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The first time Carla stroked her hair, Lisa had almost had a meltdown.
She’d spent four years shut away. Four years without feeling the intimate touch of another person. Subconsciously, she’d seen it as penance. Her pain, her guilt, her grief, they became the very essence of who she was. Becky’s death ruined her. Gutted her. She became a walking corpse, existing only because Betsy needed her to exist.
So Carla’s touch, that kind, slightly too intimate touch, sent Lisa into a tailspin.
Not because it felt bad. But because it felt so good.
And Lisa didn’t deserve to feel good.
Her wife was dead. She’d spent their last moments together arguing. Even worse, they’d barely had sex in the months leading up to Becky’s murder. Between the corruption charges and the natural tension that came with a twenty-year marriage, sex was the last thing on Lisa’s mind. Becky had been so angry about it. Hurt. And Lisa had let her go to her death feeling unwanted.
So why should Lisa feel anything but despair?
It was better to live cloistered, to keep people at arm’s length.
Except Carla’s perfume lingered on her collar and Carla’s warmth haunted Lisa’s thoughts.
The first time they had sex, Lisa expected guilt to flood in. Instead, she was nearly overwhelmed with relief.
Touch.
She’d convinced herself she didn’t need it.
She truly believed that a hug or two from Betsy would get her through the rest of her life.
Carla inadvertently awoke something in Lisa that had gone dormant the second Becky took her last breath.
There was also the fact that Carla was beautiful. So beautiful that Lisa really noticed.
After Becky’s death, women had become grey and faceless. Lisa didn’t experience attraction. She didn’t want to. With Carla, she couldn’t help herself.
Carla was just so incredibly gorgeous.
Shuttered windows opened. Dimmed lights shown bright. Lisa couldn’t stop the want though she desperately tried.
Carla was an invasion. Carla was salvation.
But with Carla, came memories. Comparisons.
Lisa had been with Becky for twenty years. She’d had barely a handful of intimate partners before that. She’d never expected to be with another person again. Another body. A new body.
The first time she’d stripped away Carla’s clothes, words like goddess formed in Lisa’s mind.
Carla Connor was a woman.
And, of course, Becky had been a woman too. So had the other women who’d shared Lisa’s bed before Becky.
But if there was a definition in the dictionary of a woman…
Hovering above her, straddling her, all fire and curves and unexpected confidence, Carla was a fever dream.
Becky used to sneak up behind Lisa, grip her arms, tease her with hands that were never quite as playful as they were possessive.
Carla liked to sneak up behind Lisa too. Her arms around Lisa’s body. She’d kiss Lisa’s neck and smile against Lisa’s skin.
Carla called her an endless assortment of endearments.
Baby. Babe. Lovie. Chicken. Darling. Sweetheart.
Carla played with her hair. She never pulled unless Lisa asked her to during sex.
Carla fussed about Lisa’s breakfast, about her health. She bought her gifts just because and walked through Lisa’s life like a hurricane – surrounding her with a love that at first, Lisa couldn’t accept.
Because the comparisons forced her to hold up a mirror and Lisa didn’t want to see the truth in reflection.
Becky didn’t…
Becky never…
It wasn’t like this with…
Eventually, Lisa stopped comparing.
She let Carla in. She let Carla save her. She greedily accepted all the love that Carla seemed desperate to give.
Lisa was just as desperate.
~*~
The first time it happened, Lisa didn’t notice. She thought it was normal. She didn’t know any better.
She’d had a few flings in her early twenties, casual dalliances that were more fumbles than anything else. She saw them as educational.
Becky was the first time she’d really felt anything about another person that was more than mild attraction and curiosity. They’d been dating for two months and Lisa had never been happier. It felt like Becky was her person. She liked being a couple. Going to places as a couple. Seeing friends as a couple. A team.
So when Becky stumbled into her flat a little drunk one Friday night, Lisa didn’t expect anything amiss. She smirked as Becky crawled into bed behind her, the whispered curses amusing. She even sighed when Becky spooned her, when Becky’s nose pushed into her shoulder.
Lisa was ready to go back to sleep. She’d had a long week. A hard week. Apparently, Becky had other plans. Cold fingertips danced across Lisa’s belly, under her t-shirt.
“I’m tired, darling,” Lisa managed to mumble, her eyes closed.
The hand unceremoniously pushed between her legs, startling.
“Please,” Becky whispered, a little needy.
Lisa winced, struggling with the discomfort of cold fingers stroking her cunt.
“In the morning,” she promised, about to roll away.
Becky’s lips coasted her ear. “Please, Lise. I need it.”
“No, I…”
A single finger pressed inside her.
“Please,” Becky whispered again. “It feels good, doesn’t it?”
It felt cold. But Lisa spread her legs.
Relationships were all about compromise. At least that’s what she told herself.
~*~
A muffled curse pulled Lisa from sleep.
She blinked, her face buried in her pillow, but it quickly became apparent that Carla was home from a late staff party and she’d likely had one too many glasses of wine.
“Sorry,” Carla hissed, somewhere on the other side of the room. “I’ve just lost me’ pants and…to hell with ‘em…”
There was a joke to be made about Carla Connor, owner of a knickers factory, losing her pants. Maybe in the morning. Lisa was so tired.
She was nearly asleep again when she felt Carla behind her.
“You’re alright, darling?” Lisa mumbled, smiling softly as an arm curled around her middle.
Carla was very naked, the lost pants more than apparent judging by the way she’d molded herself to Lisa’s body. A clever hand found Lisa’s hip, squeezing with obvious intention.
“I am. Missed you though,” Carla whispered, a rasp, her lips finding the sensitive skin below Lisa’s ear.
Lisa swallowed hard. She’d had a very long day and all she wanted was to go back to bed. But Carla was snuggling closer, her hand was now under Lisa’s shirt, gliding up.
“Love,” Lisa said, wincing as she braced for whatever angry response she was about to get.
“Hmm?”
“I’m sorry, darling, I really am, but I’m so tired. I promise in the morning we can…”
Carla immediately removed her hand from Lisa’s shirt, returning to her previous position. A loose arm around Lisa’s middle. A nose pressed to the back of Lisa’s neck.
“I’m sorry,” Lisa said again, knowing that Carla was probably cross with her now.
“Why are you sorry?” Carla asked, kissing Lisa’s shoulder.
“Oh…I mean, I know you want to, and…”
“Quiet, missus, I’m trying to sleep over here.”
And that was it. There was no disappointed sigh. No accusations. Carla cuddled up, apparently content to hold Lisa and nothing more.
Before Lisa allowed herself to think of the past, to make the comparison, she closed her eyes, shutting it out. She tangled her legs with Carla’s and held Carla’s hand and stayed in the present where everything was soft and warm and perfect.
~*~
There were days when the job felt heavy. When Lisa questioned why she bothered getting out of bed in the first place.
The job had cost her Becky and going in every day was a reminder.
Until Carla.
She couldn’t pinpoint how or when, but at some point, Carla became her anchor. Lisa would come home angry or silent or in tears and Carla would stroke her hair, she’d brush strands behind Lisa’s ears, she’d cup Lisa’s cheeks.
And Lisa would melt.
She couldn’t talk shop like she had with Becky. She couldn’t sit at the table with case files open and troubleshoot.
Instead, she’d let herself be held, she’d lay against Carla’s chest and close her eyes and feel like the ground was solid beneath her feet.
She used to see Becky’s slightly antagonistic cheerleading as nothing but supportive. Becky would point out Lisa’s errors, she’d help her see all that she’d missed. She was doing it to help Lisa, to make her better at her job.
Carla never antagonized. She encouraged and she pushed when needed. Mostly she provided Lisa with a sense of safety that could be confusing because Lisa had never felt it before.
Which made her start questioning her marriage.
If she’d never felt this safe with anyone, what did that say about her wife of twenty years?
~*~
Lisa had never had a large friend group. With Becky, it felt like she’d inherited a whole community. And she loved it. She felt like she belonged amongst the other queer women who inhabited Becky’s world.
It felt good to be unabashedly herself. To go the bar and sit amongst people who loved like she did and just be.
What felt even better was knowing she was Becky’s and Becky was hers.
Because Rebecca Falconer was the sun.
She was also a disaster human. Messy and loud, quick with a joke, terrible with money. Moving in together had nearly given Lisa a fit. Becky had shown up with unorganized boxes, an old sofa, and a large entourage of friends who quickly agreed to help them unpack in exchange for takeaway and a few pints.
Life became routine in the most wonderful way.
They’d go to work and they’d work and work and work and then they’d come home and someone would cook and they’d watch TV and it was all so comfortable. Friday nights at the pub with Becky’s mates and a Sunday morning boozy brunch with Becky’s fabulous Uncle Nigel.
On Christmas they went to Becky’s mum and dad’s and on holidays they’d set off to Blackpool, much to Lisa’s distaste, where Becky would play the slot machines and lose over and over, her laughter rising amongst the whirring lights.
Two years into their relationship, Lisa’s aunt died suddenly. A heart attack. She hadn’t spoken to her aunt in years, nor had she spoken to her own parents very often, so when Becky found her packing a bag, the mood turned somber.
“You’re going to the funeral?” Becky asked, leaning against the doorframe.
Lisa shrugged, a jumper in each hand. “She was my aunt.”
Her words were met with a heavy sigh. An eye roll.
“What?” Lisa asked, sharper than intended.
Becky stared for a beat before moving into the room. She set her hand on Lisa’s shoulder, her blue eyes wide, penetrating.
“You know how you get around your parents,” Becky said, earnest. “They mess around with your head, love. Make you feel less than you are.”
That was true. But Lisa was determined. She hadn’t seen her mother or father in over a year. She hadn’t seen her sister in six months. Even though they weren’t the closest family on the planet, they were still her family and she still loved them.
“Besides,” Becky continued, “we have Shan’s birthday. You can’t be missing that.”
“Shan will understand.”
“I know, but I don’t want to go alone. You know how Liz can get.”
Liz was one of Becky’s rare single friends. She was lovely until she started drinking and then she became handsy. Very handsy. Especially with Becky.
“Can’t you just tell her off?” Lisa asked, growing frustrated. “You’re a grown woman, Becky. I think you can handle yourself.”
“I’d prefer you do it for me.”
Becky took Lisa’s bag and moved it from the bed. She took the jumpers from Lisa’s hands and threw them on the floor. And then she grasped Lisa’s waist, taking one step closer.
“I am sorry about your aunt, love,” Becky said, so sincere, her nose brushing Lisa’s. “I just don’t want to see you hurt. And I don’t want to fend off Liz by myself.”
There was some truth in it. Enough that Lisa found herself pondering all the times her mother made comments about her clothes. Or her father’s disapproval for her job. She didn’t need their criticism, did she? She could see them another time. A few more months wouldn’t hurt. They’d understand.
Becky started unbuckling Lisa’s belt, her lips warm against Lisa’s cheek. “Let me help you feel better, Lise.”
The last thing Lisa wanted was this. She was sad about her aunt, exhausted from work, and very much not in a headspace for a tussle.
“Not now, Becky,” Lisa said, frowning as Becky started working on her own clothes. As soon as Becky was naked, she grabbed Lisa’s hand, pressing it to her breast.
“There,” Becky laughed. “Better already, aye?”
“No, darling, I don’t…”
Becky’s kiss stole every word.
~*~
Lisa stood in front of her underwear drawer, frowning at the prospect of another day strapped into discomfort. She’d already pulled on a pair of trousers, but her blouse meant she couldn’t wear a sports bra and the alternative to a sports bra was like a prison for her breasts.
Behind her on the bed, Carla sat in her robe, her laptop open. She appeared oddly imperious for so early in the morning, Mrs. Connor already organizing meetings and putting out fires. Lisa loved watching her in these moments, the way Carla seemed forever annoyed. The tone of her voice as she barked orders. Lisa even loved the way she filled out paperwork, furiously writing, everything fast and sure and confident.
“Lisa Swain, if you don’t cover yourself this instant, we are going to have a problem,” Carla said, peering over her screen.
Lisa blushed, acutely aware of her naked chest. “Apologies for disrupting, Mrs. Connor. I didn’t realize you were so easily distracted.”
“I’m not.”
“Did you not just say…”
Carla threw back the sheet and left her laptop on the bed. She quickly crossed the room, sidling up behind Lisa, her hands on Lisa’s hips. The mirror over the chest of drawers let Lisa see Carla’s face, her calculating eyes. She looked hungry. Lisa’s pulse quickened.
“You’ve been wearing the wrong size, you know?” Carla said, which was totally unexpected to the point that Lisa scoffed. She was about to move, but Carla set her chin on Lisa’s shoulder, her gaze firmly on Lisa’s in the mirror.
“If you go up a cup size,” Carla whispered, using her index finger to trace a line below Lisa’s breast, tracing the curve. “And down one band…”
There was no way to hide the effect Carla’s was having. Lisa’s nipples were hard, pink, but Carla did not touch. She didn’t take.
“Go on then,” Lisa managed to stutter, which made Carla snort in amusement.
“Go on then?” She drawled, “Are you asking a question, darling, or giving an order?”
“Carla, please…”
The slight whine in her tone had the desired effect. Carla shifted, cupping Lisa’s breasts, kneading gently as she pressed soft kisses to Lisa’s neck.
“This alright?” Carla whispered, the question causing an unexpected throb between Lisa’s legs.
It was something Carla did often. Ask Lisa if she was enjoying herself, checking in. She somehow made consent undeniably sexy, though Lisa knew that there was more to Carla’s request than turning Lisa on. She knew Carla’s history, what she’d survived, and each time Carla paused, even in moments of mischief, Lisa fell deeper in love.
Carla was so proud. She wore her wounds boldly, almost in defiance of anyone who questioned her, who gossiped about her, who spread rumours. She was tough in a way that Lisa had, at one time, found intimidating. But that was Carla’s armor. That was how she protected herself from more hurt.
In the bedroom, between them, someone more vulnerable emerged. Someone willing to be seen. And, in turn, Lisa found herself stripping away some of her own armor. She was learning a lot about herself. About what she liked. About what she didn’t. All thanks to Carla whose touch calmed whatever it was in Lisa’s soul that would not calm.
Lisa braced both hands on the dresser, leaning forward as Carla pinched her nipples. In the back of her mind, she remembered that Ryan was already out for the day and Betsy had stayed over at Lauren’s. They had an empty house and thirty minutes before Lisa needed to be out the door.
She reached for the button on her trousers, unzipping, the sound pulling Carla’s attention.
“Yeah?” She asked, letting one hand drop to Lisa’s waist.
Lisa nodded, a little desperate. She hummed as Carla’s fingers snuck into her panties, the hum turning much louder when those same clever fingers rubbed over her clit.
“I love you like this,” Carla said, her front firm against Lisa’s back. “I love when you need me.”
“I…I always need you,” Lisa gasped, rocking her hips to create more friction. Not that Carla needed any help. Lisa could swear the woman had a sixth sense for how exactly Lisa needed to be touched at any given moment.
“Do ya?”
There was that vulnerability, the flicker behind all of Carla’s brash confidence. Lisa could see it in Carla’s eyes, that momentary fear, and she forced herself to stay present, to not let go quite yet.
“I do,” Lisa moaned, circling her hand around Carla’s wrist as Carla dipped lower, gathering wetness. “I do, I do, I do…”
When Lisa opened her drawer the next morning, she found herself staring at three new bras, beautiful but practical. Black, beige, and a deep satin green.
Carla was behind her again, quiet as Lisa slipped the green bra over her arms and hooked the clasp behind her. Only then did Carla stir, adjusting one of the straps before setting her hands on Lisa’s shoulders.
“See,” she said, once again finding Lisa’s in the mirror. “Perfect.”
The bra fit as if Carla had designed it just for her. Maybe she had. And while it would be easy to joke about the fact that Carla had not needed to take any measurements, that she had enough hands-on experience to know Lisa’s size, Lisa swallowed her words.
Because Carla knew her. Beyond her body.
Carla knew Lisa’s wardrobe, she knew what type of bras Lisa needed for each blouse, each jumper. She knew how red Lisa’s skin could get at the end of the day thanks to uncomfortable bras and she knew that sometimes Lisa’s job required her to run or climb fences or sit behind a desk for hours.
The bra wasn’t to turn Carla on. It wasn’t for Carla’s benefit. It was entirely for Lisa.
“Thank you,” Lisa said, leaning back when Carla wrapped both arms around Lisa’s middle.
Carla just grinned that cheshire cat grin, pleased and proud.
“My lovely Lisa,” she said, nuzzling her nose just behind Lisa’s ear.
~*~
The only sound in the bedroom was shared panting, a satiated, satisfied need to breathe.
Lisa lay on her back, naked, staring at the ceiling and Becky was beside her, equally disheveled. She didn’t need to look over to know Becky was smirking.
Sure enough, when Becky spoke, it was cocky. “That good, hey love?”
Lisa rolled onto her side, reaching out to brush a long strand of dark hair from Becky’s forehead. She loved this woman. This frustrating, exhausting woman.
In so many ways, they were opposites.
Lisa was rational, ordered.
Becky was a dreamer, constantly floating away and scheming with little care for logistics. She imagined holidays, nights out, new furniture they couldn’t afford. Painting pictures that made Lisa see a future she couldn’t wait to have. Most recently, that painting had shifted into something that scared Lisa as much as it intrigued her.
A baby.
On a similar night, barely a week before, Becky had said the words.
Let’s have a baby.
It wasn’t a question. It was a statement.
Becky wanted a baby. And now Lisa was on a train she’d never expected to board.
“It was,” Lisa said, soft, her post-orgasm haze giving into a sleepiness that had her blinking heavily.
“Have you thought any more about the reciprocal IVF thing?”
Lisa exhaled, struggling to stay awake. She was in no mood to have such a serious conversation.
“Can we talk about it in the morning, darling?” Lisa asked. “I’m knackered.”
Becky frowned. “Lise, if we want to go ahead, we need to get started.”
“Right this moment?” Lisa tried to laugh.
Becky shook her head, her eyes blue and endless. “I just can’t stop picturing a tiny version of you.”
She reached out, cupping Lisa’s cheek, and it felt like nothing Lisa had ever felt before. Love, vast, pure, all-encompassing love. Becky wanted a child that looked like her. That was part her. Becky wanted to carry a little piece of her.
Lisa leaned forward, brushing her lips over Becky’s. “In the morning. I promise.”
“But I’m not tired yet,” Becky mumbled against Lisa’s lips, clearly smiling. She stroked Lisa’s bicep, her hand coming to rest on Lisa’s shoulder.
“Becky…”
Becky rolled Lisa onto her back, still smiling. “You’re such a tease, Lisa Swain.”
“I’m not teasing, love. In the morning we can…”
Becky straddled Lisa’s thighs, both hands now on her shoulders, pinning her down. “Spoil sport.”
“I really am sorry, I…”
Without any warning, Becky had Lisa’s biceps in a strong grip. She was laughing now, using her strength to flip Lisa onto her stomach.
“Hey!” Lisa barked, squirming as Becky resumed her position over Lisa’s legs. “That’s not funny!”
But Becky was there, stretching over Lisa, her breasts brushing Lisa’s back, her lips just below Lisa’s ear.
“Feels good, don’t it?” Becky whispered, rubbing her nipples against Lisa’s skin.
And, yes, it felt good, but Lisa was too distracted by the uncomfortable feeling of the pillow pressing into her face.
“Becky,” Lisa tried, wanting to move her arms. Becky had her wrists pinned, bracketing her head.
When Becky curled two fingers inside Lisa, Lisa’s mind turned blank. She was still wet from what they’d done earlier, and Becky was right, everything felt nice, except Lisa’s brain sent her away, sent her to static. She floated, outside of herself, no longer able to feel Becky’s weight. Sound disappeared, only to return with a piercing, single whistle that hurt her ears. Becky curved her free hand over the back of Lisa’s head, pushing her face into the pillow.
It was hard to breathe. Everything was too warm.
“There’s my good girl,” Becky whispered, kissing her neck, thrusting in a way that was becoming uncomfortable.
Lisa moaned, knowing that she was supposed to moan and when she orgasmed, it was confusing. Becky kissed her heated skin, so gentle, cooing and stroked her fingertips down Lisa’s arms. Her movements became soft, treating Lisa’s body like it was sacred, loving her, and Lisa gave into the comfort. They fell asleep entangled, holding hands, which was somewhat of a lie because Lisa didn’t sleep.
She lay awake, acutely aware of the dull throb between her legs.
Had something just happened?
Had something…wrong…just happened?
Lisa kept reviewing it in her head. She’d said no, it was true. And Becky hadn’t listened, which was also true. But Becky was her wife. Becky loved her. Becky had made her cum and then kissed her and spoke of how excited she was to have a little Lisa, how she couldn’t wait for a tiny blonde baby.
For years, Lisa had spoken to other women, women who’d been mistreated, who’d been at the wrong place at the wrong time, whose lives were torn apart.
She’d interviewed them, heard their stories, swore up and down that it wasn’t their fault, that consent was an ongoing conversation.
The thought gnawed at her well into the next day. She sat at her desk, absentmindedly clicking a pen, unable to fight the sick feeling deep in her stomach.
By the time she made it home, hours later than expected, she’d made a decision. They needed to talk.
Becky was camped out on the sofa, blankets and pillows tossed every which way, her laptop glowing in the room’s lowlight. She was looking at paperwork from their IVF clinic, the smile on her face as Lisa appeared in such contrast to the discomfort Lisa felt.
“Hey, love,” Lisa said, awkwardly standing across the room, her hands in her pockets.
Becky waved her over, but Lisa kept her distance, choosing to perch on the nearby recliner instead of joining Becky on the sofa.
“Can we talk about…something,” Lisa began, uncharacteristically nervous in front of her wife.
Becky placed the laptop down. She looked so happy, her long hair tied up in a messy bun, an oversized jumper. Warm and content.
“Something?” Becky teased, always quick to chide Lisa’s occasional social awkwardness.
“About last night.”
“Oh, last night,” Becky’s smirk grew salacious. “You been thinking about that as much as I have?”
Lisa furrowed her brow, casting her eyes away. “Becky, I said no.”
“What?”
“Last night. At the end. I said no. You…you kept going after I said it.”
“Lisa…”
“And I know you’d never hurt me,” Lisa was quick to explain, finally meeting Becky’s gaze.
“Lisa, what are you trying to say?”
Becky’s eyes were wet, round. She sat straight up on the sofa, almost frozen in place.
“I…I don’t know, I…it’s just,” Lisa stuttered. “I…I said no.”
A choked sob escaped from Becky’s mouth. A horrified, exhale.
“Are you…are you saying I…,” Becky started, shaking her head. “How could you even think that, Lisa? I love you! I would never hurt you!”
Her sorrow was so palpable that Lisa almost took a step back. The dawning realization that she’d hurt her favourite person, the person she loved most. She was responsible for Becky’s pain, her tears. She’d so carelessly flung the most dreadful accusation at the person least deserving of any harm.
Lisa immediately rushed to Becky’s side. “Of course you wouldn’t, darling, of course not!”
“But you’re implying that…what? That I…that I’m some monster? Is that what you think of me? That I’m capable of that?”
“No!” Lisa tried to brush away Becky’s tears, hating herself for causing this. “No, darling, I’m not, I…”
“For Christ’s sake, Lisa, we were making love! That’s what we were doing and now you’ve…you’ve ruined it. You’ve ruined it!”
Lisa managed to snag Becky’s hand, clinging to it. “I’m sorry, love. I’m sorry! I…I was tired today and…I’m sorry, Becks. Please, love, please, I’m sorry. I know you’d never hurt me. You’re not capable of it. Last night was wonderful, it really was.”
Becky looked so wounded. She stared at Lisa, tears streaming down her face, her nose running as she continued to release little, heartbreaking sobs. Lisa wasn’t sure she’d ever felt such self-loathing in her life.
“I’m sorry,” Lisa cried again, pulling Becky to her. “I’m so sorry. Forgive me? Forgive me for being so stupid.”
Becky curved her hand around the back of Lisa’s head, an echo, but now it felt like relief. Now it felt wanted more than anything.
~*~
Carla’s lips tasted like peppermint.
Lisa couldn’t get enough. She chased them, endlessly, hardly aware that Carla was busy stripping them both as they stumbled backwards towards the bed. Kissing Carla meant that Lisa could hide how deeply she was feeling – not that she wasn’t kissing Carla with all the feeling she had. Physically showing Carla was easier than telling her, so Lisa kissed her and kissed her and kissed her.
While the two never needed a reason to fall into bed with each other, Lisa’s passion had been ignited on this particular day thanks in large part to a small, store-bought cupcake.
After months and months on a case, Lisa had finally made progress. Their primary suspect had remained tight lipped, running circles around Kit and Costello. But not Lisa. She’d put in time. She’d built trust. And when the confession came, Lisa waited barely ten minutes before texting Carla the good news.
When Carla walked into her office twenty minutes later carrying a cupcake, Lisa had raised both eyebrows.
“What’s all this?” She’d asked, folding her arms.
Carla had placed the treat on her desk, unceremoniously plunked a birthday candle into the excessive chocolate icing, and retrieved a lighter from her bag.
“It’s not the most exciting celebration,” Carla had laughed, lighting the candle. “But it’ll do in a pinch.”
“Celebration?”
“You cracked the case, DS Swain!”
“Oh,” Lisa laughed circling her desk to get closer to get Carla. “Just doing my job.”
Carla scoffed, twirling Lisa’s ponytail. “Just doin’ your job? You call workin’ yourself to the bloody bone just doin’ your job? This is huge, Lisa! Be proud of yourself!”
The concept was almost foreign to Lisa. She was proud to be a detective. Proud to be Betsy’s mum. Proud to be Carla Connor’s girlfriend. But proud of her accomplishments? Becky would’ve bought her a pint and changed the subject.
Carla wanted to celebrate. With pudding, apparently.
Try as she might, Lisa couldn’t stop herself from making comparisons. Carla celebrated birthdays and anniversaries. She celebrated the end of a hard week. Becky’s grades at College. Sometimes, she celebrated just because – a glass of wine, a special pudding, small gifts.
Becky shunned such things. She’d call it rubbish, say they didn’t need flowers or candles or parties because they had each other and Betsy and wasn’t that enough?
Life was short and full of pain. People got sick. People died.
Celebrating, marking a win, taking time to pause and bask in the good, wasn’t rubbish.
Lisa wouldn’t admit it to herself, couldn’t admit it to herself, but she was increasingly finding it difficult to understand some of Becky’s beliefs.
Carla had survived unspeakable horrors. Neglect. Abuse. Assault. She had every right to turn cynical, to hate life, to ignore the good because there was so much bad. But she didn’t. She celebrated. She grabbed those precious moments of light with both hands and refused to let go until she’d, at the very least, had a chocolate to mark the occasion.
It was beautiful. Carla’s tenacity, her strength, her refusal to let life get the best of her was so beautiful.
Lisa just needed to kiss her.
The rest of the day crawled by at a snail’s pace. Lisa nearly burst into the door of Number 6 in her haste to continue Carla’s celebration. A startled Carla almost dropped her brew, but quickly read Lisa’s flushed cheeks and hazy gaze.
Clothes fell away, inhibitions, everything became them and their bedroom and each other.
Undressing Carla was always tantalizing. Lisa would strip away layers of black – tights, shirts, kimonos – and discover whatever matching set she’d chosen that day. Lace, satin, always perfect, always devastatingly gorgeous.
Today was no different. Lisa had Carla sit on the edge of the bed and then set to work, kneeling between Carla’s legs, rolling away a black thong before leaning in, tasting her. With Carla’s fingers in her hair, Lisa gave in to her own desires – her own insatiable need. She swirled her tongue around Carla’s clit, encouraged by the curses, the heavy breathing, the tug that made her scalp burn.
Lisa moaned herself as she slipped two fingers into wet heat, the feeling of being inside Carla still so thrilling. She hoped every touch told Carla how much she was loved, how desperately she was wanted.
“Lisa,” Carla whined, pulling a little on Lisa’s shoulder, which made Lisa raise her head, her chin glistening.
She found Carla out of breath, even as they locked eyes, Carla spasmed around Lisa’s fingers, the pulsing, clenching muscle turning Lisa’s thoughts fuzzy.
“Do you need me with you, darling?” Lisa guessed, her chest aching just a little at the way Carla nodded in relief.
They adjusted, Carla lying back against the pillows, Lisa pressing herself to Carla’s side. Sometimes, her bold, brash Carla Connor wanted to be held in the end, she wanted Lisa close. It always broke Lisa’s heart in the best way, the trust she could feel when Carla lay beside her, lips parted, Lisa’s name constantly in the air.
Lisa kissed Carla’s mouth, smiling when she felt Carla’s hands on her face, holding her in, holding her close.
“You’re so wet, sweetheart,” Lisa whispered, “so beautiful.”
Carla was beyond speech, her thighs shaking as she arched, as she warned Lisa how close she was, how close…
For a few seconds, Carla was totally blissed out. Eyes shut. Sprawled on the mattress. Lisa took the opportunity to gently kiss Carla’s cheeks, her neck. She removed her fingers, bringing them to her mouth, not willing to give up the taste of Carla, not yet. As Carla slowly drifted closer to awareness, Lisa couldn’t stop feeling her. She brushed her lips over Carla’s shoulders, she kissed the swell of her breast, flicking her tongue over one tan nipple, which earned her an incredulous snort.
If not for Carla’s strong hand on her arm, Lisa would have continued, aching to lick the curved scar on Carla’s abdomen. Her soft belly. The swell of hips. So stunning that Lisa was at a loss for words.
“Where do you think you’re going, missus?” Carla smirked, giving no warning before flipping Lisa onto her back.
Despite Lisa’s excited shriek, she wasn’t entirely surprised. Sex with Carla was an unexpected journey of discovery. For Carla, so much was new, but she’d shown little in the way of hesitation or nerves. Lisa had been with the same woman for twenty years, their sex life had dwindled towards the end due to stress and resentment.
Carla had Lisa reevaluating her own wants and needs. Her own desires.
The comparisons were natural, Lisa knew, except she didn’t want Becky here. Becky was already a ghost, haunting all the corners of Lisa’s life. The bedroom was different. In fairness to Carla, in fairness to them, Lisa could not let Becky into this space.
Except Carla had Lisa rethinking so many things.
In the early days of their relationship, Lisa had mostly taken the lead. She’d assumed Carla would need guidance, which, as it turned out, was a very wrong assumption because Carla quickly learned how much Lisa liked a little dominance and ran with it. The first time Carla wore the strap, she’d looked positively giddy, laughing as she flicked the dildo. Her laughter died as soon as she slid her cock into Lisa, replaced with what could only be described as an epiphany. Lisa could see it all over her face, and then Lisa stopped seeing much as Carla rocked her world.
Lisa had always enjoyed a bit of submission, but with Carla it was so different. Becky had been dominant in all things, including the way they had sex. When Becky topped her, she did so in a way that always scared Lisa just a little. She’d enjoyed it, but underneath, subconsciously, a part of her always sensed that Becky liked to push her as close to the edge of pain as she could. As if she wanted their safe word forever on the tip of Lisa’s tongue.
The roles between Carla and Lisa were less rigid. Lisa loved the ease of it, the variety. But when Carla topped her, when Carla dominated, she did so in a way that was entirely about Lisa’s pleasure. Even when she held Lisa down or spanked her or thrust hard, it was like she could read Lisa’s mind. She knew when it was too much, she knew when the hurt became pleasure and when it became pain.
Becky would whisper naughty things into Lisa’s ear, things that inevitably turned cruel.
Dirty girl, so naughty, look at you, pathetic…
Lisa didn’t know any better. She assumed shame was part of the thrill.
Carla would whisper naughty things too. Things that made Lisa feel wanted and desired and beautiful.
Dirty girl, so naughty, look at you, so beautiful taking me like a good girl, my Lisa, so good for me…
She’d had a good day. A proud day. A day worth celebrating.
And there was no better celebration than straddling Carla’s hips, her hands on Carla’s breasts, Carla’s cock deep inside. Lisa rose on her knees, riding the most gorgeous woman she’d ever seen, and in that moment, the comparisons stopped. She let herself be proud. Of her work. Of herself.
She let herself be proud.
“That’s it,” Carla encouraged, her hands on Lisa’s hips, guiding her. “That’s my good girl.”
Becky would use the phrase when Lisa did something for her. After Lisa had made her cum. It was transactional. Lisa would perform a task and Becky would tell her she was good.
Carla used it to encourage Lisa. To help her, and tease her.
To love her.
It was all about Lisa.
Carla stared up with those impossible grey eyes, her gaze drifting from Lisa’s lips to her breasts, to her cunt where they were joined, and her open lust, her open fascination, tore Lisa apart. She came hard, falling forward, knowing Carla would catch her.
Would save her.
As she lay on Carla’s chest, trying to catch her breath, Carla stroked her hair, kissing her forehead.
“My good girl,” Carla whispered, holding Lisa closer.
There was no one else Lisa would rather be.
~*~
The headache developed around noon.
It started with a dull throb in her temples and quickly spread, leaving her with an aching neck and shoulders. Lisa was determined to finish her shift, so she downed as much paracetamol as she deemed required, and fought through. She was up for promotion and she couldn’t just leave. Especially after missing so much work because of the baby.
The thought of her daughter broke through the pain. Lisa smiled, her eyes drifting to a framed photo on her desk, taken a few hours after Elizabeth’s birth.
Betsy.
Named for Becky’s nan.
Betsy had arrived screaming, she was temperamental and prone to crying fits and so cute that Lisa often spent half the night sitting next to her crib just to watch her. She could tell already that Betsy was going to be dramatic, but she was also cuddly and sweet and the top of her head smelled perfect.
If she played her cards right, she would be home before Betsy’s bathtime. She’d had to leave so early that morning, missing out on snuggles, on watching Becky do Betsy’s morning feed. Costello was breathing down her neck, his eye constantly on her, a reminder that her promotion was entirely dependent on what he saw.
Headache or no, Lisa had to stay at her desk and pretend her pounding skull was no bother.
Finally, finally, Lisa was able to go home. She took yet another dose of pain killers before slipping into her car, knowing that the best cure would be Betsy’s squishy cheeks. The thought bolstered her during the drive, tiny toes and tiny fingers awaited.
But the house was dark.
Lisa took the stairs two at a time, confused by the quiet. Usually, Betsy would be up for another half hour and then Becky would order takeaway and they’d share an exhausted meal in front of whatever Becky wanted to watch.
Betsy was fast asleep in her crip, precious beyond words, though all Lisa could feel was disappointment. She’d missed having time with her daughter. She’d missed a whole day of Betsy’s life.
And where was Becky? Why was their bedroom door closed?
Lisa expected to find her wife asleep. Instead, candles dotted the floor and drawers, the flickering lights enough to bring back the ache in Lisa’s temples.
Becky sat on the bed wearing a robe, looking far too pleased with herself.
“Hiya, love,” she said, twirling the tie around her waist.
She looked beautiful in that playful, almost boyish way she had. Lisa forced a smile, trying to ignore the growing nausea.
“Hey,” Lisa whispered, setting a hand on her stomach. “What’s all this, then?”
“Just thought we deserved an evening. Don’t you think?”
Lisa winced, swallowing hard. “Darling, this is so wonderful, but I feel poorly…”
The shift was instant. Becky’s smirk disappeared, replaced with harsh, narrowed eyes.
“Are you joking, Lisa?” She spat, almost a sneer.
Lisa had to clench her jaw, her head throbbing. “It’s a headache, I…”
“You’re going with you have a headache? You never were one for imagination, sweetheart. What is it? Can’t stand the look of me after I’ve had our daughter?”
“Becky,” Lisa gasped, horrified by the implication. “Of course not!”
“Then how do you think it feels to do all this, set this up…”
“I’ve taken more paracetamol. Maybe if I sleep for an hour and…”
“Don’t bother, Lisa.”
“Becky, please, I’m so sorry. I really am”
“I even put Betsy to bed early. I did that for you.”
That gave Lisa pause. Underneath the pain and the guilt, her rational mind was busy at work. They’d sleep trained Betsy early, at Lisa’s insistence. Putting her to bed this early would make for a rough morning. Besides, Becky knew how much Lisa wanted to see Betsy. She’d sent a text saying as much mere hours before. So why would she think putting Betsy to bed early was an act of selflessness? Something she did for Lisa?
“Now she won’t sleep through the night,” Lisa said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I haven’t seen her since yesterday, Becky. She was asleep when I left this morning.”
“Well, it’s your choice when to leave, Lise. You’re making a lot of choices at the moment, aren’t you?”
The animosity stung. Becky had a way of discovering Lisa’s weak spots and scratching at them until they bled.
“You know why I have to keep my schedule,” Lisa tried to argue, wishing her head didn’t hurt so much.
“I understand your priorities very well. So will Betsy soon enough.”
Lisa gasped as if Becky had taken her by the throat and squeezed. Tears gathered, stinging her eyes, and she wondered if Becky was right. If Betsy already sensed her absence. Her choices.
“I’m sorry,” Lisa whimpered. “I’m trying to make it all work, Becky. I know I don’t always get it right. But I’m trying.”
The shift was instant. Becky reached out a hand, indulgent. “I know you are, Lisa. C’mere, you.”
With a pounding head and wet cheeks, Lisa crossed the room, grateful that Becky understood. She stood in front of Becky, between her knees, staring down as Becky gazed up. The nausea was still there, turning her stomach into a wave pool, but Lisa just felt so guilty.
Becky untied the knot on her robe and let it fall open. She spread her legs, quirking an eyebrow, a look that left little doubt what she wanted.
So Lisa lowered herself to the floor and closed her eyes and made her apologies in the only language Becky seemed to understand.
Thirty minutes after Becky finally fell asleep, Lisa made it to the toilet right on time to throw up. There was little relief in it. Holding her own hair back, trying desperately to be quiet, Lisa reached a level of misery that had her wanting to curl up and lose consciousness, just for some respite.
After what felt like hours, Lisa managed to stand, leaning heavily against the sink so she could brush her teeth and wash her face. She gargled mouth wash, anything to erase the sick, though there was nothing she could do about her puffy eyes or red-tipped nose. A shower helped erase her night, the scent of her familiar soap cleansing – she washed away her day, her pain, her sweat. Becky. Her face and lips scrubbed over and over until they glistened pink.
Everything tasted like peppermint and her stomach felt a little better. The headache was subsiding too thanks to a hefty dose of paracetamol. There was no reason to avoid the bed, to avoid her sleeping wife. But Lisa lingered in the dark, frozen between the bathroom door and Becky.
A crackling baby monitor provided the escape she needed. Becky was dead to the world, she didn’t even roll over, not that Lisa minded. She quickly left her bedroom, crossing the hall to the nursery where she found a tiny little baby sniffling in the night.
“Hiya, my Betsy,” Lisa cooed, lifting Betsy from her crib and cradling her.
Betsy yawned, her cheeks damp, but she stopped crying almost as soon as Lisa touched her. Her nappy was dry and Lisa could see nothing amiss – so she took a seat in a nearby rocking chair and gazed into Betsy’s little face.
“Just you and me, eh love?” Lisa whispered, giving into the warmth of the idea.
Betsy waved her fist in the air, settling her tiny palm against Lisa’s lips. There was every chance that Becky would wake soon, swoop in, take Betsy and make her giggle. Lisa wasn’t necessarily very good at that part. But this? Holding her daughter in the middle of the night? Chasing away her fears.
This Lisa could do.
Because Betsy was doing the same for her.
~*~
“We need to talk about your Mum, darling.”
Carla’s voice drifted from Betsy’s bedroom, pulling Lisa’s attention.
They’d had another row. Lisa could barely remember what had started it – Betsy staying out late? Betsy refusing to attend College? After a night spent waiting for Betsy to come home, Lisa’s patience had worn thin. As soon as her daughter walked into the flat, Lisa had pounced, demanding an apology, demanding to know where she was. Betsy responded as Betsy always did, with sharp barbs and sarcasm until she went for the jugular.
Mum would’ve let me…
Lisa had stormed out, ignoring Carla who had parked herself in the kitchen, a silent witness.
Now, as Lisa lingered in the same kitchen, out of sight, she couldn’t help but eavesdrop. It was wrong, perhaps it was invasive, but she was a detective, after all. And she wanted to know what Carla was about to say.
“It’s not my fault she acts like a stubborn cow!” That was Betsy.
Lisa heard a tsk. She could just imagine Carla’s scowl.
“You’re lucky, you know?” Carla said.
Betsy scoffed loud enough that Lisa rolled her eyes. “Lucky? I’ve got one dead Mum and another who’s allergic to fun! How’s that lucky?”
“You’ve got a Mum who cares, Betsy,” Carla said. “Trust me, that’s lucky.”
“What do you mean?”
Lisa leaned a little closer to Betsy’s door. She knew the broad strokes of Carla’s difficult childhood, Rob was enough proof that they’d grown up rough, but Carla kept her pain close to the chest.
“Well,” Carla sighed, “My Mum cared more about drugs and blokes than me.”
“Oh.”
“She didn’t notice if I was home late, mostly because she wasn’t home herself. We didn’t have much in the way of money or food. I know it can feel like your Mum is overprotective and maybe she is, but she loves you so much, Betsy. So much that it likely scares her.”
Lisa bit her lip, marvelling that Carla knew her so deeply. The love she felt for Betsy was terrifying. It was so big, so vast. As a copper, she’d seen too many things – too many teenaged girls at the wrong place at the wrong time, involved in drugs, in worse, attacked, beaten, killed…
Letting Betsy into the world, especially after Becky’s death, sometimes made Lisa physically unwell.
“I just wish she’d trust me more,” Betsy said with a sigh.
There was a pause and then Betsy snorted.
“Alright, alright,” she laughed, “I know I haven’t always given her reason.”
“It takes time to build trust, don’t it?” Carla said.
There was another sigh from Betsy. “I suppose…”
“Aye, it does. So maybe tomorrow instead of tearing her head off, you two can sit down and have a chat?”
“A chat?”
“A chat,” Carla laughed. Lisa could just imagine her bumping Betsy’s shoulder with her own. “Brews, a chat. Everything’s sorted, innit?”
“You’re good at this.”
“At what?”
“The whole parenting thing. Did you ever want to be a Mum?”
Lisa winced, shaking her head because Betsy had a talent for saying exactly the wrong thing. The sound of Carla clearing her throat stopped Lisa from barging in and rescuing her girlfriend.
“I did,” Carla said, her voice barely a rasp. “Once, I did. Came close too. Just wasn’t meant to be.”
“You mean…”
“It’s all in the past, darling. Best that’s where it stays.”
Whatever was said next, Lisa didn’t stay to hear it. She snuck into her bedroom, wanting Carla and Betsy to have some privacy, but mostly wanting to be close when Carla inevitably joined her. It was late and Betsy was, hopefully, planning to go to bed soon. There was no point in having that chat now – not until morning.
Sure enough, Carla appeared five minutes later, her eyes watery. She obviously hadn’t heard Lisa come home, let alone enter their room, so instead of a warm, relieved welcome, Carla yelped, clearly not expecting another person in her room.
“Christ, Lisa!” Carla hissed, pressing a hand to her chest.
Lisa grit her teeth, crossing the space quickly to stroke Carla’s arms. “I’m sorry, love. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“Well, you did! About gave up the ghost, Lisa Swain!”
Lisa pulled Carla closer, their foreheads nearly touching. “You alright?”
“You heard that, I take it?”
“I did. She’s right, you know? You’re good at the parenting thing. Better than me.”
Carla frowned, tucking strands of loose hair behind Lisa’s ears. It was such a sweet touch, Carla was looking at her with soft eyes, and Lisa forced herself to take a step back. She couldn’t understand why Carla wasn’t reprimanding her. Wasn’t telling her she’d messed up and she needed to be better with Betsy.
“I walked away,” Lisa sighed, swinging her arms. “I always do that. What kind of Mum turns her back on ‘er own daughter?”
“Hey,” Carla tried, reaching out. “That’s not…”
“I don’t listen to ‘er, and I’m stubborn, and selfish and…”
“Lisa!” Carla gasped, finally catching Lisa’s flying hands. “Why are you talking like this?”
“I’m not saying anything that isn’t true.”
“Hush, Lovie, I’ll not have you speaking like that about my Lisa.”
Carla took hold of Lisa’s face, studying her, searching for something.
“Never again, you hear me?” She warned, one finger over Lisa’s lips before she could argue. “I never want to hear that from you. You’re a good Mum. A great Mum. And you’ve got a fiery, temperamental, funny, infuriating girl that’s all hormones and vinegar because that’s what teenagers are.”
Carla quirked an eyebrow, the tight set of her jaw enough to make Lisa nod in agreement despite her impulse to tell Carla she was wrong.
“You’re too good to me,” Lisa said instead, letting Carla hold her. She lay her head on Carla’s shoulder, melting when Carla tightened her grip.
Carla tsk’d, her fingers tangling in Lisa’s hair.
“Thank you,” Lisa continued in a whisper, breathing in Carla’s perfume.
“For what, Lovie?”
“For supporting me with Betsy. For not undermining me.”
Carla’s lips brushed Lisa’s crown, but she didn’t say another word.
The voice that Lisa heard as she closed her eyes was not her own. It wasn’t Carla’s either. It was a voice that told her she’d failed Betsy, that she was immature and awkward and suffocating.
She shuddered, clutching the back of Carla’s sweater, pretending not to recognize the source of her inner cruelty.
~*~
“Buck up, darling,” Becky hissed, placing a hand on the small of Lisa’s back.
Their annual Christmas party was in full swing, the pub vibrating with too-loud music and tinsel. All around, coppers wore ridiculous Christmas jumpers, indulging in mulled wine and mince pies. And usually, Lisa enjoyed the party. Usually, she could lean into the festivities – she’d even been known to take a turn at the karaoke machine once or twice.
This year, however, she’d made the mistake of rolling her ankles while chasing a perp through a back alley, so instead of her usual holiday cheer, all she felt was an ache that throbbed every time she moved. Nothing was broken and the doctor had told her rest and ibuprofen would do the trick, but the doctor hadn’t accounted for a very active two-year-old in the mix.
Betsy had been home sick for most of the week, sneezing and coughing on her mothers between crying fits and naps. She seemed mostly recovered, her energy back as she zipped between Lisa and Becky and a few of their friends, her red velvet dress a gift from Becky’s mum. Every time Lisa turned around, Betsy was eating another biscuit, but upon suggesting that she take Betsy home for some quiet, Becky’s gaze had narrowed.
For someone who loathed celebrating special occasions, Becky was a fan of Christmas. She was at the centre of every conversation, the star of the show, an endless supply of laughter and heckles. Someone would shout, go on then, Becks! And then she’d be up on a table or the bar or the stage, singing, leading the crowd.
In so many ways, Becky was a beam of light. Lisa knew that people must look at the two of them and wonder why Becky would choose such a storm cloud. Becky was always telling her to lighten up, relax, let go. It just wasn’t in Lisa’s nature to seek attention. She didn’t want to ruin anything for her family – she wanted to keep them safe and happy. A pub surrounded by increasingly inebriated coppers was no place for a toddler who only the day before had been feverish.
Becky disappeared into the crowd, her touch still warm against Lisa’s jumper. The ankle injury, the insistence on taking Betsy away from the party, Lisa knew she was putting a damper on what should have been a good time. She had a habit of doing that. Becky always chided her for it.
When two little hands pulled at her jeans, Lisa looked down, melting instantly at the sweet face staring up. Betsy was all chubby cheeks and blonde plaits and the cheekiest grin.
“More pie?” Betsy asked, wide-eyed.
Lisa crouched down, wrapping her arm around Betsy’s tiny waist. “You’ve had so many, darling, why don’t we save some pie for tomorrow?”
Betsy frowned. “More pie!”
“Betsy, you’ve had quite enough. You don’t want a sick tummy.”
Two-year-old logic was wonky at the best of times, which is why Lisa wasn’t overly surprised when Betsy stomped her foot and wailed.
“Betsy,” Lisa tried again, taking her daughter’s hand. “Sweetheart, I know…”
“What’s all this then?” Becky appeared, scooping Betsy into her arms. She spun her around, earning a giggle, and before Lisa could say another word, Becky disappeared again, taking Betsy with her.
The next time Lisa saw Betsy, she had a mince pie in each hand, her little body pressed to Becky’s leg. Becky was busy talking to one of the new coppers, a red head whose shirt was unbuttoned dangerously low, but Becky kept her hand on Betsy’s head, gently stroking her hair, not paying attention to the way Betsy had started looking a little pale.
“Mummy,” Betsy sniffled, tugging on Becky’s trouser leg just as Lisa approached.
Lisa got there first, picking Betsy up and pressing a hand to her forehead. It was warm, warmer than usual, and judging by the way Betsy immediately tipped her head against Lisa’s shoulder, the mince pies and holiday cheer had been a little too much for her recovering immune system.
“I’m taking her home,” Lisa announced, ignoring the new copper who looked on with curiosity.
Becky scoffed, shaking her head as she cupped Betsy’s cheek. “Come now, you’re alright, aren’t you Bets?”
Betsy burrowed further into Lisa, unceremoniously dropping her mince pies on the floor so she could clench sticky hands into Lisa’s jumper.
There were too many people around for Lisa to say what she wanted to say. Too many witnesses. So Lisa did what she always did when the room felt too small, when her emotions felt too big. She turned around and walked out the door, carrying Betsy into the cold night, desperate to get away from the sound and the red-head and the glint of anger in Becky’s eyes.
It was easier to concentrate on Betsy. It always was.
As soon as they arrived home, Lisa got to work, bathing Betsy, dressing her in the coziest pyjamas she could find. She held her and read her two books and then sat by her crib until she fell asleep. Betsy was nearly big enough for a bed, but Lisa thought she looked so sweet, curled up, one arm tucked around her teddy bear.
Becky was a wonderful mother. There was no denying it, nor would Lisa ever want to. Lisa wasn’t quite as confident in her own parenting abilities, but in moments like this – moments where Betsy reached for her, where Betsy looked at her with those big brown eyes, Lisa felt like maybe she was doing okay.
Would a good mother ruin Christmas?
Becky would undoubtably be home later claiming just that. She loved showing off their family, showing off Betsy. Even showing off Lisa sometimes, though it always made Lisa feel a little strange. She knew Becky found her attractive – she just wasn’t always comfortable with the way Becky would playfully wink at her mates while holding Lisa’s arm, and wiggle one eyebrow, as if they knew something about Lisa that Lisa didn’t.
Sometimes Lisa missed things. She didn’t always understand the jokes, she didn’t always want the noise and interactions. Had she missed something tonight? Had she made a mistake? Betsy had needed to go home. Lisa wasn’t being selfish. She was being a good mother.
Wasn’t she?
Sitting on the sofa with an ice pack around her ankle, a forgotten brew in hand, Lisa didn’t even hear Becky come in. At least not until Becky stumbled into a chair and cursed.
“You alright?” Lisa called, still distracted, not bothering to look over her shoulder.
There was more shuffling, but soon enough, Becky appeared, red-cheeked and more than a little dishevelled. She’d obviously been drinking, though Lisa was more curious about her unbuttoned collar. It brought with it images, questions, worries that Lisa pushed down.
“Fine,” Becky said, lowering herself on the loveseat across the room. “Are you still cross with me?”
Lisa bristled, pursing her lips. “I wasn’t cross, darling, I just…”
“You just…?”
“I wish you wouldn’t undermine me with Betsy.”
Becky remained motionless. “She’s two-years-old, Lisa. If it was up to you, she’d have no sweets at all.”
“That’s not true.”
“It’s Christmas. I wish you’d…give it all a rest for once.”
“What does that mean?” Lisa scoffed, her frustration boiling over. Becky was still annoyingly calm.
“Let loose. Have fun. You’re so rigid and ordered and it’s stifling sometimes.”
“For heaven’s sake, I didn’t want her to vomit! Is that so terrible?”
Becky sighed, a heavy, exhausted sigh. “Lisa, I don’t want to argue. Not tonight.”
They’d been doing that more and more lately. Arguing. Poking at each other. Lisa hated it.
She took a deep breath and nodded, setting her mug on the coffee table. “You’re right.”
“Usually am,” Becky smirked, extending her hand.
Lisa recognized the invitation. A small voice in her head shouted that she had every right to be mad, to reject whatever Becky was offering, but another voice was busy whispering about how disheveled Becky looked. That loose collar.
“Did you have a good time?” Lisa asked, straddling Becky’s lap, wincing as she dinged her ankle.
Becky set her hands on Lisa’s thighs and leaned back, the smirk still present.
“I did. You’ve met Natalie, right? New recruit.”
Lisa forced herself not to frown. “Briefly. She seemed…nice.”
“She was. Very nice.”
“Yeah?”
Becky set her thumb on Lisa’s chin, holding her in place. “Yeah. But what about you, Lise? Do you plan to be very nice to me?”
“Aren’t I always, darling?”
“Not lately.”
Lisa blushed, bowing her head. “You know why, Becky. It can’t be helped.”
“And you know I don’t care. It doesn’t bother me.”
“But it bothers me.”
The idea of having sex on her period made Lisa deeply uncomfortable. Between the cramps and the mess, she just wanted a warm blanket and quiet. Becky always took her rejection personally, as if Lisa chose when to get her period and used it as an excuse to put Becky off. She’d been broody all week – much to Lisa’s annoyance.
“Some people like it,” Becky said, tilting her head. In the low light, Lisa couldn’t be sure, but she could almost make out a dark patch beneath Becky’s ear.
“I don’t. I never have. I told you when we were dating. Nothing has changed.”
“That’s not exactly true.”
“What?”
“You were wild when we first met, Swainie. I could hardly keep up with you. Pretty sure I married you for these tits.”
She punctuated her words by grabbing at Lisa’s chest. Her words were full of good humour – always a joke with Becky – but beneath the laughter, Lisa sensed a darkness. A threat.
“I love you, Lisa,” Becky continued, wrapping her arms around Lisa’s waist, bringing them together. “I want you and when it feels like you don’t want me, I can’t help but question this. Us.”
Lisa shook her head, her hands on Becky’s shoulders. “Darling, of course I want you! I always want you.”
“You’re not the only one.”
Fear prickled up Lisa’s spine. Anger too. She didn’t want to ask the question on the tip of her tongue. She didn’t want to voice anything that could rip their marriage apart.
“What do you mean by that?” Lisa asked, choosing a different question, a safer question.
“Nothing. Nothing at all.”
Lisa knew liars. She dealt with them all the time. Calculating, shady humans who would say one thing and do another. Her wife, her Becky was not a liar. Because if she was, that meant that Lisa was…
Lisa tucked her face into Becky neck, closing her lips over the bruise. Pretending it wasn’t mouth shaped. Pretending it wasn’t there at all.
~*~
There was little to be done about the black eye, but Lisa was determined.
She gingerly applied concealer, wincing at each dab, knowing that any second Carla would walk in and be cross.
In truth, Lisa felt poorly. She’d taken the business end of a perp’s elbow mid-interview and now her head hurt, not to mention her eye. She looked terrible too, like she’d been through the wars, but she refused to disappoint Carla.
They had reservations at the Bistro for dinner and the plan was to get a room for the night too. She was pretty certain that Carla had something new and lacy hidden away in a drawer for the occasion. Plus, Carla had been talking about it all week. Lisa couldn’t let her down.
By the time Carla came home, Lisa had caked enough makeup to her face that it bordered on clownish.
“Hiya!” Carla called from the kitchen. Lisa could hear her footsteps and braced both hands against the sink.
“In here, love!” Lisa said, digging deep. The headache, the black eye, the slight dizziness…
“Are you ready then?” Carla asked, her voice drawing nearer. “I’ve packed a little something I think you’ll…Lisa! What’s happened?”
Carla’s gasp was followed by flailing hands landing on Lisa’s face. She was wide-eyed and openly worried, her gaze sweeping over Lisa’s body, searching for more injuries.
Lisa forced a smile, setting her hands on Carla’s biceps. “I’m fine, darling. Shall we go?”
“Go? Are you mad? We’re not going anywhere with you like this!”
Lisa’s forced smile turned into a frown. “What? Carla, I’m fine. I really am.”
“Don’t be daft, you look like you’ve walked into a closed fist! Who did this to you?”
With flared nostrils and a glance over her shoulder towards the door, Lisa was fairly certain that Carla had half a mind to avenge Lisa’s poor eye.
Lisa pulled on the sleeve of Carla’s coat, getting her attention. “We’re going to be late if we don’t…”
“Sit down. Now.”
“But…”
Carla pointed at the sofa, one eyebrow quirked. She was intimidating enough that Lisa immediately folded, sulking towards the sofa and sitting as requested. As soon as she did, whatever strength she had left evaporated and she sagged, in pain, and exhausted.
“Bloody heck,” Carla grumbled, tossing her coat while setting her hands on Lisa’s shoulders. She helped her lay back, and then stood, bustling around the flat in a way that would usually make Lisa laugh with affection. The headache and aching face made laughing difficult.
“I’m really alright,” Lisa insisted, her voice hoarse. Carla’s scoff was so loud it forced Lisa to blink. She reappeared armed with a damp cloth in one hand and a frozen bag of peas in the other. Without another word, she sat next to Lisa’s hip and started wiping the makeup away from her eye and cheek. The warmth felt nice, Carla’s presence felt nicer, though the soft litany of curses coming from Carla had Lisa on high alert.
Undoubtably, as soon as Carla saw the full extent of the damage, she would be angry. A minor injury and Lisa was incapacitated, ruining their evening. Ruining everything like she always did. Lisa set her palm on Carla’s thigh, watching the tight set of Carla’s jaw, her flashing eyes.
“I’m so sorry,” Lisa whispered, hissing when Carla brushed a particular tender patch.
Carla paused, biting her lip. “You should be! Running into danger, givin’ me a bloomin’ heart attack.”
“No, I mean, I’ve ruined our plans. I know how much you were looking forward to this…I was too. If you just give me a few minutes, I can…”
“Lisa,” Carla’s sigh was all exasperation. She tossed the cloth on the coffee table and replaced it with her hand. “We can go to the Bistro any night. What I can’t be having is your face looking like this and you pretending it’s nothing.”
“I don’t want to ruin anything. I always do.”
“Lisa,” Carla said again, shaking her head. “Darling, where is this coming from? You don’t ruin things, Baby. You scared me half to death and I’ll be tearing a strip out of you later when you’re feeling better. I’m just glad you’re home in one piece. Or, mostly in one piece. Next time, let’s avoid the face, aye? This face is too perfect to be looking like Mike Tyson met you in a dark alley.”
“I wanted to have dinner with you. And I wanted us to have a night together. It’s been so long and Betsy is always here…”
“Well, who says we can’t have dinner together?” Carla asked, carefully placing the bag of peas on Lisa’s cheekbone. “And Betsy’s out for the night. We have a bed. A good bed. In fine working order, if you’ll recall.”
Lisa managed a smirk. “Still fancy me even though I look like the Phantom of the Opera now?”
Instead of a cackle, Carla exhaled sharply. She found Lisa’s hand, linking their fingers.
“I hate when you get hurt,” she confessed. “I know it’s part of being a copper, I just hate it, Lisa. Makes me feel like one of these days, I might lose you.”
Carla’s eyes widened as soon as she said the words. As the familiar specter of Becky manifested.
“Me and my big mouth,” Carla stuttered, “it’s a miracle I can get a word out with my foot shoved all the way in there…”
What Carla didn’t understand was that Lisa knew that same fear. She’d lived it for twenty years and she’d barely survived that fear coming true. She knew what it was to love someone whose job was dangerous. Who could be reckless.
“You won’t lose me,” Lisa said, sitting up even though it made her a little dizzy. She tangled her fingers through Carla’s hair, calming her.
Carla released a shaky breath, her thumb gently brushing Lisa’s bruised cheek. “I’d better not, Lisa Swain.”
“You won’t. I promise, Carla. You won’t.”
~*~
It was Christmas Eve and Carla was gone.
Lisa stood behind the kitchen island, a bottle of wine next to her left hand, and all she could think, over and over, was that Carla was really gone.
Becky's death had forced Lisa to learn what "gone" truly meant. She could still remember the awful days following, their home was a mocking shrine to a life cut short. Becky's clothes had still hung in the closet. A half-empty jar of Nutella still held the imprint of her finger from a late night snack. It was her toothbrush that really tortured Lisa. Left near the sink, as if Becky had tossed it down in haste, which she likely had. Lisa couldn't remember that morning beyond their argument. Maybe Becky had taken her toothbrush and gestured with it, dropping it in frustration.
Regardless, gone was permanent. Gone was forever.
Now Becky was back and Carla was gone.
Lisa swayed, feeling the effects of her fourth glass of mulled wine. Becky seemed to constantly be at her elbow, ready with a refill, encouraging holiday cheer.
Number 6 was covered in garland and twinkly lights. Becky and Betsy sat side by side on the sofa, giggling, giddy off of Christmas Eve and the chance to be together again. Lisa had no idea how Becky had managed to accumulate so many presents while undercover, but their tree could barely contain the mountain of wrapped gifts Becky kept stacking each day. There were a few left to put out - from Father Christmas, Becky insisted. Betsy was eighteen, but Lisa knew without a doubt that she’d leave out mince pies and Becky would, as she always had, eat the mince pies the second Betsy was out of sight.
Carla’s presents were wrapped and hidden in their closet. Presents Lisa had chosen so carefully. She’d imagined a proper first Christmas in their home – cuddles and mulled wine and mistletoe.
The laughter should have been beautiful. It should have made Lisa happy. Her family, her little, lovely family, returned to her. It was like looking through a kaleidoscope, underwater. Like watching a film that she was not part of - all the actors in place, but miscast somehow, not quite right.
God, I’m pissed.
Carla was off living her best life. Lisa wondered what that meant. She wondered who was warming Carla's bed and the surge of anger and resentment flipped her stomach. The thought of it. Someone else. Someone else's hands. Someone else's mouth. On Carla. Her Carla.
Not her Carla. Not anymore.
Lisa gulped down another glass, the burn numbing enough to keep her standing and present.
Christmas songs played on the TV, familiar as they were comforting, and then Becky started singing. Full voiced, loud, and it was all so shocking, so impossible that Lisa had to stifle a nervous giggle. She'd dreamed of her dead wife returning for four years. Every Christmas, she'd fantasized about exactly this. She'd just never anticipated how ghoulish it would be. How heartbreaking.
Becky was beaming, there was a frenetic energy about her that usually only appeared when she'd won at some silly boardgame or come in first at the darts tournament down at their local. Despite the way she'd nod in understanding when Lisa spoke of Carla, Becky was carrying on as if she wasn't in another woman's house, sitting on another's woman's sofa, eating another woman's nibbles.
"Oh, I love this one!" Becky laughed, swinging her arm around Betsy's shoulders. "It's Christmas Eve, Babe, in the drunk tank..."
She used her free hand to gesture dramatically, the lyrics warbled as she and Betsy wheezed and tried to remember all the words. Lisa realized in some detached way that Becky was still wearing her wedding ring. Those hands were once so familiar. Maybe they still were? Pale, though Becky's knuckles were red, almost bruised, as if she'd been...
"You took my dreams from me when I first found you," Becky crooned, tipping her head back.
Lisa turned and squeezed her eyes shut. She could still hear Carla's rasp humming the same song, just last year, she could still see the way Carla had blushed when Lisa caught her singing along, the way she'd explained - uncharacteristically shy - that it was her favourite Christmas song.
And of course it was. Rough around the edges with a heart of gold. A barking, sarcastic chant curled around something softer. Something sweeter.
"I kept them with me, babe, I put them with my own," Lisa whispered under her breath, her thumb on her engagement ring.
Lisa had made her bed in so many ways.
She deserved this. She deserved Becky. She deserved this life because she’d prayed for it so many times.
Carla was a dream. A fantasy. She was a glimmer of what could have been. A glimmer that was gone. That Lisa had dimmed with her sadness and her mess. Lisa had let Becky into their home, into their lives. She’d let Becky humiliate Carla, she’d let Becky’s cruelty steal Carla’s warmth.
So this? This kaleidoscope family? This pantomime?
Lisa had earned it. She’d more than earned it.
"Can't make it all alone, I've built my dreams around you..."