But at that his patience ran out. Prising her grip free with his fingers he said,
‘Love’s one long fucking chemistry experiment to you. You’re in it for the danger and the explosions, and even if I wasn’t done with you,’ he added brutally, ‘nothing on earth would make me want to help raise Jago Ross’s kids.’
‘Well… it’ll be joint custody now, I expect. They won’t be with me all the time.’
With those words, the busy night seemed to slow again around Cormoran Strike, and the constant growl of traffic seemed suddenly muted. This time he wasn’t staring down into Robin’s face, full of alcohol and desire: the seismic change had happened inside him because he felt something break and he knew, at last, that there was no putting it back together.
It wasn’t that he saw the truth of Charlotte in that instant, because he’d come to believe that there was no single, static truth about any human being, but he understood, once and for all, that something he’d taken to be true wasn’t.
He’d always believed – had had to believe, because if he couldn’t believe that, what on earth was he doing, going back to the relationship over and over again? – that however damaged and destructive she was, however prone to generating mayhem and inflicting pain, they shared a similar core, where certain inalienable principles lived. In spite of all evidence to the contrary – her malice and destructiveness, her craving for chaos and conflict – he’d cleaved romantically to the idea that her childhood, which had been every bit as disrupted, chaotic and, at times, frightening as his own, had left her with a desire to refashion her corner of the world into a saner, safer, kinder place.
And now he saw that he’d been entirely wrong. He’d imagined her own vulnerability meant an instinctive rapport with other vulnerable people. Even if you didn’t want children, as indeed he didn’t, because he didn’t want to make the sacrifices necessary to raise them, surely you’d do anything in your power to prevent them having to spend half their time with Jago Ross? Whatever else he might have thought of Charlotte, never once had he doubted that she’d now do what Ross’s ex-wife was preparing to do: to fight to keep the children safe from their father.
‘Why are you looking at me like that?’ said Charlotte, now impatient.
In fact, it had just registered upon Strike, as he took in the skin-tight black dress that had been the least of his concerns in Jago’s flat, that Charlotte had gone to her estranged husband’s dressed for seduction. Possibly her plan had been to re-bewitch Ross, although perhaps the unknown Landon was waiting hopefully in some Mayfair bar, while Charlotte tried to rekindle the affair with the man she’d never quite given up.
‘Goodnight, Charlotte,’ said Strike, turning around and walking away, but she ran after him, catching his arm.
‘You can’t go like that. Corm, come on,’ she said, half laughing again, ‘one drink!’
But a vacant taxi was speeding towards them. Strike raised his arm, the taxi slowed, and barely a minute later he was drawing away from the kerb, leaving one of the most beautiful women in London staring blankly after him.
88
Behold, how quickly melted from your sight
The promised objects you esteemed so bright…
Little though he’d wanted to share a drink with Charlotte, Strike now very much wanted one, so he stopped at an off-licence on the way back to the hotel where, disregarding his diet, he bought both whisky and beer.
The plastic bag full of alcohol clanked a little against his false leg as he walked back along the hotel corridor, past Robin’s room, which lay five away from his own. He’d just taken his key card out of his pocket when he heard a door open behind him and, glancing around, saw Robin’s head sticking out into the corridor.
‘Why aren’t you answering your texts?’ she asked.
From her expression, Strike could tell something was wrong.
‘Sorry, didn’t hear it buzz – what’s up?’ he said, walking back towards her.
‘Could you come in here?’
Only when he reached her did he see that she was wearing a pair of pyjamas that comprised grey shorts and a matching T-shirt. Possibly an awareness of the fact she was conspicuously bra-less hit Robin at the same time as Strike, because when he reached the door she went to grab a towelling robe off her bed and pulled it on. The warm room smelled of shampoo and Robin had clearly been using a hairdryer.
‘I’ve got good news,’ she said, turning to face him as he closed the door, ‘and bad.’
‘Bad first,’ said Strike.
‘I’ve screwed up,’ she said, picking up her iPad and handing it to him. ‘I took the last picture in the nick of time. I’m so, so sorry, Strike.’
Strike put down his bag of alcohol, sat on the bed, because there was no chair, and examined the pictures of what had been happening in the game in the last hour.
<A new private channel has opened>
<9 June 2015 21.45>
<Anomie invites Buffypaws>
Anomie: What are you doing in here? You should be revising for the mod test
<Buffypaws has joined the channel>
Buffypaws: I’ve been revising for hours
Buffypaws: needed a break!
Anomie: have you seen Fiendy1?
Buffypaws: no, sorry
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Anomie: well if you’re going to be a mod, you should know there are going to be some changes
Anomie: Morehouse has left
Buffypaws: omg really?
Anomie: no loss
Anomie: BorkledDrek’s going to assist me if the game needs updating
Anomie: and going forwards, no private channels, I’m shutting them down
Anomie: moderator channel and main game, that’s all there’s gonna be
Anomie: no more talking behind my back
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Anomie: are you talking on any other private channels right now?
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Buffypaws: yes
Buffypaws: talking to Hartella and Worm28
Anomie: good, you didn’t lie
Anomie: I need to know I can trust my mods
Anomie: are they asking if you know where Fiendy1’s gone?
Buffypaws: yes
Buffypaws: but I don’t
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Anomie: are you talking to anyone else on a private channel at the moment?
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