A/N: Annie and Technophobe, thank you for your messages.

Chapter 11


'Do you think I should leave?'

Condensation has beaded and dribbles down my pint of beer. I've had no more than a gulp. Instead I've been locked into position, staring down at the disintegrating foam head. Fizzling out pretty much the way my summer plans have.

'Up to you, mate.' Jamie downs his own drink without glancing my way.

While I appreciate that he is not the clingy sort, I wouldn't mind a bit more resistance to the threat of my departure.

We're back at the pub across the road from my hostel, and I am still smarting from my latest call to Mum.

It was a conversation full of long pauses, miss-starts, and hapless interruptions. There was no acrimony, but I felt restraint. Mum—bless her—had no trace of anger or remonstration in her voice; she asked polite questions that required no in-depth answers, nothing too revealing.

But when the call ended I struggled to identify the source of my dissatisfaction. It had been as if we were sitting in the room together calmly speaking of everything except the shortening fuse sparking at our feet. It was the sixth or seventh call I'd made since I told her where I was. They've all been like this.

My mother is hurting.

'It's not like I'm doing anything here.'

Jamie laughs. 'Your brother's right—you need a job.'

Financially I'm okay. I'd planned for this, but with little movement on the documentary side of things, there's little point to my days. Mum is hurting for no reason, it seems. Broadchurch is a nice town, but there's only so many walks along the beach you can take before the scenery gets monotonous. Besides, after our first stroll along the cliff top—past the hut where Dad killed Danny—I have developed a distaste for hill climbs. And I prefer to walk the other way along the coast, too, which limits my options.

My funds don't stretch far enough to hiring a car, so right now a push bike is my main source of transportation. I could bail. Bus to Taunton and catch the train back to London. Be back in half a day.

'I need a better plan,' I tell my weeping drink.

'Maybe Alec was right.'

My eyebrows shoot up.

'You didn't need two months in Broadchurch to fill in any missing holes in your life. You've been here, you've seen everything, you know more about what happened—you could have done that in two days. You've got nothing more to stick around for—except me, of course,' Jamie adds with a smug grin.

'Sheesh, the conceit,' I say. 'Dunno, really. I had this fantasy playing out in my mind. I'd come here, talk to some people, find out things had moved on …'

'What?' Jamie tosses me a curious look.

The words catch in my throat. 'Don't laugh—actually, don't say anything. I wanted to see if Mum could ever go home.'

Jamie pinches the rim of his empty glass and turns it, intent on the pointless rotation. 'It's a free world.'

'That's not what I meant.'

'I know what you meant.' At last he stares at me.'You're wondering if she'll ever be welcome back here.'

'It's your town. What do you think?'

His face hardens and he sizes up the pub and its mainly tourist clientele. It doesn't matter that they aren't from around here; they stand in for the citizens of Broadchurch. They cast the proxy vote. Should the paedophile's former wife be let back into town? I wouldn't rest my hopes on their decision.

Jamie is measured in his assessment.

'Could your mother ever return to Broadchurch? Yeah, she could. Would anyone spit in her face in the street? I like to think we're more civilized than that.' Jamie draws out his conclusion with a dramatic pause. 'Would she feel ever welcome here?'

The shaking of his head answers his own question. Maybe he can hear how harsh he sounds. His mouth twists in a compassionate grimace. 'Do you think she wants to come back?'

'Yes.'

'Has she said so?'

'I don't think she dares.'

Jamie turns away from me. 'As I said. It's a free world.'

Explanations are the last resort of the weak—explanations and exhortations to karma. I know I shouldn't, but I'm tired of no-one sticking up for my mum.

'It's like a wound that won't heal. Her whole life was here, everything she was connected to. She lost everything.'

'She still had you.'

I shut up.

'Talk to my mum about a wound that never heals.' He doesn't say it unkindly, but his point is well made. When it comes to loss, how does anything my family experienced compare?

I bite my lip until I realise I'm not ready to let this go. Letting go feels wrong.

'Your mother holds mine responsible for what my father did—that's what you told me. Your mum's wrong—anyone who thinks that is wrong. Maybe nothing will ever prove that, but it is the truth—only no-one's ever going to believe my mother. You can tell her go to hell if you want—she's there already anyway. It isn't right.'

And that's what bothers me. 'You know—Dad got a trial. Mum didn't even get that.'

Jamie pulls his phone from his pocket and checks it. Then he looks at me, his dark eyes full of—what? Pity? 'Emergency callout. I'm out of here.'

He stands and grabs his jacket. He goes no further than two steps before he turns back to me. 'My parents don't have their son. That's not right.'


I fume all the way from the pub to my private room at the hostel, slamming the door hard enough to knock a ghastly pastel print of the wall. The glass in the frame smashes with a satisfying scream.

I don't disagree. The Latimers should still have their son. It's fucked up. And Dad should and will pay—for the rest of his life—but Mum's never going to get a fair hearing. She'll never get the chance.

It seems unlikely Jamie will return this evening and I'm not going to message him. He's never going to see it from my point of view—and I'll just end up ramming my head against a wall in frustration trying to get an ounce of fairness from him for my mother. Right now I'm so angry I could thro—

Jesus.

Where did that thought come from? It's just an expression. Just an expression people use when they're angry. People don't mean anything by it.

Except, in my family, that's not true.

I need to be calm. I need to breathe. I need to talk.

I haven't visited Aunt Lucy for a week, but she keeps early hours—I'm not sure she'd appreciate me disturbing her for relationship advice. Ditto Tom, whose long string of ex-girlfriends isn't a great endorsement in that department either. Wherever Rob and Jenna are, they're not answering their phones.

Mum's out of the question. With grim amusement I imagine the phone call I might have with Alec. It almost makes me laugh. I feel some of the tension drain away.

Lucy it is then.

She agrees to meet me on the waterfront. It's a calm night. The streak of hot weather hasn't broken yet, and the night is balmy. We meet up and stroll to a bench on the promenade. As we sit the waves surge and crash below us.

Luce lays a consoling hand on my arm. 'Sweetie, you knew from the start it was a bad idea. For so many reasons.'

'I know you're right—but I kind of really like him.'

She snorts at the absurdity. 'Kind of? Don't feel the need to commit yourself too much.'

'I've known him not much more than a month, Luce. Bit too early to be picking out china patterns.'

'You said it yourself, Freddie. Danny will always be there. It doesn't seem—you know—very even. How'd you get around that?'

'So you think I should go?'

Lucy shifts and wraps her arms around herself despite the lack of cold. 'Up to you, kiddo.'

Later, as I lie lonely in bed, my mind plots my escape. It's simple, really. If I'm up early enough, I can catch the 7.15am bus to the train station.

It's not bailing on Jamie—it's bailing on this town. Maybe if we both lived somewhere else … but Aunt Lucy is right. It doesn't matter where we are, we'll never be equal—even if we pretend.

Jamie's an early riser. If I message him at 6 in the morning, that will give him enough time to choose to see me off if he wants. After last night, he has to see it's for the best. It's not like he seemed that upset by the idea.

And it's not running away.


The shrill beep of my alarm shocks me awake. Turning it off, I see the message icon on my phone.

It's from Jamie. 'Perfect job for you. See Shel this a.m. if interested.'