Week 29: For better or worse – Part II

Nick's smile faltered and then failed as Carla's bridal march came to an end and she stood before him in front of the altar, her eyes fixed on his. It was not as if she herself was not smiling; her lips were stretched out into what would objectively be considered a smile, but the smile did not extend to her eyes. Her eyes spoke to him of something other than the happiness he had expected.

"Well..." she greeted him with a disarming confidence. "Isn't this where you tell me how good I look?"

"Y-you do," he stammered, his eyes flickering over her body from head to toe, although how much he took in on that first look was questionable. "You look amazing."

He wasn't lying; she was breath-taking, everything he'd dreamed of, more than he deserved. He knew that, he knew he didn't deserve her love, and so he made a silent vow to himself then and there that he would become a better man, he would become the man that truly deserved her.

"Shall we then?" she pressed on with a slightly raised eyebrow; a cheeky look, a challenging look, he wasn't sure. "Shall we get married?"

Pushing his initial misgivings firmly out of his mind now, Nick took Carla's hand in his and together they turned to face the celebrant, ready to become man and wife.

The opening remarks made by the celebrant, the welcome to their family and friends, the general statements on the sanctity of marriage, and the happiness of the occasion, they all swept over Nick; he couldn't recall them, not even the very moment after they were spoken.

And then, before he knew it, it was time to say his vows.

"Our love," he began with a timid smile. "Came as quite a surprise to me, to both of us..." A titter of laughter from the guests; they were all well aware of how the relationship began. "...but one thing I've learned along our journey together is that the dreams we create for ourselves in our minds will sometimes hold us back from receiving the unlooked-for gifts that life is ready to shower us with. Because, what began as something completely unexpected, has grown into something more beautiful and precious than I could have ever dreamed of. Knowing that, I promise to keep my heart open to the endless possibilities of our life together. I promise to love you with a stronger love than I imagined could exist. And I promise to try every day to give you the love and the life that is more than you dreamed of."

Carla stared at Nick in earnest; she saw that raw emotion in his eyes, those tears that were glistening in them, ready to flow, that spoke of the truth in his words. This was the moment, she reminded herself. This was her moment. But, as she opened her mouth to speak, her gaze flickered towards the gathered guests, the people who mattered to her the most, and she caught his eye. Simon. He was looking at her with an open heart, expecting nothing more from her than smiles and professions of love.

She turned resolutely away from his innocent eyes to face once again her fiancé, the man she knew she would not be marrying that day, the man she was now determined to publicly humiliate.

But she could not do it, for she could not shake Simon from her mind. She looked at him again and he at her. He grinned at her this time; it was like a sudden beam of light flashed across his face, and then his little hand he raised in the air to wave at her, his special sign of encouragement just for her.

"Carla?" Nick's plea forced her attention away from Simon and back to this man she had been planning, in the ferocious heat of her discovery of his infidelity, to destroy. As she looked again at him and, with the image of Simon firmly in her mind's eye, her resolve abandoned her completely.

"Nick," she whispered, her voice no more than a hoarse croak. "Can we talk? In private."

Without waiting for him to reply, she began to walk back down the aisle, giving Nick no other option but to hurry after her. He refused, however, to make eye contact with any of the guests, especially his family, despite seeing out of the corner of his eye, his mother rising from her chair, only to be pulled back down by Audrey.

"Don't!" Kylie hissed at David, holding him back from following his brother down the aisle.

"But–"

"She knows," she revealed in an urgent whisper. "She knows everything."

"Carla–" Peter reached out to Carla as she walked past where he was stood by the dining room door. But she brusquely brushed him off with a curt "Not now," and continued on her way, her head held high, her pride not allowing her to display any outward signs of weakness, not in front of all these people.

He continued to watch as Nick followed close behind his almost-bride, his jaw clenched, his mouth set and grim. But when Nick caught sight of Peter, when he saw the look of what he imagined to be pity on his face and the realisation dawned on him that Carla knew what he had done, he lost all self-control and, assuming the worst, set on Peter.

"You couldn't help yourself, could you?" Nick hissed as grabbed onto the lapel of Peter's suit jacket and shoved him up against the wall.

"Whoa!" Peter cried, trying to prise Nick's fingers off and loosen his grip. "Calm down, mate!"

"I'm not your mate. Why–" Bang! went Peter as Nick slammed him again into the wall. "–couldn't you keep your damn mouth shut!"

"Hey!" Carla grabbed onto Nick's arm and pulled him away from Peter. "Not here," she commanded, nodding towards the guests who were all sat, their bodies twisted around in their seats, staring at them agog. "Come on!"

"Don't you dare," Peter hissed at Leanne as she made a move to follow the couple into the lobby.

"I have to," she shrugged. "I'm sorry."

With a sigh, Peter followed Leanne through the dining room door to where she was now brazenly inserting herself into what should have been a private moment.

"What the hell do you want?" Carla sneered. "Haven't you done enough damage?"

"I didn't tell her," Leanne ignored Carla and spoke directly to Nick, determined to plead her innocence to him. "I swear it wasn't me."

"Then it was you?" Nick turned to Peter.

"It wasn't Peter," Carla corrected him. "No, he was quite happy to keep your dirty little secret. Don't worry, I'll be having words with him later."

"Carla, I'm–" Peter began.

"Don't you dare say you're sorry," Carla looked Peter in the eye, remembering all those times when Peter had lied to her, when he had known full well the disaster she was blindly walking into. But then, as she continued to look at him, another memory of him came to her mind. A sobering memory.

"I'm–" Peter caught himself in time. "I don't…"

"Listen, Carla, I–"

"Just leave me alone!" she cried, her pleading eyes flickering from Peter to Leanne and back again. "Both of you. What are you even doing here?"

"Why don't we go into the office?" Nick suggested.

"No, not here," Carla shook her head, her palm pressed up against her forehead as she struggled to order her thoughts. "I can't be here, I can't think straight. I need to get outta here."

Carla and Nick strolled side-by-side, the quiet waters of the canal gently lapping at the water-stained and moss-covered red-brick retaining wall on one side, while on the other side loomed the renovated and gentrified old warehouses. A heavy silence hung over the pair as they walked, ignorant to the curious looks they were receiving from those they passed, almost forgetting that they were still dressed in their wedding finery.

"Do you want me to say something?" Nick asked hesitantly, desperate to break the silence, but frightened of making a misstep. "To explain? Not that I can."

"Obviously you know that I know?"

"Considering you haven't lamped me yet, I'm not so sure you know everything."

"You, Leanne, the baby," Carla casually listed Nick's crimes as if reading aloud a shopping list. "Is there anything else?"

"No."

"So, go on… tell me."

"Tell you what?" Nick shrugged. "That I'm sorry? That I regret it? Because I am. I do. If I could go back and change things, I would, in a heartbeat."

"Tell me how it happened," Carla spoke her instruction with a controlled calmness.

"You want details?"

"Not those kind of details," she said, her face contorted into a grimace at the thought. "I just want to understand how."

"Okay," Nick took a deep breath and exhaled with a long sigh before continuing. "It was while you were visiting your mother."

"While she was dying, you mean?"

"With Peter."

"Peter," Carla laughed wryly at the mention of his name. "I thought he might come into it somehow."

"You don't understand what it was like," Nick tried his best to explain. "Leanne was out of her mind with worry. It was more than worry, she was completely paranoid, coming up with all sorts of crazy scenarios. She was convinced something was going on between you and him. And I guess, and I know I shouldn't have, I know that, but I got caught up in everything she was saying, and… well, you can guess the rest."

"You got caught up?"

"Yes."

"To be fair, Nick, it was a bit more than caught up. I mean, you had to take your clothes off for starters."

"Carla, don't."

"You had to go to bed, unless of course you couldn't wait and did it, where? Up against the bar? On the desk in your office?"

"Please, stop this," Nick pleaded with her.

"You had to do all sorts of things that are way beyond getting caught up. Getting caught up I can understand."

"You can?"

"You think I haven't got caught up before?"

"When?" Nick asked, suddenly suspicious.

"But you catch yourself before you go too far," Carla ignored Nick's question.

"When you say you've got caught up before…?" he pressed her.

"I kissed Peter."

"You what?"

"That same trip, when my mum died," she explained. "Not that I'm using that as an excuse. I'm not innocent, I'm not gonna try and make out that I'm innocent in all this. But I never slept with him."

"You were upset about your mum," Nick conceded. "I can understand that."

"I know what you're trying to do."

"I'm not trying–"

"You think if you forgive me, then I have to forgive you."

"That's not–"

"You slept with her!" Carla snapped, stopping in her tracks and shouting the words of condemnation at him, not caring who heard her or who stopped and stared at them. "You got her pregnant!"

"It might not have been mine."

"Do you think that makes a difference to me?" she cried incredulously. "Knowing it might have been yours is enough. And you knowing that I was carrying your baby… Your baby, Nick. That was never in doubt. Never. You knowing that should have been enough to stop you. But it wasn't."

"So… what now?"

"Tell me, what do you want?"

"I want us to get married," Nick declared. "Today."

"This is all such a mess," she bemoaned.

"It doesn't have to be. Carla, I love you."

"And I love you," Carla freely admitted. "But there's no trust anymore. There's not gonna be a wedding, Nick. Not today."

"Not today…? But maybe in the future?" Nick asked hopefully.

"I don't know. I need to… I need some space."

"Carla, we need to work through this together."

"No!" Carla snapped. "Just leave me be. Please, Nick. Give me some space so I can think."

"Okay," Nick nodded soberly. "Whatever you want, you've got it."

"Can I have…?" Carla asked, her voice barely a whisper, so fearful was she to even ask this of him.

"What is it?"

"Can I have a hug?" she sobbed, her defences crumbling around her.

"Oh, baby," Nick wrapped his arms around her and held her close, as both began to cry at the thought of what they were on the verge of losing.

Carla slumped down into her office chair, thankful that she always kept a spare set of 'just in case' clothes at the factory, and sat in silence, pondering what to do next. She didn't know why she had come here, to the empty factory. All she knew was that, in this place, she felt safe. In this place, she felt in control. With the rest of her life spinning completely out of control, being here was a comfort to her.

And then, just as coming here was an instinctive reaction, what she did next was also wholly instinctual in motivation.

"Hiya, Jennifer," she spoke with an enforced cheerfulness into the office phone. "It's Carla Connor … The weekend? Hmmpf! No rest for the wicked, isn't that what they say? … That's right … So, those fabric samples, when can I expect them? … Hmm… Tuesday'd work better for me … You can? That's fantastic … Alright then … you too … turrah."

Carla was halfway through dialling the next number on her list of people to harass, when she heard the tell-tale sound of the factory door creak open and soft footsteps echo across the empty sewing room floor.

"I said I needed some space!" Carla called out to the as yet unseen visitor, assuming that it was Nick.

"Does that include from me?" Kylie asked as she poked her head around the office door.

"No, you're alright," Carla smiled when she saw Kylie's face. "Come in."

"How're you feeling?" Kylie asked, entering the office and sitting down opposite her boss and friend.

"Next."

"Okay, umm… Have you and Nick…?"

"Broken up? No, not yet."

"What does 'not yet' mean?"

"It means I don't know, I haven't decided," Carla shrugged. "I'm sorry I left you to take care of everything at the Bistro."

"It's okay."

"So, everyone…?"

"Gone home," Kylie confirmed. "After a million questions I had no idea how to answer."

"Sorry."

"Don't be, I'm not having a go or nothin'. Although, I'd try and avoid being cornered by Gail right at the moment, she'll not let up until she's ferreted out the truth."

"The truth about what her precious Nicky has been up to? I'm not sure she can cope with that level of truth."

"Ain't that the truth," Kylie said with a roll of her eyes. "So… Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Besides not tell Gail where I am?"

"Besides that, yeah."

"Nothing," Carla shook her head and forced herself to smile. "Really, I just need some time on me own."

"As long as you're okay."

"I am."

"Okay," Kylie relented. "Just… don't work too hard, please."

"Think of the baby? Is that what you were gonna say?"

"Yes."

"Fine. I promise not to work too hard. Happy?"

"For now," Kylie said, rising from her chair and dropping an affectionate kiss on Carla's cheek before making her exit. "Call me if you need me, yeah?"

"I will."

Left alone once more, Carla leaned back in her chair and remembered Kylie's pleas; don't work too hard, think of the baby. Placing her hand on her bump, she whispered, "Hey there, precious boy. What do you think mummy should do?" She smiled as she rubbed her belly fondly. "Me too, bud, I have no flaming idea."

Carla rummaged in her dainty beaded clutch bag that she'd bought especially for the wedding and pulled out her front door key. She was looking forward to getting inside, having a relaxing bath, a glass of… a cup of tea, and then snuggle up in bed and try to forget about the disaster that was her and Nick's wedding day.

But then she heard it, not one but two familiar voices, and her heart sank.

"Well, I think it's plain rude of Carla to disappear like that without a word," came Gail's muffled condemnation through the solid barrier of her front door.

"Mum!" Nick hastened to chastise his mother. "Carla's done nothing wrong, it was me what messed everything up."

"She could at least have stuck around to talk things through with you. She owes you that much."

"She said she needed some space, so that's what I'm giving her."

"Space? Huh! I call that selfish."

Carla had heard enough; as quietly as she could, she placed the key back into her bag and tiptoed away from the door, anxious that mother and son should never know that she had been there.

"I heard," Norris said as he leaned forward over the counter of The Kabin, his face a picture of gleeful anticipation, always eager for a juicy piece of gossip. "There was a bit of a to-do this afternoon at the wedding of the year. Hmm?"

"Leave the man alone, Norris," Rita berated her business partner. "Ignore him," she advised Peter. "He's just bitter he never got an invite. I said to him, why would you? I mean, since when has he hob-nobbed with the likes of Nick Tilsley or Carla Connor?"

"Don't worry, Rita," Peter reassured her. "I learned long ago to ignore, ooh, ninety-nine percent of what came out of your man here's mouth."

"I say!" Norris exclaimed in protest.

"You do well," Rita smiled her approval, handing over his fresh packet of cigarettes, along with his change. "There you go, love."

"Thanks."

"I don't suppose…" Rita couldn't resist. "I mean, I hope everyone concerned is alright? The baby?"

"Everyone's just fine, thanks, Rita," Peter firmly cut off both of their fishing expeditions by turning his back on them and making a beeline for the door. As he stepped onto the street, his fingers already battling with the fiddly plastic wrapping of the box of cigarettes, he spotted a familiar figure. Intrigued, he shoved the still-unopened packet into his pocket and followed her at a safe distance, wondering why she was going into the Bistro, now when it was all over and done with and everyone had gone home.

"Hey," he greeted her simply as he opened the dining room doors and stepped inside, wishing he could have offered her more comfort than that one ineffectual word.

"What are you doing here?" Carla asked, surprised to see him.

"I could ask you the same question."

"I went home but Nick was there with Gail–"

"Don't say another word, I understand completely."

"I didn't have anything to say to him, nothing new anyway, no decision, and I couldn't handle the thought of being interrogated by Gail, so…"

"You came back to the scene of the crime?"

"So to speak, yeah."

"Do you want me to go round to yours?" Peter asked with a cheeky grin. "Kick him out?"

"No. I'll be fine a bit later," Carla assured him. "When Gail's gone I can face him."

"Are you okay?"

"I honestly don't know," she shrugged. "I think I'm still waiting for it to fully hit me, you know? But all this," she looked around the room, still decorated, still waiting for the wedding that would never happen, and shook her head sadly. "It's all such a waste."

"Better to waste one day than waste your whole life."

"And to think, it all could've been avoided."

"What d'ya mean?"

"Kylie knew. She found out at the hen's night."

"Actually, Carla, I–"

"If only she would've told me straight away," she lamented. "Or even yesterday, this morning even."

"I guess," Peter shrugged, unconvinced.

"What? You think she was right to keep it from me?"

"Well, no, I dunno…" he grasped for an explanation. "Maybe she was trying to protect you?"

"Is that what you were doing?"

"What?"

"Come on, Peter. I'm not stupid. I know you knew. Why else would you and Leanne have split up?"

"I'm sorry," came Peter's feeble apology.

"I don't blame you. I mean, you were the other injured party, that's what they say, innit?"

"Yeah, I was."

"I'm sorry."

"What are you sorry for?" he asked in surprise.

"For what you must've gone through," she explained. "For the pain they caused you. How are you coping anyway?"

"Can we please talk about summat else?"

"Okay, umm…" Carla racked her brain for a new topic of conversation. "What's the time?"

"Ahhh…" Peter looked at his watch. "Just gone eight. Why?"

"Eight p-m," Carla mused on the time. "That would've been the time when we were scheduled to cut the cake."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Nick, he had everything timed down to the last second."

"He didn't?" Peter laughed. "What a plonker."

"I shoulda taken that as a sign, ey?"

"So… what was next?"

"Next?"

"After the cake."

"Oh, right. Umm… that would've been our first dance."

"Did you take lessons?"

"No. Nick wanted us to but I never quite found the time."

"I bet you didn't," Peter laughed.

"I was just planning on jiggling around a bit."

"Show me," Peter demanded.

"What?"

"Well, it'd be a pity if you missed your first dance."

"You can't have a first dance without a husband."

"But you can have one with a friend, can't you?"

"Do you mean you?"

"I'll have you know, I was quite the mover and shaker back in the day," he said with an exaggerated shake of his hips. "I know my way around a dancefloor."

"Well… what about music?"

"I'll sing as well as dance," he suggested, his eyebrow raised suggestively, causing Carla to burst into laughter.

"Maybe we can, I dunno, imagine the music?"

"Feel the beat," he said as he held out his hand to her, an invitation to dance. The moment she placed her hand in his, he gripped it firmly and pulled her in towards him.

"Oh!" she gasped as her bump banged into his body. "Hope you don't mind dancing with an elephant."

"Hush," he whispered to her as he wrapped his left arm around her waist, the right holding her left hand firmly but oh-so gently in his warm grip. "You're a picture of grace, like a gazelle, innit?"

Carla gave herself over to Peter's lead as he guided her around the makeshift dancefloor, moving in time to a silent rhythm. There was no need for words between the pair, she could feel his comfort in his presence, in his touch. And he knew instinctively that words would only cause her more distress, and so he simply held her close as they swayed and spun together. And when she lay her cheek on his shoulder only for him to feel the tell-tale wetness of her tears through his shirt, he still kept his silence, but his arms held her just that little bit tighter.