Right time for thawing weather

You always have to be on your guard — for Hardy, that thought had never been more relevant. As soon as the damn Sandbrook case had been sorted out, his heart attacks had worsened again. With his job at the precinct already unclear by what miracle he's survived to this day, but still Hardy keeps trying. For him, the job is as much a duty as anything else. It is not to say that he is terribly principled or patriotic to the point of insanity, but rather his inner sense of justice once played out in him so vigorously that, being a true Scotsman, he could not contain the heat. This circumstance and led him to work in the police. Alec Hardy spits from a high bell tower on the fact that he is the worst cop in Britain, but he twitches every time he is reminded of it, even if in jest. Alec Hardy is always serious, which can sometimes be confused with hatred of people or confusion, so it's not easy to find out what he's feeling right now. Alec Hardy has no tolerance for rash behaviour or stupid accidents. So when Miller bursts into his office without knocking for the third time in a day, he first notes how rash it was, because she was warned. Then Hardy just screams, trying to understand why he persistently did not listen to the first or twenty-first time. And later he gets used to it, expressing his indignation only out of habit, hardly putting any anger into his grumbling. It only takes a couple of years and half of Ellie's nerve cells. She watches over his life as a curious and patient friend who, though he may screw up sometimes, does everything out of nothing more than a genuine desire to help anyway. A silly accident occurs when Miller, in a fit of deliberation, makes an involuntary hand movement and knocks the freshly brewed coffee right over Hardy. The story continues with a hundred unfortunate «damn!», followed immediately by a frantic search for something in the office medicine cabinet and Ellie's warm fingers, which she uses to quickly wipe away the coffee residue and bandage his boss's palm with a bandage she found. Alec doesn't know why it feels so good to have soft hands touching his burnt skin. Must be feeling her experience as a mother of two. Hardy shouldn't like it, and he forgets that moment as something quite insignificant. Hardy is living humanely again, sometimes leaving work early to spend time with his daughter, sometimes staying and having lunch with Miller. It's become a sort of tradition between them. They're not friends forever by any means, but… After they solved the Sandbrook case, it was like a weight lifted off his shoulders, which Ellie was really instrumental in. They sort of got to know each other better, or whatever the usual way of saying that is? The bitterness was definitely there, but it was probably worth the good things that followed. Daisy lives with him now, and doesn't even seem to think he's the worst father in the world. She's proud of him. And Alec is willing to give his soul and his mangled heart to make sure that it will always be that way. After a while, things seem to breathe a little more freely, and things seem to be going better. Except for the bloody arrhythmia — Hardy was going to have the operation as soon as the case was closed, but he was afraid of how Daisy would react. Didn't ask her himself, didn't talk to anyone about it — just kept quiet and decided to postpone the surgery, intending to strengthen their relationship first. And now he still blames himself for being stupid. Because just as he and Daisy are starting to get their family life back on track, a new trial breaks things up. Joe refuses to admit his guilt. The investigation inexorably moves on, and Joe's lawyer has new ideas and ways to put them into practice. It's not just the surgery that Hardy is putting off — he tends to put off anything involving his heart in general. Hardy needs to get to the hospital, and he also needs to talk to Miller as soon as possible — largely just to sort himself out. But he's not doing either of those things, which affects his body more than any stress or chronic lack of sleep.

***

Hardy is just brilliant at slowly self-destructing. The sun is so white that there's no warmth in it, and you have to warm yourself somehow — most often in your own anger. But from the pain and from the disease crushing him from the inside, Hardy gradually forgets what anger is. Only because he no longer has the strength for such luxuries. It's as if he's been skinned and gutted like a bull to be slaughtered. And in the place where his heart and all his other entrails used to be, there was the only thing he could still feel inside him. Now he was one pure pain from head to toe, with no other feeling. Maybe there was something else in him, though. But Hardy again mistakenly confuses it with pain, dismissing it and thinking he's right. What had he done that was so monstrous as to warrant such a punishment? Like Prometheus — chained to this damn place like a rock, and with each new day he suffers the same torment. He has to walk confidently, or almost confidently, and put his hands in his pockets and clench his fists. Miller looks round. The sun's rays stretch lower and lower, and finally reach the palms of his hands to the sandy beach that stretches for several kilometres along the sea. The sand grudgingly shifts its grains of sand as the water comes closer and closer with a splash and hiss. Before, only the waves whispered quietly to each other, hugging each other and moving apart again. Now the sea seems angry, ready to storm at any moment, to revolt against the wildest injustice. It still remembers how it quietly stroked the poor little boy's back and cried, smashing its fists against the hard rocky cliff in frustration. If this boy is not worthy of life, then no one is — that seems to be the opinion of the restless sea, ready to unleash another world flood right now. Miller drinks her cheap coffee and shrugs, either from the cold or from the universal incomprehension of where her life is going. — An affair? You and me? How did they come up with that in court? It's mind-boggling! And, damn it, they managed to twist everything so cleverly… those bastards,» Miller said in despair, quickening his pace. They walk in silence for a few minutes, listening to the quiet rustling of the grass. Then Miller stops not far from the same cliff as her partner. — Yes, — Hardy freezes like a child who has been drawing inspirationally on the wallpaper, but is suddenly noticed by his parents, — It's mind boggling… If his doctor could observe his patient's wildly accelerated pulse right now, he'd immediately prescribe bed rest and «avoid any stress». But Alec is sure there's no way he can do that. — There has to be a little loophole, a detail he can latch on to and refute their evidence. Revisit the case file and… Strange, where's the fog coming from? It shouldn't be here in the daytime… — Hardy interrupted, to which Miller clucked unhappily. — Are you even listening to me? — she takes a couple of steps forward and turns away, looking at the tide, — What fog, what are you talking about? I can't see anything, — she takes a small sip of her coffee, — Did you stay up all night last night again? — The detective rolls her eyes and continues after a three-second pause, — I knew it. You're twice as grumpy when you're sleep deprived. — Miller… — he says, either with pity or with a demand to stop mocking in his voice. — Well, am I wrong? Seriously, you always have a face like you've swallowed a frog, — she takes another sip of coffee, — It tastes disgusting… You shouldn't have gone for the «all for one pound», it's not worth a pound… — Shit, — she says even fainter, and the detective decides to turn round and look at his boss. Hardy, having fallen to his knees and ducked heavily to the ground, is holding onto his heart. With one hand he rests on the ground, slowly settling down. His breathing is spiralling, and his lungs are behaving in any way that Hardy can use them normally. — You okay? — A stupid question immediately pops into Miller's head as she approaches her boss and sits down beside him. — There… — he squeezes his chest as if that will make it feel better, but he can barely speak in this situation, — The pills… — she hears the boss whisper loudly. He is already on his knees, right on the wet grass, while Miller starts to frantically search the pockets of his jacket. — There, there they are! Found them! These? — The frequent nodding serves as a full and complete «hell yes!». Ellie pulls out the last of the stuff and gives it to Hardy, offering to wash the medicine down with his coffee. The man takes a sip, and, unable to hold his body weight any longer, lies on his side. He squints, apparently because the pills don't take effect right away, which isn't surprising, and rolls over onto his back, still with his arms folded across his chest. In a different situation, Ellie would have called an ambulance in a heartbeat, but she's dealt with Hardy before. Though the last time this 'sort of thing' had happened to him, it hadn't been this serious. At least he could get the pills himself and take the right amount. Hardy assured that now, having solved the case, taken a holiday and thus relieved himself of the constant stress, he was feeling much better. And what's more, he continues to take the pills, so all is well. But Ellie strongly doubts that he is still under control after such a severe attack. Alec looks much worse than usual, and there must be a reason for that… Yes, Miller knows he needs a minute of rest now, as he usually does. Although, actually, much more than a minute, but he safely forgets that every time. — You okay? — She shakes him lightly by the shoulder without a reply, — Hardy! His chest rises and falls frequently, but he makes every effort to get his breathing back to normal. — The coffee really is disgusting, — he said, and, with obvious reluctance, opened his eyes and tried to get up. — You need surgery! — It could kill me, damn it! — Hardy almost shouts back at her, faltering and deciding that was a bit harsh. — Okay, convinced… But there has to be something done about it, right? — The man gets up from the ground, and Miller takes him by the elbow in an attempt to help. — I still have a court appearance to make. The surgery can wait, — Miller stares at him for a long moment without looking away, but he can't figure out her purpose, no matter how hard he tries, — What? It's not a pleasant sight to see you in this state. He takes a noisy breath and exhales slowly. In the time they've been investigating the Sandbrook case together, Ellie has grown accustomed to Hardy's occasional fits; it's only happened a couple of times in that period. And now it's as if she feels obliged to make sure he doesn't get worse. Worrying about his health when he doesn't even remotely deserve it. He's not the best thing most people say about him — it's unlikely that so many people at once can be wrong, Hardy thinks. Although Miller knows him well enough by now, it doesn't change the fact that she was once forced to put up with him every day just because he took her position, and not much has changed since then. It's probably not fair to her. Though life in general is unfair. — I wish I could promise not to do that again, — the man stands with his hands in the pockets of his cloak, looking up at the sky as if nothing has happened How humiliating, he thinks. She may have seen him like this before — sick and helpless — but to have him nearly pass out over and over again, so that she can see him in pain all the time and not be able to do anything about it — that's never happened before, and that's what's really unfair. Maybe they'd seen each other more, maybe they'd gotten a little closer after that case, but that didn't mean he had the right to harass her like that, to burden her with his problems-she had her own problems to deal with. Doesn't mean he can act like her third child. And it certainly doesn't mean he's not afraid of appearing… weak. Yes, he is. And there's no way in hell he's gonna admit it. — I'll talk to you next time. You should get some rest. and, before Hardy can mutter something in reply, she adds, — Can you walk home by yourself? — she notices that she's been clutching the paper coffee cup a little tighter all this time, and she shrugs herself off. — I will, — and the detective walks away confidently, or almost confidently, but with clenched teeth. — I'll see you then. — See you, Miller. And she could have sworn something serious had happened.

***

Walking calmly to the house, Hardy approaches the porch and, noticing something, leans over to take a closer look. Lying right outside his door is an envelope. Opening it, the detective pulls out the paper. A subpoena. Tomorrow's date. His hands start to shake, and in a second Alec almost loses his balance. The main goal now is to get to the bed. He'll deal with the rest later.

After a couple of hours, maybe a little more, Hardy comes to his senses after his restless sleep. It's hard to tell if he managed to rest. That kind of rest usually helps for only a short while. His room is autumnally quiet, and his feet are cooled by the faint breeze blowing in from the corridor, the window apparently not closed. That explained why he'd been so cold when he'd thrown off the blanket in his sleep. His chest tingles slightly, and Hardy's mind flashes back to the first time he'd ever felt that sensation in his life.

***

— …and if you think that's okay, you're a goddamn idiot! — Get the hell out of here! Go back to your halfwit mum tomorrow and leave me alone! — This is my flat, my stuff! You'll be out of here tomorrow and you'll never see your son again! — You have no right to do that! — I'm his mother! — And I am his father, and I… The surf drowns out the bickering, as if trying to wash the filth of these words from its shiny shore. The sea helps the boy to distract himself from listening to his parents' loud arguments. He sits on the shore and lays out the pebbles and shell fragments he has found in the golden sand, glistening in the light. He thinks about the fact that the sun will soon go down, and as always, his father, a little frowning, will come up to him and take him by the hand, leading him home, followed by his mother, with a slightly flushed face — she often complains to him that she burns quickly in this heat. But this time Mum comes back first and says that Dad will come later, and then it's not «business as usual». Alec lies in his bed and waits patiently for his mum to come up to read him a new bedtime story. He always loved the story about Brother Rabbit and Brother Fox, and for some reason he always empathised with the latter. The Fox wanted so much to catch the Rabbit, but he never succeeded… Alec waits longer than usual, but he doesn't show it. Mum will be up soon, he's sure. Alec stares at the ceiling, at the big grey-green stains — once, during a heavy downpour, the roof had leaked in their house and the whole room had almost flooded. Alec stares at them like clouds, wondering what each one looks like. This one looks like Dad's shovel, and that one looks like a curled-up Fox! The night air blowing straight down his back gradually cools his little body. Mummy should have come back long ago, closed the window in his bedroom, read him a story and wished him sweet dreams. But she's in no hurry at all, and Alec, agitated beyond belief, resorts to extreme measures. — Mum? — Mum! — he called softly, burrowing deeper into the blanket to keep warm, «Mum!» There was a rumble from the kitchen and then silence again. This proves to be a good reason for a five-year-old boy to jump out of bed and silently go downstairs. He walks over to the door and pushes it lightly away from him. The first thing he sees is smoke covering half the room, making it harder to breathe. Mum immediately hides something behind her back and puts out her cigarette on the edge of the empty plate on the table in front of her, shakes the ashes from her dress and finally looks up at her son. — Alec… are you still awake? — she looks a lot like his grandmother now for some reason, the boy thinks. — But you promised a fairy tale,» he says worriedly, shifting from foot to foot and noticing the large red-brown puddle sprawled across the tiled floor. — That's right, a fairy tale… — she steps towards her son, not looking under her feet, right on the puddle and as if she didn't notice anything unusual. — Mum? — the boy looks with surprise first at her, then at the floor, and then at her again, — Puddle. Mum takes a quick look around the kitchen, then tilts her head and only then seems to realise what's wrong. — Yes, a puddle… Go to your room for now, I'll clean up here and come… With a strange, frightening feeling, Alec goes back upstairs and lies down in bed. Soon Mummy does come, but she says that the story is better postponed until tomorrow, because Mummy is very tired. When she adjusts the blanket and kisses Alec on the forehead, she smells something foul and bitter. — My heart beats differently, Mum,» he whispers as Mum strokes his head. — Is it? Why? — I don't know, listen,» he pulls the blanket down to his waist in a not fully realised movement. — 'I'm not a doctor, darling, how am I going to know what's wrong? — she covers him again and strokes his unruly red hair. — But something is definitely wrong! I'm scared… — tears glisten in her eyes. — It's okay, there's nothing to be afraid of. Mum's with you. — What about Dad? Will you call daddy? Her hand involuntarily flinches and stops, and the boy feels it, tensing even more. Her face, already red, grows angrier. And when they meet gazes, her eyes sparkle in a way that makes the boy shudder. His mother jerks her hand away in a second, as if from a hot iron, and slowly gets out of bed. — Daddy's not coming. Go to sleep, Alec, — the woman says, before closing the door behind her. Alec doesn't know why, but hot tears run down his cheeks. He gets up, climbs into a chair, reaches for the window and closes it with difficulty. A minute later, lying in his bed again, he notices that it is no warmer and feels his heart — his father says it is on the left side. But there is no mistaking it: each frequent beat resonates in the palm of his hand with a slight vibration. In the semi-darkness of the room Alec continues to listen to the pounding in his chest and spends another hour or so staring at the closed door before falling into a restless sleep.

***

Hardy gets out of bed, staring sleepily into the void. He walks over to the window, opens it wide, and breathes in the sea freshness that hits him right in the face. He stands like that for a couple of minutes, squeezing his eyes shut and putting all his thoughts in order. After a little while, he opens his eyes. It's getting towards evening — it's noticeably darker outside the window than it was a couple of hours ago. The sun is almost down, and long greenish clouds like patches of mould are floating across the sky. Already everything down to his own subconscious is telling him-no, it's screaming with all its might-Alec fucking Hardy, tell her! It can change the course of a court hearing, yes, but you know how to avoid that, so try for once to put a man just above the fray. What if it changes your worthless life? Alec Hardy has no tolerance for rash behaviour and silly accidents. That's why when he accidentally presses a call instead of the «erase message» button, it doesn't occur to him in time to hang up. Because even more than that, he can't stand himself.