Chapter 4: Carlisle I
It wasn't a long walk from Peter's boarding house to the unit; he'd chosen the house specifically due to its location. But today he almost wished it was further away; that he had more time to compose himself, to gather his thoughts. Because today, for the first time in weeks, he was nervous.
There had been only one other time that Peter had been more nervous to see Carla since they'd both moved temporarily to Carlisle, and that was the first time he'd visited her in the specialist unit. He was terrified of what he might find; that the medication might be having no effect; that she would still be refusing the medication even; that the woman he loved, adored, would be lost forever, locked inside a mere shell of her former self.
But he needn't have worried. Having reached her lowest point and now in the care of professionals, Carla had started the long road to recovery.
Every day since then he'd seen a steady improvement in her. Of course, she had her bad days; he'd been warned to expect that. But slowly, surely, the old Carla was coming back to him. At least, that's what he thought at first. But no, the old Carla was gone forever, broken and washed away. Here and now, a new Carla was emerging; stronger, more fragile, stripped bare, but more beautiful than ever.
Even so, Peter leaned against the front wall of the unit for a quick cigarette before he felt ready to enter through those front doors that had become so familiar to him.
Carla peered into the polished stainless steel mirror that hung above the strange-looking sink with push buttons instead of taps in the tiny ensuite in the corner of her room. She knew why the fixtures and fittings in her room were designed differently than in "normal" bathrooms. "Anti-ligature" she'd heard one of the nurses say. She knew that these things were there to stop her hurting herself, to stop her turning everyday objects into potential weapons against herself. But she preferred not to think about these things; she hadn't thought about needing those things, not since she'd arrived here, not since that day on top of the Victoria Street fire escape.
Carla shook her head as if to displace any negative thoughts far from her mind. Instead, she chose a soft angled make-up brush; she passed it over the surface of a tawny blush and raised it to her cheeks, she swept the brush across her skin, leaving behind a light dusting of the delicate powder.
She was taking special care with her appearance today; for weeks, she'd not touched her makeup case. I mean, what was the point? Here, in this specialist psychiatric unit, she'd had no one to impress. Of course, Peter had visited her every day, but he'd seen her at her worse and still loved the bones of her. And, even if she had wanted to make the effort, she hadn't had the energy or the inclination. Those first few days, weeks even, she had struggled to get out of bed, let alone shower and apply makeup.
But today was different; today she had a half day's leave from the facility; half a day to spend in the outside world with Peter. And so she wanted to make herself look nice. For him? Yes, partly. But also for herself; to feel like herself again, her old self.
Peter sat in the waiting room of the unit; legs apart, his elbows resting on his knees as he clenched his hands together, his head hung low, and his right leg bouncing in a frenetic rhythm.
"Peter?" Carla's voice was soft, small, unsure.
Peter raised his head; he looked up at the perfect creature stood in front of him, a glint of doubt flashed in her eyes until she saw the smile that instantly spread across his face at the sight of her.
He jumped to his feet and, stepping quickly to bridge the gap between them, wrapped her up in his arms and held her close. She in turn wrapped her arms around him; she dropped her forehead to his shoulder; he cradled her head in his hand as he rocked her gently side-to-side.
"So, Carla, Peter tells me you're into underwear?" Edwina Fortescue looked at Carla with a keen gaze, despite her almost eighty years, while she poured them all tea from a delicate patterned teapot.
"Oh, yeah, we make all sorts of knickers and bras and camis. Whatever you fancy. I reckon you'd look alright in a nice fitted corset, all satin and lace –"
"And nipple tassels no doubt."
Edwina looked at her guests with unrestrained glee at her saucy joke.
"Have I shocked you?"
"Me? Never."
"Well, I've shocked Peter. Look at him, just look at him."
Edwina and Carla both turned to stare at Peter, who was blushing furiously.
"I made him blush."
"Oh, bless," Carla leaned into Peter and gave him a quick but soft and sensuous kiss on the lips.
"Cake?" Edwina held out to Carla a plate on which lay a slice of pound cake.
"Ooh, yes please," Carla reached out and took the plate from Edwina.
"This is all so lovely, you really shouldn't have gone to all this effort."
"No effort. None at all. I'm happy that Peter's happy, really I am. He's the best boarder I've ever had."
"Even so. Thank you, Mrs Fortescue."
"It's Eddie."
"What's Eddie?"
"My name. I want you to call me Eddie."
"Your name's Eddie? What's that short for?"
"Edwina," Eddie looked up at Carla's expression.
"It's lovely, really, it's a beautiful name," Carla tried to save face.
"You're a cheeky one, aren't you? I'm gonna have to keep my eye on you."
"I wasn't," Carla protested.
But Eddie turned to Peter, "She's a cheeky one isn't she?"
"Absolutely."
"Oi!" Carla playfully smacked Peter on the arm. All he could do was grin back at her; a daft, loving, grin that lit up his face like the Blackpool Illuminations. And Carla? Well, she grinned right back at him, eyes locked on his, unable to tear them away.
Eddie looked on, smiling at the sight of these two lovers, reunited properly for the first time in… way too long.
"So, how are you?" Carla looked up at Peter lovingly.
"How am I? Oh, baby, how I am, that doesn't matter."
"It matters to me."
Carla gave him a soft kiss on the lips.
"Please, humour me. How are you?"
"I'm good. I'm great. I mean, I'm here with you. You're feeling better … If I'm honest, it wasn't always so great."
"Mmmm?" Carla purred sympathetically.
"In the beginning, you know, I could only visit you once a day. And the rest of the time, I was at a loose end. Carla, I was really scared…"
"What is it, baby?"
Carla reached out and poked Peter's cheek affectionately.
"I was honestly scared that the boredom would drive me back to the booze."
"But it didn't."
"No. Thanks to Mrs Fortescue. She had me doing odd jobs around the house every spare moment I had. I even think she broke some things so I'd have something to do."
"She's a class act, is our Eddie."
"Mrs Fortescue if you please."
"Not to me. Does she intimate you?"
"A little bit, yeah."
"Oh, come on, it's obvious you've got a soft spot for her."
"Maybe," Peter grinned mischievously.
"Well, I like her."
At that moment, the likeable, intimidating grande dame of the house was putting away the clean dishes from afternoon tea. Her house now in order, she took off her rubber gloves and draped them over the drainer, then she took off her apron and hung it on the hook on the back of the kitchen door, and finally she decided to peak into the drawing room to check on the young people.
But when she softly opened the door of the drawing room and poked her head inside, she saw that Carla and Peter had both fallen asleep, both sitting on the same armchair; Carla's legs draped over Peter's, her hands resting on his chest; Peter's arm wrapped around Carla's shoulder, drawing her in close to him; his other arm reached out, his hand encircling her waist. His head had dropped to rest against the top of hers, that in turn rested in the nook of his shoulder.
Eddie smiled to herself, a little bit surprised at how happy she was at the sight of Peter, her boarder of only weeks, looking happier than she'd seen him. For boarder Peter might be in name, but in reality, he'd become to mean so much more to the old woman. In him she saw the son as she wished he was. Not the son who hardly ever called her anymore; not the son who would rather take his own family to sunnier climes over Christmas than come back home; and definitely not the son who had only recently suggested she move into a nursing home. No, Peter Barlow was everything she'd ever wished for in a son, and to see him this happy again made her heart almost burst with joy.
Carla was the first one to wake; she drowsily looked up at Peter, and lazily snuggled against his full salt-and-pepper beard. A few more moments and she had woken enough to make the most of their drowsy, intimate situation. She ran her hand down his t-shirt, his black and sexy t-shirt, and slipped her hand beneath the fabric. She reached her hand up under his t-shirt and stroked his chest.
"Mmmm…" Peter moaned, still half-asleep.
Carla lifted her head and gently nuzzled Peter's neck.
Peter sleepily searched for Carla's lips with his; he found his object, his lips grazed gently against hers. She responded, matching and increasing his pressure, opening her mouth slightly, sucking gently on his bottom lip.
Peter opened his mouth and allowed his tongue to roam into Carla's mouth, exploring the warmth within, battling tongue against tongue, flicking his tongue against hers.
With both arms, Peter reached around Carla's body and slipped his hands underneath her top. With one smooth movement he glided his hands upwards over Carla's body, exposing her skin to the warm air.
"Oh, good, you're awake. Can I get you anything? A cold drink? A nice cheese platter?"
Carla and Peter both looked at each other and burst out laughing.
"What? Did I miss something?"
"No, Mrs Fortescue –"
"Eddie."
"Eddie. Oh, Eddie, you've got impeccable timing."
Again, Carla and Peter laughed, a combined sound that was music to both of their ears. Carla leaned back against Peter's chest and looked up with genuine affection at Peter's landlady. Peter wrapped his arms around Carla and held her tight, willing the time to stop moving, so he could savour every last moment they had together.
