1 The Cuckoo's Calling

She had meant to take him back to the office and give him food there, but he
came to a halt at the kebab shop at the end of Denmark Street and had lurched
through the door before she could stop him. Sitting outside on the pavement at
the only table, they ate kebabs, and he told her about his boxing career in the
army, digressing occasionally to remind her what a nice person she was. She
managed to persuade him to keep his voice down. The full effect of all the
alcohol he had consumed was still making itself felt, and food seemed to be
doing little to help. When he went off to the bathroom, he took such a long time
that she began to worry that he had passed out.
Checking her watch, she saw that it was now ten past seven. She called
Matthew, and told him she was dealing with an urgent situation at the office. He
did not sound pleased.
Strike wound his way back on to the street, bouncing off the door frame as he
emerged. He planted himself firmly against the window and tried to light another
cigarette.
“R’bin,” he said, giving up and gazing down at her. “R’bin, d’you know
wadda kairos mo…” He hiccoughed. “Mo…moment is?”
“A kairos moment?” she repeated, hoping against hope it was not something
sexual, something that she would not be able to forget afterwards, especially as
the kebab shop owner was listening in and smirking behind them. “No, I don’t.
Shall we go back to the office?”
“You don’t know whadditis?” he asked, peering at her.
“No.”
“ ’SGreek,” he told her. “Kairos. Kairos moment. An’ it means,” and from
somewhere in his soused brain he dredged up words of surprising clarity, “the
telling moment. The special moment. The supreme moment.”
Oh please, thought Robin, please don’t tell me we’re having one.
“An’ d’you know what ours was, R’bin, mine an’ Charlotte’s?” he said,
staring into the middle distance, his unlit cigarette hanging from his hand. “It was
when she walk’d into the ward—I was in hosp’tal f’long time an’ I hadn’ seen
her f’two years—no warning—an’ I saw her in the door an’ ev’ryone turned an’
saw her too, an’ she walked down the ward an’ she never said a word an,” he
paused to draw breath, and hiccoughed again, “an’ she kissed me aft’ two years,
an’ we were back together. Nobody talkin’. Fuckin’ beautiful. Mos’ beaut’ful
woman I’ve ’ver seen. Bes’ moment of the whole fuckin’—’fmy whole fuckin’
life, prob’bly. I’m sorry, R’bin,” he added, “f’r sayin’ ‘fuckin’.’ Sorry ’bout
that.”