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It was getting late, but Alec Hardy was still awake and showing no signs of turning in. Instead he was spending his evening pacing around his living room, with the occasional trip to his kitchen for no other purpose than a change of scenery. It did nothing to calm his nerves, but it gave him the illusion of progress. Enough to stop him losing the plot at least.
He glanced at his phone. The screen was blank so he jabbed at the keypad to check he hadn’t missed a message since he’d last checked thirty seconds ago.
His homescreen showed he had no new messages.
Hardy scowled and tossed the phone onto his coffee table.
It landed on its front and he hastily flipped it over.
Several miles away, in Broadchurch, Miller was telling Beth they had starting seeing each other. It was the sort of small town politics that frustrated him to the core. The entire country could hate their relationship for all he cared. He’d still want to be with her, the slings and arrows be damned. It wouldn’t exactly be a new experience for him.
On the whole, he suspected Miller felt the same with only one exception - Beth.
Their friendship was still healing after the excruciating year they’d been through. After the accusations that were thrown about in court, the revelation that they were now together could be one blow too many.
For weeks they had kept their fledgling relationship quiet, something that Hardy considered a bloody miracle. Knowing their history, their luck was running out and it was only a matter of time before the town found out courtesy of one of its many busybodies. Miller had been adamant that she would tell Beth before that happened. After everything, she said she owed her that much.
Miles away and powerless to help, Hardy waited to hear how the news had been received. He knew that, with her children having no issue with him being in their lives, the only thing that could make Miller reconsider their relationship was Beth’s reaction. If she didn’t believe Miller and suspected they’d lied, jeopardising the trial, there was a very real possibility that Miller would choose her over him.
Of course, even if all went well, there were still a thousand ways he could screw up their relationship himself. He was still listing them when his phone finally rang.
Startled, he nearly dropped the phone as he answered the call. “What?”
“What colour are your…. fucking… eyes?”
It was Miller’s voice. It was Miller’s number. It just wasn’t the opening topic of conversation that he had expected.
“What?”
“What colour are your eyes?” she repeated as though it was a standard greeting.
“Brown.”
Hardy held the phone away from his ear as Miller’s shout of laughter threatened to burst his eardrum.
“Told you!”
There was the sound of the phone being dropped, followed by someone swearing and then muffled voices. Hardy waited patiently for an explanation, but it sounded like Miller had found someone else to talk to.
“Miller, what-?”
“He still calls you Miller?” Beth’s voice interrupted him.
“It’s her name!” Hardy doubted his valid reasoning was heard over the laughter from the other end. He could only make out two voices, but they were making enough noise to make him fear they would blow the tiny speaker in his mobile.
“Beth reckoned I didn’t know what colour eyes you have, but I knew,” Ellie told him, the pride evident in her slurred word. “I ffffucking knew.”
Rubbing his eyes, Hardy sank back into his sofa. “Have you been drinking?” he asked more out of amusement that curiosity.
“Why would you assume? Why?” Miller replied, scandalised. He might have been worried he’d overstepped had he not heard the telltale clink of wine bottles in the background. “You know what assuming does? Makes you a knob.”
“True! Very-” Beth lapsed into giggles. “Science said so.”
“Right.”
Hardy glanced at his watch. He’d stayed up until gone midnight, worried sick his fragile new lease of life was about to collapse despite having done nothing wrong. Meanwhile, Miller had been getting pissed.
In his experience, there was no point confronting drunk people. As he was about to tell Miller he would speak to her in the morning, she spoke again.
“Brown eyes. Like I said.”
Beth sighed dramatically. “Fine. Still a miserable wanker.”
“Yeah,” Miller scoffed, “but miserable wanker with brown eyes. Really, really nice brown eyes. Beautiful brown eyes.”
Hardy’s reportedly beautiful brown eyes widened. The giggles from the phone faded into the background as a realisation forced its way into his tired brain.
Miller was with Beth, drinking and giggling about him.
The thought of what was being discussed made him queasy, but the two women were talking. Laughing. About the thing that could have torn them apart.
Since he’d admitted to himself that he cared for Ellie Miller more than was strictly professional, there had been a tension in his chest. Would he live to make sense of it? Could he prove himself somehow worthy of this miraculous woman and her limitless compassion? Was there any chance they could build something together in a world that had a habit of burning everything they loved?
With this obstacle out of the way, the tension disappeared and there was nothing but the horizon in their sights.
Despite being alone, Hardy tried to hold back his grin.
“You think I’ve got beautiful eyes?” he asked when it sounded like another bottle of wine was being opened.
“What? No! Twat,” Miller spat. “Why are you listening to our conversation anyway? Listen to your own conversation!”
Without another word, she hung up.
Late the next morning, as Hardy was sat at his desk, his phone buzzed with a new text.
Beth has no problem with us! Has serious doubts about my taste in men though - LOL! x
Excellent. I’ll have your nephew announce our relationship to the world after lunch.
Smiling, Hardy put his phone down to return to work, but soon changed his mind. He picked it up again and typed out another message.
Your’s are brown as well by the way
There was a five minute wait for a reply.
what? x
You’ll remember later
He turned back to his computer with a grin that he wiped off his face when he noticed a colleague staring at him in confusion.
It would be at least an hour until he could ring Miller and he wondered if he should tell her just how well he knew her eyes, or how much time he’d spent thinking about them over the last few months. Perhaps he could even branch out and tell her other details he’d memorised, such as the scent of her shampoo, or the nervous twitch of her mouth when she was in an awkward situation. Or the things he’d only just discovered, like the feel of her hand in his or the way she kept her eyes closed after each kiss, that he hoped he’d one day be just as familiar with.
His phone lit up, his display informing him Miller was calling.
Brown. He’d stick with brown for now.