Chapter 1: Manhunt

Carla couldn't ignore the relentless banging any longer. She took a deep breath and opened her front door, ready for the expected onslaught.

"Where is he?"

Leanne didn't have time for the usual civilities, especially with Carla, the woman who she still hated with a passion, even after all these years.

"Hello, Leanne. I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh, don't play little miss innocent with me, it doesn't suit you. Nick. I'm talking about Nick."

"And why would Nick be here? We split up, remember? He hates me."

"Yeah, well, he's not thinking straight at the moment."

"Oh, yeah? Why's that then?"

"None of your business."

"Oh, do one, Leanne, he's not here."

"He has to be here."

"Why?"

Leanne was suddenly sheepish.

"Well, I logged onto his internet banking and he's been making withdrawals in the area."

"This place is a magnet for tourists, Leanne. Maybe he just wanted a holiday. Living with you, I can't say I blame him."

"I'm warning you, you tell me where he is, right now."

"Or what?"

"Or I'll –"

"Leanne! What the hell are you playing at, leaving me on the side of the road like that?"

Peter jogged breathlessly towards Leanne and Carla.

"I was in a hurry, wasn't I. Besides, I was sick of stopping for you and your smoke breaks."

Peter was suddenly aware of Carla's presence.

"Oh, hi Carla."

"Peter."

Carla and Peter could do nothing for what seemed like an age but stare into each other's eyes.

Leanne took the opportunity to barge past Carla and into the house.

"Hey! What are you doing? I didn't invite you in, so… ugh!"

But Leanne was in, despite Carla's protests.

"You better come in and all."

Carla ushered Peter inside and soon the unlikely threesome was sat awkwardly in Carla's living room.

"I dunno what to tell you, Leanne. My answer's still the same; I don't know where Nick is."

Peter tried to reason with Carla.

"Carla, this is important, if you know where he is –"

"For god's sake, I don't know! What is it gonna take for you to believe me? Do you wanna search the house or something?"

"I don't think –"

"Hold on, Peter, I think that's a good idea."

"Give me strength. I don't have time for this. You need to go."

"We're not leaving until you give me some answers."

"I need to go to work, so…"

"Fine. We'll wait here."

"You're not –"

"Work?" Peter was curious. "It's a bit late for work, isn't it? I mean, I know you were never a morning person, but this is a bit extreme don't you think?"

"I own a restaurant. I've got to get in for dinner service."

"A restaurant?" Leanne had an idea. "Book us a table then. Then we can talk after."

"Actually, I could do with a feed." Peter's thoughts easily turned to his next meal.

Carla laughed.

"Nice idea, but we're booked solid for the next six weeks."

"Really? Six weeks?" Peter looked proudly at Carla.

"Back to Plan A then. Me and Peter will wait here. Face it, Carla, I'm not leaving until I've spoken to you properly. I know you know something."

Carla sat and thought for a moment; there was no way she was going to let Peter and Leanne of all people stay unaccompanied in her home.

"Fine. You can come to the restaurant. You'll have to sit at the chef's table though."


Even though Carla wished that Leanne and Peter hadn't shown up on her front doorstep that day and forced themselves onto her routine, she couldn't help but be proud as she ushered them into her restaurant.

Perched on a cliff overlooking the sea, the restaurant dining room consisted of a long, narrow space with a huge glass window down one side that provided guests with spectacular views of the water. At this time of the year, with daylight savings in effect, this generally included a breathtaking sunset.

Wash facilities, staff locker room, the office and the kitchen occupied the town-side of the building. At the rear of the dining room was a pair of French doors opening onto a winding path that led down to a sheltered terrace cut into the cliff-face.

"Wow." Peter stopped to stare at the view.

"Make the most of it while you can."

"Hey?"

"All the tables were booked, so you're at the chef's table in the kitchen. With no view. But you get to see chef at work which apparently interests a lot of people."

"Foodies," Leanne was scathing.

Carla ignored Leanne and led them into the large kitchen where a team of chefs was busy preparing that evening's mise en place.

"Evening boss." A general chorus of greeting as Carla entered the kitchen.

"Evening all."

"Chef," Carla addressed her head chef, motioning towards Peter and Leanne. "I've got a couple of friends in at the chef's table tonight, okay?"

"Right," Chef barely looked up from the fish he was filleting with speed and precision. "Welcome."

"That's my head chef, Brendan. He is a genius in the kitchen."

Carla showed them to an alcove at the side of the kitchen where a long dining table provided a view of the goings on in the kitchen. A window overlooked a kitchen garden where various vegetables and herbs were growing.

Leanne and Peter sat down at the table, while Carla furnished them with the requisite linens, cutlery and glasses.

Finally, she handed them each the evening's menu. Printed in simple type onto quality off-white heavy gauge paper, the 12-course degustation menu provided diners with mere clues, giving only hints at the culinary delights to come.

Peter read the menu eagerly:

Shaved fennel and mustard

Oysters with champagne sorbet

Kingfish ceviche with finger lime

Roasted baby beets with smoked goats cheese

Artichoke soup with seared scallops

Moules frites

Turkish-style fish sandwich (served on the terrace)

Squid ink capellini with butter-poached crab

Braised beef ribs with black vinegar and radish

Salted toffee apple

Strawberries and cream

Cheese and crackers

Peter looked with excitement up at Carla.

"I can't wait. I mean, these dishes, some of them sound quite simple, but this place, it looks fine dining, so there must be a twist, right?"

"You'll have to wait and see."

But Leanne was harder to please.

"Well, I think all this degustation stuff is pretentious. Give me a proper meal any day of the week. Meat, three veg, serve it up on one plate, and I'm happy. Saves on the washing up as well."

Carla ignored Leanne's baiting, she was used to her former love-rivals attitude.

"I need to see to the dining room so I'll send a waiter in to talk you through the drink pairings we offer. We've got both alcoholic and non-alcoholic pairings, so…"

"Thanks." Peter was grateful for the explanation; Leanne merely shot Carla a dirty look, she still blamed Carla for Peter falling off the wagon many times in the past.

"Okay, enjoy."


Leanne and Peter had eaten their way through the first six courses before Carla found the time to stop by their table.

"How's it going?"

"I have no words. It's all so delicious."

"Any favourites?"

"Oh, that's a tough one. Umm, probably the kingfish."

"I'm not a fan of raw fish myself," Leanne piped up.

"It's not really raw though, is it?" Carla enjoyed challenging Leanne. "I mean, the fish is… 'cooked' for want of a better word, by the acid in the citrus."

"Whatever."

"Well I thought it was perfection."

"I'm glad. It's one of my favourites as well."

Carla and Peter grinned at each other for a moment.

"What does 'served on the terrace' mean?"

"Sorry?" Carla turned to Leanne who was studying the menu.

"The next course, it says 'served on the terrace'."

"Right. That's actually why I'm here, to escort you to the terrace."

Peter and Leanne followed Carla as she led them through the restaurant, out the rear French doors and along the winding path until they emerged onto an open-air terrace carved into the cliff below the restaurant. A number of high tables with stools were dotted at intervals along the balcony railing; each table sported short, squat white candles that flickered hypnotically in the growing darkness. Strings of fairy lights festooned the length of the terrace and added to the magical atmosphere.

At the far end of the terrace was a chef's station where one of Carla's chefs was grilling fish to order. The fish was served in warm bread rolls and then drizzled with a decadent lemon butter dressing before being presented to diners.

Soon Peter and Leanne were digging into their fish sandwiches and listening to Carla as she talked about the concept of her restaurant.

"We're constantly rotating the menu, depending on what's in season, what's good, what's local is also very important to us. Out here on the terrace, we try to serve something that guests can eat with their hands if they want."

Peter gazed in awe at Carla as she spoke so passionately about food; especially since she'd never been that talented at preparing it herself.

"After I hired Brendan, we did a bit of a culinary tour of Europe. I remember in Istanbul, the fishing boats would pull up onto the banks of the Bosphorus in the middle of the city and unload their catch. Then they would take the fish, gut it, scale it, fillet it on the spot and just whack it onto a grill right there in the open. Then they'd serve it in the softest, the most delicious white bread roll you've ever tasted. A wedge of lemon squeezed on top. Oh, it was heaven."

"This place, it's more than just food. It's about the memories, the experiences, the feelings that food evokes in people. I want our guests to have those same kinds of experiences with our food. And it's not just about the food, it's about how we make them feel with our service. That's one of the reasons why I decided to do only one sitting each night. I don't want anyone to feel like they're being rushed through their meal. I want them to savour it."

"I remember you always hated being rushed in a restaurant."

"There's nothing worse than a hovering waiter and seeing people milling around the entrance waiting for you to finish shovelling food in your gob so they can have a feed."

"But doesn't only one sitting eat into your profits?"

"Not at the prices we charge," Carla grinned. "Seriously, I'll admit it's not cheap, but I really believe the experience is worth the money. And our bookings, well, they kinda prove it."

"It's just food at the end of the day."

"Oh, come on, Lee," Peter was quick to jump to Carla's defence. "You have to admit what we've eaten tonight has been pretty spectacular."

"Yeah, maybe," even this forced acknowledgement from Leanne felt like an insult.


Later that evening, after all the diners had left and Carla's staff were busy with their nightly cleaning routine, Carla prepared to bid farewell to her unexpected guests.

"So…"

The sound of a ringing mobile phone interrupted Carla.

"Sorry."

Leanne dug her phone out of her handbag.

"Hello?" Leanne answered her phone. "Eva, hi."

Leanne walked away from Carla and Peter to take the call from Eva in peace.

Carla and Peter stood in awkward silence until inspiration hit Carla.

"Hey, come with me."

"Where…?"

"Hurry, while she's still on the phone."

Peter grinned a wicked grin as he followed Carla out the front door of the restaurant and into the dark night.

"Where are we going?"

Carla grabbed Peter's hand and dragged him towards a nearby wooden staircase that lead down to the beach below.

"Where are we –?"

"No questions. Come on!"

Peter smiled and followed Carla down the steps.

After a breathless climb down what seemed like a multitude of steps, Carla and Peter stood alone on the beach, lit only by the moon, with the sound of the water gently lapping at the sand their only company.

Carla couldn't help but smile at Peter; this almost felt like old times.

"Carla, this place, your restaurant… it's amazing. You should be so proud."

"Thanks. I am."

"I'm kinda surprised though."

"What do ya mean?"

"I mean, the woman who heats up pizza with the plastic cover still on running a fancy restaurant?"

"Ha ha, very funny. It's not like I'm doing the cooking though, is it? And, ya know, after everything that happened back in Weatherfield, I guess I wanted a complete change, a new direction."

"Well, whatever you're doing, it's working for you."

Peter looked intensely at Carla; she held his gaze. They each took a step closer to the other.

"I was wondering where you got to. It's time we got going. Nick's obviously not here, I mean, why would he be, and I'm not wasting any more time on her."

Peter took one last look at Carla before turning to face Leanne who was marching across the sand towards the pair.

"Lee, it's late, let's book into a hotel and go home in the morning."

"Oh, come on, Peter, you love driving through the night. Besides, I need to get back to Oliver."

Peter glanced back at Carla.

"Peter," Leanne was insistent.

"Okay, yeah, we'll go now."

Peter turned to Carla regretfully.

"Thanks for, umm, dinner and all."

"My pleasure."

"I'll see ya then."

"Not if I see you first."


Carla pulled the car into the driveway of her cottage, located ten minutes' drive outside town, the car tyres squelching loudly over the crushed limestone. She turned off the ignition and sat in silence for a few moments, trying to gather her thoughts and sort her feelings after a tumultuous day.

Eventually, Carla got out of her car and entered her house. Shutting the front door behind her, she leaned against the solid wood, shut her eyes wearily and sighed.

"Well?"

Carla opened her eyes slowly and fixed them on the man stood facing her in the dark.

"Relax, Nick, they're gone."


Carla poured two neat whisky's, handed one to Nick and sat down opposite him at her kitchen table. She wasn't in the right frame of mind to deal with Nick's neuroses right now; her head was too full of the stresses of the day; hiding Nick, dealing with Leanne's attitude, and most of all struggling to understand what was happening to her body every time she clapped eyes on Peter. The way her heart would beat faster, her stomach would flip, and her mouth would turn up at the corners into a smile, no matter how hard she tried to frown.

But she knew that putting Nick off until tomorrow wasn't going to make things any better. She needed to resolve things with him now; then they could both move on.

"So, what are you gonna do? Go back to her?"

"No, I can't."

They each sipped their whisky.

"Now that I've had time to really think about it, me and Leanne… she was a rebound. But then the whole baby situation took over, it got out of control and I couldn't stop it. I couldn't get out anymore, I was trapped… Do you ever wonder what would've happened if I hadn't got back with Leanne, if I'd followed you down here instead?"

"I used to. But you didn't, Nick, you made your choice."

"Is it too late to change my mind?"

Carla hesitated. A year ago, even a few months, weeks, she would have given anything to hear those words come out of Nick's mouth. But now…? She wondered what had changed. Time, she guessed. She wasn't prepared to admit that the sudden reappearance of Peter Barlow in her life had anything to do with it. She was too stubborn for that. For now, she voiced the only thing she was sure of.

"Yeah, it is."

"Right."

"I think it's time that you moved on, don't you?"

"I don't know what to do. I don't know where to go."

"Go wherever you want. You, Nick. Not me, not Leanne. You. Besides, I don't think where you go is what's important right now."

"What do you mean?"

"How long've we known each other?"

"Six? Seven years?"

"During that whole time, I've watched you bounce from one woman to the next with barely a chance to catch your breath in-between. So, why don't you maybe take some time to be by yourself. Get reacquainted with Nick."

"Thing is, I'm not sure who Nick is anymore. What if I don't like him?"

"It's really not so scary being on your own."


The next morning, Carla watched Nick drive away from what was supposed to be their home together with bittersweet feelings. The plans they'd had, the dreams, they were all gone. Carla would never regret their relationship; for a while Nick was exactly what she'd needed. She hoped she had been what he'd needed as well. But that was then. That was over. Now she needed to figure out what she needed in her future. And, as much as she tried to put him out of her mind, she couldn't help but think of that lying, cheating ex-husband of hers.

Carla shook her head and sighed before turning and walking into her home, her oasis from the storms of life.

"One day, Peter Barlow. One day."