Author's note: This started as a look at what might have happened between the threat of Action Man at the end of 'The Indelible Stain' and the fabulous 'Ramblin' Boy'. James all but told Robbie to ask Laura out and then nothing. Not. A. Thing. But as I wrote it an idea took hold and it grew somewhat and it's now well on its way to a three parter. If only I could get part three to behave, but more of that another time! For now, here's part one. But I warn you, and I can't put it better than Rosyposypie (and so I'm going to steal this line and hope I'm forgiven), they are going to be "a bit Robbie and Laura about it," a phase that I love and says an awful lot, don't you think? As ever, I hope you like it.
The kettle bubbled frantically as it approached its desired temperature before the loud click of it turning itself off brought Robbie around from his thoughts. He'd been contemplating where he could watch the game this afternoon and had been struggling. As if supporting his beloved team wasn't enough pain and suffering, given their recent form, finding a pub where he could expose himself to yet further torment could be just as painful; the perils of supporting a team from up north but living down south. He reached for his favourite mug, stuck a tea bag in it, and poured over the water. He wondered about the Kings Head. The landlord was from Sunderland but had been known to show a Newcastle game if, and it was a big if given the rivalry between the two teams, it meant not showing a London Derby. He was a principled man for the most part, as long as the principles were 'north east good, everywhere else bad'. Settled on his choice he opened the fridge, grimacing as he found it devoid of milk, remembering too late that he'd meant to pick some up the night before. Maybe it would have to be food shopping first and then the pub, he conceded, as he faced the prospect of a particularly unappetising breakfast of black tea and half a bowl of dry cereal.
Laid out on the dark brown leather sofa, purchased primarily for its length rather than any redeeming aesthetic quality, James sipped his freshly brewed coffee wondering whether he had the energy, much less the enthusiasm, to move. He knew exactly where he'd left his cigarettes resting on the kitchen's faux granite worktop and cursed himself for not remembering to grab them on his way past. He weighed up the pros and cons for a while before eventually deciding caffeine and nicotine were the perfect bedfellows for a reason and so hauled himself up and went in search of them. The previous evening had been a late one but worth it to try and secure their long anticipated weekends off. At one point on Thursday it had looked like they'd be working well into Saturday and Sunday on the case that stubbornly refused to solve itself. But thanks to SOCO coming through with the final piece of the jigsaw that enabled them to confirm the identity of the suspected murderer, they'd been able to plough through the interviews and resulting paperwork on Friday. With only a few hiccups on the way, they'd managed to get everything straight and filed just in time for a very quick pint before three glorious days of leave for them both. He had no idea what Robbie had on the cards, but for himself a weekend alternating between sofa surfing and a couple of gigs was just what the doctor ordered.
The class came to its natural close, and whilst everyone sat relaxed in butterfly pose, sun streaming in through the almost-clean community centre windows, their instructor reminded them about paying for next term as soon as they could, insisting she'd offer their place to someone else if they didn't. But this only brought light laughter from around the room. They all knew Lucy was a complete pushover when it came to managing her yoga class business and she'd never be so mean.
"Nameste, everyone. See you next week," Lucy concluded, smiling as an echo of 'nameste' bounced off the walls, the notice boards adorning the walls doing little to soak up the sound.
A few of them stood and started to roll up their mats collecting up their bits and pieces. Laura prefered to linger a bit longer than most, making the most of how relaxed the session had made her after another busy week. She didn't always make the early Saturday morning class but feeling chuffed that she'd managed to do so today, contemplated the weekend stretching out before her. She closed her eyes briefly and when she opened them was surprised to find Lucy looking down at her from above,
"Tempt you with a soya latte?" to which Laura nodded enthusiastically before getting up onto her feet.
Wrapped up in as many layers as she could find, Katherine braced herself against the wind that whipped across the open expanse of the training ground. A decade or more ago she'd never have imagined that she'd be spending Saturday mornings stamping her feet to try and keep warm, her hands shoved down deep in her pockets, on the sideline of a football pitch. The perils of having boys, she reflected, and not for the first time. She'd always imagined herself with daughters, spending weekends crafting and shopping. But three sons later she'd accepted that being surrounded by males was her destiny, and whilst she wouldn't swap them for the world, she did wonder at how she'd managed to produce offspring quite so dedicated to activities that meant her wardrobe was now about warmth rather than style. When they'd installed a new kitchen the previous year the only item she'd really wanted was a huge sink for washing muddy boots in. How life had changed since the heady days of late night drinks, dating and romance, and even the joy of being newlywed and buying their first flat, a cosy one-bedroom affair with a narrow staircase leading up from the street below, only themselves to worry about. Increasingly, she and her husband were ships that passed in the night, tag teaming as they ferried children about the place, juggling his work hours with managing the home, and trying to make sure ageing parents were looking after themselves.
As she tried a new tactic of rubbing her hands together to generate some heat, she realised she was the only mum watching today, usually there were a couple more, but she had noticed they were inclined to stay away when the weather turned particularly cold. The dads were a bit more hardy but based on today's turnout clearly not by much. The whistle blew and she joined in the faint clapping of the other few spectators. She'd let her thoughts drift through the second half and had no idea of the score, or if Freddie had played well. But it didn't really matter, he didn't expect much from her as a third child, her mere presence was usually enough for him. She smiled warmly as she saw her youngest running over towards her, as muddy as anything but with a huge grin on his face.
"Did you see my goal, Mum? It was epic. Top corner. Goalkeeper didn't stand a chance!" He recreated the shot and his ensuing celebration, making her laugh.
"Come on, you," she said, ruffling his hair, "You need a bath. Did you leave any mud on the pitch?"
He looked down as himself and rubbed his knees which were practically black. "No mud, no fun, mum. You know that," giving her a wink. She rolled her eyes, smiling as she did so. Of all of her children, this one was by far the cheekiest, something she absolutely loved about him. They turned and headed off towards the car, Freddie not holding back in letting her know how fantastically he'd played.
Halfway round her third circuit, Jean Innocent's phone rang.
It had become a ritual that on a day off she'd kick start her morning with a power walk, five laps of the Victorian park with its elegant lake and handsome black gates it's entrance. It was just a few minutes from her house and if she timed it right it would be hers alone, save for a few dog walkers; leave it too late and it was her versus the buggy brigade. Not that she minded that too much, remembering how early the day started when you have young ones at home. But with her son long since grown there was no need to subject herself to having to dodge pre-schoolers on scooters or to watch on worriedly as angry geese chased toddlers long after they'd run out of bread to feed them.
She pulled up next to a bench, fished her phone out, took a deep breath before answering.
"DCS Innocent...Yes...Yes...Ok, well it can't be helped. Call Lewis, will you? No, hang on, scrap that. I'll do it. Better coming from me...No, you're right about that, he won't be happy."
She hung up and, as she dialled, repeated her words back to herself, "Won't be happy at all."
