FIVE
'—hear it's hereditary, you know. Should be keeping an eye on them boys, shouldn't they?'
'And if it isn't abuse to leave the little one with her and all—'
Ellie shrinks on the seat, head bowed over cup, wishing she could huddle even more into her jacket. They're in a dusty tearoom today. A glance down at Fred makes her stomach clench. He doesn't know what they're saying, but she does.
They say a lot of things: that she knew; had known all along; had encouraged it …
She's not sure they aren't wrong.
You're only ever three disasters from homelessness—that's another thing she's heard. She's well past that point.
Danny … Joe … Career … Family … Friends …
Kids.
She waits until the buttoned up old ladies have squeezed past the buggy before she seeks refuge with Fred in the restroom.
Mercifully, it's empty.
She's never felt fear like this. Not once on the job.
Water gushes from the tap, splashing the mirror. Ellie catches the look in her reflection's eyes. They're flat and empty and darkly ringed. Not full of pain or rage, or confusion or rejection, or shame or guilt.
She's been tired for weeks. Ever since her first day back at work from Florida, actually. Long hours at the office away from her family. The hunt for Danny's killer had swallowed up summer. Swallowed up her. Her family. And then he had handed himself in … no wonder there's nothing left in her eyes.
Fred starts fretting, so she scoops him into her arms and holds him against her, breathing in the scent of his curls.
Hereditary.
She hugs him closer.
She just doesn't know what to believe. She doesn't know what to trust. She knows for sure she can't trust herself.
There are much, much worse things to lose than tears.
'Mummy goes.' Fred has soft hands. Sentences are a work in progress, but the impish, milk tooth grin he offers her and the fingers he plants on her cheeks make it impossible to not reply with a forced smile.
A forced smile. That's not good enough. She has to be much, much better than this.
'Where's Mummy going?' she asks, scrunching up her face. 'Here she is.'
He giggles when she gives him her best bugs eyes.
'Here she is.'
Here she is.
'Here I am.'
And for however long they need her, she'll be here for Tom and Fred. She tidies Fred back into the buggy and takes a final look in the mirror.
The first thing she will do is cry.
Because why the fuck shouldn't she? Because that's what she bloody does.
Then she will rip up that letter, she will buy a new suit (there are some left at the house but they'd hang off her now), and she will fight to get back to doing what she thinks she was actually starting to get the hang of.
She can still do her job. She exits the restroom and shakes a little at an additional thought: can she still do her job here? One step at a time, she warns herself. This is her town, and she's loved her life here, but she won't inflict herself on it.
And if not, who says she can't take it up somewhere else?
Like it or not, she's learned some things.
Knowing what she knows now, she wonders how she might have handled Danny's case if …
Wishing is for dreamers and Ellie has never been a dreamer.
Ellie does. Ellie sees. She plans and prepares. Ellie feels and fights.
There will be a trial and it won't be straightforward.
Joe might get life; maybe the jury will stumble on murderous intent; he might bloody get off, confession and all—if the jury hears a slick defence.
It's going to be ugly. Brutal. Truths she never knew she had any reason to fear or be ashamed of are going to be exposed.
She'll live if they brand her Britain's worst detective (she's had a taste of how the national media pack work—there's no way she's coming out of this unscathed); but if they come after her for anything else … she'll have to be ready.
Because if she doesn't fight for herself, for her kids, no one else will.
Her breath and her heart catch on the way out. She puts a hand to an eye and wipes. And feels stronger already.
The End