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His house was too damn cold. First it was too damn warm, and now it was too damn cold. Hardy frowned, squinting as he tried to read the numbers of the thermostat in the dark. In the back of his mind, he hoped his inability to read the small device was the darkness’ doing and not his age.
“She’s not a little girl anymore…”
Blinking, he tried to clear his mind. It had been a rough week and his significantly unhealthy sleeping habits weren’t helping his inner state of peace. Funny, how dreaming about drowning in a river didn’t entice a pleasant feeling after a 12 hour day.
His shirt clung to his back uncomfortably as he navigated his way through the dark house. He ran a hand through his hair, still damp, pushing it back from his forehead and turned on a lamp, dimly lighting the living room. He grimaced at the state of it.
Old plates and mugs were still sitting out, unwashed, and an ungodly amount of unfinished paperwork was splayed out on various surfaces, still in the same place he’d left them just hours earlier. Fantastic . Another mess he had yet to clean up. Not to mention, he still hadn’t completely unpacked. He still hadn’t completely moved in. Maybe he didn’t want to.
Bending over, he moved to grab the dishes, simply moving them to the kitchenette. He’d wash them in the morning.
Later , in the morning, that is.
This hardly counted as the morning. Morning wasn’t until his cell alarm went off, and it wasn’t due for another three hours. Morning wasn’t until he left for work. And on a good day, morning wasn’t until he’d had himself some breakfast, maybe tea and toast, perhaps even egg if he were taking Miller’s advise.
Moving back into the living, he ordered the flyabout papers into a neat stack in no particular order. Right now it was about making the place look tolerable to live in rather than making everything functionally organized. If he keeled over now, in this moment he’d at least die in a somewhat presentable manner.
Then he frowned.
“Don’t you dare die on me, Hardy...”
Not today. He promised.
Although, he let himself wonder, just for a second, who he was making that promise to, only to close his eyes, trying to not lose himself in his thoughts. But it was hard.
He hadn’t imagined he’d be back in Broadchurch. Nor did the people. It was difficult to take no notice of the inadvertent, curt gazes he was met with while doing the shopping or the walk to work. It was no surprise to him that Miller had left.
At least the press wasn’t still sniffing around. He had seen Miller’s nephew just once, and a good glare was enough to keep him away. Additionally, the editor of the Echo seemed to pay no unnecessary interest in his personal life, thank God.
In fact, the only meaningful interaction he had had since his return was with Beth. He had stopped by the first week he had returned, updating her on the trial. Or rather, clarifying that there was nothing he could do from here on out. He’d done all that he could do within his jurisdiction. He was nothing but a screw in a messed up system. He, of course, didn’t say that, but allowed Beth some reassurance that things would be moving on forward with the case.
But he pushed those thoughts to the side, not quite wanting to revisit the events of his most recent cases. Continuing his 2 am cleaning spree, he cleared the surface of one of the moving boxes which was previously being used as a table stand at the end of the sofa. He cleared the top and popped the lid open to see what was left inside. It couldn't have been too important. All of the things he needed were already being put to use.
To his surprise, it was much emptier than expected, and it was half a surprise that the box had not caved in after. Thick black cords and other heavy instruments sat at the top, along with a small camcorder. He rummaged through the box, pulling out a black tape. Old tapes that still had peeking tape with scratchy bold dates on them. To the side, small discs with the same bold handwriting, marked into thin sheets of clouding plastic that covered them.
He laughed to himself at a silent joke his daughter would probably tell him. "What even is this? I thought these only exist in museums."
Contemplating on whether he wanted to spend the time fidgeting with the power toggle switch of the dusty device, finding batteries, and aimlessly trying different cables until something worked, he decided pushing the technical pieces aside for now would lead to the least frustration. Instead, he dug around and pulled out the one of the cased discs that looked to be in the best condition. What could he say other than he was curious? He turned on the tv and slid it in, listening to it humm as he pressed play. The television made a click! as the screen swelled with the bright pixels of autumn.
He remembered this. The giggling, the smiles, the peace.
The girl in the frame, no older than four, gave a bright smile as the camera clumsily zoomed in closer. She was slightly out of focus and there was a moment of shaking before the pictures became clear. The girl twirled around, her hair splayed as golden beams of sunlight scattered through the strands. Small, white petals floated to the ground as the girl continued to spin with her dainty hands up in the air, grasping onto a white and green chain. When she stopped, she puffed out her chest, proudly displaying a similar necklace strung together around her neck. The camera zoomed out and a man stepped into the frame.
“You really have to film this?” It came out more as a quiet mumble, not meant for the camera to hear.
“It’s absolutely necessary, right Daze?”
Daisy twirled around, smiling. “It's necess- necessary!"
"Show dad what you have."
The camera zoomed in.
“Oh! It’s beautiful,” he said. “You made this?”
“All by myself!” the little girl said proudly.
Hardy smiled, reminiscing in the fond memory.
The girl pulled on his shirt, causing him to kneel down closer, bowing his head as the girl strung the second chain around his neck.
“It’s a daisy chain!” she said gleefully. “So you’ll remember me while you’re at work. And mummy gets one too!”
The camera dipped down as the girl waddled over, closer to the camera. Her face filled the screen showing all the little freckles dotted around her nose.
When the camera steadied, the man came back in frame and scooped the little girl up in his arms. She giggled with joy as she was propped up on his shoulders.
“It’s perfect, Daize,” he said smiling.
As far as Hardy was concerned, that day was perfect. He stirred and turned the TV off, wondering what Daisy was up to now.
Daisy’s okay. She’s with her mum. Nothing to worry about. She’s happy.
That's all that mattered.
He could find happiness here. Maybe not now, but it would come when he'd earned it.
For now, he was content, sticking all the old memories back in the box and packing the box into the living room closet. He'd be content knowing good memories were close.