I've been wanting to write something from this perspective for a while. A bit rushed so not sure if I've done it justice, but I hope you like and reviews are always appreciated!
It's set shortly after the time of Frank's murder, but as if that hadn't happened.
.
Every day it felt more and more like a home, rather than the last resort it was. Or so she tried to convince herself, as she trudged wearily upstairs to her room.
It had been another long afternoon serving at the bar, attempting small-talk, steeling her pride to face the pity in her neighbours' eyes. Side-stepping the kindly questions that were a thin cover for their prying.
At least she was with family. The mother that abandoned her was her only option, now that her husband had left her. Hardly how she'd planned her life at the age of 30, but she'd battled for her self-respect before: she wasn't going to give up now.
Grimacing as she passed the mirror, she stopped to run a comb through her dishevelled blonde hair. Forcing it through the tangles, the pain was an almost pleasant distraction. Better than numbness anyway. Then, resting the comb on the dressing table, she looked at herself properly. Her face looked no different than it had three months ago. Maybe a couple of lines, but she felt years older, an optimism lost, maybe forever.
Leanne Barlow. Such an irony that both her first and last names came from people who didn't want her.
She shivered suddenly, feeling the chill in the dingy Rovers bedroom. Heading to the window, she slammed it shut with a violence she hadn't known she'd been holding in. To calm down, she rested her forehead against the cold glass, exhaling slowly, watching her breath mist over the glass and partially obscuring the street.
And then her grip tightened on the window sill, and she gasped.
It was Carla she saw first, dark glossy hair caught by the breeze, slender legs accentuated by her short skirt. And then, arms linked into hers, as if holding hands wasn't close enough, Peter walked with her, his attention wholly on the woman by his side.
They were so clearly lovers. Even if they hadn't been arm in arm, it was impossible to miss. Their steps perfectly in time, their matching leather jackets and black clothes, their smiling conversation that closed out the rest of the world. Just the way they looked into each other.
Leanne's familiar self-recriminations began. How had she not seen through their affair? How could she have been so blind for all those weeks? She turned away, unwilling to see more.
Even she had to admit their connection was intense. But then, she thought bitterly, addictions usually were.
With growing hatred, she remembered the last time she'd seen them together. Fighting over a bottle of whiskey, swaying across the room, booze on their breath, fury in their eyes. And yet the minute Leanne arrived, he'd leapt to Carla's defense and they'd closed ranks against her. Again.
She couldn't help looking down to the street again. Every gesture of Peter's was so familiar, she could tell at a glance that he was sober. And Carla seemed to be too. Wanting the best for Simon, she knew she should be glad, but now their sobriety just seemed like another punishment.
How dare they look so happy, so comfortable, like they'd been together for years. But then, she thought acidly, in Carla's mind they had been. And apparently that was all it took to make a man hers.
Leanne felt the sting of angry tears. Even weeks later, the betrayal was devastating. Peter should have been the father of her children. All her hopes, all her worries, all her strength. Wasted on a marriage that he hadn't even bothered to tell her was over.
She fell into a well-worn pattern of blame. Had she caused this to happen? Because of Nick, because of something else? Ever since Carla's shocking admission on the night of the tram crash, Leanne had tried to keep them apart. She'd thought if Peter stayed away from Carla, he couldn't fall for her. If she'd only known that he already had.
When she'd made him promise not to see Carla, had she forced him into lies and secret meetings? By turning her into his guilty secret, had she inadvertently fuelled his addiction, making her even more desirable? Would Peter's feelings ever have gone beyond friendship without that element of danger? The risk that an addict always craved.
It was too painful. She pushed back the questions, at least until the next sleepless night. Breathing a sigh of relief, she realised they'd disappeared from sight. But as she looked down, she realised they were now right underneath the window, standing together outside Ken and Deirdre's house.
She gripped the window pane tightly, her heart aching as she realised they were picking up Simon. At least Peter's son still wanted Leanne in his life. But she had no legal claim to him at all. Deep down, she feared she'd lose him too.
She knew she should look away, but she couldn't. She noticed Carla glancing at her watch, seeming to mumble something before turning towards the factory. And then Peter reached to pull her back.
Although Leanne had seen the photos in court of them together, the reality hit her with a visceral impact. Her blood ran cold as she saw Peter's lips met Carla's, her smile as she returned his kiss, As if in slow motion, his arms reached around her waist, drawing her even closer. They looked completely lost in each other, eyes closed, the rest of the world forgotten in their passion.
Too late, Leanne tried to blink back the tears that flooded her cheeks. It was easier to blame the other woman, but Peter's desire for Carla was all too plain. He'd more than responded to her advances.
Why couldn't she accept that it had always been about Carla? Right from the first time he'd lied to cover up her drinking. Maybe he'd fought it, like he told her. But it was hard to believe his feelings until she'd seen it right before her eyes.
She looked down again to see Carla break away from Peter, walking briskly over to the factory. As Peter stood back, his face was lit by the beam of a streetlight. She knew every expression of his face better than anyone, and it killed her to see his longing for Carla. After a moment, he rang the doorbell of Ken's house.
Leanne suddenly knew she couldn't stand to see Simon right now. And if he happened to look up and see her tear-drenched face, he'd be devastated. For the sake of her son, she finally forced herself away from the window.
She retreated to the bed, curling up as she bunched the duvet around her and allowed her tears to fall unrestrained at last. No-one needed to know that she'd seen anything. This was her own private misery, and she would cope with it in her own way. Now she'd seen them together, maybe she could begin to understand.
Over time she could deal with all of it, except the betrayal.