As the moon became visible in the darkening sky, Robbie was ready for his bed. What James had uncovered was significant but his already exhausted brain was struggling to process it and in the end he'd had to admit that he needed to go home. He knew his Sergeant would work until he was told not to and ordinarily he would have too, but the day had been so long already that he simply couldn't take anymore, physically, mentally or otherwise. The drive home was uneventful and, more importantly, short, the streets deserted given the hour, but he'd still needed the distraction of the radio to keep him awake and focused on the road ahead. Trudging up the dirty white steps to his front door, he inserted the key and let himself in.
He would never describe the flat as ideal, he'd chosen it mostly for its proximity to work and that it was low maintenance, but it had become his home. It was better than the last place, he conceded. That had been best described as sparse, its main attraction having been the low rent that had been fortunate given his two years overseas. But both places signified his loneliness in life, a state that had lifted in the last few weeks to the extent that at times he would have barely been able to imagine it ever returning. And yet, keys in hand, staring over the dark and empty space in front of him, he realised just how low he felt and there was only one cause, Laura.
Depositing his jacket on the brass handle of the kitchen door, he made his way to the cupboard nearest the sink where the glasses and, more importantly, the bottles of Scotch were stashed. Retrieving one of each, he poured himself a generous measure, its golden hue deadened by the dimly lit kitchen. He didn't bother with the light, he could navigate the small flat just by touch now. Over the years there had barely been any visitors, no one to entertain or make an effort for, and he'd fallen into a sort of habit of just eating and sleeping there which, simply because it has matched his mood, he'd rarely compelled him to switch on any lights.
He retreated to the sofa and, pushing the pointless scatter cushions aside, collapsed onto it. The hazy light from the near full moon lit up where he sat, leaving the rest of the room untouched. He felt a pang of regret for not going after her now, running his free hand across his face in frustration at his lack of action. He couldn't have known that James would call of course or that he'd end up back at work, something he probably could have put off if he'd wanted to. Hell, if he'd been with Laura when the call had come then there'd been no way he would have abandoned her. But still, it was now nearly five hours since she looked at him with wide eyes filled with hurt and disappointment, stormed off and not looked back. Her words had been laced with something else though, fear perhaps. But regardless of the cause, the pain and anger had been real and now, he realised, not only had he not heard from her, but he'd made no attempt to reach out to her either.
Her tears had long since dried but the very effort of them had left Laura completely drained, a new plain of exhaustion that was layered on top of another. Crying was a rarity for her, preferring to think long and hard about a situation before committing an emotion to it, a habit borne out of years of pathology, the mechanism by which she safeguarded herself from the worst that humanity had to offer. But where Robbie was concerned it would seem that her mind didn't always lead her to a place of rationality and that had certainly proven to be the case this evening.
Accepting that nothing could be faced on an empty stomach, she forced down a couple of slices of buttered toast and then began to make a herbal tea in the hopes that it would induce sleep. As the kettle boiled, she selected a satisfyingly chunky mug from her collection. It was one she'd picked up on a trip to Cornwall taken a few months back, having discovered a tiny pottery in a backstreet of a coastal village. She'd fallen in love with many of the items on display but had limited herself to choosing just one. It had become a little habit, whenever she travelled bringing back something that would remind her of the adventure, something that sparked a memory and would take her back there if she was so inclined. She often went away with friends but this short break had been one she'd taken on her own, keen for fresh air and some space just to think and weigh up different options in her life. She'd come back refreshed and determined that, whatever she did next, it had to include finding a way to resolve what had felt like the neverending merry-go-round that her and Robbie seemed to be on.
Adding hot water to the mug, she used the string of the teabag to raise and dip it a few times before leaving it to brew as her thoughts wandered back to that Cornish retreat. As it had turned out, she hadn't had to find a way to confide in Robbie about her feelings, it had found her. An impulse after a tough week of mixed messages and confused signals had led him to confess that he liked her. She'd slept well that night, content that they'd taken a definitive step towards one another. The irony, she brooded, was it was now fatigue that had forced them to step back from each other. Or at least her from him.
She squeezed the teabag and abandoned it on the draining board headed upstairs, switching lights off as she went. Beyond taking back her earlier outburst the only thing she craved more was to sleep in hope that it would rid her of the deep seated guilt of her reaction to his casual comments. She'd been tired before and she would be again. It was no excuse. Reaching what she longed would be her sanctuary from all of this, she switched on her bedroom light only to be met by the sight of the newly-made bed, it's pretty covers that this morning had held so much promise of a good night's sleep aided by a pair of warm, strong arms wrapped around her.
But now it seemed to mock her and, desperate not to give in to another bout of tears, she put the room back into darkness and let the soft light of the summer moon filtering through the window guide her as she changed into her light cotton pyjamas, arranged the pillows just so before climbing in and settling herself to drink her tea, telling herself to breathe, to breathe and relax.
Robbie's glass rested heavily in his hand, the intricate pattern of cut-crystal catching the light as he swirled the liquid around. He was tempted just to down it in one and turn in, face all of this tomorrow. But, he concluded, he'd been doing that for too long, burying himself away when things got tough, too difficult to face. One way or another Laura had shown him that there could be another way, that there was another chance for him, and he wasn't going to let that slip away without a fight, if a fight was what was even required. Putting the glass on the low coffee table, he stood and made his way to where he'd left his jacket and fumbled for his phone.
With the tea finished, she continued to concentrate on her breathing and after a few minutes began to notice their effect, her residual anger and confusion slipping away. She felt herself let go of how upset she was that he hadn't tried to stop her from leaving, resisted further thoughts of regret that he wasn't there now on the pillow alongside her, and let the warm comforting blanket of sleep start to descend and envelop her. As her heavy eyelids began to close she was shocked awake by the shrill ring of her phone from the bedside table and turning towards it saw his name brightly illuminated on the screen.
"Hello", she answered tentatively.
"Hi," he said, relief flooding Robbie's voice that she'd answered. "I'm sorry to call so late, it's just -"
"No!" she interrupted, "It's fine," pausing before admitting cautiously, "I thought that I might have scared you away for good."
He gave a gentle chuckle, his relief at her answering palpable, "No, the sharp-tongued Hobson is quite something but I reckon I'm tough enough," he quipped, almost hearing her smile down the phone in response.
A silence followed, both unsure what to say next but desperate not to lose the connection between them. After what felt like an age, he ventured, "Can I just say something?"
She swallowed hard. His tone was so cautious that she steeled herself, fearing what he might be that he had to share. "You can say anything to me, you know that."
She could sense he was thinking, dismissing the first clever retort that sprung to mind, no doubt, given the sincerity with which he then spoke.
"Whatever it is, Laura, we'll get it sorted between us, ok?" he said, his voice soft. "And as a first step please can I see you tomorrow night?" pausing before adding a little tongue-in-cheek, "I happen to know a curry place that you'll love."
She laughed with sheer relief, why was it always curry with him she mused. "Yes," she replied, and when he didn't speak added, "I'd like that."
A silence again settled between them again, but now it felt comfortable, reassuring that perhaps the worst had passed. Laura heard a rustling down the phone and a sound that she knew was his bare feet crossing footsteps the wood-effect flooring of his flat. She could almost picture him there and it added to her regret that they weren't together.
"I don't suppose you can see the moon from where you are, can you?" he asked.
"Actually, I can," she said, turning her head towards the window, "And it's beautiful, isn't it? Almost pink."
"The rose moon, me dad used to call it," he replied. "If he wasn't on about the birds in the garden then it was the moon at night. Many an evening we spent in the dark listening to the owls swoop overhead, him making me swear to me mam that he hadn't let me take a few swigs of his beer. "
He chuckled quietly at the memory and the sound caused her to sigh. The inner circle with whom he'd share these memories with was small, she knew that, just her, James, Lyn, Ken if he was in the mood to listen. He'd never dare risk the scorn and ridicule of the gruff Geordie showing his soft underbelly. But it showed that their intimacy was safely stored far deeper than any current hurt or discord could touch and suddenly it meant the world to her.
They shared their happy silence for a bit longer before she ventured to say good night.
"Night, Laura," he offered, a slight pause before adding, "And I'm sorry."
He hung up before she could respond, the dead air of the disconnected call loud in her ear before she returned her phone to its place by the side of the bed. She shifted the pillows so she could lie down comfortably and continue to stare at the moon, its soft glow illuminating her face. A sense of calm was restored and she let a tiny smile curl on her lips as sleep engulfed her fully.