"Listen, Lea, before you start, I just wanted to apologise–"
"I'm not interested in hearing how sorry you are, Peter," Leanne snarled as she closed the door of the back room of the Rovers and turned to face her estranged husband. "It's just words with you, meaningless words."
"I really am–"
"They'd mean something if you were suffering, if you had actually lost something, like I did. But, no, you got everything you wanted. You got the woman you wanted – not that I think she's much of a prize – you got your perfect new family in your perfect new seaside love nest. You got rid of your nagging wife. Huh," she shook her head. "Not quite though. Because I'm not giving up what's mine."
"Lea," Peter smiled awkwardly. "Look, I'm flattered and all, but you and me, we're over. I'm with Carla now, I love Carla."
"Are you serious?" Leanne laughed. "As if I'd ever want to get back with you. After what you did."
"That's not what you were saying the night you left."
"I'd had a shock. I came to me senses in the cold hard light of day. No, it's not our marriage I'm fighting for."
"Then what is it? What do you want? You've heard I've sold the bookies, is that it? You want money?"
"Don't insult me, Peter. I want Simon."
"No," Peter was adamant.
"We can start off with me seeing him. Where is he?"
"He's at home."
"Let me guess, with Carla?"
"Of course with Carla. She's his mother now."
"I'm his mother!" Leanne cried. "I have rights!"
"Not legally," Peter refuted. "Legally you're nothing to him."
"What do I care about what's legal and what's not? This is about what's moral, what's right. This is about a little boy who's hurting. His family's been ripped to shreds. That's on you. What you've done, you and Carla. Are you really going to heap more misery on him and deny him his mother? Come on, Peter, think about Si for once. Let go of your stupid pride and let me see him."
"I don't have to listen to this," Peter said, his hands raised in the air in mock surrender. "I've tried to apologise but you won't listen, you just take and take and take. Well, I'm not having it. Simon is my son, not yours. That's the end of it."
"We'll see what the judge says."
"You wouldn't dare."
"Try me."
"I don't have time for this, I'm going to be late for the realtor."
Satisfied that he'd had the last word, Peter turned away from his still legal wife and strode towards the door. But Leanne had decided that she would be the one to have the final say.
"Oh Peter?" she called out to him coyly.
"What?" he barked.
"Since you brought it up, I will take half of the profits from the sale of the bookies."
"How did it go?" Ken asked Peter.
"Signed, sealed and delivered," Peter said, a broad smile on his face. "The bookies is no longer mine."
"Congratulations," Ken said, although his demeanour was anything but congratulatory. "But I was actually asking about you and Leanne."
"Dad, I don't have long so can we please not talk about Leanne."
"How long do you have?"
"I don't know," Peter shrugged, checking his watch. "Half hour?"
"You're not staying to dinner?"
"No, dad, you know it's a long drive down to Brighton."
"Why don't you stay the night?" Ken suggested hopefully. "Drive back tomorrow."
"I don't want to leave Carla on her own."
"You mean, on her own with Simon?"
"I mean–" Peter sighed loudly and shook his head. "It doesn't matter, the point is I'm going home tonight."
"What about Leanne?"
"Dad!"
"You can't avoid the topic forever," Ken said. "If you really are determined to divorce."
"I am."
"Then you need to sort out how to disentangle yourselves from each other's lives, with the least pain and disruption. Especially to Simon."
"She's the one that's being stubborn," Peter cried. "Demanding to see Simon as if she had any rights over him."
"Like it or not, Peter, but Simon thinks of Leanne as his mother. And nothing you do is going to change that."
"If she could just understand that all we need is a little bit of time," Peter said. "Enough space from her so that Simon can get used to Carla. If he would only give her a chance, I know he'd love her as much as he loves Leanne."
"Peter, this isn't about Carla and whether she can be a mother to the child. It's about Leanne. You can't just replace her and expect Simon to have no reaction."
"So what do I do?" Peter asked, despondent in his frustration. "Letting Leanne see Simon now, in a totally new environment, all it'll do is disrupt his life even more than it has been."
"Or it might give him that sense of stability that will help him adjust to his new life. What does Carla say?"
"She thinks Simon should be allowed to see Leanne."
"Well, then," Ken cried triumphantly. "What's the problem?"
"I'm bored," Simon whined, stomping around the sewing room floor of Carla's new office to emphasise his point.
"I'm sorry, Si, but the end of your school day does not mean it's the end of my work day."
"But I'm sooooooo booooooored!"
"Don't you have some homework to do?"
"No."
"In that case, you can help me unpack that box of fabric samples."
"How much?"
"How much?" Carla raised an eyebrow in response to Simon's demand.
"How much you gonna pay me?"
"You cheeky little–" Carla was left open mouthed by Simon's demand. "This isn't gonna work, is it? Fine, let's go."
"Where are we going?"
"You'll see. Come on!"
Simon obediently followed Carla down the stairs and out through the front door.
"Are we going home?" Simon asked as he watched Carla lock the shop door.
"Nope," Carla said, before grabbing his hand and leading him through the winding narrow pathways of the South Laines until they burst out onto the seafront. For as far as the eye could see, pebbled beaches stretched east and west while, to the south, the waters of the English Channel ended far over the horizon and out of sight. To their right stood the ruins of the West Pier, it's skeletal remains emerging, in all its haunting beauty, from the water. To their left stood the Palace Pier which, unlike the West Pier, was still full of life, its welcoming neon sign overhanging the entrance as a beacon to young and old who wanted to sample the arcades, the rides, the food and the drink, or simply the brisk sea air as they walked along the ancient wooden planks while the water churned beneath their feet.
"We're going there," Carla said, nodding to the Palace Pier.
Excited now, Simon was the one that dragged Carla along the seafront and onto the pier. He stood impatiently while she bought him tokens he could use in the arcade. And then he was free; free to play whatever game he wanted, to ride on any ride he was tall enough for, and then, when he was exhausted with his play, he and Carla sat side-by-side on one of the benches that flanked the pier and watched the sun set while they munched on fish and chips.
"Can we do this every day after school?" Simon asked hopefully as they made their way back down the pier, homeward bound.
"Ha!" Carla laughed. "Nice try. No, this is a once in a while thing, a treat."
"Awww," Simon groaned, although the smile on his face belied this utterance, as did the hand he slipped into Carla's as they walked. Carla secretly thrilled at Simon's unexpected gesture; even if Simon couldn't articulate his slowly changing attitude towards Carla, it was all the encouragement she needed to keep going, to keep trying to win his trust and, one day, his love.
"I need to stop by the shop and pick up my laptop," Carla said. "And then we'll be off home."
Feeling the chill in the air now that the sun had descended below the distant horizon, the unlikely pair hurried through the Laines, thoughts of home quickening their feet. Apart from the handful of pubs that came to life at night, the Laines grew quiet after hours and, as they made their way to Carla's shop, there were only a handful of figures that passed them by, mere shadows in the growing darkness.
"Carla?" Simon turned to stare at Carla, who had stopped abruptly and was now peering into the dark, repeating when she didn't answer him, "Carla?"
"What?" Carla's gaze focused on Simon. "Sorry, I umm…"
Carla began walking again, trying her best to shake off what she had seen, or thought she had seen. She told herself that it was a trick of her imagination, a trick of the light. It couldn't be, it just couldn't.
On reaching the shop, Carla didn't take any chances; she locked the front door as soon as they were inside and, instructing Simon to wait downstairs for her, hurried upstairs to retrieve her laptop.
"I thought I told you to wait downstairs?" Carla gently rebuked Simon mere moments later as she was coming back down the stairs, her laptop in hand, only to meet Simon on his way up.
"The man scared me."
"What man?" Carla asked, her heart rate suddenly increasing as fear gripped it.
"There's a man at the window."
"Wait here."
Creeping back down the stairs, Carla remained hidden from view while she peeked out, across the shop floor, to the windows that faced the street. And that was when she saw him: he was stood on the pavement, his face pressed up against the glass, and his hands raised to block out the light as he studied the interior of the shop. With a growing feeling of dread, Carla realised that her eyes hadn't been playing tricks on her earlier, that she had seen the one person she had hoped she would never see again. But she couldn't deny it, not now: he had found her, the man she had run away from, the man who could not, who would not, let her go.
Frank Foster had found her.
Carla stood at the door to Simon's bedroom and watched him as he slept. He'd been so tired after their outing to the pier, he'd barely had the energy to drink the hot chocolate that Carla had made for him before retiring to bed earlier than his usual bedtime.
Softly retreating from his room and back into the living area, Carla checked her phone again, opening the text message she'd received earlier from Peter stating that he'd be home by 10ish. She checked the clock; it was almost time, but still she was impatient. She wanted him – no, she needed him – home. She needed to hear his words of comfort, to feel his arms around her, to feel the safety his presence gave to her.
Safe. How could she ever feel safe again now that Frank was here.
With all the urgency that her fear of Frank provoked, Carla hurried to the front door and checked, once again, that it was locked and then, one after the other, she checked each window, ensuring that no one could enter through them, that, inside at least, she was safe.
The sound of a key sliding into the front door lock drew her attention.
"Peter." She whispered his name with relief and turned to the door, ready to welcome him home. "Peter!" her cry of joy on seeing him walk through the door was not immediately tempered. It was not tempered when he smiled at her and greeted her as his love, nor was it fully tempered when his uncertain gaze turned to the door that he had not yet closed behind him.
Her joy on seeing Peter was only destroyed on seeing Leanne walk through that door, striding into Carla's home with a grin on her face and a sparkle in her eyes, her enjoyment at watching the happiness drain from Carla clear to see.
"What's she doing here?" Carla demanded, fixing her gaze on Peter, her eyes flashing dangerously. "Peter?"