Chapter 8
The pub where Jamie suggests we meet is across the road from my hostel. He's late and I'm tempted to get the hell out of here.
While it's still daylight. While nobody still knows me.
I'm set to go if I have to—slipping out by bus wasn't what I had planned, but knowing how to improvise is a practical theatre-of-life skill.
After discussing the box with Lucy, she agrees to let me store its contents in her spare room. We go through everything together while I make that inventory, although the only things she's able to shed any light on are the little comedic police figurines.
'They might be worth something today,' she says. 'They were a gift from Dad—set of six originally—because Ellie was so obsessed with being a copper when she grew up.'
'Where are the other three?'
Lucy ducks her head and mumbles something under her breath. Then she looks at me. 'We were fighting. I threw a book at her and it knocked a shelf on top of them. Three got smashed.'
There's sorrow in her eyes. 'God, she was angry. She was this far'—Lucy pinches her thumb and forefinger—'from laying into me.
'I tried to apologise but she wouldn't listen to me, so I got in a huff—we avoided each other for a month. Sisters, huh?'
I look up from my list. 'I never see you fight—not really.'
Sure, they have disagreements, but Mum and Lucy always seem tight. Growing up, Lucy visited us whenever she could since Mum obviously couldn't come to her.
'You reach a point when you realise life's too precious to waste on the petty stuff. And if you haven't got family, what have you got?'
All Mum ever wanted to do was be a police officer. Lucy's story gives the little figurines more meaning. They now have context. I arrange them in a line on a set of drawers in the spare room. I've been photographing items as I go and using an app to catalogue everything. I look back to Lucy.
'After Dad?'
Lucy nods.
'We put it all behind us after that.'
'You never looked for replacements?'
'It was too late. I've no idea where Dad got them from—I don't know anything about antiques. He died before I could ask—Ellie was 14, I was 16—heart attack.'
I've never asked Mum much about her family. Out of sight, out of mind. The answers to anything I did ask never stuck. But here, in Broadchurch, filling in the blank spaces in my family knowledge makes sense.
'Your mum died not long after, didn't she?'
'Several years later. She got to see Olly born, but she got very frail. Neither Mum nor Dad was that old when they died. Dad's heart went and the cancer got Mum.'
Cancer: scourge of the twentieth century. There's more you can do for it now—cures, even, for some types—but science has only done enough for us to play catch up. That beast is always two steps ahead. I'm almost too scared to ask. 'What kind—?'
'Lung,' Lucy replies, almost too quickly.
I nudge the little policewoman figurine more to the right. Got to make this picture perfect. 'That must have been hard.' I say it without swallowing.
Lucy's hand curls around her cigarette packet. 'I had Olly—and Pete was still around. Ellie was in her first year on the beat. We got by, I suppose. You just didn't think about it.'
Her pragmatism makes me shiver. I don't want to contemplate life without my mum. I used to have nightmares about her and Tom—even Alec—disappearing. Not coming home. Or us being in a shops or something, and me turning around and them not being there.
I don't know how I'd feel about Dad dying. There's a lot I don't know how to feel about my father. I worry about him being released—for his sake as much as Mum's. It's not the same world for a start. What's left for him in life?
I don't want him to die. I don't hate him—unlike most of this town—but the thought of him 'not being there' doesn't fill me with the same sort of gasping dread as the thought of losing Mum. Mostly I pity him.
Sudden I snort. I lost my father years ago—and it seems I never noticed.
There's a small impression on the base of the detective, as though he's giving us our very own clue. 'This could be a maker's mark. You could use that to track down—'
'You could just stand Jamie up. You don't have to go tonight.'
We've skirted around this topic. Lucy's held her tongue to this point. The strain must have got the better of her.
I smile. 'Do you want me to stick around for a while longer, Aunt Lucy?'
Her hand pulls a cigarette from the crushed box.
'With Olly being overseas, I hardly get any family visitors. It's been nice. And getting this stuff out—it's probably about time. It'll be sad to see you go so soon after you got here.'
Now, sitting in a corner of the pub's beer garden, Lucy's suggestion has a lot of appeal. It's still early but the garden is filling quickly. I'm confident many of these people are tourists; at least that's what I'm hoping.
Why is it, again, I need to tell Jamie anything?
It's a pleasant evening—sunlight filters through a clematis-smothered trellis enclosing the courtyard and late shift bees work the flowers. Music from inside is muted and distant and not ruined by overpowering beat. The bar staff appear to be fans of 80s rock.
I've been rehearsing my part in the conversation but life's harder to script than a play or documentary. And timing's an issue too. I can't just launch into my confession, can I? But if I wait to bring it up, that's going to make it harder.
It doesn't start the way I think it should. Jamie is too quick for me, and he's not alone. The tourist bureau girl is with him.
'Just Fred!' He greets me like an old friend. 'What you drinking? Shel?'
He's gone as soon as he arrived, heading to the bar, where the barman leans over in a familiar manner and the two are soon laughing over some joke.
The girl, Shel, shucks her jacket over the seat to my right and bestows a broad, red smile on me. 'So you're Just Fred? Jamie's got such a big head—he reckons he bowled you over right from the start.'
'My last date didn't try half as hard,' I admit.
'That's our Jamie. Never does things by halves. Thinks he's completely irresistible.'
The subject of our conversation returns, nursing three jugs. He grins at the girl. 'Remember you promised, Shels—only the good stuff.'
Shel, it turns out, is a cousin and here for the summer. We chat while she waits for her girlfriends to collect her for a planned movie night. Jamie and Shel do most of the talking—debriefing on the events of the day which includes a stinging critique on tourists who don't follow simple directions then get sulky when their campervans get ticketed or boxed in on the High Street where the sign clearly says they can't park.
Shel directs the conversation, but when she turns her attention to me, her questions aren't too penetrative. Nothing I wasn't prepared for.
'I'm a film grad—doesn't really set you up for the real world. I'm supposed to be looking for a proper job. Thought I might as well take a holiday now before I have to chain myself to a desk somewhere.'
By the time Shel's girlfriends eventually roll in, she knows I've got one older brother, I support West Ham and I have had precisely two significant long-term relationships: one with my beautiful, expensive HDX Divv film camera and one which ended in spectacular implosion and catastrophic collapse (he cheated). We bond over that one.
'What an arse,' she says in consolation. 'Cheaters are the worst.'
When her friends sweep in, she gathers up her bag and jacket, and extends an invite for us to join the girls' night.
Shel gives Jamie a wink when he waves them off. 'Talk to you later. Nice meeting you, Fred. You should come out with us on the boat sometime.'
In a way I'm thankful for Shel. It was a light, fun chat. The kind I'd have loved if Jamie wasn't who he is and I wasn't who I am. For half an hour I got a chance to pretend this wasn't going to end in its own small explosion.
'Would you be up for that?' Jamie interrupts my thoughts. 'Dad's upgraded the boat. We usually take it out every weekend.'
With another round of drinks in front of us and Shel out the door, I grab my chance. 'Mate, truth is I'll probably be leaving in the morning.'
'Shame.' And Jamie does look disappointed. I actually feel bad about coming clean. There's no way to ease into this conversation.
'I'm not sure this town is ready for me.'
Jamie's lovely soulful eyes telegraph defensiveness. 'Hey, we may be the sticks, but Broadchurch has caught up with the twenty-first century, you know.'
'Yeah,' I say, 'that's not quite what I mean.'
His expression goes blank.
'That house you haven't been in. The one on Lime—' I shake my head, frustrated at how badly this is coming out. 'The guy who owns that house? The one in prison? He's my dad.'
Jamie's jug is suspended between the table and his lips. I feel his disbelief. His face has darkened in a heartbeat.
'You're fucking joking, right?'
'In this town? Not much of a joke.'
'Got that right.' The beer finally reaches his mouth and he downs the last of it. 'Fuck me.'
Sure. Why not?
'I don't believe this.'
I reach for my phone. 'My aunt's expecting to pick me up from A&E—should I call for an ambulance now?'
I don't think the joke registers with him. He stares at me, the truth creeping over his face in small measurable increments. 'You're Fred Miller. Fred Miller—or is it Hardy now?'
Lucy wasn't making it up. This town has been keeping tabs on my mum.
'Miller—they never married.' I force myself to watch him, looking for any sign one way or the other.
'How could they? Everyone says your parents never got divorced.'
He is definitely not smiling. The signs are not good. I command myself to stay calm.
'People probably say lots of things.'
'That's true.' His jaw juts out and his arms cross; there's real resentment in his voice. 'Why are you telling me this?'
'I didn't want to lie to you. To be honest, I didn't even know you existed until yesterday. I didn't plan on telling anyone who I was—I just had some things I wanted to do here—but when I realised who you were … '
A snare disrupts the corner of his mouth.
'You just planned on sneaking in here and what? Sneaking out?'
I shrug. 'Pretty much. What's it to anyone else what I do? I didn't commit any crime. I've got family here. I have as much right to be here as anyone—this is where I come from. Nothing changes that. I promised my aunt I'd tell you, then look at clearing out tomorrow depending.'
'Lucy Stevens is your aunt.' Jamie nods as he makes the connection.
I breathe in deeply, steeling myself. Groping (figuratively) for the words to explain my predicament.
'All my life I've grown up knowing about Broadchurch. Knowing my family had this whole other life before me. It's the weirdest thing.'
Jamie gives me a peculiar look, not hostile or combative, so I go on.
'I came here thinking maybe I could try and understand it all by recording it. Talking to people, checking out the town, kind of documenting my own discovery of what happen—'
'I know what you're talking about.'
His remark catches me by surprise.
'About your family having a former life,' he continues.
'My family?' It's my turn to be confused.
'No.' He scoffs. 'Mine. Like they've all got some history. Or they lived in some weird other dimension. My oldest sister had left home by the time I knew who she was. It's weird when they talk about things they used to do, memories they've got. When they talk about my brother.'
The darkness in his eyes has subsided and he settles back, his arms relaxing. He looks at me as though he's waiting for me to say something.
'So … it doesn't bother you that I'm here?'
Just as he shrugs my phone pings an alert. 'Well, I'm pissed off I won't be able to introduce you to my parents.'
My reply is automatic as I flick on my phone to check it. 'I promised my aunt I'd clear out if you—wait—what did you say?'
His face is straight. 'I guess your aunt's going to be disappointed if you decide to stay longer—since you've already told her you're clearing out.'
Suddenly he can't contain himself; laughter bursts forth. 'Your face! Fuck, it's cute. You look so shocked.'
I look shocked? That's because I am. 'You're taking this better than I expected.'
'Hey, I won't be telling my mum any time soon—and don't expect to get invited around to lunch tomorrow—but I don't see why you don't have as much right to be here as anyone else.'
The things we don't tell our mums, hey? Mine still doesn't know where I am, but her message is enough to remind me I'm not out of the woods yet when it comes to explaining myself.
And I can't even begin to hope Mum's going to take my news as well as Jamie has.
