Broadchurch: Across the Pond

Chapter 3

TW: none

If Heathrow and JFK could be called a nightmare, then LAX was one of the lower circles of hell. It was so packed that Ellie and Alec kept losing each other in the crowd; Alec eventually grabbed her arm to keep them together. When they finally got outside, the Los Angeles heat struck them like a fist.

"We should take bets on which one of us gets heatstroke first," Alec commented, only partly sarcastic.

"It'll be you." Ellie surveyed the line of cars and taxis. "Um, wasn't there meant to be someone here to meet us?"

Alec listened to his voicemail. "Apparently our chaperone got held up," he said, annoyed. "We're to take a cab to the hotel, and they'll contact us later. They gave me the address."

"Must not be in much of a rush to solve the case, then," Ellie remarked. "Least at the hotel we can get some peace and quiet."

They had adjoining rooms at the Hampton, which was nicer than either Alec or Ellie was expecting. There was even a decent-looking restaurant downstairs; Ellie suggested they meet there in an hour.

Alec dumped his lonely suitcase on the spare bed and sighed deeply. The back-to-back flights had done him in. It was nice to have some peace and qui--

Tap-tap-tap-tap."Sir, can I use your shower? Mine's broken."

He couldn't very well say no, since he had to more or less live with the woman for the foreseeable future. He opened the door. "The rest of the trip better not go like this," he said to her.

"It won't." Ellie dodged past him with her overnight bag. "Housekeeping said they'll have it fixed tonight. Just pretend I'm not here!"

"Oh, I will. Shut the door on your way out." Alec flopped face-down on his bed and fell asleep instantly.

At the restaurant, Ellie briefly considered following Alec's heart-healthy diet out of solidarity, but discounted the idea. It was hard enough back home; in America it would be almost impossible. Besides, she wasn't about to turn down the evening's special of fried chicken. Alec, for once, didn't mock her choice. He was just glad to find a pasta dish on the menu that he could actually eat.

"What size do you want?" asked the waitress. "Small, medium or large?"

"Largest you got. I'm starving."

"You got it. How about you?" she asked Ellie.

Ellie ordered the fried chicken and a glass of red wine. "I don't think you realize how big the meals are here," she told Alec after the waitress left.

He shrugged. "It's just pasta. How big could it be?"

That question was answered about twenty minutes later, when eight pieces of fried chicken and about a gallon of gluten-free pasta with olive oil and shrimp were set in front of them. Alec stared at it all.

"No wonder they're all so fat," he remarked rudely. Luckily, no one heard him

"Try my wine," Ellie suggested. "They weren't kidding about California being wine country."

"You know I can't drink."

"That's why I said 'try.'"

Alec wiped the rim of the glass with a napkin and took a tiny sip. He was pleasantly surprised. "How many bottles of that do you think you could fit in your luggage?"

"At least five. You?"

"Maybe two."

"Sounds like a plan," Ellie said with a grin.

They stuffed themselves, and barely made a dent in the piles of food. Ellie loaded up two takeaway containers whilst Alec went to pay the bill. He came back, receipt in hand, totally oblivious to the glares from the waitresses.

"Were you rude?" Ellie demanded.

"No! One of the girls even said she liked my accent, whatever that means."

"Did you tip them?"

"Did I what?"

"Bloody hell, sir." She dug in her purse for some American currency. "You're supposed to give the wait staff a few dollars outside of the bill."

"Why?"

"For them to keep."

"But...why?"

"That's just how it's done here." She gave him a ten-dollar bill; a low tip for the area, but hopefully enough to get them off the shit list. "Go give them this and say you forgot to tip and you're very sorry."

Looking at her like she was crazy, Alec did as he was told. The waitresses beamed at him, and he walked off looking perplexed. Ellie hurried after him.

"She asked me if I'd be needing room service tonight," Alec said as they waited for the lift. "I told her if I was hungry I'd just reheat my pasta."

"She wasn't asking if you wanted food," Ellie informed him.

"Then why would she—oohhhh...." His eyes widened. "Rather forward, these American women."

"Hey, don't generalize. You know, you're not a bad-looking bloke on the outside. It's on the inside that you're all rotten."

"Hey!"

She laughed at his indignant tone, then laughed again at the glare he sent her way."Sorry."

"No, you're not." The lift doors opened and Alec stepped in. "Are you coming, or are you gonna take the stairs?"

Ellie started to ask a question, but stopped, feeling stupid. "Do you think--never mind."

They arrived at their floor, and Alec politely held the lift door open. "What did you want to ask?"

"You gotta promise you won't laugh."

"Cross my bionic heart."

"Can we leave the door between our rooms open a little?" Ellie asked sheepishly. "I don't like it here, with all the noises and strange people."

"No," Alec said bluntly.

"Why not?"

"I snore." He swiped his keycard. "Night."

"Knob," Ellie muttered at his retreating form.

It was barely eight in the evening, but jet lag had hit hard. She checked the deadbolts, and closed the blackout curtains. With the room as safe as she could make it, she took a sleeping pill and cuddled down.

She was almost asleep when she heard the door knob rattle. Not the main door, the one between rooms. She opened one eye. The door opened about six inches and stopped. From the other side came a very soft, "G'night, Millah."

Ellie closed her eyes and smiled. Deep down, Alec Hardy wasn't as much of an arsehole as he pretended to be.