Chapter Text
Carla Connor needed some distance. It wasn’t working, living and running a business on the street where everyone knew her mistakes, knew her weaknesses and her triggers. She didn’t want to go too far, not when she still had a factory to run but no longer was she content to live in the goldfish bowl that was Coronation Street. Nothing was ever forgotten, someone always ready to throw her past back in her face whenever she tried to move on, tried to evolve into something more, something better. So when she’d seen the card tacked up in the window of the Kabin advertising a house share, scrawled in neat, slightly slanted handwriting, the seed had been planted. She had snapped a photo of the advert, pondering it as she spent her afternoon slaving over spreadsheets and trying to tune out the drone of voices from the factory floor.
By 6pm, Carla had a headache that was bordering on migraine severity and she was never more grateful to close the door behind Kirk, her well-intentioned but calamitous packer and delivery driver. He had managed to mix up an order, taking a Stoke delivery to Stockport and the Stockport order to Stoke, causing Carla to postpone her other work so she could grovel on the phone to both clients in a bid to save face and business. She was looking forward to retreating to her flat, closing the door and opening a bottle of wine in silence. Blissful, empty silence. But that would have to wait for at least another hour…because the work she had postponed couldn’t wait and there was no one else to do it for her.
She had been hunched over her desk for around twenty minutes when she heard the faint click of the factory door opening and closing, quiet footsteps approaching.
“Oh…I thought you’d have left already.” A dark haired man with a few days stubble leant against the doorframe, a frown settling over his forehead.
“Well as you can see, I’ve not. What do you want, Peter? You no longer have any cause to be here. In fact, why do you still have a set of keys?” This was one of the mistakes which wouldn’t let her leave it in the past. Twice married, she and Peter had finally divorced for the last time six months ago, definitely, finally, irreconcilably. And yet still he lingered, like a toxic temptation. He didn’t want her, not really, his numerous affairs had made that abundantly clear. Not that Carla had been blameless either, she too had taken an extramarital lover or two because what was good for the goose and all that. Why should Peter have been the only one having fun? Because their marriage was anything but that. Shouting, screaming fights that ended with either plates being smashed or bedsprings being broken with their angry make-up-of-sorts sex.
“I left something here, came to collect it.” Peter pushed off the doorjamb, approaching the desk where Carla still sat.
“What’s that then?” Her disinterest wasn’t feigned. She genuinely had no care left for him or his ridiculous excuses to continue to invade her orbit.
“My wife…” The stench of beer hit her, oozing off him in waves as he drew closer. It clearly wasn't his original goal since he hadn't anticipated her presence but it seemed she had distracted him from whatever he had been looking to pilfer, probably the bottle of whiskey in the bottom drawer, she surmised.
“Ex-wife and she’s not available. Go home, Peter, and leave your keys on the desk before you go.” Carla turned back to her work, scribbling out a calculation her second in command had written down, rolling her eyes at the incompetence which could have cost them hundreds of pounds had it not been spotted before the quote was sent. She made a mental note to tackle Michael about it, to encourage him to learn and not make such rookie, fundamental errors in future if he valued his continued employment.
“Come on Car, don’t be like that…” Carla didn’t know what was more pathetic; a grown man whining or the fact that once upon a time it would have worked on her.
“Goodnight, Peter.”
“Frigid bitch. Tina’s more fun anyway, I’m sure she’ll be up for it.” Peter slammed the set of keys down into a pile of paperwork, sending sheets cascading to the floor.
“I’m sure she will. Have a nice evening with the child bride, won’t you?” Carla waited until he had left before following and re-locking the door. Picking up the fallen paperwork, she slumped into her chair and grabbed her mobile. She definitely needed distance.
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Detective Sergeant Lisa Swain had just walked through the front door of her house when her mobile rang. Looking at the display, she saw it was a number she didn’t recognise calling her, probably telesales, undoubtedly something she could really do without after the day at work she'd had. With a frown, she answered with her usual gruff greeting. “Swain.”
“Oh…is this the number for the room share?”
Room…? Lisa had forgotten about the advert she’d placed in the window of a shop not a million miles away from work. “Sorry, yes, it is. Are you looking for somewhere?”
“I think I am yeah. Never done this before though so…what do you need to know from me? Is that where we start? Is this even a good time for you to discuss it? I can call back at another time if not.” Carla suddenly felt nervous. She didn’t do being nervous. She was almost fifty years old, a highly successful business owner and staunchly independent woman. She didn’t even know why she was entertaining the idea of renting a room in a house with no intention of selling her flat. Maybe she wanted the best of both worlds, a bolthole to escape to where she could be anonymous but a base of her own for when she wanted a night of casual unbridled sex with whomever she managed to seduce into her bed. Seems like that’s all she could hope for these days, casual, meaningless physical release.
“Yeah…no, now’s fine.” More than, Lisa thought, as she moved through the obviously empty house. It was becoming more and more difficult to pay the bills and since moving had been firmly taken off the cards, she really needed to find a way to bring in some extra income to make up the shortfall. “Shall I start by telling you what’s included in the price, where abouts the room is, who you’d be sharing a house with?”
“Okay, sounds good.” Carla leant back in her swivel chair, twirling a pencil between her fingers. It wasn't a terrible start. The woman on the other end sounded decent enough, an educated tone to her voice.
“Right, well the first thing you should probably know is that I’m a police officer, a detective…” Lisa braced herself, waiting for the inevitable dialtone.
Definitely educated to some degree then. “I’m happy for you to look me up on that system of yours, once you have my name. Might find a parking ticket or two but I’m mostly a good girl, me. Well, in terms of the law at least, my multiple ex-husbands would probably disagree in general terms - couple of them would ping on your radar but nothing I had any involvement in or knowledge of.”
The easy self-deprecation made Lisa chuckle. “That’s good to know. I open with that because that tends to be the end of conversation for a lot of people. So many in fact that that ad has been up for weeks and I got calls about it the first ten days or so and every single one ended at this point.”
“Doesn’t that tell you they’re not the kind of people you want to invite into your home anyway then? Me? I’m happy for you to do whatever background checks you’d need to if this works out. I’ve nothing illegal to hide.” Carla didn’t know this woman from Adam but the thought of people rejecting her just because of her chosen profession made her a little bit sad. Maybe because she had faced similar rejection, not for her job but for where she’d been unlucky enough to find herself living as a child.
“Thank you, I appreciate that offer. The price per month includes a reasonably sized double bedroom. It is shared bathroom facilities I’m afraid but it’s only me and my teenage daughter here - she’s just turned sixteen and only a nightmare to me, seems to manage to be civil to most other people. Utilities, as long as you’re not rinsing the electric or water, are included. There is a charging point for an electric vehicle if you need one. With being in the police, I work shifts so there’ll be plenty of time when you have the communal areas to yourself and you’re more than welcome to be in them at any time, not just when Betsy - my daughter - and I are out or elsewhere. You’d have your own cupboard in the kitchen for tinned and packet food and we can make arrangements regarding fridge and freezer space. I’m no gourmet chef and my schedule tends to mean more ready meals than is probably healthy. Betsy can hold her own so if you do take the room, don’t let her con you into cooking for her. She’s had to learn to be independent since it’s just been the two of us for a while now.”
Carla willed herself not to fall into the trap of asking. If this woman wanted her to know the reason she and her daughter found themselves a duo, she would volunteer that information. “I’d be not much cop - no pun intended - if Betsy was relying on me to feed her. I’ll see your ready meals and raise you takeaways or beans on toast. Adding Worcestershire Sauce to my beans is about as adventurous as I get. I got complacent for a while when my surrogate dad made sure he fed me after I fell ill. I reckon his meals were a good chunk of what saved me.”
It was Lisa's turn to tamp down her natural curiosity and not interrogate the caller for all the details. “Sounds like you have good people around, what's prompting you to move away, if you don't mind me asking?”
“Ever felt like you're living under a microscope, trapped in a petri dish, bound to keep being slapped in the face by your past?” Carla looked at Peter's discarded set of keys, snatching them off the desk and shoving them into the desk drawer.
Lisa looked around the house, the four walls which had once contained joy and light and laughter now felt like a mausoleum, ghosts in every corner of every room. “In a way, yeah. It's draining, isn't it?”
“It is but I have a business here so I can't go too far. I'm just looking for…a bit of separation I suppose, so I'm not spending my time away from work with the same faces I see in work. I've lived here, in this same street for nearly two decades. It's time for a change of scenery.”
“This house is…it’s the only home Betsy’s ever known, she won't even consider leaving it. I moved in here with my…well, at the time she was my girlfriend since we couldn't legally get married. Eighteen years ago that was. Two years later, we had Betsy, got married the year after it became legal to do so and then…three years ago, my wife died in an accident whilst on duty. Turns out she had a few secrets, a problem with money, had wracked up a fair amount of debt against the house, forged my signature on a few of them. I got some cancelled with her death certificate but some said it still needs paying back. I was going to sell up, downsize but…my relationship with Betsy is already strained, to say the least, and her reaction to that suggestion was…explosive. So that's why I'm renting the room out, I need the money. If you're considering taking it, you should know Betsy and I get on best when we stay out of one another’s way. Selling it really well, aren't I? Come and help pay off my late wife's debts, in return you'll get rows, chaos, a family in tatters and not even the promise of home-cooked meals. I don't know what I was thinking, advertising the room, how I could imagine it working…”
“Can I come and see it? The room, the house, can I view it?” It wasn't a request made out of pity. Carla knew that level of need, that helpless feeling of everything slipping through your fingers because of someone else's actions. To need to invite a complete stranger to share a home with yourself and your teenage child must be all kinds of unpalatable, especially a home which had been private for so long.
Lisa was stunned by the request…and slightly suspicious. Nature of the beast, being a detective and all. “Why? What are you running away from that's so bad this is a better alternative? As you can tell, I already have enough trouble at my door, I don't want to actively invite more into my home.”
“Not trouble, it's not like that. I'm escaping notoriety and temptation. Here, everyone knows everything about me, or at least thinks they do, they know the gossipy Chinese whispers versions of all my marital failures and two of my ex-husbands still live around here an’ all, one of whom turned up at my place of work this evening drunk and propositioning me. Another night, had I not had the headache from Hell and been more maudlin than mad, it might have worked. Like I said initially, I need distance, separation from work and home and from this insular street, where there's always eyes watching, waiting for the next bit of juicy gossip to share. I'm tired of living in spotlights controlled by people who can't wait to see me trip and fall again and again.”
Listening to this woman - they hadn't even exchanged names - be so raw in her honesty, it made Lisa feel like this might just work out after all. Two women, battered and beaten down by life and the experiences they had collected along the way, thrown together by fate and a need which the other could fulfill. “I'm home the rest of tonight, otherwise it would have to be weekend for a viewing. I'm on lates after tonight for the next four and I'd prefer not to show strangers round while Betsy’s home.”
“She's not home tonight?” Carla was already packing her bag, shuffling paperwork into folders. She'd come in early tomorrow to finish what she needed to, this was a door cracking open and inviting her to grab an opportunity for change.
“No…like I said, we get on better when we don't see too much of one another so after words were exchanged this morning, she's opted to stay at a friend's tonight seeing as I'm home from work before midnight for once.” Lisa looked around the place, deciding a quick hoover round and flick of a duster would have to do. It wasn't that the place was untidy, just that it had a distinctly lived in but neglected air about it.
“Could you message me the address on this number? Anything I can pick up on the way to sweeten the deal? Did I even…I didn't, did I, didn't give you my name? I'm Carla, Carla Connor, owner of Underworld on Coronation Street, Weatherfield. We make and design lingerie. The name was so you can save my number, the business name-drop so you can check me out on your fancy computer system and see I'm legit and, you know, never miss an opportunity to promote our products.”
Again, Lisa found a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Lisa. Swain, Lisa Swain, that's me. Detective Sergeant if you're curious, just plain Lisa at home though. Plain, boring, no-fun, rubbish wife and mother who definitely doesn't wear lingerie these days. I've barely thought beyond whether they've got holes in for years and even then it was more in case I was the one killed on duty. I don't even coordinate colours. Sacrilege or what?”
Though the words seemed to be intended as humorous, Carla felt the pain underlying them like a physical presence on the call with them. “Sometimes, what's hidden beneath the surface can have the biggest impact on how we see ourselves in the world. It's not for anyone else's benefit, it's the first layer of armour that sets our intentions for the day.”
“Is that so? Very philosophical way of looking at it. I'm more of a grab what's clean and get out of the door, often having had far too little sleep and being dragged off to investigate someone's worst day of their life. My intentions generally are just to make it to the other end of the day.” The ‘if I must’ resounded loudly round Lisa's head, the niggling voice that never stopped reminding her the wrong parent had died, the wrong one was left alive but barely functioning.
Carla stopped herself from offering to provide some samples, not wanting to turn this into some awkward sales pitch to a woman she had no idea would even entertain the sorts of lacy, silky underwear they specialised in. She knew the feeling of just surviving, not truly living but rather treading water waiting for that final wave to take you under for good. She remembered the ambivalence that came with it after a while too, the resignation to it happening and wanting to believe you'd welcome it when the inevitable occurred. The address pinged up on her screen and she stuck the call on speakerphone as she typed it into her maps app. “This reckons you're about twenty minutes away from where I am.”
“Is that too far? Not far enough?” Lisa sounded like she was already resigned to this falling through.
“Seems like a perfect distance, far enough that it's an effort to find me there but near enough to commute easily. Would it be cheeky to say I'll see you in half an hour?” She chewed her bottom lip. Everything about this oddly intimate encounter with a stranger felt like it was meant to be, like something inside each of them recognised a kindred spirit in need of things the other could provide.
“I'll have the kettle on…hang on.” The sound of the fridge opening was followed by a groan. “Mind picking up milk if you want anything other than black tea or coffee? Seems Betsy left barely more than a dreg and didn't bother letting me know.”
“Sure, green top or do you prefer skimmed to semi?” Carla was already switching lights off as she moved through the factory towards the door, ready to nip to the supermarket along the way. Freshco would still be open, that seemed the most convenient place to head for and she'd just have to hope to not bump into too many people she'd rather avoid along the way.
“Anything but full fat is fine by me. Betsy prefers semi-skimmed but if she wanted a say she should have communicated the need to buy more flipping milk in the first place. I'd go and get it myself but the nearest shop's a ten minute drive one way so I'd likely be racing you to get here.” Lisa looked down at herself, still very much into DS Swain mode with her smartly pressed trousers, crisp pale pink shirt and navy sweater vest over the top of it. She wouldn't have time to change and vacuum or dust let alone do a mercy dash to the shops as well.
“Leave it with me. If there's anything else you notice you need, message me in the next five minutes and I'll grab it at the same time as the milk. Otherwise, I'll see you in about thirty five minutes, with milk.” Carla felt a bit giddy as she ended the call, saving Lisa's number to her contacts list. It was daft to get her hopes up, she knew, but there was just something about the entire interaction that left her with a tiny glimmer of hope that things might be about to change for the better.