.’
‘Ah, sure,’ Strike nodded. ‘Could we use the kitchen?’
‘Sure, go ahead,’ said Nick, and he sat down with the ladies.
In the kitchen, Ryan closed the door once both men were inside and turned to Strike.
‘I lied,’ Ryan admitted. ‘It’s not work, it’s Robin.’
‘Right,’ Strike nodded. ‘What’s up?’
‘I’m worried about her,’ said Ryan, lowering his voice. ‘I think she’s been drinking, like, on her own.’
‘I don’t see what’s wrong with that,’ said Strike. ‘I know you’ve got a bit of an issue with alcohol, Ryan, but it doesn’t mean everyone does.’
‘Who…?’
‘Wardle’s my best mate in the Met, and you tried to make a pass on his wife. Don’t worry, Robin doesn’t know the details, not from us, anyway,’ said Strike, seeing Ryan’s expression change with something akin to anger. ‘We’re not that kind of people. But seems like half Scotland Yard knows what a mean drunk you used to be, and Robin’s got her own friends in the Met, so I can’t promise she won’t know eventually.’
‘That’s fine, I already told her,’ said Ryan, and he cleared his throat. ‘Look, I’m not proud of what I was like when I was drinking, which is precisely why I quit drinking and why I’m well aware of the dangers of drinking. I don’t have a problem with people drinking in front of me, but I would be a sh*t boyfriend, and a sh*t investigator, if I didn’t realise that ever since she came out of the farm, she’s been drinking about three times as much as before. And she lies about it. I can taste the whisky in her mouth, and I ask her, not even accusingly, just like, ‘oh, did you go out with your mates, did you have fun?’ and she’ll say anything just to deny she was having a drink, which made me suspicious, because she wouldn’t lie if she didn’t think there was anything bad about it, would she?’
‘She’s come out of a traumatic place,’ said Strike, and shrugged. ‘So she’s enjoying a glass of whisky now and then, to help with the stress, well, that’s still not a problem. Look, she works hard, she barely has a minute to herself, so long as she’s not driving drunk, or being mean, or showing up drunk at work—,’
‘D’you even know if she is showing up drunk at work? How often have you seen her these days, uh?’ Ryan pointed out. ‘Look, I only wanted to talk to you about her because I thought you cared about her—,’
‘And I do.’
‘Doesn’t look it,’ said Ryan. ‘I was trying to get Robin to reconcile with you, you know? Because she won’t talk about exactly what happened but I can tell it makes her miserable to be on bad terms with you, so I thought I could mediate. Now I guess perhaps she’s right to be mad with you, if you don’t give a sh*t about her.’
‘Don’t f*cking say a word about my relationship with her,’ said Strike, and he took a step towards Ryan, threatening. ‘She and I have been friends since before you even knew her, and she knows I’m always going to show up for her no matter what. Two best friends can have a small disagreement, it’s not the end of the world, and we don’t need you to mediate.’
‘All right, then I won’t. I’ll take care of Robin on my own, we don’t need you,’ said Ryan, scowling at him. ‘And if she decides you’re too much of a waste of space—,’
‘That if she doesn’t first decide you’re too pathetic to date anyway—,’
‘You f*cking—,’
‘I have many flaws,’ Strike said, raising his voice above Ryan, while anger rose in his chest, and in his temples, ‘but at least I’m not a f*cking drunk!’
Ryan lunged at Strike, who reacted quickly, punching him across the face so hard that pain seared from his hand just as the sound ricochetted across the room. The force of the punch made Ryan step backwards, and a hand raised to his rapidly swelling cheek. Ryan then grabbed Strike by the shirt and he was about to punch back when the door opened.
‘Are you guys—?’ Robin stopped herself, blinking at the sight of both men red with anger, Ryan’s cheek bruising rapidly and his fist in the air. ‘What the f*ck is going on in here? Ryan, let go of him immediately, you’re a cop, for God’s sakes! What the hell’s your problem!’
‘He punched me!’ said Ryan defensively, stepping away from Strike, who seemed ready to punch him again.
Robin looked from his cheek to Strike’s reddened hand, and her self-control died. She began screaming at Strike, who screamed back at her, and then Ryan started shouting as well and Benjy began crying upstairs, while Nick barged into the room, and, not having ever heard him shout in fury, all three were reduced to silence when his voice rose above their own shouting.
‘SHUT UP!’ the three turned to Nick, who was livid. ‘This is my house, and you three are supposed to be respectable, civilised, law-enforcement people, specially you!’ he pointed an accusatory finger at Ryan. Benjy continued to cry upstairs. ‘Not fight and shout like a bunch of chimpanzees! My son was sleeping, for God’s sakes! We invite you to dinner, as our friends, and this is how you thank us?’
‘Nick I’m so—,’ Robin began, bright red with shame.
‘You shut up,’ Nick said aggressively. He’d never been hostile to Robin, and tears came to her eyes, shocked. Ryan and Strike both opened their mouths to defend her, but Nick cut them off. ‘And you two, don’t even get me started! I thought you could leave your problems outside the door, but no, uh? And you, punching each other, were you? A policeman and a former army policeman, perfect pair. You’re worse than children. You three should be beyond ashamed of yourselves, there’s no f*cking excuse, not just showing your godson such a blatant lack of respect, but your friends who love you and are always there for you. Get out of my house, immediately, and if you want to kill each other, perfect, but you do it out of my house. OUT!’
Completely shocked by Nick’s behaviour, Strike, Robin and Ryan scrambled to get their things and rush out of the Herberts’ house. Outside, Strike, fuming, marched away, towards the train, without stopping to say anything else to Robin and Ryan. Before he’d been the silent passive victim of Robin’s feelings, but now he was finally furious, and he didn’t want to even look at her any more.
