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I learned that just beneath the surface there’s another world, and still different worlds as you dig deeper. I knew it as a kid, but I couldn’t find the proof. It was just a kind of feeling. There is goodness in blue skies and flowers, but another force—a wild pain and decay—also accompanies everything.” — David Lynch
They find themselves, one evening in May, at a small table tucked into a dim corner outside a rather aggressively floral pub called, appropriately enough, the Flower and Crown.
They’d driven out of Oxford up to Banbury to question the auntie of a person of interest, one Richard Layton, in a slightly cold case that seemed to be hotting up again. Or rather attempted to question auntie Doris, who, when they’d arrived at her care home in time for afternoon tea, was quite clear on how things were during the Blitz, and the evils of rationing, and had a few choice words for and about “that old goat David Lloyd George,” but was somewhat more vague about her wayward great-nephew whose name she kept getting wrong.
So giving up the day as more or less wasted they headed back towards home, stopping at the first likely place where they could get a bite to eat and discuss what their next line of inquiry might need to be in regards to Richard (Ralph/Rhys/Robin/Ronald) and his latest movements.
The decor inside the pub is definitely of the “more is more” school, and Robbie enjoys watching the horrified look on James’ face as he takes in the exuberance of the floral wallpapers. By mutual, unspoken agreement, they take their pints and head outside. Lewis, who had flung his suit coat into the back seat of the car before they started their return trip, rolls up his sleeves. James goes so far as to pull his tie off and tuck it in his jacket pocket. They watch the sunset turn to dusky pink, and James asks cheekily if Robbie can confirm that this qualifies as “the gloaming." After dodging the beer mat that is chucked at his head, and smiling at Lewis's tart answer, James gathers up their glasses and goes off to fetch a second round.
Despite the chatter of various couples and groups at nearby tables, the wittering of a flock of birds in the nearby trees, and some overly enthusiastic rock music spilling out from the jukebox inside, there is a peace to this little pub, and Robbie sits back, content to wait for James to return with their drinks.
They decide to order dinner, and James wreaths the air with smoke while they wait for their food. They don’t talk much. They pass the time with a couple rounds of what they call in their particular, personal shorthand, "Nosy Parker." They wouldn't be who they are if they didn't turn their detective brains towards attempting to suss out a few things about the people at nearby tables. But the locals appear to be particularly uninteresting this evening, so they share a few odd thoughts about their current case, and the frustrations from their uncooperative witness earlier in the day, but mostly they talk about nothing much in particular.
It isn’t until they’re both tucking into the apple crumble that comes with their dinners that Robbie finally brings the topic around to something they’ve been avoiding as neither really know how to talk about it.
“Six weeks is it then?” Robbie asks, knowing full well that James has been granted six weeks leave starting next month with plans to walk nearly the width of Spain.
James puts down his spoon.
“Yeah,” he says softly, bunching up his napkin in his lap. “From the first of June. I think it’ll be good for me.”
Lewis’s expression tells James that he doesn’t agree, but also that he still has questions.
“Just don’t see the point of all that walking,” Robbie says.
“That’s rather the point of a pilgrimage, Sir,” James says. At Lewis’s expression he tries to explain, at least a little. He’s not even sure he can explain it to himself, though. He lights a cigarette and attempts to gather this thoughts.
He tries to deflect the conversation with humor at first, "There's even an app for that."
But at Lewis's skeptical eyebrow, he sighs, and tries again.
“Unfinished business,“ he says with a shrug. It’s almost a question, but not quite. “Anyway, I always wanted to see the Cathedral of Santiago de Campostela. You and Innocent did say it would be fine to take the time. You can think of it simply as an extended walking holiday if that’ll help."
Lewis shakes his head, but smiles fondly all the same.
“You already spend too much time inside that ten ton brain of yours. But if it’s what you want, what you need….”
Once upon a time, for James this trip would have been an actual religious pilgrimage full of penance and prayer, following in the footsteps of his namesake Saint.
There’s so much James can’t say, can’t quite capture about his need to do this. About how he knows it must seem like a religious thing to his boss but isn’t, really. At least, maybe only in an academic sense at this point. He’s not doing this to get right with a God that he doubts so much. It’s much more. Like the need to test himself. The need to find out if he can walk the road alone. He tries not to think too much about the future, but it's there waiting for him, whatever he does.
So it’s time off from his work. Six weeks with himself and his rucksack; off to Spain to walk his way towards something, instead of always walking away from things. Something he can’t really name. He just knows this is something he needs to do.
“I’ll send postcards,” James offers, still fiddling with his napkin.
He knows it’ll be long and dusty, and as far from any kind of a vacation Lewis or any of the others back at the nick could ever imagine. But he’s done his reading, his research. He knows he’s in for long hard days, and primitive hostels, and sore feet, but he still wants it.
He’d explain it if he could. He wants to explain it it Lewis. Wants Lewis to understand, even if he himself doesn’t.
“It’s the endeavor, you see Sir.”
And James can only look on puzzled as Lewis laughs and laughs.