Where Waves crash and Journeys end (Doctor Who/Broadchurch)

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People meeting Alec Hardy for the first time assumed a lot to him. He had moved to Broadchurch last week, taking the job as the local DI. Not just because the payment was much higher than usual, no. This kind of job seemed to suit him like no one else in the small coastal town. He had been the only applicant, that had been the mystery. And most important: 

He understood his work. 

He was 40 years old, had a tall figure and always did exercise, only by running all day long. His whole job consisted of running - running to catch the bus, running to the office, running to the postman...he did it like life depending on it. 

The second thing people were suspicious of him was his personality. He was grumpy. Very, VERY grumpy. He had a habit of looking at strangers like they would be the most exciting rubbish on earth. He had a habit of shouting a lot...by meaning a lot, it was right. And when he screamed, he did it with his thick, powerful scottish accent everybody was afraid of. It had this power of silencing everybody in the room without even noticing them. Every morning, when the waves went crashing over the shore rapidly, just about 9, he was already sitting in the station. Whatever - whenever, if it was still in the middle of the week or end - Alec Hardy always was busy. 

No exceptions.

And if you thought these were the only things people in Broadchurch assumed about him - you haven't seen anything, Mate! 

People of a sleepy town like Broadchurch was, with its high cliffs watching over the beach and hills full of green grass where you could take long walks, had a habit of looking very close at strangers. They immediately rebelled against the person if he did something odd, told lies about him, spread rumours. 

Surprisingly, for Alec Hardy, it turned out to be just as normal. 

No rumours, no lies. No weird looks. 

BUT - still, people began to ask. They went on assuming. Shushing when he entered the room. 

Altough, there was no strange thing they COULD proof about him, they went on talking. Soon, everybody in the little town by the sea, knew about the new DI, started sharing his personal opinion. 

There was the local vicar, Paul Coates. He said that Hardy would never come to his sunday services because he wouldn't be very religious. 

There was Jack Marshall, an old shop owner. He said that he would often see him on the beach, looking at the white sea, the cold breeze blowing through his hair. 

Susan Wright, living in a caravan parc with her beloved dog. She said that she had once heard him talking about his family. He had a daughter, staying with her mum. But nobody had heard more about his past. Maybe it was for the better. 

So, it went on and on and on. People wanted to know more, people were hungry for further information. Where he had lived before Broadchurch, his childhood, his daughter...everybody wanted to know more about Alec Hardy. 

But life went on, every day passing by like usual. They soon lost interest about the DI, going back to their jobs, trying to make a living. Nobody wanted to know something. 

Nobody wanted to dig deeper. 

Nobody wanted to ask. 

And maybe...just maybe...it was really for the better. 

Because, most secrets better stay hidden...