Merry Christmas, everyone!
No Man's Land
1.
It's been sat on his desk all day, the pink envelope on which his name is underlined.
Nick hasn't touched it yet because Carla has been out of office all day. Her absence is hardly a surprise to him; it's the no man's land between Christmas and New Year, and nobody who had spent even a minute of their Christmas Day in the Rovers could be ignorant to the fact that the Connors are in crisis. (When are they not?) The only reason Nick is at the factory is because he could feel himself getting under Leanne's feet at the flat. Steve and Tracy were to visit Oliver that afternoon. As much as Nick can now handle the former, the latter will never not set his teeth on edge.
He is about to clock off when Carla bursts through the office door. Her cheeks are flushed from outside and her coat makes a draft at his feet as she heads towards her desk. She'd forgotten her scarf, her putting that which is hung over the back of her chair around her neck tells him. How convenient.
"Productive day?" Carla asks, skipping the niceties. It is something Nick appreciates, small talk beyond him after the long festive period. He smiles at her.
"Well, I got through most of the admin."
Her eyes gleam with mirth. It's obvious that she is about to wind him up. "Most," she says.
He nods. "Yes. Most."
Carla gives a nod of her own. It seems as if she is about to leave, but she hovers by the door. It is as if she is waiting for him to say something. Never one to disappoint, Nick's fingers reach for the pink envelope and he holds it up for her to see.
"What's this?" he asks.
He knows damn well what it is and damn well who it is from. His computer screen clearly displays the date and her hand is one he is more than familiar with.
"Open it and find out," Carla says.
Naturally, Nick does as he's told.
He retrieves a card from the envelope, being careful not to tear it in the process. Ever the perfectionist. Carla watches him intently from the door, the frame of which she leans her body against. The pink article is placed on top of his keyboard as he turns the card over. A chuckle escapes him that he hadn't been anticipating. Carla tries to hide her smile from him, but fails miserably.
It's a birthday card. Cheap and nasty. (From Dev's.) A family of kittens wish Nick a purrfect day from their perch upon a pink, fluffy cloud. Carla watches closely for his reaction.
"Wow." Quiet laughter continues to escape him. "Dev only had kittens this time, eh?"
She wishes her heart didn't soar that he'd remembered; wishes that her plan had failed; that she hadn't furthered the inside joke between them. The fact that they now have the ability to laugh at something which once caused both a great deal of pain, no matter how hard they'd tried to conceal it, is testament to the amount of time that has passed since the event. Carla isn't quite sure how she feels about that, but then she isn't quite sure how she feels about most things these days.
"Shut up," she mutters, refusing to play along with him. After all, he's only half right. The kittens were a conscious choice. Carla had also bought the blue card, the one on which a dog could be seen smiling, but it had been too similar and her hand had shaken too much for her to write it. It had to be the kittens.
Nick opens the card.
There is no post-it note in it this time and he almost feels disappointed. His chest is heavy.
To Nick,
Happy birthday.
Love from,
Carla :) x
(your business partner)
He has no idea how she'd agonised over what to write inside. It was truly a pathetic spectacle Roy had to behold when he came home from the Rovers last night. Carla, sat at the kitchen table in her nightwear, pen poised, brow furrowed. A kiss is too much, isn't it? Roy had agreed and they had instead settled for a smiley face. But is that not passive aggressive? Once Roy had gone to bed, Carla added both without hesitation. It was only when she was millimetres away from sealing the envelope that she had a sudden revelation, removing the card with care to add at the bottom of her message:
(your business partner)
Nick seems to have found that particular line as amusing as she had at the time. He rolls his eyes at her.
"Thank you, Carla," he says. "Really." She can hear the sincerity in his voice; he's genuinely surprised by her thoughtfulness. Carla smiles.
"Pleasure."
Nick is careful with his words. "You do know it isn't my birthday for another few days, don't you?"
It is now Carla's turn to roll her eyes at him. She fakes a laugh and focuses her eyes on the discarded envelope. She suddenly feels shy; a bit stupid. "Yes, I do. Idiot. I just wanted to be the first, you know? To show you that I can actually remember."
But why? As the card says, they're business partners. That's it. That's all. This gesture is more akin to that of a friend. Carla finds herself wondering whether they might be considered friends. It had certainly felt like they were on Christmas Day. They'd stood at the bar and ordered drinks for their respective families, standing shoulder to shoulder, exchanging stories from their days. There had been a silent understanding between them of what each would have entailed from a lived experience of Christmas with the Platts; Christmas with the Connors.
They'd laughed together and exchanged warm looks across the room. Before she had left the pub, Carla even made sure to go over to Nick's table to wish him goodnight. In turn, Audrey had wished her a Merry Christmas, whilst Sarah promised to text her a picture of Harry in the new outfit Carla had gifted to him.
Friends?
Definitely.
Nick doesn't respond. He is too busy trying to process what she has just said; to find the ulterior motive in her actions. He can't find one. Carla prompts him. "Well, am I? The first?"
Of course she is. It's three days before the event and not even as many days have passed since Christmas Day.
"Yes," he says quickly, snapping himself out of his head. He flashes her a smile. "Well done, you."
She smirks.
"One point to me," she proclaims. Nick doesn't want to know whose scores she is keeping note of. He knows that he is definitely, without a shadow of a doubt, on minus figures. "Well, then. Happy birthday if I don't see you before."
She doesn't ask about presents or plans or parties. That's not her place; it's Leanne's. Or so she imagines. Carla hadn't seen her on Christmas Day. They hadn't spent the day together, Nick and Leanne. Carla had wondered why. Of course she had. But she hadn't asked because she hadn't wanted to know. She feels the same way about his birthday. It stops her mind wondering.
"And a happy New Year," Nick says to her.
"Yeah. Happy New Year." Carla walks out of the office and calls back to him: "See you!"
"Bye, Carla," Nick says to himself. He studies the card for a moment longer, chuckles, and stands it up by his computer screen. He makes a mental note to put it somewhere safe, somewhere secret. (Because he'd never hear the end of it if this ever got back to Leanne.)
The card later finds itself, along with the not-so-decent CDs Nick had had to vacate from his sold car, sitting under his bed in a box containing all that he should have discarded two lifetimes ago. He couldn't at the time and he finds that he still can't now. I'll deal with it later, he always says to himself.
Maybe one day he'll open the box.