Chapter Text
“You’ve already worked four overnight shifts this week, after picking up extra surveillance last weekend. Take some time off before I have the labor union after me,” Strike told Barclay, as he handed the completely knackered-looking ex-squaddie a mug of strong tea.
“Please don’t send me home, boss. Trailin’ Twinkle Toes across all o’ London all night long is a holiday compared tae the nightmare waitin’ for me at home.” Barclay took a long drink of his tea, as if the steaming liquid could transport him to another time or place, one in which he was not the hardworking father of two.
“Still up to your ears in vomit, then?”
He nodded, taking another large gulp of his tea and grimacing as it scalded his throat. “The oldest finally seems tae be over it, but now the baby has it, plus diarrhea. Have ye ever had tae change a diarrhea nappy?”
Strike shook his head, “Never had the pleasure. One of the benefits of not having kids.” He tried to keep the smile out of his voice, but didn’t quite manage.
“Do yerself a favor, an’ get yer bloody balls snipped now, before it’s tae late. All these bloody nappy commercials, talkin’ aboot leak-proof an’ stayin’ dry. They ought tae start making them shite-proof. All the piss absorption in the world doesnae dae any good when the fucking jobby shoots straight oot the top an’ up their back!”
Strike looked appropriately disgusted, while still trying to hide his amusement at his friend’s self-inflicted misfortune. He held his own mug of tea in front of his mouth to conceal the smirk he was unable to suppress.
“Told the wife we should just let him kip in the bath, since he’ll end up there anyway. She didnae like that.” Strike stayed quiet as Barclay nearly drained his mug, sensing that the rant wasn’t yet over. After a brief pause, the Scot grunted, “An’ did I tell ye her mother is comin’ tae stay?”
“No, I don’t believe you did.” Strike cleared his throat as he tried to suppress a chuckle.
“Says she needs the help, what wi’ two sick bairns an’... Och, fuck me.” He scrubbed his hands roughly over his face. He continued, voice muffled through the palms covering his face, “She’s pregnant again,” he moaned in a mixture of exhaustion and embarrassment
At this, Strike lost the tenuous grasp he held over his composure, and threw his head back in a loud guffaw of laughter. “Sounds like you’d best take your own advice about getting snipped, mate.”
“I’ve already scheduled an appointment for next month,” Barclay said grimly.
Strike winced and grabbed his crotch in sympathy. “Better you than me. See, this is why I don’t -”
“Strike! Get in here!” Robin’s voice shouted from the inner office.
“Uh oh,” Barclay said, “looks like ye’ve got yer own trouble in paradise.” Both men stood reluctantly, not ready to face their fates.
“Just take at least one day off, alright?” Strike said as Barclay turned to leave.
“Alright, but if the wife calls, ye’ve sent me on a case in Nepal.”
“You got it,” Strike chuckled.
Robin’s impatient expression appeared around the corner, and Barclay mouthed “good luck” to an abruptly humorless Strike. He watched Barclay escape, suddenly envious of dirty nappies and visiting in-laws. Frustration rolled off of Robin in waves, and Strike racked his brain for anything he could have done to upset her.
“What’s up?” he asked with trepidation, closing the office door behind him for good measure.
“I’ve just got off the phone with Mrs. Gunderson. She’s sacked us.”
“Why? She’s been a loyal client for ages,” he asked as he slowly sank into his chair.
“She claimed we overcharged her. Thought we were trying to swindle her.”
Strike breathed a sigh of relief that Robin’s annoyance wasn’t directed at him. “Why would she think that? We haven’t changed our rates.”
“Perhaps it’s because you did overcharge her. Look at the invoice. You transposed an eight here instead of a three.” Robin handed him a copy of the invoice, which he accepted gingerly, as if it might suddenly burst into flames in his hands. He squinted at the tiny numbers on the paper, bringing it closer to his face.
“An innocent mistake,” he said. “I’ll call her and set it right.”
“It’s an ‘innocent mistake’ that you made twice last week as well.” Robin made air quotes with her fingers.
“What, I’m not allowed an error every now and then?” Strike protested.
“It wasn’t a simple error, and you know it,” Robin countered.
“Are you insinuating I was trying to overcharge the client on purpose?”
“No,” Robin continued with an air of forced calm, “I’m saying I think there’s a reason you’re making these kinds of mistakes.”
“And what would that be?” Strike crossed his arms over his chest, not caring that it was a standard defensive move.
“On Tuesday, when we had that meeting with a new client -”
“Now don’t change the subject,” Strike interrupted.
“I’m not! Let me finish. When we met that new client, I saw you squinting at the menu.”
“The print was tiny! What’s that got to do with -”
“Oh, come off it, Strike!” Robin said, exasperated. “You know exactly what I’m trying to say. You need glasses, and you know it!”
“I have perfect vision!” Strike exclaimed, affronted.
“Your last shift on Twinkle Toes, you followed the wrong man around for over an hour!”
“It was dark and raining, and he looked exactly the same!”
“Cormoran,” Robin said softly, using the de-escalation technique he had taught her. This irritated him, making him feel more defensive.
“Don’t look at me like that! My eyes are fine! I’ve always had twenty-twenty vision!”
“Maybe you used to have perfect vision, but you’re not as young as you once were.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Robin held up her hands in a placating manner. “I just mean that you’re forty now -”
“I’m forty, I’m not dead!”
“Cormoran… A lot of people’s vision changes as they age, it’s just one of the joys of getting older.”
“My eyes are fine,” he said resolutely, choosing to ignore the evidence before him. It wasn’t in his meticulous nature to make careless mistakes like this. He knew that he had been having difficulty reading small print, a day of paperwork in the office usually ended with a headache, and nighttime was especially a challenge.
Pride, however, was like an all-consuming fire that raged within him. It burned through rational thought, reducing it to cinders. Reason was thoroughly scorched, disappearing like ash blown in the wind. He simply could not concede to weakness, not to Robin. He hated the reminder of his middle-age, his imperfect body, his reduced ability to do the job he loved. But most of all, he hated the thought that she would see him as such, broken and deteriorated.
Robin considered him for a moment, reading his expression as clearly as if he had spoken aloud. “Okay, I’m sure you’re right. I’m sure it was all an innocent mistake.”
Strike nodded, satisfied, but Robin wasn’t ready to give up that easily. “If there’s really nothing wrong with your vision, there should be no reason not to get it checked, right?”
“I don’t need my eyes checked,” he maintained.
“I know you don’t, but call it curiosity. Not many people have truly perfect vision, and now you have me wondering if yours fits the bill. How about we put a tenner on it. You go to an ophthalmologist, and if you come back with a perfect twenty-twenty, I’ll owe you ten quid.”
“Ten quid isn’t worth all that. If I’m forced to endure that kind of torture, I want the tenner, and a couple rounds at the pub.”
“Deal,” Robin said with a satisfied smile, and held her hand out for him to shake.