She woke in a panic to waves crashing against the wharf. Her hand went to her chest, trying to slow her breathing. She was momentarily confused. She was not at the flat; it was smaller here, with books and papers on the wall.
Her heart skipped a beat. Fred! But then she turned to see him sleeping peacefully beside her in the green & blue travel cot she'd lugged over for the night.
Then she remembered. Hardy's little hut on the water's edge. She couldn't sleep at the flat, their discovery of the incinerator at Portsmouth in the Thorps Agriservices warehouse had left her unsettled. And with Tom gone over to the defence, her little boy wanting to go on the stand, she hadn't wanted to be alone.
Hardy had dropped her at her flat. He'd wanted to check on both Claire and Ashworth before turning in for the night. Apparently Ricky Gillespie had beat the living shit out of Lee, who was living rough in some farmer's field. Ellie couldn't bring herself to care that much about any of them.
So, as soon as he left, she'd taken the cot, and Fred, loaded them in her car and headed straight for his gaff.
He'd been surprised but not particularly put off upon discovering the two Millers in his house an hour later. Especially after Fred's loud chorus of "Ack! Ack!" had welcomed him in the door. Ellie swore she'd even seen a hint of a smile crease the corner of his mouth as he passed them.
She'd stopped on the way and picked up a few things from the shop to replace the food she'd eaten, and then she'd made them dinner. She put Fred down and they'd eaten in near-silence, both still mulling over what they'd found, all the while, trying to push thoughts of Tom from her head.
"We need to find Gary Thorp," she'd said, and he'd nodded.
"If he's still alive," Alec had returned.
"Did you question him?" she'd asked, stabbing at a tomato wedge with her fork and shovelling it into her mouth.
"No. I've told you, we didn't know about Thorp," his exasperated reply had come back and she decided to say no more. Tomorrow they'd get into this. Right now they were both knackered.
After supper she'd all but collapsed on the sofa next to her son's bed, sleep finally catching up to her after she'd avoided it for so long. "Night, Alec," she'd heard herself say in the darkness as she'd watched his retreating form. She'd fallen asleep before he could reply, assuming, of course, he'd even bothered.
She checked her phone. 4:35 AM. Bloody hell. There would be no getting back to sleep now. Soon the sun would stubbornly start its rise above the horizon, the pinkish glow signalling to her that she'd failed in securing any sort of rest for herself for yet another night.
She sat there, in the dark, thoughts of her oldest son now difficult to keep at bay. These were the hardest hours of the day for her. These sleepless hours, with no one to talk to, nothing to do. She couldn't switch the light on for fear of waking Fred, and Hardy would be none too pleased if she attempted to wake him now. She'd probably give him a heart attack, anyways.
So she listened to the waves and an image came to her—her family, back when it had been all four of them, on another coast: Tom, Joe, Fred and Ellie in Florida, walking along the beach. It had been evening, warm and muggy, and they'd all had a busy and enjoyable day. Tom had walked between his parents, Fred in her arms. She'd looked down at her oldest son to see him beaming back up at her, a wide, exuberant smile on his face. His little eleven-year-old baby face that she so missed.
It was the last time she'd seen him look at her like that.
Because they'd left the next day, and that night, after they'd gotten settled, Joe had snuck out and murdered Danny Latimer. Ellie had gone to work the next day to find a dead boy on the beach.
Then suddenly Tom was almost a teenager, well into his twelfth year now, his voice beginning to change. He'd grown half a foot since in the months since Danny's death.
And now he was going to stand before those women and half the town and if either side didn't like what he said they'd rip him apart. Her little boy. What if he said something that got Joe off? Or something that cast doubt on her? Oh, she didn't even want to think about that. If Joe got off because of Tom he'd never be forgiven, no matter that he was barely out of puberty. She'd have to move him across the country.
Oh, her poor darling boy. Her heart broke for him every minute of every day, ever since that day she'd told him the awful truth. That his father was a murderer. How could his growing brain reconcile that with the loving, attentive man who had never let him down before?
Oh, my baby, my sweet baby boy. Tears came then, for the first time in a long time, real, wet, salty tears quickly falling from her eyes and spilling down her face, soaking into the front of her pyjama top. She struggled to quiet her sobs as she wept, thinking of her and Joe, in the beginning. The hope she saw in his eyes. Tom's birth, one of the happiest days of her life. There was so much possibility, so much anticipation for the future. She had loved that man with every fibre of her being. Fred's birth had just solidified the bond, completed their little family.
And now they were scattered, like leaves in the wind across this stupid bloody town.
A hand on her shoulder nearly stopped her heart and she barely stifled the scream that bubbled up when she saw Alec Hardy's brown eyes looking down at her in the gloaming.
"What the hell is the matter with you?" she hissed, shrugging his hand off her shoulder and angrily brushing the tears from her eyes. "You scared the shit out of me!"
"Sorry," he said, under his breath. "You alright?"
"No, I'm not bloody alright," she said, standing and moving to the kitchen where a box of tissues was sat invitingly on the table. She grabbed several and dried her wet face, blowing her nose loudly. "I'm never, ever, ever going to be alright again. And the sooner I realise that the better off I'll be."
"Miller," she heard him say as she blew her nose one last time, "it'll get easier."
"Will it?" she asked, her voice low and dangerous. She felt dangerous right now, like a caged animal. She wanted to scream, to break things; she wanted to run. She didn't want to do this anymore, this half of a life, watching her family and this town be torn asunder. She didn't ask for this. What had she ever done to deserve this other than live her life well, do her job well and be a good mother and wife?
The tears came again and she reached for the tissues, flopping down in one of Alec's kitchen chairs as she mopped at her face.
"Ellie—"
"Don't call me that."
"Ellie," he said again, stubbornly, and she glared at him across the dimly lit room, "you've been handling this well."
"No I'm not. I haven't been. I'm coping. I'm pushing it out of my head, I'm distracting myself, moving from one thing to another." She looked up at him and could see genuine concern there. And curiously, for once, it didn't piss her off. "I miss Tom, Alec. I miss him so much. I miss my family. I miss my friends. I miss my house. I miss my job."
He sat down next to her at the table, running his hands through his unruly hair. Then he sighed and dropped his arms to the table, leaving most of it sticking straight up on his head. She tried not to smile.
"I know," he said. "I miss all of that too."
She nodded, knowing he spoke with as much sympathy as he could muster. His wife may not have killed anyone, but her infidelity had nearly ruined his life. He'd lost his job, his marriage, his daughter, his reputation. His health. He'd been blamed and recriminated and hated. Just as she had. Just for doing his bloody job. And, she supposed being a bloody fool who couldn't see what'd been going on right under his nose.
On impulse she reached forward, grabbing for one of his hands resting atop the table. To her surprise, he didn't pull away. But then she supposed that she'd never really tried to touch him before. It had always been him. And she'd always turned him away. She clasped it in hers, finding the contact not all that objectionable, and she looked up to see that he didn't either.
He gave her hand one last squeeze and stood up, releasing it.
"Come on, Miller," he said, "time for bed."
"It's nearly half-five, now!"
"Still have time to get a couple of hours before Francis—"
"Fred!" she half-shouted, getting a smile for her efforts. "Oh, you do that on purpose, don't you?"
He ignored her question, offering her his hand, and she glared at it for a moment before taking it. She got up and made for the sofa but he pulled her back, back toward the rear of the little house.
"I thought you said—"
"Come to bed with me, Miller," he said, so nonchalantly she stopped dead in her tracks. "You shouldn't be alone tonight."
"What?"
"It's not like we've not done it before," he said, a touch of irritation creeping back into his voice. She scoffed. "Everyone already thinks we're shagging, better to give 'em something to talk about."
Ellie just stood there, their hands still clasped together, staring at the man before her.
"Who are you?" she asked.
"Alec Hardy, used to be a police officer. Dodgy heart. Worked with this woman called Miller. Curly hair, cried all the time," he tried to dodge her free hand, but failed, and Ellie slapped him hard on the shoulder.
"What I mean is why are you being so nice to me?"
"I'm always nice to you."
"Alec, I'm serious. It's seriously freaking me out!"
"Because you're letting me be," he said, tugging on her hand. When she resisted, he stilled. "The sofa's rubbish, Miller. And I need you well-rested if we're going to follow up on the Thorp lead later today."
She scoffed at the absurdity of the situation. But she supposed he was right. The sofa was rubbish. She hadn't had a proper night's sleep in weeks.
So she followed him into his room, taking in the double bed, which in her current exhausted state looked incredibly inviting. She paused, watching Alec as he walked around to his side of the bed. His side, she thought, as if we've been married for years.
She climbed in slowly under the covers, noting that Alec was doing the same. Her pulse quickened. There would be no duvet separating them tonight.
She could feel the heat radiating from his body as he settled in beside her, and she was surprised at how badly she wanted to bridge the distance between them. It had been so long since she'd been held by someone in bed she'd started to think she would have to sleep alone forever. They were just inches from each other now, she on her side facing him and he on his back.
He turned to look at her, the two of them taking in the familiar yet decidedly unfamiliar position they found themselves in. Then, he nodded his head toward his side of the bed. She hesitated for a second, then closed the distance, snuggling up beside him and wrapping her arm around his middle.
He was surprisingly warm and much thinner than she'd expected him to be, but she could feel wiry muscle move beneath his skin when he shifted.
She giggled. Couldn't help it. Here she was, in bed with her former boss mere months after he'd arrested her husband for murder. But she didn't want to think about Joe now, or anyone else for that matter. For now she relished in the feeling of another's body next to hers. Even if was Alec Hardy's.
He turned his head to look at her in the dim light, their faces now mere inches away. She could feel the breath he exhaled on her cheek.
"What?" he asked, his voice low and soft.
"This should feel weird."
"It doesn't?" She could feel the vibrations of his words as he spoke and it made her smile.
She shook her head. "What 'bout you? You find this weird?"
He hesitated, then slowly shook his head from side to side against the pillow.
"I thought you 'ated me," she said, "well not hated. Tolerated me. Didn't have anyone else."
"I think you know you're more than that to me, Miller. And how you could think I could hate you..." he shook his head in disgust.
"But you're an arsehole to me—"
"I'm an arsehole to everyone."
She watched him as he watched her, his brown eyes shining in the twilight. "So what are you saying?"
"I'm not saying anything, why do I have to say anything? Why do we have to label this?" he asked, gesturing between the two of them. "We're just us."
"Us," she repeated, trying out the word, "us." She paused. Waited. Thought about it. "So you do have feelings for me? Romantic feelings? All this time."
He groaned, and rolled his eyes. "Miller!"
"Oh my god!"
"What?" he sounded almost offended.
"You do! You—I thought you fancied Claire."
He looked at her with confusion and disbelief. "Claire? No," he shook his head. "Learned that lesson a long time ago."
"So you did sleep with her."
"Maybe." he said, his tone light. "But if I did it made me sure I'd never do it again. You've seen the two of them."
"I have."
"I took care of Claire because she could get me my life back. My reputation, my daughter—"
"Your wife?"
He scoffed and shook his head. "No. I lost Tess a long time ago. Before the affair." He sighed and looked her in the eye. His next words were halting, nervous almost. "The fact that you're still here means you're not—put off by the idea."
Ellie smiled. "No, I guess I'm not. I thought I would be, I mean, when they accused us. I never thought of you that way before."
"And now?"
"I don't know. I know this feels nice. I know I like being around you. You treat me like you've always treated me. I guess...I sort of love you for that." His eyes locked on to hers at this admission. "I know I wouldn't have gotten through this without you. Even if I am afraid you're going to drop dead on me at any moment." He looked away. "And I really am afraid of that, Alec," she said, reaching out to cup his face and force him to look at her. "More than a lot of things. I need you to stick around."
He nodded, his hair mussing against the pillow as he did so. Then he leaned his head forward and kissed her, his lips touching hers so softly she could scarcely feel them.
She froze. This was new territory, Alec Hardy kissing her. She couldn't think. Then she felt him pull away and, coming to, slipped her hand round the back of his head, pulling him toward her. His lips were surprisingly soft, though his beard and whiskers tickled her as his lips moved against her. She giggled at that and he pulled back, a flash of hurt in his eyes.
"Sorry," she said. Stroked his cheek. "Your beard." He leaned into her touch almost in spite of himself, her hand caressing the side of his face. "You know, I quite liked that," she said, surprising even herself.
"Did you?" he asked. She nodded. And before she could think of what to say next, his lips were on hers again, pressing insistently against her mouth. His hands snaked around the back of her, pulling her to him, up against the length of him.
When she felt his erection against her thigh she gasped. Alec pulled away from her for a second, catching her eye. His cheeks were flushed and she could see it in eyes. He wanted her.And like that something between them snapped. Some barrier that had been keeping them where they were. Suddenly need filled her, hot and insatiable.
She wanted him, Alec Hardy, had for a while. The realisation hit her hard. When she met him she'd been married and hadn't been looking for anything else. Dirty Brian's question had sent her for a loop, made her think, against her will, of the possibility of stepping out on Joe. And who had she been compelled to tell about it? Alec bloody Hardy.
She'd been repressing it, she supposed. The way she kind of liked how the breeze tousled his hair. The depth in his brown eyes, the freckles hidden beneath his beard, dusting over his nose and cheeks. His body, so lanky and rangy and definitely not something she'd usually be into. But she'd started to think about him again after the accusations at the trial. Couldn't help it. What it'd be like. She'd attempted to keep her distance after that but it hadn't lasted. He was her only friend. She was just supposed to stay away from him now because everyone in the town thought they were having an affair? Not bloody likely.
She ground up against him, smiling as a groan came from deep in his throat.
His tongue pressed between her lips, sweeping around her mouth as she tried to get her bearings. It was heady, being this close to him this quickly. Heady and just fantastic, really. He was a really good kisser. This she'd discovered with surprise and delight. It was odd, she supposed, translating their relationship to this physical one. But bodies knew what to do, instinctively, responded to each other without thought. Chemistry. They'd always had plenty of that.
Still, it was hard to believe. Minutes ago she'd been crying in the dark and here she was—oh.
His hand had slipped into the cotton waistband of her pyjama bottoms and had sliding over her hip, ghosting over the skin there before trailing down to her centre. He'd pressed his hand against the unruly curls before slipping a finger inside and against the sensitive nub.
She gasped against his lips then. They were fast approaching the point of no return. This was a whole new situation they were putting themselves in. She pulled away from him for a second while his fingers continued their exploration. "Should we be doing this?" she asked him in a breathless whisper.
"Considering the circumstances, Miller, probably not," he said against her ear, sending shivers down her neck, "but I don't know if I can stop now."
"What 'bout your—"
"Miller, I swear if you say the word 'condition,'" he hissed as his fingers continued their slow massage against her clitoris.
"What if you die on me?"
"Only one way to find out," he said, slipping one finger inside her.
"Alec!" she breathed, "I'm serious!"
"We'll take it slow," he all but purred, "I promise."
She sighed against his ear as he slipped another finger inside her, his thumb pressing down on her clit.
She made up her mind.
She reached into his pyjama bottoms, her hand running the length of his hip before moving down to grip him in her hand. His breath hitched.
From there it was a haze of breath and pleasure, and when he entered her she gasped his name.
He kept his word—they took it slow. They were on their sides, facing each other, Ellie with her leg hitched over his hip.
She couldn't help but compare this intimate coupling to the drunken, disappointing shag she'd resigned herself to a couple of weeks ago. She and Alec were right up next to each other, watching each other with each lazy thrust. In comparison, she couldn't even remember that sad sod's name.
It was not what she'd expected, in the few fevered fantasies she'd had of him after Sharon Bishop's shocking allegation in court had accused them of sleeping together. It was much softer, slower. Gentler.
But it was nice. She'd have thought it would be awkward, considering their previously platonic, adversarial relationship, but their bodies already seemed curiously attuned to each other, totally in sync. It was almost like the way they worked together, the give and take, always knowing what the other needed and when.
He kissed her roughly as he thrust into her, and the moan, deep in her throat, made his lips smile against hers. His fingers trailed back down along her hip, slipping down to where they were joined. Ellie whimpered.
Their lazy rhythm began to quicken as he continued his ministrations between her legs, Ellie felt his breath hasten against her cheek and his fingers on her clit as he drove into her. He kissed her again, deeper this time, his tongue wrestling with hers. She could feel herself getting closer the edge.
"Come on, Miller," she heard in her ear, a breathless whisper, "come for me."
She moaned and that was it; she came hard around him, whimpering into his neck as her walls tightened and contracted. He groaned then, and his thrusts slowed, his breath coming in gasps. He jerked his hips against hers and collapsed against her, both of them breathing heavily, sweaty and sated.
It was a few minutes before either could speak, as the haze of arousal began to fade and the full implications of what they'd done began to take hold. Something occurred to her, but Alec spoke first, voicing the concern before she could speak.
"You're not on the pill, are you?" he asked, and Ellie turned to look at him, surprised at the fact that he didn't sound particularly concerned about it.
"No," she replied. She sought his gaze in the brightening dawn. "I'm forty, Alec. My periods have been irregular since I found out about…Joe. Too much stress. I think we'll be alright."
He laughed deeply, the vibrations reverberating against her chest. It was a sound she was unfamiliar with, his laughter. She hoped to hear more of it. "Miller, how would you say our luck has been lately?"
"Pretty shit," she said, smiling in spite of herself. They were both silent for a while. She mulled it over and found herself almost unable to care. What with everything that had happened since they met. All the horrible things that continue to happen. "Ah, well. With Tom away at Lucy's Fred could use a little baby brother or sister to keep him company."
Alec laughed, shaking his head incredulously. "Daisy always said she wanted a baby sister." He turned to her, that same punch-drunk smile on his face.
"Are we actually considering this?" she asked. Her heart pounded, a curious mix of anxiety and something akin to hope filling her.
"I think we've already considered it, Miller," he said. She laughed at this, at their poor judgement. The way things worked out. The way her life had turned. She felt a curious lightness at the thought of a new life in the midst of all this death and anger. All this shit. A new baby, free of all the sins and failures of its parents. A new start, for all of them.
"You're getting that surgery," she told him, tapping on finger against his chest. She flattened her hand against his skin, frowning at how quickly his heart beat. How that was normal for him. "I won't be left to raise two children on my own. Three, if Tom comes around."
"He will," Alec assured her.
"And Daisy, too," she told him. "When we solve Sandbrooke and clear your name, and you stop acting like such an unbelievable twat around your ex-wife she'll want to be around you more. Want to meet her new sibling, if there is one. You're not going to die on her, Alec. She's at a delicate age." When she looked up at him, he was gazing at her curiously.
"You're so sure we'll solve it."
"I am. We will. We'll put things right. We'll get our lives back. Once and for all." At this, he reached forward and kissed her, hard, his fingers lacing into her curls, cradling the back of her head. She pulled away after a few seconds, flushed. "And you're getting that surgery. Deal?"
He laughed then, his eyes shining back at her in the pink glow of the sunrise. It was a new day, and she'd never seen him look so alive. "Deal," he repeated, and he pulled her head toward him to kiss her again.