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Slowly, Now

Sunday: the day of family.

Nick reckons his mother might as well rename it let's talk about Nick and his lack of a love life! day. It's all anyone can talk about. He's no spring chicken. Being told this information is no real surprise to him, even if it is a little cheeky when spoken aloud, but it's nothing he hasn't been told before and it's boring. Really, he should be glad for the change in subject around the dinner table as they feast upon their burnt Sunday roasts. And he knows this. These days, conversation is often dominated by Callum, by Kylie and her lack of presence, by Max's future and the uncertainty of it all.

But not today.

"Nicky, love. There must be someone you've got your eye on," Audrey insists. Nick can feel his mother's eyes on him as this is being said, looking for any indication that there is at least some element of truth in her mother's words.

He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, avoiding Bethany and Sarah, their smirks hidden beneath napkins, at all costs.

"Oh, Gran." Nick groans slightly. "I'm fine as I am. I don't need a woman to function."

"Hear, hear." A still desperately bitter David is knocking back his second can of the day. It's just a little after noon and Max and Lily are sitting on the floor of the living room, playing quietly with one another, having no idea of the constant turmoil their father is feeling every hour of every day. As long as he is awake, he is worrying. Planning. Anxious for the future.

Gail knows better than to question his drinking habits when his court date with Callum is looming over him, a dark shadow hanging above his head no matter what the time of day. She turns her attention back to Nick.

"No one is expecting you to enter anything serious," she says.

He rolls his eyes. "Nobody should be expecting me to enter anything at all."

"Dating can be fun, though, can't it?" This is directed at Audrey. Her face is a picture of confusion, wondrous as to how this relates to her. "Just ask your grandmother. She'd know."

"Excuse me, Gail!"

"Mum," Nick says with finality in his voice. "I'm not interested. In any of it. I am fine as I am. Now can we just drop it?"

There is silence. His words may not be entirely truthful, but he would much rather talk about other things. Talking about relationships only makes him want one, a particular one, more. It's a pipe dream if nothing else and he really needs to drop it. It's complicated, they're not suited, she could do so, so much better than him and he knows that she will once she's ready. She doesn't have the time to be messing around, the time to date and pick and choose between men who won't understand, men who won't be interested once she admits she has a child. Not right now. Because right now, she is a busy working mother. That's it; that's all. And he admires her for it more than he would ever dare say.

The family continue with their eating and it is Bethany who is the first to speak, raising her voice above the sounds of forks scraping against plates, glasses being placed back onto coasters.

"You are interested, Uncle Nick," she says casually, whilst knowing the full implications of her words. She ensures that Gail is looking in her direction of the table, the smile she paints upon her lips what she hopes is innocent. (It isn't.)

Nick narrows his eyes at her. "Don't play the uncle card with me."

"But you're intersted in Carla."

"Sorry, who?" Gail is leaning forward in her chair, as if being a fraction closer to her granddaughter is going to make her hear the name as something else, someone more desirable to her.

"Carla," Bethany repeats. She looks smug.

"As in Connor?"

Nick is shifting in his seat again. He would rather be anywhere but here.

The tension is real.

"Yes, Mum," he says with confidence he does not feel. "Carla Connor."

"The Carla Connor?" And he knows she just isn't going to let it drop. There is disbelief in her tone, a telling off in the veins of her neck she has yet to unleash. Michael's hand rests on top of Gail's as if to prevent her from physically making her disapproval known. It is odd to think that Nick is almost thirty five; he doesn't get treated as such. "Is this the same Carla Connor who was more than happy to screw you over at the factory? The same Carla Connor who's an alchy? A single mother with a brother in prison for murder and multiple ex husbands to boot?"

The hypocrisy is not something he decides to pick up on because, quite frankly, he's used to it, it bores him and Carla is not the woman his mother is painting her to be. She's savvy when it comes to her business, her one constant and sometimes only friend. Yes, she's had her problems in the past, but who hasn't? Gail certainly has. And as for Rob; as for Hayley; Paul, Tony, Peter… He doesn't care. He just does not see the issue because there isn't one. Not as far as he is concerned.

"Yes, Mum. Her." He swallows thickly.

"Since when?"

Gail exclaims this, but is cut off from saying anything more by the sound of David's impressed laughter. "Right on, bro! She's way out of your league."

Nick frowns at the whole table before shaking his head with confusion. It's too quiet, the attention focused too much on him and only him.

"We're not a thing," he insists.

"Not yet," Bethany mutters.

Nick loudly sighs. "Honestly. There's nothing going on between Carla and I. So if you could all just drop it, that would be great."

The family would have resumed their eating yet again if it were not for the ringing of Nick's mobile phone.

Sarah guesses who it is correctly. "Is that Carla?"

The courage comes to her suddenly. She's not stupid; she knows what day it is. He'll be surrounded by family and his aren't exactly what she likes to call shy. Nevertheless, she cannot put off asking him any longer. She can deal with the consequences of the call later.

Carla dials his number whilst sat on the sofa. Hayley is playing on her lap, chewing on a bit of her hair, and when he picks up on the other side of the line, she is smiling and he hears it in her voice. "Hello, you."

"Carla." He is speaking in a hushed whisper. She wonders where it is he has found refuge in the madhouse his mother keeps. The backyard? The garage? Upstairs? She can't tell from his words alone. "How are you?"

She lets out a soft sigh. "I'm good, thank you. Actually, no. I'm really good you'll be pleased to hear."

"And Hayley?"

"Hayley's… loving life." She appears to know she is being spoken about, beginning to crawl up her mother, wanting to reach and tug at her face. The action causes Carla to laugh.

Nick replies, "So. Did you call for a particular reason or…"

"Rude. You wanting to get rid of me, Nicholas?" Carla is smirking.

Nick, unaware of this, panics a little, replying, "No, no. Of course not. It's just…"

"You're busy. I get it. It's Sunday."

Relaxing slightly, Nick leans against the garden wall. Green grass stretches out before him; a ball, the shed, abandoned boxes containing things he'd have to strain to recognise. (Kylie's stuff dumped in a drunken rage is what he is guessing at.) Nick scuffs his shoe against gravel. "I see. So, this reason…"

He hates to speed up the call. Carla phoning him is something that doesn't happen very often. He isn't yet sure how to handle her by ear. Apart from that, he doesn't want her to think he doesn't want to speak to her. That couldn't be more untrue. It's just hard to enjoy (if that is even the right word) the conversation when he can feel at least four pairs of eyes peering at him through the kitchen window, discussing business that isn't theirs, suggesting this and that, wondering what and where and when.

"It's very important." Why she is bigging this up, Carla is not entirely sure. But it makes her feel powerful, she guesses. And she likes it. Smiling, she continues. "The 25th of May. You doing anything?"

If he had been, those plans have now been pushed directly to the back of his line of priorities. "No. I'm not as it happens. Why?"

She appreciates his lack of pause; his immediate response.

"Ah, good. Because you're coming with me to Michelle and Steve's wedding. I hope you don't mind." Her confidence impresses even her. She exhales sharply, hoping desperately that her forwardness will not backfire.

On the other end of the line, Nick cannot conceal a smile and hates himself for it, knowing it has been noted by every family member snooping. It is large and a giveaway and he coughs slightly, resting his head against the wall supporting him, facing the opposite direction to the window. "Oh, am I now?"

Carla laughs with delight. She doesn't even try to hide it. "You are."

"It's funny, you know. All this talk of a wedding. I always assumed you'd be requesting my babysitting services when the time finally came."

Carla shakes her head, even though he can't see. She kisses Hayley's head as the baby continues to mess on her mother's lap. She has now found a particular interest in the necklace Carla is wearing; long chain, bright on the eye.

"Yours or Bethany's?" she asks in jest.

"Mine."

Carla says, "Nope," and pops the 'p'. She bounces Hayley up and down on her lap. "She isn't even coming, you know. Hayley. It's Peter's week off and so she's going down to his." She pauses, almost as if for effect. "I'm not bitter about it."

"Of course you're not," Nick replies sarcastically, but she genuinely isn't.

"I'm not," Carla insists. "He doesn't get time off a lot. And he can't help when his holidays fall. Yes, it would be nice if Hayley could be at her Auntie's wedding, but she's too young to remember any of it. It's not such a huge loss."

"I'm not sure Michelle'll see it that way."

"Yeah. Well, she'll just have to get over it, won't she?"

Silence fills the line for an exaggerated few moments. Carla realises they have gone way off course - as is their usual way. She only rang to ask him; he accepted, so why is she still nattering down his ear? She laughs to herself, imagining the excuses he will have to have come up with in regards to his family. He's been gone a while now. She wonders whether they know, know who he is talking to and perhaps even what about. It unnerves her if she's being honest. The further Nick's family stay out of this, (for now, at least), the better.

"So, yeah. That's all I rang to ask, really!" Her words are verging on breathless.

"You didn't ask," Nick reminds her. "You told."

"Exactly." She is grinning. (And she isn't the only one.) "So, now you know."

Glancing at his family only metres away, now seemingly bored and having turned their backs away from the window and therefore his private conversation, Nick smiles into the phone. "The 25th of May," he repeats.

"The 25th of May."

Hayley looks up at her mother, all expectant and arms outstretched, nonsensical noises leaving her lips. Even she hears the whisper down the phone from Nick before the call is cut. "It's a date."