"Evening," Nick greeted the pair, making his way around the bar, "Ooh, what's happened here, then?" he gestured towards Carla's foot, "finally realized that stilettos and cobblestones are a bad combination?"
"At least I don't dress to blend in with the wallpaper. Oops, sorry, that's more your personality, isn't it?"
"Whoa!" Nick cried, chuckling as he threw his hands in the air in mock surrender. "Easy now, tiger. Truce?"
"Hmm…" Carla's eyes narrowed as she considered him for a moment.
"In all seriousness though, are you alright? It looks painful."
"It comes and goes –"
"Yeah, and standing here like a lemon isn't exactly helping her, is it Nick?" Peter snapped
"Just being neighbourly, Barlow."
"How about you just do your job, Tilsley?"
"Peter…" Carla hissed through clenched teeth.
"Well, Carla," Nick addressed her, pointedly ignoring Peter, "only one of your party has arrived so far," he gestured towards the booth in the back corner, "Would you like me to help you over?"
"If she needs assistance, Tilsley, I'll be the one to help her over."
"Uhh, she can manage to walk on her own, thank you." Carla piped in, "I'll also be doing the honours tonight of feeding myself, an' all!"
"Then I'll send Leanne 'round with the dinner menus, shortly. Let me know if you need anything."
"Was that really necessary?" Carla turned to Peter as Nick left them on their own.
"Was what necessary?"
"You know what."
Peter shrugged, "he's a smarmy ponce. You know that."
"Your trip to Spain was meant for you to put things in perspective. Not a six-week reprieve only for you to come back 'ere and pick up right where you left off in your duel with him."
Peter shifted his eyes back towards the kitchen door, "he just gets right under me skin, Carla."
"Because you're allowing him to. Peter, look at me," she poked his chest with her finger and waited for his gaze to meet hers, "You're going to have to get used to seeing him around. He's with Leanne now, and you have to come to terms with that –"
"I have come to terms with that—"
"I'm not finished," Carla held up her hand, ensuring her voice remained low enough for just him to hear, "If you're planning on allowing Leanne to spend time with Si that will mean that Nick will be a part of his life as well, so you all better start acting like the adults here. Because if you allow Nick Tilsley to get to you and then you start taking your anger out on me once more –"
"Hey," Peter stepped in front of her, raising his hand to her cheek and gently cupping it, "I swear I won't let it get to that again," he brushed his thumb across her cheek.
"Promise?"
"I promise," he nodded, flashing her an encouraging smile and placing a soft kiss on her lips, "now you best get to your meeting," he said as he stepped back from her, "before your business partner throws a fit."
Carla smiled, shaking her head at him, "I'll see you tonight."
"See you then," he kissed her again and watched as she slowly made her way to the booth where a visibly agitated Frank was waiting.
Turning to the bar, Peter called out, "Hey uhh Nick? Could I have a word with Lea alone for a few minutes, please?" he asked as he perched himself on a stool.
Nick raised his eyebrows in surprise at the almost polite tone in Peter's voice, "uh, yeah, course," he turned to Leanne, "I'll just be in the kitchen if you need me."
"So, you're back, then?" Leanne queried, turning to look at Peter once Nick disappeared behind the staff door, her arms folding across her chest, "good trip was it?"
"Yeah, very relaxing," Peter responded tersely, thoroughly aware of his ex-wife's visibly unhappy mood at seeing him.
"Aww, well isn't that just peachy then," Leanne drawled sarcastically, "Sure, your son has probably fallen behind in all his schoolwork, and you've succeeded in further driving him away from the closest thing he has to a mum anymore, but hey, as long as you've been off relaxing and sunning yourself, that's all that matters, innit?" She snapped with a roll of her eyes.
Peter smirked, "And lost some weight, grew a beard – "
"Oh well, la-de-da!"
Peter grabbed a white linen napkin and waved it over his head, "Okay Leanne, ceasefire, yeah? I didn't come here to argue—"
"So then spit it out already Peter, I'm busy!"
"Well I was going to ask if you'd like to have Si after school tomorrow, but since you're so preoccupied—" Peter rose from the stool.
Leanne's arms dropped to her side, "Wait? What? Are you serious?"
"Yes, I'm serious."
"Can I pick him up from school?"
Peter shrugged nonchalantly, "Yeah, if you like," he couldn't help but smile as Leanne's face lit up, "Look, I figured you could give him his tea and he could fill you in on the trip. After all, he's finished all the homework he was assigned during our time away," he let out a laugh at Leanne's puzzled expression, "Come on Lea, did you really think I wasn't going to have him keep up with his assignments while we were away? Do you honestly believe I want to be on the receiving end of a Kenneth Barlow lecture if I can avoid one?"
"Well, you got a point there…"
"So, are you interested?"
"Yes, of-of course I am! But umm," Leanne shifted nervously, "look, Peter, I'm not trying to push me luck here but, I'm not working evenings again this week until Wednesday so, could he maybe –" she licked her lips, "—could he maybe stay at mine for a few nights? Only a few nights! I-I'll drop him off to school on Wednesday and you could pick him up—"
"Lea, relax," Peter chuckled in spite of himself, "I'm okay with that. I have a lot to catch up with at the Bookies so it would actually do us both some good, yeah? That is, as long as Simon wants to. It has to be his decision."
"Of course, whatever he wants to do," Leanne grinned, "thanks, Peter."
He nodded, turning his body away from her yet still remaining at the bar.
Leanne looked to what currently occupied Peter's focus, before coming back to rest on her ex-husband. "What's up?" she quietly implored him, noting the telltale sign of his jaw clenching in agitation.
Peter turned back to her, "hmm, what?"
Leanne tilted her head towards the booth where Carla and Frank were seated.
"Oh, it's nothing," Peter muttered, sighing when Leanne raised her eyebrow in disbelief, "look, I just don't trust that slimy Foster bloke around Carla," he responded cooly, "that's all."
"Why's that?"
"I have my reasons…"
Leanne shifted her gaze to Carla and Frank and then back again, "Hey!" she poked Peter's bicep with her finger, "whatever you're thinking of doing, don't."
"What are you talking about?" Peter fired back bruskly, "do what?"
Leanne sighed audibly, "Peter, drop the defensive act. I know you, remember? And that look you've got splashed across your mug, means you're about to storm over to that booth and pick a fight."
"I don't just go around picking fights, Lea. Unless I have good reason to—"
"Oh, come on, Peter! You may dress it up with chivalrous intent, but what it boils down to is you acting like a caveman."
Peter sighed in annoyance, "oh, whatever you say, Leanne."
"She won't thank you for it."
"Who?"
"Oh, Joan of Arc! Who'd ya think?" Leanne rolled her eyes, "Look, Peter, you may not like the bloke, but he's Carla's business partner."
"Is this becoming a new habit of yours? Telling people what they already know?"
"Peter, I'm not trying to fight with you, alright? Just giving some friendly advice. Take it or don't."
"Well, thank you for that Dr. Battersby, but it isn't needed because I wasn't planning on doing owt anyway."
"Whatever you say," Leanne held her hands up.
Peter rubbed his forehead with his hand, "Right, I'm gonna take off but, umm, I'll speak with Si and I'll message you, yeah?"
"Yeah," Leanne nodded, "see ya then."
"See you."
Leanne watched as Peter spared a final look towards the booth in the corner before turning and making his way out of The Bistro. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the stubbornness of her ex, instead choosing to focus on the days that lay ahead with Simon.
With a newfound bounce in her step, Leanne handed two menus to a pair of recently seated patrons, expertly naming off the dinner specials to them before heading to the next table. But her smile soon faded into a frown as she neared the pair in the booth, who appeared to be engaged in a low, but heated conversation.
"What exactly is your problem, Frank?"
"My problem?" Frank retorted snidely.
"Yes," Carla whispered, her eyes darting about to ensure their conversation was not overheard by other diners, "you've been in a right strop since the moment I sat down."
"I've not been in a strop."
"Oh, whatever," Carla rolled her eyes and leaned back in her seat, the frustration evident in her features as Leanne arrived beside them.
"Hiya," Leanne greeted carefully, "sorry for the wait. Here are your dinner menus—"
"About time," Frank muttered under his breath, missing the warning look that Carla shot at him from across the table.
Leanne's lip curled into a sneer, "Oh, I'm sorry, but the last I checked, you're still waiting on one member of your party, aren't you?"
"What does that have to do with your incompe-"
"Yes, we are," Carla cut Frank off, "he should be here shortly."
"Ah, so there was no rush then, was there? I'll bring his menu over when he arrives, but can I get you both some drinks to start while you wait?" she responded in a sickly, sweet tone.
"We'll have the French Merlot. Bottle. Three glasses." Frank curtly responded, holding out the wine menu towards Leanne without further acknowledgment.
"Umm actually, just two glasses, please Leanne. My stomach's been a bit off all day and the thought of wine is making me a bit sick."
"Excuse me?" Frank stated indignantly, folding his arms on the table and staring intently at Carla who, much to his further annoyance, continued to only address Leanne.
"I think I'll just have a lime and soda, thanks."
"Lime and –" Frank pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh, "I don't believe this."
"Oh, what now?"
"I'll come back…" Leanne turned from the booth, moving to the one adjacent to them, carefully picking up the cookery left behind from the previous diners and keeping her ears keenly focused on the conversation next to her.
"Carla," Frank chastised her, "Need I remind you that this is a massive potential contract with a high-end client?"
"I am aware of that Frank, yes."
"Are you? Because you're certainly not acting like it."
Carla sighed, "And what's that supposed to mean?"
"It means, that you haven't been focused on this business for a while now. Slipping out of the office to take long-distance, personal calls from Spain, forgetting all about this scheduled meeting because you refuse to hire a new PA or update your mobile. And to top it all off, you now order a lime and soda at a dinner meeting where we're meant to be wooing and schmoozing this new client. Do you know what lime and soda says to these people, Carla? That either you're an amateur or, thanks to those ridiculous crutches you've got with you, you're an accident-prone lush nursing a hangover, neither of which is a look we want to be projecting –"
"—neither of which are true, either, I might add," Carla retorted.
Frank leaned back in his seat, grabbing the dinner menu with a huff, "Look, if you're not going to take this seriously, then perhaps it's best that you leave me to handle meetings of this calibre going forward."
"I beg your pardon?" Carla chuckled mirthlessly.
"You heard me," Frank waved his hand dismissively in Carla's direction.
"Who do you think you—"
"Sorry to interrupt but, uhh Carla," Leanne interjected as she appeared next to the table again, dirty wine glasses and plates in her hands, "I just remembered that we have a brand new, seasonal cocktail menu that we recently started. We just had them printed so we keep them behind the bar, but I can grab one for you if you're not feeling for wine?" she gestured behind her.
"No need, Leanne, I think I'll meet you at the bar. I want to head to the loo before the client shows up, anyways. Could you give us a few minutes?"
Carla waited for Leanne to be out of earshot before she faced Frank again, "you've got some nerve speaking to me like that," she warned him, resisting the urge to slap the smug-looking smirk off his face.
"Carla, if you insist on letting your personal life interfere with our business—"
"MY business –"
"—then it's best you leave these meetings to me until you get your priorities in order. I didn't sign on to take the helm of a sinking ship because the captain is too preoccupied with her alchy boyfriend—"
"If you know what's good for you, Frankie, you'll stop talking right now," she spat, "Because it appears to have escaped your little mind, that I own 60% of Underworld. That makes me the boss, and you on very thin ice right now!"
"Oh, pray tell, enlighten me. Why's that?"
"Because as per my little addendum to our contract, I still have an additional thirty days to back out of this so-called partnership. And if that means losing any further investments from you down the line, then so be it. Because I will not be spoken to in that manner again, nor will I have my business partner trying to manipulate my time any further."
"Manipulate you? What are you talking about?"
"You think I don't know what you're playing at, hmm? Arranging this little meeting on a Sunday when the client had originally offered tomorrow evening?"
"I was leaving tomorrow open for any last-minute—"
"Oh save it! You knew exactly what you were doing and why. But more importantly, so do I," Carla leaned back in her seat and shrugged, "I get it, you're used to running the show. And because I was all 'Yes, Frank,' and 'of course, Frank', and 'whatever you like, Frank,' when you were a client, you expected that you were gonna easily steamroll over me as partners and take the reins of my business."
"Carla, you're sounding paran—"
"What? You think you're the first partner I've had to try to pull this kind of stunt with me? If you want I can call my last business partner over here," she pointed to Nick, whose back was towards them as he checked in on several diners, "and you can ask him yourself how well that worked out for him?" At Frank's continued silence, Carla sighed heavily, "Okay, look Frank," she folded her arms on the table and leaned forward, "I know this arrangement is an adjustment for you so I'm willing to move past this because I'd really hate to cut ties, after all, we work well together, me and you. But I assure you, if speak to me like that ever again, publicly or privately, I will. Are we clear?"
Frank clenched his jaw in annoyance before exhaling audibly and nodding, "You're right. I was way out of line. I'm sorry, Carla," he acquiesced, "it does take some getting used to, you know, not being in control, and it doesn't help that I'm upset about something else, and instead of dealing with it head-on, I'm taking it out on you. I'm sorry."
"Hmm," Carla pursed her lips, "well, apology tentatively accepted — for now, anyway. Now, " she grabbed her crutches and hauled herself out of the booth, "I'm going to order myself a fancy cocktail and, hopefully, you'll be in a better mood by the time I get back? Or else we will be continuing this conversation tomorrow."
"Already in a better mood, boss, I promise," he winked, watching as Carla nodded, preparing to hobble over to the bar, "Carla?"
"Yeah?"
"I am really sorry."
"Let's just forget about it for the rest of the evening, deal?"
"Deal."
Leanne watched as Carla shuffled her way towards her. Placing the cocktail menu on the bar, she offered Carla a small smile, "everything sorted, now?"
"All under control. Sorry about all that, by the way. He can be a right moody so-and-so when he wants to be. He shouldn't have taken it out on you though."
"It's okay," Leanne gestured around her, "hazard of the industry."
Carla chuckled. Leaning her elbow on the bar, she sighed heavily, rubbing her forehead while her eyes scanned the menu.
"You okay?" Leanne asked as she prepped another customer's martini, "not like you to feel sick thinking about wine."
"Oh, it's these painkillers I'm on, innit? Feel like they're eating my stomach from the inside out."
"You didn't take them with food, then?"
"Does everyone know to take these things with food, except me?" Carla groaned and shook her head, "Not a mistake I'll be making again, let me tell you."
"Hmm, well if you want my advice, order the mushroom risotto tonight. It's a bit rich, but it's something filling that hopefully won't agitate your stomach."
"Oh, that does sound good, cause I don't think I could stomach a salad right now," she pushed herself to an upright position, "look, could I leave the cocktail choice down to you, I can't really focus at the moment. But could you make it without the umm..."
Leanne nodded in understanding, "our secret."
"Thanks Leanne."
Leanne gestured towards the toilets, "go on then. I'll bring it to your table when it's ready."
"Thanks."
"She okay?" Nick asked as Carla disappeared down the hallway.
"Painkillers are not reacting well. And neither is her business partner, come to that."
"Hmm, is that what you and Peter were discussing before he left?"
"Were you eavesdropping?" she smirked at him
"Maybe a little," he handed the two martinis Leanne had made onto the bar to the waitstaff, "Table 3," he informed them before turning back to his girlfriend, "so come on then, what is it? Barlow afraid Carla's going to leave him for Foster or something?"
"No, it's something else..."
"Like what?"
"He doesn't trust him around her," Leanne glanced to where Frank remained in the booth, his eyes fixed on the hallway next to the bar and his fingers drumming impatiently on the table, "and you know what Nick? I don't think Peter's overreacting either."
"What do you mean?"
"I can't explain it, and I know Carla can handle herself but, I'm telling you, that Frank Foster's bad news."