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‘Breathe, Robin, breathe’, repeated Strike, deep creases of concern for his partner lining his forehead. This panic attack was far from her first, but it was the first one she was having in front of Strike, which did not make it easier for her to regain composure. Winn’s malicious words definitely triggered the attack, but the general stress of the undercover work, her marital troubles and many other concerns seemed to have finally taken their toll on Robin.
After stumbling out of the car she sat down on the ground on the hard shoulder and clasped her head in her hands, slowly rocking back and forth. ‘I am safe, this is just temporary, it will soon pass’, she repeated to herself, but this time the nauseating feelings of falling, choking and spinning just refused to abate. Yes, that time at the house of Commons was bad, but at least here she was out in the fresh air, she did not have to hide from anyone and she had Cormoran beside her. Cormoran. The thought of him being near was the first one to actually distract her from gulping for air, but she still couldn’t even call him by name and ask him to sit down beside her. Instead, she stretched out her hand in his direction, without even raising her face, and knew beyond all doubt that he would see and understand what she needed him to do. And, sure enough, in a moment she heard uneven steps and the rustling of dry leaves, and he awkwardly sat down, closer to her than they usually sat, close enough for her to feel his bulk and warmth. He leaned to look her in the eyes – they were still wide with panic and kind of glazed, staring into nothing. Then she spoke, her voice hollow and almost unfamiliar. ‘I left Matthew a week ago. All this time he’d been sleeping with Sarah Shadlock, his friend’s fiancée. I finally packed my bags and left after I found her earring in our bed.’ Strike gave her a worried look and muttered something under his breath. While Robin was not sure what it was, it sounded very much like ‘wanker’.
After the briefest of struggles with himself Strike put his left arm around Robin and rubbed it up and down her forearm in an attempt to distract her. A few minutes passed this way, she was no longer making audible gasps, but was still far from fine. And then he remembered one of the techniques he was taught in Selly Oak in mandatory group therapy for veterans with PTSD, one of the few he actually tried to use when he woke up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat. He cleared his throat. ‘Listen, Robin, let’s try one thing I was taught after the explosion. You raise your head, look around and start naming five things you can see, their colours, anything else you notice. Then four things you can hear, three things you can touch and how they feel. And finally, two things you can smell and one thing you can taste. You might know the exercise, supposed to be grounding and all that. All right to try it? I’m right here beside you.’
Cormoran’s voice was a lifeline that kept her tethered to her surroundings, so she grabbed on to it and held on tight. Robin gave a few nods and lifted her head. It was then that her partner noticed how pale she was, but, as pale and disheveled as she might be, he would still gladly spend the whole day sitting on the ground on the hard shoulder with her than in bed with any other woman. Surely, it was madness?
Robin took in her surroundings: the road with the cars tearing by, the trees and the cerulean sky, the familiar shape of the Landy and Strike, whom she could now paint from memory if she wanted: every unruly curl on his head, every line on his forehead and in the corners of his eyes. He gave her a reassuring smile and squeezed her shoulder, and Robin took it as encouragement to begin.
- I see the Landy, it’s not as blue as it used to be, and definitely not spotless, now that I think of it. I see the trees, a bit dusty since they grow so close to the road. I see the dry leaves on the ground.
- Good. What else?
- I see a grey car rushing by. And…
Robin turned her head and for the first time since they got out of the car, looked him in the face.
- And I see you. The collar of your blue shirt sticking out. Tired, as usual, but always here for me.
She couldn’t really say what made her add Strike to the list of the things she saw, but for some reason she felt like doing that. He was there, he was one of the few constants in her life right now, especially after her marriage and family life had fallen apart. Surely, she could acknowledge his presence at that moment? Weirdly enough, he seemed to like it too: Strike gave her a puzzled smile and said, ‘Go on. Things you hear’.
- I hear the traffic whizz by. I hear the leaves rustling behind us. I hear a siren in the distance. And I hear you breathing.
- So maybe it’s time I really cut down on cigarettes, if you can hear me breathing while we’re outside near a busy road. Must be huffing and puffing pretty loudly.
Robin gave a quiet chuckle, which seemed like a considerable improvement in her state.
- All right, you need to wash the Landy and I need to give up smoking. Let’s see what else we can find out. Three things you can touch.
- I can touch the dry pine needles on the ground. They’re prickly. I can touch my coat, it feels smooth. And I can- I can touch you.
Robin, the remains of adrenaline still coursing through her body, reached out for Strike’s hand and loosely wrapped her fingers around his. Dumbfounded, he stared at their entwined fingers. Up until that moment he had felt like all those sudden bursts of affection towards her, those ‘almost’ moments that they had shared on her wedding day and in the hospital car park were only significant to him, and the only person who sometimes longed to be closer, even for a fleeting moment, was him. However… Could this be real? Has the thought of ‘what if we…’ ever crossed her mind?
Robin was amazed at her own recklessness, but did not let go of his fingers. It may simply be a grounding exercise, but her heart overflowed with tenderness at the memory of how genuinely worried he looked, how quick he was to comfort and support her (unlike her soon-to-be ex-husband). And in that moment it did not look like an employer’s concern for an employee to her. She considered letting go of his hand, but if her touch was out of place and unwanted, he would surely have broken the contact by now. Far from it, he was actually stroking her thumb with his, as gently as if it was made of wafer paper. They avoided each other’s eye, only daring to share a touch. But it was still something. When Strike next spoke, his voice was quieter and kind of hesitant. ‘Now, what about two things you can smell?’ – ‘The exhaust fumes, for sure’, said Robin easily, but the next thing on her list was trickier. She turned to face him and searched his expression for any discomfort or embarrassment, but saw neither, only warmth and understanding that she almost never saw these days: her family were quicker to judge and doubt her than to support. She leaned in closer to him and quietly added, ‘And your aftershave’. Strike’s face looked so shocked that Robin instantly regretted the liberty she had taken and averted her eyes, mortified. But then she heard his rough voice saying ‘I never knew you noticed it’.
Giving a small sigh of relief, she realised that her breathing had returned to normal and she was once again able to control it. What was even more amazing, one of Cormoran’s hands was still holding hers, and the other one remained on her shoulder.
- So, what’s the last thing I have to name?
- The most difficult one, unless you are in the middle of a meal. One thing you can taste.
Robin swallowed audibly, and Strike (did she imagine it, or was he really blushing?) added that he usually just said that his mouth felt dry, or took a drink of water. But to hell with the consequences, she had just almost killed them by letting go of the wheel, yelled at one of the suspects in their case and as good as admitted to suffering from panic attacks. Might as well be hanged for a sheep as for a lamb…
Leaning in even closer, so that only a couple of inches separated them, Robin looked into his eyes and saw him momentarily glance at her mouth. She then pressed her lips gently to his and found out that they were unexpectedly soft, and also that he tasted faintly of smoke.
Realizing what was happening, albeit a moment later, Strike drew Robin closer and planted light kisses on her cheek and jaw, stopping, with a tremendous effort, just short of her neck.
- So?
- The one thing I can taste is you.