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Title: Broadchurch: Sins Of The Father

Date of commencement: September 22 2013

Date of completion: December 24 2014

Series: Broadchurch, a sequel to the original, and following on from Life Without Joe

Rating: M

Authors: tkel_paris and tardis_mole

Summary: Two years after Danny's death, life is slowly getting back to normal in Broadchurch. But Hardy's happy life is about to be turned upside down by a spectre from the past he had hoped had been laid to rest. Someone from his past wants to talk to him, someone wants revenge, someone wants to see him ruined. But it's not one 'someone'. But first, he must face the girl in his garden.

Disclaimer: We own nothing, but this is based on Broadchurch by Chris Chibnal, with added clues from the novel by Erin Kelly. We gain no financial benefit nor gratuities, only the enjoyment from writing and working together on this epic journey, shared for the enjoyment of others.

Dedication: Chris Chibnal, long time friend. bas_math_girl, for her beta. And each other for hopefully not ruining each other's lives for too long during the writing part.

Warning: If you have not watched Broadchurch in its entirety, do not read this. We mean it. You will be spoiled. Stop and go back. Now. Ideally you have seen the entire show, not just what was aired on BBC America if you live on that side of the pond, but this is understandable in either case. Also, if you have not read tardis_mole's Life Without Joe, that's okay. It's possible to read this without reading that, if you're not on Moley's approved list. You'll probably find this makes a little more sense if you have read it, but you should be fine without it. Take the time to read Erin Kelly’s novelization, if you can, as it provided certain details that helped with writing this. Though you won’t need to rely on it.

Authors' Notes: tardis: Count the adverts. It all started with me writing Life Without Joe (blowing my own trumpet). The title does not say why Joe was not there, whether he had died or walked out. It was just that he was no long there. No clue, no hint, no spoiler, no Joe. And just in case anyone else caught on before I did – episode four – that it was Joe I had to watch from a play back site because I was first burying my mum and then moving, so I actually missed episodes 2-7 until just days before the finale. My deepest thanks to bas_math_girl who saved me from being “spoilered”. And, sorry, tkel, but it was not the BBC. It was ITV that made and broadcast the original. The BBC can only wish.

I got this idea after watching the original for the however-many time it was. I’d gone out to HMV to find a copy of The Politician’s Wife and on the off-chance asked them if they had a copy of Broadchruch. As it happened the delivery had just arrived. I had the first copy out of the box at HMV Cardiff. There. Selfless advertising. And the Beeb still loses out. So I sat and watched it and thought I wonder what happens next? I’ve lived in hotels. I’ve been in a similar situation as Tom (and Ellie, actually, but that’s neither here nor there), and I know there had to be more. Life would not have been cosy for Ellie.

So I wrote it.

LWJ was the result. And my readers liked it. Tkel refused to read it. And I fully understand and support her reasons.

However, within days of finishing and posting it I got another idea. I sat on it for months while tkel waited for the DVD, and by that time the plot bunny had stewed itself into a balrog (another plug, this one’s LOTR). Tkel was busy. I was in Preston for the long awaited arrival of my first ‘born in Britain’; grandchild. I have been busy looking after him and my daughter and fighting for justice for my son-in-law that the Balrog sat forgotten in a dark room on my data pen for a year. Date of starting: September 22 2013. I had a brief outline and a few notes. I basically picked at it for a year until both tkel and I were ready to put in the time and effort.

November 1 2014. One month turned into three weeks, and over 285400 words later we had a first draft. Chris Chibnall may own the copyrights and I bet his sequel is brilliant, LOOK AWAY NOW IF YOU DON’T WANT TO BE SPOILERED!! but he doesn’t have a murder. Read it and weep, Chris, my friend. Mine does. *Taggart voice* There’s been a murder!

This has been a phenomenal achievement for both of us. Neither of us has done anything like this before. Working with a co-writer is not recommended for everyone. It takes a lot of patience, stamina – I had to sprint to keep up – and a strong willingness to share. I hate sharing. :D

This is going to hurt. Have tissues at the ready. I don’t pull punches. Those who know my work know I have plot twists and unexpected clues, and if you miss them you’ll be left behind. Make notes. You’ll need them.

This is based on Chris Chibnall’s Broadchurch, and a few details from the novelisation by Erin Kelly (another shameless advert), with the addition of some aspects of LWJ. If you haven’t seen Broadchurch, why are you reading this first? Go away and do so, otherwise this will make no sense whatsoever. If you haven’t read the novel, don’t worry. I have, and you can take or leave it. It has some minor flaws and mistakes, but it is a good read. You’ll find my review on Goodreads (another shameless advert) website.

Tkel and I half thought about including our own map, since the blatant error in Erin’s was the mistake you’d expect from a small child. Beth’s and Ellie’s houses are across a field and they can see each other’s kitchens; it was mentioned in the original and in the book. So I’m scratching my head trying to work out why Erin’s map put them practically back to back, separated by a row of houses.

But, anyway, advertisements aside (Did you count them? There are seven.), I hope you like Sins Of The Father. We’ve kept it in the same style as the original eight episode format, but each one will have a different number of chapters. Hopefully, they will all be posted by the time ITV airs the sequel. Though try not to compare. Enjoy.

Authors' Notes: tkel: Being an American with not a lot of time on her hands to learn the tricks for getting things early from the other side of the pond, I had to wait to see Broadchurch. So I had months of reading about how good it was and how amazing David Tennant's performance was. It was more than a bit frustrating, but I give the people on my friends list credit for not spoiling anything other than Hardy's having a medical condition and one other detail. During the wait I noticed my friend Moley post a Broadchurch fanfic. Well, I did not read it. I even made a point of trying to forget I even saw one was posted. Finally the series came to BBC America, although I did not know that about two hours worth of material was cut to make room for the commercials. I was pissed off when I heard that, and promptly decided that where productions with Tennant were concerned, I would buy Region 2 only. (I had learned that computers can be manipulated to act like an all regions playing DVD player, although as of when I wrote the original note I had not yet figured it out. Trust me, I will learn soon enough.)

I was in awe from the first episode. A great cast, a heartbreaking case, and I was trying to figure out who did it almost immediately. Some I figured were unlikely, or would not be the killer without more plot twists. By the end of Episode Seven, I had a sinking suspicion who the killer was. It did not help that my memory chose then to recall what it thought was the title of Moley's fic. But I waited until the final moments had aired, and was in a bit of emotional turmoil. (Which I think we were supposed to be.) At that point, I got on Live Journal and read all five posts of Moley's fic, pausing only to comment. I needed more time to digest it fully, but I had reread it about four times by the next evening.

The thing is, my muse is the type to get ideas at the drop of a hat sometimes. Sometimes no hat, as Moley has reminded me. (giggles) Often when I am trying to work on other things. Bonzina (what I call my Muse) instantly thought about what might happen afterward, thinking about the unresolved things still there from the original story. She had thought of a plot bunny that had me intrigued. So I emailed Moley with the idea, having no idea that it would prove to be the platform for an idea that had been languishing since Life Without Joe was finished, and we bounced it back and forth – like you do when you beta read each other's work. I don't think we'd emailed about it for more than a day before it transformed into a plot balrog. (For those of you who aren't Tolkien fans, that's a giant creature of shadow and flame, “a demon from the ancient world” to quote Gandalf from the movie version of “Fellowship”. Practically impossible to get rid of, as the movie showed.) Basically, it wasn't going to leave either of us alone by then, so we agreed to work on it together as soon as we could both make the time for it. Meanwhile we bounced more ideas back and forth until we had our first outline ready.

Well, although we did a lot of preplanning, we didn't get to writing until I mentioned I was thinking about what to do for NaNoWriMo 2014. Moley noted about Broadchurch 2 being filmed, and we agreed that we should get our balrog finished and fully posted before the first episode airs on ITV. And I was also working on another mystery story at the same time. Only thing is, on that story I had trouble with the outline, and stalled on it in a big way learning why my writer friends gave me the advice they did the hard way as my muse was insistent on trying something different. So I got way ahead on my parts of the story, but I used it to figure out enough so I could resume writing the other story. Even though it may never see the light of day, depending on what I think of it in the end.

Of course, I was very busy. Moved to a new city, started a new job that now means I have a profession, and had to focus on settling in. But I had managed enough that I could do NaNo once again. Although I'm still stalled on that one other story, I know one of the things I need to do with it. I also wrote a few other things, including a Christmas present for another friend – on a dare from said friend. So my grand NaNoWriMo total for 2014? 124,977. Yes. That's correct. And yet someone else managed just over 150,000. You'd better believe I intend to beat that next year.

So that's my side of the story. There will be another Broadchurch collaboration, based off an idea I had from working on this story. Stay tuned about that one. Or maybe... more than one, given that Moley and I seem to be off in slightly different directions for that one. (grins) This was a fun project, and I hope that Moley and I find additional ones to work on together. Not counting the beta reading we already do, or the times when I was utterly stuck on a story and needed more than prodding but wholesale suggestions to get it moving again. (bigger grin)


Summertime. Outdoors. Four girls played together in a garden, giggling as small children do. No cares of the world touched them, or if they did they pretended they did not exist.

There was an undercurrent of sadness. They all knew they would part ways, but no one knew just when they would see each other again. But it was the birthday of one of them, and so they could forget about most troubles for the time being.


Another summer. The air was pleasant, but there was a hint of tension. Mostly in the adults watching.

Three slightly older girls sat on a beech making a sandcastle. They shaped it in honour of the fourth who did not come, looking up at each sometimes in wonder of why they had not heard from their friend.


Two young teenage girls walking together in a busy street, shopping. They tried to laugh, but the aura around them was oppressive. Especially on the taller one. A great weight was hanging on her shoulders, but the haunted look had purchase in the shorter one.


Darkness surrounded the area. The moon's light barely shone through the clouds.

A girl stepped into the light of an open window. She kept low, trying to be invisible. She glanced up at the moon, her face that of the shorter of the teenagers. But her formerly honey-blonde hair had been dyed black. Her face was pale even for the light out, and her whole being spoke of knowing a terror unspeakable.

She looked and listened, closing the window before she repeated the listening. Then she fled into the shadows, as quietly as she could.


Under the same moonlight and yet slightly different clouds angled overhead a sixteen year-old girl stood alone, partly in shadow, leaning against a brick-built bus shelter with the sound of the ocean not far away. It was the taller of the girls. Her long hair fell in waves about her shoulders and at her throat hung a locket that rested against her t-shirt. It was old, as old as she felt. She bore herself as one with the weight of the world on her shoulders. She closed her eyes and stepped back into the shadows, silhouetted against the light of an opening door behind her.

In the distance the echoing cry of a newborn child broke the silence of the night.



Episode Eight, Part One: Holding Her Own

“What did she mean by that?” Superintendent Sandra O’Malley asked. She didn’t quite have the gentle tone with interviews as he superior officer did. As far as she was concerned all interviews in these rooms were with suspects, it was few and far between that you had someone in here as a witness and yet being recorded. At this point, Daisy Hardy had committed no crime, beyond those already punished. She was doing well, so far. But she knew her more experienced Chief Super would call a halt if she felt Daisy had had enough, and possible long before the social worker acting as loco parentis even noticed.

“I don’t know,” Daisy replied. “I thought she meant Ben. She always said that Ben was his son, but when I spoke to my dad at the hospital the other day he said Ben wasn’t his. I worked it out. It wasn’t my dad who had had the affair, it was my mum. And I realised it couldn’t have been Dad who was at that hotel and had his car broken into, because he was with me that day, he had driven Mum’s car up to Gran’s house. Mum was supposed to have taken dad’s car into the garage for new tyres and used one of the station’s cars as a replacement. She didn’t... did she? Cos I saw it in the papers. My dad took the blame for being at the hotel and for having his car broken into. Even my gran tried to tell them, but the policeman wouldn’t listen. Said the case was closed. Bruce stopped me seeing my gran; called her an interfering old cow. I haven’t seen her since I was thirteen, after I told her about my dad being sent away.”

“Tell us about your holiday,” the Super suggested.

Daisy shrugged. “It started off nice enough. Bruce got into some trouble at work, called them all lying assholes. But I didn’t believe him.”

“Why not?”

“Coz... the day before we left, I saw Hailey. My friend. She’d disappeared months before. They all said she had gone to work on a farm. But then I saw her mentioned on the news as missing. Bruce made some ugly comments about her, said she was a whore and that she’d run off with a Paki. Sorry. I know it’s a bad word, but that’s what he said.”

“What did Hailey say to you?”

“She said she’d been asked to go to a party with Godavari, her boyfriend, and got locked inside a house on West Street with the pink door. I knew instantly which house she meant. It was Bruce’s house. It’s the only one with a pink door. And I’d heard of Godavari. Bruce talked about him and to him on the phone.”

“You’ve been in Bruce’s house?”

“Yeah, years before when Bruce was moving in.”

“Tell me about the house.”

“I only went there once,” Daisy defended. “There wasn’t much stuff. Later I heard rumours. They say girls go in there and they never come out. Hailey said she’d been locked in there for months. She’d escaped while they weren’t looking. She was supposed to meet me for our holiday in Broadchurch and Lousie was coming over from Germany. She said she’d have to get there another way because Godavari was looking for her. I gave her some clothes, my holiday money and told her to get there somehow. I told her my dad was in Broadchurch somewhere. Mum said he’d moved there to convalesce after his breakdown.”


“Yeah, Mum said he had had a mental breakdown. It’s a sort of mental thing. Isn’t it? Mum didn’t say and I didn’t believe her; by that time I didn’t believe anything she said anymore. Anyway, I told Hailey to meet me in Broadchurch and we’d find my dad and we’d tell him everything. But Mum had taken my phone off me so I couldn’t call him to tell him I was coming. And Mum and Bruce had me watched every second. Told me not to speak to people she didn’t know. Which is stupid, because she didn’t know anyone. And then I met Chloe.”

“What do you know about the murders of Sarah Wallace and Luiz Gotleib?”

“Nothing,” Daisy replied. “I saw my mum go out that night, the first night we were in Broadchurch, and she came back a couple of hours later, with a nasty cut to her leg and shaking. I heard her throwing up in the bathroom. I asked her if she was ok, and she snapped at me. Told me to go back to sleep. Later she said she’d gone for a walk to clear her head, but had fallen over and almost fell over the cliff. She said she was a bit shaken by it. She said it was a bit of a stupid thing to do anyway. She put a dressing on her leg and went to bed. But she didn’t have her bag.”

“What bag?”

“She’d gone out with a cloth bag, like one of those bag-in-a-bag things that you fold up and put in your pocket. I don’t know what was in it, but she didn’t have it when she got back.”

“What colour was it?”

“Red with Iceland written on it in white letters down the side and ‘use me again and again’ along he bottom.”

“And what about Luiz Gotleib? What can you tell me about her?”

“Nothing much, really. I smiled and waved at Sarah when she arrived, but the German girl was really shy. It first I thought it was my friend, but she looked at me as if she didn’t know me. And then I realised it wasn’t my friend, because my friend didn’t have two brothers.”

“Did you see your friend, Louise, when she arrived at the hotel?”

“No, we’d been told to take a room at the bed and breakfast,” Daisy replied. “I didn’t hear anything about Louise arriving. I knew she was late. And my mum explained that sometimes planes were delayed. She was nice to me for a change.”

“Where was Bruce?”

“He’d gone out jogging. He likes to keep fit and works out a lot.”

“When did he leave?”

“About a quarter to seven. He said he would be back for breakfast and said we should start without him.”

“When did he get back?”

“I don’t know,” Daisy admitted. “Just before we left for the beach. Probably about nine, I think. Half way down the hill my stomach was hurting so I went back for my tablets. Mum was cross and said to join them as soon as I could. When I got back to the Bed and Breakfast there was a crowd of people outside. I paid no attention to it. We got crowds like that at school, with people shouting. I thought it was just someone having a fight and ignored it. I saw an ambulance arrive as I left. I knew it had to have been a pretty bad fight if someone had been hurt that much. After a couple of hours at the beach, Bruce got really curious about what those sirens were near the Bed and Breakfast. We could see them from the beech. Mum decided we’d have lunch in the restaurant next door, so we went back to the B&B. The owner saw us coming and told us that something dreadful had happened. A girl had fallen from the footpath behind the B&B and died and would we mind if we returned to the hotel. The woman from the Traders’ had already sent word saying we could return. So we packed our things and returned to the Traders’.”

“When did you find out what had happened, that is was your friend who had died?”

“When the policewoman asked me some questions the following day,” Daisy revealed. “She said she was sorry that I hadn’t been told. She had come to ask me about other stuff and she told me about Louise. Louise was allergic to plants. She wouldn’t have gone into those bushes deliberately. Did she really fall?”

The Chief Super was silent for a second or two. “We can’t say at this point,” she said gently. “What happened after you returned to the Traders’ Hotel?”

“We went out to the arcades. My mum spent loads on the grabber machine and won a Minion for Ben. We had chips from the Buoy Chippie. I didn’t like them. They were oily and cold. I preferred the ones from down on the Esplanade. They were always really hot and soft. Even the small bits weren’t too crunchy. Ben said the chips hurt as they went down. Bruce called him stupid for not chewing his food properly. Ben got tired and Bruce kept all on at him, said he was a being a baby. He forced him to go on the dodgem cars and the merry-go-round. Mum eventually said enough was enough. She couldn’t take any more grizzling form Ben. We went back to the hotel for dinner and that’s when Ben collapsed.”

“Your brother was taken to hospital?”

“Yes, by ambulance. The woman from the hotel looked really angry with us, like she thought we were going to get her into trouble. When I got back from the hospital she demanded to know if my dad was going to sue her for making my brother sick. I was angry. I told her that Bruce was not my dad, and Ben had had a heart attack, thanks for asking. I thought she was rude. I don’t like her. She didn’t even ask if my brother was all right. She was more concerned about how it looked on her to have a customer collapse in her restaurant. That’s just mean.”

“Back to the hospital,” the policewoman suggested.

“Sorry, yeah. Uhm, the doctor asked if there was any family history of heart disease and my mum said no. She looked at Bruce and he ignored the questions until the doctor got a bit uppity. He said it was none of his business what his family medical history was. He said the priority was the boy. Like Ben didn’t have a name. He’d never called Ben by his name. He’d even smacked him around the head once for calling him Daddy when he was three. The nurses found Ben had loads of bruises and told my parents to step outside. I was taken to one room and they were taken somewhere else. They said someone would come and talk to me, but no one came so I went back to sit with my brother. My parents came back, said they’d explained the Ben’s a bit clumsy, that he had this condition called MS, and it was all sorted. Ben was on a machine to help him breathe by then and Mum and Bruce had an argument. The nurse told us all to leave and get some sleep and come back later. And then I saw my dad in the waiting room downstairs. He told me Ben wasn’t his and that my mum had had the affair, not him. I was so angry, but I didn’t want to shout at him. I wanted to tell him what had been going on, but Bruce was watching from outside the doors. Chloe was at the hotel when we got back and we had a photo-sharing binge. Finally I could be me, with a friend. I’ve met up with her a few times and we talk about music and party fails and school. That’s about it.”

“You’re missing a large chunk of the story out,” the policewoman noticed.

Daisy paled. She knew which large chunk she was talking about. “I was getting pains,” she admitted at length.

“When did that start?”

“A couple of days before, on and off. I told Mum it was my period. At the hospital, when Ben was asleep I told Mum it was getting worse and I’d go back to the hotel and go to bed. She didn’t think I knew the way. I told her I had google maps on my phone so she gave it to me and told me to text her when I got there. I stopped off at this garage shop and got some pads. The bloke was talking to this woman, chatting her up, so I just took them. And I’ve told you what happened after that. I think I passed out at some point, I dunno. I’m not sure. I was just sort of numb. I felt better, coz I thought no one will know it’ll be adopted and no one will ever know. I went back to the hotel. Had a shower and went to bed. My belly was still very sore, but I could see my feet. I thought I’d got away with it. I thought now if anyone asks me if I’m pregnant I can say no without lying. But I knew something was wrong. I was bleeding loads and put two pads on, but they were soaked through in half an hour. I changed them for another two pads. There were so many I hid them under other bags. And then that man came in and gave me a fright.”

“What man?”

“Dunno. Just some bloke. He said I was in danger if I stayed, because he was coming to get me. He said I knew who it was and that he had already killed my friend. He said Chloe knows. He said I had to make a run for it before he got back.”

“Did he say any names?”

“No, but I know who he meant. He mentioned that I’d end up locked in the house on West Street if I stayed, or under a bush like Louise. I thought he was one of Bruce’s mates. I thought he was threatening me. So I ran. As soon as I got away from him I realised he didn't seem to follow me.”

“Where did you go?”

“There was a cabin up on the cliffs. I got in through an open window and hid until I heard noises. Then I went back toward the hotel. I nearly passed out then. And when I came round, that bloke who helped Chloe's dad had found me. I didn't want to go to the hospital like that, but I was so out of it that I let him take me.”

“You do know that he probably saved your life?”

“I know that now,” she whispered.

“Did Bruce ever talk about the other houses he owned?”


“Did he talk about other women or girls?”

“No, not openly.”

“Can you explain?”

“Sometimes he’d get phone calls that made him angry. He’d say words like ‘butter her up’ and ‘shower her with gifts’ and stuff, and ‘tell her parents she’s been offered a job modelling’. He’d type them out himself with proper headed paper. I’ve seen some of them in the garage. Whenever he had a phone call about something else it would turn nasty. He had a call once not long ago and he told the man to ‘bury her’. I tried to tell my mum, but I could never get her on her own, not without leaving Ben on his own with Bruce.”

“Have you heard the phrase ‘grooming’ before?”

Daisy was stunned into silence. “I’d heard about it at school, but... is that what they were doing? But Godfrey was my boyfriend.”

“But you are aware that Godfrey and Godavari are one and the same person,” the Super said.

“What? No!” Daisy frowned in defiance. “Hailey said her boyfriend was the Middle East. Godfrey isn’t Middle Eastern. He comes from Sri Lanka. Just because they have the same last name...” Her eyes watered. “They could be,” she supposed softly.

“Do you know many of the people in the gang?”

“Some of them. I know where a few of them live and where they hang out.”

“Do they all have girlfriends?”

“Well, yeah. They’re all popular, like Godfrey. There’s one, Hash Abdullah. He always had a two or three with him every time I see him. Always different girls. Mostly younger than me. Girls of twelve and thirteen, wearing more makeup than my mum does. Acting like they’re eighteen. Hash isn’t stupid, he knows how young they are, but he doesn’t care. He says he picks them up, looks after them and takes them home, keeps them safe.” Daisy turned pale. “Oh. They’re all grooming... Aren’t they?”

“Tell me as many names and addresses as you can, please.”


To be continued...

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