Chapter Eighteen

As the temperature plunges overnight, Robin is wearing everything she could find in her old Land Rover, including the picnic blanket of unknown origin that could well be the source of the wet dog smell. Even then she's shivering, but she can't run the heater non-stop without starting the engine, which would ruin her chances of remaining undetected when the plumes of steam surround her car. With numbing fingers, she texts Strike:

Too cold. Heading home.

He makes her smile with:

G-g-good idea. See you at TCR.

Thankfully, Strike isn't waiting very long at Tottenham Court Road station before Robin arrives. He can tell at a glance that something has happened. The clue is the couple of young men leering at her from the carriage as the doors close. When he opens his arms, she moves into his embrace, and he glares over her head at the guys as the train pulls away. Unfortunately, they don't look at all concerned. One cheeky fucker even flips him off. Savouring the feeling of her in his arms for a few seconds, he then asks, "Awright, Rob?"

She doesn't look up to wipe a few tears from her face, even as she says, "All right. They didn't do anything."

"Yeah, I'm sure you're upset because they were perfect gentlemen."

"I mean they didn't touch me or anything, just standing close and staring at me."

He knows the stare she means; the one that reminds her she was raped. "Want to report it? They'll be on camera, and deliberately making you uncomfortable isn't on."

She tucks her arm through his and says, "No, let's just get home and warm."

They head towards his flat as he says, "Another excellent idea. Any luck tonight?"

"No. I'll be glad if Spanner's plan works."

"He's expecting the first two cameras in the morning, so we can test it from Monday."

"Maybe mention it to the others, let everyone know that we're not replacing them?"

"That's a good idea. Can you remind me? I don't want to take my hands out of my pockets long enough to put a reminder in my phone."

Robin laughs and says, "I don't blame you. I'm sure it wasn't so cold this time last year."

"There's a storm front on the way, should hit the south coast some time tomorrow night."

"That would explain it. Hope there's not much damage."

"Yeah. It's just as well we're not due in Cornwall this weekend." Hunched over, in an effort to keep her nipples from forming icicles, Robin doesn't understand why Strike then tenses and removes his hands from his pockets, until he whispers, "Trouble."

Without moving her head much, she scans the relative darkness ahead, and soon sees two different young men walking towards them. Nothing about them suggests danger, but Strike's instincts are very reliable, so she lets go of his arm and slips a hand into her pocket. The only good thing about the leering guys on the tube is that her rape alarm is handy.

When the strangers are almost to them, one of them lifts his chin in greeting, his eyes on Strike, and asks, "Got a light, guv?"

Without slowing, Strike drawls, "Nah, vapin'."

The guy does an abrupt u-turn so he can engage Strike, saying, "Everyone's vapin' now, have you noticed? It's sad is what it is. Can't smoke down the pub, and some places won' letcha drink outside. It's fuckin' mental."

Trusting Strike to deal with the chatty man, Robin slightly turns her head, keeping the other just within sight. Sure enough, he makes a grab for her handbag, but she's already got a tight grip on it, and now clutches it to her while pivoting on one foot, kicking out with the other. Despite aiming for his groin, she wasn't really expecting to connect, but he drops to his knees with an agonised groan, just as someone behind her grunts as if in pain.

Strike is saying something, but that familiar buzzing in her ears drowns him out, as their would-be muggers stumble off into the night. Someone has hold of her shoulders, and Strike's frantic face swims into view, just as sounds begin to make sense. "Rob? Can you hear me? You're okay. You're safe."

She's been silently repeating those last two words for the past few seconds, and is already beginning to believe them. She nods, managing, "I'm okay."

And then she's enveloped by Strike, and he says, "Right, we're getting out of the city. If it's not too late for your parents, how about you ring Linda and see if they're free this weekend? We could stay overnight, if you like. But, for now, let's get you home."

Not yet trusting her legs to work, Robin asks, "How did you know?"

"About them? When they spotted us, their posture changed, and the taller one nudged his mate. It was pretty clear we were targeted, though I didn't see any sign that they were armed."

"I didn't even see them. I forgot to be alert. I'm relying on you for that too."

Strike releases her only enough to look her in the eye when he says, "Hey, you didn't fail. You did great. I was able to focus on the decoy because I knew you could handle the other one."

Her laugh sounds a little high-pitched, but Robin relaxes a little, recalling, "He went down like a ton of bricks."

Keeping one arm around her, Strike starts steering her home, as he says, "Yeah, he did. Fuck around with my fiancée and find out."

This time, her laugh sounds more relaxed, and then she asks, "What did you do to your guy?"

"Palm strike to the chest. Seems like robbery was their only goal, so I didn't want to fuck him up, just make him back off."

"And, sorry, but what were you saying to me?"

"Oh, to show your rape alarm, because I think that would've been enough to deter those two. I certainly didn't expect you to maim the poor fucker."

"That was my first self-defence lesson, from Dad. He said, if ever a guy was giving me trouble, to knee or kick him in the groin and then run."

"Good advice."

"Except this is the first time it's been useful. Mostly, they ambush me from behind."

"Yeah; the smart ones do. Sure you're okay?"

"I am. I'll text Dad when we get home. He's a night-owl like you, so will probably still be awake. I'm sure they'll be thrilled for us to stay over. But I want to make a statement to the police before we leave, about both incidents."

"Okay. We'd best write down the details before we go to sleep."

"I don't mind going by myself, if you're rather not bother."

As they're walking, Strike kisses the top of her head, and reminds her, "Partners."

Robin is clutching Strike's hand, and grateful for the contact. He hadn't approved of this detour on the way to Masham, but understood her reasons. Thankfully, there aren't many people about on this Saturday afternoon, and no one challenges them as they walk towards the building where she was raped.

Strangely, her anxiety levels today seem inversely proportional to her distance from the halls. In the end, she's thwarted not by her PTSD, but by an external door lock that didn't exist when she was a student. And Strike comments, "I take it that's new?"

She laughs a little and says, "Yeah. So much for that plan."

Robin is wondering what to do next when Strike says, "Afternoon. Bit late in the day for a walk of shame, isn't it?"

The young woman approaching—dressed in a slightly crinkled cocktail dress and carrying her shoes—grins and says, "Never too late if there is no shame."

Strike acknowledges her victory with a slight bow, and says, "Any chance you could let my partner inside? I promise we're not dodgy; she's a former student." With a smile, he concludes, "We're visiting her parents for the weekend and stopped by on a whim."

To her credit, the woman eyes them both warily and asks Robin, "Oh? Where do they live?"

Letting her Yorkshire accent take hold, Robin says, "Masham. I'm in Loondon now'days, but grew up 'round 'ere."

The party goer smiles and confirms, "Yeah you did." Then getting keys out of her purse, she says, "All right, come on in. Can't be for long though."

Equal parts anxious and grateful, Robin says, "No, that's fine, thanks. I'm Robin, by the way."

As the door opens, they learn that their new friend is, "Sandy." Once they're all inside, she asks, "Were you wanting to see your old room? I'd have to check first."

Robin shakes her head, saying, "No, thanks. I just, uh..." Unable to articulate that she wants alone time in the stairwell, she concludes, "This is fine. I just need a moment." She's already spotted the additional lighting and a security camera. Pleased that the university took steps to ensure that what happened to her can never happen again, her gaze then sweeps to the area beneath the staircase where her attacker had been hiding. In the space of a heartbeat, memories of those minutes threaten to overwhelm her, so she reminds herself that she is safe, that she's not the same trusting young woman who almost died on this spot. And her breathing begins to calm down.

All of this happens in a few seconds, and now Sandy is staring at her, asking, "You okay?"

Dismissing her concerns with a wave of her hand, Robin says, "I'm fine, truly. Just memories."

Sandy doesn't look convinced, but says, "Okay, I'll leave you to it. Don't get me in trouble now, will you?"

Able to summon a genuine smile, Robin vows, "I wouldn't."

The woman has one foot on the stairs, when she turns, asking, "Do I know you?"

Worried that she's been recognised because of the agency, Robin attempts, "I don't think so. You'd have been a child last time I was here."

She sees the light of recognition in a stranger's eyes—never fun—and hears, "No, I do know you. You're Robin Ellacott; you fought off the Shacklewell Ripper."

Her identity wasn't officially released at the time, but of course she couldn't remain anonymous. Strike's gentle touch is on her elbow, and he suggests, "We'd best get going."

She rests a hand on his arm, promising, "I'm fine."

Meanwhile, Sandy is saying, "And you must be Cormoran Strike. Are you two here on a case? I've followed your whole career, Robin. This is mad. You're the reason I'm here. I considered doing psychology, like you, but instead went with criminology. I think that's a good background, don't you?"

In a daze, Robin asks, "For...? Oh, to be a detective. Yeah, probably. Look, it was nice to meet you, but we'd better be getting along. Think you can keep it quiet that we were here?"

Her eyes bright with excitement, Sandy says, "Yeah, sure, absolutely. So, you're not here working?"

"No, like I said, I just wanted a look at the old place."

Sandy again offers her hand, saying, "Okay. Well, good to meet you."

Her gaze flicks to Robin's wrist, where the scar from her most famous case is currently concealed, but thankfully Sandy makes no comment, and Robin shakes hands, saying, "Nice to meet you. If you're still keen when you've got a degree, give us a call."

"Seriously? I'll hold you to that, thanks." Sandy shakes hands with Cormoran too, and waves as they leave.

Outside, Robin takes a deep breath, her eyes closed, and savours this moment in time. She is strong. She survived. She opens her eyes to see Strike's harried expression, and assures him, "I'm okay."

With a slight smile, he argues, "More like extraordinary." But then his frown returns as he says, "This was fucking risky though, Rob. If it had gone wrong, your mental health could have been set back years."

Robin slips her arms around his waist, and he returns the embrace as she looks up at him to say, "But it didn't, even with a couple of surprises. I know there's no easy path out of PTSD, but if I can be in that place and not fall apart, I've reached a new level in my recovery. And something else, I couldn't have done this without your support. Thank you, darling."

He maintains the scowl for a moment longer, and then smiles, saying, "Probably shouldn't tell you this, but I find it very difficult to stay mad at you when you call me that."

Robin stands on tiptoe to kiss him, and then says, "I'll have to remember that."