HOLOCENE: FEMSLASH CARCHELLE
Notes: I dreamt this and just had to share with you. Hope you enjoy.
Carla is pleasantly surprised at the weather coming down the M60 and presses one of the buttons on the woodgrain interior of her convertible BM to pull back the roof. She's new. A big, blue and beautiful 2019 4 series with numerous features she hasn't even bothered to try yet. Well, except the heated seats for frosty early starts when headed to the office or the stereo system on long drives to meetings with clients up and down the country. She loves a good power ballad as she drives towards the orange stretch of sky on a Summer evening. This evening. Her iPod buzzes to life as the song changes and the words on the screen read the name to a song on her Easy 80s album.
The smooth beat makes her sink back into the leather of her seat. The warm wind blows through her crisp white Oxford button down and through her high-waisted cigarette pants, instantly cooling her skin—which has been burned from the sun throughout the day, having eaten her lunch al fresco with a client. The cool breeze suddenly thickens as she stops at a red-light and the heat engulfs her, making the material to her shirt clasp her skin. She exhales, a pitch to cool down.
Carla pushes her silver aviator glasses into her hair, noticing the dark loose curls hung around her shoulders had taken on a frizzier style from the breeze. She runs her fingers through the frizz to flatten it and much to her dismay, it makes no difference. Then she finds herself glancing at the time on the dashboard. She could take the longer route and enjoy the weather for a little while longer but it's already dusk and Michelle will be waiting so she pulls out into a side road, taking the back streets towards Weatherfield.
The music quietens as a chime pings from the speakers and the small screen on the dashboard notifies Carla that Michelle is getting worried.
Where are you? Need to put the kids to bed soon x
The next turn is her's onto Viaduct Street and when her tyres hit the cobbles, she slows the car to a crawl. She takes the opportunity to grab her phone from the glove compartment. Carla quickly taps into hers and Michelle's message thread and selects Share my current location. A small image consisting of a red pin and small letters denoting an address is delivered to Michelle.
Victoria Court, Victoria Street, Weatherfield.
Carla puts her car in park just outside the apartment block and grabs her Louboutins from the passenger seat, not even bothering to slip them on. She feels like her feet won't even be able to take another couple of metres in heels, never mind up the stairs to the flat.
The music dissolves as she turns off the engine and steps out of the car. The concrete is warm on her bare feet, but she doesn't contemplate putting her shoes back on. As she slips her keys into her trouser pocket, she hears the familiar sound of her text alert and she looks down at the iPhone in her hand to see a message from Michelle.
I see you. I'll be in the shower. Left kids in front room x
Carla immediately finds herself gazing up to the the flat window, but the curtains are just swaying gently. She feels somewhat disappointed and continues into the building.
There's a brunette teenage girl waiting by the lift when Carla arrives. She was pretty and very small, a skinny-but-toned build, clad in a hot pink Nike windcheater and gym shorts.
"Hey, sis," she says, grinning brightly.
Carla replies with a small, tired smile, "Hey, Kate."
The lift doors open and they both step inside. Carla assumes she's going home—the flat below her and Michelle's. They make small talk and Kate shows Carla photos from her holiday in Tenerife with their dad.
Kate's face beamed as she swiped through her camera roll. There was one photo by a pool side, Kate was tucked under Johnny's arm as they both grinned. She was in a floral summer playsuit, and Johnny in a tropical print shirt and shorts. He looked like one of them ridiculous Hawaiian tourists.
Kate swiped a few more times, and Carla caught a few miscellaneous images. There were a few selfies and photos of classwork. Then, an image of Kate with her arms around two small boys at either side of her. The three of them were sat in the middle of a football crowd, burgers in hand and wrapped head to toe in winter wear to keep them warm. Their noses were still red under all of their layers though. Ryan and Ali looked tiny, even beside Kate—who was still pretty small herself. Then the lift came to a halt at Kate's floor. She stepped out before flashing Carla a quick grin and opening the door to her apartment.
As the lift doors shut over, Carla catches herself smiling in the mirrors. She knows she's almost home and begins to unwind, tilting her head back to lean against the cold metal of the elevator wall.
Her thoughts begin to wander lazily. From what she thinks 'Chelle had cooked today to whether she should book another break away. The Riviera sounds good. The heels in her hand swing gently from her forefinger. Carla remembers the first time her and Michelle went away for the weekend in Paris. How Michelle demanded to see the top of the Eiffel Tower. And how they both climbed all the stairs to get to the top. And how they were chased back down by the tour guide because Michelle had joked about spitting from the top. Carla could swear she was a five-year-old in a forty-year-old's body. At that thought, Carla looked down at the lock screen of her phone in her hand, remembering the photo they took on that day. It was a selfie of the two by the River Seine. Michelle was cuddled up into the crook of Carla's neck, snug in a thick, cotton pea coat. She always knew to wrap up well. Carla had to borrow her blue cable-knit sweater because she'd only left the hotel in her jeans and her pinstriped Ralphie shirt.
Carla's nostalgia is interrupted when the lift doors clunk open. She steps out and pulls the keys from her pocket. The alarm beeps off and then chirps as Carla finally pushes through the threshold and swipes a key ring over the new security pad attached to the wall. The flat appears empty at first glance, but Carla hears the fridge door slam and the quiet patter of feet across the kitchen tiles. She throws her shoes down by a piles of kids' trainers in the hallway.
"'Chelle?" she calls out, and the sound of running water reminds her that she's showering and probably won't hear her.
Carla lumbers towards the kitchen, dropping her phone and keys atop of the marble island—sighing at the utter exhaustion setting into her muscles. She almost doesn't hear the quiet giggles of two toddler twin-boys hiding behind the island stools. Ali and Ryan were kneeling by a jar of Nutella, scooping out portions with their fingers.
"Hey!" Carla sort of whisper-shouts, as if stealing the Nutella was a top-secret mission she was in on, "Did Mummy 'Chelle say you could have that?"
Ali shakes his head and grins mischievously, but Ryan just keeps scooping the chocolate from the jar.
"Wait," Carla feigns surprise and holds her hand over her heart, "did you mean to say this is... secret?"
Then Carla takes her finger, takes a scoop from the jar and sticks the dollop of hazelnut chocolate into her mouth—exaggerating a 'mhm!'. Both Ali and Ryan snigger quietly. The three of them, knelt in the kitchen corner, look like a cunning little cult.
"Carla?" Michelle calls, appearing from the bathroom wrapped in a towel.
Michelle's voice startles her and she rises to her feet immediately, smashing her head on the kitchen counter. The boys burst out laughing and Michelle simply can't suppress a smile and her signature eye roll.
"You- you alright?" Carla inquires, squinting her eyes shut and rubbing the back of her head.
"Are you?" Michelle scoffs in reply, raising her eyebrow. It always made her nervous when Michelle would give her that look, even when she hadn't done anything wrong. Carla just nods. Then her eyes begin wandering.
Droplets of water ran down Michelle's shoulders from her damp locks. The skin on her arms have prickled with goosebumps and Carla takes note that she must be cold.
"Go and get in your 'jamas. I'll put the boys to bed, be with you in a minute," says Carla, watching as Michelle disappears into their bedroom. Then, she turns to the boys and takes the jar of Nutella from their hands.
"I'd have chocolate all the time if I could," she tries to explain, putting the jar back into the fridge, "but we've got to go to bed." She rubs her head again.
Carla's quick to run them into the bathroom, wash over their hands and face with a flannel and brush their teeth. Ryan was a little squeamish because he had a tooth loose, but Carla was gentle.
She has a talent with the boys—considering they aren't her blood. Carla had never imagined raising children before she met the twins. She wasn't exactly the most maternal, either. But if it meant a doing a better job than her own alcoholic mother did, she was up for it. Plus, the twins were good to her. A little cheeky sometimes, but good.
Ali won't sleep without a nightlight. So when the pair slipped into their thin cotton PJs – decorated with little stars and rockets – and jumped under the covers of their beds, Ali refused close his eyes until Carla switched on Boo Boo. He was the little giraffe-shaped LED lamp on his bed-side table. The dim white glow partly illuminated his little half-smile. It was crazy to think that a small light offered him a sense of security. The child's mind baffled Carla. She gently placed a kiss on both of their heads before closing over the door, leaving it slightly ajar.
Carla strides into her room, shedding her clothes off along the way. Michelle squints open her eyes. She's already in bed, lay on one side and hugging the cover with her leg over it. She's wearing cotton PJ shorts and one of her old rock pop concert tees from the Noughties. It's far too big for her now. It's so old and worn, it's one of the softest things in the drawer. Michelle doesn't miss Carla's mock protest over the shirt which usually turns into her signature goofy grin and some cheesy line about how "it might not survive another wash"— even though Carla still keeps her Radiohead and The Verve concert shirts in the box under the bed. Both still cringe at the mention of their punk-rock outfits from years ago.
"Mhm, good timing." A smile breaks out across Michelle's face, seeing her girlfriend's semi-naked body as she strips off. "Good thing your al-fresco dinner didn't go to your hips, 'ey?"
"Oi!" Carla feigns a gasp and Michelle laughs at her mock indignation as she climbs into bed next to her.
"Come here," Michelle says, lifting her arm to allow Carla to snuggle into her. Carla has an amazing talented of sleeping anywhere, almost on demand. With the travelling and work today, she is sleepier than Michelle. Carla desperately missed the softness of their bed, coming home to snuggle. The sheets are cool on her body.
Carla adjusts her head so she is resting on Michelle's breast. It reminds Michelle to schedule her annual mammogram and adds it to her lengthy mental to-do list. Michelle's mind and gaze returns to the woman in her arms, and her fingers start to wander aimlessly over her shoulder, down her back and slowly up again. Michelle places a soft kiss in her hair.
Carla relishes the soft thudding in her ear, and sleepily murmurs, "I can hear your heartbeat." Then her voice trails off, her breathing getting deeper, more relaxed, slipping closer to sleep.
"Aw," Michelle breathes out slowly, her voice tickling the back of her throat. A small, involuntary cough escapes her and she looks down at Carla, who didn't seem to notice. Maybe she was already asleep.
"Goodnight, babe," she whispers quietly in Carla's ear.
Who would have thought Michelle Connor, a small town restaurant owner of Irish descent sought love with her lifelong best friend, the millionaire entrepreneur of the Underworld Lingerie chain? Her childhood partner-in-crime? Carla Connor.