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A wooden table was surrounded by mismatched chairs. Possibly, Strike thought, eyes on a red leather notebook lying on the table, his hostess was an aspiring poet. This, in his view, was a step down even from pottery.
But when Robin thought about cohabitation, the image that presented itself was of the third and last home she’d shared with her ex-husband. Robin knew it had been a lovely house, in an eighteenth-century terrace that had been built for shipwrights and sea captains, but she couldn’t picture it in any detail now. What she mostly remembered was the leaden feeling of constriction and misery in which she’d spent too many of the days she’d lived there.
No minute gone comes ever back again, Take heed and see ye do nothing in vain.
didn’t look smart. ‘And he used to call Rupe “the jellyfish”. Any time he did anything wrong – and Rupe’s a hard worker, it was only small
It is the great misfortune of the coward that he sees danger everywhere, and of the snob that he perpetually underestimates those he considers his inferiors.
‘That men perennially underestimate how many of their fellow men are perverts and predators. You know what they say: “all women know a rape victim, no man knows a rapist”.’
‘Because sometimes,’ said Strike, all caution gone, ‘if you can’t get what you want, you take what you can get.’
‘Be honest, Ryan. You want me to behave as you think a woman should behave.’ ‘What’s that supposed—?’ ‘You wanted me to sob in your arms about our lost child and say I wanted to get my eggs frozen immediately, so we can make a replacement.’ ‘That’s not—’ ‘Look, I’m working,’
Why don’t I go and buy some food we can cook at the Old Forge this evening?’ ‘It’s raining.’ ‘Which is why it’s lucky I’m not made of papier mâché.’
So flustered was Robin when she left the flat that she forgot all about Green Jacket. However, she arrived safely at the Land Rover and set off, even more frightened than she’d been on arrival: not of sudden physical attack, but of the silver-coloured band hidden in the depths of Murphy’s wardrobe: a tiny, sparkling shackle.
