Thanks so much for all the reviews for the first chapter - they made my day/night!

This contains a reference to a spoiler for next week (So I'm assuming this is set at the end of that week or sometime around then), so don't read if you somehow manage to stay spoiler free.

Peter placed two fresh mugs of coffee on the table in front of them as he sat back down on the sofa. Carla sat scrunched up in one corner, hugging a cushion to her chest, picking aimlessly at a jagged nail. He hoped she hadn't changed her mind in the time he'd spent in the kitchen. "Right". He said merely to say something; to break the ice.

"Right…" She echoed, an awkward tone to her voice.

Neither of them were quite sure what to say or do next. He didn't want to push her, but he equally knew that the longer they sat here in silence, the more chance that she'd edit out the difficult bits, or make up an excuse not to say anything at all. Stretching one arm out along the back of the sofa, he spoke tentatively. "What did you mean by your reaction to this dream?"

She smiled at his outstretched hand, this one action telling more than any number of words. He wasn't forceful, nor imposing. There was no pressure for her to reciprocate, but if she needed it, he was there. Still, she didn't unwrap her arms from the cushion. "Um…" The jagged nail had been replaced by a piece of lose thread on the edge of her dressing gown in the minor distractions stakes. "I suppose it just kind of brought stuff up, y'know? Made me think about…" she shrugged, not knowing to end that sentence.

"Think about what?"

"About…life, families, I dunno".

"Your family?"

She shrugged. "I guess so, yeah."

As much as he didn't want to be, he knew he was going to have to be more direct if he wanted to get an answer out of her before they really did need to go to work. He knew there was no chance of the conversation resuming that evening if things went unsaid now.

"Were you close?" He thought back to the day of her mother's funeral, the guilt she carried, and wished all over again that Leanne hadn't interrupted what he now realised to have been a crucial moment.

"I suppose me and my brother were. Once upon a time".

"And your parents?"

She chuckled to herself. "Um… We didn't really go in for the whole Walton's thing, y'know?"

Peter smiled but said nothing.

"Well, y'see 'cause my Dad… When he was there for not it di'n't make any huge difference and…" She threw her head back now, laughing softly at something she clearly found amusing.

"What?"

"You are gonna think so badly of me when I say this."

He took hold her hand now, slightly rougher than he intended but she didn't appear to be disturbed by this. "No I won't, Carla. Because whatever happened in the past is in the past. It's not now. Hey, if you judged me by my past or my family then you certainly wouldn't be here-!"

"Your family are good people. They love you. You should show them more respect." She hadn't meant to come out with that, and immediately regretted it. Peter was visibly taken aback, despite his efforts to disguise it.

"Ok…"

"I'm sorry I… I shouldn't have said that, I didn't mean it… I'm just gonna…" She stood up to walk away, but he gripped her hand, persuading her to sit back down.

"No, please look, it's fine. You're probably right anyway". He reassured her, knowing he'd unintentionally latched onto something here. "You know I, I go on about how hard done by I am but at least me and my Dad are on speaking terms." He suddenly felt guilty for all those times he'd moaned about his father in front of her. From what little he did know, she'd have killed to have something so relatively minor to moan about.

She was silent for a moment, starring down at her feet, now curled up in front of her.

"Go on…" He prompted.

"Ok well… As I'm sure you've gathered from the accent I wasn't exactly brought up in the lap of luxury". She pulled her hand away now, and Peter knew better than to take it back.

"Mmm".

"And well, sometimes when you're in a situation like that, when you're broke and desperate and have people relying on you… well you have to do things that you're maybe not proud of".

"Of course…"

"So I don't hate her for it, or… Y'know I don't judge her for it and I totally understand why she did it…"

Peter frowned, scanning his memory for any indication of what may be coming. He found nothing.

"She being… your mother?"

Carla nodded. "Yeah." She said quickly.

"Right, ok. What don't you hate her for, Carla?"

She paused for a moment, a look on her face that he couldn't quite work out. "For dealing drugs out my brother's pram". She spoke quickly, matter of factly, looking him right in the eyes for a few seconds before her head shot down again.

Peter was momentarily speechless as the enormity of what she'd just said dawned on him. "She… she sold drugs out of his pram?" He repeated pointlessly, not knowing what else to say.

Carla smiled to herself in mock amusement. "All these people used to come up to us in the street, y'know. One day when I was about… 5 or summet… She put this little package in my bag for school, wrapped it a few carrier bags y'know… told me it was nothing to worry about but not to tell anyone at school about it. She said this bloke called Stuart who I'd met a few times before would come and see me at lunch, that I had to meet him at the gates when the teachers weren't looking and give it to him".

Peter knew he wasn't hiding his horror and disgust at all: He felt his face screw up as he wondered what kind of sick individual would use a five year old as a drugs mule. His stomach churned and he felt like he might be sick.

When he didn't say anything in response, Carla smiled to herself and shrugged. "So there you go. That's the big secret. I spent my childhood doing drugs runs for my mum when she was too wasted to do it herself, so no we didn't really get much time for the whole mother-daughter bonding stuff if I'm honest."

Peter still had no idea what to say, so he merely took his girlfriend's hand back and moved closer to comfort her. "Love, I… I don't know what to say. Why didn't you tell me about this before?"

She leaned away from him. "Because…" her face fell. "Because what sane person would want someone like that round their kid?"

"Carla, you're nothing like your mum".

She scoffed. "Oh really? 'Roughest girl from the estate', Liam called me. Carla Donovan, ooh, don't mess with her!" There was anger in her voice now. "'She'll give as good as she gets and then some.'. Why do you think Paul's family always hated me so much?"

Peter was once again unable to think of a single word in response. He could feel the deep self-hatred pouring from her and it killed him, yet he felt completely powerless to help her.

"But Carla look, people can change. You certainly have."

"Oh yeah? The expensive clothes and designer handbags can only go so far, Peter"

"Carla you're a different person now. You never were like her and you certainly aren't now". He hated the endless clichés he was spouting, but he could think of no better response. And anyway, it was all true.

"You think? What about last week then, when I nearly killed your son? No, I'm exactly like her, Peter. I wouldn't inflict myself on some poor unborn child and I won't inflict this on Simon, either. I'm sorry".

With that, she pulled away from him and marched into the bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind her, leaving Peter sat alone, dumbstruck at what had what just happened.