Chapter Text
According to the Echo, David E. Barrett, a lifelong Broadchurch resident died late Thursday evening. The funeral was to be held over a week later. Ten o’clock on Saturday at St. Mark’s. Hardy had the newspaper clipping tacked to his fridge along with Daisy’s acceptance letter to Mercia University.
And yet somehow in another migraine-inducing interrogation with the misogynist that had gotten under his skin months earlier, Hardy forgot all about it. The suspect reeked and his teeth and fingertips were stained with the evidence of a long-time nicotine addiction, but Hardy itched to confiscate the carton of cigarettes within his reach.
“Where’s your secretary?” the bastard asked, motioning to the empty chair.
Hardy ignored the inquiry, pretending to make a note amongst the numerous complaints that had been filed against the suspect. But the creep was undeterred by Hardy’s silence on the matter of his absent partner.
“Nice big tits,” the bastard went on, demonstrating with his hands what he might want to do with them.
Hardy’s left eyelid twitched and the paper in front of him blurred.
“Must be distractin’ tryin’ to work with ‘em always right in your face.”
A shudder went through Hardy, cracking the thick professional armour that had been forged through twenty years of interrogations with scum like this one. The other man leaned back in his chair with a lewd grin and a conspiratorial wink.
“You fuck her in ‘ere yet?”
The nib of Hardy’s pen went through the entire file and snapped off. Anyone was capable of murder under the right circumstances, and right now Hardy was fantasizing about turning the tape recorder off and smashing his suspect’s head into the table. Repeatedly.
“Or do you like to bend her over your desk and slap her around a bit-” the bastard broke off before he could complete that thought, all traces of mirth suddenly gone.
It took Hardy a moment to realize that he was on his feet and he’d pulled the misogynist prick so forcefully from his seat that he might’ve dislocated the suspect’s shoulder. He was a hair’s trigger away from letting go and giving into the violent temper that his Mum had feared he’d inherit from his old man.
“That’s enough out of you,” Hardy snarled.
Hardy’s heart was beating so fast and hard that he swore he felt the pacemaker give him a kick back. White dots popped at the edges of his vision and his grip on the suspect slackened. Hardy took a breath and struggled to regain some composure.
“This is your last warning. The next time you so much as breathe on a woman, you’re getting thrown in a cell. Understood?”
Hardy had P.C. Smithwick escort the suspect outside. His hands were still trembling with the aftershocks of how close he’d come to losing it and risking his job. He swept the cigarettes off the table with the file and shoved everything in his desk. Miller was right, they couldn’t arrest him for being a disgusting prick, but that wouldn’t stop Hardy from trying.
C.S. Clark and Irene returned from Barrett’s funeral and found him hunched over his desk, re-watching the interrogation with him, Miller and the same suspect in another sexual harassment case that had been dropped.
“After all that fuss you made about it, we didn’t see you at the funeral.”
Hardy paused the video and blinked up at his boss and the desk sergeant. His eyes skipped past them to the clock on the wall and he ripped off his spectacles to pinch the bridge of his nose. The women exchanged a knowing glance before Clark returned to her office. The door had barely closed behind her when he started firing questions at Irene.
“Did you talk to her? Is there anything I can do for her?”
Irene gave him a pitying look and patted his shoulder.
“They’re having a reception at her place,” she murmured, “If you hurry and bring her a glass of wine, she might forgive you.”
Hardy tapped his spectacles against the desk.
“Did she seem upset?” he stammered and she rolled her eyes.
“Her father just died, you plonker.”
“Right.” Hardy nodded and swallowed hard. His suspect leered at him from the computer until he shut it off and left in a hurry.
*
Hardy had never been Barrett’s biggest fan, but apparently the rest of Broadchurch didn’t share his opinion or they were willing to suffer through anything for free food and alcohol. There were so many cars lining Miller’s road that Hardy parked in front of the Latimer’s and walked around the mud-soaked field in the rain.
“Uncle Alec!”
“’ncle Awec!”
Hardy spun around, searching for the source of the high-pitched squeals. Squinting, he spotted movement on top of a shiny black SUV. Two grubby children were waving at him from where they were perched atop the vehicle and crouched under a massive umbrella.
“Uncle Alec! Watch this!”
Fred’s chocolate-smeared face split into a wide grin as he scooted to the edge of the roof and slid down the windscreen and the bonnet. The boy dragged the massive umbrella with him; the metal tips scraping over the polished bonnet like the key of a scorned woman on her ex’s beloved car. Hardy scooped Fred up before he could climb back up the slippery windscreen and commit any further acts of vandalism.
“Does Mum know you’re out here?”
“Yep!” Fred fibbed.
“My turn! My turn!” the other child wailed and Hardy reached up for Fred’s muddy shadow. He threw Beth’s youngest over his shoulder and her shriek of surprise changed to peals of laughter.
“C’mon, back to the house.”
“Noooo!” Fred whined, backing away from Hardy. Hardy was forced to put the girl down and chase wee Usain Bolt into the flooded field he’d hoped to avoid. Naturally, Fred’s shadow toddled after him.
Hardy fished Lizzie out of a puddle the size of a small pond and then Fred bolted out into the road, narrowly missing a familiar SUV. The driver was so busy texting and driving, he hadn’t seen the child that Hardy now had by the scruff of his neck. Hardy bit back a foul word and coaxed a shaken Fred to take his hand. The hems of his trousers and his shoes were sodden, but Lizzie and Fred giggled and clung to him as they slipped in through the backdoor.
“Mummy!”
“There you are!” Beth gushed, beaming from her position at the sink.
Lizzie launched herself at her mother. Fred squirmed and Hardy let go of him. The wee lad was gone in an instant, disappearing into the knot of vaguely familiar faces spilling out of the sitting room. Lizzie ran after him.
“No running in the house!” Beth hollered, before turning back to Hardy and the soapy dishes. “What were they doing?”
“They climbed up onto the Range Rover,” he groused, still peeved at the inattentive driver of the vehicle. “Fred made some minor improvements to the exterior.”
“Don’t tell Ellie,” Beth pleaded with him, lowering her voice, “She’s holed up in the shed.” She leaned closer to avoid being overheard by a beady-eyed woman who looked like a cross between Barrett and a mossy boulder. “Her family’s a bunch of vultures. No one’s lifted a finger to help El,” she vented to him, eyeing the boulder. “Those two miserable Aunties and that horrible cousin of hers are like parasites. If they’re not gone by tomorrow afternoon, I’m kicking them out of her house for her.”
“What about her sister and her nephew?”
“Olly’s alright,” Beth grudgingly acknowledged, “But he only came down for the weekend and Lucy-”
Something shattered behind them and Hardy found the woman in question laughing hysterically and struggling to remain upright.
“She can’t cope,” Beth’s voice dropped even lower, “Her sleazy boyfriend’s already made a pass at me and El. If he lays a hand on Chlo, you don’t want to know what I’ll do to him.”
“Oh, I think I have some ideas,” Hardy growled and rubbed at his forehead as he flashed back to the interrogation room, and what might’ve happened if the suspect had been fixated on Daisy instead of his partner.
“Daisy doing alright?” he asked tentatively. Daisy spent so much time with Chloe that Hardy felt like Beth saw his daughter more than he did.
“She’s worried about you too, you know,” Beth said with a wan smile.
“Did you know she was planning on going to Uni in September?” he wondered. Daisy had called and interrupted his last kiss with Miller to drop that bomb on him at dinner. Hardy was still reeling from it.
“I didn’t know she’d applied to Mercia,” Beth admitted, grimacing. “She’s not going to listen to you if you tell her she can’t go.”
“I know.” It came out harsher than he intended, but Beth nodded, understanding Hardy’s dilemma. Fortunately for her, Chloe had chosen Cardiff over bloody Mercia.
“You could always threaten to transfer up there like Mark did,” Beth suggested. Hardy thought about the call from his former boss he’d received yesterday and pressed two fingertips against the throbbing pain behind his left eyebrow.
“Daisy’s Mum will talk her out of it,” he assured Beth, trying to convince himself too. He didn’t want to think about Daisy on a small campus with a possible serial killer that preyed upon young women.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” she said suddenly, “The girls are driving up to Weymouth for the weekend to stay with one of Chlo’s friends. Daisy said she left a note at the house for you.”
“Brilliant,” Hardy ground out. Now his daughter was avoiding him too. Hardy knew his workload was partially to blame, but even though his calls to Miller had gone unanswered, at least she’d texted him a thank you for the sunflowers and the box of pastries he’d sent over.
Fred and Lizzie burst in through the backdoor again. Lizzie ducked out of her Mum’s reach, but the kitchenette was so narrow that Fred collided with Hardy. He steadied the boy before he faceplanted on the floor and Fred repaid the favour.
“Uncle Alec! Look!”
Fred held up something pink and slimy. It was an earthworm; a very squished, very wet, and hopefully very dead one.
“Is that a baby snake?” Hardy teased him.
“A WARM!” Fred corrected him. Then he seized Hardy’s hand and dropped the poor disgusting thing into his palm. Fred beamed at him and Hardy was struck by the resemblance between the boy and his mother. Only, Hardy could barely remember a time when he’d seen Miller smile like that.
“You can keep Warmy,” Fred said graciously.
Hardy swore the slippery thing in his hand was oozing, but nevertheless he was moved by the generous offer.
“Thanks, Fred,” he choked out and ruffled Fred’s hair with the hand not holding ‘Warmy’. Fred squeezed him round the middle and had taken off again before Hardy realized he’d been hugged.
“Fred must really like you.”
Beth smirked at him and Hardy felt the maybe-not-as-dead-as-he’d-hoped Warmy twitch in his palm. Hardy ignored the look she gave him as he carefully scraped the half-dead worm off his palm and into a paper cup. He stuck it under the faucet and dripped in a bit of water, but not enough to drown Warmy.
“Seriously?” she snorted.
“What am I supposed to do with it?” he hissed.
Beth took the cup from him, opened the backdoor and tossed the contents outside.
“Warmy escaped,” she deadpanned. “Clearly, your daughter never brought home critters.”
“She liked stuffed animals,” he said, shrugging.
“Lizzie and Fred love dirt and creepy crawlers,” she told him as he washed his hands. “Garden snakes. Salamanders. Toads. Beetles.”
Hardy felt queasy at the thought of Fred handing him something bigger than a worm and scrubbed his palms until they were raw. He’d never understood the childhood appeal of getting one’s hands dirty. Hardy’s father had only briefly worked as a gravedigger, but some of his earliest memories were tainted by the unimaginable filth that was embedded deep within those hands that struck down his mother and left permanent stains on him as well.
As he was drying his hands, Beth removed a plate piled high with food from the microwave.
“It’s for Ellie,” Beth explained, “She hasn’t eaten anything all day. I thought she’d be back by now…” Her concerned gaze drifted from the clock to the backdoor.
“I’ll take it to her,” Hardy offered, picking up the plate and some utensils. Beth stopped him with a hand on his arm.
“She’s got a full plate right now,” she reminded him with a slight edge to her voice, “Don’t try to add anything to it.”
Hardy plucked a dinner roll from the edge and stuffed it into his mouth.
“Fixed it.”
“I’m serious, Hardy,” she sighed, folding her arms over her chest.
“So am I,” he said gruffly as the beady-eyed boulder reappeared in the doorway. “If Aunty Misery or the sleazy boyfriend give you or her anymore trouble, you call me first,” he instructed Beth, glaring at the suspected parasite. “If they want to take advantage of someone’s hospitality then I’ll put them up in a cell for a night or two.”
Beth shooed him outside, but Hardy felt a wee bit better, until he faced the shed where he’d arrested Joe Miller.
*
Nine days after her father’s death and a few hours after the funeral, Ellie Miller had finally escaped her horrid Aunts, her tipsy sister and the rest of the riff raff that had assembled in her home for the reception. Tom had disappeared after the burial, but Beth was keeping an eye on Fred and had everything else well in hand. When Beth had insisted, she take a moment for herself, Ellie had stolen one of the last bottles of wine and locked herself in the shed.
Ellie wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but it had been more than enough time for her to realize that there was a reason why the cheap chardonnay had been overlooked. She was mulling over who might’ve disliked her enough to bring it, when the door to the shed squeaked on its unoiled hinges and Hardy poked his head inside.
“Miller?” He squinted at her.
“Shut the door,” she hissed.
The shed was dim and dirty; the tiny windows varnished with cobwebs; the floor laden with a fine layer of grime and subtle signs of the field mouse that had scuttled off when she’d first entered. Hardy shuffled through a bit of sawdust she’d wiped off the workbench and stubbed his toe on the toolbox she’d moved earlier.
“Alright?” she asked at his muffled curse.
“Here,” he grunted and dropped a loaded paper plate into her lap. “Beth wants you to eat that.”
“Ta.”
Ellie’s appetite returned with a vengeance and she happily traded him the bottle of wine for a fork. Hardy perched next to her with her contraband, smacking his head on the shelf above him. A small terracotta pot fell over, startling them as it smashed to pieces somewhere in the darkness behind them. He grabbed her wrist as the resident field mouse streaked across the floor and exited through a crack near the door.
“This place is a death trap,” he grumbled and released her.
Ellie had to bite back her first genuine smile in days.
“You’re afraid of mice?”
“’m not,” Hardy sighed, “Just been…” He stopped himself and tiredly ran a hand through his hair. “I missed the funeral,” he confessed, “Got caught up at work.”
“You didn’t miss anything,” Ellie assured him. “The vicar tried to bore us to death, Fred had a tantrum during the service, and Lucy was so drunk she fell asleep. She would’ve fallen into the casket if I hadn’t been next to her.” She offered him whatever inedible gluten-free concoction her fanatically healthy cousin had baked and he finished it off with no complaints.
“I could come back to work tomorrow,” she suggested hopefully, but he shook his head. He started in on what was left of her potatoes and she wondered when he’d last ate or slept.
“Bad case?”
Grimacing, he explained, “Had one of our regulars brought in early this morning on a complaint, but it wasn’t enough to hold him.” He paused to wash down the potatoes with a swallow of her wine. “We interviewed some prospects for the D.C. position.”
Ellie took the wine back.
“Did you hire someone?” she asked.
“Only one of them got Clark’s approval and has any sort of experience.” He set the empty plate aside and brushed his hands off.
“Then hire them.”
Hardy scrunched up his nose.
“I don’t like him,” he griped.
“You didn’t like me and Katie either, and everything turned out fine,” she pointed out, but it was a poor example since neither of them had ever really warmed up to Katie. “Hardy, we can’t afford to be picky, not now.” Not when Hardy practically burnt himself out every time she needed time off. Ellie was still struggling to find reliable childcare for Fred, and Tom was never around. She couldn’t go back to the way things had been when Dad had lived with them.
And now Dad was gone.
Ellie shivered at the reminder and Hardy peeled off his Mackintosh. He shrugged out of his suit jacket, settling it over her shoulders. The jacket wasn’t quite dry, but it smelled faintly of petrichor, clean laundry and him. He rubbed his palms over the sleeves and she felt the warmth of his affection soaking in through the material.
“How are the boys holding up?” he asked and she shrugged. She told him a little about Fred’s neediness and the frequent tantrums. And then she told him how Tom was never home. The night Dad died she’d nearly called the station before Tom had stumbled home completely hammered and vomited on the stairs.
“He emptied those last two bottles of Dad’s whisky and refilled them with apple juice. Dunno know why he bothered, ’m not an idiot,” she complained and took another pull on the white wine that didn’t compare to the real stuff. She held the nearly empty bottle up for Hardy, but he refused again.
“I have to go back to work soon,” he said. Her head spun as she twisted in his embrace to look at him. Lifting a hand to her hair, he smoothed some of the curls that had loosened from the elaborate upsweep Chloe had painstakingly pinned together that morning.
Ellie didn’t know how long she’d been hiding in the dusty shed, but if her updo was coming apart than it was probably long enough for her family to miss her.
“I don’t want to go back in there,” she confessed and tears of frustration pricked at her eyes. “I’m so sick and tired of everyone hovering and whinging and kissing and squeezing me. I just want to be alone for an afternoon, is that too much to ask?”
“No,” he agreed with her. Framing her face between his hands, his thumbs brushed lightly over her cheeks. She closed her eyes, revelling in his comforting touch.
“You could come back to mine tonight.”
Ellie’s lashes fluttered as she refocused on him. The shed was a bit brighter than it had been earlier, but Hardy’s face was even more difficult to read.
“Daisy’s staying in Weymouth for the weekend,” he added softly.
“Hardy…” She started, but he silenced her with a touch of his fingertips to her lips.
“If you need to get away from all this,” he motioned in the direction of her house where the circus was currently underway, “I’ve got a bottle of red wine and a single malt waiting for you.”
“You better,” she grumbled, reminding him of the last time he’d asked her back to his for a nightcap. “Thanks to Tom and Lucy this is the first drink I’ve had since Dad died and it’s complete shit.” She chugged some more wine and wiped her mouth with the sleeve of his suit jacket. Lifting the bottle, she squinted at the label. “Christ, is there even any alcohol in this? It tastes like vinegar.”
Hardy plucked the bottle from her hand and held it out of her reach.
“Oi! I wasn’t finished,” she complained, throwing herself at him. Hardy leaned away from her, tipping the bottle upside down and pouring out the dregs. She smacked the arm closest to her and cursed the length of his ridiculously long limbs.
“You spidery-thin knob,” she hissed as she crawled over him.
“It was practically empty!” he protested as she wrenched the bottle from his hand. “C’mon, Millah,” he groaned as she stalked off with it, “There was something solid coagulated on the bottom, you weren’t honestly going to drink that.”
Ellie slammed the empty bottle down on Joe’s old desk, crossed her arms over her chest and spun around to glare at him.
“’m sorry,” he apologized, pushing off from the workbench, “Next time I’ll let you drink the mouldy stuff at the bottom.” She turned away from him, blinking up at the window.
The storms from earlier had passed; weak rays of sunlight filtered in through the layers of cobwebs and grime. When she whirled back around, the shed was coloured and saturated by the past. She could suddenly recall which of Joe’s unfinished projects had left the sawdust on the workbench. The desk next to her was scattered with yellowed diagrams for a new vegetable garden that had never been planted, all of it in Joe’s messy cramped hand.
Hardy touched her arm and she returned to the present. His eyes were locked on a spot to the left of her. She knew that he was seeing the same ghost and reliving the exact moment when her ‘perfect’ life had shattered right here where they stood. His fingers slid slowly down the length of her arm and stopped to explore the clunky, gaudy bracelet on her wrist.
“It was Mum’s,” she explained as he lifted her wrist to inspect her unusual jewellery choice. “Lucy donated or pawned most of Mum’s jewellery after she passed, but Dad had this piece squirrelled away amongst his things. Must’ve been an anniversary gift he picked up when they last went on holiday together.”
“How long were they married?” he wondered, studying the bits of turquoise melded into the tarnished silver.
“Over fifty years.”
“That’s a long time,” he said as his fingertip traced the edges of the bracelet and the inside of her wrist. “Tess could barely stand being married to me for ten years.”
“I think Joe would’ve stayed married to me for the rest of his life,” she mused aloud. Pulling away from him, she gestured to the evidence around them. “All of this, me, the boys; it was the perfect place for him to hide the monster inside of him. I don’t even know if any of it was real.”
Hardy remained silent as she slumped down on the dusty desk. The papers crinkled and shifted underneath her, but she couldn’t be bothered to brush them aside. More sunlight streamed in through the windows, illuminating a photograph tucked in amongst the dust and detritus of her failed marriage. Before she could stop him, Hardy had snagged the photo out of the wreckage.
“Give it here,” she demanded, but he stepped closer to the window. “Hardy,” she growled and he looked up at her.
“You haven’t changed much,” he observed and she snatched the photo from him.
Her breath caught when her eyes met her own. The photograph was old and grainy, a photocopy of the front page of the Echo. Ellie remembered it now. That was definitely her at seven years old, missing a front tooth and knee-deep in her grandfather’s prize-winning vegetable garden. But it wasn’t the sight of her own face that startled her, but the man grinning and kneeling in the dirt beside her.
“That’s your father,” Hardy surmised, squeezing in next to her on the desk.
Ellie nodded and felt the tears welling up in her eyes again.
“Fred takes after you,” Hardy marvelled. He slipped his arm around her shoulders and lightly rested his chin on her shoulder.
“My grandad was the gardener, Dad wasn’t much of one, but Fred loves dirt now.”
“I noticed,” Hardy interjected.
“Dad promised he was going to clean the shed up and teach him a thing or two this spring, but then he had his stroke…” She broke off as Hardy’s other arm came around her.
The photograph blurred in her hand and a lone tear slipped through her lashes. Ellie dabbed at it with the sleeve of Hardy’s suit jacket and closed her eyes. She’d cried at the nursing home with Hardy, but the only tears she’d shed since then had been tears of relief when Tom had finally stumbled home drunk that night Dad passed. She’d been irritated by her family, stressed with all the arrangements, and so exhausted, but she hadn’t had a moment to properly process the loss of her father. Both parents.
Even now with Hardy holding her and the photographic proof that her father had loved her and would never share with Fred and Tom the lessons he’d shared with her, Ellie couldn’t let go.
Hardy kissed her temple and lightly rested his chin atop her head. His stubble should’ve scratched against her scalp and his embrace should’ve felt like a suffocating cage, but all Ellie could think of was that last sunny week in Florida before Joe murdered Danny when she’d been so happy and so warm. After a minute or two, he murmured something in her ear.
“Mm?”
“Nothing,” he whispered, easing back from her. “It doesn’t-” He halted in mid-sentence and frowned down at his shoes. “Did you just-” Something brushed up against her stockinged foot and then Hardy leaptoff the desk.
The field mouse flew out of the hem of Hardy’s trouser leg and scuttled into the shadows. Hardy swore as it ricocheted off of a box and darted back toward them.
Ellie hopped down as Hardy jumped up. She grabbed a broom and swept the frightened creature in the direction of the crack until it scurried outside. Ellie poked around with the broom, but the last of the rodents must’ve vacated the building.
“Are you alright?” she asked Hardy.
He was pale and visibly shaken.
“Mickey bloody Mouse tried to go up my leg,” he spat. Ellie bit down so hard on her lip that she almost broke through the skin. Hardy ran his trembling fingers through his hair and tried to scoot back on the desk, but the desk wasn’t wide enough and his lanky legs were too long to lift off the floor.
She tried so hard not to laugh.
“’s not funny,” he snapped and she burst out laughing.
“You’re afraid of mice!”
“I don’t like them,” he corrected her hotly. “Those wee furballs are infested with diseases,” he argued and she laughed harder as his face flushed. “Mickey and Minnie have started plagues. Quit laughing at me, Millah.”
“I’m sorry,” she gasped out and his lips quirked up at one corner. He shook his head as she breathed through the last gasping hiccups of laughter. “S-sorry,” she giggled, bracing herself on Hardy’s shoulders. “’s not funny,” she said, pressing her quaking lips together. “So. Not. F-funny.”
Hardy lunged forward and caught her in mid-laugh. Ellie wasn’t even sure if she’d consider it a kiss. Their teeth clacked together and she was still laughing. She turned away, snorting into the stubbly underside of his jaw as she slung an arm around his neck. Her forehead fell to his shoulder and she felt the curve of a rare smile imprinted against her cheek. By the time she lifted her eyes, the smile was gone as he recalled why they were hiding out in the rodent-infested shed.
“Fuck. Miller, I’m-”
Ellie dragged him down to her before she had to hear that five-letter word soaked in pity again. She needed a distraction and Hardy was willing to provide one.
The late afternoon sunlight was unbearably warm against her back. When Hardy’s hands slipped beneath the lapels of the suit jacket he’d given her, she let him push it from her shoulders. It landed in a pile of sawdust, kicking up memories that burned up like smoke as Hardy’s hands glided over her bare arms and her tight dress.
“Ellie,” he whispered between kisses and she felt the sting of tears again.
“Borrowed it from a cousin,” Ellie said breathily as he latched onto her neck. He paused and she explained in a rush, “The dress. Fred spilled milk all over me and I didn’t have another clean – oh.” She broke off as Hardy nipped at a particularly sensitive patch of skin behind her left ear. Her eyes fluttered closed and for a few moments the flickers and flashes of heat building within her and between them were the sole focus in her mind.
“Looks better on you,” he husked.
“You don’t even know Tiff.”
Hardy didn’t let her finish the sentence, pulling her in for another slow kiss that temporarily transported her from the dingy shed, the ghostly memories and the grief that weighed upon her.
Ellie wasn’t pissed, but she was feeling the Chardonnay, regardless of how terrible it had tasted. She helped Hardy shrug out of his Mackintosh and led him backward by his tie to the first thing she bumped into. Papers crumpled underneath her as Hardy stepped in between her legs like he belonged there.
He palmed her breasts and Ellie was hit with a flashback of them snogging in his kitchen, before the panic attack had struck. He kissed that thought away and the next and the next, his hands trembling endearingly at her hips.
His fingers were on her thighs, slowly but steadily pushing up the clingy skirt, when every muscle in Ellie’s body abruptly locked up.
Something banged against the window and they sprang apart. Hardy angled his body to shield her from view, but no one tried the door.
After a moment, Hardy strode to the window and swiped away some of the cobwebs. His shoulders relaxed as Fred and Lizzie’s high-pitched voices pierced the walls of the shed. They were squabbling over a football as they passed out of sight again, completely oblivious to what had been going on behind an unlocked door six feet away from them.
“We should go,” she said, straightening her dress and wiping off any remaining lipstick.
Hardy’s sigh was rife with frustration as he bent down to retrieve his suit jacket and shook the dust and wood shavings out of it, but he didn’t argue with her. Ellie searched for a reflective surface so that she could fix her hair.
“You alright?”
Ellie whirled on him, shocked to find him right behind her.
“Fine,” she assured him with a forced smile.
Hardy wrapped the jacket around her shoulders and raked his dark eyes over her from head to toe. His voice was hushed.
“Do you want me to stay?”
Ellie swallowed hard and shook her head. She stared at the desk, knowing she’d think of Hardy first instead of Joe whenever she saw it. Hardy touched her hair, smoothing a few curls and tucking a few tendrils of her hair into the updo he’d ruined.
“I’m going back to work,” he said, searching her face for a reason not to go. “Okay?”
She nodded and he kissed her cheek. Ellie had been hugged, pinched, mauled, and kissed by dozens of people today, but Hardy was the first to bring tears to her eyes.
“Hey,” he touched her chin, tipping his head up toward him. “I can stay,” he offered again.
“No, people will assume you’re my boyfriend,” she blurted.
“Would that be so bad?” he wondered. He was throwing her own words back at her from when she’d caught him smoking outside the station. Ellie tried to imagine walking back in there with Hardy at her back, ready with an arm outstretched for whenever she needed to lean on someone else. He’d kiss her cheek, he’d bring her food, and then she remembered the panic that had risen without warning to seize control of her body.
“I’m fine,” she insisted, brushing past him and walking out into the blinding sunlight.
Before she could sneak inside, an inebriated Red Ned spotted her and hauled her into a bear hug. Ellie wrestled free, smacking his arm when he copped a feel. He was lucky Ellie had known him since he was in nappies and she knew he’d never actually try anything with her, or she might’ve finally snapped and broken his nose.
Hardy didn’t know that though, or that Ned had cried with her on the beach after she’d hit a stray cat when they’d first learned how to drive together in Dad’s old car. Hardy came out of the shed behind her right when Red Ned whistled and complimented her.
“You’re killing me in that dress, love,” Ned moaned, pressing a hand over his heart. “Have a drink with us at the Anchor later,” he insisted and sloppily kissed her on the mouth.
Ellie rolled her eyes, shaking her head as he strode off with a final wink. Hardy came over to her, glaring daggers at Ned’s back.
“Don’t,” she warned him.
“He kissed you,” he hissed, unwilling to drop the issue.
“He’s practically family,” she sighed. Sometimes she forgot how much of an outsider Hardy was until moments like this. Hardy jammed his hands into his pockets.
“Are you going to the Anchor?” he asked stiffly and she shrugged.
“Maybe.” She left out the fact that everyone would be going to the Anchor later to have one for Dad. It was another Broadchurch tradition that Hardy was unfamiliar with, as long as Ellie was able to walk a straight line she was expected to be there. She started for the door, but hesitated when she caught sight of Hardy’s crestfallen expression in the glass door. She stopped.
“You could come, if you want,” she said, studying the cracks in the foundation of the house she’d purchased with Joe. “You could buy me a drink.”
She never heard his reply because the door flew open and her son slammed into her.
“Mummy! Guess what! Guess what!” Ellie tried to remain focused on Fred’s story, but her attention was caught by the blonde-haired cannonball that had shot straight for Hardy.
“’ncle Awec! ‘ncle AWEC!”
“Lizzie,” Ellie said warningly, but Hardy had already swung the little girl up onto his shoulders. He gave her a sheepish look as her son abandoned her to trail after him and Lizzie.
“Me next! Me next!” Fred whinged.
Ellie was too stunned by the familiarity that had developed between the trio to do anything. She’d had Hardy push the pram with Fred and occasionally supervise him whilst they worked Sandbrook, but since he’d returned to Broadchurch they hadn’t had much interaction. Daisy was so much older than Fred, Ellie had never given much thought to what Hardy would be like around small children. She stepped into the house, shutting the door behind her, but she couldn’t close out that train of thought completely.
Beth bustled into the kitchen with the only relative Ellie was feeling charitable toward today. But her second cousin Tiffany looked as if she was about to disavow her of that notion.
“Who is he?”
“That’s Ned who you shagged on your eighteenth birthday,” Ellie reminded Tiffany.
“No, the Scottish bloke, the one who’s suit jacket you’re wearing,” Tiffany said, plucking at Hardy’s suit jacket still draped over her shoulders.
Ellie’s eyes shot to Beth, who started furiously scrubbing the baking tin in the sink. Ellie slipped the garment from her shoulders and set it safely out of sight, but Lucy was already in the kitchen with them, pissed and loose-lipped.
“That’s DI Hardy,” Lucy drawled, waggling her eyebrows at Tiffany. “El’s boss,” she supplied very unhelpfully. “You know Tiff, El’s been denying it for ages, but they actually wrote an article about their scandalous affair in the papers years ago.”
Beth’s pan clattered in the sink, and Lucy immediately stopped talking and made herself scarce. Thankfully she took clueless Tiffany with her.
“So, you and Hardy…” Beth said stiffly.
“Don’t be daft, Beth,” Ellie sighed, shouldering her aside to take over the scrubbing. “You cooked, go have a glass of wine,” she insisted.
But Beth wasn’t going anywhere. Although, Ellie and Beth would never be as close as they once were when Danny was alive, Beth was still somehow one of the few people Ellie considered a friend and someone who truly understood everything she’d been through.
“How long?”
“We’re not together,” Ellie said stubbornly, but her face warmed with the tantalizing possibility.
“Don’t lie to me, El,” Beth said, eyeing her over the rim of her wineglass.
“We haven’t-”
“I know you didn’t get together before or during the trial,” Beth interrupted her, waving that matter back into the past where it belonged. “You just never seemed interested in anyone I tried to set you up with so I’m curious…” she trailed off as tears filled Ellie’s eyes.
“Beth, I’m not dating him.”
Ellie turned her back on her, switching off the tap and pressing a shaking hand to her forehead. Soapy water dripped down her forearm and she hastily dried her hands on the tea towel. But her eyes stung as if she had gotten soap in them. Beth came up behind her and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.
“I’m sorry, for being a daft cow, I shouldn’t have said anything today,” Beth sighed, taking another swig of wine. “I just hate being alone and I figured you do too.”
“I do,” Ellie sniffled, “I hate it, especially during a time like this, but how can I ever trust anyone again?”
“I don’t know,” Beth admitted, sipping her wine. “But El, if Mark still looked at me the way Hardy looks at you, we would’ve stayed together.”
*
Hours later in a crowded pub, surrounded by people she’d known all her life, Ellie was still mulling over what Beth had said to her about the way Hardy looked at her. Beth had taken Fred and Lizzie for the evening, but Ellie wished she’d had her friend with her. Although these people had loved her father and she loved most of them too and hadn’t seen some of them in years, she’d never felt more like an outsider than she did now.
After they toasted Dad with another round, Ellie escaped outside for some air. The night sky was clear, but the stars blurred as she thought of all those people in there who had shown up for her when her father had died, but not when her entire world had come crashing down on her almost five years earlier.
Only one person had stayed by her side.
And Ellie was so scared she’d lose him.
A hand brushed over her bare arm and she flinched, spilling her pint on the table. She whipped around to give Red Ned a bollocking, but it wasn’t him.
“Sorry,” Hardy apologized, backing away, “I’ll get you another.” He turned to go into the pub, but Ellie put a hand on his arm.
Loud laughter erupted in the pub behind him as Ned reminded everyone that the first time he’d nearly got arrested, he’d been with her on Bonfire night. For Ellie that night had been a night of so many firsts that she almost forgot how they’d accidentally lit the Good Harbour Beach sign on fire. Ellie hadn’t always been afraid to open her heart, but she’d gotten burned too many times.
“I could go for a glass of wine,” she said softly and his eyes flicked briefly to the hand she still had on his arm.
“Red or white?”
“Whatever you have back at yours.”
Hardy searched her face and narrowed his eyes.
“How much have you had to drink?”
“Not enough,” she sighed and got up off the bench with only a bit of a wobble. Hardy caught her elbow, steadying her. He was walking so slowly, Ellie knew he was mulling something over, probably her questionable sobriety or whether or not she’d expected him to get the car door for her.
“Are you sure?” he asked as they got in together. “I could take you home…” he offered, but Ellie refused to spend another second in the same house as her awful Aunts.
“I’m sure, Alec.”
His head snapped up and they stared at each other in the neon glow from the pub’s sign. His hand passed through a splash of electric blue light and two fingertips grazed her cheek, sparking against her skin. An involuntary shudder went through her as if she’d been shocked and his eyes dilated.
Ellie didn’t know what would’ve happened next, if fucking Red Ned and the rest of the old crew hadn’t piled out of the pub hooting and hollering at each other. Their neon blue bubble punctured and the spell broke.
“Okay.” Clearing his throat, Alec faced forward and put both hands on the wheel. “Okay.”
It took him at least thirty seconds before he remembered he needed to turn the key in the ignition.