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James was unusually taciturn that morning. And, as he wasn't the most forthcoming of people under normal circumstances, things had to be pretty bad for Robbie to notice there was a marked difference.
After the appropriate amount of politely ignoring James's silence, Robbie decided perhaps he'd better take steps. "Everything all right?"
James glanced at him, then down. "Fine."
Well, that was one more word than he'd spoken all morning. Robbie counted that as a somewhat guarded success. "Must've got a cat, then."
James frowned at him. "What?"
"I assume that's what's got your tongue," Robbie said.
That did surprise a slight smile out of James. Good. "It's embarrassing."
“I'm good at embarrassing. Texted me daughter the other night by sitting on me phone, apparently," Robbie said.
James smiled again. "Did your sofa have anything interesting to say?"
Robbie shook his head. "Just a request to be reupholstered. The usual."
James paused, then offered tentatively, "I went on a blind date last night."
"Good for you!" Robbie said emphatically. The lad needed all the encouragement he could get in the romance department. "And?"
James drummed his fingers on his desk. "The first thing I should make clear is that the... person who arranged the date is someone I haven't seen for years."
"All right. So, doesn't know you very well. Go on." Robbie smothered his instinctive amusement at James's pre-emptive excuse; if this really hadn't gone well, he didn't want to put the lad off trying again.
"Well. We met at a restaurant – not my preference, really; it was one of those places you go to be seen rather than for the food. My... friend... said it's the sort of place to impress a woman."
A woman.“ One question answered, anyway. "That right?"
"She seemed to like it. She spent the entire two hours, in between taking bird-like bites of food once it finally arrived, taking selfies and updating her Facebook. Oh, and tweeting the date practically minute by minute."
"Ah. How did you rate as a date, then?"
"How did I rate?" James gave him an indignant glare. "I'd suggest that the fact that the only way I could have sustained a conversation with her would have been via social media is compelling evidence that I wasn't the one at fault for the disaster last night became."
"The disaster it became?" Robbie asked, eyebrows raised. "You mean that first bit wasn't the disaster?"
"Oh, it was a disaster, but it wasn't the disaster," James said. "After two hours she stood up and informed me that her Twitter feed didn't think I was good enough for her, and so she'd be leaving now. But if I became more interesting, I should call her, because she wouldn't mind seeing me again."
"Bloody hell," Robbie said. "Is that what young people do on dates these days?"
"I can assure you it isn't," James said, with a bit more asperity than usual. "At least, not this person. Although my friends have told me I'm middle-aged."
"In this case, I'd take that as a compliment," Robbie said. "Will you try again?"
James shook his head. "I don't think so."
"Can't let one bad experience spoil the lot for you, lad," Robbie said.
The following week, they were having a pint or two after work, and Robbie brought up the subject again. "Been on any more blind dates, then?"
He fully expected that the answer would be a pained shudder, so he was surprised when James pinked slightly and muttered something that might have been yes.
"Well, don't keep me in suspense!" Robbie said, setting his pint-glass on the bar. "Wasn't another dedicated follower of fashion, I hope?"
"Not this time." James patted his pockets, thus telling Robbie that the price of hearing more was adjourning outside so the bloke could smoke. "I didn't set out to have another blind date. A friend of the person who arranged the first one got in touch. Said she'd heard I was in the market, and she had this friend she knew I'd just love. I let myself be talked into it."
"Might need to take some lessons from Dr Hobson in the art of not being talked into things," Robbie suggested.
"Or just borrow her scalpel." James lit his cigarette. "I'll admit, this time I was pleasantly surprised - at first. She'd suggested that we meet at an art exhibition - one I'd been wanting to see anyway."
"Compatibility." Robbie nodded enthusiastically. "Always a good thing."
"So I thought, too. Even more so when she started talking about religion and theology - she seemed knowledgeable and interested, so I told her that I almost became a priest. That's when she said her favourite sexual fantasy was having a priest perform cunnilingus on her in the confessional."
Robbie swallowed a more-than-mild expletive of surprise. "Can't imagine that went over well with you."
"I thought it was something we might have in common," James said, eyes fixed firmly on the ground. "That's the only reason I mentioned it."
Robbie nodded. "And then…"
"My religion is many things, sir, some of them incredibly contradictory, but what I'd rather it isn't is someone else's kink," James said.
Robbie nodded. "Also… that's a pretty personal thing to say on a first date. Isn't it? Asking for… that?"
James's lips twitched at Robbie's euphemism. "The world has changed since you were on the market, sir, but it hasn't changed that much. Yes, it's an incredibly personal thing to say."
Robbie nodded. And James was so private anyway. "Well, I'm sorry. Especially since it went so well to start."
"Actually, I'm not sure if I'm sorry or not." James lit another cigarette. "From what I've seen so far, the art of dating appears to consist of bending and twisting yourself into something apparently acceptable to your prospective partner, regardless of your own inclinations or your true character. So what happens when the prospective partner finds out what you're really like?"
Robbie shook his head. "I'd say you're letting yourself be set up with the wrong sort of people. When I was goin' out with Val – and, y'know, others before her – I was just meself. Best that way. I mean, imagine if she'd married me an' found out I wasn't into... well, kinky stuff in inappropriate places?"
James smiled crookedly. "You mean you're not, sir? I'm shocked."
"Just haven't done your homework on me, have you? And on that note, what makes you think I'm not on the market now?"
James appeared to consider. "I could arrange a blind date for you, sir."
Robbie frowned. "Don't you dare. But you... Either find some friends who know you better, or try one o' those online things – y'know, a dating website."
James shook his head. "I've gone off dating websites. Not that I was ever particularly interested, but after what happened with Miranda Thornton…" He shook his head. "No."
"You don't have to post video most places," Robbie began, but James was still shaking his head.
"No, sir. Not online. I barely want to know about my own personal life. I certainly don't want to make it public."
"Thought your generation loved living life online," Robbie joked.
"I could've stayed with my first date had that been the case," James said a bit ruefully. "I don't suppose you…"
Robbie waited for the rest, and when it didn't come, he prompted, "What?"
"…I don't suppose you know anyone?" James said hurriedly.
Robbie shook his head. "Sorry, lad. My introductions to young women are usually work-related."
James changed the subject after that, and shortly afterwards they went their separate ways.
The following day, Robbie had some business near the hospital, so he called in to see Laura. He mentioned James's adventures in dating, though without going into details, and asked whether Laura knew of any interesting young medical students who might be right for James.
"I wouldn't inflict a medical student on him – are you joking?" Laura shook her head. "Long hours, little sleep, no social conversation and an unhealthy fascination with the morbid."
Robbie snorted. "Sounds like the perfect fit for a CID detective."
Laura turned serious. "Why's he doing this all of a sudden?"
Robbie frowned; he'd wondered that a bit himself, but hadn't given it all that much thought. "S'pose he's thinkin' he's getting on a bit, like. Time to settle down." Though, he suspected, he might have had something to do with it, telling the lad to find himself a partner that time. He couldn't be sorry about that, though – a bloke doing the work they did shouldn't be alone anyway, and a lovely lad like James especially.
"Hmm." Laura gave him a look which he knew was supposed to be significant, but he decided that he probably didn't want to know whatever it was supposed to mean.
"Well, if anyone occurs to you," he said as he was leaving, "you know what to do."
"I might remind you, Robbie Lewis," she retorted tartly, "that the framed degree certificates and GMC licence to practice on the wall of my office state that I'm a doctor, not a matchmaker. Find your own bow and arrow if you want to play Cupid – but just be very careful where you aim them." And, with that, she shut the door behind him.
A few days later, James arrived at work with his arm in a sling.
"Christ!" Robbie said.
James made a calming gesture with his free hand. "It's not as bad as it looks. Just a sprain."
Robbie rose from his chair, crossing to James. "Yeah, but how did you manage a sprain? When you left here yesterday you were…" Oh, no. No, it couldn't be.
As if he knew what Robbie was thinking, James blushed and averted his eyes.
"Another blind date," Robbie said, feeling a slow-burning anger light inside him. "Wasn't it?"
James spoke very quietly. "In her defence, sir, it was an accident. She was a bit over-eager to show me her aikido skills."
It was all Robbie could do not to rest a hand on James's uninjured shoulder…or, alternately, to get the woman's name and run out and arrest her. He'd be only too happy to do either… or both. Oh, James. "This has to stop."
Immediately, James looked defensive. "It was an accident, sir. And, while I might have had other... not entirely successful... dates, neither of the previous women caused me an injury."
Maybe not a physical one, but that didn't mean James wasn't hurt. "Still. This means you're on desk duties until you're cleared as fit."
James turned away, though not before Robbie saw his glum expression. "I'm aware of that, sir. I thought I might spend the time working on the team's performance reviews, unless you have anything else you'd like me to focus on?"
How could the bloke be so bloody composed over this? As if it didn't matter that he was injured and would struggle with normal, everyday activities – even as basic as washing and dressing – for days? And had the bloody woman even offered to make sure James was able to get around, let alone take care of himself, thanks to her carelessness?
But he couldn't say any of that.
Instead, he opened his mouth and put his foot in it. "Just make sure your social life doesn't interfere with getting your job done a second time."
The change was instantaneous; he could see James bristle almost immediately.
"I'm not sure you want to have this conversation," James said icily. "Sir."
Robbie was fumbling badly. "Dunno what you mean."
Every word was an icicle now. "It seems someone suggested that I find a partner. That I need a partner. And that same someone now finds my attempts to follow instructions to be a nuisance and a distraction from work. Apparently I'm meant to be magic and to find a partner without actually taking action to find a partner, which I'm finding singularly difficult. But I suppose we can't all magically have a woman fall into our laps. Sir."
Robbie could have said any number of things, but what came out of his mouth first was, "I never said it had to be a woman."
James froze. "So now you're making assumptions about my sexuality, are you, sir?"
"Of course not! I just..." No, James was right. They really shouldn't have this conversation. He took a step backwards. "You're right. We've wasted enough time on this already when there's work to be done."
James instantly pulled out his chair and sat, stiff-backed, at his desk, and silence descended on the office.
Robbie mentally kicked himself. This one really was all his doing.
He tried to work but, after about twenty minutes, admitted that he wasn't having much success. Without a word to James, who was studiously ignoring him still, he left the office. When he returned, he set a large paper cup of James's favourite coffee, and an expensive pastry, on his sergeant's desk.
James glanced up, eyes wide in obvious surprise. Robbie gave a one-shouldered shrug. "Go on. At least the pastry's not gonna sprain your other wrist."
James's lips twitched.
Robbie was glad to see anything even remotely resembling a smile from James, and he gave him a sheepish look. James didn't say anything, but he softened a bit about the eyes.
"You're right to be angry," Robbie said quietly. "I had no right to say any of those things."
James shifted his weight a bit, visibly seeming to thaw. "I know why you did. It's just… hard not to hear anything said on this topic personally. Because it is personal."
"I know," Robbie said. "And honestly… thinking about it… I don't know that I'd be half as patient with someone else saying to me what I've said to you."
James raised his coffee in a silent toast. "Apology accepted."
After that debacle, Robbie vowed to avoid the subject of James's personal life, and in particular the question of his romantic life, entirely. They worked out a routine whereby Robbie picked James up and drove him home, and a couple of times they shared a takeaway at James's flat – that way Robbie could ensure that he actually managed to eat despite his injury.
And, gradually, James regained the use of his left wrist and life returned to normal.
Until late one evening, when Robbie realised he'd left his wallet in his desk drawer, and returned to the office to find James at his desk, apparently filling in information on some sort of website. Robbie just caught sight of a logo, which he thought said Perfect Partners, before James activated his screensaver. "Sir!"
"You're all right, lad," Robbie said, making a dismissive hand gesture. "I've given up me meddling ways."
James smiled slightly. "Glad to hear it."
"Was going to ask you if you wanted a pint, but I expect you… won't want one now?" He sounded more uncertain than he meant to. But he wasn't going to interrupt the lad's personal business if James wanted his privacy.
"Give me a moment?" James asked. "There's something I need to finish here."
Robbie nodded. "Course. I'll wait outside."
They were halfway through their first pint when James said, "I've signed up for a dating website."
He'd already worked that out, of course, but had resolved to stay as neutral as possible in this issue. "I'm happy if it works for you, man, but I thought you'd decided against them?"
James heaved a sigh. "I wasn't exactly having much success with the traditional methods of meeting people." He ticked off on his fingers. "Through work: not a stellar success. A work colleague: I can hardly call Fiona a sterling example of the kind of relationship other people have. People I've met through work: it wouldn't be an exaggeration to call those an unmitigated disaster."
Robbie winced; James was absolutely right, and he still occasionally had nightmares where he couldn't get into the terraced house in Jericho, and in the end had to watch James's charred body carried out by firefighters. "Won't argue with you there, lad."
James inclined his head. "And then meeting someone through friends... the evidence speaks for itself."
"Right. So a website? Is it one of those where people find each other, or that the software or someone else makes the matches?"
James pulled a face. "After the last few weeks, I'm not comfortable with the idea of letting an outside force choose someone for me, so I've gone with a site where I review profiles and then contact people who interest me."
Robbie couldn't help himself this time. "Oh, yeah? Found anyone interesting yet?"
James didn't seem to mind the question, and he shrugged. "Not yet. Actually, that's…" He hesitated, then ploughed ahead. "That's something I've been thinking about. What if there isn't anyone, even there?"
"There's got to be," Robbie said loyally. He couldn't fathom the idea of a bloke like James not being able to find anyone. There must be someone… someone who would pull James out of his shell a bit. Someone James wouldn't be wrong to trust – someone worthy of James's trust this time.
"But suppose there isn't." James sounded a bit bleak now. "Suppose I look through everyone on that dating site and no one is right. This is the last thing I have to try."
"Not the last," Robbie said. "Was just reading about matchmakers. You could hire one of them."
James shook his head. "They're expensive. And anyway, the luck I've had with other people's choices wouldn't be any better with a matchmaker."
Robbie nodded. His first thought was to try to reassure James, but he knew James would be able to see through that, and it wouldn't be helpful, anyway. "Well, I can't tell you what'll happen because I don't know…"
"Don't you?" James deadpanned.
Robbie pulled a face at him and continued. "…but to me you're the sort of bloke anyone would be lucky to get."
James blinked in surprise. "That's… thank you."
Robbie shrugged, a little embarrassed at the surprise and appreciation in James's voice. Surely the lad knew how highly he thought of him? "You're all right." He tilted his glass towards James. "Another?"
James shook his head. "I should really go home and read some more profiles." He sounded about as enthusiastic as Robbie did when he had to go to a budget meeting.
He patted James's shoulder. "It'll all be worth it in the end. Just remember, I get first dibs on givin' you away."
James stared at him, then just shook his head and signalled the barman to order another round.
The following week, as they were winding down one evening, Robbie suggested a pint and pub meal, but James instantly looked regretful. "Can't tonight, sir, sorry. I'm seeing someone."
"Oh?" Robbie said, before he could think better of it.
James dipped his head slightly. "From that website."
"Oh! Well, in that case you go an' have a good time. Just hope she doesn't go an' put your date up on YouTube, or run you over in the car park, or anything like that."
James smiled faintly at that. "I will be on the alert for any inappropriate uses of a camera-phone or a car." He turned away to switch off his computer, then added, "Actually, she is a he."
Robbie simply nodded, and if he felt any surprise at the admission, he kept it to himself and out of his facial expression. "Then make sure he doesn't do any of those things."
James turned back, looking faintly surprised. "That's all you're going to say?"
What else would Robbie say? Congratulations on dating a bloke; here's a free ice-cream?
"I just want you to be happy, lad," Robbie said. "That's all."
James looked as though he wanted to say something, and even went as far as opening his mouth, but then he shut it again and nodded.
Robbie almost said, "Phone me if you need backup," but he thought he'd better not. It would've been a sincere offer, but James might've taken it as a dig, and that was all Robbie needed right now. Same with "Be safe."
"You take care," Robbie said finally, hoping James would understand what he meant.
That evening, Robbie couldn't concentrate on anything. For some reason, he kept remembering the almost-nervous, almost-proud expression he'd glimpsed on James's face when the lad had told him his date was a man. It shouldn't be a big deal. It wasn't a big deal. He just wanted James to find someone who would make him happy, that was all. That was the most important thing.
He even dreamed about James: James and a shadowy male figure walking hand in hand and pausing to kiss. And Laura looking at him as if there was something he was supposed to know. It didn't make sense. It didn't make sense, either, when he woke up feeling unsettled and as if he'd lost something important.
"I need a coffee," he muttered, and padded to the kitchen.
At work, James was sorting the post with surprising enthusiasm. Robbie paused by his desk. "How'd it go last night?"
James's smile was so bright it almost gave Robbie a headache. "Very well, actually, sir." He leaned back and looked straight at Robbie. "He's a musician, like me – well, I already knew that from his profile. His main instrument is the violin, though he also plays guitar. We're going to get together at the weekend and play some stuff."
"That's... that's good, man." Robbie hoped that his enthusiasm wouldn't sound as forced to James as it did to himself.
James didn't appear to notice. "It wasn't just the music, though. I don't think I've ever been able to talk as easily with anyone – well, except you, of course, sir," he added, mildly deadpan. "I'd intended to go home around ten, but we were still there talking at closing time." He paused, then added, "You were right to encourage me to keep looking, sir. I really think Alex is the one."
Robbie's stomach felt as though it had plummeted somewhere into the vicinity of his shoes. "I… that's… that's lovely news, lad, I…" He nodded mutely. "It is, it's wonderful."
This didn't make sense. He did want James to be with someone. He did want him to be happy. Why did this make him feel so terrible, then? Surely he wasn't the sort of bloke to find happiness in someone else's misfortunes and to be bitter in response to someone else's happiness? Robbie didn't like the thought of becoming that sort.
Or was it that Robbie had been ignoring his own loneliness? Was he sad not because James had found someone, but because he still hadn't? Maybe that was it. It was one thing to be single when the person you were with most often was also single, but when that person was with someone else… well.
He felt replaced, he realised suddenly. As though with Alex in his life, James wouldn't need him any more.
Bloody hell.
Well, one thing was absolutely certain: he couldn't let James see any hint of how he really felt about this. James was happy. He'd – so far, anyway – finally found someone that he could be with and be himself and be valued for the lovely person he was. And that was a good thing. Very good.
"Maybe I should register on that website," he said, only half-joking. "Might find someone who'd put up with me."
For an instant, James looked shaken up – as horrified as he'd looked when Robbie'd told him he was considering early retirement. Robbie frowned. "What? You think I'm too old and set in me ways to use a dating site?"
Abruptly, James's expression was completely professional, and his voice was smooth and faintly mocking as he said, "Not at all, sir! I'm sure you'd find the ladies queuing up to meet you there, just like they do everywhere else."
Robbie didn't quite manage to stifle a grunt, but shoved away the temptation to say So you're making assumptions about my sexuality now, are you? It would be a completely unfair dig; James was well aware that Robbie was straight.
After a moment, James added, "If you're serious, sir, I could help you set up your account and write your profile. I know how much you hate writing stuff."
"Thanks, but I can manage." The idea of James even seeing his profile on the site, let alone writing about him, made him want to cringe.
"All right." James turned back to his work, but then glanced around again a moment later. "If... if things do seem to be working out with Alex, sir, I hope you'll come for a drink with us some evening. I'd really like you to meet him."
What, sit across from James while he played footsie under the table and whispered sweet nothings to this Alex? He'd rather attend twenty budget meetings one after the other. But... James had asked. James wanted him to. He forced a smile to his face. "Course I will."
James smiled too. "That's great. I think you'll like him, sir. You'll have a lot in common with him, too – I know you like a lot of the same music, for one thing."
"What, stuff from the seventies and eighties? Likes classics, does he?"
"Well..." James gave a one-shouldered shrug. "That's his era, really – just like you." At Robbie's puzzled frown, James added, "He's about five years younger than you."
Insult added to injury. Somehow that only made it worse. James was dating someone his age. Bloody hell. Bloody, bloody, bloody hell.
That could've been me.
The thought came upon Robbie all at once and oh God. Oh, God. It was true. That was why he'd been upset about this. That's why he wasn't happy for James. He was jealous. Oh, no. No, no, no. And here he'd been blundering round throwing James at random passersby because… because what he really wanted was…
Before he knew what he was doing, he was heading for the door. He couldn't think in here. He couldn't be in here. He had to go.
"Sir?"
He heard James's concerned voice behind him, dimly, but he didn't stop, didn't answer. James couldn't see this. Whatever Robbie was going to do… and honestly, he wasn't sure what he was going to do yet… James couldn't see it.
Robbie was too bloody stupid to see what was right in front of him. And now he'd lost James for good.
Robbie walked without paying attention to where he was going, and was surprised to find himself at The Head of the River pub. "Far too early for a drink, man," he muttered, then flushed as a passer-by gave him a funny look.
The pub was closed, of course; opening time wasn't for a couple of hours yet. He walked through the arch into the patio area, and around the outside of the pub to the river. He and James came here occasionally – it wasn't far from the nick, after all, and the food was good, if expensive. It just got very busy at times, so it wasn't their favourite watering-hole.
Who would he go for a pint with in future? Though James was his sergeant, after all. If he told the bloke he wanted to discuss their case over a pint, then James would have to come with him.
No. He was not going to turn into Morse. He'd rather hand in his retirement papers and move away from Oxford, and give James the freedom to be happy with his Alex.
If only he'd realised sooner. Though would he have done anything? How could he possibly have known that James would be interested in a bloke his age?
Laura knew. Out of the blue, that realisation slammed into him. Of course she did. That was what that look of hers was all about, wasn't it?
She could have told me.
No. That wasn't fair. This was all his own fault – and he called himself a detective? Maybe it really was time for him to retire.
Robbie decided to wait at least a week before mentioning the subject of retirement to anyone. The last thing he needed was James or anyone else connecting his retirement to James's… Alex. James had continued cheerful throughout the week, so cheerful that Robbie's gradual withdrawal into himself seemed to have escaped his notice entirely.
James was bubbling over with anecdotes about Alex doing this and Alex doing that, and wasn't Alex wonderful. Robbie kept a smile on his face – it looked almost natural, he expected – and nodded as if he were really enjoying the stories, and all the while thoughts were running through his head about how James didn't need him any more.
Robbie barely even had the energy to be lonely any longer. He wanted to crawl into bed and not come out for a year. Not that anyone would notice, now. He knew that sort of thinking was maudlin and self-pitying, but he couldn't seem to make it go away somehow, couldn't manage to jar himself into thinking any other way. He would miss James when he left. But he didn't think James would miss him, not now that he'd found the love of his life. With Robbie's help. What a joke… a sad, pathetic joke.
But when Robbie came in Monday, James was different. He didn't have his now-usual vigour. He wasn't smiling or humming. Instead, his shoulders drooped and his eyes looked swollen and red-rimmed. He'd been… had he been crying?
"James?" Robbie asked, crossing to him, trying not to sound as worried as he was. "What's the matter?"
James lowered his head. "He says I'm very nice and he hopes we can still be friends."
"What?" Robbie asked, aghast. "What happened?"
"I don't…" James shook his head, obviously distrait. "He says I'm not spontaneous enough. He wants someone willing to…" He shook his head again.
Robbie rested a hand on James's shoulder, giving him silent support.
"He doesn't want to be exclusive," James said, biting off the last word acidly, "and he doesn't understand why I can't accept that."
Bloody bastard. Robbie badly wanted to ask James for his full name and address, so he could go around and give the bloke a piece of his mind. James wouldn't thank him for it, though.
He should be relieved that James was free again, but how could he possibly be happy when the bloke was this upset?
He almost drew James into his arms for a hug, but stopped himself; they'd never been that touchy-feely, and it would probably embarrass the lad. Instead, he pressed his hand more tightly on James's shoulder. "Sounds like you're better off without him, if that's how little he valued you."
"Maybe all I deserve is to be someone's bit on the side," James retorted bitterly.
"That's bollocks." It was completely the wrong time for Robbie to tell James that there was at least one person out there who did value James for the wonderful, talented, caring person he was, and who would never treat him the way all those other idiots had. But he could at least offer his support.
"Tell you what we're gonna do. Tonight, we're coming back to mine for beer and a takeaway, an' you can slag Alex off all you want. Then tomorrow... back you go to that website an' find someone else who'll treat you better."
"I don't think I can," James said, voice little more than a whisper. Robbie's face fell. "Not coming to yours – I'd like that, sir. Thank you. No, I don't think I can try again. Not now."
After a long silence, during which Robbie suspected if you'd written down both his and James's thoughts you would've had a goodish sized novel, Robbie patted James's shoulder.
"I know what it's like to lose someone you care about," he said quietly. "I do."
James looked up at Robbie, startled. "Sir, I wasn't… I'm not comparing myself to…"
"No, no, I know you're not," Robbie said. "But time's funny, lad. It passes like nothing at all. And I don't want you waking up an old man alone because you didn't try."
"I have tried," James protested, voice cracking a bit. "I've done nothing but try."
"I'm not asking you to…" Robbie fell silent, thinking about what to say… what he should say. Finally, he said, "If you won't do it for yourself, do it for me. Do what I couldn't, lad. Try a second time."
James was looking at Robbie with an openly compassionate expression. Finally, he nodded. "For you, sir. With the proviso that if something else like… like this happens… we both agree that's the end of it."
Robbie nodded. "Aye, lad. If this doesn't work, I promise not to ask again."
"All right," James said.
"All right," Robbie agreed.
They didn't talk much about Alex over dinner that evening, after all; it was over and done with, James said, and there wasn't any point. He did say that, while he'd do as Robbie'd asked and try the website again, he wanted to wait a few days first. "I don't want to make the wrong choice because I'm... emotionally compromised."
Robbie patted his arm. "Makes sense." And then they put the telly on and watched QI.
After James went home, Robbie pulled out a pad and pen; he wanted to draft this in longhand first until he was happy with it, and then he'd go online. At least now he had a few days to get it right.
The basic data was simple enough: 50s, six feet tall, blue eyes, male seeking another male 35 or over, looking for a long-term relationship. The rest... well, there lay the challenge.
I work long hours and enjoy my job, he wrote. I'd like to meet someone who understands that. But when I'm not working, I like relaxing: over a pint or a meal – nothing fancy, Indian or a pub meal, or a takeaway in front of the telly. If that sounds boring, then I'm not the bloke for you. I do have some culture: I like music and have eclectic tastes, all the way from Mozart to Mark Knopfler. I'm reasonably well-read and can tell your Ancient Greeks from your Vandals, but I'd prefer to watch Top Gear than read the Aeneid. I'm not just a couch potato, though: I'd love to have someone to go for country rambles or weekends away with, especially if they involved a pub with decent draft bitter somewhere along the way. If you're into gastro pubs, you're not for me; if you like decent, traditional locals with real ale stored and poured the way it should be, and you enjoy swapping sarky one-liners while sipping pints by the river, I promise you'll find me up to the challenge.
Are you for me? Then I'm for you.
Two days later, he created his profile on Perfect Partners, under the name Louis Roberts, and carefully typed in his description, read it through once more, and clicked Save.
There were no responses to his profile right away, for which Robbie was grateful; he didn't fancy having to discourage other blokes who might respond to a profile that was only meant to interest a very specific bloke. Who might not even see it if he was no longer looking for men. Suppose Alex had soured James on men for good?
The next twenty-four hours were some of the most anxious Robbie had ever spent. What if James didn't see him? What if James saw him but wasn't interested? What if James saw him and was interested but decided not to get in touch with him?
Then, finally, a private message appeared in his inbox.
Dear Louis,
I wasn't actually going to send this, but I've read your description many times now and it spoke to me. I will warn you that I've ended a relationship not long ago and am still reeling from that, and if you feel the need to run screaming from me for that reason alone, I promise I will understand. No hard feelings.
I see you're looking for a long-term relationship. So am I. I could go on about myself and how tall I am and how old I am and what I read at university, but I want to tell you the important things. And the important things are these: I am lonely. I am tired of looking. I want to love someone who loves me back. I've had it the other way and it's no good. I want to be someone's one and only, and in return, I promise you, I will give you all the love and loyalty I have.
I don't exactly know why I'm telling you this. I suppose it's because I have tried everything else and none of it worked, and if honesty doesn't either, I will have exhausted my options. And also because… when I read your profile, it's the first one I've looked at in a long time that I could see myself in. I could see myself sitting beside you watching telly. I could see myself going for a pint with you. I could see myself walking beside you. If you can picture me there with you, please let me know. Because I'd like to meet you.
If you're not interested, please, could you write a short note and let me know I'm not what you're looking for? I'd rather not wait and wonder.
Either way… thank you.
James
At six o'clock on Friday evening, Robbie sat with a pint in the Far from the Madding Crowd pub, waiting for James. He'd let James choose the pub for their meeting, and had been somewhat relieved when the bloke hadn't suggested any of his and Robbie's regular watering holes. It was stupid, really, wanting to believe that those pubs were special to him and James, when it was more likely because James hadn't wanted to risk running into his boss on his date. And stupid, too, because it was him meeting James, not a stranger called Louis Roberts.
He'd been touched, too, that James had written: I should tell you up front that I'm a smoker. I would like to give up, but all efforts so far have been unsuccessful. That doesn't mean I'll stop trying, but I thought you should know so that if it's a deal-breaker you can tell me now and we'll call it off.
'Louis' had assured James that he could cope with the smoking, and the date had been confirmed.
James had mentioned briefly to Robbie at work today that he had another date tonight, though Robbie felt certain he'd only said it to pre-empt an invitation to a post-work pint. He'd given no details.
Robbie went to pick up his pint again, then stopped himself. At this rate, he’d have it half-drunk by the time James arrived. Christ, he hadn’t been this nervous about a date since he was seventeen.
The door opened and James walked in. Like Robbie, he’d changed, and was now wearing a dark blue shirt that looked really good on him, and slim-fit trousers. How had it taken Robbie so long to realise how attractive James was?
James was looking around the pub now – the interior layout made it hard to see everywhere at a quick glance – and walking in Robbie’s direction. And then, abruptly, he stopped. He’d seen Robbie, and his eyes widened. Bugger. He was looking horrified. Was this a huge mistake?
“Sir.” James sounded distinctly uncomfortable. “I didn’t expect... Erm... I’m supposed to be meeting someone here.”
“I know.” Robbie looked straight at James, hoping he’d make the deductive leap. He didn’t. “Louis Roberts,” he said after about half a minute.
James’s expression changed completely: shock, disappointment – god, this really was a huge mistake; why had he ever assumed James would be interested in him? – and, then, hurt. “Robert Lewis.” His tone was flat, empty. “I might’ve expected something like this from some people at the nick, but I never would’ve imagined you’d do something this cruel.”
"Cruel?" Robbie genuinely hadn't expected that response, and he fumbled for an answer.
"Is that why you were so keen on me trying again?" James was still speaking in that affectless tone. "You weren't satisfied with someone else hurting me. You had to have a go."
"No!" Robbie said vehemently. "I just… I didn't…"
"'I didn't, I didn't'," James said, mimicking Robbie rudely. Robbie realised suddenly he'd never had James's intelligence turned against him before. The pain in James's eyes had turned to contempt. "You didn't what?"
"I didn't know how else to tell you," Robbie said, feeling every bit as small as he was. James had a point. Robbie had deceived him knowingly, which now seemed incredibly stupid. Of course he should've told James the truth.
That evidently gave James pause. "Tell me?"
"I… th-thought…" Pull it together, Robbie, for God's sake. "I thought if we talked anonymously… if you liked me there… you might not be so disappointed when you found out it was me."
Now James looked bewildered, but Robbie was glad to see that the contempt, at least, was gone from his expression. "I don't follow."
Robbie struggled to find words… some words, any words, the right words… but all he could manage was to repeat what he'd said before. "I didn't know how else to tell you."
James looked wary now. "This isn't a joke."
"Not at all," Robbie said quietly. "I didn't even know if you'd see my profile, or be interested in me. I hoped you would. I wanted…" But how to explain what he'd wanted… what he still wanted? "There was only one person I ever meant to see it. Only one I hoped would answer."
"Me?" James sank into the chair opposite Robbie. "You... this isn't a wind-up? You really... want... to be with me?"
"Yes." He rubbed at his eyebrow; a dead giveaway, that. James would know he was nervous. But then, after what he'd just put the bloke through, it served him right. "I – well, call me thick, but I realised after your first date with Alex that I wanted it to be me you were with."
James just stared at him, though Robbie could see him processing the new information.
"But, look, I know – well, it's awkward, me bein' your governor an' all. I don't want you to feel you can't say no. If you're not interested, that's fine. We'll never mention it again – or, if you want, I'll give you a recommendation and you can transfer–"
"I don't want to transfer." James interrupted suddenly, and leaned across the table. "I want..."
"What d'you want?"
"I want to go home with you and order takeaway and watch Top Gear. And maybe listen to some Dire Straits later."
It was Robbie's turn to stare, as his heart leapt and his stomach did flip-flops. "Yeah?" Slowly, he added, "Anything else?"
A slight smile appeared. "Quite probably. I wouldn't want to scare you off, though."
Robbie managed a small smile of his own. "I don't think there'll be any scaring me off, lad."
"I hope not," James said softly.
Robbie reached across the table, taking James's hand in his. "I didn't tell you my real name. But I never lied to you. All the things I said I wanted… I do want." He managed a self-deprecating expression, or what he hoped was one. "Thought I'd found out too late."
"I was so sure…" James was silent for a moment. "When I said in my message to you… when I said I'd been in love with someone who didn't love me back…" He squeezed Robbie's hand.
"Me?" Robbie whispered. He wasn't just thick; he was thick as two planks.
James nodded, speaking haltingly. "One reason I… threw myself into the search was… I was trying to get over you." Another slight smile. "Apparently I should've asked."
"I only realised when I thought you and Alex were…" Robbie shook his head.
James's expression softened. "We're finally in sync, it seems." He gave Robbie's hand another squeeze, a playful one this time. "Weren't you going to buy me a drink?"
"I was," Robbie said, feeling almost giddy. This… could work. This was going to work, the two of them. "Promise you'll still be here when I get back?"
James nodded, expression serious. "I promise."
Maybe it was only Robbie's imagination, but it felt as though James was promising a lot more than that.
When he came back with a pint for James – and nothing for himself; he wanted to keep a clear head for now – his lad greeted him with the happiest smile he'd ever seen on James's face.
As soon as he'd handed the pint over and sat, James reached for his hand again. For a while, they simply sat in silence, looking at each other and occasionally shaking heads in amused disbelief.
"So, I am for you," James said after a while.
Robbie squeezed his hand. "Always were, weren't you?"
"I used to hope, sometimes. And then you'd start seeing Laura Hobson again, or having dinner with some other woman, and I'd wonder what made me imagine you'd ever be interested in me."
"Thick, wasn't I? Couldn't see what was under me nose. Took hearing you were going out with a bloke almost my age to make me wake up to what I was missing. Almost lost you, too. If that Alex bastard hadn't been such a selfish git..."
"Who's Alex?" James asked facetiously.
Robbie stroked his palm. "Long as you never say Who's Robbie?, I don't care."
"Robbie." The name was spoken softly, almost experimentally, and Robbie wanted to hear James say it again and again.
"What are you doing this weekend?" he asked as an idea struck him.
"Nothing planned. We weren't expecting to be off, remember?"
"Right." They had been near the top of the call list, but Innocent moved them down based on all the extra hours they'd put in recently. "Weekend away? Ramble in the countryside, pub lunch, feet up by an open fire in the evening?"
James's eyes widened, and then he smiled again. "Swapping sarky one-liners over real ale?"
"What else?" Robbie tightened his hand around James's. "Friend of mine has a little cottage in the Cotswolds he rents out. Could phone him later, see if it's available this weekend. Just one thing, though," he added. "It's only got one bedroom."
"Not a problem for me, as long as it isn't for you." James's smile was arch.
"We don't have to…" Robbie had to stop and consider what he was about to say. "We can go as slowly or as quickly as you like. I don't have any expectations of what this'll be… I'm trying to be 'in the moment', as Lyn would say."
"How very zen of you," James said.
"That's me. Mr Zen," Robbie agreed, hoping to surprise a laugh out of James. And it worked – James snorted so hard he nearly choked.
"The way things have been… with me trying to…" James shrugged, as if he'd rather not think about all the time he'd spent looking for someone else. "I'm not sure I know what a normal rate of speed would be."
"Don't think I ever knew," Robbie said. "If certain things… seem natural, we can try them, and if it seems as though it's too much or we're moving too quickly, we can stop or not do those things." James was grinning like a Cheshire cat. "What?"
"No, I just…" James shook his head, still smiling. "I never thought we'd have this conversation. It's… it's good."
Robbie felt warmed all over by James's excitement. Of course, if he admitted it to himself, it was a while since he'd considered being intimate with anyone himself.
"And I think," James continued, more softly now, "I think I'm going to like being that close to you."
If they'd been alone, Robbie might've kissed James's hand. As it was, he changed his grip so their fingers were interleaved. "Think I'm going to like that too, James."
James took a sudden, shuddering breath, then grabbed his pint-glass and started practically gulping the beer.
"Oi, steady on!" Robbie cautioned. "You'll choke if you drink it that quickly."
James set down his almost-empty glass, eyes bright and intent. "Let's get out of here."
"What's your hurry?" But Robbie stood along with James.
"I don't want to be here any more. I want to be in your flat, on your couch, beside you." James caught hold of Robbie's hand, practically tugging him out of the pub. "I can hardly wait to kiss you."
"Well..." Robbie glanced around at the busy street outside, then thought better of what he'd been going to suggest. "Where's your car?"
"I didn't drive. Thought it best, in case I had a few drinks. I... was nervous," James confessed.
"You were nervous? I was bloody terrified!"
James bent and pressed a fleeting kiss to Robbie's cheek. "I promise I don't bite. Well, only by invitation."
Robbie actually felt himself blush. "Home. Now."
The ride back to Robbie's flat was one of the most endless Robbie had ever experienced, and from the way James was fidgeting in the seat beside, Robbie suspected James felt the same way. Knowing what awaited them at home made every traffic light and four-way stop seem to take yonks.
"I don't suppose you've got a siren with you?" James asked hopefully.
Lewis snorted. "Despite how both of us feel about it, I'm not sure this qualifies as an emergency."
James gave Robbie a look so hot Robbie felt as though the ends of his socks were scorching.
When they finally arrived in Robbie's flat, James closed the door and then took action, cupping Robbie's face in his hands and leaning in for a kiss.
James tasted like mouthwash, not nicotine, and Robbie realised James had been hopeful enough about this date to care about the experience of the person he'd kiss. Oh, James. Robbie returned the kiss as best he knew how – he was a bit rusty, he knew, but hopefully not enough to make James despair of him.
James pulled back from the kiss, inhaling deeply, eyes closed.
"Will I do?" Robbie asked, trying to make it more of a joke than it was. His nerves hadn't gone away, after all.
James gave Robbie a look so loving he almost forgot to breathe for a moment.
"Yes," James whispered, caressing Robbie's cheek. Then, with a sudden vulnerability, "Will I?"
Robbie moved closer to James, taking him in his arms. "What do you think?"
James's smile could've powered half of Oxford.
Several minutes later, the loud rumbling of Robbie's stomach interrupted their kissing. "Sorry," he muttered, pulling back.
James grinned. "Should've known better than to come between you and your dinner! Indian?" He already had his phone out.
"Thanks." He was blushing again, he knew it. Christ, he was behaving like a teenager tonight. "Beer?"
James smiled and nodded as he moved to the couch, and suddenly this all felt normal again. He was home with his best mate, and although they were going to be far more than best mates, this was just James and there was nothing to be nervous about.
Until, once he sat down on the couch, James turned and swung his leg over Robbie's and sat, straddling him. Before Robbie could say a word, James leaned down and pressed his lips against Robbie's again, tongue seeking entry, and his arse pressed hard against Robbie's upper thighs.
Robbie had not previously been aware that his body could respond with arousal as quickly as it once had, but hullo, it could and did and was. He moaned softly against James's lips, because he wanted this so badly, wanted James so badly.
As James's tongue brushed insistently against Robbie's lips again, Robbie opened to him, and God, there was a hunger in James Robbie had never dreamt of. One of Robbie's hands had somehow got tangled in James's hair (how did it get there?), and as James shifted his weight against Robbie, Robbie moaned again.
To the extent that Robbie could think, which was in itself debatable, his thoughts might've read something like Please let him be enjoying this as much as I am.
"More," James whispered against Robbie's mouth before instigating another deep and passionate kiss.
More? Robbie shivered helplessly at the thought.
Almost without conscious intent, his hips bucked up and pressed against James's, their groins coming into sharp and delicious contact. Robbie let out a shuddering groan, and James just sighed his name against his lips.
And if Robbie didn't get James stripped naked and into his bed in the next five minutes, he'd...
There were several sharp knocks at the door.
"Christ! The food!"
"I'll get it." James scrambled off him, pulling his shirt-tails out of his trousers as he did so.
Robbie had to take a few seconds to get his breathing under control before he could stand up and get the plates and cutlery ready. It was probably just as well, really – for all that he'd said earlier that he was happy to let things go where they would, he'd prefer to take things just a little more slowly. Not that he was in any doubt that this was what he wanted – especially not after the last ten minutes – but he didn't want to rush them getting to know each other as lovers.
And he wanted to phone his friend Mike about the cottage – which wouldn't happen if the two of them wound up in his bed in the next few minutes.
Soft lips brushed the back of his neck. "In case it wasn't entirely clear earlier, by the way, I sort of love you."
James's arms circled Robbie, holding him gently, and Robbie rested his arms atop James's.
"In case it wasn't clear to you," he said softly, "I sort of love you back."
James held him closer, and Robbie turned into the embrace such that their noses were almost touching. Gently, Robbie reached out, brushing the backs of his fingers along James's cheek, and James sighed, leaning into the touch instinctively, eyes fluttering closed.
This is what he doesn't know, Robbie realised. James might know the motions and the acts, but he didn't know what it was like to be cherished, to be cuddled and coddled and loved.
"You and me, pet," Robbie murmured. "Just you and me."