Page 167 of The Hallmarked Man (Cormoran Strike #8)

‘Um… not fabulous, to tell you the truth,’ said Robin.

‘I’m really sorry to lay this on you, Prudence, and obviously it can’t be you, personally, but I was wondering whether you could recommend someone to me…

a therapist, I mean. For me. But, Prudence – I’m sorry,’ Robin repeated, aware that she was gabbling slightly, ‘it can’t be – I don’t want anyone who’s going to try and talk me out of what I do for a living.

I need someone – someone who – I don’t know – gets it – someone who’s – I can’t really explain what I mean—’

‘Robin, has something happened?’ said Prudence, sounding concerned. ‘Something new, I mean?’

‘A load of things have happened,’ said Robin, ‘and I’m… I’m not in great shape. I should probably – after Chapman Farm – but I didn’t.’

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and then Prudence said thoughtfully, ‘I think I know exactly the right person.’

‘You do?’ said Robin, surprised and hopeful.

‘Yes. She’s quite unconventional, but her patients love her.’

‘OK,’ said Robin a little warily, wondering whether ‘unconventional’ meant crystals and reiki; she seemed to see Strike smirking in her mind’s eye. ‘In what way—?’

‘She can be quite directive,’ said Prudence.

‘Meaning she tells you what to do?’

‘Yes, she has opinions. She also swears a lot.’

‘I work with your brother, that won’t worry me,’ said Robin, and Prudence laughed.

‘She’s not cheap.’

‘That doesn’t matter,’ said Robin. ‘If she’s good… I know I need something. I’ve got to do something,’

‘I’ll send you her details, although, come to think of it, she might be away at the moment.’

‘If she’s the right person, I don’t mind waiting,’ said Robin. ‘I think I’ll feel better just for knowing I’m doing something about it all… and Prudence, please – please don’t tell Strike I called.’

‘Of course I won’t,’ said Prudence, ‘but—’

‘He knows,’ said Robin with difficulty, ‘that I’m not in a great place. I’d just rather he didn’t know I’ve roped you into it.’

‘It’s not “roping”, Robin,’ said Prudence. ‘I’m glad to help.’

After the call had ended, Robin sat for a moment, phone in hand, feeling better simply at the idea of the unknown, sweary therapist. She took off her coat, slung it on her bed, took a deep breath and re-entered the sitting room, where she found her brother sitting on her sofa, pouring wine into a mug.

‘I’ve got glasses,’ she said.

‘Couldn’t find any,’ said Martin, which meant, as Robin knew from long experience of her brother, that he couldn’t be bothered to open more than one cupboard. She went to fetch herself a glass, then sat down beside him on the sofa.

‘Why did Carmen chuck you out?’

‘I caught her fucking cheating.’

‘ What? ’

‘Got home last night and her fucking ex-boyfriend was there. “Oh, hiya Martin. Jason was just bringing Dirk a present.”’

Robin didn’t like the way Martin imitated his girlfriend; her ex-husband, too, had always adopted a whining falsetto to impersonate women.

‘He’s married, as well, the fucker.’

‘Were they—?’

‘Nah, they hadn’t got down to it yet.’ Martin glugged half a mug of wine. ‘Or maybe they’d already done it and got dressed again.’

‘Mart, are you sure —?’

‘What was he doing there, when I was out?’

‘Well – bringing the baby a present. Was there a present?’

‘Yeah,’ said Martin, ‘and I booted it out the window right in front of him.’

Robin groaned inwardly. She knew her brother: incurably hot-headed, impetuous and prone to rages an objective observer would judge to be entirely unjustified. Jealousy had been an issue in quite a few of his previous relationships.

‘How long ago did Carmen and this man split up?’

‘I dunno, six, seven years ago—’ Robin was reminded of Tyler Powell, and the allegation that he’d been jealous enough over a girlfriend he’d had at sixteen to sabotage a car. ‘I told her I didn’t want her seeing the slimy bastard any more and then she goes and has him over when I’m out!’

‘Martin, you haven’t got the right to tell Carmen who she’s allowed to see.’

‘ Why didn’t she tell me he was coming? ’

‘Maybe she didn’t know, maybe he just dropped in because he was passing?’

‘Funny how it happened when I was out.’

‘Or,’ said Robin, bracing herself for an outburst directed at her instead, ‘maybe she didn’t tell you because she knew you’d have a meltdown?’

‘Has she called you?’ demanded Martin.

‘No, of course not. She hasn’t got my number, unless you’ve given it to her.’

‘I said to her, “how do I know Dirk’s not his?”’

‘You didn’t! Martin, for God’s sake…’

He drained his mug and reached for the wine bottle again.

‘Do you honestly think,’ said Robin, unaware that she was paraphrasing what Strike had said to Bijou Watkins not so long ago, ‘she’d be having sex with an old boyfriend in your flat, six weeks after she’s given birth?’

‘She’s always fucking talking about him!’ said Martin furiously. ‘Fucking dickhead. Got his own business. Know what it’s called? Excalibur, ’ said Martin, with so much contempt Robin had to fight not to smile.

‘What kind of business is it?’

‘Skip hire.’

In spite of her best efforts, Robin burst out laughing. It was a release and a relief; she had difficulty stopping.

‘He’s coining it in,’ said Martin bitterly, over Robin’s gasps of laughter.

‘Skips all over Yorkshire, he’s cornered the fucking market.

Fucking Excalibur – and he puts the sword on everything, the side of the skips and on his fucking employees’ overalls.

Surprised he didn’t make Carmen tattoo it on her arse. ’

Robin fought her laughter back down and said,

‘I’m sorry – sorry, but you can’t say it’s not funny. “Excalibur Skip Hire”.’

A reluctant grin flickered on Martin’s face, but he said,

‘He’s a fucking twat. Him and Carmen used to play Dungeons he was incurably contrarian and would do the right thing in his own time, or not at all. She got up from the sofa.

‘I’ll make us something to eat.’

She’d just opened her fridge to scan the paltry contents when, struck by a sudden thought, she returned to the sitting room.

‘Mart, did you just say that Excalibur man put the logo on his weights ?’

‘Yeah, he puts it on fucking everything,’ said Martin.

‘You can put custom designs on weights?’

‘If you’re the kind of prick who likes that sort of thing. Why?’

‘No reason,’ said Robin. She returned to the kitchen.