This story is a sequel to "In the navy". For a little refresher, here's a reminder of how the final chapter ended…

Carla peered out of the taxi window as it pulled up outside a terraced house conveniently located next to a pub on a bustling cobbled street. Stepping out of the car, she studied her surroundings, her new home, while Peter wrangled their suitcases out of the boot.

"Welcome home," he whispered to her as he wrapped his arms around her waist and, spinning her around to face him, kissed her softly. "What do you think?"

"Give us a chance, yeah," she said. "We've only been here less than a minute."

"Okay."

He kissed her again, a longer kiss this time, a drawn out kiss. And then he pulled away and, staring at her with narrowed eyes, asked her again. "What about now?"

"Baby, as long as you're around, it's perfect."

"Peter!"

"Dad!" Peter exclaimed, turning to face the silver-haired man dressed in cream trousers and a collared shirt underneath a thin navy sweater, who was standing on the threshold of the now-open front door to Number 1 Coronation Street.

Father and son hugged, a warm welcome after a long absence, before the older man turned to Carla. "You must be Carla," he greeted her with a smile and a polite kiss on the cheek.

"It's lovely to finally meet you, Ken."

"Shall we go inside?"

"Carla," Peter looked to Carla, who had seemingly forgotten all about him and his dad and was instead staring off into the distance. "Are you coming in?"

Peter's eyes followed the direction of Carla's gaze and he watched as a man wearing an expensive looking suit on his body and a knowing smile on his face strolled towards them.

"Carla?" Peter tried again to get her attention, but it was clear now that her entire focus was on this strange man who, instead of stepping around them and continuing on his journey, stopped and joined them, forming an eclectic little group huddled on Ken Barlow's doorstep.

"Well, well," the man said to Carla. "This is a small world."

"Carla," Peter asked. "Who's this?"

"Paul," she gasped, the word little more than a whisper caught immediately by the wind and whipped from her mouth.

"Paul Connor," Paul introduced himself with confidence, extending his hand to Peter in a show of civility. "Carla's husband."

The Civilian Life

Chapter 1: A mere technicality

"Carla's…" Peter stared in shock at this strange newcomer who had made such a startling declaration.

"Husband," Paul finished Peter's sentence, a self-satisfied smirk spreading over his face.

"Ex–" Carla added pointedly, "husband."

"That's not what our marriage certificate says," Paul dared disagree with his wife. "Aren't you going to introduce me to your… boyfriend? I'm not sure I'm on board with my wife having a boyfriend."

"I'm not your wife!"

"By the look on his face, I'm guessing you forgot to mention our little pre-existing and very legal union to him. You should have seen her on our wedding day," Paul addressed himself directly to Peter now. "The most radiant bride you ever did see, dressed in this big fluffy white thing, curls in her hair, framing that exquisite face, those cheekbones. Promised to love me to the end of her days, she did. And, more fool me… I believed her. Now she's flaunting her new man, I'm sorry, what did you say your name was?"

"Peter," Peter replied sullenly. "Peter Barlow."

"Ah," Paul nodded in understanding. "Peter Barlow of the Coronation Street Barlow's."

"My son," Ken added, his eyes narrowed with suspicion as they darted from Paul to Carla.

"Well, Peter, son of Ken, you don't mind if I borrow my wife for a bit, do you?"

"Ahhh," Carla said, her nose wrinkled in distaste. "I'm not going anywhere. And definitely not with you."

"Oh, come on," Paul pressed her. "Come next door for a drink. Liam will be along in a minute, and Michelle's working there behind the bar. They'd both love to see you. I'm sure Peter will let you come if you ask him nicely."

"I don't tell Carla what she can and can't do," Peter said.

"No one tells Carla what to do," Paul chuckled. "I learned that pretty early on in our marriage, didn't I, love?"

"Don't call me love."

"See," Paul said, shrugging his shoulders, a knowing smile on his face. "So, how about that drink?"

Carla turned to Peter, a questioning look in her eye. "What do you think?" she asked him tentatively.

"You do whatever you want," Peter shrugged. "Nowt to do with me."

"Listen," Paul interjected. "I can see you're about to have a domestic, so I'll head on inside, order a round of drinks."

"Peter," Carla said as soon as she was sure Paul was out of earshot. "It's got everything to do with you. I want you to come with me."

"And play gooseberry to you and hubby? No thanks."

"He's not my–"

"Technically, he is."

"Peter!" Carla cried in exasperation. "I don't want to do this for Paul. It's Liam and Michelle. They're more than in-laws to me, we grew up together and I'd really like to see them. And to introduce them to my boyfriend."

"What about dad?" Peter said. "He's been expecting us, he'll have dinner ready."

"Actually," Ken interjected. "Deirdre's gone with Blanche on an overnight trip with the One O'Clock Club, so I was going to suggest we pop next door for a hot pot."

"Michelle!" Steve called out from behind the bar that was being swamped by customers in the after-work rush hour. "Can you give us a hand?"

"One minute, Steve!" Michelle cried back before turning to face her old friend sitting opposite her in one of the Rover's booths. "I better get back before Steve self-combusts or summat."

"You go," Carla urged her. "We can catch up properly another time."

"Are you sure you'll be alright by yourself?" Michelle asked, glancing about the room. "Looks like Audrey's got Ken cornered and I don't know what's keeping Liam. Probably a new girl, he goes through them quicker than… I was gonna say clean underwear but I really don't wanna think about my brother's underwear."

"Or his love life, I dare say," Carla added with a smile.

"True," Michelle grimaced at the thought. "Why don't I get Paul to sit with you?"

"No!" Carla was adamant.

"You're gonna have to talk to him at some point, Car."

"I know, but not tonight. It's our first night here and I want to spend it with Peter."

"I can't believe you and Peter Barlow are a thing."

"Well, believe it," Carla said. "Cause it's a permanent thing."

"Whatever you say."

"I think I might go check on him," Carla said, sneaking a glance at her watch and noting how long Peter had been gone for. "The smokers' yard…?"

"Around the bar and out the back," Michelle said, nodding her head to guide her friend.

"Ta," Carla said, gripping onto Michelle's hand as a farewell gesture. "It's good to see you, Chelle. Really good."

"Here you are," Carla murmured, approaching Peter from behind as he stood alone in the darkness of the smokers' yard, slipping her arms around his waist and kissing him softly on the nape of his neck. "I was missing you."

"Were you?" Peter asked coldly, drawing in sharply on the cigarette in his mouth before slowly exhaling, the soft clouds of smoke that emanated from his mouth creating an air of Victorian mystery in the bricked yard of this historic cobbled backstreet. "I thought you'd be busy with your husband."

"Don't be like this, Peter," Carla said, moving so that she was stood in front of him and could train her eyes on his, pleading with him for understanding.

"Like what?" Peter asked. "Annoyed because my so-called girlfriend's got a husband?"

"You knew I was married."

"Was, Carla. Past tense."

"Me and Paul, we were over years ago. There's nothing between us anymore."

"Except for the fact that you're still married to him."

"It's a mere technicality."

"The thing I don't understand, Carla. Is why you haven't divorced him. I mean, if it really is over between you two."

"It is."

"Then why not get a divorce?"

"I don't know," Carla cried. "I guess I… I never got round to it."

"You never got round to it?" Peter asked incredulously.

"You should know, Peter, when you spend most of your life underwater, it's easy to get behind on your paperwork. And, believe me, that's all Paul is to me… paperwork. It's you that I love, you that I want. Just you."

Carla followed up her proclamation with a kiss, snaking her arms around Peter's neck and raking her fingers through his hair, pulling him in close to her, his lips onto her lips, his body against her body.

"Okay?" she whispered as she pulled away from him for just a moment to look into his eyes.

"Okay," he readily agreed, if only to pull her back in for another kiss, pushing all thoughts of marital complications from his mind and enjoying the feeling of her lips pressed against his, and the warmth of her breath and her body so close to him. Everything else could wait for another day.