Chapter 5

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Sadness always finds an in
Sneaks its way past, infecting everything
And every chapter has an end
But this is one momentous sequel, don't you think?
- Ed Sheeran: Borderline

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Cormoran Strike was sitting on the stony steps leading to the lavish, symmetrically designed gardens in front of an old mansion house, and contemplating his second beer. The wedding reception was about to start soon, but thankfully, the bar was already open. Despite the fact that the detective hadn't slept for more than twenty-four hours and spent about six hours in the car racing to get to Robin's wedding, his brain was still functioning, albeit much slower than usual. His stump was throbbing from the running he did from the car to the church, but that pain was barely noticeable compared to the ache he felt in his heart.

It's done… She's officially out of reach…

He squinted in the sun glaring on his face but failing to warm him. The coldness he felt inside would be difficult to drive away.

"You surely know how to enter the stage, Mr Strike," a manly, cheerful voice said behind him.

Strike turned his head and saw a tall man in his mid-sixties, with a friendly face and sincere eyes take the last few steps toward him. His suspicion was confirmed when the man outstretched his hand in his direction.
"Michael Ellacott, Robin's father," the older man stated.

"Cormoran," Strike replied, accepting the hand after he stood up to walk up the stairs. "And it wasn't exactly what I had planned."

An amused smile appeared on Michael's face. "Well, it was certainly memorable. What exactly did you plan, if you don't mind me asking?"

The detective chuckled, then sighed, very tired.
"I think… not letting my friend down by ignoring her invitation," he said. "But mainly, apologising and asking her to come back to work."

"I'm glad to hear that," Michael remarked.
Strike raised his eyebrows. "Really?"
"Of course!" The older man laughed. "I know my wife doesn't seem to appreciate it and I'm truly sorry about it, but Robin's finally doing something she loves and seems really good at it. I must confess, I was a bit angry when you fired her, but then she told me what she did, and I can't really blame you, not to speak about the fact that it was bloody dangerous for her."

Strike smiled, feeling relieved.
"Your daughter is the most headstrong woman I've ever known, with an extremely strong moral compass. Meaning, things can get a bit… challenging sometimes," he explained, grinning.
"Oh, tell me about it." Michael shook his head. "I only wish she was more like that in her private life." His eyes suddenly had a faraway look.
Strike wondered what he meant; Robin definitely seemed headstrong enough for him even outside of work.

"Anyway…" Michael smiled again. "It's good of you to come, Cormoran. I know my daughter and I know she'll appreciate your plan."
"I really hope so," Strike replied. "She's not just really good at what she does; she's exceptional."

It should have been a mere stating of a known fact, yet the softness in his voice betrayed him, and he blamed his fatigued brain for it. Suddenly he was paying a lot of attention to his beer glass.

Robin's father observed him for a moment before he spoke again.
"Trust her, Cormoran, but also, look after her. She deserves to be looked after well."

Strike searched his eyes, instinctively feeling there was more to his words.
"I will," he replied. "I always have… apart from this one time, but that won't ever happen again. I promise."

No more words were spoken between them as the older man smiled once more. Strike nodded and watched him walk back toward the guests scattered in groups across the perfectly cut lawn, chatting or sipping happily on their drinks.

The detective exhaled loudly, releasing at least some pressure that was sitting on his chest, and decided it was time for another drink indeed. He was shattered, hungry, heartbroken and barely keeping his eyes open. But he still had to talk to Robin and by Christ he

would, no matter how long he'd have to wait.

After getting his beer, he walked back to his spot on the stairs and sat down heavily, relieved to take the pressure off his injured leg. He closed his eyes in the face of the sun again and although he wasn't a believer, he couldn't help but pray…

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Strike was standing at the large living room window of the Ellacotts' family home, looking out at the sunlit morning that bore no traces of the storm from the day before. The coffee was getting cold in the mug he was cradling; deep in his thoughts he almost forgot about it.

The memory of his conversation with Robin's father appeared unexpectedly, just as the recollection of his feelings from back then. It had been one of the most painful days of Strike's life, when he thought he had lost the most precious thing he had, both in life and at work. He remembered very well the hollow, cold feeling in his chest while he was waiting for Robin to appear so he could beg her to return to work. And yet, he could never forget the way her wedding dress gently swayed around her curves as she slowly and a bit hesitantly walked toward him, the sunlight catching in her golden hair, decorated by delicate, white roses. He had never seen anything so mesmerizingly beautiful. And then he remembered the hug on the stairs which nearly robbed him of his senses…

"Penny for your thoughts?" Robin's voice brought him back to the present.
"Be careful what you wish for," Strike teased her, smiling.
She raised her eyebrows. "You never know, I might like what I'd hear," she added.
He finally looked at her, and her gaze almost broke him.

Robin's eyes travelled to the window, cradling her own mug of coffee. Her courage waned a little and she didn't dare keep looking in his eyes. He sensed her tension.
"Strike, last night…"
"Was all right," he stated, making her look at him after all. "Your heart broke and needed support. And before you say it, yes, I could have said no, but I did what I wanted to do. You needed to feel safe, and if falling asleep in your best friend's arms was what you needed to do so, then I was more than happy to help."

They were gazing at each other for a while, both having so much more to say and yet not finding the words. Robin wished to tell him it wasn't just her best friend's arms she needed and appreciated; Strike dying to tell her how not one night he had spent making love to Charlotte for the better part of sixteen years could ever compare to the incredible few hours he had spent watching and feeling Robin sleep on his chest…

A small smile finally found its way on Robin's face, and she didn't even bother with hiding the admiration in her eyes.
"You are amazing," she whispered, only then realising how revealing her words were. But she didn't care; she wanted him to know.

Strike's mouth went dry, but he managed to maintain self-control somehow.
"If we're playing with adjectives then after last night, you know which one I would use for you," he replied quietly, his eyes darkened but calm. Exceptional…

Robin's smile widened, making Strike grin. His irresistible trademark made her heart leap and she couldn't help it – she laid her hand on his arm and squeezed it gently before putting down her mug and leaving him alone for a moment. When she returned, she had his blue jumper, neatly folded, in her hands. She looked at it fondly for a longer-than-necessary moment before passing it to him.

"Thank you…" She found it surprisingly hard to part with the physical representation of his nearness.
Strike gently refused it, his hands brushing hers. "Keep it," he said, then blinked. "For now…You might still need it." He looked back to the window. Suddenly he felt he was pushing too hard; he had to slow down for her sake, keeping his feelings in check for a bit longer…

But Robin found him anything but pushy. Her wide smile returned as she pressed the jumper to her chest in an involuntary move.
"A piece of the Cornish giant to keep me warm," she teased. "Bloody lucky me…"

When their eyes met, the electricity between them was palpable again. The sound of the footsteps on the staircase broke the magic, though, and each of them retreated to the safe zone – side by side, looking out of the window and finally taking a sip of their coffee.

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It was a surprisingly beautiful, sunny day when the world was saying farewell to Michael Ellacott. After the chilly, mostly grey and occasionally wet days since his passing, the much warmer and brighter weather, which had seen the return of colours into everything, seemed almost indecent. But Strike would be the last one to protest.

He had his share of funerals to attend in his life in the past – Leda, Joan, a few soldiers from his unit in Afghanistan... Here, as a self-invited guest, he probably should have felt embarrassed, but the way the Ellacotts accepted and welcomed him since his unexpected arrival, and above all, the fact that Robin quite obviously appreciated having him near, was more than enough reason why he was wearing his Italian suit under his coat that day. Moreover, he had difficulty hiding his shock when Stephen told him he would sit right behind Linda and her children at the memorial.

Strike was expecting he would pay his respects from somewhere in the back, and the fact that he somehow made it among the closest members of Michael Ellacott's family both stunned and unnerved him. But as soon as he sat down next to Stephen's wife Jenny and little daughter Annabel and saw Robin sitting almost right in front of him, he was able to relax.

Even the almost constant fidgeting of the toddler sitting next to him and now and then studying him with the large three-year-old eyes didn't unsettle him, although he wasn't keen on children, except his favourite nephew Jack. He couldn't quite grasp why someone would bring a toddler to a funeral but didn't dwell on it for long. Casting a few glances at little Annabel, he suddenly found it hard to find that angry-looking, bald monkey he remembered from the photo Robin had shown him after the girl was born. And when Annabel suddenly grinned at him, he couldn't suppress an amused smile and spontaneously, without thinking why, he winked at her. The girl giggled quietly and turned back to her mother.

Strike's smile slowly faded, before a bemused expression settled on his face, while his eyes still lingered on the spot he saw Annabel's face grinning at him. He looked up and saw Robin watching him with a smile that revealed she had seen his little exchange with her niece. The softness in her unguarded look caused a strange sensation in the pit of his stomach. It was as if she suddenly saw something in him that he himself had never seen before.

I still don't really like children… even if this little monkey is quite tolerable…

Before he could react in a more sophisticated manner than just stare, Robin turned her head again, so he could only see her profile. He sighed quietly and tried to focus on the memorial that was just about to start.

※

Everybody gathered around the place where Michael Ellacott was about to be laid to rest. Masham wasn't a large town, but still, the number of people who came to say goodbye to their own was impressive.

Linda made every effort to keep calm, holding on to Martin's arm. However, her daughter clearly saw the strain on her face. The tight jaw and the watery eyes set firmly on the coffin in front of her were all-telling. Robin briefly squeezed her hand, exchanging a small, sad smile with her. The breakdown she had suffered two days earlier left her emotionally depleted, and she was just barely holding up physically.

Strike, who had silently accompanied Robin on their walk from the memorial, gently stroked her shoulder and wanted to join people in the back but she stopped him.
"Please…" she breathed, unable to finish, but her eyes begged him.
A little nod and a small smile was his reply as he took a couple of steps to stand right behind her, so close that Robin could feel his warmth on her back. She fought off the urge to lean back against him. While he was there, she knew he would not let her fall, whatever happened.

"Thank you," she whispered, looking ahead.

Strike didn't reply, but his heart was aching for her, knowing what power grief had over her. He laid his eyes on the coffin ahead of them, thinking about the past and wondering why some people's lives are made of endless funeral processions and saying goodbyes.

As he was listening to the vicar's words about the inevitability of returning where we came from (translated in his mind as from nothing to nothing), he briefly lifted his eyes to the ocean-blue sky, with only a few white smudges of puffy clouds. He caught sight of a heron, elegantly floating in the air high above before disappearing in the distance. Being familiar with symbols and various interpretations of practically everything in life due to his late mother, he couldn't stop thinking about what the bird represented. Among other things it was patience, helping us to slowly but surely arrive at our desired destination; wisdom, derived mainly from life experience; transformation, meaning that wherever we start in life, we always have the potential to transform into something greater; and self-possession, as the ability to stay in command of oneself, accept things as they are and make situations work in one's favour.

Strike was suddenly hit by the significance of all these in his own life. As with every human being, he had evolved and matured, and life had taught him lessons that seemed almost inconceivable when he first set foot on the grounds of his university in Oxford. He had gone a long way since then, suffering injuries to his body, heart and soul, but fate had also given him a job that he loved and another, possibly the greatest gift of his life, and he finally felt that his good fortune was within his reach as it had never been before. As he looked back at the place where the undertakers were just lowering the coffin with Michael Ellacott's body to become one with the earth, the memory of their only encounter resurfaced in his mind again. He couldn't help but feel strangely moved at how much trust the man had placed in him, without even properly knowing him. Strike had made a promise that day and knew that he intended to keep it, come what may.

The funeral had ended and people who had known the deceased created a beeline to express their sympathy to the family. For the second time, Strike intended to step aside and join the line to pay his respect, but for the second time, Robin stopped him in his tracks. This time, as if she had felt his intention, her left hand reached behind her back and found his hand, stilling him. His heart leapt, and Strike couldn't resist gently entwining his fingers with hers. It wasn't the most natural position for a handhold but it would do.
It's all right, Robin; I'm here…

Had he imagined it or did he really hear a sigh of relief coming from her? Either way, he watched as people passed her and the rest of the Ellacotts and mostly silently shook hands with them before moving on. All the time, Robin's hand remained in hold with Strike's while she used her right hand to shake hands with familiar faces but also a few strangers, politely accepting their condolences. Whether it was common decency or a simple lack of curiosity, no one questioned the presence of the total stranger standing behind the only daughter of Michael Ellacott.

Robin felt relief when the last person in the beeline shook her hand and moved on. She closed her eyes for a moment and in an unguarded moment, she involuntarily leaned back slightly, making gentle contact with Strike's chest. The brief moment of physical reassurance helped her steady her nerves. What neither of them expected to see was one more person suddenly approaching them with a slow, weary step.
Matthew…

There was an awkward moment of silence when their eyes met, Robin looking emotionless, her ex-husband genuinely sorry. When his eyes travelled to Strike, standing like a watch tower behind Robin's slim frame, there was a surprising lack of anger and hatred that used to be in his look years before when he was still a part of Robin's life. As he glanced down at the detectives' intertwined hands, Strike didn't miss a look of resignation in his eyes.

"I'm really sorry for your loss, Robin," Matthew finally spoke quietly, deciding not to use the usual Robs as he used to call her all the years since they had known each other. "He was a good man."

Robin nodded a little, appreciating his words. "Thank you," she replied with genuine gratitude. Whatever had transpired between them over the years, he was there at the time of her greatest need in her early life, and she respected that. But she was also too tired to say anything more.

Matthew lightly shook her hand and to Strike's surprise, he nodded in his direction before moving on to the rest of her family. Robin remained standing at her spot for a few more moments, even after her mother and brothers started slowly walking away, Linda with her arm still around Martin's and wiping the silent tears from her face.

Strike felt the sorrow coursing through Robin's veins as if it were his own. Instinctively, he leaned forward and gently kissed the top of her head. He couldn't see Robin closing her eyes, making a tear escape and run down her cheek, but he felt her squeeze his hand, acknowledging and appreciating not only his gesture but especially his presence.

After one last look at the still uncovered grave where her father rested now, she slowly turned to Strike, reluctantly releasing his hand. As their eyes met, Strike's hand moved on its own will and gently wiped the tear off her cheek. A small smile appeared on her face, and without the need for explanation, she reached for his other hand, holding it tight, making him smile. He looked one last time at the grave of her father and with a little nod, he silently followed Robin as they set out to catch up with her family.

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