Chapter Text
Robin was curled under a blanket on the sofa. Gary, her flatmate, was at work, and she was taking the opportunity of an empty house and an up to date work schedule to do some Christmas planning. A battered old address book sat on her left-hand side, a notebook on her lap and she kept realising she was chewing the end of her pen in thought and removing it from her mouth with increasing levels of irritation. A mug of hot chocolate was slowly cooling on the coffee table.
She had reached section ‘C’ of the alphabetised address book, and therefore, something of a quandary. She knew that Christmas missives to her former in-laws were unlikely to be well received, but it seemed weird and wrong to suddenly cross them off her card list after ten years. She was fond of Matthew’s elderly grandma, and a lump caught in her throat when she thought of her soon-to-be-ex sister-in-law’s daughter, who she’d probably never see again unless by accident. Kimberley had never been Robin’s biggest fan, even before she’d walked out on her ‘baby brother’.
It was strange, thought Robin, that this would be the first time she had been single over the festive season in her entire adult life. She had mixed feelings about it if she was honest, even though the one married Christmas she had spent the previous year had been far from idyllic, with her widowed father-in-law being demanding and boorish, Matthew’s endless moaning and sarcastic comments about the slightest impact of her job on their personal life and the tortuous social obligations with Matthew’s friends and colleagues. Underlying it all had been the panic attacks that she was forced to hide and her deep unhappiness at the chasm that had opened up between her Strike, neither of which she was able to discuss with anyone. She had spent the entire festive season feeling as though she was wearing a mask, underneath which she was thoroughly miserable.
A year on, Robin had no regrets about leaving her marriage and was far too busy and too sensible to wallow over her solo status, but she had already noticed slight changes in the way people reacted to her. Longstanding mutual friends of hers and Matthews back in Masham had excluded her from their annual bonfire night celebration, which they’d always returned to their home town for in previous years. She’d received an apologetic text from the wife, for they were newly married, explaining that it was obviously still very raw and might be awkward for other old friends invited. This hadn’t stopped these ‘old friends’ posting photos online, and thus Robin had discovered via Instagram a week later, that Matthew had in fact been in attendance, and she’d just been able to make out a familiar blonde head in the background.
There was no doubt that regardless of her own feelings, other people seemed to prefer their friends to come in pairs.
Robin took a deep breath and turned the page, without adding the Cunliffes to her Christmas card list. She continued as she did every year, checking that she hadn’t missed any distant family members or once close friends that still warranted annual contact. She skipped rapidly over ‘S’, there was only one person in that section and they certainly weren’t getting a card. Strike had never made it into her address book. There was no need to make a written record of the details of the man whose address, date of birth, and even passport number were as deeply etched on her brain as her own. She smiled as she acknowledged how much easier their friendship had become in recent months, now untainted by the spectre of Matthew’s disapproval and anger.
Robin tried not to think too much about Lorelei, whom she’d liked better than any of Strike’s previous girlfriends. Nonetheless she had to admit she was glad was out of the picture. It would have been so much harder going through the split with Matthew whilst simultaneously watching Strike and Lorelei loved-up and happy. She preferred not to question her conscience as to why that might be the case.
Having finished with her address book, she thumbed through the contacts on her phone and jotted down a few new additions to the list - Sam Barclay, a few of the women at her book group and a couple more from April Wardle’s dance class that she and Vanessa now attended regularly.
She glanced up, slightly resentfully, at the newly erected Christmas tree in the corner of the room, twinkling with tasteful bright white lights. It was comprised of six slender feet of silver tinsel and bedecked with expensive and tasteful blue and white decorations. It was undoubtedly beautiful, but a far cry from the warm and colourful mismatch of ornaments on a traditional tree that was Robin’s preference. Gary, however, had very set ideas about he wanted the place to look, and since, however well they got on, she was basically just the lodger, she wasn’t inclined to argue.
With a deep sigh and a somewhat melancholy heart, she switched off the fairy lights, rinsed her mug and headed off to bed.
***
Strike rolled his eyes as he switched from ‘catch up’ where he’d been watching the previous night’s Match of The Day, back to ‘live’ TV and found his senses assaulted by a relay of noisy, garish Christmas adverts.
He didn’t enjoy feeling like the Grinch every December, but honestly, what was there to love about Christmas as a single, childless adult? The city was busier than ever, and the combination of crowds plus cold, wet weather made getting around even more treacherous than usual, which was a pain in the arse and even more annoying when on surveillance, which he had plenty of to look forward to over the coming week.
Then there was the tiresome but inevitable family obligations, and the preparation, shopping and travelling that came with them. At least he would be in Cornwall this year, so he could slope off to the pub with Ted, instead of being a captive audience at Lucy’s dinner table whilst his brother-in-law harangued him about the state of his business and finances and Lucy interrogated him about his love life, or lack thereof.
He’d managed to swerve that the previous year at least, having not long got together with Lorelei. The year before that he’d been with Elin…just, and before that had been the final of his last three Christmases with Charlotte.
The first in 2007 had seen them recently reunited following the loss of his leg. He was still in hospital, undergoing endless rounds of physio and learning to walk again. She’d pulled out all the stops, but his health and lack of freedom had dulled the shine with which she’d tried to imbue that particular festive season.
2008 had been better. They’d been living together by then and enjoying one of the happier and more peaceful periods in their relationship. Even so, the added weight of family and, in Charlotte’s case, material expectations had caused a certain amount of tension.
Their final Christmas together in 2009 had been ghastly. Charlotte had lost her father a few months earlier, exacerbating her already volatile personality. Strike had tried to be supportive and patient but seemed unable to say or do anything right. He wondered if Jago Ross had already been back on the scene at that point, another unseen irritant in their turbulent relationship.
He reflected that the last Christmas he had really enjoyed had been his final one in the army. He was still with Tracy and they were on the same posting. The day had started with gunfire tea and the opening of packages and letters from home, before a cooked breakfast. Any essential jobs were completed and followed by kick about – a tribute to football match held by British and German soldiers during the WW1 festive ceasefire. A Christmas dinner to rival anything he’d eaten at home came next, then a phone call home after which he Tracy had managed to slip away somewhere quiet and enjoy their own, private Christmas celebrations.
The room went quiet for a minute and the gaudy colours and jangling Christmas music was replaced by a snowy country scene as the haunting melody of The Power of Love by Gabrielle Aplin filled the screen. A snowman made his way across the country in search of search of the perfect gift for his snow-wife, braving rivers, busy roads and raucous teenagers, and befriending a robin on the way.
Strike’s thoughts turned immediately to his partner. He smiled and silently thanked God that if nothing else, their relationship was back on track. The tension between them in the wake of her wedding had not dissipated by Christmas of the previous year. They were working different cases, their schedules carefully arranged so they saw one another only when necessary to exchange notes.
He’d been with Lorelei by then, good company and impressive sex providing a welcome distraction from the feelings he’d battled with after Robin’s return from her honeymoon. But those things were never able to completely switch off the part of him that he now recognised was permanently tuned into Robin’s frequency, picking up on the nuances of her moods. When she’d seemed happy, he couldn’t help but feel resentful, when she was unhappy, he was angry at her for making the choice to go ahead and marry that twat after the way he’d behaved. She’d frequently seemed tired and stressed, even when work was going well, and then he felt helpless, unable to support her in the way he wanted because she was keeping him at arm’s length, and he was afraid of treading on Matthew’s toes and inadvertently causing her more grief. On top of it all he felt guilty, for as much as he genuinely liked Lorelei, and had been clear where his boundaries lay as far as their relationship was concerned, he knew that at least a small part of his heart wasn’t really in it.
A year later, he and Robin were closer than ever since her marriage and his relationship with Lorelei had ended, their working relationship the best it had ever been. She was more relaxed now that she was no longer worrying about hiding her panic attacks from Matthew or having to deflect his constant barbed comments about her choice of career.
She confided in him more since their trip to the races during the Chiswell case, and her brief stay at Nick and Ilsa’s had deepened their friendship further. Old feelings, ones that had never entirely gone away, were beginning to stir again, and they unnerved Strike more than he liked to acknowledge.
There had always been a set of unseen boundaries between them, one or both of them in a relationship. Now they were both single but, as he had reasoned to Ilsa when she’d interrogated him about his intentions recently, that didn’t negate the fact that Robin was just three months out of the only relationship she’d ever had and not yet divorced. Nor did it preclude the possibility of catastrophic impact on the business if she didn’t feel the same way, or if she did, but something later went horribly wrong. And then there were Strike's more personal reservations and insecurities - the age difference and the issue of his leg, which he preferred not to share, even with his oldest friend.
Strike went to bed that night telling himself once again that he was happy to enjoy their friendship and working relationship. That it was best he could hope for. That it was enough.