Chapter 3

When Strike awoke the next morning, he was grateful it was Saturday. He could turn over and doze for a while longer, safe in the knowledge that he wasn't obliged to be anywhere. Strike wasn't fond of mornings. His brain found it hard to engage with the real world again after a sleep and he needed time to adjust. Strike always marvelled at how he had survived in the military, but he had, and he had done so extremely well. His early morning blues must have something to do with the flashbacks to the bombing incident. He often experienced these, not all of them horribly unpleasant, but still vivid enough to unsettle him at times.

Work had been relentless lately and Strike had worked a lot of Saturdays. He couldn't remember the last free one. Maybe two months ago? There were a whole list of chores which he wanted to get done today, but if he didn't manage them, there would be other days. Arsenal were also on the telly in the late afternoon. His only concrete commitment of the day was meeting up with his current lover, Kimberley, in the evening.

Strike tried to count how much time they had now been dating, which he reckoned was around six months. God, that had passed really quickly. It only seemed like yesterday when they had fallen into bed for the first time. Strike had met Kimberley through her sister Lauren, who had been one of his clients for a while. After the successful conclusion of Strike's work, Lauren had insisted on inviting him out for a meal and drinks as an extra thank you. She had brought along Kimberley for some company too and the rest, well, the rest was history as the saying goes.

Kimberley wasn't a classic beauty in Strike's view, but she was very vivacious and attractive nonetheless. She was in her early thirties, had modern, bobbed, red hair and a good figure. She worked in events management in London and had just ended a year long relationship when she met Strike. She didn't take herself seriously at all and Strike found their romance an easy distraction. Kimberley made few demands on him, well, at least for the moment. She was a friend "with benefits". And Strike liked his benefits very much - he was a red-blooded male after all. But who knew when the intricate balance of their arrangement would change to something more binding? Tonight, they would probably attend some theatre show that Kimberley often obtained complimentary tickets for, go for food and then back to her place.

Strike got dressed and had some breakfast. He then headed for the launderette with what seemed like every stick of clothing he owned in his duffle bag. As he loaded the machine and waited for the cycle to run, this thoughts turned to Robin, and not for the first time that day. Why did he think about her as much as he did? Probably because she was the person he spent most of his time with. Only natural he supposed. He wondered what she was doing today. Nothing as mundane as laundry he hoped. She would probably be out shopping for new clothes with her hockey friends and then meeting up with her new boyfriend.

Robin had not arranged to introduce him to Strike yet. Would she, he asked himself? Introducing Matthew hadn't turned out so well, had it? Maybe Robin would think that Strike just intimidated and scared any other men away. He didn't think that the relationship had been going for very long, but he couldn't be sure. Since returning to work with him, Robin had definitely been less….. less? What was the word? Less chatty? Less sharing? Less open? Yes, maybe less open. And who could blame her?

After the cancelled wedding, Strike didn't know what to do. Should he stay and try to reach Robin to talk to her? Or should he just steal away before someone decided he was to blame? He quickly decided on the latter option and found Shanker still waiting for him outside. Shanker sensed that they should just drive away swiftly and they were well on their way on the M1 before he asked Strike what had happened. He was met with a gruff, "Wedding was cancelled. Don't ask any more.", in the way that only old friends can address each other. Once back in London, Strike felt all at sea for several days. Should he call Robin? Or should he leave it for her to call him? He couldn't decide what was best, he could hardly concentrate on his work for the next week and sleep largely eluded him.

In the end, Robin called Strike. It was five days after the wedding and her name flashed up on his mobile on Thursday evening, while he was sitting at his office desk. He grabbed the phone. "Robin…."

The alarm clock seemed to be screaming at Robin from her bedside table. Time to get up. But wasn't this Saturday? Why had she set her alarm anyway? She must have been on automatic pilot. She reached over and turned it off with a great sense of relief. A free day, at last. Robin looked around at her room in the shared house in Tooting. It looked a mess, months' worth of mess and she really needed to sort it out. Today would be the day.

The period after the failed wedding hadn't been easy at all. Well, what did she expect? Everyone wanted explanations, answers, reasons. Even her parents, who loved her unconditionally and would have moved heaven and earth for her, they were due some answers even if they did not immediately press for them. Linda took over the practical side of things and systematically contacted hotel managers, caterers, musicians and the like to cancel what remaining arrangements she could. The cancellation wasn't really the issue, more the payment for the cancelled services. Luckily, Linda was able to negotiate discounted prices or partial refunds for most of it. Most suppliers were very sympathetic, as though they dealt with such disappointments on a daily basis. The many wedding gifts which had been lying around had magically disappeared too, back to their original donors. The marital juggernaut had been stopped, just in time.

Robin's father didn't appear to care about the money anyway, he only showed concern for Robin and how she was. He remembered in great detail the period after Robin's attack, when she was room-bound and housebound, afraid and broken. He felt so powerless to help her, his beautiful little girl, violated by a monster. His natural reaction was to find that monster and kill him, make him feel pain and lots of it. He had told Robin he would do this. Just say the word and he and Robin's brothers would find a way to do it. But sense prevailed. Robin literally wouldn't survive such added stress and it was left to Linda to convince the Ellacott men that two wrongs didn't make a right. What would be gained by all of them ending up in prison, for God's sake? That didn't help Robin. She needed her Dad and big brothers around her. No, justice must be pursued properly, under the law, as it eventually was.

In what seemed like a repeat of a bad dream, Robin did remain in her room for three days after the fiasco at the church. She didn't cry and she didn't appear to be upset, Linda noticed. She just seemed to be deeply pre-occupied, as though trying to fathom out some incalculable equation. Linda thought it best to leave her be with occasional deliveries of food and drink to her bedroom. Robin would reveal herself when she was ready and Linda sensed this wouldn't be too long.

Of course, Matthew was hanging around like a bad smell. Having time off for the now cancelled honeymoon, he was free to visit the Ellacott family home at least once a day, begging to see Robin. All such requests were denied on Robin's strict instructions, although both her parents and brothers always tried to let Matthew down gently. He even tried standing outside Robin's window, shouting up, pleading for an audience. She heard him, but simply moved into her parent's bedroom until she was sure he had gone. Robin had lost count of the number of missed calls, voicemails and texts which Matthew had left on her phone. Hundreds. She listened to and read some of them, but there was only one call she wanted.

She had quickly discovered that Strike's number had been blocked, no surprise there, and she rectified that status immediately. In fact, she marked Strike as a "favourite" just above the unblocking button. Robin then waited, pondered, considered, analysed, in a loop, continually. Should she call Strike? Or should she leave it for him to call her? He had travelled all the way to the wedding, so she should probably call him. But then, their last exchange had contained the words "gross misconduct". Mmm, but his number had been blocked and maybe he had been trying to call her numerous times? But then again, maybe he hadn't. After a few days, Robin did appear from her room and joined the family for meals and watching telly in the evenings. But she still couldn't decide what to do. Eventually, she resolved that she should take the bull by the horns. She had nothing to lose now. Make the call, she chided herself. Make the call. Thursday evening would be a good time she thought, not Friday when Strike might be at the pub, not tonight when he might be….. well, tonight was just too soon. She needed time to rehearse. "Oh bugger", she thought.

Thursday came slowly and Robin felt a dual feeling of excitement and dread. Like asking someone on a date and wondering if it would be yes or no. After dinner, Robin went to her room and settled herself on the bed. She took a deep breath and pressed "Cormoran" on her phone. It started to ring, but only once. Then a familiar, deep voice simply said, "Robin…."