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“Mrs Connor, do you wanna hear a joke?”
Carla sighed and looked up from her laptop to find Kirk hovering in the doorway of her office, antler ears atop his head, which he’d adorned on the 1st of December - along with an impressive rotation of Christmas jumpers - and hadn’t taken off since.
“Fine, go on,” Carla said, knowing he wouldn’t leave unless she said yes, but equally injecting as little enthusiasm into her voice as possible, lest he take her acceptance as encouragement to make this a regular occurrence.
“What do reindeer hang on their Christmas trees?” he asked, and then, without even giving Carla a chance to answer, he delivered the punchline with glee: “Horn-arments.”
Unfortunately, Carla wasn’t in a joking mood. Not that she would’ve laughed at a joke like that normally, although it wasn’t a million miles off her extensive repertoire of mum jokes she whipped out to either entertain or annoy Betsy, depending on what mood she was in. She’d been knee deep in contracts and spreadsheets all morning, and they were already behind on their biggest Christmas order. The last thing she needed was Kirk interrupting her flow with jokes.
“Well, thank you for that, Kirk. Get back to work,” she instructed, returning her attention to her laptop.
But Kirk made no move to leave. “Uh, actually there was something else I needed to tell you but I can’t remember what it was,” he said, scratching his head uselessly.
“Was it important?” Carla sighed. “Because I really do have a lot to be getting on with.”
“Must not have been,” Kirk decided, turning to leave, before suddenly turning back again. “Oh, I remember now. It was about Betsy.”
Carla’s head snapped up at that, a ripple of anticipatory worry coursing through her - plus a hint of annoyance, because whatever she’d done could elicit either reaction. “What about her?“
“She’s asleep.”
Carla blinked at him for a few seconds. She’d expected swearing at Sally, doing a runner or texting instead of stitching. Asleep was a new one. “Huh? What do you mean she’s asleep?”
“She's having a nap in the kitchen,” Kirk explained with a shrug. “Sally said you probably wouldn’t care, seeing as you let her get away with everything, but she told me to tell you.”
Carla chose not to respond to the implication of favouritism from Sally. Not that it was wrong per se, but it wasn’t like she let her get away with everything. Plus, she did regularly grass Betsy up to Lisa, and she didn’t go running to any of the other machinists' mothers when they were slacking off. So in some ways, Betsy had it worse.
Still, having a nap on work time was next level slacking off, even for Betsy, so Carla leapt up immediately, spreadsheets forgotten as she headed into the kitchen. Carla found Betsy slumped over the table, head resting on her folded arms. Yep, she was napping.
“Oi,” Carla said as she approached, prodding Betsy in the shoulder to rouse her.
The teen groaned and slowly lifted her head, bleary eyed and squinting as she adjusted to the light.
“What?” Betsy mumbled, rubbing her eyes sleepily.
“What? What do you mean ‘what?’” Carla scoffed, fixing her with a stern look. “I’m not paying you to nap.
Betsy yawned. “Sorry.”
Now she was sitting upright and her eyes were properly open, Carla could see Betsy didn’t look quite right. There were dark circles under eyes, and her face had a sickly pallor. She looked exhausted.
“Are you feeling ok?” Carla asked, annoyance switching to concern as she reached out and pressed a hand to Betsy’s forehead. She didn’t feel hot, but that wasn’t particularly reassuring given how awful she looked. “You don’t look good.”
“Migraine,” Betsy explained.
“Well why didn’t you say something? You could’ve gone home.”
“Well, we have that big order to put out, so I thought if I could nap then-”
“Oh, so you’re awake then,” Sally cut in, appearing behind Carla with her arms folded, taking her usual haughty tone. “You know, just because you’re the boss’ step-daughter, it doesn’t mean you can bunk off and leave us to pick up the slack.”
“Wind your neck in,” Betsy replied, though it lacked the usual bite of her comebacks.
“Yes, thank you, Sally. I’m dealing with it,” Carla snapped, before turning back to Betsy, her tone softening. “I’m taking you home.”
Sally made a noise of disapproval, poorly disguised as a cough, though she quickly scarpered back to her machine when shot a death glare from Carla.
“Right then,” Carla said as they stepped through the front door, watching as Betsy half flopped, half collapsed onto the sofa. “Can I get you anything? Have you taken painkillers?”
“Yeah,” Betsy confirmed, reaching for the throw on the back of the sofa and wrapping it around herself. “I’ll take a cup of tea if you’re offering though.”
“Coming up,” Carla called back to her as she made her way into the kitchen. “Are you hungry?”
“No.”
Carla brought back a selection of snacks anyway, all festive and stolen from the stash Lisa had warned them not to touch until Christmas. A tub of Treeselets, a bag of fancy crisps, a chocolate biscuit selection box and some Quality Street. Partly because Carla knew Betsy had been eyeing these up for weeks and she wanted to make her feel better, and partly because they were due a food shop and the other cupboards were frustratingly bare.
Betsy raised an eyebrow at Carla’s haul. “Are you sure we should be eating these? You saw how she was when I had some of that Shloer last week.”
“I will replace them before she even notices,” Carla assured her, making a mental note to make sure any evidence of their crime was well hidden. “Do you need anything else before I go?”
A look passed over Betsy’s face, a flash of disappointment mixed with something Carla couldn’t quite read. “Uh, no I’m good,” Betsy mumbled, reaching for the TV remote.
Carla raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”
Betsy nodded weakly.
“Ok, call me if you need anything,” Carla said, dropping a kiss to the top of Betsy’s head before moving towards the door.
It was only when she opened the door that Betsy called out.
“Carla?”
Carla paused, looking back over at Betsy, peering at her over the back of the sofa, eyes wide.
“Yeah?”
“Will you stay?” Betsy asked, voice hesitant, as though she wasn’t sure if Carla would say yes.
“Of course,” Carla said, closing the door immediately and shrugging her coat off.
She joined Betsy on the sofa, and the teen immediately snuggled into her side. The second she did, Carla forgot about all the work she needed to do, about the fact they were behind on an order. It didn’t matter that she didn’t have time to take the afternoon off - if Betsy needed her, then this is the only place she needed to be.
“Thank you,” Betsy whispered. “I don’t like being on my own when I’m ill.”
“You don’t have to thank me,” Carla said firmly, wrapping arm around her shoulders and pulling her close. “So go on then, what are we watching?”
“I don’t know, something Christmassy?”
They ended up watching Love Actually. Or at least, Carla did. Betsy fell asleep quickly, head resting on the back of the sofa, hand shoved inside a tub of Treeselets. Carla couldn’t resist snapping a photo and sending it to the family group chat - realising a second too late that she was attaching evidence of her crime. Lisa replied immediately.
Lisa: Are those from the Christmas cupboard?
Ryan: Uh oh.
Lisa called Carla before she even had an opportunity to formulate a defence.
“Who’s that?” Betsy mumbled, the ring of Carla’s phone pulling her from her slumber.
“Your mother. I might’ve accidentally sent a photo of you with the Christmas food,” Carla admitted guiltily.
Betsy paled, the little colour that had come back into her cheeks over the course of her nap fading in an instant. “You said she wouldn’t find out!”
“I’m sorry!”
Her phone stopped ringing, and she sighed in relief.
“You better take the blame,” Betsy grumbled, pushing all the snacks as far away from her as possible, as if that would undo the damage that had already been done.
“Well, it is you in the photo,” Carla reasoned. She was joking, but for a moment she was genuinely considering taking the cowardly route and pretending she had nothing to do with it.
Betsy’s mouth dropped open in outrage. “Carla!”
“I’m joking,” Carla laughed. “Anyway, you’re ill, that’s our excuse.”
Betsy raised an eyebrow. “Our?”
Carla smirked at her. “We’re in this together.”
Betsy huffed and shook her head.
“Ok, fine, I will take the blame,” Carla conceded, just as her phone rang again.
Betsy nodded, satisfied. “Thank you.”
“Hi Lisa,” Carla said as she answered the phone, keeping her tone light and injecting as much innocence as possible into her voice.
“You’re eating the Christmas food!” Lisa scolded her through the phone, skipping over any greetings.
“Well, hello to you too.”
“Carla.”
“I will replace everything we’ve eaten, I promise.”
“Everything? So it’s not just the Treeselets?” Lisa exclaimed, her voice now loud enough for Betsy to hear.
Carla winced. Oops.
“Idiot,” Betsy muttered. “The first rule of dealing with DS Swain is never admit to more than you have to.”
“And why are you two at home anyway? Shouldn’t you be at work?” Lisa continued.
“Betsy’s got a migraine so I brought her home,” Carla explained. “She wanted me to stay with her.”
“Oh,” Lisa said, her voice softening. “Is she ok?”
“Yeah, but she was hungry and we didn’t have any snacks in, so I raided the Christmas cupboard.”
“Well, I guess that’s ok, then,” Lisa conceded. A reluctant concession, Carla was sure. “Will you put her on?”
Carla handed the phone over to Betsy, and extracted herself from their sofa cocoon, busying herself with making them another cup of tea while listening in on Betsy assuring Lisa that she really was ok.
“She said she’ll be home soon,” Betsy said when Carla returned, gratefully accepting a mug from her.
“Good. Are you feeling any better?” Carla asked, brushing a hand over Betsy’s hair.
Betsy nodded. “Yeah, loads,” she confirmed, before adding with a smirk: “I think it was the forbidden snacks that did it.”
Carla chuckled. “Glad to hear it.”
They descended into silence for a few minutes as they drank their tea and flicked through Netflix for another film to watch.
“You know, I’m really looking forward to Christmas this year,” Betsy said quietly, casting a thoughtful look over at Carla. “I haven’t really been very excited for it since before…”
She trailed off, but it was a sentence she didn’t need to finish. Since before Becky died. Carla didn’t jump in straight away, sensing the teen had more to say.
“But this year it’s like a proper family Christmas. I mean, I know we had Christmas with you last year, but I didn’t really like you then.”
Carla snorted. “Charming.”
Betsy dropped her gaze guiltily. “Sorry. Well, it wasn’t that I didn’t like you exactly, it’s just I wasn’t really sold on you and Mum yet. Not properly.”
“But you are now?”
Betsy shrugged. “Course I am. You’re like another mum to me now. Plus I get a bonus Uncle Ry Ry. And Roy. It’s nice, having a family again.”
Carla’s throat felt tight all of a sudden, and she found herself blinking rapidly to stave off the tears that began to well in her eyes. Betsy had, on occasion, made illusions to Carla being like a mum to her, but she’d never said it outright before. It’d always been jokingly, or as an offhand comment. This was different. This was better.
“Come here,” Carla said softly, opening her arms and pulling Betsy into a hug. “I love you,” she murmured into the mass of blonde curls.
“Love you too,” Betsy whispered back, before pulling away. “Can we stop being all drippy now?”
“Oi, you started it,” Carla reminded her, poking her in the ribs.
“Well, now I’m ending it,” Betsy shot back, reaching for the TV remote again. “What shall we watch next? The Holiday?”
When Lisa arrived home an hour later, Betsy had nodded off on Carla’s shoulder yet again. Carla had started to doze too, but she was soon snapped out of it by the front door opening and closing.
“Hey,” Carla whispered, glancing over her shoulder.
Lisa paused in the doorway for a moment, smiling warmly at the sight of the pair. “Hi. Is she asleep?”
Carla nodded, her eyes catching on the bag in Lisa’s hands as the detective stepped further into the room. “What’s in there?”
Lisa smirked at her. “Replacements.”
“Ah,” Carla chuckled.
Lisa dropped a kiss to the top of Carla's head before moving towards the kitchen. “Thank you for looking after her.”
“Don’t mention it. There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”