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It’s a bright June morning when Robbie walks into his usual florist to buy a spray of violets and carnations for Val’s birthday – and sees James Hathaway at the counter, dressed in jeans and a short-sleeved shirt, with credit card in hand.
“I’ll make sure that these get delivered today, sir,” the assistant promises, passing the card machine over.
“Thank you.” James completes his transaction and then turns, almost bumping into Robbie. “Sir! I didn’t expect–”
Robbie grins, enjoying the feeling of catching his secretive sergeant out. “Flowers for your girlfriend? Do tell.”
James flushes. “Nothing like that.” He’s avoiding Robbie’s gaze, and it’s clear that the occasion for which he’s sending flowers isn’t a happy one. Bugger.
He touches James’s arm. “Wait for me, eh?”
James’s hesitation is obvious, but obedience to his boss – even though they’re not at work and this isn’t a police matter – wins. “All right.”
Explaining to the florist what he wants doesn’t take long; he’s used to this, after all. Within a couple of minutes, the flowers are wrapped – plain paper, no cellophane – and he’s ready to leave. He nudges James as they leave the shop. “Reckon you know where I’m going with these. Come wi’ me?”
James looks his way, clearly taken aback. “I wouldn’t want to intrude.”
“Don’t remember you intruding the last time you were with me. An’ I know Val won’t mind. Come on – we can go for a drink after.”
James falls into step beside him without a word, his expression deterring any questions. That’s okay; one thing years of policing – as well as years of being a husband – has taught Robbie is the art of patience. He’ll get what he wants sooner or later.
_________________________
James joins him, crouching beside him and accepting the wilted stems Robbie’s removing from the receptacle. “Those are lovely,” he says, gesturing at the new flowers. Robbie senses some hesitation before James continues. “Were they Mrs Lewis’s favourite?”
Robbie glances at his companion, who is staring studiously down at the receptacle. “Val loved carnations – that deep pink and purple most of all. I always bought her those on her birthday. The violets–” He smiles fondly. “When the kids were young, they used to grow wild at the bottom of our garden. Lyn saw me bringing Val home flowers one year, so she ran outside, picked a dozen or so and gave them to her mum. She gave Val violets every year after that.”
James brushes a purple petal. “She must be happy that you’re continuing the tradition.”
Robbie starts; he hasn’t even told Lyn about his habit of including violets in the birthday bouquet. “I’ll have to phone her later and tell her.”
“You can do better than that. Give me your phone.” Surprised but unquestioning, Robbie hands over his Blackberry. James presses a couple of keys, then aims the camera at the gravestone and takes a photo. “There. You can email that to her.”
“Yeah, right. You know I barely know where to find photos on that thing, let alone attach one to an email. You can do it for me later.”
James smiles. “Of course.”
“Thanks.” They stand, and Robbie brushes his hand over James’s back after paying his silent respects at the grave. “Pint?”
_________________________
“You’re not interested in applying for it yourself, sir?”
“Nah.” Robbie pulls a face. “Too many meetings, too much bureaucracy. I became a copper to do what we do now, an’ there’s already too many meetings in my diary for my liking. No, thanks.”
James’s smile is genuinely relieved, and Robbie’s gratified by it. “I’m glad, sir. I’m not particularly interested in having a new governor.”
Right. If you go, I go, of course. “It didn’t occur to you that if I did get promoted I’d take you with me? Course, you’d need to go through OSPRE an’ all that, but that wouldn’t be a bar to you reporting to me still.”
James is silent for a few moments; then he gives Robbie a half-smile. “That’s probably the only circumstance under which I would consider promotion.”
Oh. The penny starts to drop, and Robbie kicks himself for not seeing it sooner. Casually, Robbie comments, “Reckon that makes me lucky, then.”
James’s lips twist slightly. “I think I’m the lucky one, sir.”
Robbie nods to himself. He’s not entirely sure what this is yet, but for some reason James is a lot more attached to him than he’s realised.
It’s bad for the lad’s career, of course. James will never realise his potential as long as he’s tied to Robbie, and for that reason alone he should find a way to push the bloke away, even if it means hurting his feelings. But he can’t do that. Part of it’s because of something else he realises he’s known for a while: James won’t stay with the police long-term. He’s not a career copper. He does the job, and he’s bloody good at it, but he doesn’t live and breathe police work the way Robbie always has.
And the other reason is that he doesn’t want to push James away, does he? James isn’t the only one who’s more attached than he should be. James is his best mate, and on many of the worst days since coming back to Oxford he’s been the only reason Robbie’s got up in the morning.
He brushes James’s arm. “Let’s just say we’re both lucky, eh?”
He’s not expecting the way James swallows awkwardly before saying, “Thank you, sir.” But it does tell him that now it’s time to press.
“So, you know what I was doing at the florist. How about you?”
There’s a pause before James releases a long, slow breath. “Someone I used to know died.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” He glances at James again, and what he sees in the bloke’s eyes makes him lay his arm across James’s shoulders. It isn’t shrugged off. “Family? A friend?” Of course, James has almost never mentioned either.
“Neither. She was the matron at my boarding-school. She was always... kind to me.”
And he says that as though it was an unusual occurrence. Though, given the few glimpses Robbie’s had into James’s personal life over the years they’ve been together, it most likely was.
“How did you find out?”
“Completely by chance.” James moves closer to Robbie, and now their shoulders are brushing as they walk. Deliberate or unconscious, Robbie’s not sure. “I don’t follow social media sites, so I missed the school’s announcement on its Facebook page. I was out for a drink last night and ran into someone who went to the same school, though we only knew each other slightly. He asked if I’d heard.” Robbie nods. “I looked up the details when I went home. It was a car accident. The flowers... she left a husband and teenage children.”
“That’s awful.” Robbie knows exactly how the family feels. “Are you going to go to the funeral?”
“Was thinking about it, but – well, it feels as if I’d be intruding. I don’t know her family.”
“But you knew her, and you’d have fond memories to share.” He tightens his arm around James’s shoulders for a moment. “I don’t remember much about Val’s funeral – it was all a bit of a blur. But the bits I do remember – well, apart from having to see her lowered into this bloody horrible hole in the ground – were people telling me how lovely she was and how much she’d helped them or been kind to them. That... helped.”
James stops walking and turns to face the river; Robbie stands next to him, keeping his arm around him. “Really? In that case, maybe I will go.”
“When is it?”
“Tomorrow afternoon, two o’clock. I’d have to ask for time off...?” He turns towards Robbie, a question in his eyes.
“I’ll speak to Innocent. It won’t be a problem.” They’re standing so close now, facing each other, and he’s already got one arm around the bloke; it’s the easiest thing imaginable to wrap his other arm around James and pull him into a hug.
After only a brief hesitation, James returns the gesture, bringing his arms around Robbie and dropping his head to Robbie’s shoulder. “Thank you.”
He shakes James slightly before letting him go. “It’s no trouble, an’ you should know that.”
“I don’t mean talking to Innocent.” James squeezes Robbie’s upper arm, and his lips curve up at the edges for a moment.
Robbie huffs. “What friends are for, isn’t it?” He resumes walking, and James falls into step beside him. “And if you were enough of an idiot not to realise we’re friends, dinner’s on you.”
That gets him a genuine smile. “I think I owe you dinner anyway, sir.” James hesitates, and his brow creases – then he adds, “Robbie.”
Robbie gives him an approving nod. “I fancy Greek. Manos on Walton Street, if you’re okay with that.”
“Mezes all round. I can live with that.” They’re still walking close enough for their arms, and even the backs of their hands, to brush, but neither of them seems to mind.
“Yeah. Not too much ouzo, though. Not if you’re driving to – where is it, tomorrow?”
“Just north of Banbury. Under an hour’s drive.”
Robbie nods. “You’ll be back around five. Come over to mine, okay? We can order takeaway, and I’ll educate you about why Wagner’s much better than that Gregorian chant stuff you listen to.”
“Oh, joy,” James murmurs, but he’s looking a lot happier than he was earlier. And, if Robbie has his way, this won’t be a one-off. Because he’s not the only one who doesn’t want to carry on in the job without his partner – and he doesn’t want their friendship to end once they’re no longer working together either.
He’s often thought it would, that they’d drift apart once they no longer have work in common, but after this afternoon he knows that’s not the case. For better or worse, he and James are bound together in a friendship that goes deeper than he’s realised before today – and it’s one he’ll do everything to maintain. As, he’s confident, will James.
“Actually,” James says then, his tone serious, “there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you, Robbie.”
“Oh? What’s that?” Concerned, he pauses and looks at his friend.
James’s lips twitch very faintly. “You have a violet caught in the back of your collar.”
“You...! Could’ve told me before now!” Robbie gropes for the flower, and when he finds it, lunges for James, trying to stuff it down his shirt.
James laughs aloud as he fends Robbie off. “I thought I was being very considerate, in the circumstances. I could’ve taken a photo of you and shared it around the nick.”
“And I could push you into the river and take a photo of you dripping wet and with weeds stickin’ out of your hair,” Robbie retorts.
“Mmm.” James slings his arm casually around Robbie’s shoulders. “Let’s agree on one thing: no photos.”
“All right with me.” James nods agreement. “Unless,” Robbie adds, “I find you snoring on me sofa tomorrow morning with your mouth open. Then all bets are off.”
James gives him a wounded look. “God defend me from my friends; from my enemies I can defend myself.” He shakes his head. “Voltaire, in case you were wondering.”
“Friends only mock because they care.” He jerks a thumb at his chest. “Robbie Lewis, in case you were wondering.”
James smiles and bumps their shoulders together, and they stroll on together in the afternoon sun.