Arthur was no stranger to the challenges of lakeland life. Born and bred on the farm he now ran, inheriting the tenancy when his father died, he knew every inch of every field. He could tell by just a glance up at the hills above the farmhouse whether his flock were alright. He responded instinctively to the changing seasons, sick animals, and the increasing hardship of the financials facing every hilltop farmer. He felt fortunate that he'd fallen for a girl just as committed to working the land as he was. She was from the Dales, mind, but life there was no easier than in the Lakes, not for a farmer at any road. Rosie kept him going through early morning starts, long nights of lambing, and the uncertainty of making ends meet. He regretted they'd not been blessed with children. He worried about who to pass the farm onto, but one of the farm hands he'd taken on seemed to have a thirst for it though and lately he'd wondered whether he could be someone he could mentor and eventually pass the reins over to.

Life was tough, he conceded as he leant on the doorframe of the farmhouse, coffee in hand, staring out over the yard to the lake down below. This business with Bellows wasn't helping, his run-ins with him were getting worse and he knew he could be nasty piece of work. He'd heard the rumours as much as the next man. And he really didn't need that on top of everything else. Draining the mug, he turned to go in. He saw Rosie out of the corner of his eye as she came out of the chicken shed and he smiled. At least she was on his side.


Laura hummed to herself as she put the dinner together. The day's activities had given her quite an appetite and she was relieved they'd had the forethought to bring food with them. Supermarkets and holidays were not a good mix to her mind, and nor was she particularly interested in pub food every night. Finding a cupboard full of games she'd persuaded Robbie that an evening of fine wine and Scrabble were the way forward. He'd grimaced but consented. The wine he could get on board with but he knew he stood no chance whatsoever at beating at her anything involving words. But then nor did he fancy his chances at Monopoly, she'd show him no mercy. He'd try his hand at Cluedo if it hadn't been such a cliché but, as it happened, that one hadn't been an option.

"It's on the table," she called up to him. She sat down as he reached the foot of the stairs. She reached for her napkin, "What were you doing up there anyway, not napping, I hope!"

"Chance would be a fine thing," he joked gruffly. "No, I was just messaging James."

"Robbie, we're supposed to spending time together, not working remotely. Your words, not mine, remember?"

He nodded. "I know, don't worry. He just wanted to know where I'd put some case notes. After all this time he still doesn't understand my filing system."

"Well, if you will file everything under 's' for 'solved' it does make it harder to find things," she teased.

"Ha, very funny!"

They settled down to their meal, chatting and flirting with each other as was their familiar patter, but inevitably their conversation turned to recent events. "The scene was so awful I thought I was going to be sick. Not seen anything that bad for a long time, thank God." He shuddered, recalling the sight of it. "At least there's procedure to fall back on, to pull me through it. And once the bodies are gone, I don't have to see them again. Not really. Scene photographs never really project the full horror of it. It's you that has to revisit it, not me."

She leant back, rubbing her neck subconsciously with one hand, swirling her wine slowly around in her glass with the other. "I don't know, I've gotten pretty good at putting my emotions aside, seeing the body not the person. But I'm damned if I can cope with the fragile body of an innocent three year old lying cold in front of me and not be affected." She looked over at him. "I guess it was a shock to see me like that?"

He thought back to how unemotional she'd been at the house, blood covering the walls, ceiling, every surface really. She'd been methodical and dispassionate in her approach, as the job demanded. Even in the mortuary, piecing it together, explaining the injuries and eventual cause of death, she'd been calm.

He'd worked late that night, really late. A case like that demanded long hours, they both knew it. He'd left the station gone midnight and had been tempted to go and stay at hers but thought better of it. He'd assumed she'd want her own space to rest and process the day, get a good night's sleep. Instead he'd sent her a text saying he'd call in the morning. He'd headed back to his flat but as he parked and looked up at his front door he'd realised how much he wanted her, just the comfort of her being near. He'd sat there a minute and then frowned. Through the window he could see that a lamp was switched on. He was pretty sure he hadn't left it like that, plus he'd not been there for a few days.

"Hello?" he'd called out as he went in. And then he'd seen her, sitting on the edge of the sofa, her arms hugging her knees. "Laura? What are you doing here, love? I thought you'd be tucked up at home in bed?" She'd looked up at him, the streaks of tears all too evident on her face, a box of tissues and a half drunk glass of single malt on the coffee table. He'd gone to her, sat down and put his arm around her.

"I'm sorry. I didn't want to be alone. Silly really. I've dealt with this sort of thing for years on my own but..." she tailed off, stared blankly into space. "But, I don't know, I just couldn't face an empty house. Which is even sillier because it was empty here too." She blew her nose as silent tears rolled down her cheeks once more.

"Nothing silly about it." He'd gently pulled her towards him and grabbing the throw from the back of the sofa wrapped it around them both."No need to be on your own when you don't have to be," he added. The next thing he'd known it was morning, bright sunshine coming in where neither one of them had thought to shut the curtain.

"I'm not sure about it being a shock, but I suppose I've not seen you like that before. You're always so self assured."

She snorted at this. "Am not! I'm just extremely good at pretending. No one wants an insecure and teary pathologist at their crime scene, now do they?"

He chuckled. "Guess not. Although if we're talking about showing emotions, Rawbone is always unhealthily cheerful which he seems to get away with, but saying that he never inspires me with confidence as a result."

She yawned loudly, and seeing his face, covered her yawn and said, "Sorry, I'm listening, promise."

He stacked the plates and carried them through to the kitchen. "I thought I had a bit longer before you realised how dull I am," mostly joking but keen for her to rebuke him. Following him with the large serving dishes and putting them on the counter, she winked. "Oh, I don't know, I quite like dull these days", and ducked as he launched a tea towel at her. "And just for that," pointing a finger at her, "You're drying!"