Chapter Text
The sound of Carla’s boot heels clattered across the cobbles. The suitcase wheel snagged deep in a rut, causing a sudden, abrupt jerk. As she bent, yanking on the handle trying to wrench the wheel free, Kirk rounded the corner and collided with her shoulder. A paper cup, still steaming, soared up in a slow, gravity defying arc before rupturing against the delicate silk of her kimono.
The sudden, drenching sheet of hot, sticky-sweet blackness soaked instantly into the expensive fabric over her chest.
Carla looked up, the steam rising between them, an irritated scowl on her face. "Kirk!" she exclaimed.
“Sorry Mrs Connor!” He chirped, seemingly unperturbed as he dabbed at his own jeans. “I was miles away. How was Durham?”
She was too distracted to answer, instead frantically patting the enormous, brown mark that had bloomed over the pattern of the silk.
“Dublin.” she finally clipped out.
“Oh, right. I did think that was a funny place for you to go on holiday.” he chuckled absentmindedly.
She gave him a look that could curdle milk, desperately trying to wipe the coffee away. The dark stain only spread faster, and she felt the cloying stickiness begin to soak through to her skin.
“D’ya want a hand with that?” he offered, craning his head to look at the damage. He fumbled through his pockets clumsily, fishing for something, “I think I’ve got a tissue somewhere... ah, no, must be in my other jeans…or maybe it was in my coat?” he mumbled, pulling out empty fists and immediately drifting, “Is there anything I coul-”
“No!” she barked, her exhaustion transforming into outright anger. “No, thank you, Kirk. I think you’ve done enough already.”
With a final, forceful tug that wrenched her shoulder, the suitcase wheel groaned free from the stone. She didn't look back at Kirk, who was left standing there, slowly processing the caffeine fuelled chaos.
She brushed the somewhat damp hair away from her face, the smell of cheap coffee making her stomach clench. Her eyes locked on to number six. The blinds were shut. Lisa was in. She straightened her spine, then took a deep, shaky breath before walking toward the house she'd foolishly believed would be her forever home.
////
The silence of the house was disturbed only by the relentless throbbing behind Lisa's eyes. She’d fallen asleep early, exhausted by the drama of the previous few weeks. It felt wrong, selfish, leaving the house silent and her responsibilities ignored, but she’d just run out of the energy to feel anything at all, much less care.
She was drifting, caught between sleep and the faint buzz of anxiety when the sound tore through the quiet; a distinct creak from the floorboards downstairs.
Instantly awake, Lisa lifted her head from the pillow. She shouldn’t have been alone, but she was. Betsy is home, though. It must be Bets. She swung her legs out of bed, adrenaline replacing her fatigue.
She paused outside Betsy’s room, pushing the door open just enough to see the familiar lump of blonde beneath the duvet. Betsy was definitely in bed. Lisa eased the door shut, only to be assaulted by the strong, sickly scent emanating from the room. Not stale air, but rather the distinct, heavy smell of ethanol that lingered in the air and clung to the teen's clothes.
That’s a conversation for later, Lisa thought, bile rising in her throat. The shame about her own drunken nights had tainted her parenting lately, and that fact froze her for a second. But the prospect of danger, the opportunity to be useful, to save them, provided a peculiar type of relief. If I stopped a break in, maybe Betsy wouldn’t hate me quite so much. The prospect of putting herself in harm’s way didn't deter her at all; it motivated her.
The noise came again, a muffled thump from the kitchen. Definitely not Betsy.
Lisa's mind snapped instantly into police mode, the cold, familiar switch flipping her into professionalism. She padded silently down the stairs, her bare soles seeking out the safest, quietest points; still, every groan of the old wood beneath her seemed to detonate in the silence. She gripped the banister, moving not without fear, but with a ruthless apathy for it.
She reached the bottom step and paused, listening to the subtle scrape of movement in the underbelly of the stairs. As she tensed, muscles locking to apprehend the subject, a figure stepped out directly into her path.
Both women recoiled, a single, unified gulp of terror ringing in the air, both of their hands raised instinctively. Lisa's right arm already a coiled spring, the blow aimed, with professional instinct, for the soft hollow of a throat.
The panic instantly subsided.
The figure wasn't a criminal. It was Carla. She stood less than three feet away, looking as hollowed out as Lisa felt. The real weight of seeing each other again slammed into them hard.
The air suddenly became thicker, almost too difficult to breathe.
“Sorry, I thought… well, I thought someone was breaking in.” Lisa’s hand fell from its striking position, her palm prickling with phantom force. She shuffled her feet awkwardly, the words barely a whisper.
"Good job I turned around before you had the chance to whack me then, weren’t it?" Carla’s voice was flat and devoid of her usual warmth. It was like the voice of a stranger.
Lisa nodded, unable to look into Carla’s eyes properly. The guilt eating her up. “Sorry,” she whispered. They both knew the apology went much deeper than the near attack. Lisa tried hard to contain the emotion, but the tears, silent and hot, marred her face. "You came back," she hiccupped, relief and agony merging into one singular, ugly sound.
Carla instantly cut in, her voice firm and cold, constructing a wall of verbal caution. "I haven’t forgiven you, Lisa. I want to make that crystal clear from the off. But I do think we need to talk. It’s not just us that this is affecting is it, and I know that she’s not my daughter, but I wanted to make sure Betsy was okay."
“Why wouldn’t she be?” Lisa asked, bewildered.
“I take it she didn’t listen to a single thing I said yesterday then?”
Lisa frowned, her confusion genuine. “You spoke to her yesterday?”
Carla nodded, then folded her arms tightly over the stained kimono. “I’ll take that as a no then.”
Lisa shook her head slowly, confusion evident on her face.
“I think we should sit down. We need to talk. And this time, you need to listen. No excuses, no changing the subject, and no blaming Becky. This is just about us. Getting everything off our chests.” Carla said, her voice low and dangerously even.
////
Carla swallowed hard, the need to cry a hot burning behind her eyes. She focussed on the gloom of the wine-stained tabletop, holding her body so rigidly she felt the strain in her jaw, fighting the inevitable collapse.
“It hurts, Lisa. Not just what you did, but that you did it.” Carla’s voice was strained, low, and filled with absolute exhaustion. She rubbed her temple, the heel of her hand grinding against the bone. “I’m supposed to be used to this, to being the second choice, never the priority. But I never imagined for one second that you would be the one to prove it to me again. All of this has completely blindsided me, because funnily enough there doesn't happen to be a guidebook on how to handle your fiancée's wife coming back from the dead."
Lisa took a quick, pleading lean forward. "You are my first priority. You’re not playing second fiddle to anyone. I don't want Becky; I want you ."
Carla interjected, “Oh come off it Lisa, you can trot that out as much as you want, it doesn’t make it true.”
“No, It is true.” Lisa held her voice as steady as she could manage. "I meant every word I said when I took her ring off. Nothing has changed for me. I know I’ve handled this badly-
“Hmm understatement of the flamin’ century that.”
“But like you said, there's no guidebook. I am trying.” She paused, staring down at her hand, at her engagement ring, the metal cold against her skin. “I love you. She means nothing to me, nothing, I promise."
Carla shook her head, a slow, agonising refusal to accept the simplification of the circumstances. She finally met Lisa's eyes. "You were with her for twenty years, Lis. Twenty years of history, of habits, of love. You can't just switch those feelings off like a tap."
Lisa inhaled sharply, the weight of the past weakening her control. Her eyes darted away, just for a second, searching the ceiling for some wayward thought that wouldn’t come. "I mean it." she mumbled. But the conviction was gone. The words sounded empty, crushed by the enormity of the situation.
Carla leaned against the back of the sofa, her posture rigid, forcing down her growing upset. "I told you when we first got together that I was scared to let my guard down," she started, her voice flat. “I made that point. All I ever seem to get is my heart trampled on, and you swore you’d be different. I trusted you," She paused, letting the words land lead. "But maybe it's like what you said to me that day when Betsy was in the hospital bed, maybe I should have trusted my instincts."
Lisa sank deeply at the memory of that painful moment. "Don't say that.” She paused, her mouth dry, “Carla. I didn't mean it when I told you that. You know I didn’t mean that, I was a mess, I wasn't thinking straight."
Carla's eyes were now cold, utterly devoid of warmth. "Oh, but I am, Lisa. In fact, I don't think I've thought this clearly in weeks."
Lisa shook her head, her face hurt, her eyes pleading, "You don't mean that."
Carla let out a single bitter, humourless laugh.“You’ve treated me like I’m dispensable.” Her gaze shifted pointedly to the door, where Becky had stood, uninvited, countless times before. “You’ve got the original back now. Why would you want the replacement?” Her voice cracked slightly, but she masked it instantly with contempt. “I should’ve known it was too good to be true. I really thought things would be different with a woman, Lisa. I didn’t think you’d be just as heartless as all the men.”
“That’s hardly fair, I don’t think I deserve that.” she complained.
"And what about me? About what I deserve? Do I deserve to be a spare part in my own home?”
“No of course not, I-”
“Because I have been, that’s exactly what I’ve been, the spare prick at a wedding, crying myself to sleep in our bed while you were down here entertaining your wife. And you can say it was for Betsy’s benefit all you want, but we both know that’s a lie. You didn’t notice at all, or worse still, you chose not to notice.”
“I admit that I didn’t see things that I shoul-”
"No, you saw what you wanted to see Lisa," Carla retorted.
“I’m sorry.” she whispered.
“And those drunken texts, did you even really mean any of that? I miss you, I want you, I can’t do anything without you ?”
Lisa winced as embarrassment washed over her face, turning her cheeks a shade of crimson. “Of course I meant it but I was bladdered, Carla. I was desperate to try and fix things.”
“Desperate to fix things?” Carla laughed, ”But not once, not one single time, did you ask how I was. Not once did you say, ‘I messed up, I pushed you away, I’m sorry for your pain.’ It was all about your fear, your inability to cope. What about me?”
“Okay, I messed up and I pushed you away. I’m sorry.”
Oh God, Lisa,” Carla groaned, her hands flying up to cover her face. The hatred she craved wouldn't come despite how much she wanted it to. “I’m not supposed to tell you what to say, you’re supposed to come up with that bit yourself.”
Lisa’s shoulders slumped, the last shred of fight leaving her body. She didn't offer an excuse, didn't argue fairness, just sat there, utterly defeated by Carla's words and her own catastrophic choices. “I’m sorry,” she said again, her voice quivering, a thin thread of hopelessness. “Please. Can we just start over? I can...I can put the kettle on. Make us a brew.” The offer was meaningless, a poor attempt at normality, and it was the last thing she could muster. Her face crumpled. She let out a harsh, coarse cry, the tears came, streaming down her face, uncontrollable and ugly. “Don’t leave me, Carla. Please. Please stay here. I’ve ruined everything, but just…stay. We can work it out.”
Carla watched her, the unfiltered, undignified sight of Lisa's complete breakdown slicing through the carefully constructed wall of anger. The cold contempt wavered, replaced by a stinging flood of pity and, worse, that undeserved, familiar love. She saw not the heartless betrayer, but a scared, desperate woman who knew she had royally fucked up.
Carla slowly lowered her hands. Her voice barely intelligible. “Fine.”
Lisa hitch-cried herself into sudden silence, looking up with red, surprised eyes, the quiet in the room suddenly deafening.
“I said fine, Lisa,” Carla repeated, her tone dead flat. She squeezed her lips together and swallowed the bitterness. “Make the flamin’ tea. I’ll stay. But don't think this is us starting over. We are miles away from starting over.”
Lisa nodded once, in a fast, jerky motion, her cheeks still damp from tears. "I deserve that."
Carla gave a single, tired sigh, a sound of resignation. She didn't look at Lisa, instead focussing on the ceiling.
“Oh, and add two sugars,” Carla grumbled, the request breaking the tension with its pure, banal normality. "I think I'm going to need it.”
////
Carla sat stiffly on the sofa, a mug of tea, two sugars, steaming, clutched between both hands. Lisa was perched right next to her, yet still an uncomfortable distance away. The air between them was dense, the undercurrent of suffering and hurt bubbling away under the surface.
Lisa cleared her throat, staring into her own tea as if searching for an answer at the bottom of the mug. She finally looked up, her red-rimmed eyes meeting Carla’s for a fleeting second. “So… how have you been then?”
Carla slowly lowered her mug, resting it carefully on the coffee table, making a deliberate move. She fixed Lisa a long, flat stare. “Oh, I’ve been just peachy.” The sarcasm was torrid.
“Sorry.”
“No, I’m sorry,” Carla instantly countered. She closed her eyes and pressed her thumb against her temple, the fight temporarily draining away. “I just… my head’s just completely scrambled, you know? I don’t even know what to think right now.”
The silence stretched, punctuated only by the shallow, careful sound of their breathing.
“I’ve missed you,” Lisa finally whispered, the words small and real, delivered straight to the floor.
Carla looked at her, the exhaustion in her eyes deepening into a painful ache. She’d fought to hate her, but here they were, in this wreckage. “And you,” she admitted, the confession barely audible.
Carla straightened her spine, the fragile moment shattering under the weight of a new, vital thought. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
Carla’s stare was steady, intense. “Has she been here since I left?”
Lisa grimaced with sudden discomfort. She nodded slowly, then rushed to clarify. “Not through choice. When I got drunk, the day I sent those messages, Betsy called her and she came here then. But nothing happened Carla, nothing, I swear.”
“Okay.”
Lisa tensed. “Okay?”
“I just wanted to see if you’d tell me. Betsy mentioned it on the phone yesterday.”
“How was Bets when you spoke to her?” Lisa asked, her concern overriding caution. She’s probably said more to Carla in one phone call than she’s said to me in two weeks.
“Upset. And drunk.” Carla's voice was full of compassion. "She never talked to you after I told her to, did she?”
Lisa slowly shook her head. “No.”
"You Swain's honestly," Carla chuckled gently to herself, the familiar humour resurfacing. She leaned slightly forward, her voice softening. "So, is that the only time Becky has been here?"
Lisa’s eyes darted away, fixed intensely on the chipped paint near the TV unit. Her silence was a clear admission to secretiveness.
“Lisa?” Carla pressed. “Actually, d’you know what, don’t answer. I think that tells me everything I need to know.”
“No, wait. It wasn’t what you think,” Lisa insisted, urgently leaning forward. "She came to talk to Betsy the day after I got drunk. I don’t know what was said, Betsy wouldn’t tell me, but she brought some snacks over for her, wanted to have a girly night. But she left not long after. I promise you, Carla, hand on heart, she hasn’t been back since and I never want her to step foot in here again.”
“That much we can agree on,” Carla sighed, the silence stretching into acceptance. She changed tack. “How’s Costello?”
“I wouldn’t know. I’ve been off, but he’s been all too happy for me to stay at home. He's buttering me up,” Lisa scoffed, a flash of her old self returning. “I can see straight through it. They're both up to something, I'm not sure what yet, but I'm gonna get to the bottom of it."
“And Kit?”
“Wouldn’t know. Honestly, two weeks away from that smug git feels like a reward,” she sighed.
“I know you clash, but when I spoke to him after Becky showed up, he genuinely seemed to have your best interests at heart,”
“The only thing he’s interested in is commendations and worming his way up into my job,” Lisa snarked, before looking back at Carla’s exasperated stare. “Sorry,” she finished quietly. “I know you’re just trying to help, and I’m throwing it back in your face.”
“You don’t say,” Carla replied, raising her eyebrow in a swift, arched motion.
Lisa buried her face in her palms. “I seem to have a knack lately for doing everything terribly don’t I?” She looked up at Carla, who remained mute, before realising Lisa was actually waiting for a response.
"Oh, were you expecting me to disagree with that?" Carla laughed in a fast, dry tone. "I think you summed it up pretty nicely there."
Lisa groaned into her hands.
"You make a good brew though, I'll give you that."
Lisa's lips curved into a weak smile, but the familiar, decisive click of the front door snapped her head up and the smile instantly died. Her ex-wife's infuriatingly smug face appeared in the doorway, staring directly towards both of them.