Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Hello everybody! For the sake of this sequel I’m going to give a little detail and age references for this…

PRESENT TIME
Carla Connor - 47 years old
Lisa Swain - 46 (going on 47) years old
Betsy Swain - 16 years old
Michelle Connor - 47 years old
Ryan Connor - 5 months old (we will watch Ryan grow throughout this story!)
Sarah Platt, Shona Ramsey (Platt) , Abi Franklin (Webster) are all also 46 years old going on 47
Lauren Bolton - 18 years old
Mason Radcliffe - 18 years old (for the sake of this story going to have him older than Betsy!)

I’m so excited for you guys to read this second part of You Like You Already Know Me… 🥹🥰

I’ve got so many ideas pending, this story will switch between the years from leaving Bramble Row to present time (but will be clear when we’re in a flashback) Also I am so grateful for all the love and support on my past story! Thank you for sticking this out with me and I hope to keep you guys intrigued and reading with this one too!! Xx

Keep your eyes peeled for chapter 1! Xx

Chapter Text

London 26 years ago

Rain battered the streets of London so hard it blurred everything together.

Carla Connor barely noticed any of it.

She stood outside the block of flats soaked through completely, hair plastered to her face, one tiny overnight bag hanging from her shoulder while her chest heaved with nerves and exhaustion.

Five months.

Five months since Lisa had left.

Five months of pretending she could survive without her.

Spoiler alert, she couldn't.

Michelle had called her insane for coming.

Abi had physically tried taking her train ticket off her.

But none of it had stopped her.

Because somewhere between missed deadlines, sleepless nights and crying in supermarket aisles over Lisa's favourite cereal

Carla had realised she'd made the biggest mistake of her life.

So now here she was.

Drenched.
Terrified.
Heart in her throat.

She lifted her fist and banged hard against the flat door before she could lose her nerve completely.

Once.
Twice.

Then footsteps.

And suddenly the door opened.

Lisa froze instantly.

Completely.

Her eyes widened so fast Carla nearly broke down right there.

Because there she was.

Messy hair.

Oversized hoodie.

London life wrapped around her somehow.

And for a second neither of them spoke.

Rainwater dripped loudly onto the hallway floor between them.

"Carla..."

Carla let out a shaky breath that almost sounded like a sob.

"Hi."

Lisa stared at her in complete disbelief.

"What are you doing here?"

Carla laughed weakly through tears.

"I honestly don't know anymore."

"Jesus Christ, you're soaked."

Lisa immediately stepped forward instinctively, grabbing her arm gently and ushering her inside out of the rain before shutting the door behind them.

The warmth of the flat hit Carla immediately.

And somehow that nearly made her cry harder.

Lisa looked at her properly now.

Wet through.
Shaking.
Clearly exhausted.

"What happened?" Lisa asked quietly.

Carla opened her mouth.

Closed it again.

Then all the words came spilling out too fast.

"This is probably the stupidest thing I've ever done."

Lisa frowned slightly.

"Carla—"

"But I needed to see you."

Tears streamed down Carla's face now, impossible to stop.

"I can't do this anymore."

Lisa's expression softened immediately.

"Do what?"

"This," Carla whispered brokenly. "Life without you."

Lisa's breath caught.

Carla laughed shakily through tears, wiping uselessly at her face.

"I tried, alright? I tried giving you space and letting you go and pretending ending things was the right thing but I can't sleep, I can't think properly, I miss you all the time and I just—"

Her voice cracked completely.

"I need you."

Lisa stared at her.

Absolutely wrecked by the sight of Carla Connor standing in her doorway crying over her.

And despite everything

Lisa loved her so much it physically hurt.

She stepped closer slowly.

"Car..."

But before she could say anything else

The bathroom door opened.

Steam drifted softly into the hallway.

"Oh hey, you ready to head to bed or"

Becky stopped dead.

Carla froze.

Everything happened in slow motion after that.

Becky standing there in one of Lisa's t-shirts.

Lisa's face draining of colour.

The realisation crashing over Carla all at once.

Carla's eyes widened instantly.

And then filled completely with tears.

"Oh."

The sound barely came out.

Lisa stepped forward quickly.

"Carla wait"

But Carla was already shaking her head.

"No."

"Please just let me explain"

"This was a mistake," Carla whispered.

And somehow that hurt more than anything else she could've said.

"Carla"

But she was already backing toward the door again.

"Carla wait!"

Lisa reached for her arm but Carla pulled away gently, tears falling harder now.

"I'm sorry," she choked out. "I shouldn't have come."

Then she turned and left quicker than she'd arrived.

The door slammed behind her.

And Lisa stood there frozen in the hallway staring after the woman she still loved.

while Becky remained silently in the bathroom doorway realising she'd just witnessed the beginning of something devastating.

Three months later, Bramble Row barely looked like home anymore.

The walls that had once been covered in photos, passive aggressive notes and drunken doodles were bare now.

Boxes sat stacked everywhere.

Suitcases lined the hallway.

Lives being packed away piece by piece.

The house felt strange without the chaos.

Like it already knew they were leaving it behind.

Abi sat cross-legged on the floor wrapping mugs in newspaper while Shona argued loudly with Sarah over what counted as "essential packing."

"It's a lava lamp, Shona."

"It's my emotional support."

"It's been broken for 2 years."

"Emotionally and physically supportive."

Sarah rolled her eyes.

Michelle meanwhile stood on the kitchen counter trying to reach a cupboard while Carla barked instructions she wasn't listening to.

"Michelle you're literally going to kill yourself."

"I'm multitasking."

"You're vertically challenged."

"Rude."

Carla shook her head but smiled despite herself.

At least Michelle was excited.

The two of them were heading to Weatherfield next week.

Michelle's brother Paul owned some factory there and had offered them work.

Michelle called it fate.

Carla called it cheap rent.

Neither of them acknowledged the fact Carla was mostly leaving because London had become unbearable.

Because everywhere she looked reminded her of Lisa.

The front door suddenly opened downstairs.

Nobody reacted at first.

"Oh."

Michelle's voice softened instantly.

Carla froze where she stood.

Because she knew that voice.

Knew that silence.

Knew before she even turned around.

Lisa stood in the hallway awkwardly with her keys in one hand, couple bags hanging from her shoulders.

She looked different.

And seeing her after three months still physically knocked the air from Carla's lungs.

Lisa's gaze flicked around the house slowly taking in the boxes.

The emptiness.

Them.

Michelle stepped down from the counter immediately.

"Hey you," she said gently.

Lisa gave her a small smile.

"Hi."

Even hearing her voice again hurt Carla.

Lisa shifted awkwardly.

"I just, erm need to grab some stuff I left."

Michelle frowned immediately.

"Lisa, this is your home."

Lisa looked down briefly.

"You're welcome here as much as any of us," Michelle continued softly. "We all lived here for three years."

Lisa smiled sadly at that.

"Yeah."

Carla still hadn't spoken.

Hadn't moved.

Hadn't even properly looked at her yet.

Because she physically didn't trust herself to.

The silence stretched too long.

Then finally

"How's Becky?"

The words came out sharp.

Blunt.

Everyone in the room immediately looked at Carla.

Michelle especially.

Because there was hurt in the question.
Bitterness.
Jealousy she clearly hadn't managed hiding.

Lisa looked at her finally then.

And something in her expression hardened slightly.

"Wouldn't know."

Carla blinked.

Lisa shrugged one shoulder casually like it meant nothing.

Then walked straight past her toward the stairs.

Close enough for Carla to catch the familiar smell of her shampoo for half a second.

And that somehow made it worse.

The whole room stayed silent until Lisa disappeared upstairs.

Then Michelle slowly turned toward Carla.

"What was that?"

Carla kept staring at the staircase.

Jaw tight.

"I was asking a question."

"No," Michelle said quietly. "You were hurting your own feelings on purpose."

Carla laughed once under her breath.

"Go and speak to her," Michelle said quietly once the sound of Lisa moving around upstairs drifted down.

Carla didn't move.

Didn't even look away from the staircase.

"I don't want to, Chelle."

Michelle snorted.

"That's a lie."

"I'm over it."

"No you're not."

Carla finally looked at her then, exhausted.

Michelle softened slightly.

"Carla."

"She chose someone else."

Michelle shook her head immediately.

"You don't know that."

Carla laughed bitterly under her breath.

"I literally turned up at her flat and her girlfriend walked out the bathroom."

"And?"

"And what do you mean and?"

Michelle folded her arms.

"I mean you've been miserable ever since."

Carla looked away.

"Go upstairs," Michelle said more gently now.

"No."

"Go get your girl."

Carla groaned loudly.

"Oh my God, stop talking like we're in a romcom."

"You wish you were in a romcom. Instead you're in whatever emotionally constipated mess this is."

Abi snorted from the kitchen.

"Fair."

Carla shot them all a glare.

Then eventually sighed sharply through her nose before pushing herself upright.

"Fine."

Michelle smirked triumphantly.

"Atta girl."

"Fuck off."

The stairs creaked beneath Carla's feet as she climbed slowly upward.

Every step made her stomach twist tighter.

Because she hadn't been alone with Lisa since London.

Since seeing Becky.

Since running away like a coward.

The bedroom door upstairs was half open.

And through the gap she could see Lisa quietly packing things into a bag.

Slow movements.
Focused.
Silent.

Like she was trying very hard not to think too much while doing it.

Carla hovered in the doorway for a second.

Then her eyes landed on the oversized grey hoodie Lisa was folding into her bag.

And despite everything

she smiled faintly.

"That's mine, you know."

Lisa froze briefly before glancing over her shoulder.

And for the first time in months

there it was.

That tiny spark between them again.

"Actually," Lisa replied calmly, continuing to pack it anyway, "it's mine. You just stole it."

Carla let out the softest laugh.

God she'd missed that.

She leaned against the doorway for a second just watching Lisa move around the room that used to be theirs.

Their room.

The place they'd spent three years becoming inseparable.

Eventually Carla walked further inside quietly and sat down on the edge of the bed.

The mattress dipped slightly beneath her weight.

Lisa kept packing for another few seconds pretending not to notice how close Carla was now.

Neither of them spoke.

The silence wasn't awkward exactly.

Just full.

Finally Carla looked around the half-empty room and smiled sadly.

"Feels weird seeing it like this."

Lisa nodded slightly.

"Yeah."

Another pause.

Then quieter

"Michelle said you're moving."

"Mhm."

"Weatherfield?"

Carla glanced at her.

"Apparently."

Lisa smiled faintly to herself.

"Sounds very you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I don't know," Lisa shrugged softly. "Small town. Factory owner vibes."

Carla snorted quietly.

Then silence settled again.

Heavier this time.

Because both of them knew there were bigger things sitting underneath all this.

Unsaid.
Avoided.

Carla watched Lisa zip the bag slowly before finally asking:

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Lisa stilled.

Carla swallowed slightly.

"About Becky."

Carla's expression shifted immediately after the question left her mouth.

Careful.
Guarded.

Like she already knew the answer was going to hurt.

Lisa stopped packing completely now, hands resting against the edge of the bag while she stared down at it.

Then finally she let out a shaky breath.

"Believe it or not, Carla" she started quietly, "it happened twice."

Carla went still.

Lisa laughed softly under her breath, humourless and embarrassed all at once.

"I slept with her once drunk," she admitted. "And it was a mistake. I was missing you and feeling everything over you and"

She shook her head slightly.

"It just happened."

Carla looked down at her hands.

Lisa swallowed hard.

"And then it happened again."

The silence that followed was horrible.

Not angry.

Not explosive.

Just sad.

Carla nodded once slowly like she was trying very hard to process it calmly.

"Right."

Lisa's chest tightened immediately at the distance in her voice.

"I mean..." Lisa exhaled sharply, frustrated with herself. "I think Becky thought it was more than it was."

Carla looked up then.

Lisa's eyes were glassy now.

"She kept trying," Lisa admitted quietly. "God, she really tried."

The next words came out softer.

Almost ashamed.

"But I just couldn't get over you."

Carla's breath caught slightly.

Lisa looked away immediately after saying it.

Like admitting it out loud made her too vulnerable suddenly.

The room fell silent again.

Outside, someone downstairs laughed loudly.
Boxes shuffled.
Life carried on.

But inside that little bedroom everything felt suspended.

Carla stared at Lisa for a long moment before finally speaking.

"You should've told me."

Lisa laughed sadly.

"When?"

Carla didn't answer.

Because there probably wasn't a good answer to that.

Lisa sat down slowly on the floor beside the bag now, exhausted.

"I tried moving on," she admitted quietly. "I really did."

Carla looked at her.

"And?"

Lisa's eyes finally lifted back to hers.

And there it was again.

That awful honesty they'd never managed escaping with each other.

"I think you ruined me a bit."

Carla laughed once under her breath.

Small.

Broken.

Then finally admitted quietly

"I came to London because I missed you."

Lisa's expression softened instantly.

Carla shook her head slightly, eyes fixed firmly on the floor now.

"I wanted to fix us." Her voice cracked. "And God, Lisa, seeing her walk out that bathroom saying that to you."

A tear escaped before she could stop it.

"It made me feel sick."

Lisa's chest physically hurt listening to her.

"It made me feel stupid," Carla whispered. "Like an absolute idiot."

The vulnerability in Carla's voice nearly undid Lisa completely.

Without thinking, Lisa moved immediately.

She crouched down carefully in front of her where she sat on the edge of the bed and gently cupped Carla's face in both hands.

Warm.
Steady.

Her thumbs wiped away the tears slipping down Carla's cheeks.

"Hey," Lisa whispered softly.

Carla kept her eyes down stubbornly.

"I told Becky we wouldn't be doing anything again after you left."

Carla blinked slightly.

"You did?"

But she still wouldn't properly look at her.

Lisa frowned softly.

"Carla."

Nothing.

"Look at me."

Carla shook her head faintly.

Another tear escaped.

"Connor," Lisa said firmer this time, "I said look at me."

Slowly

Carla did.

Her eyes glossy and red-rimmed and heartbreakingly sad.

Lisa's expression softened completely.

"I promise you," she said quietly. "I did."

Carla searched her face carefully.

"I didn't want a relationship with Becky."

The words settled heavily between them.

"She was there," Lisa admitted honestly. "And it worked for a bit."

Then she laughed softly to herself.

"Well not even worked."

Carla raised an eyebrow slightly at that.

Lisa shook her head.

"God, I didn't feel anything."

That surprised Carla enough she looked at her properly now.

Lisa's thumbs still rested gently against her cheeks.

"I was just numb from missing you."

Silence.

Real silence.

The kind that strips everything back until there's nothing left except truth.

"I thought it would make me feel something, a better feeling than what I was. But god no, all I could think about was how she didn't touch me like you did, didn't know what I needed like you did, she wasn't you."

Carla's breathing wobbled slightly.

"You really hurt me," she admitted quietly.

Lisa's eyes filled immediately.

"I know."

"And I hated myself because I still loved you anyway."

That one cracked something open in Lisa completely.

Her forehead dropped gently against Carla's.

"I never stopped loving you," Lisa whispered.

Carla closed her eyes instantly.

Like hearing it out loud physically overwhelmed her.

And suddenly all the distance between London and Bramble Row and breakups and other people felt meaningless compared to this.

Just this.

Them.

Still hopelessly in love with each other despite everything they'd done to ruin it.

"We can fix this, can't we?"

Carla's voice cracked completely on the question.

Tears streamed freely down her face now, no longer hidden or wiped away quickly like she usually would.

And seeing Carla Connor cry

really cry

completely shattered Lisa.

"God, Carla, stop crying," Lisa laughed weakly through tears of her own. "You're making me cry."

"I'm serious," Carla whispered desperately.

Lisa's hands stayed cupping her face gently.

"Please tell me we can sort this."

Her voice broke again.

"Please tell me this isn't the end, Lisa."

There it was.

Everything stripped back.

No ego.
No walls.
No pretending.

Just Carla practically begging the girl she loved not to leave her behind.

Lisa's eyes squeezed shut briefly as tears escaped down her own cheeks now.

Because despite all the hurt between them

she wanted this too.

Wanted her.

"I don't want this to be the end," Lisa admitted softly.

Carla inhaled shakily like she'd been holding her breath waiting for that answer.

Lisa smiled through tears.

"We're a bit of a mess though."

"A massive one," Carla sniffed.

Lisa laughed quietly.

"You came all the way to London in the rain with one tiny bag."

"I panicked."

"You're insane."

"I'm in love with you," Carla corrected immediately.

That one hit Lisa square in the chest.

Carla wiped at her face uselessly before asking quietly:

"So what now?"

Lisa sat back slightly, still close enough their knees touched.

"Well..."

She hesitated.

"I got into the police academy."

Carla blinked.

"What?"

Lisa smiled faintly.

"In Manchester."

For the first time since arriving in London, Carla's face properly lit up.

"Manchester?"

Lisa nodded.

"I start in two month."

Carla sat there processing that for about half a second before immediately blurting

"That's so close to Weatherfield."

Lisa laughed softly at the urgency in her voice.

"It is."

"You could live with me."

Lisa blinked.

Carla looked almost offended she hadn't already considered it.

"I mean not immediately," Carla rambled quickly. "Or immediately if you want, I don't care, I just mean"

Lisa smiled wider now.

"Carla."

"We can make it work," Carla said firmly this time.

And the certainty in her voice.

Like loving Lisa had never once been a question to her.

"We can do distance for a bit," Carla continued. "You'll have the academy, I'll start at Underworld with Michelle and then"

She reached for Lisa's hands properly now.

"We fight for it this time."

Lisa stared at her.

At this girl she'd fallen in love with at eighteen years old.

Messy.
Chaotic.
Stubborn.

Standing in front of her now willing to fight for them with everything she had.

And suddenly the future didn't feel so impossible anymore.

Lisa squeezed her hands back gently.

"One month," she whispered.

Carla nodded immediately.

"One month."

"Then Manchester."

"Then us."

Lisa smiled through tears.

"Then us."

And as Carla pulled her forward into her arms

holding her like she'd nearly lost her

the little bedroom at Bramble Row no longer felt like the ending of something.

It felt like the beginning

Chapter Text

The corridor outside the interview rooms at Weatherfield Police Station felt too bright for the hour.

In the waiting area, Carla Connor Swain sat rigidly on one of the plastic chairs, her coat still on despite the heat.

One leg was crossed over the other, but she kept shifting it, small movements that gave away more agitation than she probably realised.

Her phone was face-down on her knee. She hadn't touched it in ten minutes.

Every so often, her eyes flicked to the door marked "Interview Room 2", then away again, like looking too long might somehow make things worse.

A uniformed officer passed once, nodded politely, and kept going. No one offered reassurance. That in itself said enough.

The chair was never designed for comfort.

That was Carla's first thought, though she'd been sitting in it long enough now that even discomfort had started to feel like a decision rather than an accident.

She shifted slightly, crossed her legs the other way, then gave up and leaned back instead. The plastic groaned faintly under her weight.

Forty-seven.

Older now. Not in the dramatic sense people liked to assume, but in the quieter ways, knees that reminded her of every hard floor she'd ever knelt on, reading glasses she'd left folded in her bag because admitting she needed them felt like surrender, and a wedding ring that she kept turning with her thumb without realising.

She glanced down at the coffee they'd given her twenty minutes ago.

Cold now.

Of course it was.

"Typical," she muttered under her breath, then sighed through her nose and stared at the table instead.

She wasn't arrested.

Wasn't in trouble.

Wasn't even formally involved.

Just waiting.

And that was somehow worse.

Because waiting meant imagination filled in the gaps, and Carla Connor Swain had never had a quiet imagination.

The door clicked before she saw anyone.

A voice, professional.

"You can go in now, Mrs Connor-Swain."

Carla didn't ask questions. She stood immediately, smoothing her coat down out of habit rather than necessity.

"Great," she said dryly. "My favourite kind of invitation."

She followed the officer down the corridor, the sound of her shoes too loud against the polished floor.

Each step felt like it belonged to someone else, someone who didn't have a sixteen-year-old waiting on the other side of a door she hadn't been allowed to open yet.

The officer stopped outside Interview Room 2.

A pause.

Then the door opened.

And Carla stepped inside.

The room was smaller than she expected, though they always were.

Bare table. Two chairs. A recorder on the table with its little red light blinking like it had a pulse.

And sitting on the far side

Sixteen-year-old Betsy Connor-Swain.

Arms folded tight across her chest. Jaw set. Eyes fixed on a point somewhere above Carla's shoulder like eye contact might count as surrender.

She looked frightened.

Which, depending on the situation, was either a relief... or a problem.

The officer closed the door behind her.

And Carla said, without missing a beat,

"Tell me you've committed something exciting because I've left a perfectly good bottle of wine at home for this."

For half a second, nothing moved.

Then Betsy's mouth twitched, just once before she forced it back into a sulk.

DC Kit Green, seated slightly to the side, blinked like he hadn't quite expected that tone to enter his interview room today.

"Mrs Connor-Swain," he began carefully, professional voice engaged, "we're just"

"Yeah, I know what you're doing," Carla cut in, not unkindly, dropping into the chair opposite her daughter.

"I've seen enough of these rooms to recognise the vibe. It's the 'we're not panicking but we've absolutely seen something on CCTV' vibe."

Betsy shifted in her seat.

Still arms folded.

Still refusing to look directly at her.

Carla tilted her head slightly. "So. Go on then. What's the crime? Because if you've nicked a packet of chewing gum I am going to be very disappointed in your ambition."

That earned her nothing. Not yet.

Kit cleared his throat.

"There's an allegation of attempted theft from a corner shop on Carrington Street. CCTV places Betsy inside the premises at the time of an altercation involving an older male. Items were not fully recovered at the scene, and there was also an assault on a member of staff."

Carla's expression shifted just a fraction. The humour didn't vanish, but it stepped back.

"Right," she said slowly. "So not chewing gum then."

Betsy exhaled sharply through her nose, finally speaking, still not looking at her.

"I didn't even take anything."

Kit leaned forward slightly. "Betsy, we're not saying"

"He told me to," she snapped.

Silence tightened the room.

Carla's gaze flicked to her daughter properly now.

Sharper. Focused.

"'He' being?" she asked.

Practically doing Kit Greens job now.

Betsy hesitated.

That hesitation said more than the answer would've.

"Mason."

Kit exchanged a look with the officer beside him, then opened a file, sliding a still image across the table.

A grainy CCTV frame.

An 18-year-old boy near the till. Lean build. Confident posture in a way that wasn't natural confidence, it was performed.

One hand mid-gesture, the other too close to the shopkeeper in a way that suggested the moment before impact.

"Mason Radcliff?" Kit said.

Betsy nodded her head.

"Eighteen. Known locally. His brothers are."

Carla studied the image for a long moment.

Then she leaned back slightly.

"Oh," she said. "The Radcliffs"

Betsy's voice came out faster now, defensive. "He said it was just taking stuff, like, like nothing, like it didn't matter, and I said I didn't want to, but he kept saying it was fine and then, then the guy came over and he shoved him and it all kicked off and I swear I didn't even"

"Breathe," Carla said quietly.

Betsy stopped mid-sentence, jaw clenched.

Carla studied her for a beat longer, then asked gently, "Did you take anything?"

A pause.

Smaller this time.

"No."

Kit nodded once, writing something down.

Carla let out a slow breath through her nose and rubbed her thumb over her wedding ring again without looking at it.

"Right," she said. "So let me get this straight."

Her eyes flicked to Kit briefly, then back to Betsy.

"You got yourself dragged into a corner shop drama with a boy who thinks violence is a personality trait, and your contribution to the situation was emotional confusion and questionable life choices?"

Betsy frowned. "Mum"

"I'm summarising," Carla replied calmly. "It helps me cope."

A faint pause.

"It helps me know how to explain this to your mum."

Then, despite herself, Betsy's mouth twitched again.

Carla noticed.

Of course she did.

And for the first time since she'd sat down in that plastic chair outside, something eased in her chest.

Behind her calm, though, a sharper thought had already formed.

Lisa Connor Swain was going to lose her mind.

The hour that followed didn't really feel like time passing so much as time compressing.

Carla stayed in the interview room with Betsy, neither of them moving far from where they'd landed after Kit Green had stepped out again.

The recorder had been switched off, the red light dead now, but the room still felt like it was listening.

Betsy had gone quiet again.

Not sulking this time.

Just thinking too much.

Carla sat opposite her, one elbow on the table, fingers loosely wrapped around her cold coffee like it was still doing a job.

Every so often, Betsy would glance up at her, then away again, like she was checking whether Carla was still angry or just pretending not to be.

Carla didn't help her with that.

She'd learned a long time ago that sometimes silence did more work than shouting.

The door opened again just as Betsy's leg started bouncing for the third time.

DC Kit Green stepped inside, file in hand, expression looser than before. Not relaxed exactly but lighter.

"Right," he said, glancing between them. "We've managed to track Mason Radcliff down."

That name cut through the room immediately.

Betsy straightened.

Carla didn't.

Kit continued. "He's being brought in for questioning. Given the CCTV evidence and witness statements, he'll likely be interviewed under caution. Depending on what he says, we're looking at potential charges, assault, attempted theft, public order offences. We'll assess from there."

Betsy blinked. "So what about me?"

Kit closed the file slightly. "You're free to go."

For a second, she didn't move.

Like she hadn't quite processed it.

"Free?" she repeated.

"Free," Kit confirmed. "You're not being charged at this time."

Betsy's shoulders dropped a fraction, but her voice came back quickly, too quickly.

"What about Mason? Is he—what's he getting?"

Carla's head turned sharply.

"Why do you care?" she asked, immediate and clipped.

"You should be thanking whatever unlucky star is responsible for you getting out of here."

Betsy flinched slightly. "I just"

Carla cut in, sharper now. "You just what? Need a running commentary on consequences?"

Kit let out a short, involuntary snicker before catching himself and looking down at the file.

Carla shot him a look. "Don't."

"Sorry," Kit said, though he didn't sound particularly sorry.

Betsy swallowed, eyes flicking between them. "Is he gonna be arrested?"

"If your mum has anything to do with it," Carla said flatly, "he'll be handcuffed, tried, and emotionally rebuilt from scratch."

Kit cleared his throat. "We just need to speak to him properly. He may face community service, possibly restitution for damages, and it'll depend on the shop owner's statement and whether they want to press charges."

Betsy nodded slowly, absorbing it in pieces rather than all at once.

Her gaze dropped to the floor.

Her trainers scuffed lightly against the tile.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly.

It wasn't dramatic.

It wasn't performed.

Just small and uncertain like she wasn't sure who the apology belonged to more. Kit. Carla. Herself.

Carla stood.

That was the only answer for a moment.

Then she exhaled, sharp and tired.

"Come on."

Betsy looked up. "Are we"

"We're leaving," Carla said, already walking toward the door.

No shouting now.

Just decision.

Kit stepped aside as they passed, watching them go but saying nothing more.

The station felt louder on the way out. Phones ringing. Voices overlapping.

Life continuing like nothing had happened inside those four walls.

Outside, the air hit colder than Carla expected.

Betsy followed a step behind her, hands shoved into her sleeves.

Neither of them spoke until they reached the car.

Carla got in first.

The door shut harder than necessary.

Betsy climbed in after her, quieter now.

The drive started in silence.

Too much silence.

Then Carla pulled into a side road, stopped the car, and just stayed there.

Hands on the steering wheel.

Head lowered.

Shoulders tight.

Betsy turned slightly in her seat.

"Mum?" she asked, careful.

Carla didn't move at first.

Then she leaned forward, resting her forehead briefly against the steering wheel.

A long breath out.

When she finally spoke, her voice wasn't calm anymore but it wasn't chaos either.

"Your mum is going to kill you," she said.

Then louder, sharper, but not quite shouting.

"God, Betsy why would you be so fucking stupid?"

Betsy stared down at her hands, twisting her fingers together like she could physically undo what had already happened.

"I'm sorry, I just"

"You just what, Betsy?" Carla's voice snapped up again, sharper now, the control slipping in and out like she was fighting to keep hold of it. "You just thought it was a bit of fun? A bit of proving yourself?"

Betsy's mouth opened, then closed again.

Carla let out a breath through her nose, running a hand through her hair hard enough to mess it up further.

"We didn't raise you to steal to impress some silly little boy," she said, each word clipped and deliberate now.

"Do you hear yourself? Standing in a police station because some lad with a god complex told you to prove something to him?"

The words hung in the car for a moment, heavy and raw.

Betsy flinched.

"I didn't think he'd" she started, voice cracking slightly.

"I didn't think he'd hit him like that. I thought it'd just be. I don't know, just nicking stuff and leaving. He made it sound easy."

Carla turned her head slowly to look at her.

Really look at her.

The anger was still there, tight in her jaw, in her shoulders, in the way her hands gripped the steering wheel but underneath it was something more complicated.

"Yeah," she said quietly, almost to herself. "Well. That's the thing about boys like that, isn't it? It's always easy until it isn't."

Betsy swallowed hard, eyes glossy now but still stubbornly trying not to cry.

"I really like him, Mum," she admitted, smaller this time.

"I just thought if I did what he said, he'd. I don't know. Like me more."

Carla let out a short, humourless laugh and shook her head.

"Oh love," she muttered, more exhale than sound.

She looked away for a second, out through the windscreen, collecting herself.

When she spoke again, it was calmer but still edged.

"Right. Well. Here's your lesson for free, if someone only likes you when you're doing what they tell you to do, that isn't liking you."

Betsy didn't respond. She just stared at the floor.

Carla exhaled, then reached for her seatbelt, pulling it across her.

She started the engine.

The car rumbled softly to life, filling the silence that neither of them quite knew how to finish.

As she pulled away from the kerb, Carla added, quieter but still pointed

"And you can try explaining all of this to your mum when she finds out what I already know."

Then, under her breath, almost to herself

"She's going to absolutely lose it."

Number 6 was too quiet for what had just happened.

The kind of quiet that didn't feel peaceful.

Carla shut the front door behind them with a firm click, not a slam this time, but close enough to make her point.

She shrugged her coat off, tossed it over the back of a kitchen chair, and dropped her bag onto the island with a heavy thud.

For a moment she just stood there.

Hands on the counter.

Head tipped slightly forward.

A deep, controlled exhale.

Then she turned.

"Phone," she said.

Short. Flat. Final.

Betsy paused mid-step toward the living room.

"What?" she blinked, like she hadn't heard properly.

Carla didn't move. Didn't soften it. "You heard me."

Betsy gave a strained laugh that didn't land anywhere near humour. "Oh, please, Mum, come on"

"No, Bets," Carla cut in immediately, sharper now. "You don't get to 'come on' your way out of this. You've just spent the afternoon in a police station. You don't get rewarded for that."

Betsy's face tightened. "It's not like I meant for it to happen like that."

"That's not the point," Carla replied, stepping closer now, her voice steadier but no less firm. "And you already know your mum's going to come home and do exactly the same thing."

Carla held out her hand.

Palm up.

Waiting.

Betsy stared at it like it had personally offended her.

"This is ridiculous," she muttered.

"Phone," Carla repeated, not raising her voice, which somehow made it worse.

Betsy let out a long, dramatic sigh, dragging it out as much as possible like effort alone might change the outcome.

Then she pulled it from her pocket and slapped it into Carla's hand.

"Fine."

Carla caught it without reacting.

Just turned it over once in her hand and tucked it into her pocket.

"Thank you," she said simply.

Betsy's jaw tightened. "I hate you."

"No you don't," Carla replied automatically, already walking past her toward the kitchen sink.

"You're just annoyed because consequences exist."

That earned her a sharp look but Betsy didn't argue further.

Instead, she turned on her heel and flopped down onto the sofa with exaggerated force, folding her arms tight and staring at the TV like it had personally betrayed her too.

Carla stood at the kitchen island again, hands braced against the edge.

For a moment, she didn't speak.

Just listened to the house settle.

Then, quieter more to herself than anyone else:

"Lisa's going to absolutely go through the roof."

Less than forty-five minutes later, the front door of Number 6 didn't just open, it hit the wall behind it.

Carla looked up from her laptop at the kitchen island, already bracing herself before she even saw who it was.

Lisa Connor Swain stood in the hallway, coat still on, hair slightly dishevelled like she'd come straight from somewhere she shouldn't have had to leave.

And she was already angry.

Not loud yet.

She dropped her keys into the bowl too sharply, then walked straight through into the living room.

Carla shut her laptop slowly.

Betsy was on the sofa, hunched forward over her college work, flicking a pen between her fingers like it might anchor her to something normal.

She glanced up the moment Lisa appeared in the doorway.

And immediately regretted it.

Lisa didn't even sit down.

She stopped a few feet away, arms tense at her sides.

"Elizabeth Hayley Connor-Swain," she said, voice strict and clipped.

Betsy winced at the full-name treatment, eyes flicking away. "Mum"

"No," Lisa cut in immediately. "No. You don't get to 'mum' me. Not yet."

Silence snapped into place.

Lisa's gaze sharpened further.

"I've just been told by half the station that my daughter spent the afternoon there," she said, each word carefully controlled.

"for shoplifting and then being involved in what I can only describe as some kind of assault situation in a corner shop."

Betsy opened her mouth quickly. "I didn't actually do that part, I just"

"No, Betsy," Lisa snapped, voice rising now, frustration breaking through the restraint.

"Don't sugar-coat it. You stole. That's what I've been told. You were in there. You were part of it. Whether you meant it or not is not the point right now."

Betsy's eyes dropped immediately to the floor.

"I didn't take anything," she muttered again, smaller this time.

Lisa let out a sharp breath through her nose, pacing once in front of the sofa like she didn't know where to put her anger.

"That doesn't make it better," she said. "It makes it worse in some ways, because it means you were there with someone who did."

Her voice tightened again.

"And I've now got DCs and uniform officers briefing me about my own child while I'm supposed to be working a case."

Carla pushed back from the island.

"Lisa," she said quietly.

Lisa didn't turn straight away.

Carla stepped into the living room anyway, hands slightly raised in a calming gesture.

"Can we just, can we take a second?" Carla said, tone measured. "You're coming in hot off the back of station gossip and she's already been grilled for hours. Shouting at her in the living room isn't going to undo what happened."

Lisa finally turned to her.

Eyes still bright with anger, but now layered with something else underneath, stress, fear, exhaustion.

"She was in a police station, Carla," Lisa said tightly. "For stealing."

"I know," Carla replied evenly. "I was there."

That landed.

Lisa's gaze flicked to her for a second, just a second before going back to Betsy.

Betsy hadn't moved.

Still hunched.

Still staring at her knees like they might explain things better than she could.

Lisa took a breath.

"Right," she said, voice quieter but no less firm. "You're going to tell me exactly what happened. From the beginning. No gaps. No half-truths."

Betsy swallowed hard.

Carla stayed where she was, close enough to step in if needed, but not interrupting again.

Betsy explained it in fragments at first.

as Lisa kept cutting in, sharp questions, corrections, clarifications that felt less like curiosity and more like cross-examination.

Carla stayed on the edge of the sofa at first, watching Betsy's shoulders tighten with every interruption.

"I told him I didn't want to," Betsy insisted. "But he kept saying it was easy and"

"Easy?" Lisa snapped immediately. "Easy is not the point. You don't just"

"I know!" Betsy shot back, then immediately shrank under the look she got in return.

Silence cracked across the room.

Carla sighed and leaned forward slightly.

"Lis," she said gently, "let her finish."

Lisa didn't take her eyes off Betsy.

But she did stop speaking.

Betsy swallowed, quieter now. "I didn't take anything in the end. I froze. And then he, he hit the guy and it all went mad and I just stood there like an idiot."

Lisa exhaled sharply through her nose, pacing a step away, then back again.

"And you thought that was normal behaviour to be around?" she asked, voice tight again.

"That you just follow someone into that kind of situation?"

"I didn't follow him!" Betsy protested. "He told me to come in after college and I just"

"And you went," Lisa cut in instantly.

Carla raised a hand slightly.

"Okay," she said, trying to keep it level, "we're not going to solve world history here. She's told us what happened."

Lisa turned slightly toward Carla now, frustration still simmering.

"It's not just 'what happened'," she said. "It's judgement. It's decisions. It's"

"I know," Carla interrupted softly, but firmly. "I know what it is."

That settled the room for a beat.

Betsy looked between them, visibly uncomfortable now, the adrenaline fully gone and leaving nothing but embarrassment and guilt behind.

Lisa took a breath. A long one.

"Right," she said finally. "Well. Whether or not you've been let off the hook by the police, you haven't with me."

Betsy stiffened slightly.

"Phone," Lisa added immediately. "Now."

Betsy glanced instinctively toward Carla.

Carla, sitting at the opposite end of the sofa now, gave a small shrug.

"I've already got it," she said simply, pulling it slightly out of her pocket like evidence.

Lisa nodded once. "Right. Okay."

No argument there.

She turned back to Betsy, tone shifting into firm instruction rather than anger alone.

"You're grounded," she said. "No going out after college. Straight home, or the factory, or you go to Auntie Chelles. That's it."

Betsy nodded quickly. "Okay."

"And," Lisa continued, voice sharpening again, "no shifts at the factory for at least two weeks."

There was a beat.

"Wait, what?" Betsy straightened immediately, panic breaking through. "No, that's what? Mum"

Her eyes flicked desperately to Carla.

"Mum please"

"Lis, come on," Carla added, immediately stepping in, palms up. "That's a bit harsh, isn't it?"

Lisa didn't even hesitate.

"No, Carla," she said firmly. "Her actions come with consequences. Working at the factory is what she loves. That's gone."

Betsy's voice rose now, frustration spilling over. "That's my job, Mum!"

Lisa held her ground.

"Technically," she said coldly, "you work there two days a week and it's a placement. And you and I both know your mum isn't technically supposed to be paying you at all until you finish college."

Her eyes flicked briefly to Carla.

A pointed look.

Carla immediately lifted her hands in mock innocence.

"Don't drag me into this," she said. "I was just being generous."

Lisa ignored her.

"I'm only allowing it because you talked your mum into a bit of extra spending money and you're keeping up with your college work," she continued to Betsy.

Betsy groaned, dropping back into the sofa. "That's not fair."

"It's not meant to feel fair," Lisa replied simply.

Then Carla leaned back slightly, watching both of them, and added lightly.

"Okay. No factory shifts for two weeks, boops. You've heard your mum."

The room settled after that.

Not calm, just contained.

Betsy sat back on the sofa, arms folded tightly again, but this time there was no defiance in it.

Just the weight of everything she'd managed to get herself tangled in and the very immediate reality that it wasn't going away any time soon.

Lisa stood near the sofa, still rigid, still trying to keep her emotions in line with her authority.

But the edge had started to dull slightly now that the decisions had been made. Anger didn't have anywhere left to go.

Carla watched both of them for a moment, then pushed herself up from the sofa with a small sigh.

"Right," she said quietly, breaking the tension deliberately. "We're not going to keep going round in circles. We've done the police bit. We've done the shouting bit. Everyone's alive, no one's in handcuffs permanently, and I'm calling that a win."

Lisa gave her a look.

Carla ignored it.

Betsy glanced up. "Am I actually in serious trouble?"

Lisa answered immediately. "Yes."

Carla answered at the same time, softer. "No more than you already know you are."

That earned her a faint, reluctant look from Betsy half gratitude, half exhaustion.

Lisa exhaled slowly, then finally moved, sitting down properly for the first time since she'd walked in.

The anger didn't disappear, but it shifted becoming something steadier, more parent than officer.

"You scared me," she said after a moment, quieter now. "Both of you, in different ways. That's the part you need to understand."

Betsy looked down at her hands again. "I didn't mean to."

"I know," Lisa replied. "But that doesn't erase it."

Silence followed, but it wasn't sharp anymore. Just tired.

Carla stepped toward the kitchen, collecting herself, giving them space.

"I'm going to make tea," she said lightly. "Because apparently we're all emotionally stable adults now."

Lisa let out the smallest breath that might've been a laugh if she'd allowed it.

Betsy didn't smile, but her shoulders loosened a fraction.

From the kitchen, the kettle clicked on.

In the living room, mother and daughter stayed where they were.

Chapter Text

In the bed, Carla and Lisa were still tangled together the way they always ended up, no matter how tense the night before had been.

Despite how firmly Lisa had tried to keep distance when she was angry.

Lisa stirred first, a slow shift under the duvet, exhaling as she came back into awareness.

One arm was trapped under Carla, the other loosely around her waist.

She groaned softly.

"Don't you dare start the day already," she muttered, still half asleep.

Carla didn't answer at first.

She never really did in the mornings.

Instead, she shifted closer, pressing a lazy kiss to Lisa's cheek.

Then her jaw.

Then the corner of her mouth.

Lisa gave a tired huff that might've been amusement if she wasn't still waking up.

"Carla" she warned faintly, but there was no real strength behind it.

Carla smiled against her skin and kept going, unhurried, familiar, like she had all the time in the world and no teenage chaos waiting downstairs.

Lisa finally opened one eye properly.

"Are you trying to distract me from yesterday?" she asked dryly.

"Is it working?" Carla murmured.

"Absolutely not."

A pause.

Then Lisa shifted slightly, still groggy, still anchored in sleep and frustration and everything unresolved from the night before but softened around the edges now in a way only Carla ever really managed.

Carla moved again, straddling her gently, resting her weight carefully as she leaned down, forehead almost touching Lisa's.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

The house was still.

Anything outside of Number 6 hadn't caught up with them yet.

Lisa let out a slow breath through her nose.

"We've still got to deal with her," she said quietly.

"I know," Carla replied just as softly. "But not this second."

Lisa studied her for a moment, then gave the smallest reluctant shake of her head.

"You're impossible do you know that," she murmured.

"And you married me," Carla said lightly.

That finally pulled something like a proper exhale from Lisa, half laugh, half surrender.

Her hand tightened slightly at Carla's waist, not pulling her closer, but not letting go either.

She kissed Lisa properly this time, it slow at first and then deeper.

Lisa exhaled into the kiss, one hand tightening in Carla's shirt like an instinct she didn't argue with.

"Carla." she murmured against her mouth, but it didn't carry any real resistance.

Carla's forehead rested against hers for a moment, both of them breathing the same air.

Lisa slipped Carla's top over her body, removing it from her.

She admired her wife's body and smirked before sitting up wrapping herself around Carla, kissing her neck.

"After yesterday," she said said in between breaths, "I didn't think you'd be in the mood for this."

Lisa gave a small, tired half-smile.

"I'm always in the mood for you," she said simply.

After they were both satisfied with their morning antics, Carla lay on her back for a moment, staring at the ceiling, one arm draped lazily across Lisa's waist as their breathing slowly settled back into something normal again.

She reached blindly for her phone on the bedside table.

The screen lit up.

08:04.

"Shit," Carla muttered immediately, voice hoarse with sleep and exhaustion catching up at once. "I need to get ready for the factory."

Lisa made a soft sound beside her, still half relaxed, eyes closed.

"Mmm," she replied. "I need to go to the station. Finish at two though."

"That's good," Carla said, already shifting upright. "Hopefully I can get an early dart."

There was a pause as Carla sat up properly, hair messy, pulling the sheet around her without thinking.

Then she glanced sideways.

"Is she coming with me to the factory?"

Lisa opened one eye.

A long look.

Then a sigh.

"Yes," she said firmly. "But she is not doing anything related to work. At all."

Carla gave a lazy grin, stretching her arms above her head.

"Aye aye, Detective Sergeant Connor-Swain."

"Carla," Lisa warned immediately, sitting up a little now, the tone shifting back into authority even if her voice was still softened around the edges.

"I'm serious."

Carla glanced over at her, softer now too, the humour easing into something more understanding.

"I know you are," she said simply.

Then she swung her legs out of bed, standing, already moving into the rhythm of the morning as if nothing had just happened at all.

From the en-suite, water began to run.

Lisa stayed sitting for a moment longer, watching her go, then shook her head slightly to herself.

By the time they were both dressed, the morning had properly taken hold of Number 6.

There had been lingering kisses in the doorway, soft teasing remarks under their breath, that easy familiarity between Carla and Lisa that always seemed to survive everything else life threw at them.

Shoes on. Coats grabbed. Keys found.

And the sound of footsteps down the hallway shifted the tone of the house again.

Lisa stopped outside Betsy's door.

She knocked once.

Firm.

"Come on, missus," she called through. "No college today, so you're going to the factory with your mum."

A beat of silence.

Then the bedroom door flew open.

Betsy stood there looking instantly suspicious. "To do my college work which is due," she added quickly, as if she'd been waiting for the opportunity to ruin Lisa's plan.

Lisa didn't even blink.

"Yes," she said simply. "That's the idea."

Betsy's face dropped into a long, suffering sigh.

"Unbelievable," she muttered, already turning away.

The door shut again with more force than necessary.

Carla, waiting at the bottom of the stairs, raised an eyebrow.

"She's thrilled," she said dryly.

"She'll survive," she replied.

Carla stepped closer, brushing lightly past her shoulder as they headed toward the kitchen.

"Give her ten minutes," Carla said. "She'll be asking for a brew and pretending this is the worst punishment she's ever had."

Lisa glanced at her as they walked.

"And you?" she asked quietly.

Carla smirked.

"I'm going to the factory," she said. "Leaving my wife for the morning and suffering with my very disgruntled child. Sounds like a normal day to me."

Lisa shook her head slightly, but there was warmth in it now.

The Underworld office had settled into its usual mid-morning rhythm, phones ringing faintly through the walls, paperwork stacked in uneven piles, the hum of machinery somewhere below like a constant heartbeat.

Betsy sat at Carla's desk, textbooks open in front of her, though she'd been staring at the same paragraph for the last five minutes without taking anything in.

Carla sat nearby, signing forms, pen moving quickly across sheets she didn't look particularly interested in but still handled.

The door swung open.

"Ahh," came a bright voice. "There's my favourite girl."

Michelle stepped in, balancing baby Ryan comfortably on her hip like she'd done it a thousand times.

Carla didn't even look up properly.

"Aww, thanks," she said dryly. "Unfortunately you're not mine."

Michelle gasped dramatically, clutching her chest with her free hand. "I'm hurt. There was a time I used to be."

Carla finally glanced over, smirking. "A long, long time ago."

Betsy's mouth twitched despite herself.

Michelle's eyes flicked to her immediately, softening. "What's up with my Betsy boopsie then?"

Betsy gave a small shrug, eyes dropping back to her work. "Nothing."

Carla didn't even pause writing.

"She's grounded," she said casually. "No phone, no factory shifts, strict instructions."

"By the one and only DS Connor-Swain," Betsy added under her breath, sarcasm sharp enough to hide the embarrassment underneath.

Michelle let out a low whistle as she stepped closer, bending down to press a kiss to the top of Betsy's head.

"Well," she said lightly, "we've all done things we regret."

Betsy gave her a sideways look as Michelle gently transferred Ryan into her arms.

The baby immediately brightened, grabbing at Betsy's sleeve with small, excited hands.

Carla rolled her eyes, still focused on the paperwork.

"Oh, don't start. She's already had enough philosophical life lessons this morning."

Michelle smirked. "I'm just saying, it builds character. Look at you, you turned out alright-ish."

"Alright-ish?" Carla repeated without looking up. "That's generous coming from you."

Betsy let out a quiet huff of a laugh, still distracted by Ryan tugging at her sleeve.

Michelle opened her mouth again, ready for another comment but her phone buzzed sharply in her pocket.

She glanced at it.

Her expression shifted slightly.

"Oh," she said, half to herself. "Speaking of character-building disasters..."

Carla finally looked up. "What now?"

Michelle tilted the screen slightly. "It's an old photo popped up in memories."

Betsy leaned in immediately out of curiosity. "What photo?"

Michelle hesitated just long enough to look mischievous.

"Oh no," Carla said instantly, recognising that face. "Whatever it is, no."

Too late.

Michelle had already turned the screen around.

Carla froze.

Betsy blinked. "Who's that tiny child trying to eat a biscuit off the floor?"

Michelle grinned. "That," she said, "is you."

Carla narrowed her eyes. "That is most definitely you boops."

"It absolutely is," Michelle said firmly. "And before you deny it, I remember exactly when it was taken."

Betsy leaned closer, squinting. The image showed a very small, very determined toddler, hair slightly wild, cheeks round, sitting on the floor of what looked like the factory office, gripping a biscuit like it was a life-or-death situation.

Carla stared at it for a long moment.

Then slowly sighed.

"That's not even a good angle," she muttered.

Michelle laughed. "You were two, Betsy. You didn't have a good angle era."

Betsy looked up sharply. "Wait what?"

Carla's head snapped round.

Michelle interrupted immediately. "Yes. That is definitely Betsy at about two years old."

Betsy stared at the photo again, confused. "Why am I in the factory?"

That question landed differently.

Carla's pen stopped moving.

Michelle's smile softened slightly as she looked between them.

"Oh," she said quietly, "you don't remember that bit?"

Betsy shook her head slowly.

Carla exhaled through her nose, almost like she'd been caught out by time itself.

"Because you always used to come with me," she said at last.

Betsy frowned. "To the factory?"

Carla nodded slightly.

And just like that

The office blurred again at the edges.

FLASHBACK – UNDERWORLD FACTORY 14 YEARS AGO:

The factory floor was louder back then.

Busier. Less controlled chaos, more actual chaos.

Carla moved through it like she belonged there completely, clipboard in hand, hair loose around her shoulders, jet black, barking instructions at someone near the machines.

And at her hip, half asleep, half awake was two-year-old Betsy.

Small arms clinging to Carla's coat.

A biscuit clutched in one hand like a security object.

Carla barely broke stride as she spoke into the phone.

"No, I told you already, if the delivery's late again I'm docking the supplier, I don't care"

A tiny voice cut in from her shoulder.

"Mama."

Carla paused mid-sentence.

"Yes boopsie?"

"Hungry."

Carla closed her eyes briefly, still holding the phone away from her ear.

"Of course you are," she muttered.

She turned slightly, adjusting Betsy on her hip with practised ease, like she'd done it a thousand times already. Walking into her office.

Without even thinking, she reached into her desk drawer, pulled out another biscuit, and handed it over.

Betsy immediately tried to sit on the edge of a desk like it was a throne.

Carla didn't even stop her.

Behind them, someone from the factory called out, amused. "She's ruling the place already, that one!"

Carla shot them a look.

"She's two," she said flatly. "Don't give her ideas."

Betsy, completely unconcerned, took a bite of biscuit and stared very seriously at a stack of fabric rolls like she was inspecting inventory.

Carla went back to the phone call.

"Right," she said, voice steady again. "Where was I? Yes. I want it sorted today."

And behind her, tiny Betsy proudly dropped a crumb onto the factory floor and looked deeply satisfied about it.

BACK TO PRESENT – UNDERWORLD OFFICE

Carla blinked first this time.

Then immediately reached for her pen again like she could outpace the memory.

Betsy was staring at her now.

"You brought me to work?" she asked quietly.

Carla didn't look up. "Often."

Michelle leaned against the desk, still smiling. "You used to boss the factory around from a toddler seat."

Betsy looked down at Ryan in her arms, then back at Carla.

"So I've always been a problem there then?"

Carla finally glanced up, expression dry again.

"No," she said. "You've always been present there."

A beat.

Then, softer just slightly:

"And you've always been mine."

Carla gave a small, satisfied nod, still half-focused on her paperwork.

"Even when you end up in police interview rooms. I’ll always come to bail you out, kiddo."

Michelle smirked, leaning casually against the desk.

"And if she doesn't, Auntie Chelle definitely will." She gave a quick wink.

Carla immediately reached over and slapped her lightly on the arm.

"Don't encourage her."

Michelle laughed, rubbing her arm dramatically. "Violence in the workplace. Disgraceful."

Before Carla could retort, Ryan let out a sudden, unhappy little whimper in Betsy's arms, his bottom lip wobbling as he wriggled.

Betsy panicked slightly, adjusting him awkwardly. "Uh auntie Chelle, he's, he's going—"

"Ohhhh," Michelle cooed instantly, stepping forward. "Baba boy, come to mummy."

She took him back with practised ease.

The change was immediate.

Ryan stopped crying almost at once, settling against her shoulder, blinking around the room as if nothing had ever been wrong.

His gaze drifted.

Locked onto Carla.

Carla, who immediately narrowed her eyes.

"Don't even think about it," she warned.

Ryan made a small gurgling sound of interest.

Carla pointed vaguely. "No. Stay where you are, mister. You grab hair and spit up and you're sicky."

Michelle gasped in exaggerated offence. "Aww! Don't be mean about your only nephew."

Carla didn't look up from her paperwork. "That's not being mean. That's experience."

Michelle shifted Ryan on her hip again, sighing dramatically. "You're traumatising him already."

Carla finally looked over. "He's fine. He's manipulating the room."

As if on cue, Michelle gently started to pass him back anyway. "Here. If he wants Carla, he can have Carla."

Carla immediately backed up half a step. "No. No no no. I'm working."

"Carla," Michelle said sweetly, "you are literally sat still signing papers."

"That is called multitasking," Carla replied firmly.

But it was too late.

Ryan was already being transferred.

The second he landed in Carla's arms, he grabbed a fistful of her hair with alarming speed and enthusiasm, dribbling happily as if he'd won something.

Carla froze.

"See," she muttered, completely deadpan. "This is what I mean."

Betsy burst out laughing.

Michelle grinned. "He loves you."

Carla carefully pried Ryan's fingers out of her hair without looking away from him. "He's gonna be feral."

Ryan giggled.

Carla sighed heavily.

"I miss the factory paperwork," she said under her breath.

Around 2:25pm, the atmosphere in Carla's office had shifted from busy to comfortably chaotic.

Michelle had her feet up on Carla's desk like she owned the place, talking animatedly while Betsy sat nearby on the edge of the sofa, finally taking a proper break from her college work.

Ryan was fast asleep beside them, curled up in a way that made the whole room feel briefly softer.

And Carla predictably was still working.

Head down. Focused. Pen moving. Laptop open.

Fully ignoring the noise around her like it was just part of the factory's background rhythm.

The office door opened.

Carla looked up first.

Her expression softened instantly.

"Hey you," she said with a small smile.

Lisa stepped inside, loosening her coat slightly.

"Hey. I've just got off now. Didn't know if you could get that early dart."

"Mmmm," Michelle said immediately, without moving her feet. "She definitely can, Swain."

Lisa gave her a look. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Michelle lifted her eyebrows innocently. "What? What's the plans?"

There was a brief pause.

Lisa shook her head. "No. Nothing."

Carla didn't even look up from her paperwork. "Nothing," she echoed.

Michelle narrowed her eyes slightly. "Right..."

Lisa sighed, more tired than defensive now. "Honestly. Nothing. Just nice to have the extra hours. Family time."

That softened the room a little.

Betsy glanced up, then quickly back down, staying quiet but less tense than earlier.

Lisa walked over and leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her daughter's head.

"Alright, Boops?" she asked quietly.

Betsy gave a small nod. "Yep," she said, deliberately emphasising the 'p'.

Carla clicked her laptop shut with finality.

"There," she said, stretching slightly. "Done. I'm officially free."

She stood, glancing between them.

"Why don't we all head to the Bistro? Grab some late lunch?"

Lisa nodded immediately. "Yeah. Good idea."

Betsy agreed too, already looking a bit more relaxed at the thought of food and leaving the office behind.

Carla looked over at Michelle.

"You coming?" she asked.

Michelle picked Ryan up gently from the sofa, smiling. "Wouldn't miss it."

Carla smirked slightly. "Good. Someone's got to make sure you don't steal all the bread again."

Michelle gasped. "That was one time."

Lisa, already heading toward the door, muttered without looking back, "It was absolutely not."

And just like that, with Ryan still half-asleep against Michelle's shoulder and Betsy trailing slightly behind Carla and Lisa, the family filtered out of the office together.

The Bistro was quieter than usual for mid-afternoon.

Carla claimed the booth in the corner almost immediately.

"Best seat in the house," she declared.

"It's literally the furthest one from the door," Michelle pointed out.

"Exactly."

Michelle rolled her eyes and slid into one side of the booth with Ryan balanced carefully on her lap.

Betsy took the seat beside her.

Lisa sat opposite.

Carla dropped down next to Lisa with a satisfied sigh.

Ryan woke halfway through the ordering process and immediately demanded everyone's attention.

Naturally.

"Look at him," Michelle said proudly.

The baby was staring at a spoon like he'd discovered fire.

"He's looking at a spoon," Carla replied.

"Exactly."

Lisa laughed quietly into her drink.

Betsy smiled despite herself.

The smile stayed.

That was the thing Carla noticed.

It wasn't forced anymore.

It wasn't the awkward, guilty little half-smiles she'd been giving all morning.

It was real.

Food arrived not long after.

Burgers.

Chips.

Sandwiches.

Far too many onion rings because Michelle had somehow convinced everyone they needed them.

Ryan sat happily in a highchair beside the table, occasionally banging a plastic spoon against the tray and looking incredibly pleased with the noise he'd created.

"Future musician," Michelle said.

"Future nuisance," Carla corrected.

The conversation drifted easily after that.

Factory gossip.

Michelle's latest complaints.

Stories about Ryan's newest habit of refusing naps.

Betsy gradually started joining in again.

At first only a word here and there.

Then a sentence.

Then an actual conversation.

By the time they'd finished eating she was laughing along with everyone else.

Not loudly.

But enough.

Enough for Carla to notice.

Enough for Lisa to notice too.

At one point Lisa glanced across the table and caught Carla watching Betsy.

Carla immediately looked away.

Lisa smirked.

"You're staring."

"No, I'm not."

"You are."

"I'm literally sitting at the same table."

"You're doing that thing."

"What thing?"

"The mum thing."

Carla scoffed.

"The mum thing isn't a thing."

Michelle snorted into her drink.

"It absolutely is."

Betsy groaned immediately.

"Oh God."

"You've both got it," Michelle continued.

"When?"

"All the time."

Carla and Lisa exchanged a look.

Neither of them particularly liked being called out.

Which only made Michelle grin wider.

"See?"

Betsy shook her head.

"You're all ridiculous."

Ryan chose that exact moment to launch his spoon onto the floor.

The entire table looked down.

Then up.

Then back down again.

Carla pointed.

"There. That's the real culprit at this table."

Michelle laughed.

Ryan gave a toothy grin because everyone else was laughing.

The moment somehow became funnier because of it.

For a while, everything felt normal.

The afternoon sun had started dropping lower by the time they finally stood to leave.

Coats were collected.

Bills argued over.

Michelle insisted she'd pay.

Carla insisted she absolutely wouldn't.

Lisa eventually paid while they were busy bickering.

"Technically it's my money anyways, whose card have you used there darling?" Carla asked.

"No comment" Lisa laughed.

The argument over the bill had finally died down, replaced by the comfortable sort of conversation that came when nobody was in a hurry to leave.

Ryan had a burst of energy again and sat on Michelle's lap, happily chewing on a teething toy and occasionally making noises that only he understood.

Naturally, Michelle thought every single one of them was adorable.

"Look at him," she said for about the tenth time.

"Michelle," Carla replied, "he's literally chewing rubber."

"He is not. He's exploring."

"With his mouth."

"That's how babies work."

Betsy laughed into her drink.

Michelle pointed triumphantly. "See? Betsy gets it."

Carla rolled her eyes.

"You're impossible."

"No," Michelle said. "You were impossible."

Carla frowned.

"What does that mean?"

Michelle sat back, already smiling because she'd found a story she wanted to tell.

"It means you're acting exactly the same way with Ryan as you did with Betsy."

Carla looked genuinely offended.

"I am not."

"You absolutely are."

"I absolutely am not."

Michelle ignored her.

"When Betsy was little, every single thing she did was apparently the greatest achievement in human history."

Betsy immediately looked interested.

"Oh, this sounds good."

"It is good," Michelle agreed.

Carla groaned.

"Michelle"

"No. You need to hear this."

Lisa was already smiling.

That should've been Carla's warning sign.

Michelle pointed across the table.

"If Betsy sneezed, Carla would ring me."

"I did not."

"You did. If you couldn’t get through to Lisa you’d ring me."

"I didn't ring you because she sneezed."

"You rang me because she sneezed and then clapped afterwards."

Betsy burst out laughing.

"Oh my God."

"It was funny and cute," Carla defended.

"It wasn't funny," Michelle replied. "She was two."

"It was still funny."

Michelle shook her head.

"If Betsy drew a circle, Carla thought she'd become Picasso."

"It was a very good circle."

"If Betsy sang a nursery rhyme"

"She knew all the words."

"Most of the words."

"Enough of the words."

Lisa finally joined in.

"She still does it."

Carla's head snapped around.

"What?"

Lisa smiled into her coffee.

"She absolutely still does it."

"Bullshit."

"Language," Lisa and Betsy said simultaneously.

The timing was so perfect that Michelle immediately started laughing.

Carla looked between them.

"Oh, very funny."

"You've always had a potty mouth too," Michelle managed through her laughter.

Carla pointed a chip at her.

"I grew up surrounded by you lot. I never stood a chance."

"Fair."

Lisa leaned back comfortably.

"You should've seen her when Betsy got her GCSE results."

"Oh, here we go."

"She cried."

"I did not cry."

"You absolutely cried."

Betsy looked delighted.

"You sobbed," Lisa corrected.

"I did not sob."

Michelle was practically crying with laughter now.

"You did, didn't you?"

"No."

"Carla."

"Maybe a tiny bit."

"Carla."

"Okay Fine."

The entire table waited.

Carla sighed dramatically.

"Maybe a little bit."

"A little bit?" Lisa repeated.

"You cried more than Betsy did."

Betsy was now grinning from ear to ear.

Carla pointed at her.

"You think this is funny?"

"Very."

"Good. Enjoy it while you can. You're still grounded."

That earned an immediate groan.

"There she is," Michelle laughed.

"Who?"

"Mum Carla."

Lisa nodded.

"Mum Carla."

"I hate all of you."

"No you don't," Betsy said automatically.

Carla opened her mouth to argue.

Paused.

Then sighed.

Because unfortunately Betsy was right.

Michelle watched the exchange with a smile that softened slightly around the edges.

For all the teasing, she wasn't wrong.

Carla had always been like this.

Whether Betsy was two years old proudly drawing wonky circles, twelve years old bringing home a certificate, or sixteen years old making spectacularly bad decisions involving boys and police stations.

The reaction was always the same.

The frustration.

The worry.

The fierce protectiveness.

The pride.

All tangled together.

Carla caught Betsy smiling at her from across the table and immediately rolled her eyes.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"You're smirking."

"I'm not."

"You are."

Betsy's smile widened.

And despite herself, Carla smiled back.

Just for a second.

Long enough for both Lisa and Michelle to notice.

Neither of them said anything.

They didn't need to.

The look on Carla's face said it all.