Title: Broadchurch: Sins Of The Father
Date of commencement: September 22 2013
Date of completion: December 24 2014
Series: Broadchurch, a sequel to the original, and following on from Life Without Joe (only on LiveJournal, under lock)
Rating: M
Authors: tkel_paris and tardis_mole
Summary: Two years after Danny's death, life is slowly getting back to normal in Broadchurch. But Hardy's happy life is about to be turned upside down by a spectre from the past he had hoped had been laid to rest. Someone from his past wants to talk to him, someone wants revenge, someone wants to see him ruined. But it's not one 'someone'. But first, he must face the girl in his garden.
Disclaimer: We own nothing, but this is based on Broadchurch by Chris Chibnal, with added clues from the novel by Erin Kelly. We gain no financial benefit nor gratuities, only the enjoyment from writing and working together on this epic journey, shared for the enjoyment of others.
Dedication: Chris Chibnal, long time friend. bas_math_girl, for her beta. And each other for hopefully not ruining each other's lives for too long during the writing part.
Warning: If you have not watched Broadchurch in its entirety, do not read this. We mean it. You will be spoiled. Stop and go back. Now. Ideally you have seen the entire show, not just what was aired on BBC America if you live on that side of the pond, but this is understandable in either case. Also, if you have not read tardis_mole's Life Without Joe, that's okay. It's possible to read this without reading that, if you're not on Moley's approved list. You'll probably find this makes a little more sense if you have read it, but you should be fine without it. Take the time to read Erin Kelly's novelization, if you can, as it provided certain details that helped with writing this. Though you won't need to rely on it.
Authors' Notes: tardis: Count the adverts. It all started with me writing Life Without Joe (blowing my own trumpet). The title does not say why Joe was not there, whether he had died or walked out. It was just that he was no long there. No clue, no hint, no spoiler, no Joe. And just in case anyone else caught on before I did – episode four – that it was Joe I had to watch from a play back site because I was first burying my mum and then moving, so I actually missed episodes 2-7 until just days before the finale. My deepest thanks to bas_math_girl who saved me from being "spoilered". And, sorry, tkel, but it was not the BBC. It was ITV that made and broadcast the original. The BBC can only wish.
I got this idea after watching the original for the however-many time it was. I'd gone out to HMV to find a copy of The Politician's Wife and on the off-chance asked them if they had a copy of Broadchruch. As it happened the delivery had just arrived. I had the first copy out of the box at HMV Cardiff. There. Selfless advertising. And the Beeb still loses out. So I sat and watched it and thought I wonder what happens next? I've lived in hotels. I've been in a similar situation as Tom (and Ellie, actually, but that's neither here nor there), and I know there had to be more. Life would not have been cosy for Ellie.
So I wrote it.
LWJ was the result. And my readers liked it. Tkel refused to read it. And I fully understand and support her reasons.
However, within days of finishing and posting it I got another idea. I sat on it for months while tkel waited for the DVD, and by that time the plot bunny had stewed itself into a balrog (another plug, this one's LOTR). Tkel was busy. I was in Preston for the long awaited arrival of my first 'born in Britain'; grandchild. I have been busy looking after him and my daughter and fighting for justice for my son-in-law that the Balrog sat forgotten in a dark room on my data pen for a year. Date of starting: September 22 2013. I had a brief outline and a few notes. I basically picked at it for a year until both tkel and I were ready to put in the time and effort.
November 1 2014. One month turned into three weeks, and over 285400 words later we had a first draft. Chris Chibnall may own the copyrights and I bet his sequel is brilliant, LOOK AWAY NOW IF YOU DON'T WANT TO BE SPOILERED! but he doesn't have a murder. Read it and weep, Chris, my friend. Mine does. *Taggart voice* There's been a murder!
This has been a phenomenal achievement for both of us. Neither of us has done anything like this before. Working with a co-writer is not recommended for everyone. It takes a lot of patience, stamina – I had to sprint to keep up – and a strong willingness to share. I hate sharing. :D
This is going to hurt. Have tissues at the ready. I don't pull punches. Those who know my work know I have plot twists and unexpected clues, and if you miss them you'll be left behind. Make notes. You'll need them.
This is based on Chris Chibnall's Broadchurch, and a few details from the novelisation by Erin Kelly (another shameless advert), with the addition of some aspects of LWJ. If you haven't seen Broadchurch, why are you reading this first? Go away and do so, otherwise this will make no sense whatsoever. If you haven't read the novel, don't worry. I have, and you can take or leave it. It has some minor flaws and mistakes, but it is a good read. You'll find my review on Goodreads (another shameless advert) website.
Tkel and I half thought about including our own map, since the blatant error in Erin's was the mistake you'd expect from a small child. Beth's and Ellie's houses are across a field and they can see each other's kitchens; it was mentioned in the original and in the book. So I'm scratching my head trying to work out why Erin's map put them practically back to back, separated by a row of houses.
But, anyway, advertisements aside (Did you count them? There are seven.), I hope you like Sins Of The Father. We've kept it in the same style as the original eight episode format, but each one will have a different number of chapters. Hopefully, they will all be posted by the time ITV airs the sequel. Though try not to compare. Enjoy.
Authors' Notes: tkel: Being an American with not a lot of time on her hands to learn the tricks for getting things early from the other side of the pond, I had to wait to see Broadchurch. So I had months of reading about how good it was and how amazing David Tennant's performance was. It was more than a bit frustrating, but I give the people on my friends list credit for not spoiling anything other than Hardy's having a medical condition and one other detail. During the wait I noticed my friend Moley post a Broadchurch fanfic. Well, I did not read it. I even made a point of trying to forget I even saw one was posted. Finally the series came to BBC America, although I did not know that about two hours worth of material was cut to make room for the commercials. I was pissed off when I heard that, and promptly decided that where productions with Tennant were concerned, I would buy Region 2 only. (I had learned that computers can be manipulated to act like an all regions playing DVD player, although as of when I wrote the original note I had not yet figured it out. Trust me, I will learn soon enough.)
I was in awe from the first episode. A great cast, a heartbreaking case, and I was trying to figure out who did it almost immediately. Some I figured were unlikely, or would not be the killer without more plot twists. By the end of Episode Seven, I had a sinking suspicion who the killer was. It did not help that my memory chose then to recall what it thought was the title of Moley's fic. But I waited until the final moments had aired, and was in a bit of emotional turmoil. (Which I think we were supposed to be.) At that point, I got on Live Journal and read all five posts of Moley's fic, pausing only to comment. I needed more time to digest it fully, but I had reread it about four times by the next evening.
The thing is, my muse is the type to get ideas at the drop of a hat sometimes. Sometimes no hat, as Moley has reminded me. (giggles) Often when I am trying to work on other things. Bonzina (what I call my Muse) instantly thought about what might happen afterward, thinking about the unresolved things still there from the original story. She had thought of a plot bunny that had me intrigued. So I emailed Moley with the idea, having no idea that it would prove to be the platform for an idea that had been languishing since Life Without Joe was finished, and we bounced it back and forth – like you do when you beta read each other's work. I don't think we'd emailed about it for more than a day before it transformed into a plot balrog. (For those of you who aren't Tolkien fans, that's a giant creature of shadow and flame, "a demon from the ancient world" to quote Gandalf from the movie version of "Fellowship". Practically impossible to get rid of, as the movie showed.) Basically, it wasn't going to leave either of us alone by then, so we agreed to work on it together as soon as we could both make the time for it. Meanwhile we bounced more ideas back and forth until we had our first outline ready.
Well, although we did a lot of preplanning, we didn't get to writing until I mentioned I was thinking about what to do for NaNoWriMo 2014. Moley noted about Broadchurch 2 being filmed, and we agreed that we should get our balrog finished and fully posted before the first episode airs on ITV. And I was also working on another mystery story at the same time. Only thing is, on that story I had trouble with the outline, and stalled on it in a big way learning why my writer friends gave me the advice they did the hard way as my muse was insistent on trying something different. So I got way ahead on my parts of the story, but I used it to figure out enough so I could resume writing the other story. Even though it may never see the light of day, depending on what I think of it in the end.
Of course, I was very busy. Moved to a new city, started a new job that now means I have a profession, and had to focus on settling in. But I had managed enough that I could do NaNo once again. Although I'm still stalled on that one other story, I know one of the things I need to do with it. I also wrote a few other things, including a Christmas present for another friend – on a dare from said friend. So my grand NaNoWriMo total for 2014? 124,977. Yes. That's correct. And yet someone else managed just over 150,000. You'd better believe I intend to beat that next year.
So that's my side of the story. There will be another Broadchurch collaboration, based off an idea I had from working on this story. Stay tuned about that one. Or maybe... more than one, given that Moley and I seem to be off in slightly different directions for that one. (grins) This was a fun project, and I hope that Moley and I find additional ones to work on together. Not counting the beta reading we already do, or the times when I was utterly stuck on a story and needed more than prodding but wholesale suggestions to get it moving again. (bigger grin)
Summertime. Outdoors. Four girls played together in a garden, giggling as small children do. No cares of the world touched them, or if they did they pretended they did not exist.
There was an undercurrent of sadness. They all knew they would part ways, but no one knew just when they would see each other again. But it was the birthday of one of them, and so they could forget about most troubles for the time being.
/=/=/=
Another summer. The air was pleasant, but there was a hint of tension. Mostly in the adults watching.
Three slightly older girls sat on a beech making a sandcastle. They shaped it in honour of the fourth who did not come, looking up at each sometimes in wonder of why they had not heard from their friend.
/=/=/=/
Two young teenage girls walking together in a busy street, shopping. They tried to laugh, but the aura around them was oppressive. Especially on the taller one. A great weight was hanging on her shoulders, but the haunted look had purchase in the shorter one.
/=/=/=/=/
Darkness surrounded the area. The moon's light barely shone through the clouds.
A girl stepped into the light of an open window. She kept low, trying to be invisible. She glanced up at the moon, her face that of the shorter of the teenagers. But her formerly honey-blonde hair had been dyed black. Her face was pale even for the light out, and her whole being spoke of knowing a terror unspeakable.
She looked and listened, closing the window before she repeated the listening. Then she fled into the shadows, as quietly as she could.
/=/=/=/
Under the same moonlight and yet slightly different clouds angled overhead a sixteen year-old girl stood alone, partly in shadow, leaning against a brick-built bus shelter with the sound of the ocean not far away. It was the taller of the girls. Her long hair fell in waves about her shoulders and at her throat hung a locket that rested against her t-shirt. It was old, as old as she felt. She bore herself as one with the weight of the world on her shoulders. She closed her eyes and stepped back into the shadows, silhouetted against the light of an opening door behind her.
In the distance the echoing cry of a newborn child broke the silence of the night.
/=/=/=/=/
Episode Four. Part One: Every Beat Of My Heart.
Hardy sat in the hospital waiting room, flicking disinterestedly through a magazine from the table. Why was it always women's magazines on offer? And very out of dates ones at that. He leaned over to drop it back onto he pile and sat back down again.
He was only here for his regular six-monthly check-up. It was usually very quiet, but today it was even quieter. There had been an alarm not twenty minutes before and two doctors had rushed from the department side rooms, with full de-fib and medi-packs, up to one of the wards. He couldn't tell which one.
The hospital was a small one. Most of the patients were seen here first and if needed sent to the general. He'd had his pace-maker fitted here. Thank god they had a cardiology unit, because he would never have survived the hour and a half journey up to the general.
And it seemed someone else was about to find out the same answer. He hoped they lived to know it, whoever they were.
He glanced at the clock on the wall. He was now thirty minutes late for his appointment. Not that he begrudged it. His doctor had been among the doctors who had rushed out with the de-fib pack. Luckily, he was the only one waiting for an appointment, though the woman at the desk seemed to have forgotten that anyone was here at all.
Eventually she appeared and hurried towards him.
"Mr. Hardy?"
"Yes?" he said.
"Terribly sorry about the wait. There's been an emergency on the children's ward. Would you mind waiting a bit longer, or shall I book you another appointment?"
Hardy considered it. He hated making a replacement appointment, because it meant booking more time off work. But since he was unavoidably off work anyway, he had nothing to rush back to. "No, I'll wait, he assured her. Thanks."
So it was a child, he notied to himself as he watched her return to her desk behind the glass window. Poor kid. Poor parents, too. He wouldn't want to be in their shoes. He knew what it had done to Ellie and the boys to see him so gravely ill.
As he waited a lone figure appeared at the far end of the waiting room, where it opened into the corridor beyond. He recognised her at once. His entire body clenched ready for another confrontation. He could do without it, and frankly, taking one look at her, he was certain she could, too.
Tess wandered in, looking pale, exhausted and dishevelled. She slotted a few coins into the vending machine directly opposite the waiting room, and poked at the buttons. Out came a hot coffee, or something like it, and she scooped it up to take a sip.
As she turned, she saw Hardy sitting there. She rolled her eyes, decided to ignore him, but then turned back. She marched towards him like a storm front, jabbing finger out. He remained seated.
"What the hell do you think you're doing, following me here?!" she demanded, her voice quiet. Which made a change.
He briefly lifted the small appointment card he was holding for her to see. "Appointment. How could I possibly follow you here if I didn't know you were here?" he pointed out.
"And why should I believe you?"
"Whether you believe it or not, is your prerogative, but I didn't know you were here. And why would it interest me?"
"You tell me," she threw back at him.
"It doesn't. End of story," he told her.
"Look, just leave us alone. I don't want you following us around. I don't need this on top of everything else," she said forthrightly.
Hardy stared at her, realising that something was terribly wrong. He got to his feet, afraid that Connelly's warning had already come to fruition. "Tess, what's happened? Where's Daisy? Is she all right?"
"Daisy's fine, thank you," she said stiffly, trying not to break apart in front of him. That was be mortifying, not to mention embarrassing. "My son had a heart attack last night," she managed. "Just now, the doctors were in the middle of performing some tests and his heart gave out again."
"Oh god," he breathed. "Tess, I'm so sorry."
She managed a nod. "Yeah. Well, you'd know all about heart problems, wouldn't you? Apparently," she told him in less than believing tones. "Or maybe you slipped him something yesterday when you tried to take him."
"I didn't try to take your son," he countered, and then recalled the events of the previous day. "So it was you who called the police. Thanks so much for lying. My Super now thinks I'm a kiddie-snatcher."
"Maybe I did call the police," she said, half agreeing. "It would teach you a blood lesson for what you put me through!"
"What I put you through?!" he returned in astonishment.
"Excuse me!" a voice cut in.
They turned to find Hardy's doctor had returned.
"Mrs. Hardy, you can return to your son. Mr. Hardy, would you step into my office, please?" he said tartly.
Hardy gave Tess one last smouldering look and turned to follow the doctor into his office. He closed the door, feeling embarrassed that anyone had witnessed that and even more so that it had been here, of all places.
"Six-monthly check," the doctor spoke almost to himself as he returned the de-fib to its hook on the wall. He plugged it in to recharge and moved towards his desk. "How have you been?"
"I've been fine," he replied. "I've been jogging most mornings and eating healthily. My wife makes sure I have no excuse there, although I have had the odd bag of chips."
The doctor gave him a sharp stare, one of those you'd expect from a bear from darkest Peru if you'd taken one of his marmalade sandwiches. "As long as it is the odd bag," he said. He reread the previous entries on the screen and stood up, taking out his stethoscope. "The last thing we need is for you to add more problems to what you already have. Jacket off please."
Hardy tugged off his jacket and waited for him to listen to his heart.
"I think it might be a good idea if you have your son checked as well," he spoke as he approached Hardy. "Sleeve."
Hardy frowned in confusion as he watched the doctor record his heart rate on a small piece of paper and return with an armband. Hardy waited for the inevitable tightening around his arm. He wasn't particularly a whimp, but he hated having his blood pressure checked. It was uncomfortable.
"He has probably inherited your problems from you," he continued. "Hate to be blunt, but he's long over due a pace-maker. It was a struggle to get him to stabilise. Even so, and I know you both have frayed nerves, but the waiting room is not the place. You should be supporting each other, not at logger-heads."
"My son has been twice to see you," Hardy reminded the doctor. "He's due another check-up in September. And the woman I was arguing with was my ex wife."
The doctor paused. "Really? Oh. Well, apologies. Even so, you still need a little decorum. Your son needs his parents to be there for him and his needs, and not distracted by squabbling. It doesn't help matters at all."
"Do you mean Ben?"
The doctor lifted his eyebrows. "Of course I mean Ben. He's inherited the same condition you have... Oh my god. You don't know. She hasn't told you, has she?"
"Know what?"
The doctor looked increasingly uncomfortable. "Ben was rushing in last night with acute arrhythmia." He hesitated. "Um, simple question. Is Ben Hardy your son?"
"No."
"Oh. Well, that puts a different slant on things. I am terribly sorry. I assumed because you have the same name and he is your ex-wife's son that he was also your son."
"No," Hardy repeated. "And I'm very annoyed that she's given you that impression. And even more annoyed that she gave him my name."
"So you weren't together when Ben was born?"
"For appearances, but she got pregnant by another man. I never found out who, but I presume it's the man she's with now. I had a paternity test done to prove Ben wasn't mine. I was vindicated. And I didn't enjoy that one bit."
"He looks a lot like you."
"I noticed that when I saw him for the first time since he was two years old, yesterday," Hardy admitted. "But he's not mine."
The doctor looked like he had more to say and wondered if it was his place to say it. He checked the pacemaker's memory and printed it out while he silently debated and decided to say it. "I'd have the test done again, Mr. Hardy," he suggested quietly. "Your heart condition is very rare and only occurs in families with a history of it. Parent and child."
Hardy felt himself flinch involuntarily at the implication, but he was adamant. "He's not my son."
His tone was confidant, but the assurance behind it was beginning to waver.
/=/=/=/=/
Along the hall in the children's ward, in a single-bed room, Ben lay sedated and on a heart monitor. He had an oxygen mask over his face and his Minion tucked in his arm. Bruce gazed disinterestedly at the bed and wandered over to the window to stare out at the sun-baked day. People were out there having fun, while he was stuck in here.
Tess sat in the chair beside the bed, numbed by what had happened. Her son had a bad heart. It had changed everything. Ben would have to be kept calm and not be allowed to run around like other children. He would have to take medication for the rest of his life, or have a pace-maker once he got home. He was too weak to have it done immediately and the local hospital wouldn't do it. Different health authority.
"Is there any family history of heart problems?" the nurse asked.
Tess shook her head, hugging a now cold cup of coffee. "Not on my side. Bruce?"
Bruce had been increasingly edgy about divulging his family's health information. "I told you, it's none of anyone's business!"
"For goodness sake, Bruce," Tess urged him angrily. "Ben could die."
"Leave me out if it!" Bruce forced out.
"What is wrong with you? This is your son!"
Bruce huffed a breath in annoyance and turned away, staring out of the window. He refused to say anything more.
The nurse looked uncomfortable. "We'll need to do more tests," she said.
"Do it, whatever you need to do," Tess urged her.
"We'll need to take bloods to rule out anything else and other causes," the nurse added. "There are three possibilities that might have caused the arrhythmia; undiscovered illness, a heart injury or a defect."
"Please, do anything, everything. Do whatever it takes to find the problem and get Ben well again."
It would take some time for the results to come back. The samples had to be sent to the general. At this point in time, Ben was too ill to be moved.
Daisy read to her brother, having brought his favourite book. He had slipped in and out of consciousness, and she was unsure exactly how much of the story he had heard. He couldn't even roll over, as any sudden movement could trigger another episode.
She didn't take this well at all. After the second heart attack, she sobbed gently. All his life she had looked after him, told him about her dad, probably turned him into a hero figure, but that was what he was to her.
"Is he going to die?" she asked the nurse who came in to check his vitals every few minutes.
"I couldn't say, love," the nurse replied gently. "But we'll do everything we can to make sure he doesn't."
"I need to know," Daisy persisted. "I lost my dad and now I'm going to lose my brother. Aren't I?"
"Daisy, don't talk like that," Tess cut in. "Your dad made his choice. He left. He doesn't care about you. All he ever cared about was work."
"That's not true," Daisy insisted. "You kicked him out."
"Please," the nurse quieted. "Right now, we need a little more focus on Ben. If you can't do that then I'm afraid I'd have to ask you to leave. Either way you've all been up all night. I strongly suggest you go and get some sleep."
/=/=/=/=/
Leaving the ward to return to the hotel, Daisy caught sight of someone she recognised.
"Just need the loo," she called out.
"Daisy!" Bruce grumbled.
"Bruce," Tess quieted. "Do you want us to wait for you, or will you be all right?"
"No, I'll be fine," Daisy assured her. "I'll catch up."
She watched her mum and Bruce vanish out the doors and around the corner and turned back to her dad standing in the corridor. He too had waited for them to leave. She saw his eyes shift to Daisy. She ran to him and hugged him.
His arms wrapped tightly around her. "Daisy, are you all right?"
"Yeah, I'm ok," she assured him. "Oh, god, Chloe was right. You do want to see me, you have wanted to see me."
The mention of Chloe reminded him of the offer, but he did not dare speak of it. "Every day, love." He looked at her carefully and knew she wasn't ok at all. "I'm so sorry I couldn't be there for you."
"Mum said you slept with someone else, but I didn't believe her."
"Good, because I didn't," he replied, but fell short of telling her what really happened.
"What are you doing here? Have you come to see Ben?"
"No, I'm here for a check-up," he told her honestly. He could find no reason to keep the truth from her. "I have a bad heart. I had a pacemaker fitted."
"Ben needs one of those," Daisy replied. "The doctor said it was inherited."
To Hardy's relief she changed the subject
"Why haven't you called?"
"I have, every week, sometimes every day."
"There's nothing on my phone. Are you sure you called the right number?"
Hardy wondered if it was more than his ex was deleting the calls, but he said nothing. "You've grown so tall," he said.
Daisy smiled widely. "I get that from you," she grinned. For the first time in forever she felt safe and relaxed, but it couldn't last. She glanced at the door. "I better go. Or Bruce will kick hell."
"He's controlling."
"That's an understatement. He's nasty. I don't like him at all and neither does Ben. Can't you take us away?"
"I can't do that, Daisy. The court gave custody to your mum."
"But you could fight it. We could be a family again. And Ben could see what a real dad is like, coz Bruce is rubbish."
He sighed. "I can't take Ben."
"Why not?"
He knew this moment would come sooner or later. "He's not my son, Daisy."
Daisy stared at him realising what he wasn't saying. She took a step back from him in shock.
"I wish... I so wanted to believe he was, but the truth is he couldn't havebeen mine."
Daisy gave him one last look and fled. Leaving her father stock still.
ĐĐ
To be continued...