Chapter Text
Life didn’t stop. It never did and for Carla Connor, that was almost a relief because stopping meant thinking, and thinking meant replaying that night on a loop she couldn’t seem to switch off. Lisa pulling away.
The shift in her expression. The way something real had been there one second and gone the next. So instead, Carla worked.
Underworld gave her exactly what she needed noise, pressure, constant demand. It left no room for hesitation, no space for softness. “Carla, these invoices” “Put them on my desk.” “Supplier’s on the phone” “Tell them I’ll call back.” She moved through it all with sharp efficiency, every decision quick, every instruction clear. In control. Always in control and for the most part, it worked.
Until it didn’t because every now and then, without warning, her mind slipped. A laugh. A look. The way Lisa had said her name like it meant something. Carla shut it down immediately, every time. “Get a grip,” she muttered under her breath, flipping through paperwork harder than necessary. Whatever that had been it was done. Finished. She wasn’t about to chase someone who had already walked away.
Across Weatherfield, Lisa Swain wasn’t nearly as good at pretending. She told herself she was kept to routine, buried herself in work, filled her time with anything that resembled structure. But the quiet moments were relentless. Because she knew what she’d felt. Knew what had been there and she’d still walked away from it.
That knowledge sat heavy in her chest as she stood outside Underworld, hands buried in her coat pockets, her breathing measured but not quite steady. “This is stupid,” she murmured to herself. She shouldn’t be here. I had made things clear but the pull to fix it to understand it was stronger than her instinct to stay away.
Inside, Carla didn’t look up when the office door opened. “Give me a minute,” she said, pen moving steadily across the page. Then Lisa spoke.
“Carla.” That was enough.
Carla stilled, the pen halting mid-line before she looked up. For a split second, something flickered in her expression something unguarded but it vanished just as quickly, replaced by something cooler. Controlled.
“Detective,” she said evenly. The distance in her tone caught Lisa off guard, but she pushed through it anyway. “Can we talk?” Carla leaned back in her chair, arms folding across her chest like armour. “Is there something work-related I can help you with?”
There it was. The wall. Solid and deliberate.
Lisa stepped further into the room, refusing to retreat. “No. This isn’t…I just wanted to talk about the other night.” “There’s nothing to talk about,” Carla cut in, her voice sharp enough to stop her mid-sentence. Lisa blinked, thrown. “Carla…” “You made yourself extremely clear, detective.” Carla continued, standing now, her tone controlled but cold. “I am respecting that.”
The words landed hard, heavier than Lisa had expected. “I didn’t mean…” “No,” Carla interrupted again, firmer this time. “You meant exactly what you said. You can’t do this. You need to be careful. Fine.”
Silence settled between them, thick and unmoving. Lisa felt it press in on her, tightening her chest. This wasn’t what she’d imagined, not like this, not so final. She nodded slowly, the fight draining out of her. “Right,” she said quietly, taking a step back. “Then this was a mistake.”
Carla didn’t respond. Didn’t soften. Didn’t stop her. “I wish you all the best, Carla.”
The words felt hollow even as she said them.
For a moment, there was nothing. Then, quieter but no less cutting, Carla spoke. “You too, detective. Don’t throw your future away because you’re scared.” Lisa paused with her hand on the door, jaw tightening before she turned back. “I’m not scared,” she said firmly. “But it doesn’t matter anymore, because there’s nothing for us here.”
A pause.
Then, sharper more defensive than she intended “And it’s not like you care anyway.” Carla let out a short, hollow laugh. “If that’s how it’s going to be,” she said, stepping back toward her desk, “then I guess it’s best you leave.” Lisa scoffed, shaking her head. “Noted. Bye, Carla.” Then she was gone. The door shut behind her with a finality that echoed in the room. Carla stood there for a moment, completely still. Silent, only the distant echo of the machines in the background filling the space. Then she exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through her hair.
“Unbelievable,” she muttered, but the frustration didn’t quite cover the ache settling in her chest because she did care. More than she wanted to admit, more than made any sense and now it didn’t matter.
Lisa didn’t stop walking until she was halfway down the street, her steps quick, uneven, her thoughts louder than she could manage. “That went well,” she muttered bitterly. She’d gone there to fix things, to make sense of what had happened and somehow, she’d made it worse.
Much worse.
That evening, the Swain household felt different. Heavier. Quieter in a way that pressed in rather than comforted. “Did you see her?” Betsy’s voice cut gently through the silence. Lisa froze for a second before turning. “Yeah.” “And?” Lisa let out a humourless laugh. “It didn’t go well.”
Betsy frowned, stepping closer. “What happened?” Lisa ran her hands through her hair, pacing slightly. “I tried to talk to her. She shut it down.” A pause “and I told her she didn’t care,” Lisa added, frustration creeping into her voice. “Which wasn’t my best moment.”
Betsy tilted her head slightly. “Do you think she does care?” Lisa didn’t answer straight away, she didn’t need to. Betsy sat down slowly, watching her. “You like her.” Lisa closed her eyes briefly. “Yeah.” “And she likes you.” “It doesn’t matter.” “It does.” Lisa shook her head, her voice firmer now, almost defensive. “No, Bets. It doesn’t.”
“Why?” Betsy pressed gently.
Lisa hesitated, then let out a slow breath. “Because it’s done,” she said. “Whatever that was It’s over.” Betsy studied her carefully before speaking again, softer this time. “I just want you to be happy. But I don’t want…Mum to be replaced.” Lisa’s expression softened immediately.
She crossed the room, crouching in front of her daughter. “Hey,” she said gently. You don’t need to worry about that. No one could ever replace her.” Betsy nodded faintly. “And you don’t need to worry about Carla either,” Lisa added, quieter now. “Because there is no Carla.” The words felt heavier than she expected. “That’s well and truly done.” Betsy’s brow furrowed, like she didn’t quite believe it.
Lisa gave a small, bitter huff of a laugh. “The friendship whatever it was it’s not a thing anymore. She asked me to leave, and I told her she didn’t care anyway. So…why would she?”
Betsy didn’t argue. Just watched her, a quiet understanding in her expression that Lisa wasn’t ready to face.
Lisa stood there for a moment longer before turning away, dragging her hands through her hair. The weight of it all pressed down harder now that the adrenaline had worn off. She dropped onto the sofa, elbows on her knees, her face falling into her hands.
“So well done, Lise,” she murmured under her breath. The words were barely audible, but they carried everything she couldn’t undo.