Christmas Day 2012
"You've reached Carla Connor. Leave a message, and I'll get back to you."
"Car," he breathed shakily into the phone, "Look, I don't blame you for walking out, okay? I know I've messed up big time, but please," Peter pleaded into the phone, "baby, please just come home so that we can talk this through. I don't blame you for not believing me, you have every right not too, but I meant everything I said last night. Please love, I can't - I won't lose you again..."
With a resounding sigh, he ended the call. Placing his mobile on the kitchen countertop, he dropped his head into his hands, his fingers frantically running through his hair. Where the hell was she? He had checked the usual places: the factory, the flat, her old flat, to no avail. His fear that she had left him for good reaching a fever pitch even had him asking for Tracy's help with checking trans-Atlantic flights due to leave from Manchester, Gatwick and Heathrow airports. None of which, to his relief and sheer luck, had any flights outgoing until the following afternoon.
In a final bid of desperation, he had bit the bullet and sought out Rob and Michelle, knowing full well the earache he would endure from the pair of them, but was instead left speechless at Rob's blase attitude towards his sister's disappearance.
Pushing himself upright, he breathed slowly in and out as that same sickening nausea he had battled earlier that evening suddenly came back with a vengeance. His eyes blinked several times as a dizzy feeling swept over him, and he carefully padded into the bedroom, desperately needing to lie down before he passed out.
He curled his body up on the mattress, the sheets still disheveled from their night of passion the night before, and hugged Carla's pillow against his chest, breathing in the scent of her that lingered there; it's soothing effect quickly replaced with a pang of overwhelming guilt.
'Last night was like a dream, Peter. You said the most amazing things to me...' Her voice had cracked earlier that morning; her fingers had raked through her hair as the realization that he had tried to seduce Leanne the night before dawned on her, throwing her world into a jumbled mess of confusion and heartbreak.
'And I meant every word I said...' He had told her.
And he had. He couldn't deny that he had hoped to see Leanne when he opened his front door, late the previous evening, gleeful that his mind games with her had succeeded in ruining her upcoming nuptials to Nick. But the initial shock of seeing Carla standing there instead subsided quickly the moment she was in his arms. Leanne and indeed his whole plan of revenge had been swiftly forgotten. All that mattered was that Carla was back where she belonged - with him.
It wasn't long after they reignited their passion the best way they knew how, making up for lost time, that her body had begun to shake against him. Her apprehension had started to rise to the forefront once more as she succumbed to the horrible memories that plagued her, as they had done when they had first arrived back from Los Angeles. The tears she could no longer hold back had rapidly begun to fall.
'One day at a time, love' He had whispered to her. He held her naked body close to his own as they lay together on the bed, watching the clock on the bedside table switch from 11:59 pm to 12:00 midnight, 'We'll get you through this, one day at a time.' He had pressed a gentle kiss to her temple, feeling her tears wet against his arm that pulled her ever closer to him, 'me and you, love…'
They had spent the next few hours alternating between sleeping and sex, until he was awakened with a start, the harsh buzz of the doorbell echoing throughout the flat. Careful not to wake Carla, still slumbering peacefully, he gently removed his arm from where it had been wrapped around her body. He quickly threw on some clothes and made his way down the steps, when he was suddenly thrown back into the harsh light of reality and the devastating fallout of his mind games of the past week when Leanne, decked out in her wedding dress pushed past him and up the stairs into his flat.
He just needed to get her out of the flat before she said something incriminating that Carla would overhear. But then she offered to take off her dress and damn him for allowing it to give him pause for that one prolonged second - he was a virile male after all - but it was just long enough for Carla's voice to boom from the hallway that their ship had long since sailed.
He watched the two women snipe at each other, cowardly wanting to stay out of the trench he had scattered with bombs over the past week. But when Leanne launched into a confident tirade about his feelings for her, and how he would drop Carla in an instant for her if she said the word, his conscience reared its ugly head, like the git it was, and he knew he had taken this game too far.
He had set out to play with her mind, to instill doubt about marrying Nick, a fitting act of revenge for Nick and Leanne's affair, for Nick's role in almost destroying him with booze. And he couldn't forget Leanne's smug satisfaction upon hearing of a broken-hearted Carla's departure just over a week prior. No, he couldn't let that slide, either.
Peter never had any intention of getting back together with Leanne; it had all been a game. But his game now held the horrifying possibility of destroying the only romantic relationship that really mattered to him.
Carla gave as good as she got as she verbally spared with his ex-wife. But while her confidence may have duped Leanne, she didn't fool Peter; he could see in her stance that she was breaking, that the lingering fear of rejection after she had risked everything to come back to Weatherfield for him now threatened to overwhelm her completely.
But still, he ran after Leanne as she fled from the flat. Not because he cared more for her than the woman he had left to watch them from the window above. No. This was simply his feeble and foolish attempt to assuage his guilt.
In the end, though, it was futile. Leanne wouldn't forgive this. And as she venomously screeched at him, still unwilling to recognize her part in the breakdown of their relationship, he couldn't mask the feeling of satisfaction as he watched her clamber into the waiting car, trying in vain to salvage what remained of her wedding day.
Whether Leanne and Nick married that day or if they split up, he no longer cared. The woman waiting for him in their living room, the one whom he had given up his marriage for, the woman who had given up everything for him, she was the only one who mattered.
He watched her struggle to bottle her emotions and fail. She was terrified of giving up control, he knew this, and he felt sick to his stomach at seeing her so vulnerable because of his actions. And while he ultimately managed to convince her of the truth: that he loved only her, he knew those seeds of doubt had been firmly planted in her mind.
They headed to his dad's for dinner, Carla's mask of indifference already in place as she prepared herself to act as though it didn't bother her that his family still treated her as his mistress, as the homewrecker who split a family apart. But to the surprise of them both, she was welcomed into their loving but dysfunctional family unit, with Ken remarking how his son hadn't looked as happy as he did in weeks. As they sat around the table, popping the crackers and exchanging stories and laughs, he continued to gaze lovingly at Carla. This was all Peter had wanted since he admitted he loved her last year, and he knew that with the rest of his family now accepting of the love of his love, his son would eventually come around as well.
But he knew the peace couldn't last. It never did. So when Leanne came banging on the door of number one, screeching like a fishwife at him, he couldn't help but reveal the truth behind his actions over the past week.
"...the day I went to a mortuary thinking a body was yours!" Leanne hit him on the chest, and he grabbed her wrists to restrain her, "you've got a funny way of showing love!"
"Yeah, yeah, well, and so have you, as Nick's found out to his cost!"
After enduring Leanne's tirade of insults before she was finally dragged away by Stella and Jason, he swiftly declared his innocence to his father. But when he made his way back inside, he came face to face with Carla, her eyes flashing dangerously upon hearing his admission.
"Where are you going?" He asked, trying to mask the panic that was creeping in as she shrugged on her coat.
"Get out of my way, Pe'er!"
"No," he stood in front of the door, shielding it with his arm, "not until you tell me where you're going."
She narrowed her eyes at him, "this was all some sort of sick game, weren't it? Some revenge on Nick for having an affair with Leanne when you two were engaged?"
He glanced at his father, who stood in the foyer behind Carla, "dad, can you give us a minute, please?"
"Oh, Peter," Ken admonished him, his feet remaining firmly where they were, "what have you done?"
"He wanted Nick to feel what he did," Carla responded, "Isn't that right, Peter? You wanted him to feel the same pain: to know that the woman he loved might just love someone else more."
"Carla, please," Peter pleaded with her as he glanced briefly to where Simon was sat on the stairs, his arms wrapped around his knees, hugging them to his chest as he peered through the bannister, "can we just talk about this at home?"
Carla's eyes followed his, and she scoffed, "Yeah, you wouldn't want your son thinking any less of you. Or Leanne, for that matter. No. As long as Simon pins all the blame on me as per, then you're both in the clear. And the pair of you can keep using that lad as an emotional battering ram. Who cares if he suffers so long as you get one up on the other."
He watched as her eyes became glassy with unshed tears before she snatched her purse from the side table.
"I've had enough of this," she turned on her heel and headed for the kitchen.
"Carla, wait!" he called out, ready to give chase when he found his path inexplicably blocked by his father.
"Let her go," Ken placated him, hearing the door to the back garden open and close swiftly, "give her some space. You'll only make things worse now..."
He resisted the urge to ignore his dad and race after her, but he knew the old man was right. She needed to cool off. But it wasn't long before he became restless again. He had to find her. He had to make things right before he lost her for good.
He once again breathed in the comforting scent of her that lingered on the pillow he clutched to his chest, his eyes drifting to her clothes that she had hung in the closet earlier that morning, before he finally pushed himself up and off the mattress. He needed to do something, anything before his emotions threatened to overwhelm him once more. And so back into the kitchen is where he found himself, his body moving of its own accord as he went through the motions of making himself a brew. He took out his favourite mug from the cabinet and placed it on the counter, he turned to the kettle and flicked on the switch at the back, he opened the canister beside it and retrieved a teabag.
But beneath his slow, deliberate motions and seemingly calm exterior, inside, Peter Barlow was quickly unravelling. His eyes remained acutely focused on the screen of his mobile, as he silently prayed to any god that would listen that he would strive to be a less vengeful man from this day forward if only his phone would ring...
"Whisky, neat." He ordered as he sat down on a barstool in the hotel's lobby.
This wasn't how he imagined this night. Christmas night, his wedding night. And oh, how he had imagined it: the romance, the champagne, the chocolates on the pillows, the opulent honeymoon suite. Now he would be drinking the champagne alone, eating the chocolates alone, sleeping in the honeymoon suite's four-poster bed alone.
He sighed in despair, 'if only Eva had stuck around,' he thought. Meaningless sex was just what he wanted right now; what he craved. And she was offering it up on a plate. Sticking the boot into Leanne would be merely a bonus.
A flash of red caught his eye from the far end of the wooden-topped bar, a woman in red, a red dress. The enticing lines of her back becoming to him.
'Now that's interesting,' he thought as his eyes lingered on her body. He didn't need to see her face to know who she was; he had spent the better part of 2010 near the woman to know her every gesture, her every curve. Not that he had ever been physically intimate with her. No. Though the thought had crossed his mind more than once. And now, with that mask of self-confidence she had worn like a shield when they had first met ripped from her through the trauma she had suffered through this past year, she still retained that same quality so that there was no mistaking who she was.
'Nick, please, let me prove how much I love you, please!'
'So what are you going to do? You gonna fake it 'till you feel it?'
'I don't need to!'
'You're a liar!'
'Why should they always get the happy endings?'
'Who? Peter? Carla? I mean, she's 5000 miles away!' Leanne looked away, unable to meet his eyes, 'Isn't she?' he felt his heart sink as realization set in, 'I see, he knocked you back, 'cause he got a better offer...'
Her natural striking raven hair was now lighter in colour, a soft brown hue that only seemed to accentuate her features further. But still, it was indeed the Carla Connor who sat in the lobby bar of his hotel, on his wedding night. She was most definitely back from L.A. She was here, in the flesh, and looking as intoxicating as ever.
Oblivious to her surroundings, her lack of awareness gave him ample time to take her in: her head remained lowered as she twirled her wine by the stem of the glass, her body slightly hunched forward with one leg crossed over the other while her black pump dangled teasingly off her right foot. As her phone vibrated on the bar, she moved it closer to her, peering down at the name flashing on the screen.
Nick bit his lip as he watched her scowl before rejecting the call, pushing the phone away from her again, she picked up her glass and sipped on her wine, her tongue sweeping along her lips to catch the residual liquid that remained. He felt that familiar feeling stir within him again; that same lust he felt the first time he had ever seen her sashaying with such confidence into her factory.
Why was she here, he wondered. In this particular hotel, on this specific evening. All he could conclude was that she was here for the same reason as him: to lick her wounds. As he leaned on the counter and rubbed his hand along his chin, he mulled over a new plan. Suddenly, his wedding night transformed from a night of misery to one of intrigue, of temptation and, if he played his cards right, to a night of revenge. For if there were one woman he could seduce that would cause the most damage to those around him, it would be the girlfriend of his nemesis.
He closed his eyes, imagining the look of pure horror and heartbreak that would flash across Peter's face when he found out that Nick had bedded his girlfriend.
And the tears that would fall from Leanne's eyes as she felt just a fraction of the pain he had endured earlier that day.
He opened his eyes once more to gaze at her figure and grinned. Oh yes, seducing Carla would be beyond satisfying. 'In more ways than one.'
"This seat taken?"
Carla sharply turned as Nick perched himself onto the empty barstool next to her, flashing her a cheeky wink as his fingers deftly unbuttoned his suit jacket, "oh, it's you."
"Charming," he chuckled.
"Oh no, sorry, I didn't mean it like that," she shook her head, "my friend Eddie here," Carla nodded to the bartender, who flashed her an easy smile in return, "mentioned it were dead tonight because of a cancelled wedding. I didn't put two and two together until I saw your ugly mush."
"So, you didn't come here on purpose?"
Carla took a sip of her red wine and shook her head, "no, well, yes, but not for the reason you're thinking."
"Tell me. Why?"
"Peter wouldn't think to look for me here," she half-heartedly shrugged as she glanced about the bar, "You know, me and Paul stayed here before we jetted off to the Maldives for our honeymoon," she offered him a lopsided grin, "we came back on our fifth wedding anniversary as well. You shoulda seen the room. Had some good memories here."
"Wish I could say the same," he frowned and shuffled in closer on his seat, "beautiful honeymoon suite though."
"Mmm, wait 'till you try the whirlpool tub," she raised her wine glass back to her lips, "it'll ruin all future baths for you," she giggled as she took a sip.
"Well, that is the master plan for later."
"Got your rubber ducky, have you, Nicky?"
"I told you, don't call me Nicky."
"Sorry, couldn't resist," she bit her lip playfully.
"And no, I don't have a rubber duck, but I do have bubbles, a bottle of champagne, a playlist for the broken-hearted on my iPod, so I'm all set."
"You need a good playlist," she chuckled, "I must have listened to Lana Del Rey on a constant loop the whole flight back to Los Angeles," she took a sip of her drink, "well, most of the songs, any road."
"Ah, one that reminded you too much of Peter?"
Her eyes remained fixated on her glass as her fingers tapped along its base, "Yeah. Video Games."
"Not bad," he nodded, "I always preferred that song from that Bridget-something-or-other, movie. You know which one I mean."
Carla curiously tilted her head, "Which song?"
"You know, that song she sings near the beginning of the film."
"What's it called?"
"All by myself?"
"Don't think I'm familiar with it," she shook her head.
"Seriously? All by myself? It's been covered multiple times: Rosemary Clooney? Celine Dion?"
"Nope, not a clue what you're on about," she shrugged apologetically, flashing him a cheeky grin, "how does it go?"
"You know," Nick cleared his throat, "' all by myself, don't wanna be...'" he crooned offkey, "' all by myself, anymore.'"
"Hmpff," Carla snorted with barely contained laughter.
"Oh, you were having me on!" he accused her, playfully poking her in the ribs as she continued to laugh.
"Promise me you won't ever serenade your punters, Nick, else you'll be shut down by springtime!"
"I'll try to contain myself," he chuckled, his eyes lazily raking in every inch of her body from head to toe.
"Your whisky, sir."
"Oh, and another glass of red for the lady, please-"
"Oh no, I shouldn't-"
"Are you actually going to deny the only wish of a heartbroken, jilted groom on the day his heart was shattered into a million pieces? Come on, don't make me drown my sorrows with Eddie, here!"
"I am pretty boring, company ma'am."
She chuckled in spite of herself, "go on then. Another Merlot, please, just a small one, though."
"On my tab," Nick nodded to Eddie, "so," he reached out and tapped his fingers on the screen of Carla's mobile, "why are you hiding from Peter?"
"Do you need to ask?" She raised her wine glass once again, seeking comfort in the familiar warmth and numbness it brought.
"I'd prefer to hear your version. What do you make of this sordid mess?"
"I was gone barely ten days..." She said, running her finger along the rim of her wine glass absently, "I thought he loved me more than that, but he obviously couldn't wait to see the back of me."
"Well, if it makes you feel any better, my bride-to-be loved me so much that she decided to hedge her bets less than an hour before we got hitched, so..."
She eyed him over the rim of her glass, "That does make me feel a bit better, actually," they both chuckled.
"Go on, then what happened?"
"How'd you mean?"
"At the flat?"
Carla sighed, her fingers twirling her wine glass, "Why do you want to torture yourself, Nick?"
"I dunno. Closure? Glutton for punishment? Take your pick."
"Well, I'd rather not relive it if it's all the same with you," she downed the rest of her wine.
'When did she get back?'
'Last night...late.'
'Just in the nick of time, sounds like. Hey, speaking of 'Nick'...'
'And what if I hadn't kicked you out, eh? What then?-'
'You made your bed-'
'If I had let you go ahead and kiss me!'
'Oh, don't come here, causing trouble!'
'You are unbelievable!'
She glanced at the puppy dog expression on Nick's face and felt herself cave. He deserved to know the truth, and after being blindsided and humiliated twice in one day, she certainly didn't owe Leanne or Peter anything at this point.
"She offered herself to him on a silver platter; and he told her she misread the signals."
"And do you think she did?"
'Go home, Leanne. Don't make him your summat borrowed-"
'Oh, you think you've got it all sewn up? Well, one smile-'
'Let it go-' Peter tried to interrupt her
'one kiss from me last night,-'
'Just let it go!'
'-and you would've been bouncing your way back through terminal 2!'
"I don't know," she shook her head, "It's a lot to take in, and I'm still jet-lagged. Barely been back 48 hours."
"48 hours? You've been back for two days?"
"Yeah, what of it?"
"Well, why didn't you go see Peter sooner, then?"
"Uhh, not that it's any of your business Tilsley, but I had...other things I had to do first..."
"B-but don't you see?" he sputtered, "If you had shown up two days ago, he wouldn't have gone to see her last night! Played his little games, messed with her head -"
"Oh, not you as well!" She huffed in frustration, "You know, I've already got a nine-year-old irrationally blaming me for this, alright? I don't need a grown man doing it an' all!"
"No, no, of course not," he felt a wave of guilt crash over him as he watched her try to blink back the tears that lined her eyes, threatening to fall, "Of course it's not your fault. I'm sorry, I didn't mean for it to come across like that," he reached out and laid his hand gently on top of hers but pulled back immediately as she jolted sharply away from his touch.
"Sorry," she whispered in embarrassment as she raised her fingers to the bridge of her nose, "I wish I could stop myself from doing that..."
"You don't have to apologize, I should have remembered..." His eyes carefully swept over her, the gaze that just minutes before had eyed her hungrily, now replaced with genuine concern. He carefully reached out his hand to hers again, this time merely resting it upon the bar-top. He smiled as she placed her small hand in his, and he gave it a reassuring squeeze, resisting the urge to draw her into his arms instead of this superficial attempt to help ease the battle she was fighting internally.
When she finally made eye contact again, offering him a weak, reassuring smile, he carefully moved in closer to her, "I'd never hurt you, you know?"
She nodded, "I know," her fingers grasped his, and she gave them a gentle squeeze back, "I do..."
"Well, not exactly the sort of 'I do,' I was planning on hearing today, but it'll take it," he winked as she laughed and playfully punched his arm, "right," he smiled genuinely at her, before rising to his feet and holding out his hands to her, "come on!"
"What?"
"Let's go sit over by the fire, take them heels off, take a load off."
She bit her lip and grinned at him as she twisted in her seat, placing both hands in his as he helped her shimmy off the high stool.
His thumbs caressed the soft skin of her fingers in reassurance, and as her feet landed softly upon the floor he drew her closer to him, her long lashes fluttering as she looked up into his green eyes. A shy smile tugged at her lips, and she stepped back from his piercing gaze.
She freed her hands from his grasp, tucking her hair behind her ears and gathered her belongings before turning towards the sofa, desperate to conceal the blush that had inflamed her cheeks and left a perplexed Nick in her wake.
He lingered a little longer at the bar, smiling in amusement as she stepped out of her high heels and sank back into the soft leather of the settee, audibly clearing her throat as she glided her hands smoothly along her thighs.
His smile quickly faded. He should have been thrilled; after all, he had succeeded in what he had once thought impossible: ruffling the seemingly unrufflable Carla Connor. But in doing so, he had managed to unsettle himself in the process.
When had things changed between them? When did the flirty banter they had engaged in for years suddenly shift to tease the potential of something more? He couldn't be sure. What he did know, in those few seconds that he had held her body close to his, Nick felt a more profound attraction to her than before.
Her mobile vibrated upon the wooden coffee table, its flashing screen indicating an incoming call and affording him a brief pause from his thoughts as he curiously watched her reach for it. He was certain that she would answer it this time. Instead, she surprised him yet again, frowning at the screen and declining the call. Was she feeling this attraction too, he thought as he retrieved their drinks from the bar and sauntered with a renewed confidence towards her.
"Here you are," he handed her the Merlot and took a seat next to her on the sofa, twisting his body, so he was facing her, intently watching as she tucked one of her legs under her body, the hem of her dress hiking up another tantalizing inch.
As he draped one arm along the backrest of the sofa, his fingers so close to her shoulder he could almost feel the heat from her body, Nick reached out with the other arm, the whisky glass grasped in his hand "so madam," he proclaimed, "shall we toast to the end of a spectacularly horrid year?"
She shook her head, shuffling closer to him, "no. I think we should toast to summat positive."
Nick's eyes hypnotically lingered on the sweetheart neckline of her figure-hugging dress, to the swells of her breasts that rose and fell with each breath, "to a bright new year?"
She flashed him a dazzling smile. The effect on him was instantaneous; that old familiar feeling, that twitch in his pants as his desire for her swelled into life. She clinked her glass against his as her gaze fluttered flirtatiously between his eyes and his lips.
"To us..."