Page 173 of Troubled Blood

As she poured herself another double gin and tonic, Max called to her, asking her to bring Strike another beer from the fridge. When Robin set the open bottle down in front of Strike he didn’t thank her, but merely took a long pull on it and raised his voice, because he was having difficulty trying to make himself heard over Kyle and Courtney, whose conversation had now migrated to the unknown Miranda’s views on pornography.

“… so I’m, like, you do understand that women can actually choose what to do with their own bodies, Miran—Oh shit, sorry—”

Courtney’s expansive gesture had knocked over her wine glass. Robin jumped up to get the kitchen roll. By the time she got back, Courtney’s glass had been refilled by Kyle. Robin mopped up the wine while the two separate conversations grew steadily louder on either side of her, binned the sodden kitchen roll, then sat back down, wishing she could just go to bed.

“… troubled background, that’s fucking original, guess what, plenty of people join the army because they want to serve, not to escape…”

“Pure whorephobia,” boomed Kyle. “I s’pose she thinks waitresses love every fucking minute of their jobs, does she?”

“… and he can’t have been in 1 Rifles if he’s your age. The bat­talion was only formed…”

“… labor for hire, where’s the fucking difference?”

“… think it was end 2007…”

“… and some women enjoy watching porn, too!”

Courtney’s words fell loudly into a temporary lull. Everyone looked round at Courtney, who’d blushed and was giggling with her hand over her mouth.

“It’s all right, we’re talking feminism,” said Kyle, with a smirk. “Courtney isn’t suggesting, y’know—after-dinner entertainment.”

“Kyle!” gasped Courtney, slapping his upper arm and dissolving into further giggles.

“Who wants pudding?” Robin asked, standing up to collect the empty plates. Max, too, got to his feet.

“I’m sorry Strike’s so pissed,” Robin murmured to Max, as she tipped a few uneaten pieces of ravioli into the bin.

“Are you kidding?” said Max, with a slight smile. “This is pure gold. My character’s an alcoholic.”

He’d gone, bearing a homemade cheesecake to the table, before Robin could tell him that Strike didn’t usually drink this much; indeed, this was only the second time she’d ever known him drunk. The first time he’d been sad and quite endearing, but tonight there was a definite undercurrent of aggression. She remembered the shouted “Go fuck yourself” she’d heard through the office door that afternoon and again wondered to whom Strike had been talking.

Robin followed Max back to the table, carrying a lemon tart and a third large gin and tonic. Kyle was now treating the entire table to his views on pornography. Robin didn’t much like the expression on Strike’s face. He’d often displayed an instinctive antipathy toward the kind of young man you could least imagine in the army; she trusted he was going to keep his feelings to himself tonight.

“… form of entertainment, just like any other,” Kyle was saying, with an expansive gesture. Fearful of more accidents, Robin discreetly moved the almost empty wine bottle out of hitting range. “When you look at it objectively, strip it from all the puritanical bullshit—”

“Yeah, exactly,” said Courtney, “women have got agency over their own—”

“—movies, gaming, it all stimulates the pleasure centers in your brain,” said Kyle, now pointing at his own immaculately groomed head. “You could make an argument that movies are emotional pornography. All this moralistic, manufactured outrage about porn—”

“I can’t eat either of those if they’ve got dairy in them,” Courtney whispered to Robin, who pretended she hadn’t heard.

“—women want to make a living out of their own bodies, that’s the literal definition of female empowerment and you could argue it has more societal benefit than—”

“When I was in Kosovo,” said Strike unexpectedly and all three students turned to look at him, with startled expressions. Strike paused, fumbling to get his cigarettes out of his pocket.

“Cormoran,” said Robin, “you can’t smo—”

“No problem,” said Max, getting up, “I’ll bring an ashtray.”

It took Strike three attempts to make his lighter work and in the meantime everybody watched him in silence. Without raising his voice, he’d dominated the room.

“Who’d like cheesecake?” Robin said into the silence, her voice artificially cheery.

“I can’t,” said Courtney, with a slight pout. “But I might be able to have the lemon tart, if it’s—?”

“When I was in Kosovo,” Strike repeated, exhaling as Max returned, placed an ashtray in front of him and sat back down again, “—cheers—I investigated a porn case—well, human trafficking. Coupla soldiers had paid for sex with underage girls. They were filmed without their knowledge an’ the videos ended up on PornHub. Case ended up part of an international civilian investigation. Whole load of pre-pubescent boys and girls had been trafficked into porn. The youngest was seven.”

Strike took a large drag of his cigarette, squinting through the smoke at Kyle.