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Daisy hadn’t really missed her dad much when he’d left.
They liked to keep her out of it; the detective work, it was grueling at times, and it wasn’t exactly hard to parse out that the Sandbrook case was a monstrosity of a thing. Her parents, especially her dad, were prone to getting caught up in the casework, but it was almost as if this one had taken over their lives. Daisy felt simultaneously like she’d been put on the back burner, and also like she was suddenly the most important part of her parent’s lives.
Her dad would never tell her details; even if she insisted she was old enough, he would never crack. He wasn’t meant to share the specifics, anyway, but she knew it wasn’t about that. She knew there was more to it. She didn’t know what it was, but while they worked Sandbrook, there was something terribly haunted in his eyes when he looked at her. She almost didn’t want to ask, even though it made her curious.
Even though they liked to keep her out of it, she still saw things, and she heard what happened in the end. And at the end of Sandbrook, it hadn’t just been an announcement to the press and a closed case. It had seeped into their home, and snipped away at a few crucial threads that held it together.
The case had been lost, that much had been obvious, but her parents wouldn’t tell her anything beyond that. Nevertheless, there was a terrible tension that had trickled in; neither one of them would acknowledge it while she was in the room, which frustrated her to no end. Her parents hardly spoke throughout the trial, and her dad had started sleeping on the couch, and it didn’t matter how she approached it, neither of them would tell her what had happened, so she went looking for information herself.
The article in The Daily Herald had been a difficult read. Thinking back on it, she shouldn’t have read it at school, but it had at least allowed her the opportunity to print it out and be dramatic about it.
She’d dropped it on the coffee table right in front of her dad. “Is this true?”
His eyes hadn’t even lingered on it for a second before he’d looked away. “Daisy—”
“Is it?!” she’d insisted, and her throat had burned from holding back tears.
All he’d done was bury his face in his hands. “Why’d you print that out?”
“Did you lose evidence for your case because you were cheating on mum?” Daisy had asked, and the tears had finally leaked out.
He hadn’t said anything; nothing at all. He’d just sat there on the couch, not looking at her, until she’d stormed out of the room.
The case fell apart during the trial, Daisy knew that much. And not five minutes after they’d finished up with that, her mum had sat her down to have the talk about the divorce. Compared to the case, that felt like it only lasted five minutes. It was like her dad knew what he’d done, and he just wanted to rip the bandaid off. Daisy hadn’t had any objections to it; she had decided she wasn’t on speaking terms with him. Luckly, he hadn’t pushed it.
The divorce had been finalized, and then he hadn’t just moved out, he’d moved away.
She hadn’t known where he’d gone, and she hadn’t had the energy to ask. Her mum never wanted to linger on the subject too long, anyway.
“We’re going to get through it,” she told Daisy over and over again. “We’re strong girls, and we’re going to get through it.” And Daisy would nod and go up to her room and cry and cry and cry.
Her dad called her often in the beginning. She never answered. And then his calls became less and less frequent, and it almost made her sad, but she still wouldn’t listen to his voicemails. She also wouldn’t delete them.
There was also the fact that she had a Google alert on his name. She didn’t tell her mum about it, because she knew she’d tell her to take it off. What her dad was up to now wasn’t any of her business. Her mum seemed quite convinced he was going to step away from the detective work, anyway.
Mentions of his name online were sparse, and then there were dozens all at once. Daisy only skimmed one or two articles; she got the gist, and she didn’t need to read about child murder in depth. She did catch a glimpse of a photo of her dad, though, and he looked like he hadn’t shaved in ages. It kind of made her laugh, but it also kind of made her sad.
The notifications would increase sometimes, then decrease for a few weeks, and then increase again. It seemed she was following the case whether she liked it or not. She hadn’t mentioned it to her mum at all, because it almost felt like something she shouldn’t be looking at.
Almost two months after she’d started following the case, she’d gotten a notification for something that wasn’t related to it at all. From the Broadchurch Echo, something about the truth surrounding the Sandbrook case, and apparently he’d sat down and actually spoken about it himself.
She already knew the story, and she told herself that, even as she’d clicked on the article as fast as she could.
It was the same story; the pendant in the car, the affair at the hotel, the breakin, the robbery; it was all there. But—
My D.S. was taking the bagged evidence back to HQ—
She was having an affair with one of the other D.S.'s on the team. She thought she'd celebrate—
She— she? Daisy read and reread his statement a dozen more times, unable to wrap her head around it, before she’d finally scrolled down to the rest of the article.
Detective Inspector Hardy stated that he took the blame for the mishandling of evidence and the affair at the hotel, because it happened on his watch. He confessed he felt responsible for what had happened, and took the blame in the resulting media storm to protect the reputation and family of the D.S. involved, who will remain unnamed.
Daisy had shut her laptop and sat on her bed in silence for ages. She had the whole thing backwards— everyone had the whole thing backwards, and he’d done it that way on purpose. And her mum hadn’t even acknowledged it.
She’d pulled her phone out and played the most recent voicemail in her inbox.
“Hey, it's me. Just checkin’ in with your voicemail, as usual. If you get a chance, give me a call. It's been a long time. I mean, I know... I know you're busy with school and home and… all the other things you do, but… I do think about you. Every day. Sorry. Not gettin’ soppy. Sorry. You had my word on that. Um… We could do video call, couldn't we? I'd like that. You could be my first video call. Before you forget what I look like. Right, well, that's me. This is Dad signin’ off. I love you, darlin’. Please give me a ring.”
Before she’d even put any proper thought into it, she’d dialed his number and rang him back.
He’d picked up on the second ring. “Daisy? Is everythin’ okay?”
It had startled her back into the real world. “Oh,” she’d said. “I wasn’t expecting you to answer.”
“It’s eleven o’clock, are you alright?” he’d asked.
“Yeah,” Daisy had told him. “It’s— just— been a long time. I wanted to talk to you.”
There’d been a beat of silence from his end. “How’s, er… school?”
Daisy had sat there for a moment, and then she’d burst out laughing, and she’d been fairly certain she could hear him doing the same on the other end of the line. Once she’d calmed down from that, and he’s apologized for not knowing what to talk about, she’d told him she would happily teach him how to video call, but they’d have to do it during the day time. Then they’d said I love you and goodnight, and she’d hung up the phone.
Her mum had knocked on her door not long after. “Who was that?” she’d asked, a curious smile on her face.
Daisy had hesitated, suddenly worried she’d get into trouble. “Dad.”
“Oh,” her mum had said, looking surprised. “Why?”
“Because I miss him,” Daisy had snapped.
Her mum had seemed a bit startled by that. She’d bid her goodnight and left without saying anything else.
Daisy had kept the Google alerts on her dad’s name turned on all the way through the arrest of Danny Latimer’s killer, and then she’d continued following it throughout the trial. She never mentioned any of that to her dad, though; whenever they talked, she acted like she’d never heard of the case. She pretended she didn’t know anything about it, and he never brought it up, and he was obviously relieved by the opportunity to have a conversation that wasn’t about a dead boy.
“Your dad’s in town,” her mum had said one night, and she hadn’t sounded thrilled about it. “He wants to know if you want to go for dinner.”
“Yes!” Daisy had said immediately, and then she’d spent all weekend looking forward to it.
Work hadn’t come up at dinner, aside from the man who’d come in to chew her dad out and dole out vague threats. Beyond that, the dinner had gone well, Daisy had actually been upset when it was over. She’d realized rather suddenly how much she’d missed her dad.
She hadn’t seen him again until he’d moved back for good. Or, for what was thought to be good. It was for good for about two years, and it probably would have stayed that way, had it not been for Daisy’s attempt at an honest conversation with her mum.
Hardy had actually been in bed at a normal time, and he’d almost been asleep, when someone had knocked on his door. He’d laid there for a moment, hoping whoever it was would go away, but then the knocking had continued and wouldn’t stop, so he’d dragged himself out of bed.
Any frustration evaporates when he opens the door, which reveals Daisy standing on the other side of the threshold bawling her eyes out.
He starts at the sight, not entirely sure what to say, but he does quickly open the door wider to pull her inside.
“Daisy,” he says, ushering her in and shutting the door behind her. “What’s the matter?”
She doesn't answer, nor does she stop crying; if anything, she starts crying harder, leaning into her dad and basically forcing him to give her a hug. He accepts, albeit awkwardly, and holds her there for several moments before insisting they at least go sit down.
“What’re you doin’ out this late?” he asks, sitting her down on the couch. “What’s wrong?”
Daisy wipes furiously at her face, almost like she’s embarrassed to be crying. “I— I made mum mad. I— I wanted to— I mean— I need to stay with you. Tonight. If that’s okay?”
“Of course,” Hardy says, sitting down next to her. “What’s mum mad about that’s got you this worked up?”
The question brings on a new wave of sobbing, and he has to wait for her to calm down again. In the meantime, he reaches out and rubs the space between her shoulders, unsure of what else he can do to comfort her. He stays quiet until she starts to calm down again.
“Daisy,” he says, his voice gentle. “Darlin’, tell me what’s makin’ you upset.”
She shakes her head. “I can’t.”
He frowns. “Of course you can.”
“You’ll get mad, too,” she insists.
He stares at her for a moment. “Dais, have you killed someone?”
“No!” she exclaims, halfway through a sob.
“Has someone been hurt?” he asks, and she shakes her head. “Have you been doin’ drugs?”
“No,” she says again, her voice hoarse from all the crying.
“Then whatever it is, I won’t be mad,” Hardy assures her. “You can tell me anythin’, I won’t be mad.”
Daisy covers her face with her hands and sits on the edge of the couch, practically shaking with the force of her sobs. It rips Hardy’s half in two, seeing her in so much distress and not knowing what he can do to fix it. He waits in silence, though, unwilling to push her, since she’s clearly having trouble with whatever it is.
Finally, she sits up, wiping her face. She shudders with one last sob before looking at him, miserable and slightly terrified. “I’m a lesbian.”
He blinks at her. “Why would I be mad about that?”
She looks at him incredulously, and he realizes that must not have been the right thing to say. “I just mean—?! Okay?! I don’t— I would never be mad about that, darlin’, that’s just— that’s fine?”
She sniffs, staring at him; there are still tears streaking down her face, but the sobs have subsided, which he hopes is a good sign. “You’re really not mad…?”
“Of course not,” he says seriously. “I would never— sweetheart, I love you more than anythin’, nothin’ could change that.”
She looks down, wiping her face again, clearly trying to calm herself down now. “… Thanks for not, er… shouting.”
“… You’re welcome?” Hardy says, not sure if it’s the right answer. It gets a smile out of her, though, which he considers a win.
There’s a long lapse of silence.
“You didn’t have an affair during the Gillespie case, did you?” Daisy asks suddenly.
Hardy goes still, not expecting the question. He doesn’t respond.
“I read the article in The Broadchurch Echo,” Daisy admits. “I followed the whole case with Danny Latimer, but I have that article bookmarked. The ones from before— they said it was you. You said it was you. But it was mum, wasn’t it?”
Hardy hesitates. “Dais, I really don’t…”
“Why did you lie?” Daisy asks. “Why did you want to save her reputation? She cheated on you.”
“It wasn’t just about that,” he insists. “I didn’t want you— I never wanted you gettin’ involved with this. I didn’t want you thinkin’ of your mother like that.”
“So I should think of you like that, instead?” Daisy asks, frustrated now. “She’s the one who was in the wrong! I should have been mad at her! I’m mad at her now!”
“It’s complicated, Dais, it’s just— it’s hard to explain,” Hardy tells her. “And it doesn’t matter anymore.”
“I think it matters a lot, considering you’re the parent I’d rather live with!” Daisy says.
Hardy stares at her, unsure how to respond. She shifts awkwardly, looking away. “Besides, I don’t think mum… wants me living with her anymore, anyways.”
The thought makes his blood boil, but he tries to shove it to the side for now. “Listen, Dais, I’d be happy to, but— you should know, I’m… not gonna be here for much longer.”
She looks back at him. “Where are you going?”
He sighs. “I… I got offered my old position in Broadchurch. I’m movin’ back.”
“Oh…”
“It’s not that I don’t want you to stay with me,” he adds quickly. “I’d be happy to have you come with me, if you wanted to come to Broadchurch, but if you want to stay here…”
Daisy hesitates. “I don’t think I can.”
Hardy nods slowly. “I’ll get the custody details sorted,” he tells her. “For now, you should get in bed.”
Daisy nods. “Can I have a blanket?”
“Oh, no, you’re not sleepin’ here,” he amends quickly, standing up. “You’ll sleep in my room, I’ll take the couch.”
Daisy tries to protest, but he shuts her down. “It’s my flat, I say who sleeps where, and you’re sleepin’ in the bed.”
He bids her goodnight with a kiss on the forehead and a promise that she’ll feel better in the morning. She gets into bed wondering how she ever lived without this.