May 2016

She wheeled her suitcases into the main seating area of her new home in Kingsbridge, Devon and turned on the pot lights in the kitchen. Taking off her jacket and leaning against the counter, she looked around the modestly furnished interior and exhaled a tearful breath. The house, humble in both its size and decor, still gave her that enticing sense of calm as it had done the last three times she had viewed it in recent months.

And calming it should have been. After all, this beautiful four bedroom, two bath, white stone exterior cottage symbolized a new beginning for her; a fresh start to her life as Mrs Carla Tilsley.

And yet here she stood: husbandless and alone once more.

It was like a horrifying, recurring nightmare that she could never seem to escape from: Another friendship kindled out of mutual understanding; another relationship sparked out of chaos, another engagement that teased a picture-perfect future, another wedding day ending in pure bedlam; and another 'marriage that could have been', laying in tatters amongst the confetti on the Bistro floor.

Only this time the disaster of a ride of this doomed merry-go-round she consistently found herself on, lay solely at her own feet. She had been the one to cheat; unable to cope with the news that Johnny Connor, a man she had known her whole life, was actually her father; news that was only ever revealed to her because her vengeful, murderer of a brother decided to blackmail Johnny. He never would have acknowledged her as his daughter otherwise; allowing them all to live in blissful ignorance as he had done for the past 40 years. And the feeling of rejection from her biological father, coupled with the knowledge that her childhood could have been so different if only she had known, caused her to revert to typical Carla-form.

She never could resist pressing that self-destruct button of hers.

With a resigned sigh, she pushed her body away from the counter, and opening a cabinet above the sink, she took out one of the glass tumblers that she and Nick had brought down and unpacked just a week prior. Giving it a quick rinse under the tap, she turned to the liquor cabinet and grabbed the whiskey bottle: an early housewarming gift from David and Kylie when they had helped them move some of their furniture and basics down a week ago. Pouring herself a generous helping of the amber liquid, she placed the bottle down on the counter and turned, her gaze coming to rest on the black-coated appliance neatly fitted between two stone-coloured cabinets. Her eyes began to fill with tears as she continued to stare at it and she took a large gulp of whiskey, both cringing and delighting in the burn as she swallowed it down...

"What is that still doing here?" She asked

"It's the AGA cooker," Nick chuckled

"I'm aware of what it's called from the last time we saw it, but I still don't quite understand why it's still here, or what it does for that matter- "

"I told you, it's a type of heat storage stove and cooker. It's all cast iron on the inside and depending on which of these compartments you use, you can either use it to cook something quickly, or use it to slow cook."

"Okay but as charming as it is, I thought we agreed to have it refitted for sommit else?"

"No, no, you suggested that! I agreed to nowt." Nick shook his head and laughed, "Besides, come on, you can't actually want to get rid of this: it's a classic!"

"I'm not denying that Nicholas, but don't you think we should have gone for sommit a bit more practical?"

"It is practical! Especially considering how much you hate cooking."

"But that's what I'm getting at Nick! I can barely use a regular cooker as it is, you honestly think I'll be able to use something from like, the 1920s?"

Nick smirked at her, "that's exactly when it's from..."

She folded her arms across her chest and smiled, "Well, hark at me: Brain of Britain."

"Look, it adds character to our new home and it's a nice contrast to some of the more modern appliances in here; and besides," he wrapped his arms around her waist, "I thought we agreed that I would have the final say on the kitchen fittings since I will be the one doing the majority of the cooking anyway..."

"And what if that changes?" she asked quietly

He chuckled at her, "Why: planning on taking some courses from Nigella are you?"

She lowered her gaze to the ground between them, suddenly unable to look him in the eye as she spoke, "you know what I mean..."

"Hey," he pulled her tightly against him, using his finger to tip her chin upwards, "we've been through this. I'm not going to change my mind..."

"I wouldn't blame you if you did, you know, you've still got time to back out-"

"That's not going to happen. I want this," he insisted, his grip on her tightening, "I want you! I want to be your husband and I want you to be my wife. I want us to have a fresh start. Right here: new town, new restaurant, new house, new life. No exes, no-" his jaw tightened slightly, "no more mistakes..."

She felt a chill travel through her body and she nodded slowly, "no more mistakes," she repeated, sliding her hands reassuringly up and down his arms.

"Now, the future Mrs Tilsley," he reached down and grasped the back of her thighs, lifting her up and setting her gently on the countertop, before placing his hands on either side of her body, "if madam is satisfied with her fiancee's decisions about the kitchen of their new home," he leaned in and placed soft kisses along her neck up towards her jaw, "what do you say to us christening it before David and Kylie arrive with the moving van?"

She leaned her head back, granting him more access before wrapping her legs around his waist and pulling him ever closer to her, "how long before they get here?"

"An hour or so," his tongue darted out along her collarbone, earning him a gasp from her

She placed her hands on either side of his face and pulled it up to hers, "I say why stop with just the kitchen?" she captured his lips with her own, moaning as he wrapped his arms around her roughly and pulled her flush against him, returning her kisses with an overpowering possessiveness she'd become accustomed to in recent months...

The tears continued to traipse unabashedly down her face as she polished off the remainder of the liquid in the glass in two large gulps. 'So much for not changing his mind...' she thought bitterly before pouring herself another large helping.

The sound of her mobile's ringtone cut through the silence and she quickly put the tumbler and bottle on the counter and made a dash for her purse that she had left hanging on the handle of a suitcase.

"Come on, come on," she muttered as her trembling hands struggled to open the zipper. When she finally managed to dig out her phone, she felt her heart sink momentarily as the name that flashed across the screen was not the one she had been expecting, but the name that was there filled her with an immediate sense of love and warmth,

"Hiya Roy," she answered, trying and failing to conceal her emotions

"As-as requested, I'm not calling to check up on you," Roy's voice came softly through, "just to ensure that you arrived safely..."

She pressed her lips together as she tried to contain a laugh, "you sure about that?"

"Honestly? No,"

She smiled lovingly as the thought of the cafe owner, shifting uncomfortably at the thought of trying to lie to her, flashed through her mind

"The truth is I am indeed calling to check up on you," Roy continued unabashedly, "and qu-quite frankly Carla I won't apologize for it."

"I wouldn't ask you to Roy," she sank onto the couch in the living room, "despite what I told you earlier, I actually really appreciate it."

"How are you?"

"Holding it together," she responded, "by my fingernails, mind, but, holding on nonetheless."

"You did the right thing, Carla,"

She closed her eyes as more tears dripped down her cheeks, "Did I?"

"You told him the truth," Roy's voice though factual and to the point, was still warm and loving, "he could have walked away when you did, when you gave him every opportunity to. But he chose to go forward. He chose to go through with the wedding anyway," his voice became firmer, angrier, "an-and quite frankly, what he did to you- I don't think I could ever forgive..."

"He was angry Roy, hurt,"

"Pl-please don't make excuses for Nick Tilsley's behaviour Carla, I won't stand for it."

Carla nodded, "okay," she whispered, "have you seen him?"

"Him, or him?"

She swallowed deeply, "both..."

"Yes, I have," he answered honestly, "and both were looking equally distraught as you were being driven to the train station."

"Well, like you said, what's done is done, right?" her voice croaked

"Fresh start, calmer waters." Roy stated, "Cathy and I have booked our tickets. We will be arriving next Tuesday but we can still cancel up until Monday if you change your mind about us coming out."

"No, no I won't," she breathed deeply, "how is she?"

"Quite well considering. She'll be released from hospital tomorrow as long as all goes well. Tracy hasn't been formally charged yet for driving the car into her. Police are still looking into if it was deliberate or an accident."

She could hear the disdain in his voice, the bitter resentment and she felt overwhelmingly guilty, "I feel horrible about it-"

"It wasn't your fault,"

"She were aiming for me," her voice cracked, "if Robert hadn't pushed me out of the way, if she hadn't turned the car at the last second to avoid hitting him -"

"It-it's all 'ifs' and 'maybes', Carla!" Roy cut her off, "Tracy Barlow made her decision, and she is suffering the consequences now, even if not by the long arm of the law yet."

"What consequences?" she sniffled, dabbing a tissue at her tear-stained cheeks

"Robert's left her, her family wants nothing more to do with her, and Amy's gone to live with Steve and Michelle."

"Couldn't have happened to a nicer person..."

"Agreed." Though he rarely acknowledged it, Roy's disdain for Tracy Barlow was no secret, "will you be alright, tonight?"

"Oh you know, I'll soldier on," she whispered

"Please, no more alcohol tonight."

Her head snapped upright, "How did you-"

"I just do," he answered, his tone nonjudgmental, "promise me?"

"Okay," she agreed, a smile spreading across her face.

"You-you know where I am if you need to reach me, day or night."

"I do."

"Goodnight, Carla."

"I love you, Roy,"

There was the briefest of pauses before his voice came through, "and I you."

She lowered the phone from her ear, pressing the end button as a fresh wave of tears pooled in her eyes. She rose from the couch and headed to the kitchen, opening up and searching three drawers before finding the funnel she was looking for. Placing it in the opening of the whiskey bottle, she raised the full glass and poured the liquid slowly back into the bottle. She was well aware that she could have drank the second helping of whiskey without Roy ever knowing, but for some reason she couldn't betray his trust, even living hundreds of miles away from him now.

Rinsing the glass and filling it with water, she headed back to the couch, pulling the smaller of her suitcases with her. Sitting down, and placing the glass on the nearby coffee table, she unzipped the case and pulled out her toiletries bag and her pyjamas. She began to undress when she saw it: there, neatly folded into a pocket of her suitcase was a handkerchief.

But not just any handkerchief. It was one of Hayley's.

The one Roy had given her two years ago when she was in the hospital after her miscarriage. She had brought it back with her to his flat when hers had been destroyed in the fire Tracy set to it a year ago, and she had neatly tucked it away in his room, not wanting him to be parted with something so special that belonged to his late wife.

But he had found it and placed it in her opened suitcase, unbeknownst to her, when he dropped by the flat earlier that day to say goodbye to her.

She reached for the hanky, her eyes tearing up once more, and as she brought it up to her face she let the sobs she had been holding in for the past 24 hours escape her. Her body shaking, she lay on the couch, curling herself into a fetal position and cuddling the handkerchief into her chest.

Carla shot upright from the sofa to the sound of a loud pounding at her door. Still gripping Hayley's hanky in her hand, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes and glanced at her phone.

3:32 AM

'Who the hell is that at this hour?' she thought groggily

Persistent knocking came from beyond the door again.

Anger and frustration took over and she instinctively rose to her feet, ready to give whomever had disturbed her a good what for, before a sense of dread took over her. Reminding herself that she wasn't in Weatherfield anymore she knew that it wasn't likely to be Johnny or Aidan or Michelle on the other side of that door.

Changing tact, she quickly grabbed the fire poker from beside the fireplace in one hand and clutched her mobile in the other, dialling 999 but holding off on pressing the send button, and ever so slowly she made her way into the foyer towards the front door.

She jumped in fright again as the person banged mercilessly again.

"Who is it?" she called out timidly, but was met with an eery silence.

"Look," her voice became firmer, "I've already called 999, alright?" she bluffed, "Them coppers will be on their way right now so if you know what's good for ya-"

"It's me," the voice called to her from beyond the door.

A shiver ran through her, and she exhaled the breath she didn't realize she had been holding.

The poker clattered loudly to the floor as she lunged for the door and with a determined grip she twisted the handle and pulled.

It was him.