Chapter 25: The phone call

"Chelle, I'm so tired," Carla sobbed. "It hurts."

"I know, darling, you're almost there, you're doing so well."

Carla looked up at her birthing partner, her best friend. Carla adored her Chelle, was eternally grateful to her for being her rock those past few months when her world was falling apart, that she was here with her now at the birth of her daughter. But still Carla wanted someone else.

"He didn't come," Carla blinked back the tears. "I really thought he'd come, Chelle."

"I know you did," Michelle tried to soothe Carla. "I'm sorry."

"You told Ken, didn't you? He does know?"

"He knows. I called him as soon as you went into labour. You need to forget about him now, Car, and focus on this precious baby that wants to meet its mama."

"Oh god," Carla clenched her teeth.

"What is it?" Michelle studied Carla's face anxiously while gently mopping her brow with a cool damp cloth.

"I really wanna push," Carla looked up at the midwife for guidance. "I wanna push. That means it's time, right?"

The midwife confirmed to Carla what her body had already told her; it was time.

A sudden feeling of mingled fear and excitement spread like a wave over Carla's body; all the preparation she'd done, the books she'd read, the plans she'd made, they all flew out of her mind. All her adult life, Carla had wanted to be in control; had fought friend and foe alike to gain and retain that control in both her personal and professional life. But now she had to let go of that control and simply trust; in the midwife, the trained medical professionals in the hospital; and in her body to do what nature had designed it to do.

And, for the first time, Carla forgot all about Peter; all her focus – all her love – was on her baby girl.

Carla fell back against the pillows, exhausted yet exhilarated, eager to officially meet her baby. Carla gasped as the midwife carefully placed her newborn daughter on her chest; she stared at this perfectly formed tiny creature in her arms and understood for the first time what pure unconditional love felt like.

"Hi," Carla whispered to her daughter, delighting in the feel of her skin against her baby's skin, in the faint rhythm of her heart beating against her chest. "Oh, baby girl, mama loves you so much."

She leaned down and softly kissed her little miracle.

Carla looked up at Michelle. "Look at her, Chelle, she's perfect."

"Isn't she just," Michelle gently stroked the baby's head and leaned in to kiss Carla's forehead. "Well done, you."

"This is your Aunty Chelle," Carla spoke softly. "And this…" looking up at Michelle. "Is Jamie. Jamie Connor."

"Jamie Connor," Michelle mused as she tickled said Jamie's chest. "I like it. No middle name?"

"Middle names, they're just to placate grannies who want a namesake. No, I'm breaking tradition with this one."

"And you're definitely settled on Connor? Not Barlow? Or Donovan?"

"Barlow? I don't think so, Chelle."

"Donovan?"

"I haven't been a Donovan for a long time. Besides, I wouldn't want to inflict that family name on something so innocent, and so precious." Carla gazed down at Jamie and indulgently squeezed her little feet. "I'm going to be a Connor again soon enough anyway."

Carla swore that Jamie's childhood would be different to her own. Then and there she made a promise to her daughter to give her the things that she hadn't had growing up; the feeling of being safe and of being loved. She believed everything else would work itself out if they only had these two things.

"Hey, love," Peter kissed Carla softly on the forehead, his hand raking gently through her hair, recalling her back to the present, and sat down next to her on the sofa. "Where were you?"

"Hey?" Carla looked at Peter absently.

"You were a million miles away."

"Oh," Carla was thoughtful for a moment. She looked down at baby Susie sleeping peacefully in her arms. "I was thinking about when Jamie was born."

"Right," Peter didn't know what to say. He wished with all his heart that he had been there; that Carla hadn't gone through it alone.

"Why didn't you come?"

"What do you mean?"

"I thought you'd come to the hospital. I made sure Ken knew. Did he not tell you?"

Peter looked into Carla's eyes; even now after nearly four years, they were full of the pain of his absence from the most important moment of their lives. He silently berated himself for giving into the fear of suffering yet further rejection that had kept him away from the hospital that day.

"He told me," Peter felt ashamed at his confession. "He called me straight away. I'm sorry, I didn't think you wanted me there."

"Whatever had happened between us, this was the birth of your daughter. Our daughter."

"I don't know what to say. Did you have someone...?"

"Chelle."

"Of course."

"It's my own fault really. I should've been clearer with Ken. Asked him straight out to ask you to come."

"No, it was me, I was a coward, I should've fought to be there no matter what."

"Are we gonna argue about who's more at fault?"

"If you don't agree with me, then yes." Peter was under no illusions about the damage his past behaviour had caused. "I think it's safe to say that everything that went wrong with us was my fault. So, it was up to me to fix it any way I could. And I didn't."

"Maybe," Carla was keen to change the subject. "He came to visit me, you know?"

"Who?"

"Your dad."

Carla lay in her hospital bed, Jamie snuggled into the crook of her arm; she didn't know how long the two of them had been there, how long she'd been gazing down at her daughter, tracing every feature of her face and searing it onto her mind and onto her heart. She didn't care; she could quite happily spend the rest of her life here, just her and Jamie.

A soft knock at the door as it was gently pushed open.

"Carla?"

"Hi Ken, come in and meet your granddaughter."

Ken, beaming with pride, walked to the hospital bed and looked with delight at the newborn baby in Carla's arms.

"She's beautiful," Ken kissed Carla on the cheek. "Just like her mum."

"Oh, give over, I look a right mess." Carla nodded to the chair next to her bed. "Have a seat, Ken. Do you want to hold her?"

"I'd love to, thank you."

Carla placed Jamie into Ken's arms. "I've called her Jamie."

"Jamie," Ken gently rocked Jamie in his arms. "Welcome to the family, Jamie."

Ken placed Jamie back in her mother's arms.

"If you need anything, anything at all, you let me know."

"Thanks, Ken."

"Before I go, could I possibly, if it's alright with you, take a photo? You know, for the family gallery on the sideboard."

"Of course." Carla had always had a soft spot for her father-in-law and, despite her marriage to his son having ended in disaster, she still cared about Ken and had decided months ago that she would actively include him in Jamie's life. "Where do you want her? On the bed?"

"No, stay where you are. I want you in the photo as well."

"But, I mean, I'm not exactly family anymore, am I?"

"Carla, it doesn't matter that you and Peter have gone your separate ways, you are the mother of my granddaughter, which makes you family. You always will be."

"Dad was so proud when Jamie was born," Peter recalled. "I know you might not believe me, but so was I."

Peter stood and retrieved his wallet from the kitchen counter. He pulled out an old and worn photograph and handed it to Carla.

Carla tentatively took the photograph in her hands; the tears sprang into her eyes as she recognised her own face staring back at her, a face blanched with the pain of childbirth, and the wonder of the newborn baby cradled in her arms.

It was the photograph Ken had taken years ago at the hospital.

"Dad sent me a copy," Peter explained.

"And you kept it? All this time?"

"I treasured it always."

Cradling Susie in one arm, Carla reached out to Peter with the other, pulling him close and kissing him, her fingers raking through his hair and gently massaging his neck.

"We really need to make this call."

Carla sighed, she was not looking forward to this. "Are you gonna do it then?"

"Me?" Peter held his hands up in protest. "She hates me remember?!"

"Yeah, well, she hates me just as much!"

"I'm not doing it."

"Neither am I."

Just as stubborn as each other, they had reached a stalemate.

"Rock, paper, scissors," Carla suggested. "Loser makes the call."

"Are you serious?"

"You scared I'm gonna beat ya?"

"No."

"So...?"

"Fine."

They each held their hands clenched into a fist in front of them. One – two – three…paper covers rock; Peter loses.

"Best out of three."

"No! I won, fare and square!"

"Come on, baby, give me a chance."

"Okay, if it'll make you feel better about being a loser."

One – two – three…paper covers rock, again; Peter loses, again.

"You are so predictable!" Carla gloated over her win. "You think I'll change, so you stay the same. Every. single. time."

"Don't rub it in."

"Now make the call."

Peter grimaced; he had been dreading this phone call. But he knew it had to be made; she needed to know what had happened; they needed to know if she had heard anything.

So, Peter picked up his phone and dialled a number that was written on a loose sheet of paper.

"It's ringing," Peter informed Carla nervously. "Hello? Hi? Is that Stella? It's Peter. Peter Barlow…Before you kick off can you please just listen to what –"

Peter rolled his eyes as he held the phone away from his ear. Carla smiled sympathetically and placed a soft kiss on Peter's cheek as he began what was sure to be a difficult conversation with his ex-mother-in-law. As their efforts to track Eva down had so far been fruitless, they reasoned that she must, at some point, contact her mum.

In the meantime, Susie was rapidly becoming more than just a guest in their home; she was becoming part of their family, an indispensable part. Both Carla and Peter lived with the constant fear that Eva might return any day to reclaim her daughter and tear their new family unit apart.