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Robin awoke to Wolfgang’s insistent licks on her face and guessed that Max had sent him in to wake her before she missed too much of the day. In her slumberous state, there were a brief few seconds in which she wondered if the whole thing had been a dream and if today was in fact her thirtieth. But no, there was the donkey balloon, waving to her jovially from the corner of her room.
And there, slung across a chair was her blue dress, limp after a night’s excitement at The Ritz. Sadly it hadn’t quite received the level of excitement she had secretly hoped for after her evening with Strike: for one thing it was still in one piece. Which was a shame.
Unbeknownst to Robin, Wolfgang was thinking along the same lines, extremely disappointed to find after burrowing under the duvet, that she was the sole occupant of her bed and that Cormoran was nowhere to be found.
Strike had been a perfect gentleman, holding doors open for her, making sure she was comfortable throughout the night and making sure she got home safely. But that was as far as it went. He also managed to achieve all of this without being condescending, where so many men would have been.
Despite the lack of physical progress between them, Robin smiled to herself contentedly at the memory of an utterly perfect evening. They had laughed until their cheeks hurt, had far too much champagne, and had talked endlessly, never short of conversation. She felt it was a step in the right direction, but what direction that precisely was, she chose not to dwell on.
Robin looked at her phone and wondered if texting Cormoran now would be overkill. She picked it up after a severe look from Wolfgang, but panicked and put it back down again.
At this, Wolfgang jumped down from the bed and grabbed the string of the donkey balloon between his teeth. He dragged it towards Robin’s bed, put it down, and barked at her.
“Alright alright, I’ll text him!” Robin told Wolfgang defensively, quietly wondering to herself if she was going mad for projecting her feelings onto this small fluffy sausage. He probably just wanted to play.
R: Thanks for last night. It meant a lot. I had a great birthday.
C: You’re welcome. I owed you a few. Plus, now you have to do something nice for mine.
C: I’M KIDDING PLEASE DO NOT PLAN A SURPRISE PARTY FOR ME.
R: Of course I wouldn’t. Wolfgang on the other hand...
The weeks between their birthdays seemed to pass by in much the same way as those previous for Strike and Robin’s relationship. The perfect recipe of self-doubt, fear and a heavy workload ensured that they were able to avoid their feelings just as efficiently as they always had done. Yet there was a newfound feeling of closeness between them that they couldn’t quite pinpoint. An energy as it were, like that of a light bulb that has been switched on but not begun to glow yet.
Before they knew it, it was Strike’s birthday. Robin may have been joking when she said Wolfgang had been planning him a surprise party for his 40th, but she could no more stop Ilsa from throwing one anymore than she could stop the tide.
She had at least managed to persuade their shared friend to tone things down a bit. The personalised photo cake had been immediately vetoed, and the guest list had now been halved thanks to Robin insisting that the party should be held at her’s and Max’s flat, rather than at Nick and Ilsa’s. This decision also had the added benefit of Cormoran actually turning up, hopefully far less suspicious than he would be if invited round to theirs. Robin also guessed that Cormoran would be disappointed if a certain canine friend was not among the party, and as Nick and Ilsa had cats, Wolfgang couldn’t possibly go there.
When the night arrived, the gathering did indeed come as a shock to Strike, but it wasn’t an entirely unpleasant one. The small number of guests and lack of decorations mitigated any immediate panic on his part. His only disappointment was that he wasn’t going to be spending the evening alone with Robin, as he had thought.
Ilsa obviously noticed this, commenting as she greeted him, “You sure you didn’t know about this Corm? You’re looking very smart. Even wearing aftershave. And is that whiskey you’ve brought?”
“Max! Good to see you mate.” Strike said as he moved past her towards the kitchen, tugging self consciously at the collar of his new shirt as he went.
Ilsa smirked and as she sat down next to her husband on the sofa and watched her friends. Robin was spending an inordinate amount of time with her head in the freezer, looking for ice that she had hastily decided they needed after hearing Ilsa’s remark.
“Trying to cool down there Robin?” Ilsa called to her friend.
An answering middle finger appeared above the freezer door and Nick and Ilsa both laughed. Wolfgang trotted over to them to see what was so funny, licking the last of the biscuit crumbs Strike had given him from his lips.
“Oh hello mate!” Nick said to Wolfgang through a mouthful of cocktail sausages and holding his plate out, “Want one?”
Wolfgang gave him a deeply offended look and Nick felt it would be best if he went to get more drinks.
Wolfgang jumped straight into the vacant spot and welcomed a fuss from Ilsa.
“What are they like eh?” She said quietly to him as they watched Strike and Robin flit around each other nervously.
Wolfgang whimpered as if to say, ‘I know, tell me about it!’
“I’ve been very impressed with your efforts so far, I must say. Robin told me about the dog-sitting night. Good job.”
She gave him a particularly good ear scratch and Wolfgang wagged his tail enthusiastically, agreeing that he was indeed doing fine work.
“Can I trust you to keep giving them a push when you can? They never listen to me!”
Wolfgang barked his agreement that he would rise to this challenge, and challenge it was, for he had seen how hopeless his two friends were. But he knew he could do it, because he was a good boy. The best boy.