Chapter Text
The quiet click of the front door closing had Carla bolting out of the bedroom. Lisa hadn't come home from her walk, had been gone overnight in the end. Betsy had acted unbothered but beneath the stoic facade, Carla could tell she was scared. Scared of losing the Mum she had only really just begun to regain after Becky’s death, the latest loss threatening to unravel all the progress they had made as Lisa retreated behind walls so high not even a bird could scale them. Neither Carla nor Betsy had slept, both convening on the sofa somewhere around 3am and sticking on episodes of MAFS to try and distract themselves from the worry of where Lisa was, if she was okay. Calls had gone unanswered and messages had gone unread, no acknowledgement, no reassurance. Carla had even tried ringing the station to see if she had gone back to work but was assured that no, DS Swain wasn't in the CID office or a cell - both were options which seemed potentially feasible with the mood Lisa was in.
The woman who stepped through the door that morning was a shell of the one Carla had fallen in love with. In that brief unguarded moment, when Lisa wasn't aware she was being observed, Carla saw a glimpse of the raw grief, guilt and pain Lisa was masking but as soon as Lisa spotted Carla, the brunette watched the door slam shut on every emotion beyond defensive anger. The transformation was almost instantaneous and clearly drew on energy that the detective didn't have to waste so instead of firing twenty questions at her partner about where she had spent the night and why she'd failed to make contact, Carla opted for a more quiet form of intervention.
“Is there anything I can do to help you get ready for the service? Can I make you a coffee or slice of toast?”
Lisa shook her head, still trying to swallow down her emotions enough to speak. She knew she was hurting Carla, probably doing yet another number on Betsy too, but they wouldn't be any better knowing all the things that were swimming about in her head, all the things that kept her up at night and left her feeling sick to her stomach throughout the day. This distance, her silence, was for their own protection. “I couldn't stomach anything. I need to get showered and changed.”
Carla simply nodded and let her pass. Today. They just needed to get through today, then Carla would do whatever it took to push through those walls. For now, Carla was in limbo, not wanting to push too hard and risk Lisa being in no fit state to attend the memorial, or worse, her attending and then publicly crumbling - that would be the worst case scenario for the staunchly private and proud detective. To be a public spectacle and the centre of gossip, people whispering about selfishness and making it about her instead of Craig would only serve to further the mental torment Lisa was experiencing. No, Carla needed to help her get through today, then whatever happened next they would face together but away from the public eye.
The sound of the shower switching on spurred her into action. There were practical things she could do to ease Lisa’s burden. So she returned to the bedroom and laid out Lisa’s uniform that she'd collected from the dry cleaner's the day before, making sure the jacket and hat were free from any lint, the trousers smartly pressed with razor edge creases down the front of each leg, the shirt collar starched, the white of that and the ceremonial gloves unblemished. She took a risk and selected a pair of underwear, sleek, black, modest, ones Lisa had mentioned were comfortable. The last thing she needed was any irritation she could do nothing about. With that in mind, she chose the softest pair of black socks she could find too. Satisfied with her work, she returned to the lounge, collecting Lisa’s boots from underneath the coat rack, placing them by one of the dining chairs whilst she retrieved a towel, the boot polish, cloth and brush. She set to work diligently working the polish into the leather of the boots, paying particular attention to any scuffs and marks, the towel draped over her lap to protect her own dress.
Carla had just finished with the second boot when Lisa appeared at her shoulder, steps stuttering as she realised the lengths Carla was going to in order to make the day as easy as it could possibly be. She knew it, she knew Carla was doing this wholly for her benefit but still her anger flared, white hot and untameable. “I'm not a child, I don't need my clothes setting out for me or my shoes polishing.”
Carla took a breath, swallowing down her instinct to snap back, to throw the cloth at Lisa and tell her to finish her own damn boots then. This wasn't her girlfriend talking, it was the grief, the despair, the weight of everything crushing her under its heel. “I just want to do what I can to help you get through the day.”
“So you can feel like the hero? I don't need saving Carla, I'm not the one who lost a member of my family…”
“Not this time but you did and I'd be willing to bet the last time you wore that uniform was for Becky, wasn't it?” Carla finished with the boot, placing it gently on the floor beside the other one, pristine and shining. She rose to her feet, Lisa stepping back suddenly, almost recoiling at the prospect of Carla physically touching her.
“Your hands are covered in black polish,” she offered by way of explanation, her own palms smoothing non-existent creases and marks from the sleeves of her dress uniform jacket.
It reminded Carla of the days before they acknowledged their feelings for one another, when Carla couldn't work out if Lisa liked her even as a mate or if she was physically repulsed by her, before she learned of Lisa’s hidden injuries. Always hiding, always keeping people at arm's length, always trying to go it alone. She could see why it might have caused tension in Lisa’s marriage to Becky, the stubborn detective’s refusal to accept help when she needed it the most. Carla had thought they were making progress, after Betsy got shot and Lisa came home from the hotel by the airport, lowering her defenses and falling into Carla’s arms after admitting she needed her but Craig's death had pushed them apart once again, the defenses thicker, more spiky and sturdier than before. Lisa was a wounded animal, fearful and lashing out, feeling threatened by everything and everyone in her weakened state and so she attacked first, barked loudly, snarled and gnashed her teeth to keep her little pocket of isolation safe from invasion, even by those who loved her most. And just as with a wounded animal, the key to breaking through that deafening, paralysing fear was patience. Not something Carla could previously be accused of having an abundance of and yet with Lisa she was prepared to wait her out, keep taking the verbal lashings, the worry when she failed to respond to messages even to acknowledge her own continued existence in the world. Because at the back of Carla’s mind, she could still hear Lisa’s words from months ago, sat at the very table she was sitting at lacing up her boots now, the words which spoke of such an ambivalence towards her own life and how, in times of danger, she found herself not caring if she made it out alive. Those were not thoughts that just went away on their own. Maybe in the chaos of all that had happened since New Year, they'd lain dormant, the focus on supporting Carla through the kidney transplant and protecting her from Rob in the aftermath lending an air of false complacency that the blonde really had ‘got a grip’ as she so harshly put it. That in itself spoke volumes to Carla, both then and now, for how Lisa viewed her own fragile hold on her mental health. She highly doubted the compassionate woman would ever tell another living soul struggling to see the purpose of rising and facing another day to get a grip yet that was what she expected of herself. The standards she held herself to were impossible and Carla couldn't help but wonder who had helped put them in her head. Who had laid the foundations for such lofty expectations of her and that failure to meet them was not a tolerable option?
Hands scrubbed clean of the remnants of boot polish, Carla grabbed her handbag that she'd selected for the occasion. “Are we walking over together or do you need to go to the station first?”
“You and Betsy go ahead, I'll follow on in a few minutes. There's something I need to do.” Lisa couldn't meet Carla’s eye, focusing instead on the contents of her own small bag. She needed them out of the flat, out of the way. Kit had touched a nerve with his remark about ghosts at memorial services. Of course Becky was on her mind, how could she not be? Between the parallels which tied the two deaths together in her mind for how badly she had let them down, her own guilt at keeping secrets about both deaths or their aftermath was threatening to choke her.
“Bets, you ready, darling?” Carla chose not to argue, not to offer to wait. It wouldn't help, would only make Lisa feel more cornered. So she went with it, offering a squeeze of a forearm as she waited for the teen to breeze out of her bedroom.
It didn't go unnoticed that Betsy couldn't look at her mother for more than a fleeting glance, dressed as she was. The memories associated with the outfit were too painful, still too raw for them both. “I don't see why I have to come, not like I knew Craig all that well anyway.”
“No, but you know Kirk and you know me and your Mum so you're coming to show your support for us.” Carla’s response was patient, considered. Lisa’s less so.
“Oh for heaven's sake Betsy, a young man died. Can you not think of someone other than yourself for once in your life?” Carla was catapulted back to the very first time she had met ‘Lisa’, the woman behind the DS Swain mask, the fateful day she had climbed into Lisa’s car after the detective had lost her pass and been arguing with Betsy on the phone over the house move.
Intervening before the youngster could snap back and make a bad situation worse, Carla ushered Betsy towards the door.
“Come on you, let's give your Mum a minute to herself. Lots of big emotions flying about today, aren't there? It's not the day for arguing. It would mean a lot, to all of us, if you'll be there.”
The two of them left the flat, Betsy asking Carla why she did that. “Why do you keep defending her and letting her get away with treating us both like we don't matter? Like our feelings aren't important?”
“Oh lovey, you said yourself she's struggling. This is all just for show, just trying to protect the little bit of control she's hanging on to. That tight hold she's got will slip at some point though and everything she's trying so hard to keep inside her will come spilling out. Don't give up on her, yeah? She's come back from this kind of place before, she can do it again.”
“I'm not waiting another three years for her to stop being a heartless…”
“Don't even think about finishing that sentence, young lady. Your Mam hasn't ever once been heartless. She cares too much, too deeply, that's the problem. If she didn't, loss like this wouldn't hurt her so badly she shuts down. This is when she needs us most, even though she doesn't want us and doesn't want to admit it. She needs us, so stick with her.”
Inside the flat, Lisa pulled out the box of files Betsy had caught her looking at, startling her and drawing suspicion from her daughter for the shifty reaction. But Betsy couldn't know. She couldn't find out the truth about Bex. It would sully the image of the perfect mother Betsy had carried with her for so long and Lisa couldn't bear to be the reason for that change. No, some secrets had to be kept, had to be clung onto until they died with all who knew them, no matter the cost to those who carried them in their hearts. Kit was right, there would be more ghosts than Craig's at this memorial, Lisa would undoubtedly be haunted by every decision she had made since that fateful day she had learned of Becky’s truth, every choice which brought her nothing but further pain and misery. Closing the file after one last lingering look, Lisa slid the box onto a dining chair and tucked it under the table, out of sight unless you went to sit down so she hoped she could intercept it before Carla did later, Betsy already having advised them she was off to River's as soon as she was released from the memorial.
Drawing on every last ounce of her strength, Lisa checked her appearance in the mirror and stepped out of the door, her mind already checking out leaving her body to go through the motions. All she needed to do was turn up, stay long enough to hear Kit deliver his tribute to their fallen colleague and then she could make her excuses and leave, maybe swing but her late wife's grave before she faced another awkward night of knowing it was only a matter of time before she pushed Carla away permanently and desperately wanting to cling onto her but not knowing how to stop the self-destructive spiral. It all felt like sand slipping through her fingers, impossible and irreversible. Death had a way of claiming more than just its victim. It corrupted and poisoned those left in its wake, warping them into grotesque mirages of their former selves forever stuck on the wrong side of a mirror, looking at the reflection of what they'd become overlaid on top of who they used to be. She was nothing but a pathetic clown, hiding behind a false face and putting on an act hoping to fool those around her that she was still inside, still capable of feeling and loving and not just destroying everything and everyone. The hatred she felt towards herself settled into cold hard steel behind her eyes, the final shutters in place, leaving her impervious in order to get through the next few hours. The truth would come out, as it inevitably always did, and when it did, she knew she wouldn't survive the fallout but that was okay, she had long since resigned herself to that fate. At least she could go knowing Betsy would have someone far better than her to look out for her, someone who could help her move beyond all of this. Carla wouldn't let Betsy down, not like Lisa had over and over again. They'd be fine without her when the time came and when it did, there would be no memorial service in her honour, no dress blues at her funeral or heartfelt speeches of how she had served her community and been a vital member of it. The vacuum would swallow her and leave no void to be filled, only a vague hint that anything had ever been there at all, unmemorable and meaningless. The click of the front door at the base of the stairs felt like the final nail being fastened into place on her own coffin, every step she took towards the Bistro a step towards her grave. And Lisa faced it, spine stiff and straight, gaze fixed directly ahead, unwavering and heedless of any concerned onlookers who watched her go. In her own mind, she was already a ghost, already lost to this world, irrelevant and invisible. She would linger on the periphery of the memorial, unnoticed until the time came to simply slip away and let go of her own earthly bonds. Not long now until everything blew up in her face and then maybe, just maybe she might finally know peace.