Chapter Eleven

Strike returns to his apartment after a very long day, to find Robin preparing dinner. He kisses her cheek in greeting, and asks, "What's the verdict?"

She smiles and informs him, "Definitely pregnant, probably about ten days. I've got a referral for an obstetrician in a couple of months. In the meantime, the doc took some blood, to check a few routine things. She was happy that I'm already taking supplements and have stopped drinking, but says I'm a little underweight."

Strike has thought the same thing for quite a while, but was too smart to mention it. Even now, he merely says, "Should be easy enough to fix; just eat like I used to."

Robin smiles and says, "I seriously doubt that a diet of biscuits and beer is what she meant."

Strike huffs a laugh—thinking that he could do with both right now—and concedes, "Perhaps not."

"Oh, how's Eric?" Robin remembers to ask.

"Better than last time I saw him. He and April are having another go, and he wants us riding shotgun at a restaurant tomorrow evening."

"Sounds good. And were you able to get a look at the file?"

"Not yet, but I think Cakebread will play ball. I didn't like him though."

With a soft chuckle, Robin points out, "That hardly makes him special. You have pretty high standards."

He can't wait any longer to show his affection. Always mindful of her PTSD, he silently telegraphs his intentions as he embraces Robin from behind, kissing her neck and huskily whispering, "Yes, I do."

A shiver goes through her at the feel of his warmth breath, and she says, "Oh, God, is this what it's going to be like when you're living with me?"

He starts gently swaying on the spot, relishing the feel of her body against his, and says, "That'd be my vote." And then his brain finally catches up with what she first said. "Wait, our baby was conceived in Australia?"

She turns in his arms, saying, "About ten days, which means there's a chance they were conceived before we left, but that's even less likely, given I'd barely finished my period. Does it bother you?"

Shaking his head, Strike says, "No, not at all. And, if we have a girl, the name is already taken care of."

Robin smiles at the memory of the "Australian" alias she'd used when still only Strike's assistant. And then she explains, "I'm afraid that Stephen and Jenny got there first; my niece is Annabel."

With a shrug, Strike concedes, "I guess that would have been too easy. Well, we've got some time to argue about names." And then he holds her close, saying, "I love you."

Robin smiles and accuses, "You're mushy when I cook for you."

He kisses her and insists, "I'm mushy when you do anything." Then releasing her, he asks, "Need help here?"

Robin returns her attention to the stovetop, saying, "Just keep me company. I missed you today."

Strike sits down where he can watch her, and says, "Looks like I'm not the only one who's mushy."

Robin beams at him and admits, "True."

They chat about everything and nothing, until Robin notices that Strike has gone quiet. She glances at him to see that he's fallen asleep on one of the dining chairs, his head resting against the wall and arms folded across his chest. Struck with such a powerful yearning that it feels like physical pain, she turns off the hob and covers the casserole. Dinner can wait.

Robin's nerves return as they approach the entrance of the care home, and she asks, "You sure this is okay?"

Strike smiles and promises, "I'm sure. It's not my normal day or time to visit, so I rang ahead, and you're welcome too."

"You've been visiting your uncle all this time, and you never told me?"

Strike's mouth sets into a grim line before he says, "Not exactly a fun subject."

Robin rests a hand on his cheek and tenderly accuses, "Still trying to protect me?"

He kisses her hand and holds it in his as he leads her inside, saying, "No, me. If it's a good day, he'll remember me. And he's going to love you."

They're met inside by a nurse who obviously knows Strike, and Robin meekly lets herself be led to Ted's room. He's reclining in bed, seemingly asleep, but opens his eyes when the nurse says, "Mr. Nancarrow? Got some visitors for you. Is that okay?"

Ted sits up, adjusting his pyjamas as he does so, saying, "Uh, yes, that's fine. Is it teatime yet?"

The nurse points to the food tray nearby, saying, "It's right here, when you're ready."

"Right you are. Thanks..."

"Julie, sir."

"Thanks, Julie."

As she leaves, Julie whispers, "See if you can get him to eat anything."

This must be familiar to Strike, because he merely says, "Will do."

He's now clutching Robin's hand tight, and she wonders if it really is for his protection, from heartache. She offers a hopefully friendly smile as Strike says, "Hey, Ted, it's Cormoran, your nephew. How are you?"

There is not a hint of recognition in the old man's eyes, but he says, "Cormoran. I'm well, m'boy. And who's this you've brought me?"

"This is my sweetheart. Remember me talking about Robin?"

"I'm sorry, no."

Robin takes the initiative, stepping forward and offering her hand, saying, "That's all right, Mr. Nancarrow. I'm Robin Ellacott. We've never met, but Str...Cormoran talks about you a lot." Searching her memory, she then adds, "He said you were a Red Cap, a long time ago."

Ted's eyes finally contain a glint of life, and he says, "That's right. Da wasn't happy. He wanted me to be a fisherman like him, but I..." Then looking at Strike, he says, "Cormoran. My sister was your mother. Me and Joan 'ad you when you was a little tacker, before Luce came to live with us."

Strike smiles, saying, "That's right, Ted. You taught me how to fish. And you taught me Trelawny."

Strike then starts singing the tune Robin knows as The Song of the Western Men, soon joined by Ted. She first heard it over fish and chips in Skegness, what seems like a lifetime ago. Later, she'd looked up the lyrics, fascinated back then—as now—by any scrap of information about her partner's past. After a few bars, she hesitantly joins in. Encouraged by Strike pausing long enough to offer a wide smile, all three of them finish the song at a volume that makes her worry they'll be kicked out. But then she notices that a few others in this place were also singing along. Finally, Ted blinks the excess moisture from his eyes, and says, "Corm. It's good to see you, son. How have you been keeping?"

Only now does Robin understand that Strike must perform this ritual every time he visits, as he replies, "Just fine, Ted. Can I tell you a secret?"

"Of course, my boy. But I'll probably forget it."

"That's okay." He then puts an arm around Robin's waist and encourages her closer to the bed, before saying, "This is Robin. We're getting married in a few days, and we're having a baby."

Ted looks from one to the other and back again, before asking, "A baby? I thought you weren't keen on kids?"

Strike laughs and says, "I wasn't. But she changed my mind."

Ted sits up straighter, saying, "And you brought her here when I'm in m' jammies? What were ya thinkin', lad?"

Bubbling with joyful laughter, Robin says, "It's all right, sir. I'm very pleased to meet you." She leans forward and kisses Ted's cheek, as he does the same for her; a fleeting, polite contact.

Unsure what is now expected of her, she's stepping back when he grabs her hand, begging, "You'll bring the babe to visit?"

Again unsure, she's saved by Strike answering, "You're first on our list, I promise."

When Ted then gestures to Strike, he appears to know what's required of him, stepping close and leaning down until the men's foreheads are touching. They stay like that for a few seconds, and then Ted takes his nephew's face in two hands and kisses him on the forehead before releasing him with, "You're a good man."

Robin loves Strike even more when his voice cracks a little on, "Thank you, sir. I try."

Ted relaxes, saying, "Well, well, Cormoran having a baby. Amy would love that."

Robin assumes that Strike will know the name, but he asks, "Amy?"

Ted blinks in surprise, and says, "My sister. Your mother."

"Ted, my mother's name was Leda."

Some emotion passes over the old man's features, too quickly for Robin to identify it, and he says, "Oh, that's right. My sister's name is Leda."

Strike leans closer, asking, "Ted, who's Amy?"

"No one. Could you pass m' dinner? I might be able to eat something now."

Strike puts a hand on the old man's arm to insist, "Who's Amy. Is that Amy Nancarrow?"

Robin gently but firmly pulls Strike's arm back, saying, "I see tinned peaches here, Mr. Nancarrow. Would you like some?"

His confused gaze suggests that he's already struggling to remember her, but he says only, "Please."

Robin forces her way between the two men, basically pushing a scowling Strike back, and hands Ted the small bowl of fruit, along with a spoon and napkin. On noticing how much his hands tremble, she asks, "Can you manage all right by yourself, Ted, or would you like me to help you?"

"If you would. Might get some in my mouth that way."

Not daring to glance at Strike, she takes the bowl and spoon from Ted, and wordlessly starts feeding him. It seems to be an effort, but he manages to empty the bowl. And then he wipes his mouth and hands her the napkin, saying, "Thank you. I always loved peaches. I'd get such a hiding when I stole them from Ned Piercy's orchard, but it was worth it. Do you like peaches, m'dear?"

"I do, but I'm not as brave as you. The only thing I ever stole was parsley, from my mother's garden."

Eyes wide, he shakes his head and asks, "Parsley? Why on earth would you want to steal that?"

Robin shrugs and says, "I like it. I especially love it in tomato juice."

"You are a strange girl. What's your name again?"

"Robin, sir."

"And you're Corm's sweetheart?"

"Yes, sir."

"But you're not Charlotte. She died; killed herself." This is accompanied by a hiss of surprise from Strike, and Ted looks at his nephew to say, "Not your fault, son. Some people are born sad, and the best we can hope for is to offer them a glimpse of happiness." And then he closes his eyes, saying, "I'm tired, Corm. Lived too damn long."

Robin finally looks at Strike to see that a familiar shutter has descended over his expression, hiding any emotion. She's not seen that look for a while. And she's reminded of the plasma ball that Jonathon received one birthday. She just thought it was interesting. But her brothers immediately started inventing ways to make it dangerous; they ultimately covered it with tin foil, and dared each other to receive small, painful shocks. At which point she'd left them to it. She's trying to think how to safely approach Strike while he's in this mood, when he steps forward and kisses his uncle's forehead before saying, "Sleep well, Ted. I'll see you next week."

Predictably, Strike doesn't hold Robin's hand on the way out. They're almost to the door when the woman at reception calls him over, to reveal, "Thought you might like to know, Mr. Strike, we've had several people trying to visit your uncle since you were last here."

Strike doesn't seem surprised, merely asking, "Reporters?"

"I think so. Some identified themselves, some didn't. But you know our policy is to deny access to anyone not okayed by you or your sister. He's had a couple of visitors from Cornwall that_"

Strike cuts her off with, "Okay, thanks."

Now looking a little confused, probably because of his surly demeanour, the woman says, "Uh, there was something else...someone else. He said he's your brother?"

She now has the partners' full attention, and Strike asks, "Stephen Whitehall?"

"Yes, I think that's right."

"Did he ask for my uncle by name?"

"Edward Nancarrow. Yes, sir."

Robin is mortified when Strike jabs a finger in the receptionist's direction as he demands, "Don't let him in with Ted, ever."

She blushes slightly, probably more from anger than embarrassment, and insists, "I didn't."

Robin tries for what she hopes is a grateful smile, and says, "Thank you. And thanks for letting me visit. Is it okay if I come back next week?"

A slightly strained smile is accompanied by, "Of course. You're on the list now."

"Thanks. I'll see you then." When Robin looks around, it's to see that Strike has already left, so she turns back to the woman and says, "Sorry."

This time the smile appears relaxed, and the woman says, "It's all right, ma'am. It goes like that sometimes. I don't take it personal."

Robin laughs a little at that, saying, "Just as well." She can see the nametag, but asks, "You are...?"

"Mandy, ma'am."

"Thanks, Mandy. I'm Robin. I'll see you next week."

"See you then." When the sliding doors don't automatically open, Robin looks around, spying the answer just as Mandy explains, "The green button."

"Thanks."

Robin exits the building to find that Strike hasn't gone very far, perched against the handrail for the long concrete ramp outside, vaping hard enough to be surrounded by a manufactured cloud, and scowling at the world. She doesn't say anything, merely rests against the opposite handrail. A furtive glance from under his trouble brow confirms that he's seen her, but he's silent for several more seconds, before saying, "Sorry."

"For what?"

"Thought maybe I said something I shouldn't."

"Not to me. You manhandled and tried to interrogate a dementia patient, and then berated the receptionist for doing her job, before abandoning me in unfamiliar surroundings. But I wasn't offended. I'm quite happy for you to be somewhere else when you're like this." It's a lie; she wants to cheer him up.

He grimaces and says, "Yeah, thanks for intervening with Ted. I wouldn't like to upset him." Finally looking at her, his smile is the one that she'd endure all for, and he asks, "Have I mentioned that I love you?"

Grateful that he's snapped out of his mood, she says, "It might have come up once or twice. Want to talk about what just happened?"

He caps the vape pen and puts it back in his pocket, saying, "No. Not yet, anyway. You right to head back without me? I need to go for a walk."

"Okay. You'll stay aware of your surroundings?"

He nods, asking, "Will you?"

"I will." Only then thinking of it, she suggests, "Actually, I'll head back to my place for a few hours. It's getting a bit ridiculous to pretend we're not living together, so I'll finish packing. If that suits you?"

He approaches and slides his arms around her waist, saying, "Yes, that suits me." He kisses her, and then says, "Thank you."

"No problem. And, whatever you decide, I'll support you."

"Decide?"

Perhaps she's guessed wrong. "About, uh, whether to investigate your mother."

He releases her, warmly accusing, "Witch. You're reading my mind again."

She smiles and teases, "Or you're not that much of a mystery."

"Or that. I'll see you later?"

Robin nods, saying, "Yes. Don't forget we're going out for dinner."

He doesn't look too happy at the reminder, but merely promises, "I won't." He kisses her again and is soon out of sight.