162. Moving on up

“Good evening, darlings.”

“Hi, Grams.”

“Mother.”

“Where have you been?”

“Oh, family dinner,” says Alexis combatively, as Castle watches the abyss open in front of them: why is Alexis picking this fight now? He knows that she’s doing this completely deliberately and now he can’t stop her, or the looming argument. “We’ve been out with Detective Beckett and her dad.”

“How nice, sweetie,” Martha says in a tone which indicates to both Castles that she doesn’t think it nice at all. “You can tell me about it tomorrow. Isn’t it your bedtime? School tomorrow.”

Castle considers the benefits of dematerialising. His mother never worries about domestic matters such as sensible bedtimes. Her words indicate that he is about to be demolished. Well, his mother might think so, but he is not inclined to lie down under her imprecations.

Alexis disappears upstairs. Martha turns to Castle, eyes alight with offended fury.

“Was there a reason you didn’t tell me about the family dinner? Am I not family?”

“Yes, there was. Beckett invited Alexis and me. No-one else. She’s setting the pace of how she deals with all of us. Since you’ve heard the story, or as much of it as you need to, you should understand why.”

Martha is stopped in her tracks by the blunt answer. She resorts to hurt offence and pained looks.

“I understand that she just doesn’t understand what an ordinary family is like, which is hardly surprising given what happened. All the more reason for her to see us all together, surely? It can only help her get back on good terms with her father. As soon as that’s fixed, she’ll be able to come here as often as she likes. Isn’t that what you want?”

“Yes, but you can’t fix it for her. She’s got to do it. She’s taking it slowly because that’s what feels right for her. I told you she was getting professional help, so let it be.”

“Well, if she’s getting professional help, then… It’s not very effective.”

“Mother, just back off. Beckett doesn’t need mothered, analysed or picked at. She certainly doesn’t need you questioning her. She’ll do this in her own time. If I’m happy with that, you’ve no right to be upset. Stop trying to force her to be family. She’s not our family, she’s got her own.”

“She’ll need to get used to us if she’s going to be our family.”

Castle boggles for an instant. “Mother, that’s none of your business.”

“I’m not blind, Richard. You’re head over heels in love with her and if you were sure she felt the same you’d be in Van Cleef’s tomorrow.”

“How I feel or Beckett feels isn’t your business either. But for the sake of this argument, even if Beckett and I got married tomorrow that still wouldn’t give you any right to force her into putting up with your intrusiveness and meddling. You are not her mother and you’re not going to upset her by trying to be. This discussion is over.”

Martha stalks off, offence in every line of her posture. Castle sighs heavily, and takes himself to bed. Maybe tomorrow she’ll have calmed down.

“Good evening, Detective Beckett. Mr Castle.”

“Hey,” they say in tandem.

Dr Burke observes both closely. There is no evidence of tension, nor of conflict, in Detective Beckett. He recalls, naturally, that there had been a dinner the previous night between Mr Castle and his daughter and Detective Beckett and her father. It appears that the dinner has proceeded without incident. Although Dr Burke had expected such, it is helpful to have his expectations met. Where Detective Beckett is concerned, Dr Burke’s legitimate expectations are just as likely to be confounded as to be met. Most disconcerting.

“Was your dinner satisfactory?”

“Yes,” Detective Beckett replies. “It went well. Even… even when Alexis asked why I was a cop when my parents were both lawyers.”

This is most pleasing. “Before your father arrives, how did you feel on this occasion when seeing Mr Castle with his daughter?”

Detective Beckett casts a quick, uncomfortable glance at Mr Castle, who rumbles comfortingly, “You didn’t shoot either of us…” and smirks.

“It was – bearable. Not comfortable, but it wasn’t like it was at Christmas-time.”

“Very good. That was, I believe, the best that we could hope for. I would not have expected you to be comfortable, and had you said that you were I would not have accepted it as true.”

Castle wonders why Dr Burke couldn’t just say you would have lied. His pomposity, though, makes him an excellent character foil in his, Castle’s, newest book. No-one else talks like that. Quite possibly no-one else in the entire world talks like that. It’ll be original, that’s for sure.

“I think we may count this as a considerable success. Now, you may consolidate your position by maintaining this new status quo, or you may continue taking measured steps forward. Neither is in any way detrimental: which you choose will not affect the ultimate outcome. Many people require a short space of consolidation before continuing.”

“Let’s talk about it when Dad gets here. I have an idea, but it depends on him too.”

Mr Castle regards Detective Beckett very strangely. It appears that this idea has not been discussed with him. However, Detective Beckett remains entirely unstressed and unconcerned. Dr Burke concludes that she has given her idea appropriate consideration. He decides not to spoil her surprise by informing her that he deduces that she wishes to have a further dinner, most probably at her father’s apartment. Besides which, he wishes to observe Mr Castle’s reactions. Mr Castle is infinitesimally less relaxed than he has normally been, and Dr Burke considers that he may have had another argument with his mother. Perhaps a short discussion will be required. It is, after all, necessary to Detective Beckett’s well-being that Mr Castle’s mother should be contained.

“Certainly. Your father, though, has informed me that he is running some twenty minutes behind schedule, owing to a late and urgent client consultation.” Dr Burke has some sympathy for Mr Beckett in this regard, although Dr Burke’s clients are rarely permitted to be so disorganised. Method, discipline and order are essential to the effective practice of psychiatry.

“Are we diverting ourselves with your game tonight?” he enquires.

“I didn’t bring it. I don’t think we need it.”

Dr Burke finds that he is really quite disappointed by that. He had enjoyed Detective Beckett’s game. He had also wished for another chance to win. He conceals both thoughts. He does not wish to be considered childish.

“Mr Castle, you appear to me to be somewhat less relaxed than on prior occasions. Is there anything which you wish to make known before we begin in earnest?”

Mr Castle looks grim, an expression which, unlike his protective anger, sits ill upon his face. “My mother was unhappy that we had dinner without her.”

“I didn’t invite her,” Detective Beckett points out. “That’s not on you.”

“Yeah. Well. I’m not sure she sees it that way. She still wants to play Mom to you.”

“Not happening,” Detective Beckett says with considerable force and authority. Her natural persona is extremely impressive. Dr Burke wonders if there is any situation which, once healed, she would be unable to manage, and concludes that such circumstances would be extraordinarily limited.

“I don’t know why she’s still on this kick. It’s just not like her,” Mr Castle says, rather pitifully. “I told her that if she couldn’t butt out she’d have to move out, and it’s not sinking in at all.”

“Let us all sit down comfortably,” Dr Burke says. “I have pondered the position of Mrs Rodgers, and I have some thoughts which it may be helpful for you to consider.”

Mr Castle raises a rather sceptical pair of eyebrows, but does not express his blatant disbelief. Everyone seats themselves comfortably.

“As I said, I have considered why Mrs Rodgers might wish to act as Detective Beckett’s surrogate mother figure. At first, I thought that it was simply a more overt version of your tendency to wish to act as a saviour figure.” Mr Castle winces slightly. “There is nothing inherently wrong in wishing to help people, Mr Castle, as long as you recognise that in the end it is up to the person whom you wish to save to decide on their actions and their fate. You cannot save those who do not wish to be saved.” Dr Burke smiles reassuringly. Mr Castle, after the unfortunate incident with Detective Beckett some six weeks ago, is very unlikely to make the same mistake again.

“However,” Dr Burke continues smoothly and authoritatively, “I now consider that there is another factor at play.   Mr Castle, I believe it possible that your mother is, consciously or subconsciously, extremely nervous that you will require her to live elsewhere.”

“But all she has to do to avoid that is to stop shoving her way in and to leave Beckett alone.”

“Is that entirely true, Mr Castle? I had understood that if you and Detective Beckett were to wish to live together, you would wish your mother to move out.”

“Oh. Yes. Well.”

Dr Burke notes with interest Mr Castle’s flush and Detective Beckett’s heightened colour. He notes with more interest still that this is not a surprise to Detective Beckett.

“Based on your statements to your mother, she must now be aware that her continued tenure in your home is potentially limited. In brief, this scares her. I believe that it is entirely possible that she is trying to become sufficiently significant in Detective Beckett’s life that – so she believes – Detective Beckett would insist that she were allowed to stay. I also believe that your mother is entirely mistaken in that belief,” he says over the commotion his words have caused. “It is quite unusual for it to be the case that living with one’s parents-in-law, or potential parents-in-law, is harmonious.”

He pauses, until Mr Castle should have absorbed this idea.

“But I’d pay for it all,” Mr Castle says.

“Indeed. However, could you tell me for how long your mother has resided with you?”

“Um… about thirteen years.”

“That is quite a long time. In addition, your mother’s recent theatrical career has been only moderately successful, and it has been some time since she had a ‘hit’.” Dr Burke enunciates the quotation marks around the slang word. “In that time, you have consistently been extremely successful. It is entirely possible that she subconsciously feels that, were she to move out, she would lose the aura of success and publicity which naturally surrounds her when she is publicly known to be strongly associated with you.”

There is silence. Mr Castle appears bewildered. Detective Beckett appears thoughtful.

“In short, Mr Castle, your mother believes that her chances of regaining professional success will be much higher if she resides with you. She believes that your fame will attach to her.”

“Urg,” Mr Castle emits. Such a noise is entirely pointless.

“Take time to think about this concept, please. I expect that some reflection will be required.”

There is a knock on the door, and Mr Beckett enters.

“Sorry, everyone. Client crisis.”

“That’s okay, Dad. We’ve been dealing with Castle’s mother.”

Mr Beckett is obviously relieved by that. However, he makes no move to sit down.

“Er… Rick, before we start could I have a word?”

“Sure.”

“You may use the room next door, if you wish,” Dr Burke says. “We shall remain here.”

“Thanks.”

The two men take their leave. Dr Burke and Detective Beckett watch as the door closes behind them.

“I guess that’s Dad making amends to Castle,” Detective Beckett notes.

“I expect that it is. That must be something of a relief?”

“I don’t want Dad and Castle butting heads, but Castle knows which side I’m on. His.”

“I had expected that. I informed your father that if he forced you to choose, your choice would be Mr Castle.” Dr Burke smiles paternally. “I am very rarely wrong in such matters.” Detective Beckett forces herself not to make the scathing comment which Dr Burke is certain is on the tip of her tongue. A peaceful silence falls as they wait for Mr Castle and Mr Beckett to return.”

“Rick…”

“Mm?”

“I didn’t get a chance to talk to you alone last night. Erm… I’m sorry for what I’ve been like. I know you’re good for Katie. It’s just… you know all about what’s happened and I’m still in the dark and I really wish it had been different. Hearing you know better than me what would work – it just caught the raw edge and I got mad.”

“You already apologised. You don’t need to again.”

“Yes, but last night… she actually opened up a tiny bit. Makes me think that if I just wait, I’ll hear about it all. It might take a while…”

“Beckett’s not exactly chatty.”

Jim is diverted. “Why do you two call each other by your surnames? It’s really odd to hear.”

“Cop-speak,” Castle says.

“Huh?”

“They all call each other by their surnames. So when I went in to shadow them, that’s all I heard. And to write well it has to sound real, so I didn’t try to call her or any of the others anything else, and I got into the habit. She never called me anything else. I’m not sure she’s used my first name, ever.”

“I hope she’ll manage it for one day,” Jim says very softly to himself. “Just on one day.”

Castle flicks him a very penetrating glance and pretends not to have heard. That sounded very like Jim imagining one very particular occasion, and more, giving his blessing.

“I get it,” he says instead. “I’d be devastated if Alexis couldn’t or wouldn’t talk to me.”

“Yeah. I shouldn’t have got mad with you. I should have been happy that you’ve been there to stand with her. She won’t need it often – her mother never did, and she’s Johanna all over again – but when she does…” He trails off. “Anyway. I wanted to clear the air.”

Castle extends his hand. “It’s cleared. I’d have done the same.”

They shake.

“Now that we have all returned to normality, Detective Beckett, where would you like to begin tonight’s session?”

“I thought dinner went pretty well, Dad. It was easier.”

Mr Beckett nods. “Yes.” He clearly wishes to say more, but does not force the issue.

“So… I don’t want to go to Castle’s loft while his mother is still likely to hit sore spots, but… er… I wondered if we could – the four of us – have dinner at yours?”

Mr Beckett and Mr Castle acquire identically stunned expressions. Dr Burke experiences a warm glow of considerable satisfaction that he had, again, been perfectly correct in his surmises. It entirely compensates for the lack of the game of Sorry.

“Um… I don’t think I’m ready to do it at mine so I thought maybe yours would be a good compromise?”

Mr Beckett finally closes his mouth. Mr Castle is still displaying the mien of a stunned hog.

“Um… sure, Katie, if you don’t mind it being a little squashed around the table – and you’ll need to cook. I don’t cook that well.”

“I know that. Remember the cake scrapings?”

“Sure I do. I still don’t know what I did wrong.”

“Cake scrapings?” Dr Burke enquires.

“Katie’s mom was away, so we decided we’d make a cake. What were you, Bug” – Dr Burke blinks at the affectionate and completely unconscious use of the diminutive pet name – “six?”

“’Bout that.”

“Anyway, I don’t know what happened but I put it into the tin to bake and Katie got to scrape the bowl, like kids do” – Dr Burke suspects that Mr Beckett would not have minded scraping the bowl either – “and she took one fingerful and spat it out. It was vile. We had to bin the cake. We never told my wife.” Mr Beckett turns to his daughter. “I didn’t know you remembered that,” he says, reminiscence liquid in his voice, his eyes suspiciously bright.

“Yeah. After that, though, I’ll do the cooking. I might trust you to peel the potatoes, Dad.”

“I can do that.”

Dr Burke is extremely satisfied. The Becketts have shared a memory which clearly has meaning for both of them, and have found common ground thereby. Detective Beckett has taken a sensible approach to the next step. Matters are progressing in the proper fashion. Once again, his methods have been successful.

“When would this be?” he asks. “I would venture to suggest that you should leave a small gap before undertaking the next step, to allow your progress to continue.

“Next weekend?”

“Sounds good to me, Katie.”

“That’s fine with me. I’ll check with Alexis, make sure she doesn’t have something on with her friends.”

“Okay.”

“Our time is up. Is there anything more you wish to discuss?”

“Not tonight, thanks.” Detective Beckett smiles. “See you on Tuesday.” She stops suddenly. “I forgot to tell you, we caught the killer. Thank you for your assistance.”

“I am pleased to have helped. If you are permitted, perhaps on Tuesday you would tell me the story?”

Dr Burke is almost sure he hears Mr Castle mutter “That’s my line,” as he leaves.

The Becketts and Mr Castle depart in good humour with each other. Dr Burke turns to writing up his end-of-session notes, also in good humour. He has only one concern, and that is the position of Mr Castle’s mother in this situation. That continues to pose a significant problem, and is the single factor which is entirely beyond the control of any party. He has an unpleasant feeling of foreboding, but cannot identify any specific reason why he should feel so. Dr Burke firmly banishes it. Should there be a crisis, he is quite confident that Detective Beckett, Mr Beckett, or Mr Castle will turn to him; and he is entirely and properly confident that his professional skills will prove more than adequate to the task if, or when, required.

Dr Burke departs for home content that his unmatched abilities remain unmatched. On his way, however, he makes a small detour, and enters an old-fashioned store, to be greeted by a small, white-haired man in a distressingly patterned velvet smoking jacket and carpet slippers.

“Good evening,” the small man says, with old-fashioned formality. Dr Burke regards him with appreciation.

“Good evening,” he replies, courteously. “I believe that you stock a game known as Sorry?”

“Indeed I do. May I ask how you were directed to me?”

“I had noticed your label on the box of a game to which an acquaintance has introduced me.” The puckish man raises an eyebrow in query. “A Detective Beckett.”

“Ah, you are a friend of Miss Beckett and Richard. I am very pleased to make your acquaintance. My name is Julian Goodfellow. Please, sit down while I locate the game.”

Dr Burke leaves the small store, carrying a beautifully wrapped parcel which he intends to present to his wife, some considerable time after he had intended. Mr Goodfellow had proved to be a most interesting person. If that is the quality of Mr Castle’s friends, then he is a man of many facets. However, Dr Burke has still no interest in reading best-selling thrillers.