Carla staggered out of the factory, her breath coming in great gasps as she gulped in the fresh air, expelling as she did the smoke that had permeated every part of her.

Now, safe in Trevor's arms, she turned to face the man who had imprisoned her, the man who had pointed a gun at her head and threatened to pull the trigger, the man who had lit the fire that now burned all around him, licking at his feet, causing his face to shine red with the heat.

"Come on!" she screamed to her husband as he walked slowly towards the door. "RUN!"

For a moment, Carla's eyes locked with Tony's; she silently willed him to save himself, to flee from the flames and, for a moment, it seemed as if he wanted to follow her. But then a loud "Get back! Go back! Go!" as a member of the armed response unit forced Carla and Trevor away from immediate danger, broke their eye contact. By the time Carla looked back, Tony had made his decision; he had turned from her and was walking away, deeper into the factory, into the heart of the fire, away from life and straight into the waiting arms of death.

That was the last time she had laid eyes on Tony; mere seconds later both she and Trevor were thrown to the ground by the force of the explosion that ripped the factory apart. She stared in horror at the scene before her: her precious factory that had both given and taken so much from her, and somewhere inside, the man that had changed her life forever. Although her body was bruised and broken as she lay there on the dirty cobbles, she was alive, she was safe. But Tony, Tony was not so lucky.

Or so Carla had thought; so Carla had been told. The police had told her they had found Tony's body, that they had identified Tony's body. Sure, they'd had to use dental records given the destruction caused by the explosion, but it had been him, there had been no doubt.

"It's impossible," Carla repeated, her eyes moving from Peter's to the screen on which Tony's face was clearly shown and back again, "I saw him die, Peter, there's no way he could've escaped. The fire… the explosion… he's dead. Isn't he?"

"Maybe it's a doppelganger?" Peter suggested, more out of wishful thinking than true belief.

"A what?"

"A doppelganger, an identical twin," Peter reiterated his wild theory, "apparently we've all got one somewhere out there."

"A doppelganger who knows about Liv's existence? Who she is, where she is… oh, and visits a lawyer to set up a hundred grand trust fund for her? Look at him, Peter, he matches the description. No, this ain't no doppelganger. This is real. He's real. And I'm gonna kill him."

"Carla!"

"I'm gonna find him and I'm gonna kill him," Carla repeated her threat, her face contorted with rage. "How dare he take my daughter like this. How dare he!"

"Love, you need to calm down," Peter said, rubbing her arm gently, "getting angry isn't gonna help us find her."

"How can I be anything but angry, Peter?" she cried. "That psycho took her right from under our noses. God knows what he's planning on doing."

"Which is why you need to calm down so we can think. When the police get here, we need to be able to tell them everything we can so they can get her back. Okay?"

"Okay," Carla nodded.

"Okay," Peter reflected her nod back to her, "so if we accept that, yes, this is the Tony Gordon, back from the dead, doesn't the same question apply?"

"What are you talking about?"

"How did he find out about Liv?"

"That bastard!" Carla said as rage once again marred her face with a sneer as she thought about him. "Pat."

"Have you heard anything?" Carla asked the police officer, dressed in casual clothes, who, while acting as their police liaison officer, was now sat at their dining table in their flat.

"As I told you before," the officer said gently, "they'll call straight away if there's any news. If there's something you need to tell the detectives…?"

"No," Carla scowled at the woman before whispering to Peter, "what's she for if she doesn't know what's going on?"

"Carla, hush now, she's doing her best."

"I'm sorry Peter, but my daughter has been kidnapped by her psychotic murderer of a father and this one," Carla pointed at the officer, "is good for nowt but making cups of tea."

"I'm here to support you in whatever way I can," the officer said, "and to be a bridge of sorts, a way to communicate between–"

"Can you make tea?"

"Would you like some?"

"Dash of milk, no sugar. Ta."

"Mr Barlow?"

"Thank you, no," Peter said as apologetically as he dared before turning to Carla and hissing, "that was rude."

"Well, what am I meant to do?" Carla asked, exasperated, "she just sits there and watches us, it gives me the creeps."

Bzzz bzzz

"Pat!" Carla cried, almost running to get to the intercom. "Hello?" she spoke into the intercom, "yes, come up."

Bzzz

"Play nice," Peter warned Carla as they listened to Pat's footsteps as he climbed the stairs, "we need him on side, okay?"

"Carla," Pat greeted her with obvious concern in his voice and on his face, "I flew down as soon as you called. What's happened exactly?"

"You know exactly what's happened!" Carla immediately went on the offensive. "Your brother's what's happened!"

"Whoa!" Pat held up his hands as if to fend off Carla's attack, "you don't know it was Tony."

"What's this then?" Carla showed Pat the recording of the airport meeting between Tony and his daughter that she'd forced the security officer to transfer to her phone, "hmm?"

"Oh, Tony," Pat sighed. "What have you done."

"What have you done more like it," Carla continued to lash out, spitting accusations at Pat. "You're the one who told Tony about Olivia. You knew he was alive. You were the one who brought him back into our lives. Admit it, go on, admit it, this is your fault."

"Fine, it was me who told Tony about Olivia. How could I keep that from him, his own daughter?"

"Because he's a killer!" Carla cried. "Have you known all this time, all these years, that Tony was alive?"

"Not the whole time, no," Pat reflected. "It was about, ahh… six, seven… yes, going on seven years ago when he just turned up on my doorstep one day."

"And you didn't think to call the police?"

"Look, I know he's done some terrible things," Pat reasoned, "but he's my brother, and I believed him when he said he was trying to live right, be a better man."

"He sure had you fooled."

"And, as much as you resent the fact, Tony is Olivia's father; he had a right to know. I do regret…"

"Yes?"

"I didn't know he was going to do this. You have to believe me. After that whole debacle with the trust fund I warned him, I told him to stay away. He said he would, he promised."

"Tony's promises never did mean much."

"Let's not start on broken promises where you and my brother are concerned."

"You're right," Carla agreed, "let's stick to finding my daughter–"

"My brother's daughter."

"Olivia. You caused this by bringing Tony into it. Now you need to fix it."

"How am I meant to do that?" Pat asked. "I didn't know what Tony was planning. I don't know where he's taken her."

"You know how to get in contact with him?"

"Of course, but he's not stupid enough to leave his phone on."

"Only one way to find out."

"If you could refrain from making any calls to the suspect until the detectives arrive," the liaison officer interjected. "They'll want to record and to trace the call."

"Make the call," Carla demanded. "Do it now."

Pat obeyed Carla's order and placed the call.

"Put it on speaker," Carla instructed him.

"I really am sorry, Carla," Pat said as he pressed the speaker button on his phone, "if I suspected he was going to do this…"

"I know."

"Ahh, little brother," Tony's voice suddenly filled the room, "I was wondering when I'd be hearing from you."

"Is Olivia with you?" Pat asked, "is she safe?"

"Safe?" Tony sounded affronted, "of course Olivia is safe; she's with her father."

"You bring her back right now, you deluded Scotch psycho!" On hearing Tony's voice, Carla found that she couldn't hold back her anger. "I swear, if you touch a hair on her head, I'll have you."

"There she is," Tony said with a laugh, "there's that spitfire I fell in love with. You know, you and me, we really were the perfect match. I mean, look at what we created. Our daughter is… well, she's perfect. Now," he spoke as a man completely in control of the situation, "I'd love to stay and chat, but I've got thirteen years of lost time to catch up on."

"Was that my mum?" Olivia asked as Tony ended the call.

"Yes," Tony said, turning back to face his daughter, "that was the delectable Mrs Gordon, as she was."

"Is she angry with me?"

"No," he said, touching her face gently, "of course not. Your mother understands how important it is for you to spend some time with your father."