It was still dark as the cab pulled up, it had been a long drive and Peter was desperate for a cigarette, fumbling with his lighter in his haste to relieve the craving. He took a long drag, grateful for the rush of relief it brought. His dad would be angry he had abandoned rehab but what choice did he really have? He couldn't sit idly all those miles away and focus on the 12 steps to recovery when Carla was his catalyst for staying sober, his life and future depended on hers. As soon as he received Roy's call he had packed his few belongings and checked himself out of the clinic; he felt guilty about the money that was now wasted on him and knew he'd be in for a lecture when he got home, but he'd pay Claudia back somehow and show them all that this decision was the right one. He now stood on the street, breathing in the cool morning air, and waited. It was still too early to go to Roy's. He hoped Carla was sleeping and Michelle would be with her so he decided to wait an hour or so and then message to let them know he was back and coming over. This left him with too much time and nowhere to be; he wasn't going home yet, wasn't ready to face Ken so what should he do? Surplus time was not his friend at the moment, he was confident he wouldn't drink, his renewed promise to himself and those around him was holding strong, but he was compensating by chain-smoking and couldn't stop fidgeting, impatient to see her.
He paced the deserted cobbles as the dawn began to break, planning what he would say to her when they were finally reunited, how he would take care of her, love her the way she deserved. He had loved her for so many years, nobody else could come close to the effect she had on him, the electricity he felt whenever she was nearby. He had so many regrets over what had happened with them in the past but he swore would do better, be better this time around.
He flicked the remnants of his final cigarette to the floor, cursing that he had not paced himself with them, it was still hours until the shops opened and he was wound tightly enough already. As he turned to re-tread his path yet again he saw a flicker of movement across the street, by the steps of underworld. At first he thought he had imagined it but as he went to look away he saw it once more. He strained his eyes to make out what it was and realised there was the outline of a figure, leaning against the factory wall, barely distinguishable from the surrounding shadows. He edged closer, watching them move along the metal fencing, find a small space between the panels and slip through. His pace quickened as the profile became clearer, the tiny frame and dark flowing hair confirming his fears.
She was once again barefoot, as she had been all those weeks ago. Her pyjamas swamped her body as she weaved through the rubble still covering the floor around her. Peter went to call out to her but then though better of it and continued to move forward, not wanting to startle her but panicking he would lose sight. She was moving with purpose as if she was looking for something, what exactly he couldn't work out but he knew that it couldn't be good. He watched as she paused and looked around, before changing direction and continuing her search. Should he intervene, make his presence known? She was clearly distressed, he could see her agitation even from this distance and he was terrified any unexpected noise would make things worse, so he stayed silent. She reached the base of the scaffolding and he felt his heart stop as he realised her intention.
Carla looked up as she grasped the handrail of the ladder and started to climb.