James drummed his fingers on the table and tried hard to suppress the growing sense of annoyance that had been building for the last half an hour and now was threatening to spill over. He wasn't sure if he'd describe himself as the patient sort but he knew what his sister would say, 'intolerant of anyone who doesn't conform to your idea of the polite'. He could practically hear her voice as he sipped at his pint, the judgemental way she'd crossed her arms, daring him to disagree. But, he mused, they were getting better than they had in a long time so he should be grateful for that at least. He glanced at his watch and sighed, took another large sip before checking his phone for the umpteeneth time. Ten more minutes and he was giving up on both them. He expected tardiness from Robbie, but not the good doctor.
The pub they'd agreed to meet in wasn't a particular favourite of any of them but it was handy, situated pretty much halfway between his flat and their cottage and, more importantly, served a decent ale and didn't show the football. That marked it down in Robbie's book but up in Laura's and she declared herself willing to sacrifice a wider selection of wines to have his full attention for the evening, and given James was inclined to agree his vote had been decisive.
"There you are, man! Whatcha doing in here?"
He started at the voice and turned his head slowly towards it to see Robbie strolling through the bar towards him. He looked confused for a second before he realised what had happened.
"You've been outside this whole time," he said, rather obviously.
"Of course," Robbie scoffed, "Not sitting in this dungeon on a fine evening like this. Now come on, your round," his head gesturing in the direction of the waiting barman.
Order placed, they leant casually against the worn wooden surface, waiting for it to be poured. They chatted easily, sharing very little of consequence beyond a bit of station gossip and a joke or two at Moody's expense.
"Lizzie alright?" Robbie asked. "I invited her and her old man tonight but think they're away? Devon, did she say?"
James nodded, "Her aunt's got a place down there so they've started going down for the odd weekend."
"Nice for some," Robbie commented, thanking the man for the drinks as they arrived in front of him.
He expertly gathered them up, two pints and a G&T wedged between splayed fingers and again indicated that James should pay. The younger man merely rolled his eyes and did as he was told, before following Robbie out of the pub's side door that led out to the garden. He caught him up just as Laura was pushing the empty glasses to one end of the picnic table to make space for the new. The curled edges of a Manila file peeping out from under her bag on the seat next to her did not escape his notice as he leaned in to kiss her cheek, but he chose not to say anything. Instead he slid in next to Robbie and they all clinked glasses and raised a silent toast to each other.
Laura spoke first. "Tell us then, James. Who is she? This woman who's keeping you so busy that you can't meet us for a quick drink."
He looked at Robbie who simply held his hands up as he pleaded his innocence. "I didn't tell her, honest. She has a sixth sense."
"In some cultures they'd consider it witchcraft," James muttered. "Burn her at the stake for having an all-seeing eye.
"I am here," she said pointedly, "And witch or not, I'm right so come on, spill the beans."
James retained a neutral expression, reluctant to share but knowing he'd have to. She wouldn't relent now she knew there was something to know and no one could wheedle information out of him quite like she could. Not that weedling was the right word. Mostly she just noticed and then asked, very directly. He took a gulp of his beer and began a fairly scant account of his relationship with Becky so far, reasoning that the ensuing interrogation was inevitable and there was no point in spoiling her fun.
"I did think she was being coy with me the other day," Laura commented when he reached the end, "I must be losing my touch not to have put two and two together."
"You know her?" James asked, slightly agog.
Laura merely shrugged in response whilst Robbie, who had been mid-way through a sip of his drink, made an odd sort of choking noise, causing them both to check he was alright. He waved away their concern and coughed a few times as he recovered his ability to speak.
"Laura knows...urgh," he began, clearing his throat again, "That's better. Sorry, went down the wrong way."
There was a pause.
"You were saying?" James prompted.
"What? Oh. Yes. Well. You forget that Laura knows everyone. Her spies are everywhere."
He'd meant it as a joke, a truth that they'd teased her about hundreds of times before, that fact that she always seemed to know what was going on, even before they did. And they were supposed to be the professionals!
James was quick to pick up on the familiar trope, keen to encourage anything that might move the conversation away from himself and so proceeded to launch into a story about the time Jean Innocent had attempted to keep from them the location and therefore activity that they'd all be required to take part in as part of an interdepartmental bonding exercise. He and Robbie had prided themselves in having dodged the previous two simply staying one step ahead, finding ways to be either excessively delayed or deliberately unable to find the right place. But this time their efforts had proved fruitless. That was until Laura came to their rescue. But he was barely three sentences into recounting this when she interrupted, her eyes like daggers and focused entirely on Robbie.
"Why did you put it like that? That I know everyone. No one knows everyone."
"I didn't mean anything by it," Robbie replied casually, seemingly oblivious to her tone, "Just that you're friendly, that's all."
Her eyes narrowed. "Too friendly?"
"No," Robbie replied with a self deprecating chuckle, "Just friendlier than me."
James shook his head woefully but remained silent, suddenly finding his beer the most interesting thing in the world. For a smart guy the man really could be blind sometimes. He waited half a minute for a follow up barb but when none came dared to glance towards Laura. Her expression spoke volumes, the pursued lips suggesting that she was far from done but had chosen to hold back, for now at least. He reached around for a different topic.
"Anyone want to know who I spoke to today?" he tried, "Might be relevant."
"Been busy, have you?" Robbie replied, dragging his eyes away from where they'd settled on Laura, "Go on then, lad. Spill the beans."
James reached into his pocket for his cigarettes and placed them carefully next to his pint. He didn't need one yet but he might, in a bit, when he'd finished.
The drive home had been endured in silence. The summer light had long since faded to night by the time they'd bid James goodbye, handshakes and kisses exchanged as they maintained the charade, their smiles and waves goodbye abruptly ending once the lanky frame of their friend disappeared from view as he turned the corner at the end of the street. With the car parked a short distance in the opposite direction, they'd begin to make their way. Hands deep in his pockets, Robbie had absentmindedly jangled the keys until Laura had stopped and with a loud sigh stretched out her arm with palm up, and he'd sheepishly handed them over. And if the way she marched on ahead hadn't been enough of a clue as to how she was currently feeling then the wrenching open of the driver side door and its subsequent slamming shut and the brusk manner in which she put the car into gear made her sentiments more than clear.
The street lights flashed by, the roads quiet in comparison to the endless traffic jams that plagued the city by day. With no argument seemingly forthcoming Robbie instead found himself fighting to keep awake, the delightful combination of a few warm pints and a comfortable passenger seat almost too much to resist.
Laura manoeuvred the car into the drive, the gravel crunching loudly under the types as she brought it to a stop. She switched off the engine but made no effort to move. He wouldn't have been surprised if she had stormed off in the house knowing full well she wasn't above a bit of stomping when she was feeling cross. But he'd suspected the fury that had been brewing and bubbling away as James had explained what he's been up to was already beginning to ebb away. For reasons he still couldn't quite fathom she didn't seem able to stay angry at him for very long, the guilt he felt at having ever upset her in the first place usually lingered far longer.
"I didn't tell him anything," he ventured cautiously.
"Of course you didn't," she snapped, her head whipping round to look at him straight on, "But he's not stupid, Robbie. He can read case files as well as you can. He can jump to conclusions just like you did, and now it would seem he's proven he's just the Inspector you were, not able to leave even a niggling detail alone."
"That's not a bad thing," he offered quietly.
"No, it's not," she sighed, resting back against the headrest and closing her eyes.
He reached for her, wanting to show he understood; that she had his support no matter what but she shifted suddenly; the loud clunk of her seatbelt being released and the key being pulled from the ignition before he could say add anything further.
"Come on," she said, "We can't sit here all night."
She was a few paces ahead of him as she entered the house, disabling the alarm that sat just inside the front door and crossing to the small wooden sideboard and unceremoniously dumping the keys and her small handbag down on its surface. There was a hook on the wall for them but being tidy was far from her mind. She entered into the kitchen and crossed to the cupboard, found a glass and moved to the sink, taking some deep breaths, willing herself to stay calm as she watched it fill with water. She could hear Robbie still in the hallway, the sound of his own wallet and keys being left similarly abandoned next to her own. She didn't expect him to follow her. He'd likely flick on the TV, find the news or a documentary, anything that he could use to switch off from the day.
He really could be the most infuriating man to be around when he was like this, measured and understanding when what she really wanted was a fight. Well, not a fight as such, but a frank conversation that just got everything out in the open. Shutting off the tap she gulped down half the contents and looked out over the garden, letting her mind go blank. It would be fine, she told herself with a sigh. She'd explain and properly this time, certain that he'd know what to do.
"Robbie," she called out, putting the glass on the side and turned to head into the lounge.
He was a creature of habit and was bound to be in his usual spot on the sofa by now, his feet propped up on the footstool, head rested back with eyes closed. But a quick glance about the room had her frowning at his absence, the TV silent in the corner.
"Robbie?" she tried again, her voice directed up the stairs this time.
Getting no response she started to make her way up, only to jump at the sound of a voice behind her. Her head whipped round and he emerged from the shadows, his face unreadable in the gloom.
"You scared me," she said with a nervous laugh, "What are you doing?"
"You've got a message," he said, his hand stretched out. "This was on the mat."
Laura frowned. She'd obviously been too distracted to see it but she took it now and saw her address scrawled in a spidery hand on one side.
"Who's it from?" she speculated out loud as her finger slipped under the seal to rip it open and then stopped in surprise when she got an answer.
"Martin Johnson," he said gruffly, "I've seen enough of his handwriting this week to recognise it."
She looked up at him sharply with a confession expression, their eyes locked in silent communication. She thought she could see it, the look of hurt etched across his face, anger too, that she couldn't blame him for. But somehow she couldn't bring herself to speak, to offer up the reassurance that it was nothing. Because it wasn't nothing.
They both stood stock still for what seemed like a lifetime before at last he moved, turning to heading upstairs.
"Robbie," she started but he didn't look back and she was left standing in the dark, the crumpled note unread in her hand with the only light coming from the streetlight outside.