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Chapter 17

He was staring at the ceiling. The bed was comfortable and the room pleasant, but he was feeling something he had never felt before. He was home sick. His attic flat was home, he had never lived somewhere long enough to feel home sick before. He was tired, the day having taken its toll. But yet he lay there, staring at the ceiling. Polite exchanges had been made, it was clear the Ellacotts were trying to act as though they wanted him there. But he had been unwanted enough in his life to know when it was happening. He had nowhere else to go, so he had to stay.

oOo

"Morning, good sleep?" Linda's fake cheeriness met him the moment he entered the living room. The doors were wide enough for the wheelchair, he parked himself out of the way, waiting for her to leave the kitchen and tell him where he could sit.

"Yes, thank you." His reply welcomed her into the room, her hair piled on top of her head, looking more like Robin than ever. He looked away.

"I'm glad. How are you feeling?" He felt uncomfortable, her politeness after the last week was suspicious.

"Good, thank you." At this response she stopped to look at him. She could see he was nervous, sitting so he was almost out the door. Her cheery persona faltered.

"Cormoron? Please, we want you to feel at home."

"Mrs Ellacott..."

"Linda."

"Mrs Ellacott, we both know I'm here for Robin. Once I'm on my feet, I'll be gone. That's what everyone wants."

"Are you ok?" Robin was at the door behind him, watching as her mother opened her mouth and closed it again. "What's..."

"Nothing, all good," he pushed the wheels forward, feeling the pain in his ribs but not admitting defeat. He moved into the spacious room, seeing the old dog in the corner barely lift his head. As Robin sat down, he saw Linda continue to look at him while walking back to the kitchen.

oOo

Seven days had passed, full of awkwardness and silence and mounting worry through his phone calls to Lucy. Strike had observed several things in this time. One, Michel and Stephen were always working. Two, Jenny was not ok. Three, Martin was immature. But most importantly, four, Robin was spending more and more time in her bedroom upstairs, and this seemed to suit everyone just fine.

It annoyed him. He knew Robin, she was strong. But being here was making her weak. No one else saw it as an issue, no one tried to stop it. On the eighth day, she didn't come down until four in the afternoon. Strike was sitting at the table waiting on her, Linda cooking on the stove. Since his announcement to her that first day, she only spoke to him when needed.

"Aw Robin dear. How are you feeling today? You know I could've brought food up to you, no need to come down."

"Needed to stretch my legs."

"Nonsense. It's no trouble. Up you pop and I'll plate something up for you."

"Mum really, I'm... I want to sit here," she looked at Strike, "You're looking better, how you feeling?"

"Claustrophobic, fancy a walk? You can show me your fields?"

"Cormoron," Robin hardly noticed the slow, patronising way her mum said his name, "Robin needs to rest. She's been through an ordeal."

"She'll manage," he began pushing to wheelchair to the door, knowing she would follow, not looking back.

oOo

The uneven ground was hard to manoeuvre with the wheelchair, but he didn't complain. Robin wasn't talking. Yet.

"Not seen much of you."

"I know. I'm sorry." She wasn't looking at him.

"Don't be sorry. Tell me what's wrong."

"I'm just tired." He stopped the wheelchair, she walked in front of him, looking at her feet.

"Robin, look at me," as her eyes met his, he saw the heavy shadows under them. Her bruising was almost gone, but her eyes snapped down to his neck, "Talk to me. You can't stay up in that room. It's not good for you."

"I hate it."

"What?"

"The room... after – you know - I was in there for a year."

"This isn't then. You can't do that again. You need to talk to me. I'm here, I have your back..."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'm not going to let them keep you under lock and key."

"Don't … they love me. They want the best for me. You have no idea... no idea what it was like..."

"I don't. But I know you. I know you now, better than they do."

"Don't do this."

"I'm here for you. To help you..."

"Well if that's true... I don't need this kind of help... badgering me..."

"I'm not doing that. I'm worried about you. Being back here has..."

"I get it. You don't want to be here," her voice had slowly grown louder, she saw her mum and Martin come out the back door, "you think I need you here, but I don't. You think you're here for me, because you don't want to see the truth."

"Which is?"

"That you had nowhere else to go. That you would still be stuck in that hospital bed if mum hadn't asked you to come here. You should be grateful. You have no one else. But fine, you don't want to be here? Then leave!" He didn't move as she stalked passed him, hearing her slam the door behind her.

oOo

His arms, neck and ribs hurt as he hoisted himself upright on the crutches. He knew he shouldn't, that it was too soon. But he was finding it hard to be here. He had been unwanted before, just not unwanted and trapped. Robin hadn't spoken to him the rest of the day, staying in her room, avoiding him. They were all avoiding him. The tension thick, he resided to staying in his small pink room, working on a way out. He was just managing to keep himself upright when a gentle knock on the door made him lose concentration. He managed to stop his face hitting the bedside table, but barely.

"Oh God," Robin had entered at the noise, her soft hands helping him turn around and sit on the bed. "Cormoron, what... what are you doing? You shouldn't be using them for another two -"

"I'm fine." He didn't look at her, embarrassed yet again at his inability to walk unaided.

"You're not. You shouldn't be pushing..."

"I'm calling Nick tomorrow, he'll come get me."

"No. No please, I'm sorry. I came to tell you I'm sorry. I didn't mean what I said, don't go."

"They don't want me here Robin."

"They do. I do. Please. I'm... I'm struggling. I'm not sleeping."

"That's ok, what happened to you..."

"No. I mean, yes, but it's... it's what happened to you... I can't..."

"What?"

"I dream about it all. But the cemetery... what they did... that's when I wake up. I thought you were going to die. I can't stop thinking about it. Then I wake up and I'm in that room. I feel trapped."

They looked at each other.