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Chapter 13

Clara wasn't entirely certain whether she should be grateful or annoyed because, on the one hand, she was touched that John Smith would spend the night on her uncomfortable sofa just to protect her. On the other hand, however, she would rather be alone. After leaving a bowl of water on the floor for Odin, she grabbed the bowls of soup she had prepared and headed back to the living room where the detective was already waiting, stroking his dog's fur absent-mindedly while looking around the room.

"Excuse the mess, DI Smith," Clara said, "but my burglar obviously didn't feel like cleaning up after himself."

John Smith chuckled. "Please, call me John," he told her when she handed him the bowl of soup. "And thank you."

"Alright," she replied as she sank down on the chair across the table. "I think you've earned the first-name basis. After all, you're going to die first if the burglar decides to come back and turns out to be a killer."

Again, he chuckled and Clara thought that the smile suited him. Somehow, it made him look boyish even though he was in his fifties. It made him look friendly, trustworthy. Could she trust him?

The dog plopped down next to the sofa with a sighing sound, obviously content to sleep on any carpet as long as his owner was close by and Clara lowered her gaze, trying to find the right words to thank him.

"I know I said it wasn't necessary for you to stay, but still, thank you," she said quietly. She hated to admit that she was scared and she was, at least a little because, if she was completely honest, she didn't have a single doubt that the burglary was connected to the murder of the unknown woman. Clara just knew it. However, she couldn't quite believe that she was in imminent danger. "I know it's not exactly in your job description to babysit me."

When Clara raised her head again, she found that John was looking at her intently as if he was somehow trying to read her thoughts. Suddenly, it made her feel a little smaller, a little bit more insecure to be under his scrutiny.

"You didn't give off the impression that you actually want me here," he remarked and he sounded a little hurt. "In fact, you're usually quite hostile."

"I'm not hostile!" Clara argued instantly, her voice sharp. When she noticed it, she realised that he might be right, at least partially. After a deep breath, Clara continued. "I'm sorry. It's just… I prefer to be alone, that's all."

"Why?" John asked bluntly.

Clara squinted her eyes at him and the brief fondness she had felt for him earlier when he had laughed evaporated. "You're quite nosy, aren't you?"

To her surprise, he chuckled again, the boyish smile was back. Clara really wasn't sure whether she should like him or not. "That is part of my job description," John explained. "What kind of detective would I be if I didn't ask questions?"

"True, but it makes me feel like I'm a suspect in your investigation," she countered.

He hesitated for a moment too long and it really didn't help the feeling that he was investigating her. But she wasn't actually a suspect, was she? Why would she assume he suspected her of anything?

"Or maybe I'm just trying to get to know my new neighbour?" John suggested after a while. "I mean, I assume you don't have any closets full of skeletons that you would want to hide from the police?"

Clara sighed. He had no idea. "No," she replied. "I don't. I'm just not really a sociable person."

Not knowing what else to say, Clara decided to focus on the bowl of soup she was holding and when she tried it, she realised that it was finally cool enough to eat. John followed her example and for a moment, they ate in silence until Odin started to notice that they were eating. The dog got up again and sat right in front of Clara, giving her puppy dog eyes.

"That's soup, Odin," John reminded his pet. "You won't like it."

"Isn't he hungry?" Clara wanted to know. She would hate for the dog to starve just because John had decided to stay overnight for her protection. "I don't have any dog food."

"It's fine," he reassured her. "I fed him after I got home from work. He just can't help the begging."

Clara smiled at the dog in front of her and ate another spoonful of soup. "Nice try, Odin," she remarked. "But unsuccessful."

They continued to eat and eventually, the dog gave up and lay back down. It took only a minute before he started snoring.

"So, um," John began after a while, "do you want to answer my question?"

When she looked up, Clara thought that John seemed almost shy. He was curious, but somehow, Clara doubted that his curiosity had anything to do with the case. He was interested in her. So Clara inhaled deeply and considered her options. How bad could it be if she told him at least part of her story?

"I'm from London," she started to explain. "And I was tired of it. I mean, I looked out of the window and just saw other buildings and people and cars and when I went out, I couldn't take a step without running into another person."

"So you moved to the loneliest spot you could find?" John enquired.

"It wasn't planned, I just needed a change," Clara said. "I really, really needed one badly. My grandma died a few years ago and she left me some money and I knew she wanted me to use it for a nicer flat or a house, so I started looking for one. I found this."

Some days, Clara wondered if her grandmother would approve. She wondered what her grandmother would say to her now.

"I never wanted to come back," John suddenly admitted, scoffing softly. "I moved to London as soon as I could and I didn't think I'd ever be back on this damned island."

Clara looked at him for a long moment, but John's eyes were fixed on the bowl of soup in his hands. Yet she couldn't shake the feeling that there was something sad about him right now, something lonely and maybe even desperate. It occurred to her that they might have more in common than she had originally thought and Clara decided to throw her doubts overboard. After all, she had let Amy into her life. There was room for one more person, right? There was no harm to that.

"Why did you come back?" she wanted to know.

John looked up, straight at her. "Kate Stewart called me and told me that my father was dying. You know, we didn't have the most intimate relationship, it was nothing that went past the obligatory phone call on Christmas. I had always hoped that one day, I would visit him, that I would bring my wife and children and I would tell him I was a successful detective in London, that his doubts about me had been unfounded," he told her. "I hesitated to come back because I knew I would be a failure in his eyes and when I did get back, it was too late. Now I'm stuck here with his job, his house, and Odin."

She contemplated his words for a long moment and Clara appreciated his honesty even though she wasn't ready to return it, but it meant a lot to her that a virtual stranger would trust her with such a story.

"I'm sorry," she replied simply, not knowing what else to say. "I didn't know your father very well, but I don't think it would have mattered to him that you didn't live up to his expectations."

To her surprise, John started to laugh. "That's the thing, isn't it? I lived up to his expectations. A failure, an average detective, a widower. That's about what he thought I'd be."

"A widower?" Clara couldn't help but ask.

Suddenly, John made a dismissive gesture. "I should just stop giving a shit. He's six feet under and I'm still here and I will redecorate his house in a way that he would absolutely hate and there's nothing he can do about it," he said determinedly and the sudden change of tone made Clara laugh. When was the last time she had laughed? Properly laughed? At last, she had made up her mind. She liked DI John Smith and not just because they had a lot in common.

"That's the spirit," she told him. "He was a Celts fan, wasn't he?"

"Oh, yes," John agreed.

"Mhhh," Clara hummed as she considered something. "How about you put up posters of other football teams? How about Arsenal?"

He laughed at her in response. "I think that might be one of the things that would make him rise from his grave to personally tear them back down."

"Maybe not put up posters then," she suggested, chuckling. Then, she thought of something. "Would you like a beer? Or is that against the no drinking on duty rule?"

In return, John raised his eyebrows at her and like that, they looked quite impressive – or intimidating, depending on whether he used them in a conversation or an interrogation. "You're being surprisingly nice."

Clara chuckled at him. "No, I'd just like a glass of wine and it would be rude not to offer you something as well."

"Well, in that case," John replied, smiling, "I suppose it would be rude to decline? And, strictly speaking, I'm not on duty."

Clara smiled at him in return before she rose from her chair and went back into the kitchen, knowing that it had been the right decision to let him stay. She felt safer with him present and for some reason, it felt good to talk to someone who wasn't Amy. Maybe she should do it more often.