Part I: Celina
Celina stepped out of Weatherfield North tram station and peered up and down the street, already dark even at this early hour; the days were short and the nights long here in the north-west of England at this time of year.
She pulled her mobile out of her bag, a small cross-body leather affair; the bulk of her worldly belongings were stuffed into the large hiking backpack that was weighing down her petite frame, the straps digging uncomfortably into her shoulders.
Like she had done so many times in the past as she had prepared for this moment, she searched for the Underworld website and, going straight to the About Us page, stared at the pictures of the co-owners; Carla Connor and Nick Tilsley.
Nick Tilsley she cared nothing for, she doubted she could accurately describe his physical features so great was her indifference towards him. It was the picture of Carla Connor that captured her attention, just as it had every time she'd opened this page. She studied the features of this woman who she hated with every fibre of her being; the angular bone structure that created such striking facial features, the full lips pursed into an arrogant pout, the cold grey-blue eyes, and the sweeping brunette mane with the artificially lightened ends.
Fixing the image of what she saw as an arrogant, cold factory tyrant in her mind, and steeling herself for what was to come, she quickly typed the Underworld address into Google maps. She was so close; a walk of less than five minutes and she would be face-to-face with the woman she had fantasised about for years.
Soon enough, Celina was standing in front of Underworld, set back from the street at the end of a small cul-de-sac, a house on one side, its lights on, a homely glow amidst the chill and the gloom outside, and a mechanic's workshop, now shuttered closed, on the other.
She strode towards the front doors, eagerly anticipating the moment she'd been dreaming of for years. She pushed on the door, but it remained shut. She pulled, to no avail. She shook the door frantically, her hand gripped firmly on the door handle, but her efforts were met only with an echo faintly discernible inside the factory beyond.
She sighed, letting her head fall forward, her forehead resting on the cool metal frame of the factory door, having no choice but to admit defeat. Underworld was closed. It was locked up; everyone had gone home.
So focused had Celina been on achieving this one goal, to find Underworld, to find Carla Connor, that she was now at a loss. What should she do, she wondered, now that she'd come up against this early roadblock to her plan.
For the longest time, she lingered on the front steps of Underworld, staring at this edifice, so close but tantalisingly out of reach, for now at least, when matters of a more corporeal nature began to prey on her mind.
It was only now when she found herself at a loose end that she noticed her stomach rumbling with a sudden and overwhelmingly insatiable hunger and realised that not a morsel of food had passed her lips since before she had left her temporary lodgings in London earlier that day. So, with a new short-term goal, she made her way back onto Coronation Street and beyond, searching out the kebab shop she had spied on her initial journey from the tram stop.
"You off on your travels or summat?" the ginger-haired lad behind the counter at the kebab shop asked Celina with a friendly smile as he handed over the chicken kebab she had ordered. "What is it? Europe? Or the far east? That's where I'd like to go, see Thailand, Vietnam, Bali, maybe Australia. So, where are you off to?"
But Celina was in no mood for casual conversation; she rewarded his friendliness with a sullen glare, snatching the kebab from his hands and making a beeline for the stool at the far end of the bench that stretched along the front window of the store. From this vantage point, she had an uninterrupted view of the street beyond. From there, she could acclimatise to her new surroundings, to the neighbourhood she would call home, for a time at any rate, until her mission was complete, and formulate a plan.
"Bye then!" the ginger lad called out to Celina as she pushed open the door of the kebab shop, the sarcasm dripping from his voice. "Nice chatting with you."
But Celina once again ignored him, not even bothering to cast him one last dirty look before she slipped through the door and disappeared into the night.
What to do now, she thought to herself as she wandered the streets of Weatherfield. She'd had no plans except to find Carla Connor. Now that would have to wait until tomorrow, she wasn't sure what she should do or where she should go. She supposed she'd have to find somewhere to sleep. Maybe that pub on the corner rented out rooms, she thought hopefully. So she quickened her step, pulling her coat around her a little tighter as the bitter northern wind swept along the cobbles, and hurried towards the Rovers Return.
As two people exited the pub, Celina instinctively withdrew into the shadows, eager to remain unseen for now. But, as she stole a look at the couple, wandering idly down the street arm in arm, oblivious to anyone except each other, her heart skipped a beat. She didn't need to check the photo on the website again; she would know that face anywhere.
Carla Connor.
She watched as Carla and the man on her arm walked a short distance together before Carla disentangled herself from him, patted him fondly on the chest, and hurried away, a knowing smile on her face as the man gazed after her wistfully.
Celina didn't hesitate; with the merest scrap of a plan formed in her mind, she rushed towards the man and, lowering her head at the last moment, purposefully crashed into him.
"Whoa!" he cried out, instinctively reaching out to steady her, his hands gripping her shoulders gently. "You alright, love?"
"I'm so sorry," Celina said, her eyes silently imploring him for forgiveness.
"It's okay." The man couldn't help but smile at the innocent entreaty in this young woman's voice.
"No, it's not," she shook her head. "I wasn't watching where I was going."
"Really, don't worry about it," he reassured her, noticing for the first time the pixie-like features of this strange girl, the short platinum blonde hair, the piercing blue eyes that stood out like icy fire against the pale skin, eyes that seemed to hold a tantalising question, a question he felt an overwhelming and urgent desire to answer.
"I'm new here, you see," she said as she gazed earnestly into his eyes. "Don't know a soul."
"Well, you do now," the man said, extending his hand towards her. "I'm Peter."
"Nice to meet you, Peter," she said, flashing him a shy smile as she dropped her gaze, peeking up at him through eyelashes that cast bewitching shadows that danced across her cheeks, her eyelids framed by a dramatic black winged eyeliner. "My name's Celina."
Celina tentatively pushed open the door of Underworld and stepped inside. Even though it was a Saturday, she had spied Carla entering only moments earlier. In fact, she had followed the factory boss from the local greasy spoon, Roy's Rolls, where she had treated herself to a full English breakfast.
Inside the factory, she walked softly across the floor, now deathly quiet with no yammering workforce present to indulge in bouts of gossip, or burst into an impromptu singalong to the radio that was never switched off during business hours. But now, even Celina's light footfall echoed eerily up and down the sewing floor. She almost held her breath as she walked, the unnatural sensation of treading on hallowed ground tingling up and down her spine.
The sound of Carla's voice guided Celina's path. It was a shrill contrast to the tranquillity that enveloped the rest of the factory, piercing the air as she barked commands and delivered ultimatums to an unknown and unseen person on the other end of the phone she held in her hand.
"It might be the holidays, Reg," Carla's voice boomed out. "But that doesn't mean business grinds to a standstill, especially Underworld business… That's right… So you'll have the fabrics delivered first thing Wednesday? Without fail? Why don't we say, I don't know, a twenty per-cent discount if you fail to deliver on your promise? Good man. And a happy new year to you."
Carla hung up the phone with satisfaction; she always took great delight in bullying suppliers into delivering what she wanted, when she wanted it.
"Hello?" Carla called out, a sixth sense alerting her to another living presence nearby. "Is anybody there?"
"Hi," Celina plastered a smile on her face as she pushed open the office door and greeted Carla with as much cheer as she could muster.
"Who are you?" Carla demanded to know, her brow furrowed with suspicion. "And what are you doing here? We're closed."
"My name's Celina," Celina introduced herself, holding out her hand politely. "I was hoping to talk to you about a job?"
Carla's eyes narrowed as she stared at this stranger who had marched so self-assured into her factory. She glanced down at the hand that was still extended to her, waiting for her to respond; so she reached out and, gripping it firmly, shook this strangers hand.
"What makes you think there's any jobs going?" Carla asked.
"Well," Celina replied with a smile as she sat down in the chair opposite Carla's. "There's always jobs going in a successful business."
"Who says Underworld is successful?"
"I know you're successful."
"Do you now?" Carla couldn't help but grin. "Okay, tell me about your experience as a machinist."
"I don't have any," Celina admitted frankly.
"You do know what type of business I'm running here, don't you?"
"I do," Celina nodded. "And, yes, I may not have any experience as a seamstress, but I'm a hard worker and a quick learner. Whatever you want me to do I'll do it, no questions asked, no complaining. I'll get it done. Filing, cleaning, making the tea, taking out the rubbish. I don't care what I do, I just want to work."
"I like your attitude, I'm sorry, what did you say your name was?"
"Celina."
"Celina," Carla repeated her name back to her. "Well, Celina, I may just have something for you."
"Really?"
"How does packing sound to you?"
"Packing?"
"You know, taking the bras and the knickers, and packing them in boxes, taping them up, that kind of thing."
"I think I'm going to love packing."
"That's brilliant," Carla smiled at her new recruit. "How does a two-week trial sound?"
"That sounds amazing. Thank you."
"When can you start?"
"Whenever you want," Celina shrugged. "Straight away. Right now!"
"You're keen!" Carla laughed. "Although you might not be so eager after a whole day with Kirky. Alright, it's Saturday today and New Year's Eve is on Monday, so we won't be open again until Wednesday. You alright to start then?"
"Yes!" Celina almost shouted her agreement, the relief at getting an in with the infamous Carla Connor almost overwhelming her.
"Nine a-m sharp," Carla commanded. "Don't be late."
"I won't. And thank you. Thank you so much. You won't regret it.'
"I better not."
"We meet again," Celina sidled up to Peter at the bar of the Rovers with a smile, giving his shoulder a friendly bump with her own.
"Oh, hi," Peter said, frantically searching his memory for a name just out of reach. "It's, umm…?"
"Celina."
"Yes, Celina, I'm sorry."
"Don't be," Celina laughed it off. "I mean, strange women must bowl you over in the street every day, right? I can't expect you to remember all their names now, can I?"
"I guess not," Peter grinned. "So… you settling in then? Made some friends?"
"I got a job," she revealed. "And a place to live. It's a start."
"I'm really pleased for you," he said, glancing over her shoulder at the door that had just opened to admit a new arrival. "Listen, I'd love to stay and chat, but…"
Celina followed Peter's gaze to where Carla was stood by the front entrance of the Rovers, scanning the room for someone or something.
"No, no, you go," Celina urged him. "Go meet your friend."
"Next time," Peter promised her, even as he was walking away from her. "We'll have a proper chat."
"Sure," Celina said to herself, watching as Peter greeted Carla with a kiss on the cheek and ushered her to a nearby table. "Next time."
"I see you've found our local," Carla observed as she stood at the bar next to where Celina had remained after her brief conversation with Peter, perched on a barstool and seemingly settled in for the evening.
"Same again, love?" Johnny asked Carla.
"Thanks Johnny."
"It's a nice little place," Celina said, glancing around the room, her gaze falling momentarily on Peter. "You've got yourself a hot date, I see."
"I what?" Carla asked with furrowed brow.
"Your date," Celina nodded towards Peter. "You've done alright for yourself."
"He's not my date," Carla firmly rebuked the idea.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I just thought…"
"Easy mistake to make," Carla shrugged. "Actually, he's my ex-husband."
"Really?" Celina asked, leaning in towards her new confidante, her curiosity piqued. "And you're still friends?"
"We're friendly enough."
"I'm not sure I could be so understanding to stay friends after…" Celina faltered, hoping Carla would fill in the blanks for her. "I mean, it's very forgiving of… one of you."
"Right," Carla said, staring at Celina uneasily, suddenly suspicious at the interest in her personal life.
"There you go, love," Johnny said as he placed two glasses on the bar in front of Carla; one filled with orange juice, the other with red wine.
"Keep the change, Johnny," Carla handed some cash over and swiftly picked up her order, keen to get away from this virtual stranger who spoke to her with such impudence. "I'll see you at work tomorrow," she farewelled Celina somewhat coldly.
"Yep," Celina said with a broad smile. "I can't wait."
Celina watched as Carla made her way back to Peter, straining to listen in to their ensuing conversation.
"I didn't realise you knew her."
Celina was rewarded for her eavesdropping by hearing the conversation turn immediately to herself. She couldn't help but be pleased that Peter had noticed her as she had spoken to Carla.
"Who?" Carla asked.
"Celina," Peter nodded towards where she was sat at the bar.
"Oh, yeah," Carla said, her eyes briefly following Peter's gaze. "She's starting work at Underworld tomorrow. How do you know her?"
"I don't, not really."
"Can I get you a refill?"
Celina scowled as Johnny's voice drew her attention away from Carla and Peter's conversation.
"No, thanks," Celina declined, forcing herself to smile at the barkeep. "I should really get an early night. I'm starting a new job in the morning."
"Oh, good luck."
"Thanks."
Celina slipped down from the bar stool and made her way to the door, pausing before she braved the bitter cold outside to turn back for one final look at the table that had held her attention all evening.
It may not have seemed much, but she was happy with the tidbits of information she'd gathered that night; all the pieces were starting to fall into place, her plan was coming along nicely.
And then the moment she'd been waiting for. Peter glanced up at her. She held his gaze for only a few brief seconds when, with the hint of a smile at her new friend, she turned and disappeared into the night.
"These things are amazing," Kirky gushed as he gazed with an almost lover-like affection at the tape gun in his hands. "All you have to do is whack it down like this," he slammed the gun, the edge of the tape sticky side down, onto the side of a box packed full of knickers. "And then, in one shot you pull it all the way over the top of the box and down the other side. You need to put your whole shoulder into it, you see? One movement is all you need."
Kirk gazed down at his handiwork, the box taped up with one long length of tape, before placing the now fully secured box aside and moving a new one into its place.
"Now it's your turn," Kirk declared as he handed the tape gun to Celina who had been watching Kirk's descriptive and enthusiastic lesson with an amused grin. "Show me what you've got."
Celina obediently took the tape gun from Kirk's hands and turned her attention to the box.
"You been working here long?" Celina asked Kirk as she began demonstrating her box taping technique, her new supervisor watching on with an eagle-eye.
"Nine years," Kirk said proudly.
"Wow!" Celina replied, honestly shocked that someone like Kirk had managed to be so successful at any job, even this fairly basic one, for such a long period of time. "That's pretty impressive."
"It sure is," Kirk agreed.
"You must know the boss quite well then," Celina nudged the conversation in the direction she was most interested in. "Mrs Connor, I mean."
"Oh, Mrs Connor's great, she is," Kirk boomed with a grin, before lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "I mean, some people say she's a bit of a… you know, a… cow, but she's alright with me."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," Kirk was encouraged by Celina's interest to keep talking. "It was good of her to take me on in the first place – would you believe I had no experience when I started? She's always looked after me, protected my job when things got tough. And she was so generous when Beth and I got married. Oh, and she got us our new flat as well. Rent paid up front for three months and all."
"She sounds like a saint," Celina mused in a sarcastic undertone that Kirk didn't quite catch.
"And Mr Tilsley's alright as well," Kirk continued. "He used to own the bistro, you know, the one down the end of the street?"
"Viaduct Bistro?"
"Yeah, but it was called Nick's Bistro back then."
"What about partners?" Celina asked. "You know, husband, wife…?"
"Well, Mr Tilsley, he's got a partner. Leanne she's called. She–"
"And Carla?"
"Carla? No, Carla's single."
"Really?" Celina asked, feigning innocence. "It's just, I saw her with this guy, he would've been, I don't know, around fifty, dark hair, leather jacket, designer stubble."
"Oh," Kirk said, realisation dawning on him. "That would be Mr Barlow. Peter. He's her ex-husband."
"Ex-husband?"
"Uh-huh."
"Why did they split up?"
"Oh," Kirk faltered. "I don't like to gossip."
"I completely understand, Kirk," Celina whispered in hushed tones. "And you're right, you do very well with that attitude. But, umm… it's not really gossip, is it, if it's an established fact. Don't you think?"
"Umm…" Kirk's brow furrowed with the effort of trying to figure out the truth or otherwise in Celina's words. "I've never thought about it like that."
"So… tell me," Celina prompted him. "What happened? What destroyed their marriage?"
"I don't know…" Kirk was still hesitant.
"Kirky, I can call you Kirky, can't I?"
"Of course you can," Kirk said with a broad smile. "We're mates now, you and me."
"Oh, Kirky, that's so sweet of you," Celina gave Kirk a friendly pat on his arm. "The thing is, Kirky, I wouldn't want to put my foot in it, would I, with Mrs Connor," Celina argued her case. "But if I knew all the facts…"
"Mr Barlow," Kirk capitulated. "He had an affair."
"An affair?" Celina suppressed a gleeful grin. "Who with?"
"Tina McIntyre," Kirk whispered, glancing about to make sure they weren't being overheard. "She was their babysitter."
"Carla's got children?"
"No, Mr Barlow's son, Simon, from before he met Mrs Connor."
"Right," Celina recapped. "So, he had an affair. Was that it? She found out and… dumped him?"
"He confessed it all to her, she dumped him, meanwhile…" Kirk leaned in close to Celina who reciprocated, leaning in so her face was close to Kirk's. "Mrs Connor's brother, Rob, he went round to Tina's and he only went and killed her."
"What?" Celina was, for the first time, honestly shocked.
"Beat her to death with a metal pole."
"Wow."
"We all thought Mr Barlow had done it," Kirk continued his lurid tale with aplomb; in fact, he was beginning to enjoy himself. "Even the cops thought he was guilty."
"But it was this Rob fellow all along?"
"Yeah, but get this, Mr Barlow, he got sent down for it. Had a full on trial and everything."
"He went to prison for a murder he didn't commit? Poor guy."
"And that was it for Mr and Mrs Barlow. She went back to calling herself Mrs Connor and he moved away."
"She couldn't forgive him?"
"No," Kirk shook his head. "Especially after the baby."
"What baby?"
"She were pregnant at the time, you see," Kirk revealed. "But with all the stress of the affair and the murder… she had a miscarriage."
"Right," Celina said, suddenly subdued, feeling the tiniest prick of her conscience niggling away at her. "That's awful."
"We all thought they were gonna make another go of it."
"Who?" Celina's attention was back on Kirk. "Peter and Carla?"
"Last year when Mr Barlow bought into the factory."
"What? Peter part-owned Underworld?"
"Half-owned, yeah, up until a couple of months ago, when he suddenly sold his share to Mr Tilsley. Then it was all off again. She was hopping mad about Mr Tilsley becoming her partner. I'm not surprised with their history."
"Oh?"
"They used to be married as well," Kirk said, nodding his head enthusiastically, revelling in his role of storyteller. "Although, is it still classed as a marriage if you split up during the reception?"
"They what?"
"He found out she'd been with someone else. Confessed it all at the altar, she did."
"She really is something, isn't she?"
I almost felt sorry for Carla when I heard about how she lost her baby, and how her husband had cheated on her. Then I remembered everything she'd done and I hardened my heart against her. And then when Kirky told me what she did to her next husband, Nick, how she cheated on him, lied to him, manipulated him. No, she doesn't deserve any of my pity. I was right about her all along.
When I came here, I didn't know yet what my revenge was going to be. I was still gathering information. Finding her weak spots. Her Achilles heel. It's become obvious to me that Peter Barlow is one of her weak spots, probably her biggest. When I saw them together on New Year's Day, I honestly thought they were in love, that they were a couple. But I guess she won't ever forgive him for playing away with that Tina tart. Not that I blame her. From what Kirky said, Peter was an absolute bastard to her when they were married. Which is why I don't understand why she's still so hung up on him after all this time. But she is. Even if she won't admit it. And I can use that to my advantage.
"Got time for a break?" Celina yelled up at Peter as he worked on the deck of his new pride and joy, his yacht Lost Buoy, a mug of strong, hot tea in her right hand and a small plate containing two custard creams in her left.
"Is that for me?" Peter asked in surprise as he peered down at her.
"Mmm hmm," she murmured. "Only don't tell the boss, yeah?"
"My lips are sealed," he said with a grin. "You wanna come up?"
Celina passed the tea and biscuits up to Peter while she climbed the ladder and boarded Peter's vessel.
"So," Celina began, glancing around the deck of the yacht. "Lost Buoy? Is that meant to be you?"
"Something like that, yeah."
"It's a pretty big present to give your ex-husband, don't you think?"
"Not if you're trying to get rid of 'em."
"Is that what she's doing?"
"Do you wanna sit down?" Peter quickly changed the subject as he nodded towards the raised decking that edged the stern of Lost Buoy.
Celina sat down as instructed and gazed at Peter as he sat down opposite her and held out the plate of custard creams as an offering of sorts.
"Go on," he prompted her. "Take one."
"Thanks," she said, taking the proffered biscuit with a smile.
"So," he broke the somewhat awkward silence that had fallen over them as they both munched on their biscuits. "How are you enjoying the new job?"
"Well," Celina mused. "I'm working with Kirky, so…"
"I understand."
"No, I'm joking really. Kirk's a lovely bloke. There's a kind of simple pureness in him, you know? He's the type of person that could never be corrupted."
"Yeah, you're right," Peter nodded. "That explains Kirky perfectly."
"There's not many people like that around," she reflected.
"Sounds like you're speaking from experience?"
"Let's just say that I've looked the devil in the face more than once."
"I'm sorry, I don't–"
"Ignore me, I'm being dramatic," she said with a forced smile. "Now, are you ever going to offer me a tour of your boat?"
"It's not the QEII, you know," Peter laughed. "There's really not much to see."
"Well, I'd like to see it," Celina said, looking him squarely in the eye. "That is, if you want to show me. I don't want to force myself on you."
"Like I said," Peter explained, glancing around the dimly lit cabin of Lost Buoy, the hull of which was cluttered with assorted building materials and tools. "There's not that much to see down here."
"Oh, I dunno," Celina dared to disagree with him. "I think it's quite nice."
"Nice?"
"Yeah," she whispered, taking a step towards him so that their bodies were almost touching. "It's, umm… cosy."
Leaning into him ever so briefly, she pressed her lips against his, her mouth open just enough so that he could feel her breath hot in his mouth, and the wetness of her tongue as it swept across his lips.
"Thanks for the tour," she breathed as she pulled away from him.
Without another word, Celina climbed the ladder up onto the deck of Lost Buoy and then back down onto the solid earth of the Underworld forecourt, before slipping back into the factory with a sly grin on her face.
"Good job today, Celina," Carla praised her new recruit as they stood on the doorstep to Underworld, Carla twisting the key in the lock, securing the factory for the night. "You've streamlined Kirk's process very nicely."
"Well, I'm enjoying it," Celina grinned at her boss. "So the thanks really goes to you."
"I'm not going to argue with you about it, I'm way too tired for that," Carla said with a weary smile. "You alright to get home?"
"Yeah," Celina nodded. "I'm not far."
"Alright, night then."
"Night."
Celina loitered in the factory forecourt on the pretext of rummaging in her bag for something, but in reality, she was hoping that Peter would appear on the deck of Lost Buoy to talk to her.
She was right.
"Hey!" he called out to her in a hoarse whisper. "Wait up."
Celina waited, a feeling of smugness buoying her mood, as Peter quickly descended the ladder from the boat to the ground and stood in front of her, fidgeting nervously.
"About what happened this afternoon…" his voice trailed off, the innuendo he believed to be sufficient information for her.
"What happened this afternoon?" Celina asked with an innocent shrug; of course she knew exactly what he was talking about, but she wanted to make him squirm.
"You know," Peter prompted her. "When you kissed me."
"Oh, that!" Celina laughed. "That was just a little thank you for the tour."
"Right," Peter's brow furrowed. "Only it didn't seem like… It felt like, I dunno, more than that?"
He stared into her eyes hopefully and Celina knew in that moment that she had won the first battle in her war against Carla Connor. The feeling boosted her spirits and gave her the courage to continue with the next part of her plan; a part that frankly terrified her.
"It can be more than that," Celina spoke softly, her eyes fixed on his. For the second time that day, Celina stepped closer to Peter, so close that she could smell the faint whiff of intermingled cigarette smoke and cologne on his clothes, and feel the heat emanating from his body. She reached out and gently picked at a smudge of oil on Peter's roll-neck sweater, her fingertips lightly caressing his jaw. "If that's what you want?"
Peter grabbed onto Celina's waist even before she'd stepped off the last step of the ladder and into the cosy cabin of Lost Buoy. Spinning her through the air and around, he pulled her in close to him and kissed her, his hands immediately reaching for the button of her jeans, wasting no time in unzipping them and pushing the garment down over her hips.
Celina herself wasn't shy; she fumbled with the hem of Peter's sweater and slid her hands underneath the soft knitted fabric, skimming her fingers along his bare skin and up his back, pushing it up over his head and tossing it to the floor, before quickly removing her own top so that she was stood before him in a matching set of bra and knickers made from delicate pale lavender lace.
She silently congratulated herself for keeping hold of her lingerie collection; it was something she used to hate, what it stood for, what it did to men, but the way Peter was staring at her body adorned in the flimsy costume made her appreciate fully for the first time the power it held.
Peter slipped his fingers underneath the straps of her bra and, one by one, pushed them off her shoulders. He traced a line with his fingers down her chest and beneath the lacy cups that covered her breasts, massaging gently the soft mounds, the skin so smooth and warm to his touch.
Pulling the lace down so that her breasts were free to jiggle slightly in the cool dimness of the yacht's cabin, Peter leaned down and took her nipples in his mouth, one at a time, tweaking them gently between his teeth until they were hard like little pebbles as her arousal grew.
Lifting her up, his hands supporting her arse as she instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck, they moved as one towards the makeshift bed Peter had constructed at the far end of the cabin for those nights he worked late and didn't want to go home.
But tonight there would be no working late; tonight was for pleasure only.
I'd decided pretty early on that the first step in my plan to destroy Carla was to seduce the man she loved. Peter Barlow. To steal away from her the love that she thought would always be there. Even though she didn't want that love. That's the crazy thing. She didn't want him. But she wanted him to want her. Always. She didn't care if that meant he suffered. And he was suffering, that was obvious to me. Her constant rejection of him had worn him down, ground him down.
She was so lucky to have this man who would do anything for her. I'm not deluded into believing he feels anything for me. He loves her and only her. But she just tosses him aside, time and time again. For what? A building? A business? I feel sorry for her, throwing away real love for a stinking pile of bricks and mortar. I'd give anything for the kind of love Peter has for her. But that's not my destiny.
And Carla? Carla doesn't deserve that kind of love. So I took it away from her.
Celina shoved her journal and pen into her bag and, after slinging it over her shoulder, cross-body style as was her usual way, she rose up from the bed, its single sleeping bag dishevelled after her and Peter's torrid session of lovemaking, and climbed the ladder onto the deck where Peter was leaning up against the main sail, absently smoking a cigarette.
He didn't see her at first; his gaze was set far away in the distance; she doubted for a moment if it was in this physical realm at all. He seemed lost in a world entirely in his mind, unconscious of everything going on around him, even the woman he'd just made love to who was watching him from only a few short steps away.
Where was he, she wondered. Was he thinking about her? Or was his mind still fixated on the other woman in his life, so tantalisingly close yet still so far out of his reach. Maybe he was somewhere else entirely. Somewhere on the high seas, feeling the imaginary wind on his face as he and Lost Buoy sailed lazily from island to island in the Caribbean, enjoying the life of the sailor, free and beholden to no one.
As he drew the smoke into his lungs and slowly exhaled, the tendrils of smoke escaped through his nose and his mouth, creating an eery haze around the silhouette of his head that stood out in stark contrast to the clear cold sky behind him, even in the dark of the deep winter night.
He looks sad, Celina thought. As much as she didn't want him, didn't want to be with him, to even touch him, she had a deep sense of pity for him; for his restlessness, for his unfulfilled dreams, and for his unrequited love. If I can help him move on from her for good, Celina mused, then all of this will have been worth it. He deserves to be free of her.
She padded softly towards him and leaned back against the boom, standing close enough to him so that their bodies touched, arm brushing against arm and leg against leg. She took the cigarette from his fingers, raised it to her mouth and took a deep drag, breathing in deeply; in, then out. Handing it back to him without a word, she pushed herself off the boom and kissed his cheek tenderly before making a move towards the ladder that would lead her back onto solid ground, and back to reality.
But he wasn't ready to let her go; he grabbed onto her hand and gently pulled her back towards him.
"Where are you going?" he asked, his voice deep and husky.
"Home."
"Stay," he pleaded with her, his low urgent tones, so undeniably sexy, threatening to break down her typically iron will. "Please stay with me."
Standing in front of him, she reached out and cupped his face gently in her hands, one on each cheek, her thumbs raking through the soft bristles of his beard. He wrapped his arms around her body, and gripped her arse, squeezing gently, before he allowed his hands to skim down her legs, then up again, coming to rest around her waist, his hold firm, desperate to cling onto her a little bit longer.
She drew his face towards hers and kissed him tenderly, first on the lips, then on the forehead.
"I can't," she whispered. "Not tonight."
He held lightly onto her hand until that very last moment when she walked out of his reach and then watched on despondently as she climbed down the ladder and turned her back on him and on Lost Buoy.
That was when he saw her. Carla.
What was she doing here? Was she coming back to the factory? Or had she been coming to see him? The question preyed on his mind for some time after; the answer could have made all the difference. To what he didn't know. He knew where he stood with Carla, nothing would change that, she'd made that perfectly clear. But would he have wanted her to see him in such a passionate embrace with another woman? Possibly not, but probably yes. Yes, he wanted her to see and he wanted her to be jealous. Judging by the look on her face, she was. It didn't make him feel any better.
With his eyes fixed on Carla, he didn't see the smirk that briefly flashed across Celina's face as she caught Carla's eye. Celina was clearly enjoying Carla's distress, enjoying it way too much for someone who ostensibly had not known Carla a fortnight previous and had no known quarrel with her. But there was no doubt that she was enjoying herself immensely.
Celina took one last look back at Peter before turning and hurrying away, her triumph at the events of the evening overshadowing the disgusting things she'd had to do to make them happen. But only just.
The look on her face when she saw us together was priceless. I thought she were going to throttle me for a moment there, she definitely wanted to. The stupid cow was obviously jealous. It almost made up for having his hands all over me, his tongue in my mouth, his… ugh! I can't even think about his penis and what I let him do to me. It reminded me of all those times when I… I can't. Not even in here. I can't write about it, I can't think about it. Not yet. If my plans come together I won't ever have to think about it.
Needless to say, I didn't enjoy having sex with Peter. Why would I? But I learned a long time ago how to switch my brain off, switch my soul off, switch everything off until they were done. True to form, he was soon finished and I got a better result than I'd ever hoped for. Will I sleep with him again? Of course I will. I'll do anything if it helps my plan. And he'll think I'm enjoying it, I'll make sure of that. It's the least I can do for the guy, he deserves a bit of fun. But really I'm laying there the whole time despising him and everything he stands for.
"I thought you could do with a little pick me up," Celina said hesitantly as she hovered at the door of Carla's office, a coffee in one hand, a pastry in the other.
"Oh," Carla said, unsure of what to say to this woman, a woman who seemed barely out of girlhood; not after the scene she had witnessed between Celina and Peter the night before. She had lain awake half the night thinking about what it meant, wondering how long it had been going on for, how Peter felt about her. Not just how he felt about Celina, but how he felt about Carla. It had been less than a month since Peter had declared his love for her. And yet here he was, taking another woman to bed. A woman who was now offering her coffee and pastry with not a care in the world. "Thank you."
Celina placed her offerings on the desk in front of Carla and stood for a moment, studying her adversary's face, noting with satisfaction the dark shadows underneath her eyes, the slight blotchiness of her skin and the redness in her eyes that she could only put down to her having cried herself to sleep the night before.
"Look, Carla," Celina began awkwardly. "I'm sorry about last night."
"What about it?"
"I didn't mean to step on your toes."
"I don't…" Carla shrugged.
"You seemed upset," Celina pointed out with great satisfaction. "Last night when… you know."
"I wasn't," Carla insisted.
"I didn't realise there was anything still between you two," Celina said, pushing that little bit harder. "I mean, if I did, there's no way I would've slept with him."
"It's fine," Carla said tersely. "Me and Peter were over a long time ago."
"So, you don't mind if I see him again?" Celina asked hopefully.
"No." Carla's reply was short. "You're both single, aren't you? It's none of my business who you see or… sleep with."
"Oh, thank you," Celina gushed. "Thank you so much. That's so sweet of you to give us your blessing. Peter will appreciate it as well, I know he will. He still thinks so highly of you despite everything that happened in the past."
Carla couldn't believe what she was hearing; did this girl really think she was giving her blessing for her and Peter to… what? Have a relationship? Get married someday? Live happily ever after right under her nose?
"I'm a little relieved, to be honest," Celina continued, seemingly oblivious to Carla's reticence. "Don't get me wrong, I would've regretted giving him up. Which I would've done for you, if you'd asked me to. Because I am so grateful for everything you've done for me. But last night… Carla, just being with him, making love to him, it was… amazing… perfect. Can I tell you something?"
"What?"
"Peter is hands down the best lover I have ever had. But you'd already know that, wouldn't you?"
"I'm sorry?"
"What it's like to be the centre of his universe. In bed, I mean. He's very, umm… attentive. Passionate."
Celina stared at Carla; she was enjoying watching Carla try with all her might to keep control of her emotions, to retain her icy cool demeanour. But Celina knew she had touched a nerve and she couldn't help but twist the knife, to increase her suffering and delight in her pain.
"I really think he's the one for me."
Peter is insatiable. I honestly think he hadn't been laid for a long while before getting with me. Probably holding out for that frigid cow, Carla. But now he's got me and he can't get enough of me. We spend most of our spare time in that dingy cabin on that disgusting sleeping bag, having sex, smoking ciggies, talking. I try not to talk to him too much, Peter does tend to bore on about his dreary life and sometimes I feel like I can't pretend to be interested in what he's saying another minute longer. But, usually by that stage, he's recovered enough, you know, physically, for another round in bed. Which shuts him up for a little while at least.
I've taken to sleeping over in the boat with him, purely to see Carla's face every morning when she arrives for work. She can't help but see us up on deck and I make sure that, as soon as I spot her coming, I cuddle up to Peter and give him a snog. Sometimes I catch him watching her with this pathetic puppy dog look on his face and I worry he's gonna go chasing after her, declaring his love for her. Ugh! What a fool. But at the end of the day, he's still a man, and if it's one thing I know, it's men. And men like to fuck more than they like to talk about their emotions. So I fuck him. A lot. And he seems happy enough for now. But sooner or later, I know I'm gonna have to move my plan along somehow. Sooner if I've got anything to do with it. Because sometimes when he touches me I flinch. I can't stand it and I don't know how much longer I can do it for.
"Returning this, mate," Peter said to the shop assistant as he plonked a power sander down onto the counter.
"Did it do the job for ya alright?" the assistant asked.
"Sure did," Peter nodded. "Fixing up me yacht, you see."
"Oh, yeah? Where you planning on mooring her?"
"I'm not."
"Hey?" The man was confused.
"I'm sailing her to the Caribbean as soon as she's ready," Peter explained. "Me and me lad."
"You lucky bastard."
"That's me alright," Peter agreed with a grin. "Have a good one, yeah."
Peter was on a high as he pushed open the door of the hire shop. Work on Lost Buoy was coming along nicely, so nicely in fact, that he envisioned himself teaching Simon the basics of sailing in preparation for their big trip by the middle of March.
His mood was further buoyed by a familiar sight on the opposite side of the high street. A familiar figure was more like it, he thought. A figure that he had become very familiar with those past few weeks. He knew from sight how those curves would feel under his hands, how soft those breasts would be when he pressed his face into him, how hot it would be between her thighs when her legs were– He stopped himself before he ventured too far in his mind, knowing that his body would follow suit. Not in public, he chastised himself. Not yet.
He watched as Celina dug around in her bag and retrieved a set of keys, one of which she slid into the lock of the large wooden door that sat smack bang in the middle of a large square imposing red brick building, four storeys high, it's grimy façade and broken window panes giving the casual observer just a hint of the decrepitude that would surely be found inside.
"Celina!" Peter called out as he sprinted across the road. "Wait up!"
But Celina either didn't hear him or ignored him, Peter couldn't say for sure, and disappeared inside the building without so much as a glance in his direction.
"Hey!" He greeted her with a grin as he lunged at the door, pushing it open a split-second before it closed and locked him out. "Didn't you hear me calling your name?"
"Peter!?" Celina gasped, spinning around to stare down at him in horror from halfway up the narrow dimly lit staircase. "What are you doing here?"
"I saw you out on the street," he explained, glancing around the small square room he found himself in; with a wooden table flanking one wall, its surface covered in scratches and coffee cup stains, that seemed to be the informal mail sorting area, and the off-cast detritus of years of itinerant tenants that were attracted to the cheap short-term rentals the building afforded, piled up along the opposite wall. "Is this where you live?"
"Umm… yeah."
"So…" Peter pressed on, despite a growing unease that Celina wasn't exactly thrilled to see him. "Are you gonna invite me up?"
"Ah…" Celina glanced up the staircase and back down at Peter's expectant face and capitulated with a shrug. "Sure. Come up."
Peter followed Celina up two flights of stairs, then along a narrow corridor all the way to the end to where two doors were set in opposite walls either side of a small window that was covered with a film of dirt so thick it was almost impossible to see out of. The window faced an almost identical building, but one clad in dreary grey render instead of red brick; a building so close you would have been able to reach out and touch it, if only the window hadn't been sealed shut with layer upon layer of ancient chipped and flaking paint.
Celina turned to the door on the left and quickly unlocked it, pushed it open and ushered Peter inside unceremoniously. He glanced around the room with interest, taking in everything worth noticing in a matter of seconds; the smallness of the room, the simple austerity in which she lived, but also the neatness, the order, and the care with which she had arranged her belongings.
"This is nice," he observed warmly.
"Don't lie, Peter."
"I'm not," he reiterated. "I really like what –"
"What do you want?"
"Umm…" Peter faltered, taken aback by Celina's hostility. "Have I done something wrong?"
Celina stared at Peter. She hated that he was in her home. As small and cheap as this room was, it was her home, a place where she felt safe. And she didn't feel safe with Peter, she didn't want him here. But she knew she had to keep on pretending, she couldn't afford to lose her trump card now, not after all the work she had put in. So she swallowed hard and forced herself to smile.
"No," she reassured him. "I'm sorry, I've had a long day and, I dunno, I guess I'm tired."
"That's okay, don't apologise" he said softly, bridging the gap between them with a few short steps. "As long as we're okay. We are okay, aren't we?"
"Yeah," she nodded. "Of course we are."
"Alright then," he said, taking her hand in his and leading her to the bed. "Why don't you sit down," he directed her to sit on the edge of the bed, while he scrambled into position behind her. "While I…" he whispered in her ear as he placed his hands lightly on her shoulders. "Give you a nice relaxing massage, work out all that stress."
"Really, Peter, you don't have to."
"I want to," Peter insisted. "You just relax, okay?"
Peter placed a soft kiss on the nape of her neck before he began to gently massage her shoulders, pressing his thumb into her muscles, kneading them with a smooth rhythmic motion.
Celina tried her best to relax, but this unexpected invasion into her personal space had unnerved her and she remained tightly wound, as if every muscle in her body was flexed to breaking point.
"You really are tight today, love," Peter observed as he rubbed his fingers along the back of her neck. "Carla's working you too hard."
Carla. The mention of that name did nothing to relieve her tension.
"I know what will get you nice and relaxed," Peter murmured as he ran his hands down her back.
"Oh, Peter," Celina shook her head. "I'm not–"
"Shhh…" he pressed his lips onto her neck and then her shoulder, pushing her shirt and her bra strap off so that her shoulder was bare. "Just relax."
"Peter, I–"
"Come here," Peter said as he pulled her back onto the bed so they were lying side-by-side, their bodies pressed together, and began to kiss her.
At first Celina kissed him back, resolutely accepting that she would have to sleep with him in order to get rid of him. But then she saw him, she saw that face so familiar and so loved, looking down on her. She could sense the disapproval, the disappointment in his eyes and she knew she couldn't go through with it.
"Peter," she muttered softly, placing her hands on his shoulders.
"Celina," Peter whispered hoarsely as he held her close and kissed her again.
"No! No no no! NO!" she yelled at Peter, thrashing about wildly and aiming slaps and punches at Peter. "Get away from me!"
"Alright!" Peter scrambled into a seated position, gripping onto her wrists in a vain attempt to stop the sustained attack. "Calm down, will you!"
"Let go!" she yelled at him again. "Let GO! LET GO! LET GO!"
Peter had no choice but to let her go; with her wrists released from his grip, she sprang back from him like a frightened animal and cowered in the corner of the room.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" he stared at her, stunned by the wild look in her eyes and the sound of her panting as she struggled to catch her breath.
"I told you to stop," she sobbed.
"What?" Peter gasped in horror. "When?"
"You didn't stop," she blamed him.
"I did!" Peter protested his innocence. "As soon as you said no, I stopped. Did you think I was…? Oh, Celina, I would never force you to do anything."
"I wanted you to stop."
"I'm sorry, I didn't realise." Peter slowly rose to his feet and stared anxiously at Celina, genuinely concerned for her. "Are you going to be okay?"
"Please just leave," she begged him.
"If that's what you want," he said. "I'm sorry, I don't understand what went wrong."
Celina stared at Peter, the pity she felt for him resurfacing once more. She knew exactly what had gone wrong and Peter, he was not the one at fault.
"No, I'm sorry," Celina shook her head as she slid down the wall and sat huddled on the floor, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees tucked into her chest. "It's my fault, I don't know what's wrong with me."
"I'm gonna just go, leave you in peace," Peter said. "Maybe we can talk about this later?"
"Yeah, maybe."
"Okay," Peter turned to go when something familiar caught his attention. "Where did you get this from?" Peter picked up a lightweight flowing leopard print scarf with a vibrant neon lime coloured trim.
"I can't remember," Celina shrugged off the question. "Primark?"
"Carla doesn't shop at Primark."
"What's Carla got to do with it?"
"This is Carla's," Peter held the scarf in the air as if he was presenting evidence in court. "What are you doing with it?"
"That's not Carla's," Celina shook her head emphatically. "It's mine."
"It's Carla's," Peter insisted, raising the scarf to his face, feeling the softness of the fabric against his skin. "I recognise it, I recognise her smell."
"Get out," Celina ordered, suddenly on the offensive, and determined to get Peter out of her home at all costs.
"What?"
"I said, get out!" She shoved him towards the door. "Get out! And don't ever come back!"
"But–"
With one final shove, Celina propelled Peter over the threshold of her bedsit and into the hallway when, with a rush of wind from the force with which she pushed it, the door slammed shut in Peter's face.
What on earth had just happened, Peter asked himself in confusion. He looked down at the scarf in his hands; Carla's scarf. He raised it to his nose again and sniffed in the scent of its owner that still lingered ever so faintly. He couldn't help it, he knew it must look strange, but that familiar smell of the woman he loved gave him comfort.
Inside the bedsit, Celina was feeling anything but comfort. She was distraught at what she had almost allowed to happen inside her sanctuary. As soon as that door had slammed shut, she had forgotten about Peter. All that mattered to her was the man staring at her, frozen in time and in her memory, despite the years that had softened every one of his sharp and dangerous edges so that all that remained was love.
She kneeled down in front of the photograph that was taped to the wall just above her bedside table. It was the only item in the room that betrayed anything of Celina's past. It showed a man in his early thirties; he was wearing a white singlet and acid wash denim jeans, the fashion of the time. His face sported a thick brown moustache with a matching mane of lustrous brown hair on his head. He was sat on a pale blue velvet sofa with a young girl, no more than two years old, on his knee. The man gazed adoringly at the toddler as she giggled with glee while he bounced her up and down on his knee.
"I'm sorry, Papa," Celina sobbed as she stared at the photo. "I'm so sorry. Please forgive me."
Celina approached the office with some trepidation. She didn't know if Carla was aware of what had happened the previous day between her and Peter and she had no idea how to explain herself if she did.
With a deep breath, she knocked on the door and almost immediately heard a sharp "Come in."
"You wanted to see me?" Celina asked with a forced cheery smile.
"Oh, Celina, yes," Carla said absently as she finished typing a sentence on her computer, before giving her star packer her full attention. "I've got a special job for you."
"Okay," Celina said, quietly relieved. "What is it?"
"I need you to drive the van over to Leeds and pick up some samples."
"Right," Celina was confused. "Isn't that more Kirky's job? I mean, he is more senior than me."
"I don't want him to know about this."
"But–"
"I don't want anyone to know about this, okay?" Carla's tone was urgent, insistent. "This is between you and me, Celina. I can trust you, can't I?"
"Yes," Celina assured her. "Of course you can."
"Good girl," Carla said with a smile of relief, holding out a scrap of paper. "That's the address and the contact name. They're expecting you."
"Okay," Celina took the paper from Carla's hand. "I'll head off straight away."
"Listen, I'll be here in the office when you get back, okay? You bring it straight to me. I don't want you so much as looking at anyone else until you've handed it over."
"Whatever you say, boss."
"So what exactly is it I'm picking up?" Celina asked Carla as they both exited through the front doors of the factory.
"Like I said, samples."
"Samples?" Celina repeated. "Surely the girls here can run up samples a lot cheaper?"
"Not these samples they can't."
"I don't…" Celina's voice trailed off as she spotted Peter staring down at her from the deck of Lost Buoy.
"Celina?" Carla glanced from Celina to Peter; she couldn't help but notice the tension between them.
"I should get going," Celina declared, snatching the van keys from Carla's hand and unlocking the vehicle, all the while pointedly ignoring Peter.
"Okay," Carla said. "Call me if there's any problems."
"Celina!" Peter yelled out to her as he scrambled down the ladder and ran towards the van.
"Bye, Carla," Celina smiled at her boss and quickly slid into the driver's seat of the van, hastily igniting and revving the engine.
"Celina!" Peter slammed his hands onto the driver's side window, banging his palms against the glass in a desperate attempt to get Celina's attention. "Can we please talk about what happened?"
But Celina ignored him and simply reversed out of the factory forecourt with a squeal of tyres, causing Peter to jump back from the van and out of harm's way. He watched, his hands on his head in frustration, as Celina roared down the cobbles and out of sight.
With a resigned sigh, Peter turned back to Lost Buoy, only to be met by Carla's inquisitive gaze. The sympathy that was clearly written all over her face only served to increase his agitation levels. He scowled and pushed past her, wanting nothing else but to be left alone.
"Are you okay, Peter?" Carla asked him with genuine concern.
"No, I'm not," he snapped. "And aren't you happy to hear it."
"Peter!"
"I'm not interested, Carla," he said, turning his back on her and stalking back to Lost Buoy to sulk in peace. "Please just… go away."
Celina eased the van into its dedicated parking space at the rear of the factory. The exaggerated late-afternoon shadows had long since melded into the darkness of the frosty February evening when echoes became the sole companion for the after-hours visitor to Underworld.
She slipped in through the rear doors, a small box held securely under her arm as if it was a valuable prize won through great sacrifice in battle, and made a beeline across the darkened sewing floor towards the office which was still brightly illuminated, a beacon to the ambitious, even at this late hour. Carla certainly put the hours in, Celina reflected.
Or not, so it would seem. Celina stood at the door to the office and looked about in confusion. The lights were on, Carla's handbag was slung in its usual spot on the sideboard, Carla's personal coffee mug, plain white with a strong black 'C' emblazoned on it, was sitting on the desk, a half-drunk cup of still warm coffee inside it.
Placing the box carefully down onto Carla's desk, Celina went in search of her boss. She checked off the obvious places first; the kitchen, the toilets, but no joy. No sign of her in packing either, so she climbed the stairs to check the mezzanine storage area.
It was as if Carla had disappeared into thin air. She must be here somewhere, Celina reasoned, as she peered into all the unlikely hiding places in an increasingly bizarre effort to find her.
That's when she spied it; a door never before noticed. Her curiosity piqued, Celina hurried to the strange door and twisted the handle. She was in luck; it was unlocked. She pushed it open and immediately felt a chill breeze rush in, causing her to shiver and her skin to resemble that of a freshly plucked chicken.
Never one to be put off by a little physical discomfort, Celina stepped over the threshold and onto the balcony that overlooked the factory forecourt.
She peeked over the side of the balcony and down onto the deck of Lost Buoy. But what she saw made her dart back into the shadows, suddenly fearful of discovery. Slowly, she inched her way back to the edge so she could get a better look at what lay beneath; she crouched low as she peered down into the boat and strained her ears to hear every word that passed between the pair that was sat talking, huddled side-by-side on the deck.
"I'm sorry about earlier," Carla said.
"What have you got to be sorry for?" Peter shook his head in shame at the memory. "If anyone needs to apologise it's me."
"Obviously something I did set you off."
"It was your face."
"Oh, thank you very much," Carla laughed indignantly.
"No, I didn't mean…" Peter sighed. "It was the pity I saw in your eyes… and the triumph."
"Triumph?" Carla furrowed her brow in confusion. "What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about you gloating, yes, gloating, because you were happy with how things ended between me and Celina."
"I wasn't, I was…" Carla swallowed hard before continuing. "Maybe I was, I wouldn't say I was happy… maybe relieved that it hadn't worked out."
"No, Carla, no, that's way too easy," Peter protested. "Admit it, you enjoyed watching me getting dumped."
"Do you really wanna talk about things that I enjoy? Hmm? Do you?"
"Yes," Peter nodded. "Yes, Carla, I do."
"Okay," Carla accepted the challenge. "After everything you said to me at New Year's, do you really think I would enjoy watching you move on so quickly and with so little regard for my feelings?"
"Move on from what, Carla?" Peter stared at her incredulously. "You said we couldn't be together. You said there was no future for us. You bought me a flaming boat to get rid of me!"
"You still knew how I felt," Carla cried out. "You could've, I dunno, not rubbed my nose in it."
"Carla," Peter whispered hoarsely, turning to face her in earnest. "I wasn't the only one making declarations that night. You said you loved me. Don't deny it."
"I'm not trying to deny it."
"Do you still feel the same?" Peter asked. "Do you still love me?"
"I doubt that will ever change," Carla confessed. "But Peter, you already know all this, this isn't news to you."
"So, what about us?" Peter dared to hope. "Can we…?"
"No," Carla was adamant.
"Why?"
"Why do you keep pushing me on this?" Carla threw his question straight back at him. "You know we're no good together, Peter."
"Are you sure about that?"
Celina adjusted her position slightly, stretching her neck that little bit further, trying in vain to hear what was being said. But she heard nothing. So she squinted through the darkness to catch a glimpse of the pair when suddenly she gasped, shocked at what she was witnessing.
Peter had taken his chance and had found Carla not unwilling. He had kissed her and she kissed him back, unaware that there was an audience to their renewed but ultimately doomed passion.
"Peter," Carla murmured as she pulled away from him. "I don't–"
"What's wrong now?" Peter said with a sigh of frustration.
"Celina."
"What about her?" Peter shrugged. "That's all over."
"It's the fact that it started in the first place."
"I can't believe this," Peter shook his head in disbelief.
"What?" Carla asked. "I think my concern is valid."
"You know what you are, Carla?" Peter asked, his eyes narrow, his voice bitter and angry. "You're a hypocrite."
"Hang on a minute–"
"No!" Peter shook his head. "You say you love me, but you don't want to be with me. Do you really think that I would be satisfied with, I dunno, the knowledge that you loved me? And nothing more? And do you really think that, knowing we could never be together, I wouldn't try to find happiness with someone else?"
"And boy it didn't take you long at all, did it? To single out your next conquest. And, surprise surprise, true to Peter Barlow form, you pick a girl barely out of school. You know what, Peter? It was pathetic when you did it with Tina, but to still be running after the young girls five years later? It's desperate. And that's why we can't ever be together. Because you will never ever change."
Celina watched on in delight as Carla threw off any attempts by Peter to get her to stay and stormed off, climbing down the ladder and away from Lost Buoy, away from the factory, presumably to go home or, what was more likely knowing Carla's predilections, to go to the pub and drown her sorrows.
She continued watching as Peter sat, his head in his hands, despondent, before finally, wearily, climbing down the ladder to the cabin below, pulling the hatch closed behind him.
And then all was silent.
I thought I'd blown it. The way I flipped out on Peter. I was so angry with myself for not being able to control my emotions and for jeopardising all my plans. Because it seemed like all it had done was drive him back into Carla's arms. I mean, sure, she had been hurt by seeing us together. And that made me happy for a little while, the knowledge that seeing him with someone else had hurt her. But it hurt me as well. It hurt me a lot more than it hurt either of them. It made me feel the same way it did before. Dirty, used, ashamed. I thought I'd left all that behind but still I fall into the same old trap every single time. And it was worse this time because it was me who chased him, who seduced him. It was me that gave up my body, not for love, but for revenge. I wasn't the victim this time. And, even though it seems like I've won, that I've managed to create a permanent wedge between them, I still feel like a loser. I still feel like I'm trapped in that place, in a prison that I don't think I'll ever really escape from.
Celina closed her journal with a sigh; it was getting late and she was cold. There were no more signs of life on Lost Buoy below, Peter had obviously retired for the night with no lingering hope of Carla returning.
She was just about to go inside when a shadowy figure caught her attention. She squinted in the dark; it was Roy, that weird bloke from the café that Carla lived with. There was something wrong with him, she thought, the way he was walking, it seemed like he wasn't really there, not mentally at any rate.
Was he? No, surely not. Was he asleep? He looked like a zombie, shuffling along like the living dead. She stifled a laugh at the thought of a zombie dressed like Roy Cropper in old-fashioned stripy pyjamas paired with an old, tatty brown robe that hung limply from Roy's angular frame, and slippers that scuffed the cobbles as he walked.
Celina peered down at him curiously, anxious to know what he was doing. But Roy's actions were beyond understanding. He loitered close to Lost Buoy; for a moment, it appeared as if he was going to climb aboard, but he merely placed his hands on the ladder and stood there for a few seconds before shuffling away.
Roy's late night ramblings, however, were not without consequence. As he turned to leave, the cuff of his pyjama bottoms knocked over a hurricane lamp that had stood, burning low, on the ground near the front of the boat.
Celina watched with fascination as the flame from the lamp chased the paraffin out of the receptacle and onto the ground, spreading as far as the fuel had spilled. But, soon enough, it was all burned up and the flame flickered and died.
Celina acted on instinct; she rushed inside, ran down the stairs, and then out through the front doors of the factory to the forecourt where Lost Buoy loomed like some strange land-locked nautical monument.
Scrambling aboard, she gingerly opened the cabin's access hatch and, crouching down on her hands and knees, lowered her head to take a peek inside. There he was, Peter, in his little makeshift bed at the far end of the cabin, tucked up beneath his trusty sleeping bag. He looked so peaceful, so innocent, that Celina almost lost her nerve. But she hardened herself to the task at hand; this is what she had come for, this was her chance to do something bold, to make that power move that would destroy Carla for good.
Lowering the hatch back into place, she searched the deck, looking for something, anything, that would do the job, finally settling on an offcut length of rope. She carefully threaded the rope through the latches of the hatch, tying it securely using an intricate maritime knot. She couldn't help but smile at the memory of Peter teaching her how to tie knots, at how engrossed he had been with the topic and how tedious she had found it. But now she was grateful he had taken the time to teach her; more than that, she found it serendipitous, for her anyway, that something Peter had taught her would ultimately contribute to his downfall.
Now that she was committed to her on-the-fly plan, she didn't waste any time. She clambered down the ladder to solid ground and, picking up the hurricane lamp that Roy had knocked over, she re-lit it and placed it underneath the boat frame, close enough so that the flame immediately began to lick at the hull of the vessel.
Satisfied with her handiwork, Celina hurried back inside the factory and up onto the balcony from where she had the best view in the house. She was going to enjoy this.
What the hell is she doing back here? Celina watched on in horror as Carla, dressed now in casual clothes, black leggings and an oversized sweatshirt, her face make-up free, and ugg boots adorning her feet, strode across the cobbles towards… was she headed for the factory or the boat? Celina wasn't sure.
But Carla made a beeline for the factory door, pointedly ignoring the very existence of the boat parked on her forecourt, refusing to even look in that direction or think about the man within.
Celina held her breath; a few more seconds and Carla would be safely inside the factory.
Carla had her hand on the factory door, ready to push it open, when she sniffed the air suspiciously. She raised her head and took in a deep breath of the cold night air, usually clear at this time, but tonight something was different. Tonight, she could smell something that was out of place, something that was terribly wrong.
She turned towards the street, her eyes darting here and there as she searched for the source of the smell. She didn't have to look far; smoke was slowly rising from Lost Buoy and dissipating high up in the night sky. As her eyes travelled back down to the yacht, she caught a glimpse of the hull, a golden glow illuminating it from below as the flames began to take hold.
Without a second thought, Carla ran to Lost Buoy and banged on the side of the hull.
"Peter!" she screamed into the fibreglass shell, her fists pummelling the freshly painted surface. "Peter! Peter! Can you hear me? PETER!"
"Carla!" came Peter's muffled reply.
"Get outta there, Peter!" Carla cried out. "Come on!"
"I can't!"
"What?"
"The hatch, it's stuck!"
Celina watched from the balcony above as Carla, with no hesitation or thought for her own safety, almost flew up the ladder and onto the deck of Lost Buoy.
"Carla!"
Celina jumped in fright at the sound of Tim Metcalfe's voice.
"Carla! What are you doing? Get down from there! The fire brigade's on its way."
"Peter's in there!" Carla screamed back at him, the dramatic silhouette of her figure stood on the deck of Lost Buoy only adding to the spectacle. "I need to get him out."
Carla hurried to the hatch and pulled frantically at the knot that was preventing Peter's escape from the inferno below, but her action only seemed to make the knot tighter. "What the hell?" Carla tugged again at the knot, to no avail. "Okay, Carla, breathe, you got this."
Her hands trembling now, Carla turned her attention to Celina's knot, taking her time to work it out properly, to calmly trace where the rope looped together, where the ends were, and where she could unthread it on a backwards trajectory and free Peter.
"Carla!" Peter yelled up to her from the cabin below. "Hurry up!"
"Shut up, Peter!" she yelled straight back at him. "I'm trying to concentrate."
Celina's knuckles were white as she gripped tightly onto the balustrade that edged the balcony, the tension of waiting to see if Carla could untie the knot as intense as watching one of her favourite thriller movies.
"Oh my god!" Carla gasped as she finally worked the knot free and pulled the rope from the latches.
Celina stared down at the action on the deck as Carla opened the hatch, only to be engulfed by a thick cloud of smoke escaping from the cabin below.
"Peter!" Carla yelled into the cabin. "Peter!?"
And then Carla did the unthinkable, to Celina anyway. She climbed down the ladder into the smoke-filled cabin and disappeared from view.
Celina glanced down at the forecourt and noticed for the first time the residents of Coronation Street that were standing about, some in their nightclothes, others straight from their drinking session at the Rovers, all shocked into silence as they watched the tragedy unfold.
That's when the smoke hit Celina; it entered her lungs and smarted her eyes, causing her to fall back onto the floor, gasping for the breath of fresh air that just wasn't there. She crawled along the balcony and, pulling open the door, dragged herself over the threshold and back into the relative safety of the factory. She slammed the door shut behind her; for a moment, all she could do was sit slumped against the door, coughing, the stench of burning wood and fibreglass hanging thick in the air.
Unbidden, the image of Carla and Peter in the heart of the fire entered her mind; of their bodies growing weak as the smoke slowly suffocated them; of their flesh burning as the flames licked at their limbs. She shuddered at the thought and her resolve weakened.
"What have I done?" she gasped in horror as the reality of her actions hit home. "Oh my god!"
She had to get out of there; she had to see… whatever there was to see. And for the first time in her life, she prayed.
Struggling to her feet, she felt her way down the stairs, one step at a time, terrified of tripping in the smoky haze and falling to her death. And then she ran, straight for the factory's rear entrance, around the block, only to reappear in the factory forecourt, like so many other residents, as a curious onlooker.
"What's happened?" Celina asked Sally Metcalfe, fear gripping at her heart.
"Peter and Carla are in there," Sally nodded towards the burning yacht. "They'll never survive that."
Side-by-side, the two colleagues watched in silence as the flames engulfed Lost Buoy; second-by-second they waited for the two trapped in the cabin to appear on deck. But, as seconds turned into minutes, all hope began to fade.
END OF PART I