"Apparently she'd overheard him taunting me about," Carla hesitated for a moment. It didn't seem to matter how often she said them the words still burned like a fire in her throat. She swallowed her discomfort and sunk closer into Michelle's warm embrace, "how he raped me and got away with it. That was the police on the phone just now, telling me that I am no longer a suspect."

Michelle sighed as she continued to rub her sister-in-law's shoulders. "It's hard to believe they ever thought you would have done it in the first place Carla. You were flamin' petrified of him! I still don't know how you mustered up the courage to go back in there and confront him that night."

"Whiskey and a run-in with your boyfriend's ex will do that to you," Carla muttered under her breath.

Peter took a sip of his coffee, his eyes remaining fixed on his girlfriend. Even now, having been informed she was no longer a suspect for Frank's murder, she still looked as though she had the weight of the world on her shoulders. He had watched as she made Simon his breakfast of toast and Nutella that morning, her hand pausing as she reached for the butter knife. He had watched as her shaking hand hovered over the metal utensil, her eyes rapidly blinking back the tears that threatened to fall, before taking a deep breath and picking it up gingerly; sniffling back the tears and spreading the chocolate mixture onto Simon's toast.

He knew Simon still blamed Carla for Leanne leaving, and things may never be smooth sailing with them, but after Carla's frantic call to him following his and Si's pizza night, Peter whisked his son to A & E, arriving just in time to see a nurse bandaging Carla's bleeding hand. Giving his son some money to buy sweets from the machine, he was surprised when Simon arrived back with a candy bar he had selected himself for Carla as well. Peter knew these were baby steps with the lad. There was no way to know how long the friendliness would last when the custody battle between him and Leanne would ultimately begin, but it was a positive start and hopefully one less thing to weigh on Carla's mind.

"What I don't understand though Carla, is how you made it out of there." Michelle stated, watching the factory boss as she slowly padded into the kitchen to make her a brew. "I mean, you must have been as terrified as you were the night he…" She trailed off, exchanging a furtive glance with Peter as she sat down at the table opposite him.

I have to tell them the truth, Carla had thought as she absent-mindedly poured milk into Michelle's mug, not noticing how erratically her hands were shaking until she reached for the spoon to stir the liquid. The trembling of her fingers was almost hypnotic; her eyes fixed upon them in a trance-like state and barely registering that Peter had moved from his seat to stand behind her.

She couldn't stop the involuntary shudder of her muscles as he had laid his hands upon her; her shoulders tensing and her body hunching forward. But instead of stepping away, Peter had gently turned her to face him. "Hey," he said softly, lowering himself to meet her downtrodden eyes, "it's just me..."

From her perch at the table, Michelle had watched the scene unfold before her, amazed by the connection the two lovers shared. She could the moment Carla's shoulders began to relax once more. Peter gingerly ran his hands up and down her arms, pressing a kiss to her forehead, before taking Michelle's coffee and leading Carla back to the sofa.

Carla had sunk back into the welcome warmth of the settee, grabbing a pillow and hugging it to her body, as her eyes glanced first to Michelle, who sat at the edge of her seat, cupping the mug of coffee between her palms tightly, and finally back to Peter, who gingerly sat down next to Carla on the sofa and wrapped his arm protectively around her.

"The truth is 'Chelle, I couldn't muster up the strength to fight him off. When he taunted me and told me that the rape was my fault, I wanted nothing more than to slap that smug look off his face, and believe me I did try. But again," she had swallowed the lump that caught in her throat, "just like the night at the flat, he just completely overpowered me. I couldn't break free. I thought that the reason I couldn't fight him off the first time was that I was in shock and just petrified. But that night he were killed proved me wrong. I was so sure I would be able to push him off and leg it. But the truth was, he had me right where he wanted me and nothing I did would have gotten me away from him that night." She looked down as the tears began welling up in her eyes.

Peter's hands clenched into fists. The thought of Frank coming so close to assaulting Carla again made his blood boil, but he pushed his anger down and gently kissed his girlfriend's temple as she furiously wiped away the tears that had started to trickle down her cheeks in annoyance. How was it that Frank, she thought, that even in death, still maintained such a powerful hold over her emotions?

"He told me how much he enjoyed taking my factory from me and how it meant he had screwed me twice," she had continued, "then he pushed up against me, and asked if I fancied going for the hat trick." The words dripped with venom as she spoke them. "I saw the whiskey bottle on the filing cabinet, and wondered if I'd be able to grab it and hit him over the head….ironic eh?" she gave a small chuckle, "thinking the same way as his mother did? But I didn't have the opportunity. He pushed me so hard against the railing that I could barely breathe." Her body had begun to convulse with shakes and Peter's grip on her shoulders tightened as he pulled her against him.

"I kept trying to push him off me, but I couldn't. The railing was digging into my back and his hands were everywhere again, and I knew… I just knew that if I couldn't get out, right then and there, that it was going to happen again."

"Baby, look at me," Peter placed two fingers under her chin, and turned her head gently towards him, "I know you were scared that night, and then everything that happened the next morning took us by surprise but Carla, you know you can tell me the truth. I need you to tell me, baby. Did he -?"

"No," she patted his knee reassuringly, "No, he didn't get the chance. Because," she licked her lips nervously, "because someone was there. Standing just behind him..."

Michelle and Peter exchanged glances, "Anne?" Michelle whispered.

Carla stared at the wall just opposite her and she chewed her lip thoughtfully. She couldn't tell them the truth, could she? They'd think she was mad for sure. Hell, she hadn't even been sure of the truth herself...

She swallowed the lump in her throat and shrugged her shoulders, "yeah, it must have been," she lied, "But I can't say for sure, obviously, or I would have told them coppers the next day. I mean my vision was blurred from the tears in my eyes and Frank was just hovering over me. But I just stared at that shadow like it were a lifeline, you know? And Frank, he - he must of figured something was wrong because I had just froze. When he looked over his shoulder, I saw my chance and I hit him with my purse and pushed him back and just legged it. I don't even know how he wasn't able to stop me. He should have been able to. But I just kept running until I got here." She sniffed and used the back of her hand to brush away the tears that were pooling in her eyes, "I never said anything to the police about the shadow because I wasn't even certain I saw it, myself. My head was a right mess and I certainly couldn't prove anything so I just bottled it, I guess..." she rubbed her forehead in frustration, "look, umm I really just want to try to put the whole thing behind me. And I know I may never really get past what he did to me but I need to start trying to move on. I'm sorry I'm being so moody but I'm just so tired today."

Michelle moved over to the sofa, "Yeah, well you're not going to get any more energized at work, are you?" she planted a kiss on Carla's forehead, "And you certainly don't need to be in that factory today with all the whispers and gossip."

Carla chuckled, "What? And miss out on tea and sympathy with Julie?"

Michelle nodded and laughed, "Yeah, exactly! Look you stay here today and rest up," she had held up a finger to silence her friend, "Ah! No arguments. I'm making an executive decision."

Carla snorted, "An executive decision, hark at her, the next Richard Branson." She put both her hands up in mock surrender when Michelle gave her a playful shove, "Okay, okay Miss Branson, I'll take a duvet day, alright? I dunno, maybe I'll finally be able to try to catch up on some sleep."

"Well that were easier than I anticipated but good. Rest up babes. I'll come and check up on you later, yeah?" Carla nodded, giving her friend's hand a squeeze and only letting go when Michelle finally moved towards the door, giving a small wave as she exited the flat.

As Michelle's footsteps on the stairs echoed through the room, Peter inched closer to Carla. He cupped her cheek and gently brushed the tears that had fallen away with his thumb and she smiled lopsidedly at him; a half-hearted attempt to reassure him that she was fine.

Peter however wasn't fooled. He could, after all, read her like a book. 'What is she not telling me?' he thought. But as much as he may have wanted to press her for the truth, he knew she was too exhausted; physically, mentally, and emotionally.

Besides, he thought, Frank was dead and Anne had been arrested for his murder. Carla was safe, and they finally had the chance to start their life together. So instead of pushing her for answers, he leaned forward and planted a kiss on her lips, "Si's going to stay at me dad's tonight, so why don't we order a takeaway and watch a movie tonight, eh? Just me and you."

Carla nodded and smiled, "That sounds perfect."

Peter smiled at her, "Okay, I'll get you the duvet, love. And then I'm going to go open the Bookies. I'll be right downstairs if you need anything." She nodded as he pressed another kiss to her lips.

Once Peter left the flat, Carla curled up on the sofa, her fingers inching the duvet up under her chin. Even though she was damn good at it, she hated lying, especially to Peter. But she wasn't even sure of what had happened that night. One thing she did know for certain, was that the figure in the factory was definitely not Anne Foster.

She knew exactly who she had seen, but after all the trauma she had been through the past few years, she was starting to doubt if her mind was simply playing tricks on her.

After all, it was impossible for it to be who it was...

...wasn't it?