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The knock at the door is unexpected, but very welcome. The specific rap is immediately recognisable, and after the restless evening Robbie’s spent he’s more than happy at the prospect of sharing a drink and a peaceful natter with James.
He just hasn’t been able to settle, not after this bastard of a case. The memory of Professor Ellerby burning to death’s seared behind his eyes, but that’s far from the worst of it. There’s Ali with her skull bashed in, but worse than that’s the knowledge of what she’d been up to as a copper. Had she been feathering her own nest while he was her governor? How the hell had he missed it?
And it’d had to be Lady Matilda’s, hadn’t it? Memories coming crashing back as if it’d all just happened yesterday. It’s just a place, he’d told Laura, but it’s not. Course it’s not. He’d been there when his world had shattered. When Strange had come to find him and broken the news that Val was fighting for her life in a London hospital, instead of shopping for presents in Selfridges and John Lewis.
Yes, James’s distracting company is just what he needs tonight.
James is standing back from the door, hands stuffed in the pockets of his long overcoat, eyes firmly fixed on the floor in front of him. He doesn’t look up, and his opening speech is unusually awkward, even for him. “I apologise for disturbing you without warning, sir, but I wondered if I might have a word.”
Robbie steps back from the door. “Not disturbin’ me in the least. Come on in.” He leads the way into the main living area of the flat and moves towards the fridge. “Beer?”
“No. Thank you,” James adds, and it sounds like an afterthought. “This isn’t really a… social call.” Clearly. He’s not even taking his coat off. Normally, he’s got that off before he’s even reached the kitchen.
It’s not work, though. James is wearing jeans and a jumper under that expensive coat. But he’ll let James explain in his own time. “Coffee, then?”
“No.” James hasn’t looked at Robbie once, and it’s plain as the nose on his face that he’d prefer to be anywhere other than here. But there’s no point pushing him. He’ll say what he’s come to say when he’s worked himself up to it.
Robbie shrugs, a casual roll of his shoulders. “If you change your mind…” He strolls around to the fridge and gets himself a bottle of Bridge. He might need it to deal with whatever it is that’s got Hathaway this wound up.
He’s leaning against the counter sipping his drink when James finally speaks. The words are rushed, tumbling out in awkward haste, and full of embarrassment. “I need… Sir. I need to let you know that I think it’s for the best if I ask Innocent to transfer me to a different team… a different senior officer.”
Robbie almost chokes on the mouthful of beer he’s just taken. What the hell? “What? You’re joking!”
“I’m sorry, sir.” James shuffles, even more awkward now. “I just think it’s the right thing to do.”
“But why?” Where’s all this come from? Has the bloke finally flipped his lid? Why would he want to break their partnership? Why is he rejecting Robbie? And completely out of the blue, because Robbie knows he hasn’t missed any signs of this coming.
But he forces himself to stay calm; he’ll get nowhere arguing with James, not when the bloke’s this agitated. Besides, he’s got himself into a right old state, so whatever’s behind this isn’t going to be something simple.
Waving at the sofa, Robbie says, “Come on, let’s sit down an’ discuss this. If it’s really what you want, I won’t stand in your way, but-”
James interrupts him. “I appreciate that, sir. Thank you. But there’s nothing to discuss. I’m sorry.” He turns and starts to head for the door.
“Wait!” Robbie reaches out, as if to catch James’s arm, but stops himself – that would only make things worse. “Look, if it’s something I’ve done…”
That halts James in his tracks. He swings around, and his expression’s torn. “You’ve done nothing, sir. This isn’t…” He shakes his head in an abrupt movement. “It’s not you.”
It’s me. Mentally, Robbie finishes the sentence. So it’s something James feels he’s done, or said. And this isn’t something he wants, either – that’s obvious.
“You’ve been an excellent governor. I can’t tell you how grateful I am that I’ve had the chance to work for you. I’ve learned so much from you. As a manager, you’ve always been more than fair – far more than I’ve deserved. This decision – it’s not because of anything you’ve done, sir. I need you to know that.”
Robbie waves away James’s words. He only does what’s right, after all. No more, no less. He supports his subordinates, and expects that they’ll do their jobs and support the team in return. He doesn’t make outrageous demands beyond what the work requires. Of course, James has a tendency to go above and beyond to a ludicrous extent sometimes, but then the man’s a workaholic…
No, that’s not all it is, is it?
In the office, a few mornings ago, James: hair on end, shirt untucked, punch drunk from exhausting and rambling on about jigsaw pieces. Talking at three hundred words a minute about lighting and level of drinks in glasses to explain how he’d pieced hundreds of photographs together in a timeline. And all because…
You thought something wasn’t right.
An excess of loyalty, and an act of the genuinely unselfish kindness James had far too few outlets for, Robbie’d concluded at the time. Wanting to do something to ease what he’d seen as his boss’s reawakened pain over Val, channelled into an obsession over an unfinished case.
Then, a couple of days later, there’d been Ali turning up for their prearranged drink, and James getting all stiff-necked and refusing to join them. Nose out of joint, Robbie’d thought, because Robbie hadn’t told him about the arrangement and it’d spoilt James’s own suggestion for the evening. Maybe a bit of resentment – did Robbie maybe prefer his previous bagman’s company?
Now, though, with this – I think it’s for the best if I ask Innocent to transfer me to a different senior officer… it’s not because of anything you’ve done, sir. – it puts a new light on things, doesn’t it?
And all Robbie can do is kick himself for not having seen it before. Because it’s been evident for a very long time, hasn’t it? And it’s come to a head now because James believes he’s given himself away, or come close to it.
And James is walking towards the door again.
Robbie’d let Ali go home alone after she made her interest clear. Her kiss hadn’t stirred anything in him beyond mild surprise that she’d think of him that way. He’d gone home himself with no regrets about leaving her, and with no urge to see her again for anything more than a casual pint. Now, James hasn’t even laid a finger on him, but he doesn’t want the man to leave. Doesn’t want to lose him.
And how Robbie handles the next minute or so will make the difference between losing one of the most important relationships he’s got, or gaining something he never realised he wanted.
But he does have one big advantage here, and that’s the fact that, as well as James knows him, he knows James better in some ways, and his instincts have always served him well in getting through to the man when it matters most.
“James.” His sergeant pauses, but doesn’t turn around. “I can’t make you change your mind. You’ve got a right to make your own decision. But I’ll miss you.”
James’s head drops fractionally. “You’ll find a new bagman. There’s a sergeant just transferred in from Birmingham–”
“No, thanks.” Robbie strolls down the corridor towards James. “If you’re insisting on leaving me, I’ll find me own replacement. Or Innocent will. It’s not your responsibility.”
“I know that.” He’s not making any further move towards the door, but James still won’t look at him. “I was just trying to help–”
“And that’s what you’ve always done, long as we’ve known each other, isn’t it?” Robbie leans against the wall, only a couple of feet away from James. “Supported me, kept me company when things were bad – an’ then all the things you’ve done for me. Oswald Cooper an’ Simon Monkford. Chloe Brooks. And that’s just to start with. You’ve been more than a bagman to me almost from the start, and you know it.”
James shifts awkwardly, but he makes no further move towards the door.
“Like I said, man, I won’t stand in your way if you’ve made up your mind. I won’t even push you for the real reason. But answer me this: do you just want to stop being me sergeant, or do you also intend to stop being me friend?”
“I…” James doesn’t seem to have an answer, and his head drops again. Robbie finds himself staring at the back of the lad’s neck – just as he had in their shared office a few mornings ago. And, just as he’d thought then, he wonders whether James has any idea of the vulnerability his body language reveals.
“You didn’t think you were? I’ve had sergeants before you, but I never welcomed them into me home at all hours. Never talked about even half the stuff I’ve told you. Morse and I ended up in pubs all the time, but that was because he insisted. I was fond of the bloke, but I don’t think I could’ve called him a friend. Not sure he’d have called me that either, even if he did include me in his will. If he hadn’t died,” Robbie continues, keeping his voice casual even as he watches James like a hawk, “reckon I’d’ve met up with him for a pint every so often, and he’d have pretended to put up with my Geordie ignorance, like he always did. You, though – I’d’ve liked to think that years from now we’ll still be putting the world to rights over a pint or on my sofa.”
“Sir.” The sound is a plea. Yet, while James might want to get out of here, he’s not moving.
“James. What do you really want? What do you want from me?” Silence. And James’s back and shoulders are so tense he looks like he could snap.
“Look at me,” Robbie says, his voice soft now. “James. Turn around and look at me.”
Slowly, reluctantly, James turns. Slowly, his head tilts up and his gaze meets Robbie’s. And it’s all there, the love he’s somehow managed not to notice before – and he calls himself a bloody detective inspector?
“Can’t tell me?” Robbie doesn’t wait for an answer. “I’ll tell you what we’re gonna do, then. You’ll stay on as me sergeant – but first thing tomorrow morning you’re gonna register for OSPRE. You’ll pass, o’course. I’ll make sure of that, not that you’ll need my help. Innocent’ll mark you ready for promotion, and you’ll get your Inspector’s. Probably within the year. And then, when I’m not your boss any more… we’ll see what’s what between you and me.”
“Yes?” It’s a hopeful, almost disbelieving whisper.
“Yes.” Robbie steps nearer, closing the gap between them. “Yes.” He brings one hand up to cup James’s shoulder, curling around the rough, heavy wool of the long overcoat.
James’s hand comes up to cover Robbie’s, his grip tentative, hand almost shaking as if he can’t quite believe he has the right to touch. But then he frowns. “Why would you…? I mean, why me? I’d’ve thought you and Dr Hobson, if anyone.”
“Not just to keep you working with me, if that’s what you’re thinking.” He presses down on James’s shoulder, then slides his hand down the lad’s upper arm and back again, the expensive wool gentling under his palm, just as he can see James doing the same. “You’re right – it never occurred to me before tonight, but you made me see that…” He smiles slightly. “Like you said. Something wasn’t right.”
James nods, his gaze never leaving Robbie.
“Something wasn’t right. But I think maybe it’s going to be. Is it?”
“Yes.” The tension in James’s body is vanishing before Robbie’s eyes, replaced by hope and even a rare glimmer of happiness. And then his canny lad smiles, and it’s like the sun’s just come out.
“Yes. It’s going to be all right.”