Chapter Text
Carla Connor-Swain is tired. Bone tired. She rolls over, glancing at her phone: 3:30. Not late enough to get up, not early enough to still be up. Sandwiched somewhere in the middle. No man’s land.
It has been ages since she slept well. 113 days, to be exact. Not that she is counting (she is).
The brunette leans back on her elbow and turns her head toward the small blonde woman lying next to her. She smiles warmly, even though she’d much rather be sleeping. If she is going to be awake, this view will do just fine. Fine indeed.
She’s splayed out on her belly, her left hand out, looking as though it’s searching for Carla. But perhaps a bit like she gave up, too tired to reach far enough. Her right hand is hanging off the bed, perched on the side of the white cot.
DS Swain appears to have put in a valiant effort, but even the fierce detective is no match for their newest houseguest. A very welcome houseguest, albeit very loud, very demanding, and very moody. Now that Carla thinks about it, she realizes that baby Becca shares an awful lot of traits with her gobby mother.
Though Becca is decidedly more adorable and more easily contained than Betsy, Carla thinks.
At least for now.
Carla never thought she’d have a baby in the house, not after her miscarriage all those years ago. And now approaching her 60th birthday, she often wonders if she’s got the stamina for her Grandma Era.
Baby Becca, though wickedly cute and soft and mesmerizing, is a bedtime menace. She takes no prisoners, and in that way, she’s much like her Nanna Lisa. Carla is certain that the baby can sense when they’ve fallen asleep, and chooses that time specifically to wake up hangry.
She can see the remnants of what was likely a midnight feeding on Lisa’s nightstand. A half-empty bottle, a burping cloth, and an open pack of wipes. Carla smirks at the sight, though she can see the joke’s on her, because Becca is already beginning to grow restless again.
Carla quietly pulls the duvet up over her slumbering partner before heading to the en suite, hoping to use the loo and wrap up in her robe before Becca fully wakes. She wants to let Lisa sleep as long as she can. The brunette gives the blonde a gentle kiss on her head and pads softly to the bathroom.
She knows they volunteered for the night shift, trying their hardest to give Betsy a break when they can, but Carla’s forgotten what it feels like to be rested, and she desperately hopes that one night soon the baby will grow out of this stage and maybe bless them with at least four hours of uninterrupted dreaming.
Even worse than being in a constant state of exhaustion is the decided lack of satiating intimacy with the blonde.
They’ve been together nearly a decade (Carla refuses to discount the year they were apart - they may have been physically separated, but their hearts were always together), but they’ve yet to tire of mind-blowing sex. Who would, honestly? And it is mind-blowing with them. Every. Single. Time.
Carla is never not turned on by Lisa, even when she’s got Becca’s sick all over her. In fact, they’ve opened up an entirely new world of role play with the whole grandma situation. It may be inappropriate and moderately unhinged, but it’s very them in all the best ways. Their kinks run wide and deep, and they seem to only enjoy one another more with each passing year.
The brunette learned long ago that the intensity, consistency, and longevity of their active sex life is a bit of an oddity in their community, and sometimes Lisa is certain that Carla’s exuberance and athleticism are fueled by this information. The blonde never complains. Carla never questions.
But these days, these last 113 days, it’s been about speed over worshipping, convenience over exploration. Quick shags in the kitchen while Betsy runs errands and Becca sleeps in the guest room. Back of the car rendezvous when they go out to pick up takeaway. Shared showers that are, unfortunately, more about getting clean than doing anything unclean.
They haven’t lost their spark, not by a long shot, but Carla longs for a day when she can take her time with the blonde. Properly drink her in, treat her like the goddess she truly is (even Nannas can be goddesses).
Carla exits the en suite just in time. She gently lifts Becca from the cot, as the baby’s eyes flutter, an adorable, dazed state just before fully waking. Carla sees that same look on Lisa’s face most mornings, and it sets her heart alight.
She holds Becca in one hand, a blanket draped over her, and flicks the kettle on with the other. She then starts the process of getting Becca’s bottle ready, something that’s taken her a bit of time to get the hang of, but now she feels like a pro.
She’s a fast learner. Or so she’s been told.
Though being awake at this hour of the morning with a fussy baby was not on her bingo card for the year, the brunette relishes every moment with Becca, and with Betsy, and in watching the way Lisa is with all of them.
Carla can’t really remember the before times anymore. The time before she met the blonde copper and her world flipped on its head. But watching Nanna Lisa in action - not just Lisa, and certainly not DS Swain - has flipped her world once again.
The blonde is a marvel. The eighth Wonder of the World, she thinks. She always seems to know exactly what to say, exactly what to do, to make their little family unit operate smoothly.
Part of Carla thinks that Lisa’s attentiveness as a grandma is atonement for how she feels she failed Betsy. Carla always believed that Betsy was lucky to have Lisa. A mum who gave a damn, even if she wasn’t always emotionally available. Miles better than Carla’s mum had been.
But Lisa was always so hard on herself. The day Carla climbed into the detective’s car, the blonde had explained how she thought she was always letting her daughter down, that she had no clue how to be a mum without her partner by her side.
Lisa was always self-deprecating when it came to parenting Betsy. The year she was traveling the world, she had felt a role-reversal, as if Betsy was parenting her. It was something she regretted deeply upon her return to Weatherfield. Something that took years for her to shake off.
As soon as Betsy told them she was pregnant, it was as if a switch flipped in Lisa. Like she was determined to be the best gran there ever was. Carla wishes that Lisa weren’t driven by this need to prove herself, but regardless of her reasons, she really has been the best Nanna, and it’s also made her a better mother. Or at least it’s helped her see that maybe she wasn’t all that bad after all.
Becca begins to fuss just as the bottle is ready. Carla tests the temperature on her wrist before popping the nipple into Becca’s mouth. Bald little Becca looks at the brunette as if she’s the most important thing on this planet (Carla supposes that’s probably true for the baby at this moment), and Carla’s heart melts as Becca suckles the milk with a gentle rhythm that all but puts her back to sleep.
Carla moves to the sofa and nestles Becca into the crook of her arm, resting her elbow on the side. While she has nothing to compare it to, she imagines that being her age makes taking care of a baby that much harder. She’ll take all the support and comfort she can.
Just as she feels her own eyes fluttering, Carla hears the guest room door creak open, and a heavy-lidded Betsy steps out, her blonde (and blue?) hair wild with sleep piled high on her head. The brunette tilts her head up and grins, mouthing “mornin’” in Betsy’s direction.
“Mornin’, Granny C,” the girl pulls her robe tight and walks toward the sofa, kissing Becca’s head lightly before making her way to the kitchen.
Carla flinches. The whole Granny C thing has never settled well with her, but the smirk on her ladies’ faces when they say it makes it worth it, so she lets it be. At least for now.
The brunette gently pulls the empty bottle from Becca’s mouth, careful not to wake her…again. She lightly swaddles Becca in the blanket she brought out with them and brings the baby close, deeply breathing in her scent. There’s nothing like it, Carla thinks.
As much as she still wishes she’d had a chance to do this herself, with her own little girl, the gran thing has its perks. Namely, she gets to hand her off if she gets too cranky (the baby, not Carla…well, maybe also Carla). And one day, hopefully soon, they’ll have their evenings back while still getting to be doting grandmothers during the day.
Betsy comes back into view, a mug of tea in her hand, ready for the morning transition. Carla sneaks one more kiss on the baby’s head before handing her over to Betsy. Betsy, who has been the most wonderful, loving mother a baby could ask for. And the pride that swells in Carla’s chest at the sight never gets old.
“Thanks, Carla,” Betsy smiles broadly at the brunette, “for everything. Becca and me…” Betsy trails off, as if her emotions are getting the best of her. “Well, Becca and me, we really appreciate everything you’ve done for us. I love you, Mum.”
Carla holds back tears of her own and leans down to kiss Betsy’s forehead. “I love you, too, Bets. It’s my pleasure.”
The brunette smiles at them both, etching this moment into her heart, one to keep on hand when times feel tough. Finally, she turns and heads back to the bedroom and into the bed. She wraps her arms around the blonde’s middle and pulls her in tightly before quickly drifting back to sleep, knowing DS Swain’s alarm is mere moments away from sounding.
—
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. While having Becca and Betsy in the house has brought so much joy to their family, it shouldn’t have played out this way. Though Carla reckons nothing in life ever works out the way it should. She and Lisa are proof of that.
There’s really no universe in which the two of them should have ever gotten together, but they did anyway, and it always felt inevitable. But they both had to go through so much adversity to find one another. In many ways, life wasn’t fair, but their wonky paths to one another are the thing that binds them together. Without all the hardship, they would never have crossed paths.
And it’s that framing that provides comfort to the three women when the whole situation feels unfair.
Because it wasn’t supposed to be like this. But here they are, with a precious, nearly four-month-old baby being raised by three gobby women, and it somehow feels inevitable, too.
But still, some days, Carla knows it’s not an ideal situation. And some days, Carla and Lisa can see the pain written on Betsy’s face. And even though they’re getting by, thriving even, it does feel a bit like something’s missing.
Betsy was living her best life in London. After her internship with Andrew, Betsy had her pick of employment at some of London’s poshest design houses. A year into her new job, she met Sam, a nice young man who was making his way as a chef.
In a lot of ways, he reminded Carla a bit of Mason, something that still broke her heart a little when she stopped to think about how much the girl had lost. Sam seemed to be a solid bloke, and both Lisa and Carla liked him just fine (though Carla was sure Lisa would never think anyone was good enough for her baby girl).
They moved into a flat together three years ago, and things were going swimmingly. Then, Betsy got pregnant. Betsy was excited, albeit nervous. She was worried about what it would mean for her career, what it would mean for her relationship. But after much discussion with Sam, it seemed like he was in it with her. He was committed.
At first, at least.
After her first scan, Betsy became increasingly worried about raising their baby in the city. The hormones and the situation in general became overwhelming, and she was calling her mums nearly every night, crying about how homesick she was.
While Lisa and Carla wanted Betsy closer, they didn’t want her to make any rash decisions. But after a particularly difficult call, they decided that if Betsy wanted to come back to Weatherfield, Carla could start transitioning the business to her. After all, they didn’t want Betsy to have to give up on her dreams, and Carla couldn’t run the factory forever (though, at the rate she was going, it seemed like she was going to try).
Once the offer was out there, Betsy was both overjoyed and determined. She always saw herself taking over the family business at some point, so why not now? She and Sam could look for a place of their own near the factory. He could find a job in Manchester. They could raise Becca close to her grans.
It was all taking shape.
But when it came time to put pen to paper, actually up and move out of London, Sam couldn’t do it. Well, he could, but he wouldn’t.
His career was on the line, he said. Working in Manchester wasn’t anything like being a chef in London, and if he wanted to keep moving up, he couldn’t take a step back. He begged Betsy to stay. Said he wanted to be a good dad and a good partner.
But in the end, it was a non-negotiable for Betsy. She was stubborn, like her mum, and once her mind was made up, there was no going back. She told Sam he could visit anytime he liked, but that she was going, with or without him.
Unfortunately, he didn’t put up much of a fight after that. He let her go. Let them both go. So, a month before she was due, Betsy moved back to Weatherfield. And because Carla and Lisa couldn’t let her do it on her own, they moved her back into their house.
Sam was there when Becca was born, and has been by once a month to visit, but beyond sending a bit of money each month, that’s his only involvement.
Betsy is shattered every time he leaves, but she continues to say that this is what’s best for Becca. What’s best for all of them. Though her eyes betray her words, and it breaks Lisa and Carla’s hearts to watch their girl struggle.
Now the four ladies of the house simply make do. They move through each day. Doing their best for Becca. Doing their best for one another. But deep down, Carla knows that the string tying it all together is only going to hold for so long.