Page 172 of Troubled Blood

She stood back to let him pass. He reeked of Doom Bar and cigarettes. Tense as she was, Robin noted that he hadn’t thought to bring Max a bottle of anything, in spite of the fact he’d apparently spent all afternoon in the pub.

“The bathroom’s there,” she said, pointing. He disappeared inside. Robin waited on the landing. He seemed to take a very long time.

“We’re eating up here,” she said, when at last he emerged.

“More stairs?” mumbled Strike.

When they reached the open-plan living area, he seemed to pull himself together. He shook hands with Max and Jonathan in turn and said quite coherently that he was pleased to meet them. Courtney temporarily abandoned Kyle and bounced over to say hello to the famous detective, and Strike looked positively enthusiastic as he took in her looks. Suddenly very conscious of her own washed-out and puffy-eyed appearance, Robin turned back to the kitchen area to put Courtney’s ravioli in a bowl for her. Behind her, she heard Courtney saying,

“And this is Kyle.”

“Oh, yeah, you’re the detective?” Kyle said, determinedly unimpressed.

Jonathan, Courtney, Kyle and Max already had drinks, so Robin poured herself a large gin and tonic. While she was adding ice, a cheerful Max came back into the kitchen to fetch Strike a beer, then got the casserole out of the oven and onto the table. Wolfgang whined as the object of his devotion was lifted out of his reach.

While Max served everyone at the table, Robin set Courtney’s ravioli down in front of her.

“Oh God, no, wait,” said Courtney. “Is this vegan? Where’s the packet?”

“In the bin,” said Robin.

“Tuh,” said Courtney, and she got up and walked into the kitchen. Max and Robin were the only two people at the table whose eyes didn’t automatically follow Courtney. Robin downed half her gin before picking up her knife and fork.

“No, it’s OK,” called Courtney, from beside the bin. “It’s vegan.”

“Oh good,” said Robin.

To Robin’s left, Max began asking Strike’s opinion on various aspects of his character’s personality and past. Courtney returned to the table and began to wolf down her pasta, drinking and topping up her wine regularly as she went while telling Jonathan and Kyle her plans about a protest march at university. Robin joined in neither conversation, but ate and drank in silence, one eye on the mobile beside her plate in case Ilsa texted or rang back.

“… couldn’t happen,” Strike was saying. “He wouldn’t’ve been allowed to join up in the first place, conviction for possession with intent to supply. Total bollocks.”

“Really? The writers did quite a lot of research—”

“Should’ve known that, then.”

“… so yeah, basically, you dress up in your underwear and short skirts and stuff,” Courtney was saying, and when Kyle and Jon laughed she said, “Don’t, it’s serious—”

“… no, this is useful,” said Max, scribbling in a notebook. “So if he’d been in jail before the army—”

“If he’d done more than thirty months, the army wouldn’t’ve taken him…”

“I’m not wearing suspenders, Kyle—anyway, Miranda doesn’t want—”

“I don’t know how long he’s supposed to have done,” said Max. “I’ll check. Tell me about drugs in the army, how common—?”

“—so she says, ‘D’you not understand how problematic the word ‘slut’ is, Courtney?’ And I’m like, ‘Er, what d’you think—’”

“‘What d’you think a fucking SlutWalk’s for?’” said Kyle, talking over Courtney. He had a deep voice and the air of a young man who was used to being listened to.

The screen of Robin’s mobile lit up. Ilsa had texted back.

“Excuse me,” she muttered, though nobody was paying her any attention, and she headed into the kitchen area to read what Ilsa had said.

Didn’t mean to worry you. Nick home, shitfaced. He’s been in the pub with Corm. We’re talking. He says he didn’t mean it the way I took it. What other way was there? X

Robin, who felt entirely on Ilsa’s side, nevertheless texted back:

He’s a dickhead but I know he really loves you. Xxx