Epilogue
…6 months later…
Carla rested her temple against the cool glass of the car window and watched in a trance-like state as the streets, at once so familiar and yet at the same time completely alien to her, flew by in a blur. Her feelings on returning to this place, a place she would always consider home, were mixed; she had left here a broken woman, in desperate need of time and space to heal, to learn how to live again. And she had. While it was true that she would never again be the same Carla she used to be, that person was gone forever, she now felt strong enough to pick up the threads of her life that she had abandoned with such disinterest six months earlier.
She had felt strong, that is, right up until that very moment when she was once more faced with those familiar sights, the settings for scenes of both joy and misery, places that filled her heart with an aching sorrow that would never fully fade away.
Carla attempted to approach her current dilemma as the pragmatic businesswoman that she was. She saw that she had two clear options: instruct the taxi driver to turn around and take her straight back to the airport, or to confront her fears head on. Running away again had its attractions, Carla did not deny that, but she was tired of living as a guest in somebody else's home, a bit-player in somebody else's life.
To Carla, there was only one real option.
"Excuse me," Carla caught the taxi driver's attention, her eyes fixed on his in the rear-view mirror. "I need to make a quick stop."
"I won't be long," Carla promised the driver. "I just need to…"
Carla couldn't quite vocalise what she needed to do, she wasn't sure herself. All she knew was that she needed to be here. To exorcise some demons, or to say the final goodbye she couldn't quite say before; either would come as a relief.
And so she took those first few tentative steps on the gravel walk that cut through the grass growing between the headstones that dotted the cemetery with some trepidation, the fear of how she might react, what physical or emotional scars would be re-opened, almost halting her progress. But she forced herself to continue, to place one foot in front of the other, right, left, right, left, right, left, until finally she arrived at Jesse's resting place.
In her absence, Carla had given Nick carte blanche to choose the headstone for their son. At the time, she'd had no desire or energy to care what shape, what stone, what text, what anything. What did it matter? she thought. He was gone and nothing would bring him back or make his absence any easier to bear. Still, she was pleased with the choices Nick had made. There were no superfluous decorative sentiments to be seen, simply a timeless and honest memorial.
Jesse Connor Tilsley
24/10/2011 – 31/10/2011
Beloved son of Nicholas Paul Tilsley and Carla Connor
Forever in our hearts
"Hey, baby boy," she whispered as she gazed down at her son's headstone. "It's mama. I'm… I'm sorry I've been gone so long. I had to… I missed you. I miss you, every minute of every day. My baby…"
Kneeling down, she reached out and gently touched the flowers that had been lain carefully in front of the headstone. They were fresh, laid there in the last day, by Nick no doubt. Carla had brought nothing, she had come unprepared and empty-handed. For a moment, she felt useless, thoughtless, a bad mother, until she remembered what she had tucked away in her handbag.
Dumping the bag onto the ground and rummaging through its contents, she soon pulled out the teddy bear she had bought the day before she had left L.A. She had spotted it in the window of a store as she had hurried down the street, rushing to prepare for her return trip home, and she simply couldn't resist it. There was something about it, something almost human in its little face as it stared at her through the shop window.
"You look after my boy now, you hear me?" she whispered to the teddy bear before kissing it softly and placing it in front of the headstone, a spiritual guardian of sorts, a protector of this sacred ground and the soul that resided there.
Carla stared across the forecourt towards the place that was more familiar to her than home; the factory. Underworld. She knew Michelle would be in there at that very moment, along with all her workers, keeping her business afloat and, while she was eternally grateful, they were not her immediate priority.
As she turned her back on the factory, she heard her name called out in a very familiar voice.
"Carla!"
Carla looked up to see Nick jogging across the street to greet her and was soon enveloped in his arms, a welcome home gesture she drew great comfort from.
"It's good to see you," she said, her voice muffled by his shoulder.
"And you," he said as he pulled away from her and, with his hands placed gently on her shoulders, looked at her intently, studying her face for any signs of distress. "Are you…?"
"I'm doing fine," Carla nodded, flashing him what she hoped was a reassuring smile. "A lot better."
"So L.A. was…?"
"Helpful," Carla nodded. "Yeah, it was helpful."
"Good," Nick smiled at her awkwardly. "That's good. Did you, umm… Did you come straight here from the airport?"
"No, I stopped to, umm…" Carla's voice faltered. "I went to see him. His… grave. You did a good job, you know, picking the…"
"Headstone."
"Yeah," Carla croaked, swallowing hard in a desperate attempt to suppress the sob that was fighting to escape. "I'm sorry."
"What for?" Nick looked at her quizzically.
"For leaving it all to you, all the arrangements. That wasn't fair."
"Carla, really, you've got nothing to apologise for."
"Even so," Carla shrugged. "I'm sorry."
"Okay," Nick reluctantly accepted her apology, fidgeting nervously as he worked up the courage to speak again. "There's, ahh… there's something I need to tell you."
"It's okay, Nick, I know about you and Leanne."
"You do?"
"Fancy flat in Victoria Court, engaged to be married. Really, Nick, I'm dead pleased for you."
"I, ahh…" Nick stammered.
"Hey, you can't fight destiny, right?"
"That's not… I mean, that's not our only news."
"Oh?"
"The thing is…" Nick sighed deeply before continuing. "I don't know how to say this."
"Just… spit it out please. You're starting to freak me out."
"Me and Leanne, we're having a baby."
For a moment, Carla didn't – or couldn't – speak; she merely stared at Nick.
"Carla?" he breathed her name. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," she nodded, more so to convince herself than Nick. "That's, umm… congratulations."
"Thanks. Are you… I know that's probably hard for you to hear."
"Why?" Carla asked, her tone a little harsher than she had intended. "Life goes on. People don't stop living just because… Because someone dies."
"But–"
"Seriously, Nick, I'm happy for you. I really am. I don't begrudge you happiness. It's not like we were love's young dream or owt."
"Weren't we?"
"Nick, come on, you and me both know that we were only ever together because of Jesse."
"That doesn't mean I didn't love you."
"I know."
"I did love you, I do love you. Not in that way, but…"
"Nick, you don't need to explain, I feel the same."
"No matter what happens, no matter how many other children come into my life, you will always be my first-born son's mother."
"And you're his father."
The bell above the entrance tinkled its familiar tune as Carla opened the door and stepped inside the bookies shop to what was clearly a final rush for the regulars to put a bet on before the start of a race. Silently, Carla joined the end of the queue and waited patiently for her turn.
Before long, Peter's customers had all placed their bets and either left the shop to listen to the race in solitude or had remained inside, huddled around the large-screen television flanking almost an entire wall of the bookies, willing their chosen beast onto victory.
"Yes, mate," Peter said, still focused on stamping and filing away the previous customer's betting ticket. "What'll it be? Well?" Peter looked up with an air of exasperation when Carla did not immediately reply.
"Hi," she greeted him simply with a smile.
"Wha– what are you doing here?" He stammered, clearly shocked to see her. "Where have you been? I was worried."
"I was, you know, in the air, on a plane."
"But, you didn't–"
"I thought I'd surprise you," Carla explained. "You see, two days ago, I was sitting on the beach in Malibu, in a bikini, soaking up the sun, and it was… it was perfection, it really was. And then, suddenly, I don't know what happened, but I just knew."
"Knew what?"
"That it was time to come home."
Walking out from behind the counter, Peter stood face-to-face with Carla, shaking his head as if still in disbelief that she was standing in front of him in the flesh and not just the fleeting and elusive vision that had filled his dreams, both waking and while asleep, for the past six months.
"You look," he smiled as he looked her up and down, studying every part of her, reacquainting himself with the sight of her. "Amazing."
"Thanks," she said, silently cursing herself as she felt the colour rise to her cheeks under Peter's intense gaze. "I feel amazing."
"Well, you look it," Peter laughed self-consciously. "I just said that, I'm sorry."
"This is ridiculous," Carla said with a chuckle.
"What is?"
"Us, standing here not knowing what to say to each other as if we haven't spent every night of the past six months talking on the phone."
"That's the thing though," Peter said, a cheeky grin colouring his face. "Seeing you in person, there's things I want to do that I just couldn't during those conversations."
"Oh, yeah. Like what?"
"For starters," Peter murmured. "I want to kiss you."
"Well then, what are you waiting for? An engraved invitation?"
Peter didn't wait a moment longer and, oblivious to the customers that remained in the store, most of whom were too busy with the horses speeding across the television screen to pay any heed to the reunion being played out in front of them, pulled Carla towards him, his arms wrapped firmly around her waist, his hands gripping onto her, determined to never let her go again, and kissed her.
"Carla!"
Carla and Peter sprang apart as Simon rushed towards them and launched himself on Carla, squeezing her tight such was his excitement to see her.
"Hey, Si," Carla squeezed him back. "I've missed you."
"I'll leave you three to it, shall I?" Deirdre said from the still open door. "Welcome back, Carla."
"Thanks, Deirdre."
"Bye, grandma!" Simon hurriedly shouted his farewell before turning back to Carla. "Are you back for good?"
"I am," Carla nodded. "I'm back and I'm not going anywhere."
"Yay!" Simon celebrated before turning serious for his next question. "Are you dad's girlfriend again?"
"Umm…" Carla turns to Peter and raised an eyebrow. "I don't know, am I?"
"Yes, son," Peter grinned at Simon, tousling his curls affectionately before glancing back at Carla, the happiness shining brightly in his soft brown eyes. "She is."
"Awesome!" Simon cried out in delight. "Hey, dad, can Carla come over for her tea? We can have fish fingers."
"What do ya say?" Peter asked Carla. "What's your stand on fish fingers?"
"Fish fingers?" Carla asked, winking at Simon mischievously. "I'm mad for fish fingers, me."
THE END
