Chapter 3: On the hook

Carla stared down at her newborn daughter in wonder. She couldn't believe that she'd created something so perfect, so innocent. The baby girl gazed up at her mum and waved her little arms around in the air. Carla couldn't resist the chubby cuteness; she reached down and gently tickled her daughter's tummy. The infant grabbed a hold of Carla's little finger, her tiny fingers wrapped around it tightly. Carla thrilled at the physical connection, at the perfection of those tiny fingers, the little creases in the skin at the knuckles, the perfectly formed tiny nails.

"Hey."

Carla looked up; her brother Rob had pulled open the curtain that surrounded her hospital bed and was standing aloof, shuffling his feet nervously from side-to-side, glancing at the baby with trepidation.

"Look who's here," Carla spoke to her daughter with that sing-song baby voice she'd sworn she'd never use; that is, until the moment the baby was placed into her arms for the very first time. "Your uncle Rob has come to see you. Yes, he has."

But still Rob didn't approach the bed. He merely stared at the baby as if it were an alien life-form.

"Come on," Carla encouraged him gently. "She won't bite."

Rob took a few tentative steps towards the bed and looked down at his niece. The sight of her, something so pure in a world in which he and Carla had known only chaos and confusion, brought an instinctive smile to his face.

"She's beautiful," Rob gushed.

"I know," Carla agreed proudly.

Rob reached out and stroked the baby's head, already covered with a shock of fine black hair.

"Her hair," he observed with a grin. "She takes after you."

"It kinda weirded me out, you know," Carla confessed. "I thought babies were born bald. Then she comes out like that!"

"What about her dad?" Rob challenged his sister.

"What about him?" Carla was immediately defensive.

"Does she take after him at all?"

"Her eyes," Carla murmured as she gazed down at her daughter. "She's got the same soft brown eyes."

"Does he know?"

"Rob, I don't want to talk about him."

"Why not?" Rob asked, incredulous. "He should be putting his hands in his pockets, helping you out."

"I don't need his help."

"He's got responsibilities, Carla." Rob was determined. "He's a father now. You tell me where to find him and I'll have a word, squeeze some cash outta him."

"Oh, Rob, don't be ridiculous."

"No, Carla, it's not ridiculous. I don't know why you're protecting that scum –"

"Stop it!" Carla cried out in frustration. "The truth is, I don't know where to find him. I don't even know his last name."

Rob laughed, a cold derisive laugh.

"What?" Carla was quickly losing patience with her brother.

"You!" Rob sneered. "You've become such a cliché."

The siblings lapsed into a bitter silence, neither prepared to make the first conciliatory move.

"She got a name then?" Rob finally broke the stalemate as he nodded down at the baby. "This one?"

"Emily."

"Emily Donovan," Rob smiled. "Suits her."

Carla smiled at her brother gratefully. "Shall we get going then?"

"Yeah. Hey," Rob disappeared behind the curtain, returning almost immediately with an expensive-looking pram. "To take her home in."

"Wow," Carla eyed the pram with a mixture of delight and suspicion. "That's a really high-end pram, Rob. How did you –?"

"Garage sale," Rob hastily explained. "Got it cheap."

"It looks new."

"You know what those rich bitches are like, Carla. More money than sense. Buy summat new rather than be seen with last year's model. But, I mean, if you don't want it, I can sell it on, and you can carry her everywhere. I was just trying to do summat nice for me sister, but if you –"

"Oh, shut up, will you." Carla admonished him playfully. "It's lovely, thank you."


"Did you get everything on the list?" Carla questioned Rob as they sat side-by-side on the bus, Carla's hand gripped firmly on the handle-bar of Emily's new pram.

"Yep."

"The money I gave you, it was enough?"

"Yep."

"Did you go to that second-hand furniture store?"

"Yep."

"Not the one on the high street."

"The other one, yes, I know."

"That high street mob are a rip off."

"I know, Carla," Rob exclaimed in exasperation. "That's why I went to the other place."

"Of course you know, I'm sorry," Carla placated him. "Thank you."


"Well, this is…" Carla looked around uncertainly at her and her daughter's new home.

A bedsit, one of four in a repurposed old house, furnished with a double-bed, wardrobe, an armchair and a small dining table and two chairs, with Rob's purchases lined up along one side of the room: a cot, a changing table, and a chest of drawers filled with baby clothes and supplies.

"I know it's not much," Rob conceded. "But it's better than... you know."

"I know." Carla smiled reassuringly at Rob; they both knew what life would be like for Carla and Emily if she were still living at home. "It'll do for us, won't it, Emily?"

Carla reached into the pram and picked up Emily, cradling her in her arms. She looked up at Rob and saw him watching them curiously.

"You wanna hold her?"

"Oh, god no!" Rob recoiled in horror at the thought.

"Come on," Carla chivvied him. "Emily wants some uncle Rob cuddles."

"Carla, I don't –"

Despite his protests, Carla carefully placed her daughter into her brother's arms.

"There we go," Carla cooed. "You're a natural."

Rob smiled nervously as he gazed down on his little niece.

"I don't really know what to do with babies."

"What?" Carla laughed. "You think I do? As far as I can make out, if she's hungry, then I feed her, if she messes in her nappy, then I change her. Otherwise, I keep her clean, keep her warm, try not to drop her, and give her lots of cuddles."

"Sounds like you know exactly what you're doing."

"Well, I can't be any worse than what our mum was with us, can I?"

"You're gonna do brilliant, sis."

"Thanks," Carla smiled at him gratefully.

While Rob was fixated on his niece, Carla wandered over to where he had lined up his purchases and looked through them, checking to see if they had everything they needed.

"Umm… Rob…?"

"Yeah, what?" Rob replied, disinterested, his complete focus now on the baby in his arms.

"This stuff, it's…"

"It's great, isn't it?" Rob boasted, proud of his efforts.

"Where'd you get the money from?"

"You gave it me," Rob laughed nervously. "You got baby brain or summat?"

"I didn't give you this much."

"I just wanted you and Emily to have some nice things."

"Where did you get the money?"

"Does it matter?"

"Of course it matters!" Carla wouldn't let it go. "Rob? Please be honest with me. I won't judge –"

"I nicked it okay!"

"You what?"

"I stole the money."

"Who from?"

Rob hung his head in shame, unable to meet his sister's gaze.

"Rob!"

Finally, Rob raised his head and looked at Carla, ready to confess the truth.

"George."

"No…" Carla shook her head in dismay.

"I took it from his stash."

"How much?"

"You don't need to worry about it."

"How much!?"

"Five hundred," Rob mumbled under his breath.

"I'm sorry?" Carla's words caught in her throat; she prayed she had misheard him. "What did you say?"

"Five hundred quid!"

Carla stared at Rob in shock; how could he be so stupid to steal so much from their evil step-father's drug-dealing profits.

"You're a fool!" Carla spat at him. "What the hell were you thinking!?"

"A little gratitude wouldn't go astray!"

"Gratitude?" Carla was incredulous. "You stole from George! You know he's gonna make you pay it back, every last penny, and then some!"

"He won't," Rob laughed, a vain attempt to brush off her concerns. "He's family."

"You are kidding yourself!" Carla shook her head in disbelief. "Listen, I'll help you out, okay? Get you out of debt."

"You ain't got owt to spare!"

"I'll find it somehow," Carla vowed.

"It's my debt, Carla. It's nothing to do with you!"

"You don't get it, do you?" Carla appealed to him. "What you've done, Rob, you've played right into George's hands. Do you have any idea what he'll make you do to pay that money back? Soon you'll be in so deep with him, the only way out will be prison or in a coffin! And I'm not gonna let that happen. Not to my little brother."

"I'm sorry," Rob's voice was suddenly small, scared, stripped of its bravado. "I was just trying to help."

"I know," Carla said tearfully. "I know that, I do. And I appreciate it."

She pulled him in for a hug, comforting him as his front came crashing down and he reverted once more into a frightened fourteen-year-old boy.

"We'll sort this out," Carla promised. "I don't want you to worry about it, okay?"

Rob nodded tearfully. "I'm really sorry."

"It's okay," Carla reassured him. "It's gonna be okay."


Carla paced the floor of her bedsit, Emily grizzling in her arms, and wracked her brains for a solution to her current dilemma. Rob had long since gone, promising to stay out of George's way and let Carla deal with him. She knew there was only one way to tackle the situation. Head on. With complete honesty.

But she kept putting it off. She'd fought so hard to escape from George's clutches and now, in one fell swoop, she was back on the hook. She could've shaken Rob for what he'd done, but he was a kid, he didn't know any better. But she knew. And she would get him out of it. She would rescue him.

"Come on, baby," Carla whispered soothingly to Emily. "We're gonna go for a walk, yeah? You'd like a walk, wouldn't you?"

She gingerly lay Emily down in her pram and draped an extra blanket over her body, tucking her in nice and snug.

Carla gazed down lovingly at her daughter.

"I know what's missing," she observed, walking over to the chest of drawers and rummaging through the baby clothes stored within until she found a tiny pale yellow crocheted hat with a felt mauve flower on the side. She brought it back to the pram and drew it down snugly over Emily's head. "To keep your head warm," she explained, before turning serious. "Now, mummy's gonna need you to be a really good girl, okay? Just for a little bit."


Carla shivered as she pushed Emily in her pram down the bleak street of the bleak estate, the bitter chill of the northern winter causing her breath to fog as it left her mouth. She stared down at Emily, suddenly panicked at the thought that her daughter might be cold. But she was sleeping soundly, soothed by the motion of the pram as it rumbled along the path.

She stopped outside the corner store and, dropping some loose change into the public phone box that was stationed there, made what felt like the most important and nerve-wracking phone call of her life.

Brrinng brrinng

Carla waited nervously as the phone rang, when suddenly–

"Yeah?"

The sound of George's familiar gruff voice down the phone line made Carla's stomach turn. She steeled herself before she dared speak, the last thing she wanted to do was betray any signs of weakness.

"It's Carla," she spoke with a defiance she didn't feel.

"If you think you can come crawling back with your brat, you got another thing coming."

"I'm not coming back," Carla declared adamantly.

"What do you want?"

"I need to talk to you," Carla explained. "In person."

The silence that followed Carla's request lingered for so long that she feared the line had somehow been severed. But George, ever the schemer, was silently weighing up his options.

"What's your address?"

George's attempts at playing the innocent didn't fool Carla; she merely laughed.

"As if I'm gonna tell you where I live. No, we'll meet somewhere public."


"So." George stared at Carla as they stood face-to-face on the frost-covered football pitch, his gaze at times flickering down to Emily as she slept in her pram. "Why am I here?"

"Rob."

"That thieving scumbag!?" George sneered. "Don't worry, I'll make sure he pays."

"I want you to leave him alone," Carla demanded. "I mean it!"

"That little scrote stole from me! You know I can't let it slide. It's bad for business, sets a bad example. I let Rob off and soon all the trash around here think they can take advantage. No –"

"I'll pay you," Carla advocated. "I'll take on Rob's debt."

George smiled; a sleazy, self-satisfied smile. This little bitch, Carla, who had gone to such great lengths to escape him, was suddenly back on the hook.

"He's not worth it, you know."

"He's my brother."

"Okay. If you insist." George accepted Carla's offer with seeming indifference. He contemplated the new mother, wondering just how far he could push her, before he let the hammer fall. "Fifty quid a week… for a year."

"A year!?" Carla cried in dismay. "Piss off! That's five times as much as he owes!"

"That's the deal," George shrugged, unmoved. "Take it or leave it."

"And if I leave it?"

"Then, as of this moment, I own Rob. He works for me."

Carla agonised over George's terms, but she knew there was only one decision she could make if she wanted to protect her brother.

"Fine," she capitulated. "I'll give you the first instalment a week today."

"Don't be late," George warned with a depraved laugh. "I think you'll find my interest rates are a killer."

Carla quickly turned away from George, desperate to avoid him being witness to the tears that were smarting in her eyes.

"Give your mum a call will you!" George shouted after her retreating frame. "It'd be nice for her to meet her granddaughter."

Carla pushed Emily's pram as fast as she could away from the football pitch, longing for the safety of home, as the tears ran unchecked down her face, oblivious to George as he watched her flight, an evil grin fixed on his broad podgy face.


"Right," Carla stood, hands on hips, staring down the factory girls…and Sean. "I don't wanna hear another word out of you lot. If we don't make tomorrow's deadline, you'll have plenty of time to gossip down the job centre."

"And if we make the deadline, Mrs Connor?" Sally Webster piped up. "Do we get a bonus?"

"Of course you do, Sal," Carla plastered a fake smile on her face. "You get that warm fuzzy feeling knowing you'll be able to put food on the table next week. Now, back to work!"

Carla turned towards the factory office, disconcerted to spy Liam peering out at her through a crack in the blind. Putting on her best haughty airs, she stalked into the office and sat at her desk without so much as a glance at her brother-in-law.

But the tension-filled silence soon got to her.

"What?" she barked at him.

"You know, Carla," Liam began in a conciliatory tone. "You don't need to be here. This isn't what Paul would've wanted for you."

"Oh?" Carla glared at Liam. "And what exactly is it that you think Paul wanted for me?"

"He wanted to look after you," Liam explained condescendingly. "He wanted to provide for you so you wouldn't have to come out to work."

"Listen, Liam," Carla sighed. "I know you've never liked me. Never liked me and Paul being together. But I was his wife. His next of kin. That means I now own his share of this place. Sixty per cent of it in fact. And if you don't like me being your boss, then you know what you can do."

"This place would fall apart without me," Liam warned.

"I'll take the risk," Carla called his bluff.

"You know, I was his brother," Liam changed tack. "His blood relative. That means more than –"

"But he chose me."

"He chose hookers over you!"

"How dare you!"

Knock knock

"What!?" Carla yelled.

The door slowly opened to reveal Peter, a little disconcerted to discover he'd interrupted an argument.

"I'm sorry, I, umm…"

"What do you want?" Carla glanced briefly at Peter before fixing her death stare back on Liam.

"I'm sorry," Peter stammered. "If I'm interrupting something…"

"As a matter of fact," Liam interjected. "You are. So, if you don't mind." Liam motioned to the door behind Peter.

"Liam!" Carla exclaimed indignantly. "Don't be so rude." Ignoring Liam, Carla turned to Peter with a placid smile. "I'm so sorry, Peter. How can I help you?"

"I was hoping to take you out to lunch."

"We're busy," Liam declared sullenly.

"I'd love to," Carla readily accepted, standing abruptly and grabbing her handbag and jacket. "Shall we go?"

"Carla," Liam objected. "We've got McKnees coming in half an hour."

"You deal with it, Liam," Carla said coldly. "I thought you wanted to be in charge?"

Having said her final word on the matter, Carla strode out of the office, her head held just a little too high for Liam's liking, Peter hurrying after her with an apologetic glance back at Liam.


"So, umm…" Peter was hesitant to appear too curious about Carla's affairs. If he had learned one thing since becoming reacquainted with Carla, it was her reputation for being somewhat volatile. "What was all that about? In the factory?"

"My brother-in-law thinks, now that I'm a widow of means, I should become a lady of leisure," Carla explained. "Give up the factory and let him run it."

"And that doesn't interest you?"

"That's my factory!" Carla scoffed at the suggestion. "He's not pushing me out. No way!" Carla took a deep breath, composing herself. "I don't want to talk about him, okay. Where are you taking me?"

"Not far," Peter teased as he led her along the cobbles.

"You know I'm not really a hot pot kind of girl."

"We're not having hot pot."

"There's nothing decent around here, not within walking distance," Carla asserted.

"That's what you think," Peter dared to dispute with her as he stopped in his tracks and nodded towards a nearby shop.

"We're going to the chippy?" Carla couldn't keep the disdain from her voice as she stared at the shop in question.

"Just like on our first date," Peter reminded her of the day sixteen years earlier when they had eaten chips together. "Well, our only date really."

"It wasn't exactly a date though, was it?"

"Whatever it was," Peter suddenly turned to face Carla square on, staring at her intently. "It was pretty special."

Taken off guard by Peter's gaze, full of a meaning she didn't quite understand, Carla merely stared back at him in confusion.

"Pretty damn special, don't you think, when you look at the result of that day?" Peter hinted at Carla's unexpected arrival nine months later.

"I'll grant you that," Carla grudgingly conceded. "But, umm… as for the 'date' as you like to call it. You were a sailor on shore leave, Peter. I know exactly what that day was to you."

"Look," Peter held his hands up as if in surrender. "I'm not gonna deny that's what I did a lot of the time on shore leave. What do you expect? I'm a red-blooded man, I've got needs! But you… you were different, you were, well… let's just say, I didn't forget you."

"Peter, you don't have to say those things, just cause I had your kid."

"I'm telling you the truth," Peter spoke earnestly, looking Carla straight in the eye. "Now, are we having chips or not?"

"Go on then," Carla agreed with a smile, falling into step beside Peter as he headed towards the chippy. "Hey, do you reckon that's why Emily loves chips so much? Because of the day she was conceived?"


"There you go." Peter placed a full glass of wine next to the empty one in front of Carla before sliding into the Rovers booth opposite her and reaching for the pint of lager he'd bought for himself, a whisky chaser standing ready on the side. They had naturally gravitated to the Rovers after their chippy lunch, both eager to extend their time together for as long as possible.

"Thanks," Carla smiled at him. "I better make this my last one though."

"Oh, come on," Peter chivvied her. "Let's make an afternoon of it."

"I'd love to, but, after what I said to Liam this morning, it wouldn't look too good if I skived off in the pub all afternoon."

"Boring," Peter teased her, before lifting the pint to his lips and draining half the glass before pausing for a breath. "So anyway, this bloke comes into the shop, came in once a week every week without fail, to place a five-quid bet. And without fail, he always bet on the loser. I swear, this guy had a sixth sense for backing every old nag going." Peter paused for another drink, finishing not only his pint but the whisky as well. "Hey, Liz!" Peter yelled out to the Rovers landlady, holding the pint and whisky glass in the air. "Same again, love!" He turned to Carla. "You sure you don't want another?"

"I'm sure," Carla affirmed as she watched him with narrowed eyes.

"Except this one day he comes in, puts his fiver down on what I thought was just another nag and you know what?"

Liz placed a pint and a whisky chaser in front of Peter. "Thanks Liz, here you go." Peter handed over some cash to Liz and took a large swig of the pint before leaning forward over the table towards Carla, his anecdote rapidly reaching its climax.

"What was I saying?" Peter peered at her as he wiped away the beads of sweat that were beginning to form on his brow.

"The guy put a fiver down," Carla prompted him.

"Oh, yeah," Peter nodded, catching up to his place in the story. "He put a fiver down on a rank outsider. Fifty to one. And you'll never guess what?"

"The horse won?" Carla answered, dead pan.

"The horse won!" Peter laughed raucously. "So I asked him, mate, what's your system? You know what he said?"

"I have no idea," Carla replied, folding her arms and leaning back against the booth.

"The morning before he comes in to place his bet, he shows his kid the colours the jockeys are gonna wear. You know, the racing silks. And so the kid chooses whatever colour takes his fancy. Can you believe that!?"

"Oh, I can believe anything." Carla looked on with growing concern as Peter quickly drained yet another pint and whisky chaser and rose to his feet and, swaying slightly, headed towards the bar.

"Drink?" He slurred over his shoulder at Carla.

"No," Carla shook her head. "Peter, come sit with me."

"Hold up a minute, I'm getting another drink."

"But –"

Carla sighed and wondered how best to extricate herself from the suddenly awkward situation when Leanne Battersby sauntered in. Almost immediately, Leanne clapped eyes on Carla and, desperate to make amends, hesitantly approached her former friend.

"Hi," Leanne greeted Carla sheepishly. "How's it going?"

"How's it going?" Carla repeated coldly. "You're asking me how's it going?"

"Carla, look I'm really sorry about what happened, but –"

"You mean when my husband died?"

"Well, yeah, but… you know it wasn't my fault, I –"

"Just go Leanne," Carla dismissed her. "I'm not interested."

"If we can just talk about it," Leanne pleaded.

"Keep away from me!" Carla warned. "I mean it!"

Leanne, the message having finally sunk in, skulked away to the bar where Peter was waiting for his drinks and watching the altercation between the two women with interest.

"Peter," Liz drew his attention to her as she placed his drinks on the bar.

"Thanks Liz," Peter once again handed a note over to Liz. "Keep the change."

On his return to the booth, Peter this time slipped into the seat next to Carla rather than the one opposite her.

Carla looked at him with growing disgust; he was drunk, leery and his breath stank.

Peter looked at Carla and wanted her.

"How about we end this date the same way we ended our first?" Peter whispered suggestively.

"No, I don't think so," Carla was trying her utmost to remain polite even though she felt like slapping him.

"Come on, sexy, we had a good time, didn't we?"

But before Carla could answer, Peter leaned in and tried to kiss her.

"Stop it!" Carla laid her hands on Peter's shoulders and pushed him away from her.

"Don't be like that," Peter persisted, this time placing a hand on Carla's thigh.

"Get off me!" Carla stood up and glared at Peter. "Get out of my way!"

Peter merely stared at her in a drunken haze of confusion.

"I said move!"

Peter finally got the message; he stood up and allowed Carla to pass.

"I'm sorry."

"You're drunk, Peter!" Carla spat her indictment at him. "And you stink! Go home and… have a bath!"

Peter kicked himself for his idiocy as he watched Carla storm out of the pub. Looking around, uncertain of his next move, he spied Leanne at the bar and remembered the animosity he'd witnessed between her and Carla.

"Hey," Peter stumbled towards Leanne. "I take it you and, umm… Carla! You aren't friends?"

"Whatever made you think that?" Leanne responded with characteristic sarcasm. "We used to be. Not anymore."

"What happened?"

Leanne looked Peter up and down with more than a little curiosity.

"Buy me a drink and I'll tell you."


The next morning, Peter took a deep breath, composing himself, before he had the courage to push open the front door of the factory. A hazy memory and a pounding headache were stark reminders of the disaster that had been the night before.

With a sheepish grin at the machinists who stared at him, unabashed, as he shuffled towards the factory office, Peter rapped sharply on the door.

"Yes!" Carla's familiar brusque voice beckoned him inside.

"You again!" Liam attended Peter's arrival with antipathy.

"What do you want?" Carla asked coldly.

"I, umm… I wanted to apologise," Peter stammered.

"For…?" Carla wasn't going to make this easy for him.

"Can we…" Peter looked askance at Liam. "Have some privacy?"

"Say what you gotta say and leave!" Liam demanded unsympathetically.

"Liam," Carla reprimanded him gently. "Give us a minute, will you."

"I'm not leaving you alone with him!"

"I'm a big girl, Liam. I can look after myself."

Liam glanced dubiously from Carla to Peter and back again before submitting to Carla's will. "Fine."

Peter smiled gratefully at Carla as Liam closed the office door behind him, leaving them alone. "Thank you."

"I didn't do it for you," Carla brushed aside his thanks. "I just didn't want to air my dirty laundry in front of Liam."

"Even so…" Peter was suddenly uneasy, his confidence stripped by Carla's cool manner.

"You were here to apologise," Carla reminded him.

"Oh, yeah," Peter nodded. "I am so sorry, Carla, I don't know what got into me."

"Half a dozen pints and the same in whisky chasers if I remember correctly."

"It got a little out of hand," Peter admitted. "I'm sorry, I really am."

"You know, Peter, you can be really sweet and thoughtful, and a lot of fun to be around, someone I want to spend time with. But that person you became last night after a few drinks… I don't want that person in my daughter's life."

"Our daughter."

"Technically, yes, you're her father. But she already has a dad…" Carla paused before she corrected herself. "Had a dad."

"And what an upstanding citizen he turned out to be!" Peter spoke with unexpected venom.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?!"

"Nothing. I'm sorry. I just… I want her to know about me. I want us to have a relationship."

"And I don't want to stand in the way of that, but… I dunno, I want to wait for the right time."

"You know she's gonna find out sooner or later. And if it's later and she does the maths and finds out how long you've been keeping me a secret from her… how do you think she'll react?"

"She would not thank me for the protection, that's for sure." Carla admitted reluctantly, for a moment regretting raising her daughter to be so like herself. "Listen, we're moving back to our own flat tonight. I'll tell her then."

"I want to be there when you tell her."

"No."

"Carla."

"I'm sorry, Peter, but that's not up for negotiation. I mean it."


Carla and Emily lugged their suitcases in through the front door of Number 4 Drapers Mill Apartments that evening, both relieved to finally be back in their own home. It had been a comfort to them, staying those few days with Michelle following their return from Ireland, but they'd soon longed for their own space again, their own home comforts.

Emily began to drag her suitcase towards the staircase when Carla stopped her.

"Darling, sit down a minute. I need to talk to you."

"Can't it wait? I wanna unpack."

"No, it has to be now," Carla insisted, before adding under her breath. "Before I bottle it."

"Oh," Emily was suddenly curious. "Okay."

Emily obediently sat down on the sofa, Carla sat next to her. But Carla remained silent, fearful of the effect her words would have on her daughter; she knew that what she had to say would turn Emily's world upside down.

"Mum?" Emily prompted her mum nervously. "What's wrong? Has something happened?"

Ever since her mum had sat her down that awful day to break the news that her dad had died in a car crash, a vice-like fear gripped Emily's heart every time someone wanted to have a serious conversation with her.

"Mum!" Emily's voice was rising along with her increasing panic. "You're starting to scare me."

Carla took Emily's hand in her own and stroked it comfortingly.

"I'm sorry, darling, I, umm… it's about your father."

"Dad?" Emily wasn't expecting this. "What about him?"

"No, not your dad," Carla clarified. "Your biological father."

"Oh," Emily was suddenly at a loss for words.

"You know I've never really spoken about him. I didn't really know anything about him to speak about."

"I know."

"Recently, I umm…" Carla took a deep breath, letting it out with a long sigh. "I bumped into him. It was totally unexpected, completely out of the blue."

"You've seen him?"

"I've spoken to him," Carla revealed the extent of her astonishing news. "At length. Told him all about you."

"He knows about me? What did he…?" But Emily couldn't finish her question; she couldn't bear the thought of her father knowing about her existence but not wanting anything to do with her.

"He wants to meet you. Properly, I mean," Carla added cryptically. "You've kind of already met him."

"Mum, just tell me, please. Who is he? Who is my father?"

"Peter Barlow."

"Barlow?" Emily's brow furrowed as she tried to place the name. "You mean like the Barlow's that live next to the pub?"

"Yeah, he's Ken Barlow's son. He's visiting at the moment from Portsmouth. That's where he lives."

"Is he the one that's always smoking out on the street?"

"Sounds like him," Carla couldn't help but smile at her daughter's lingering impression of her father.

"He's my dad? Peter Barlow?"

"Yes, he is," Carla confirmed. "How do feel about that?"

"I don't know," Emily looked up at her mum in confusion. "What do I do now?"

"Darling, there's no pressure on you to do anything. If you want to see him, then you can see him."

"And if I don't?"

"That's fine too. Whatever you decide. I'll support you one hundred per cent."

"Can I go to my room?"

"Yeah," Carla was confused. "Of course you can."

Emily stood up and, grabbing her suitcase, walked towards the staircase.

"I'm here for you," Carla called after her daughter's rapidly retreating figure. "If you want to talk about it?"

"I don't."


Emily knocked resolutely on the door.

She'd lain awake most of the night, trying to come to a decision. But, as the morning sunlight filtered softly through her bedroom window and threw dappled patterns of light and shade over her duvet, she was no closer to understanding how she felt, or knowing what she should do. But she had to do something; doing nothing was driving her crazy. So, here she was, winging it, acting purely on instinct.

The door opened; Ken Barlow, her grandfather.

"Emily?"

Emily stared at Ken in confusion, a million questions suddenly rushing through her mind as she clocked the expression on his face when he saw her, the tone in his voice when he spoke her name. How much did he know about her? Did he know she was his granddaughter? Was he expecting to play the doting grandfather?

"Peter Barlow," Emily stated abruptly, her desire to control her rising emotion causing her to appear cold and indifferent. "Is he here?"

"Yes, he is," Ken responded with warmth. "Please, come in."

As Emily sat stiffly at the Barlow's kitchen table while Ken hurried upstairs to find Peter, she couldn't help but study the framed family photographs dotted about the room; on the sideboard, on the coffee table, hung on the wall. She peered into the faces of these unknown people, desperate to find any tell-tale sign, any indication that they were a part of her family, a part of her.

"I'm sure she didn't mean anything by it, mother." Deirdre Barlow's voice echoed through to Emily from the front hall. "You're much too sensitive."

"There's no way I'm going back to the One O'Clock Club! Not until that woman apologises," Blanche Hunt declared as she shuffled into the kitchen behind her daughter. "We'll go to the Rovers instead."

"Emily?" Deirdre gasped in surprise. "Hello."

"You know then? She's told you?" Blanche didn't bother to wait for an introduction. "It's about time you came to see your father."

"Mother!" The colour rose in Deirdre's cheeks as she smiled at Emily, an awkward welcome. "We're very glad to have you here, Emily. I'm Deirdre. I'm Peter's step-mum."

"I know," Emily responded coolly.

"Of course you do, silly me," Deirdre muttered, suddenly self-conscious. "Has Ken gone to fetch Peter?"

"Yes."

"Would you like a cuppa tea while you wait?" Deirdre made a move to turn the kettle on, until-

"No, thank you," Emily shut her down.

"What did I tell you?" Blanche observed to Deirdre in her typical acerbic manner. "Just like her mother this one; cold fish." She turned to Emily, her words dripping with recrimination. "Didn't your mother teach you any manners? To respect your elders?"

"Mother!" Deirdre reprimanded; glancing at Emily with embarrassment. "I'm sorry about her, oh– here's Peter, thank god!"

Emily looked up at Peter, her father, as he stood nervously by the kitchen door, staring down at her, suddenly unsure of what to do or what to say. An uneasy silence descended over the unlikely new family.

"Why don't we leave you to it," Ken suggested as he followed Peter into the kitchen, hinting heavily to Deirdre and Blanche. "Ladies? Shall we?"

"I haven't had me lunch yet!" Blanche protested. "Deirdre was about to open a tin of mulligatawny soup!"

"I'll buy you a hotpot at the Rovers instead," Ken promised. "Now, come on!"

"Well, pardon me for breathing," Blanche hissed as she followed Ken towards the door. "I'll be expecting a gin and tonic after this, a double if you please."

"Oh, mother," Deirdre moaned. "Just get a move on will you!"

After much muttering about being thrown out of one's own home, Ken successfully led his wife and mother-in-law to the pub next door, leaving Peter and Emily alone, their eyes still locked on each other's.

"Mum told me," Emily announced matter-of-fact.

"Oh," Peter was at a loss. This is what he had wanted but, now that he was faced with a fifteen-year-old girl, a stranger to him, looking at him with such confusion along with a little defiance in her eyes, he had no idea what to say, how to make up for his absence in her life. "How, umm… how do you feel?"

Emily swallowed hard before answering; she didn't know if it was the truth or if she was taking the coward's way out. But it was all she had right now.

"I feel nothing."

"Nothing?" Peter stared at her in confusion. Surely this couldn't be it? This couldn't be how things ended?

"You know," Emily explained as best she could. "I always imagined what it would be like to meet my biological father, how amazing it would be to finally find this part of my life that had been missing for so long. But, when mum told me about you, all I could think about was my dad and how he would feel if he was still alive."

"I'm not trying to replace him."

"Good. Because you could never come close to him. He was my dad. And I don't need another one. I don't want another one."

Emily stood up abruptly.

"Can't we talk about this?" Peter pleaded.

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to be cruel. But I've had a great life so far without you. I didn't need you growing up and I don't need you now."

"Emily, please."

But Emily didn't respond. All Peter could do was watch despondently as Emily walked past him without a glance; a moment later he heard the front door open and then close behind his daughter. His daughter who didn't want to be.

Instinctively, Peter reached for the bottle of whisky on the sideboard and poured himself a shot. Tipping his head back, he downed the shot of whisky with barely a grimace as the fiery amber liquid drained down his throat. Immediately he poured himself another.


"You're joking!" Ryan stared at Emily in disbelief as they sat side-by-side at the bus stop.

"Nope."

"So, what are you gonna do?"

"Nothing," Emily declared. "I've already told him I don't want nothin' to do with him."

"But he's your dad?"

"No, my dad was my dad."

"You mean, uncle Paul?"

"Yes!" Emily confirmed, exasperated. "Who else!?"

"No need to bite my head off!"

"Sorry, it's just…"

"A shock?" Ryan suggested.

"Just a bit."

"Talk of the devil."

"What?" Emily turned to Ryan in confusion.

He merely nodded; Emily looked around to see Peter, an obviously drunk Peter, staggering down the street towards them.

"Oh god."

"What do you wanna do?" Ryan asked. "Do you wanna go?"

"No, ignore him."

But Peter would not be ignored. He dropped onto the bench next to Ryan, slumping against the bus shelter.

"That's my daughter," he slurred into Ryan's ear, nodding at Emily.

"Yeah, I know."

"But she don't wanna know me. She's sorted for dads. Don't want no more. Hey –" Peter prodded Ryan in the shoulder. "Do ya think that means we're related?"

"I don't think so, no."

"What?" Peter acted affronted. "You don't wanna know me either? Is that it?"

"Listen, mate," Ryan attempted to play peacemaker. "You're not doing yourself any favours here."

"And he wonders why I don't want him as a dad," Emily finally spoke, the sarcasm effectively masking her pain. "Drunk in the middle of the day, as if."

"Well, to be fair," Ryan pointed out coolly. "Your mum's quite fond of the sauce herself."

"Ryan!"

"Hey!" Peter disputed the charge as he stumbled to his feet to face Emily. "Don't you dare judge me. Not after what you said to me earlier."

"You're drunk," Emily declared, her anger rising. "That's not a judgement, that's a fact."

"You think that precious daddy of yours was any better?"

"Don't you dare talk about him!"

"Why would you mourn a man like that?" Peter sneered. "After what he did!"

"Emily," Ryan stood up and turned to his cousin. "Let's go, don't listen to him."

"No," Emily refused, turning to Peter in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"Your sainted father," Peter slurred bitterly. "Turns out he's not so saintly after all."


Emily stumbled in a daze over the cobbles, the tears running unchecked down her cheeks. She wouldn't believe him, she couldn't; he couldn't have done it, could he? Emily crashed through the doors of the factory, almost collapsing on them as she pushed them open. Oblivious to the shocked and concerned faces of the machinists, she burst into the factory office. She wanted her mum. Only her mum would do.

Startled at the unexpected entrance, Carla looked up from her desk; immediately she rose to her feet and, rushing around her desk, wrapped her daughter, who was almost overcome with her sobs, in a loving embrace.

"What's wrong, baby? What's happened."

But the words wouldn't come for Emily. All Carla could do was hold her daughter as her body shook violently with overwhelming emotion.

"We really need to do something about –" Liam's words died on his lips as he walked into the office and saw his niece in such a distressed state.

"Shut the door," Carla hissed at him.

Uncharacteristically, Liam obeyed Carla without hesitation. Turning back to face Carla, he mouthed the question, 'What's wrong?'

Carla shrugged.

"Hey, kid," Liam tried to sound upbeat, placing his hand gently on Emily's shoulder. "What's up? You can tell your uncle Liam."

"Liam, she's not crying cause she's stuck on a level of… I dunno, whatever the latest video game you and Ryan are obsessed with."

"You never know," Liam joked, nudging Emily gently with his elbow. "Now, Ems, are you wanting to learn from the master? These fingers…" He mimed playing on a games controller. "…like lightning they are. Don't listen to that toerag Ryan, he's just jealous. Hey? Ems? Is that it?"

Emily couldn't help but laugh through one of her sobs; she could always count on her uncle Liam to make her smile.

"What is it, then, sweetheart?" Carla stroked Emily's hair softly. "Come on, sit down."

"I just saw Peter," Emily began once she was sitting, her mum and uncle Liam, having pulled up chairs, sitting close by her. "He said something about dad. He said…"

"Go on, it's okay," Carla encouraged her to continue.

"He said," Emily's lip trembled. "He said that dad used to sleep with prostitutes. He said that you found out and were gonna leave him and that's why he crashed his car, because he was so upset."

"I'm gonna kill him!" Liam declared, rising to his feet.

"Sit down!" Carla commanded.

"He can't go around saying things like that!"

"Liam! This isn't helping. Please… sit down."

Liam was on the verge of defying Carla and storming around to No. 1 to have it out with Peter when he caught a glimpse of Emily's tear-stained face. Carla was right, him lashing out at that waste of space was not going to help his niece. He sank back into his chair.

"I'm sorry, Ems."

"It's okay," Emily smiled sadly at her uncle before turning back to her mum. "Is it true? What Peter said about dad?"

Carla took a deep breath and looked into her daughter's eyes. She had never wanted Emily to find out the awful truth about her dad, but she wasn't about to lie to her, not when she'd been asked a direct question.

"Mum?"

"Yes, it's true."

Emily's face crumpled as she again broke down sobbing.

"Listen, darling," Carla wiped the tears from Emily's face. "I don't want you to let this affect your memories of your dad. He adored you. You know that, don't you?"

"Then why did he do it?"

"He didn't do it to you, he did it to me."

"He hurt you, didn't he?"

"Yes, darling, he did."

"If someone hurts you," Emily declared. "Then they hurt me as well. That's how it works."

Carla couldn't help but smile at Emily's family loyalty.

"What I don't get," Liam piped up. "Is why Peter would say this to you. Why he would want to hurt you like that."

"Well, umm…" Emily began nervously. "I went to see him this morning."

"Oh, sweetheart, why didn't you tell me? I could've gone with you, supported you."

"I know, I just… It was something I had to do on my own."

"I guess it didn't go so well?"

"I told him I wasn't interested in having any kind of relationship with him."

"Oh…"

"I don't even know why I said that. I mean, it was like I was watching someone else talk, and these words were coming out of my mouth and I couldn't stop them. He didn't deserve that, did he? It wasn't his fault he didn't know about me. None of it was his fault. But, I guess, looking back, I dunno, maybe I made the right decision?"

"Maybe."

"I don't want to see him again, mum," Emily pleaded with Carla. "Not even in the street."

"Don't worry about it, okay. I'll deal with him." Carla sealed her promise with a soft kiss on Emily's forehead. "Now, about your dad…"

"What about him?"

"He made mistakes, I'm not gonna lie. But, we all make mistakes, right? It doesn't mean that he didn't love you."

"Did he love you?"

"He did," Liam interjected. "I know he did."

Carla smiled gratefully at Liam. "I don't want a stupid mistake to ruin your memories of him. I want you to forgive him. Please, Emily."

"I'll try," Emily nodded tearfully.

"Thank you."

"If you promise me one thing."

"Anything."

"I want you to forgive him as well."

Carla reached out and caressed Emily's cheek gently.

"I'll try."


"Where is he!?" Carla demanded the moment Ken answered the door.

"If you mean Peter…?"

"Yes, I mean Peter. Who else would I mean?"

"Who is it, dad?" Peter's voice echoed down the hallway.

"Right!" Carla pushed past Ken and stormed down the hallway into the kitchen where Peter was sat nursing a cup of tea.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Carla bypassed the usual social niceties. "Telling Emily about Paul?"

"She deserved to know the truth!"

"She's over at the factory right now, you know. In floods of tears. She's heartbroken."

"I didn't mean to..."

"You didn't mean to?" Carla's words dripped with sarcasm. "Well, I guess that's alright then. If you didn't mean to."

"I'm sorry, okay! I wasn't thinking."

"I understand you were upset after what Emily said to you this morning."

"She told you?"

"Of course she told me, I'm her mum. What she said, it must've hurt. But, Peter, surely you knew that was just her first reaction. You needed to give her some time to get used to the idea. But instead… Look, whatever Paul did, he did it to me. Not to her. And I could handle that, I was handling that. Emily didn't ever need to know about it."

"She would've found out eventually."

"No, she wouldn't," Carla declared resolutely. "Because everyone who knows the truth would do everything in their power to protect her. To protect her memories of her dad."

"Not everyone."

"What do you mean?" Carla's brow furrowed in confusion. "Actually, how did you find out?"

"Leanne Battersby," Peter confessed. "I think she was a bit annoyed when you refused to talk to her the other night."

"Leanne? Wow, that bitch really is something else. Did she happen to mention that she was one of the working girls that Paul used to see? No? Didn't think to add that salient detail, did she?"

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Peter cried, the impact of his actions finally sinking in. "Let me see her. Emily. I want to apologise to her."

Peter rose abruptly to his feet, swaying slightly, clutching at the table for support.

"Have you been drinking?"

"What?" Peter's attempts to act offended failed miserably. "No!"

Carla leaned in close to Peter and smelled his breath.

"You've been drinking! It's the middle of the afternoon and you're drunk!?"

"It was just a little snifter to take the edge off," Peter was desperate to explain, to justify his actions. "I needed something after my daughter rejected me!"

"You know what," Carla declared cruelly. "She's better off with no father rather than having you as a dad."

"You don't mean that."

"I do," Carla decried. "After your performance today, she doesn't want anything to do with you. And neither do I. So, please, Peter, just leave us alone."


"Are you feeling any better, darling?"

Back at home now, Emily sat with her head resting on her mum's shoulder, the tears gently trickling down her cheeks, a stark contrast to the violent emotion of earlier, her eyes red and sore, her body exhausted.

"I've messed everything up," Emily sobbed through shuddering breaths.

"Oh, darling, you can't blame yourself."

"I told him I didn't want him. I rejected him."

"You were just being honest."

"Was I?" Emily looked up at Carla, desperate for some motherly reassurance.

"Look, it doesn't matter whether you meant what you said or you were confused or… It doesn't matter. Because it didn't give him the right to do what he did. You didn't deserve that."

Knock knock

"Don't answer it," Emily begged. "Please, mum."

"It might be important."

Carla hurried to their front door and looked through the peephole. But when she turned back to her daughter and mouthed the name 'Peter', Emily jumped to her feet without a word and rushed upstairs. The message was clear; she didn't want to see him. But she didn't fully retreat; she sat at the top of the stairs, out of sight, and listened.

Only when Emily was safely hidden from view did Carla open the door.

"Hi," Carla greeted Peter calmly. "Come in."

"Thanks," Peter entered the flat, the first time he had been there, and looked about curiously. "I wasn't sure you would want to see me."

"You're my daughter's father," Carla explained placidly. "That's never going to change."

"Even if you might wish it could."

"Don't say that," Carla consoled him. "You made a mistake."

"That's very generous of you, I don't deserve it." Peter smiled at Carla gratefully. "Can I see her?"

"I'm sorry, she's not up to seeing anyone at the moment."

"I wish there was something I could do to make it up to her," Peter appealed to Carla's judgement. "And you."

Carla stared into those soft brown eyes of Peter's, weakening with every passing moment her eyes were locked on his. Of all the traits Emily could have inherited from Peter, she thought to herself, it had to be those damn eyes. Carla couldn't deny their silent plea, it was like denying her own daughter.

"Give it some time, yeah?"

"Time's one thing I don't have," Peter lamented.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm headed back home in the morning."

"To Portsmouth?" Carla exclaimed, incredulous that Peter would run away at the first sign of trouble.

"Yeah."

"You're giving up on her?"

"Never!" Peter declared resolutely. "But she doesn't want me around. Not at the moment anyway. And I've got a shop to run and a life to lead."

"Right." Carla tried to keep the disappointment from her voice.

"Can you say goodbye to her from me?"

"Of course," Carla promised. "Peter?"

"Yeah?"

"You'll keep in touch, yeah?"

"If you want me to?"

"I do," Carla affirmed. "And Emily will, too."

Peter smiled at her in hope if not expectation.

"Bye then," Peter spoke a gentle farewell, his arms outstretched, an invitation that Carla couldn't resist. She stepped into his arms, wrapping hers around his neck, and leaned her head in close to his, naturally nuzzling into his neck. Peter's arms closed around Carla's body, holding her tight, his hands gently stroking her back.

At the top of the stairs, Emily edged closer to the staircase, worried about the sudden silence from below. She peeked through the railings, shifting around until she caught a sight of them; her mum and dad. No, not her dad, her father. They were hugging, but it wasn't a regular hug.

Watching this hug between her parents gave Emily an unexpectedly queer feeling in the pit of her stomach. Was it pain? Pleasure? A bit of both? She wasn't sure she liked what she was seeing. What was it that made her feel like this? Protectiveness over her dad's memory? Over her mum? She inched back from the banister, she didn't want to see any more. Instead, she slumped back against the wall, a silent tear running down her cheek.


"He's gone then?" Liam asked Carla the next morning in the factory office.

"Yep."

"I don't know why you're so upset about it. You're better off without him."

"He's Emily's father."

"He's a sperm donor, nothing more."

"Don't be so crass, Liam"

Knock knock

"Not now!" Carla yelled.

But still the door slowly opened.

"I'm sorry, Mrs Connor," Hayley Cropper poked her head hesitantly around the door. "It's Ken Barlow. He's desperate to see you."

"It's like a flamin' Barlow family drop in centre around here these days!" Liam observed sarcastically.

"Show him in, Hayley," Carla instructed her deputy with a smile.

"I'm sorry," Ken apologised as Hayley showed him into the office. "I didn't mean to disturb you."

"No, it's okay," Carla assured him. "Actually, I should be apologising to you, the way I barged into your house yesterday. Take a seat, Ken. Do you want a brew?"

Ken gratefully sat down but declined the drink. "I won't keep you, I just wanted to give you this."

Carla reached out to take the envelope Ken held out for her.

"What is it?"

"It's from Peter," Ken clarified. "For Emily."

"Right," Carla looked at the envelope in her hands with trepidation.

"He's very sorry about the way things turned out," Ken explained. "I'm sure he just wants to make things right."

"Yeah, you're probably right."

"You'll give it to her?"

"Of course I will," Carla promised.

"I've been talking with Deirdre," Ken continued with some hesitation. "And we know that Emily doesn't want anything to do with Peter right now, but… we'd like to get to know her. I mean, she is our granddaughter."

"Oh, I don't know."

"Maybe if she wants to come around for her tea one evening?" Ken suggested hopefully.

"I'll talk to her," Carla reluctantly agreed. "But I can't promise anything. She's still struggling to get her head around everything."

"I understand," Ken nodded. "Thank you."


"Ken came to see me in the factory today," Carla dropped the mention casually into conversation as she and Emily sat down to their dinner of Thai takeaway that evening.

"Ken Barlow?"

"Yeah," Carla affirmed as she sucked a pad thai noodle into her mouth.

"What did he want?"

"You know he's your grandfather?"

"I'm not stupid, mum!"

"I know, I'm sorry," Carla backed off and focused on her meal.

But Emily's curiosity was piqued. "Are you gonna tell me or what?"

"He thought you might like to have tea with them one night. Him and Deirdre."

"That'd be a bit weird, don't ya think? I mean, I don't know them."

"That's the point, darling, to get to know them. They are your family after all."

"Do I have to?"

"Of course not."

"That's all he wanted?" Emily tried but failed to hide her growing curiosity over the Barlow side of her family.

"No." Carla reached for her handbag and, taking out the envelope containing Peter's letter and placing it down onto the table, pushed it towards Emily. "He asked me to give this to you. It's from Peter."

Emily reached out and gingerly picked up the envelope, studying it intently.

"Are you going to open it?"

Emily didn't answer; she simply rose to her feet, walked into the kitchen and dropped the envelope into the bin without a word.

"Are you sure you want to do that?" Carla questioned her daughter. "Don't you want to find out what he's got to say?"

"No."

Carla knew by Emily's tone of voice that pushing her now would only cause her daughter to dig her heels in stubbornly. So she let it go and changed the subject.

"Pass us some of that roti will you?"


Emily crept down the stairs in the dark, her bare feet padding silently on the steps. She glanced towards her mum's bedroom, but there all was dark as well, with no tell-tale sliver of light beaming out from underneath her bedroom door.

She crept to the kitchen and pulled out the kitchen bin from the cupboard underneath the sink. Grimacing as she carefully scraped aside the remnants of that evening's dinner, she took from the bin the envelope she'd discarded earlier.

She switched on the small light embedded in the exhaust fan above the stovetop; it was bright enough to read by but not so bright that it would wake her mum.

Her eyes flew across the page, eager to know what Peter had to say to her. But, the further she read, the slower her reading became, as the tears that were welling in her eyes blurred her vision.

Slowly, she sunk to the floor as the message from her father sunk in, into her mind and into her heart. She didn't know how long she sat there on her kitchen floor in the middle of the night. She read and re-read her father's letter so many times, she could almost recite it word-for-word.

And finally, when she stopped reading, she thought and she wondered… What should she do now? What could she do now? He was already gone.