Chapter Text
In Fair Oxfordshire Where We Set Our Scene
Morse never liked these events at the best of times. To him a charity garden party was simply a way for the homeowner to show off what they had and for everyone else to beg for handouts while drinking tea and eating cake. He hoped with every fibre of his being that he wouldn’t have to explain how he knew the owner.
The fact that he was in uniform just made it all the more mortifying. Why Mr Bright needed them all here was beyond him, there was only Jim who seemed to enjoy these things and he looked to be having a lovely chat with Miss Thursday by one of the stalls.
Morse suppressed the old sting of jealousy; Jim was a good man and a steady one. Joan deserved a good man. She deserved someone better than him, a borderline alcoholic with no off switch when it comes to work and who was seemingly incapable of handling emotional situations in a healthy manner. He just wished he could overcome his past and at least be completely honest with her even if it was only as a friend.
To avoid thinking any more about it, Morse falls back to his argument with Inspector Thursday. The same argument they’d been having almost every day since Mr Bright had given them all their tasks for the event a week earlier.
“Why did I have to be the only one in uniform!?”
“Because other than Mr Bright you’re the only one with a uniform that fits. Now let it go and do your job!”
“I never even wanted to be here! Surely a regular PC would have done? They might even have enjoyed it.”
“If you’d have stayed at the retreat for another two weeks like you were supposed to then you wouldn’t be here would you?”
Ah, that old chestnut. Morse knew he should probably just tell Thursday why he left the retreat two weeks early, but his pride just wouldn’t allow it. His skin may have gotten thicker over the last 8 years but there was still only so much mockery and humiliation he could take. He’d gotten the point and was making an effort to keep his drinking to a minimum, but he couldn’t deny that a glass of nice strong scotch at night kept the remaining nightmares at bay enough for him to function. He wasn’t drinking in the day anymore and certainly not on the job but obviously, that wasn’t enough for his guvnor.
For now, he settled for an irritated sigh before they separated; Thursday going off to find Win who was probably looking at cakes, it was a miracle he’d even gotten her out of the house, and Morse starting to wander aimlessly, ‘demonstrating a strong and steady presence’ as Mr Bright put it.
Over by the homemade jewellery stall, Jim Strange was happily chatting to Joan Thursday about their night in London, after all, who doesn’t love the Carpenters? Except for Morse who seems to be allergic to anything even remotely mainstream. Speaking of Morse, Jim catches sight of what looks like a slightly tense exchange between him and Thursday before Mr Bright’s ‘strong and steady presence’ wanders off looking more…sad and lonely.
Jim may not have Morse’s brain, but he wasn’t daft, he knew the brilliant detective had feelings for Joan. How anyone didn’t know was a mystery. He also knew that right now he was being kindly but firmly friend-zoned, and he didn’t mind at all. Joan Thursday was a bright, independent woman who needed more of a challenge in life than Jim could ever provide. Morse, however, well, as far as he could see the two of them were, not exactly perfect for each other but certainly a challenge that the other was looking for and Jim was thoroughly prepared to play wingman.
“Why have you and Morse never given it a go?”
Joan’s friendly smile morphs into more of a deer in the headlights look as he blurts out the question in response to her too casual to be casual comment about her friend Charlotte.
“What!?”
“Well, it obvious to anyone who’s ever been in a room with you two that there’s always been something between you so…why not give it a go?”
Joan stutters for a second as she tries to process the question before sighing and giving a small, sad smile.
“We’ve had so many chances. Too many chances. We just…kept missing each other. Things kept getting in the way so…I closed the door on it I suppose.”
Jim huffed a laugh, glancing in Morse’s direction again. He could guess at one of those ‘things’ being work. Lord knows Morse never knew when to stop but then, he never had a reason to stop. These two definitely needed their heads knocking together.
“Maybe all those chances were a hint to pull yourselves together. Look, Joanie, I know Morse, I lived with him for a year and…he’s damned hard work but I don’t think he had the best start in life. I think he’s been burned in the past and…well…if you want to give it a go then you’ll have to make the move coz he never will. Not for anything real anyway. Probably for some dramatic, noble reason. Just think about it? Maybe talk it through with him, put your cards on the table. I think you’ll both regret it if you don’t. You’ll always wonder.”
Joan follows his gaze and fixes her eyes on Morse, a thoughtful frown on her beautiful face that soon becomes a mask of determination. She looks back to Jim and gives him a small nod as she slowly makes her way into the crowd. That’s good enough for him. He’s done his part, now to find a decent drink and watch the cards fall into place.
Morse is starting to wonder how long it would take anyone to notice if he just…left. He ran out of fake smiles two hours ago and if one more person mentions golf he might find himself offending one of Mr Bright’s oh so lovely associates…or crying. He genuinely didn’t know which one would be worse.
He hears someone step up behind him and prepares to bite back his full range of sarcastic comments as he turns to find himself face to face with Miss Thursday and thrown for a loop. She’s looking at him with her mischievous smile that he never quite knows what to do with, but he can’t help answering it with a smile of his own. The first genuine one of the day.
“Oh! Hello.”
“Hello, Sergeant. Don’t you look dashing, I’ve always liked a man in uniform.”
He looks down at himself and finds himself blushing. He’s never been comfortable in a uniform; they make him feel even more out of place than normal which was saying quite a bit.
“Do I? I wasn’t given much choice in the matter. Mr Bright wanted someone other than him to be trussed up. Sends some sort of message apparently.”
Her laugh was like music to his ears, he could stand there and listen to it all day even if she was laughing at him rather than with him.
“Haha! It’s a good thing he chose you then!. I can’t imagine Jim in uniform and dad would just look ridiculous.”
“Ha. Well, when you put it like that.”
The look they give each other at that moment, the one that has become so familiar over the years, is all it takes for the flame between them to spark back into life, giving them both a welcome spark of warmth and hope. Morse is suddenly struck with the thought to ask her if she wanted to join him for coffee before his day starts to take a spectacular nosedive.
“Hello, stranger!”
“Joyce!?”
He spins around on the spot and sure enough, there is his sister looking at him with that fond smile she keeps just for him. He would be thrilled to see her if not for his stepmother and some new fellow, who he assumed to be the mysterious fiancé she still hadn’t officially told him about, appearing by her side. He’s never been a huge fan of surprises and now he’s just glancing between Joan and his sister in a slight state of shock.
“Wh…what are you doing here?”
Gwen huffs at that, no doubt thinking he’s being rude or ungrateful, her usual go-to whenever he says something she doesn’t like. He still hasn’t forgotten their last encounter in his living room and has no idea what to say to her, so he says nothing and refuses to even look at her.
Joyce also chooses to ignore her mother, keeping the smile on her face as she grabs her fiancés (???) hand.
“You mentioned this thing in your last letter, the first one in a year by the way, so I thought I’d surprise you. I was coming up to see mum anyway and wanted to introduce you. This is my fiancé. Keith Garrett.”
“Right. Hello.”
Morse ignores the comment about his lack of contact and gives the man a once over as he shakes his hand, he is apparently marrying his little sister after all and is pleased to note that he doesn’t look like a criminal and if the look he has on his face is anything to go by; he thinks a whole lot of Joyce.
He doesn’t get any further than hello before Mr and Mrs Thursday come looking for Joan and Jim comes looking for…something. Morse has the odd feeling of being surrounded to the point of being claustrophobic before a voice behind him chimes up to make him feel as though he’s living several of his nightmares at once.
“Morse? I didn’t think detectives wore uniforms. Or have you upset someone further up the ladder again?”
Morse looks up to the sky in silent prayer before he addresses the newcomer.
“Hello, Caroline.”
He glances at her and christ, does that woman ever look happy? She’s looking at him with her typical look of smug superiority and raises an expectant eyebrow.
“Aren’t you going to make introductions? Isn’t that why you’re here?”
It wasn’t actually but he knew better than to argue. Looking at the group around him he saw various looks of curiosity and confusion, poor Keith looked as bewildered as Morse felt and so he decided to just introduce all of them to each other in one go, gesturing to each in turn.
“Of course. This is my colleague Detective Sergeant Jim Strange, my boss Detective Chief Inspector Thursday, his wife Mrs Thursday and their daughter Joan, my stepmother Gwen, my sister Joyce and her fiancé Keith Garrett.”
He pauses to take a breath before gesturing to Caroline. He can’t remember the last time he felt so awkward.
“This is Caroline Bryce-Morgan. Our hostess.”
That raises some eyebrows. Morse finds himself hoping that there would be some simple platitudes exchanged and egos stoked and then his ordeal would be over but when was his life ever that simple.
It’s Inspector Thursday that starts it, leaving Morse with a slight and mostly irrational feeling of betrayal as he glances between Caroline and Morse before asking a seemingly simple question.
“You two have met before then have you?”
Morse would have tried to brush it off, keep it simple but Caroline had other ideas or maybe it had been her plan all along to come and ruin his day as if it hadn’t been already.
“Oh yes. Morse here used to be engaged to my daughter when they were students. Of course, she saw sense after a year or so, got tired of her little rebellion and came back to Henry, her husband. He’s an Oxford Don now, they’re living and teaching in America. They’ve made such a success of it.”
Morse looks at the ground and feels his face burning, grateful for the first time for the hat which keeps him partially hidden. How typical of her to not just stick the knife in but twist it as well and of course, Gwen had to join in on that, it had been one of her favourite things since he was a child.
“I thought I recognised the name!”, she gives Morse a look of gleeful disdain, “Trust you to be such a predictable disappointment that she ran back to her ex. Forgot to mention that bit at the time did you?”
Morse doesn’t know where to look. Embarrassment, fury and hurt flood his veins like wildfire as his eyes unconsciously seek out Joan’s in the small crowd. The sight of tears in them adds the weight of horror and guilt and he feels himself inwardly collapsing under the mounting pressure.
Joan clears her throat and determinedly keeps the tears at bay as she fights to get her words out. She can see the torment in Morse’s eyes, but her hurt is too sharp to pay it any mind.
“Fiancé? Well, I guess that would explain a few things. I never stood a chance did I?”
“What!? No! I…”
But she turns and flees before Morse can even try to explain. Mrs Thursday makes to go after her daughter but not before getting her shot in.
“Is that it then? Is that what’s stopped you all these years? Is our Joan not good enough for you? I had thought better of you Sergeant.”
If looks could kill then the look that Fred Thursday throws in his bagman’s direction would have killed him several times over and just like that, the Thursdays are gone, and Morse can’t breathe. He feels his eyes burning and is moving without thinking, walking away from the group without a word. Joyce’s voice calling after him is distorted, as though he’s hearing her from underwater.
“Wait! Don’t go, please! Please! We’re staying at the Head of the River hotel! If you need me!”
He doesn’t trust himself to call back so merely raises a hand, keeping his back to them as he marches to the trusty black Jag waiting for him in the driveway.
Morse keeps his eyes fixed forward as he speeds away from the estate, trying to furiously blink the tears away without letting them fall. Intrusive thoughts start to fill his mind, a craving for whisky and beer pulling at him to drown it out, drown out the pain, drown out the memories. He lets out a frustrated cry and decides to head back to the station. He’s wearing a uniform; he may as well use it.
He can’t know that it would be both one of the best and worst decisions he’s ever made.