Chapter Text
She'd made it about four chapters into the book.
Sally Rooney wasn't exactly on her go-to list of novelists but she had a way of capturing people's messiness that Carla found compelling.
Perhaps that's why Roy had picked it out.
Apparently there were some German composer connections in the title that he'd thought added to the whole thing. Though she'd battled the fatigue to try and take in his explanation, in hindsight, it must've been around the start of her illness shortly after Christmas because all she'd managed to hold on to was that some fella with an Sch surname had been responsible for the music.
Or something to that effect anyway.
She'd not had much luck keeping herself occupied with it.
Ordinarily she would've got completely sucked into a book when she had such a chunk of time to work with it.
But her brain kept spinning with everything that seemed to be falling down around her, a pattern that was interrupted by her complaining organs at erratic intervals.
Factory. Infection. Kidney failure. Lisa. Betsy. Mason.
Just quit the moaning and get on with it Connor
She was just about to make a third attempt at starting Chapter Five, when she heard the sound of hesitant footsteps tracking up the corridor.
Sitting up slightly, she soon spotted what looked to be a very edgy and anxious teenager pacing outside the door.
Carla was about to call out to her and put her out of her misery, but then, as if by telepathy, Betsy finally nudged open the door; a much more muted entrance than what was the norm for the teenager.
“Mind if I stay with you for a while?”
“Not at all, come in.”
Carla eyed her with concern, as she shuffled in, taking a seat in the chair next to her bed.
“Has Mum been in yet?”, she asked quietly.
Her voice sounded rough from overuse; so unlike the cheeky lightness that characterised her even on her moodiest days.
“She stopped by before work this morning.”
“Oh.”
The teenager sunk into her blue coat slightly at that answer, letting the zipped collar obscure her face, unsure of what to say next.
But then Carla continued.
“She did, however, call me about an hour ago.”
Betsy looked up then to find knowing green eyes observing her carefully, in spite of her obvious exhaustion.
“I know what happened, love.”
That was all it took for her to crumple in on herself, sobs ripping fresh gasps from her sore throat. The tears ran uncomfortably down her neck, smearing beneath her chin as they got trapped under the collar of her grey jumper.
The sight of Betsy's distress tugged at the brunette's heart and she adjusted herself as quickly as she could manage with the wires and tore back the sheets. Mentally thanking her past self for having the forethought to keep her leggings on before her next round of tests, she gradually eased out of the bed and crouched next to the hysterical teenager.
Suddenly, Betsy felt supportive arms around her, holding her tightly as she cried.
“I've got you”, she murmured. “I know it hurts and it's absolutely shit that this is how things have gone.”
The forcefulness of the assurance drew a teary laugh from Betsy, in spite of herself, allowing her a brief reprieve from her anguish.
“Yeah it is. Really fucking shit. And now I'm alone. Again.”
If Carla hadn't been on some stiff painkillers anyway, she would've felt those words like a gut punch.
She was fairly certain she had had the same thought verbatim in the not-so-distant past.
But she had to try and coax some sort of distraction out of her, if only to give the youngster a few minutes breathing room from the grief hanging across her shoulders like a lead curtain.
“Charming. I'm not even worth mentioning, am I?”
That earned her a raised eyebrow, as doleful brown eyes met hers.
Which, in the brunette's book, was still a sight better than the raw, grief-stricken expression she'd come in with.
Though not by much.
As Betsy started to compose herself again, she pulled back from Carla a little, looking away sheepishly.
“You shouldn't be out of bed when you're this ill.”
The unsteady lilt in her voice rang discordant with suppressed guilt.
One thing at a time
“Yeah well, it'd be wrong of me to stay over there in bed when you're this upset. As if I'm going to leave you to deal with this on your own.”
Betsy's eyes fluttered shut; a last-ditch attempt at shielding her vulnerability.
Mum did
The teenager sighed wearily.
“Maybe you should. I've already had one person I care about die on me today, I'm not going to be held responsible for a second.”
Eyes still streaming, she looked up at the woman in front of her.
“This is all my fault.”
Carla's lungs burned with acid as she felt the torrent of Betsy's turmoil second-hand.
This needed sorting.
Fast.
Because by the time Lisa had mustered up a second to herself to even pick up on it, Betsy would already be too far gone in her own head to claw her way out of the self-loathing that the factory owner knew could and would suffocate her.
And that'd really pull the house down on top of them all.
Carla gently raised her free hand to smoothly clean away the mascara stains under her eyes, instinctively running it affectionately along her cheek as she did so.
She examined her critically, but not unkindly, mentally plotting her next move.
“Before you come out with any more dramatics like that, you go and clean yourself up a bit and then you can come back here and explain to me why you think any of this is your fault. I've no plans on dying tonight, so you can hand off that responsibility in any event to someone else. Preferably the scum responsible for what happened.”
Betsy didn't answer that, but Carla could see her tensing herself, still a bit uncomfortable with the enormity of the emotions swirling within her.
Lightly squeezing her shoulder, the factory owner got to her feet unsteadily.
Which had Betsy automatically standing to reach out for her, seeking out that physical closeness again, as Carla felt her pressing her fisted hands against her back.
Hot breath misting against her neck, the brunette softly laid her head atop the teenager's, returning her embrace as best she could.
Her heart went out to her for the amount of loss she had to deal with this early in her life.
Despite the attitude and reckless behaviour, Carla couldn't help but admire the way Betsy had stubbornly held onto her sense of self.
She'd seen her fair share as an adult and it had led her to breaking point on more than one occasion.
Whatever else happened in the next few weeks, she vowed to herself that she wouldn't let that happen to Betsy.
Not on her watch.
Breaking out of her thoughts, she pressed a kiss to her head.
“Go on then. Before I fall over like the golden oldie I'm rapidly turning into. Don't ever turn fifty kiddo, it's nothing to write home about so far.”
Reluctantly pulling back, Betsy offered her a weak smile.
“Oh and don't forget your latte on the way back.”
The brunette scrunched her nose then.
“Actually, on second thought, proceed with caution on that one. Pretty sure it was motor oil instead that was in Ryan's cup earlier.”
A snort followed that comment before Betsy finally said something.
“Yeah, for once, I'm not really feeling coffee anyway. Don't fancy staying awake for more than necessary today.”
Sitting down at the edge of the bed, Carla braced herself against it, easing her legs up onto it.
“In that case, I'll take a leaf out of your Mum's book and have a tea, if it's going. I'll leave it up to you whether you want one or not.”
Betsy's mouth dropped open in clear surprise at the reference to Becky, while her boss couldn't help the laugh that spilled out of her at her bewildered expression.
The teenager grappled with how to even respond to all of that but in the end, settled on two words.
“Thank you.”
Carla smiled reassuringly, nodding her head in acknowledgement.
Watching her as she headed out, the factory owner repositioned herself back into bed and set about clearing some room along the near side of the sheets, leaving her book beneath a pillow for the moment.
Just in case it was needed.