1 The Cuckoo's Calling

Part Three
Forsan et haec olim meminisse iuvabit.
Maybe one day it will be cheering even to remember these things.
Virgil, Aeneid, Book 1
1
IT STARTED TO RAIN ON Wednesday. London weather; dank and gray, through
which the old city presented a stolid front: pale faces under black umbrellas, the
eternal smell of damp clothing, the steady pattering on Strike’s office window in
the night.
The rain in Cornwall had a different quality, when it came: Strike remembered
how it had lashed like whips against the panes of Aunt Joan and Uncle Ted’s
spare room, during those months in the neat little house that smelled of flowers
and baking, while he had attended the village school in St. Mawes. Such
memories swam to the forefront of his mind whenever he was about to see Lucy.
Raindrops were still dancing exuberantly on the windowsills on Friday
afternoon, while at opposite ends of her desk, Robin wrapped Jack’s new
paratrooper doll, and Strike wrote her a check to the amount of a week’s work,
minus the commission of Temporary Solutions. Robin was about to attend the
third of that week’s “proper” interviews, and was looking neat and groomed in
her black suit, with her bright gold hair pinned back in a chignon.
“There you are,” they both said simultaneously, as Robin pushed across the
desk a perfect parcel patterned with small spaceships, and Strike held out the
check.
“Cheers,” said Strike, taking the present. “I can’t wrap.”
“I hope he likes it,” she replied, tucking the check away in her black handbag.
“Yeah. And good luck with the interview. D’you want the job?”
“Well, it’s quite a good one. Human resources in a media consultancy in the
West End,” she said, sounding unenthusiastic. “Enjoy the party. I’ll see you
Monday.”
The self-imposed penance of walking down into Denmark Street to smoke
became even more irksome in the ceaseless rain. Strike stood, minimally shielded
beneath the overhang of his office entrance, and asked himself when he was
going to kick the habit and set to work to restore the fitness that had slipped away
along with his solvency and his domestic comfort. His mobile rang while he
stood there.