Chapter Text
Robin was sitting outside in the defender, watching the entrance of 19 Carthgate Avenue. It was not often that she actually engaged in surveillance work. The nature of work at the agency had changed in the last 10 years. Robin increasingly found herself in a managerial role or attending progress meetings, planning meetings, client facing meetings, reporting meetings, finance meetings. Meetings! Meetings! Meetings! That was all she seemed to be doing. Midge had a requested extended time off, citing burn out and exhaustion. She had confided with Robin that her relationship with her long-term partner was hanging by a thread and they both needed time out to assess their future. Part of Robin sympathised with Midge’s predicament, equally another part of Robin felt a pang of resentment too. As an employer however, she considered the request and approved it. To some extent her hands were tied.
Robin had agreed to take on Midge’s surveillance shifts. She did not need to show the rest of the employees in the office that she was a grafter and a team player. Everybody knew she carried her share of the responsibility and the burden of being a managing partner. In fact, she was looking forward to this surveillance. She hoped watching the entrance of 19 Carthgate House from 7:00 pm to 1:00 am would be cathartic. Giving her some breathing space and time to deal with her the turbulence she was going through at the moment. Of course, she never ever disclosed to the office or to any other person, the chaos and that was swirling like a tornado in her mind and body. To any outsider, she remained poised and professional.
But today in the solace and still of the defender, she allowed herself this indulgence. To release the turmoil in tears and weeping whilst watching the entrance of 19 Carthgate House. She had even come prepared with tissue and tea. Judging from the responses of her single friends, Robin ought to be happy, ecstatic even. She had managed what most of them had tried and failed; get a boyfriend, get engaged, move in together and now get married. In her 10 years in London, she recognised the difficulty of manoeuvring the chicanes and obstacles of singledom, divorce, break up, romance and long term relationships. So, she asked herself, why she was now so miserable despite becoming recently engaged to Ryan and having confirmed the wedding date, venue and the beautiful diamond solitaire as proof of it.
She was about to check in with Dev who was on duty tonight to let him know her position and report on any changes. But, before she could do so, she received a what’s app message from Strike.
Strike: Just checking in you are ok
Robin: Perfect. Got a good spot.
Strike: You know I could have done it. You should have left me do the cover. Go out and celebrate. Congratulations again.
Robin: Thank you.
She hoped he would end it there, but she saw the three dots moving. He was not done.
Strike: You, ok?
She paused. He always knew when she was not, having an innate sense and always able to read her situations, thoughts and predicaments. He could always tell. No matter what she did to hide her pain and misery, he always managed to sniff her unhappiness like a hound. Sometimes he never asked. He just gave her a look to say that he had clocked her tensions; the change, the shift, the schism. The look that he gave presented an invitation to talk about it. But for the last 2 years, Robin declined any forensic discussion into her personal life.
Strike:?
Robin: Perfect. Thanks for asking.
The three dots continued to hover.
Strike: You can talk to me you know if you want.
Robin: No worries. Nice to have some time on my own. Been manic
Strike: Please.
She had wanted to tell him to fuck off by this stage. ‘Talk about it’. ‘Talk about it’. There was no need to talk about anything. “Fuck off Strike,” she said aloud. She started on her breathing exercises whilst poring herself another cup of tea.
Strike: Leave Carthgate.
Robin: I’m fine. Thanks. All good here.
It was hard to keep watching 19 Carthgate and mop up your tears at the same time. But she had to. She put the phone down, wondering what he expected her to respond, just as she did, her phone began to ring. She looked and saw that the caller was Strike. She had no strength or inclination to speak to him. She let the call go to voicemail.
How did she allow the situation to progress to this point? Why did she not stop the bus and get off? Why did she not have the courage to say ‘no’? Why did she, a successful businesswoman, strong and independent, say ‘yes’ when she actually meant ‘no’. Why did she allow her feelings for Strike to remain entombed? Did she not learn from the last time? Her failed marriage to Matthew? Here she was again, making the very same mistake. You always read about women in abusive relationships, returning to the abuser or the same pattern of abuse. It was like they were asking for it. Perhaps she was ‘asking for it’ too. Maybe in some perverse way she Robin was in a ‘trauma bond’. But Ryan was not abusive. He was quite a nice partner. Caring, loving, attentive, generous. She was in an enviable position. Some women would cut their arm off for what she had. Why could she not be these 'some women' and be thankful for her 'lot'? Was she afraid of being left of f the shelf? She did not want children and certainly did not need a marriage. She did not think so. But perhaps there was an ounce of insecurity. So why did she allow the relationship with Ryan to carry along when she had no intention of a long term partnership, marriage or children. She was not financially dependent on him. In fact, her earnings were considerably higher than his.
The phone rang again. She thought it was best to pick up.
“Hi. Sorry I missed your call. Was on the phone to mum,” she lied.
“I was just wondering, if …” Strike was not allowed to finish.
“I already said. I am ok. Yes!” Robin exclaimed, wondering in what other way she could communicate her need to be just left alone to have a good old cry.
Silence.
“Ok. You just don’t sound ok,” Strike said in a cautionary tone.
“You’re a bastard Strike! A fucking bastard!” she screamed in her mind to herself. To Strike she pressed on with her lie and simply said, “I’m fine". With that she put the phone down. She regretted not being able to switch off the phone because of the safeguarding protocol the agency had for all members of staff and for her own personal safety. Robin closed her eyes and continued with her breathing exercises. She opened them quickly remembering that she needed to keep an eye on 19 Carthgate House. She did not think she missed anything.
Robin had not seen him coming despite his bulk taking up most of the width of the pavement. He did not want to give her a fright. Not at this time of the night. So, he walked on the pavement on the other side of where she had parked. Despite the lack of any lighting in the car, there was enough of the street lighting to see her outline. Her strawberry blond hair gleamed in the residual light.
He knocked on the passenger side of the window. Despite trying not to scare the living daylights, that was exactly what happened. “Fucking shit!” her heard her say loudly. And then she saw his face. He looked down at the knob on the inside of the passenger door beckoning her to uplock the door. He stood there waiting. She was not opening the door. He walked to the driver's side.
“Ellacott, open the door. Open this fucking door,” he said. “Do you want me to shout?”
“Go ahead,” she challenged him.
“Just open the fucking door!”
Robin reached the passenger side and opened that door for him. Strike slipped in and closed the door quickly. It was a busy road despite the late hour. But once in, he remained silent. Awkwardness seemed to take over.
Robin looked away focusing instead on the ladybird wall art on the gate.
The ring of Robin’s phone jolted both the partners.
“Shit,” said Strike.
“Sorry,” said Robin unconsciously picking up the phone. “Hi mum.”
Strike could not hear what Linda was saying. He only heard Robin breathing slowly as she was taking in what Linda was saying. Finally, Robin put the phone down after say a quick ‘love you and bye mum’.
“Everything ok at home?” he asked slowly.
“Yes. Mum’s going in for a small operation. I called earlier to wish her all the best.”
“Why don’t you go home and spend some time with her?”
“Just routine. Nothing she can’t handle.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“I’ve got it covered Strike. No worries there. I’m going back at Christmas. Two weeks. We are all going up to the Lakes. Dad’s hired a cottage. There will be plenty of time to rest and recuperate there.”
Strike nodded. “It’s been hard to talk to you, you know. Every time I try, um … I come up against a wall. I’ve tried,” he said turning to her. “We used to talk, you know. Have a laugh. I miss those days.”
“We’ve both moved on. Things change. Life changes. People change.”
“Is this what you want?”
“What do you mean?”
“This marriage and all that?”
She took her time to consider. “Yeah,” she lied.
“Do you love him?”
“Of course, I do. What do you take me for?” she said, with tears streaming down her face.
“I don’t think that is the ..”
“The truth! You think I am lying?”
“Yes. I think you are lying to yourself,” Strike said with honesty.
“That is your opinion.”
“It’s not too late.”
“For what?” Robin asked.
“To stop all this.”
“I don’t want to stop all this. What makes you think I want to stop all this?”
“I can see it on every line, every etch, every contour of your face. Your eyes. You’ve dimmed the brightness of your eyes. They used to light up a room. Light up your face. Light up your smile. You no longer look at me when you talk to me. I hear your voice, but I never see your face. You have twisted and turned and contorted every feature so much, to control what you say and how you say it, that I no longer recognise this person you say you are,” he said with guarded caution.
Robin looked away again.
“Can I have my Robin back please?” he whispered.
And in that last whisper, he broke her. She no longer could hold the dam of tears.
He reached for the driver’s door and unlocked it. He got out and opened her door, lifting the sobbing Robin and taking her into his arms. “Come here,” he said holding her as her heaves of her sobs and pains released into his chest. She felt his strong arms close her in comfort and relief. She was too weak to protest.
How she got home, she did not know. She awoke at 03:08 in her own bed, covered in darkens and her bedcovers, trying to remember how she got home and into her own bed. Slowly, the ebb of her memories flowed; she recalled Carthgate House; the Defender and then …then Strike coming in. “God, yes. He came into the car,” she whispered to herself. She closed her eyes and the events of the day started dissipating into her consciousness.
Shit she thought. “Shit! Shit! Shit!” she began to say.
“Despite the cold, she knew she needed the toilet and probably a hot drink to warm her up. She stumbled out of bed. Opening the door to the hallway, she caught sight of the faint light in the kitchen. She walked into the kitchen to find Strike awake on her laptop in the dark. He had heard her get out of bed.
“I hoped that you would have slept a bit longer." Strike said drearily.
“What are you doing here? I mean. Why are you here?” she asked.
“You were in no fit state to be left on your own last night. You had just collapsed into a heap. I did not think it was right to just leave you like that,’
“Am ok,” Robin reassured him.
“I don’t think you are,” he countered.
She was in no mood to argue.
“Tea?” Strike suggested. “We’ll start with tea,”
He put two mugs of tea on the table and some slices of toast. “This was all I could find. There is nothing in the fridge to eat. I thought of going to the supermarket but did not want to leave you alone.”
“I’m not hungry,” she replied.
“You need to eat. Just .. just have at least one slice.”
He watched her while she ate, wondering how he was going to open up the conversation partly concerned that Ryan might just turn up and wonder what he was doing in her flat so late at night in her flat. It was as if she read his mind.
“Ryan’s going to wonder what you are doing here,” she replied. “Don’t know where he is.”
“We’ll figure that when and if it happens. I think he might just be relieved that I found you when I did and brought you home.” When Robin did not answer, he continued. “So, do you want to tell me what is going on?”
“Nothing.”
“This is not nothing,” Strike continued.
“You’re a hypocrite,” Robin replied after some consideration.
“We all are,”
“You’re the worse kind,”
“Ok. I admit. I put my hands up. Preaching to the converted. I am the worse kind of hypocrite,” Strike replied with both his hands up. “Still does not answer my question. What is going on?”
“You never tell me what is going on with you, so why ..”
“Because I am your friend and I care about you, and I can see that there is something not right with you. “
Robin made no reply.
“Look, if you don’t want to talk to me, I get it. I do. I can get someone else to talk to you. You know. A professional. Not Prudence. Someone we don’t know. Ilsa recommended someone they use professionally. She’s good. She can see you on Friday.”
“When did you discuss me with Ilsa?
“Two days ago. We are both quite worried.”
“Have you spoken with Ryan? Did he call?” she asked after some hesitation.
“No.” was Strike’s simple reply.
“I’m going back to bed. Too tired to think or talk,” she finally said. Robin got up and walked quickly to her room and closed the door.
Strike rubbed his face part in despair, part frustration and part exhaustion. He had not felt this helpless in a long time. Robin was clearly in deep sorrow and agony, but he could do nothing to help her. Concerned about Ryan finding him in her flat at this later hour, he packed up, cleared away the washing and left. He needed to talk to Ilsa. Perhaps Ilsa could speak to her ‘woman to woman’.
The lull of the night meant that Robin heard her front door open and close. He had left. She allowed herself to cry again.
****
“You know what’s the problem is with you. You are a 'rescuer'. You constantly need to rescue. Look at all the women in your life. Your mother, sister, Charlotte, Madeline and Elin. Damn. I forgot about her. Even Elin. Not so much Lorelie but I don’t know much about her. Perhaps she did need rescuing. She was in a long-term relationship that broke up so I suppose maybe she felt vulnerable. Getting older.”
"Where is this coming from?" Strike asked as he balanced his coffee on his lap.
"My honest opinion. I am no psychologist or relationship counsellor. I am not Pru. I am just a barrister who has had 15 years of experience watching human behaviour and frailties. You and I have seen things that TV dramas and films never capture. Reality is often darker, stranger, more destructive than fiction. There are no limits to the evil of the human deeds and desires. Between you and me we have probably seen it all."
“Umm,” he said and nodded in agreement. “Where is this going?” he asked again.
“Well,” Ilsa said gearing up to explain. “You see, there is Robin. She is the only woman wounded and not needing you to rescue her. She was damaged way before she met you and she of all people has never asked you to rescue her. She rescued herself. In fact, the day she came into your life, she essentially rescued you. You were homeless, broke and your longest relationship had just ended. I would go so far as to say you were a victim of domestic violence. It's only because you are male, at over 6 foot tall, former boxer and veteran of the Afghan war, makes you are the most unlikely candidate for a victim. And that is perhaps why things have not worked out for you and her. Essentially you know deep inside that she does not your rescuing."
“That’s rubbish,” he said at once.
“Which part?” Ilsa asked.
“That I was a victim of …”
“You were and there is no point denying it. When she could not get her way, she hit you, threw things at you. Remember the crystal vase she threw at you. Hit you on your head and you needed stitches. Every time she could not get her way, she broke you or your things. This not counting the slapping, punching and lacerations. The bruises and marks your body was subjected to.”
“Yeah. Yeah. I don’t need reminding.”
But you don’t deny the rest. She rescued you! You are just bloody pig headed and can’t see it.”
Strike’s silence encouraged Ilsa to progress her argument.
“Why you have not made that move. You have never approached the recognition of telling her how you feel because somehow, somehow, you know she does not really need you. In fact, I would go so far as to say that you probably need her more than she needs you and that is where the fear and apprehension is coming from. All this nonsense about the business and how could you have a relationship with her while the two of you are in a relationship. You’ve put those walls up yourself.”
Strike considered what Ilsa had just said and was about to dismiss it. But he knew there was some truth to this. He had grown up with a mother who dragged him and his sister from one squat and horror to another. Often sleeping on floors or in unknown places. He tried to recuse his mother from the clutches of her insalubrious and often dangerous of boyfriends ending up with her husband Whittaker. He was too late to save her from Whittaker. Strike found her dead on a dirty filthy mattress. Lucy’s, sheer terror every time her mother brought a new man into their lives is etched into Strike memory. Charlotte from her dysfunctional family and upbringing.
“What are we going to do with Robin?” Strike asked.
“What can we do? I can speak to her but if she refuses to talk or tell me what is wrong, I can’t force her.”
“No,” he conceded in a hush defeated tone.
“How is she in the office?”
“I know she is putting up a front. All smiles. All happy clappy. All good. All ok. But I know she is not,” Strike replied. “She was in a state last night when she was doing surveillance. I told her I would do it. But she insisted. By the time I got her home she had calmed down and I managed to get her into bed.”
Just then his phone buzzed. He looked and saw a text from Robin.
R:Are you with Ilsa?
S:Y
R: I’m outside. Can we talk?
S:Y
Strike wondered if he should tell Ilsa about the text but decided against it.
“Right. I better be off?” Strike said quickly, putting on his prosthetics.
“I thought you were staying. I got the bedding out for you,” Ilsa replied.
“No. I’ll head off, if that is ok.”
“Yeah. Of course. I hope you managed to sort her out. If she calls I’ll let you know.”
***
He could see her waiting at the bus stop on the main road. A surge of mixed feelings and emotions rushed in. Part relief, part happiness, part trepidation, part dread. He sat next to her and held her right hand. He waited for her to speak. He could not tell how long they were waiting in silence. Patience. He needed patience he kept telling himself.
“Thank you for getting me home last night. For being there.”
“That’s what friends are for.”
“I’m so afraid of making the same mistake.”
Strike waited for her.
“This wedding thing. I don’t want to get married. I don’t know why I agreed. I just got swept up in all this … this I don’t even have a name for it. This marriage activity. The first push, then the next and then this momentum builds up. More and more and more and you tell yourself you can stop it but you get pushed and pushed and push further and further and then you can’t stop it because if you do, you know you will end up hurting someone. I just felt this pressure. I just became miserable. Just miserable. All my friends were telling me over and over again how lucky I was but I didn’t feel lucky. Every whiff of discord or if I was questioning the relationship, he would get all angry and cross. Just like Matthew. I thought I was over that. Really, I thought it would not happen again. But here I am again. In the same place. Different man. I am so angry with myself.”
“I just spent two hours talking to Ilsa who said I was a victim of domestic violence and I kept going back to Charlotte time after time again to the same level of deceit, manipulation and violence. So you can say we are both in a cycle of destruction. Don’t be too hard on yourself. More importantly, what are you going to do?” Strike asked.
“I ended it this afternoon. It was not pretty. He accused me of deceit and deception. I was a liar, a cheat and that I was … . Oh gosh, I can’t even bring myself to tell you the things he said.”
Strike looked at her left hand and noted she was no longer wearing her engagement ring.
“But after all that. I felt relieved. It was as it this yoke, I was carrying was lifted. Inside, I am still in turmoil. But the pressure on me has eased. For the first time in a long time I can breathe."
“Good. I am very proud of you. I know it must have been hard."
“I have not told anyone else. I am not sure why I am telling you. You did not switch off your tracker, so I knew you were at Ilsa’s. Just then I had this overwhelming feeling that I needed to see you and say thank you. I’m going to see mum. I need some time. I’m sorry. I know it's short notice, but I just need some time away from everything.”
“No. No I told you to go. Take all the time you need. I can manage.”
“Great. Thank you again. See you soon.”
“Shall I walk you to the station?
“No. I brought the Landy. I am driving home now,”
“You right to drive? Text me when you have reached. Let me know you are safe. See you soon."
With that he put his arms around her and hugged her. He could feel her bones and exhaustion. She had lost weight. He kissed the top of her head. Patience he reminded himself.
“Please text me to say you are ok." he asked her again.
“I will. Promise."
With that she walked to the landy and drove off. Strike was unsure when of if he would see her again. But he knew then, he needed to let her go.
*******
Although they had spoke almost every day, Strike missed her terribly. Her empty chair he faced every morning added to this ever-increasing sense of loss and desolation. He missed their daily catch-ups, her smiles and gentle laughter, her indignation and righteous anger. Growing inside him was a Robin shape hole that was getting bigger. The evenings were better. They spent time together on the on the phone discussing their present and past cases, basic work admin and financial matters. It was comforting hearing her laugh and teasing him. Sometime in just silence, he enjoyed the sound of her breathing and her movements.
After the first week, they switched from phone calls to video calls. He watched he on the screen as she spoke to him while in the kitchen cooking, eating or when she was walking with her dog. Even after three weeks, away he never asked her when she was coming back. Part of him was afraid to do so in case she said she was never coming back. She never spoke about Ryan and he never asked. Patience he told himself. Patience.
“Where are you?” she called one evening.
"Final surveillance at 19 Carthgate. We got some stuff not a lot. Enough. Client understands. We’ve done what we can. Barclay is tying up the report and invoicing with Pat. So don’t worry about that. Been quite an okay month for us. So don’t worry about financials. We are doing quite well.”
“That’s good to know,” she said laughing slightly. .
“Why are you laughing?"
“When was the last time you shaved?”
“What?” he asked again.
“When was the last time you shaved? You look terrible,” she said with a soft laugh.
And there, she appeared, from nowhere on the driver’s side of the window looking straight at him with a smile that could light up dark matter.
She opened the car door. “You should really have locked the door. How many times have you told me to lock mine and think about my safety. And you never, never practice what you preach. You are a bloody hypocrite!” she said smiling at him.
An euphoric rapture overcame Strike when he saw her. She was right there. She held out her arms to hug him.
“Hello, she said quietly into his ear. "I've missed you."
“Bloody hell Ellacott! You don't know the meaning. ” he exclaimed. "You're back?" he continued in a questioning tone.
"Of course, I’m back. Got in this evening. Came straight here. Pat said you were 19 Carthgate so I thought I’d come and meet you. Still early. Fancy a drink and a takeaway. I am famished."
“Yeah. Yeah… he said . Still in a state of surprise.
“Can you do me a favour though?” she asked awkwardly. “Can you come back with me to my flat. I told him to come and take his things. I don't know what state the flat is in. Normally I would be fine. But I just need …"
“No. Get in. we’ll drive there.”
“Thank you she said and squeezed his hand. He wished he could have held on to her hand longer.
She placed the keys in his hand whist they walked up to her flat. He opened the front door. “Stay here a bit,” Strike advised her as he walked in to check the flat.
The only sound emanating from the flat was the hum of her fridge in the kitchen. He checked all the rooms, including bathroom. Everything was tidy. Strike also checked her fridge and cupboards.
“Why are you doing that?” she asked.
“Just in case,” he said cautionary.
“In case of what?” she asked.
“Never mind,’ he said although the thought of the contents of Donald Laings’ fridge came to mind. The note here says that the extra set of keys are in your post box."
“Gosh I am relieved," she said as she fell on her sofa. "I have arranged with Pat to pick up my stuff from his flat. She’s left it in the office. There isn’t much really.”
“Right come on. Let’s go out and celebrate. We both need a drink.”
Dinner was a simple affair. The decided to stay in the pub. Strike had ordered fish and chips and Robin a chicken burger. Strike let her lead the conversation, cautious about asking too many probing question for fear of upsetting her. She told him she spent much of her time going over and over the relationship with Ryan and she concluded at the end of it that she did not love him and she did not want a marriage either."
Strike nodded. Not so much in agreement with her but in conciliation. The last thing he wanted was to upset her.
“I think you should just take you time and see where everything goes. Don't rush or make hasty decisions."
"That's what mum said. Mum said the same thing. She was very understanding my mum. She said that at the end of the day, it might change if I feel in love with the man I wanted to marry. I told her I didn’t want marriage or kids ever."
"What did she say?" Strike asked.
"She said never say never."
Strike laughed. “It’s a mother kind of thing to say."
"Yes," Robin agreed.
Walking her back to her flat, Strike suddenly felt the warmth of her palm and her fingers as they intertwined into his. She was now holding his hand. Uncertainty gripped him. He stopped and released his hand, instead placing both his hands on her face. "Robin," he said gently to her. "Despite everything, is there a place in you heart for me ? For us? Can we try and have relationship. I don't want to hurt you. But I don't want to let you go either. This past year, has been one fucking miserable one for me too. Watching you love another man the way I wanted you to love me. Watching you both get engaged, move in and almost marry tore me up too. But tell me, if I have a chance to make you happy. A chance for us to be together. I know, you have only barely ended it with Ryan. I will give you that time. But I also need to work on myself. If there is no chance, then I need to know that I have to close that door forever. And that's fine, because your happiness is more important to me. But if there is a chance, then I need to know too. I can't live like this much longer."
Robin turned and kissed the palms of his hand.
"I've spent too long trying to wean myself off you, from loving you. I was waiting for you. And then, in the waiting Ryan came along. I tried to look at you and make you tell me that you wanted me. But you looked away and so I found myself then in the cycle I could not get out of.
"Bloody hell!"
Robin sniggered. "I tell you what. Let's start again. from the beginning. .... Um... Would you like to come up for coffee?"
"Do you have decaf," he teased.
"You never have decaf! But I'll see what I can do."