Chapter Text
I
Detective Sergeant Swain and Detective Constable Green attended to a case with a house call.
“Oh, aye. DS Swain was it?” The man with very thick-rimmed glasses and a moss green knit vest greeted DC Green. “I was told by constable, erm, Clarke to expect a visit from him.”
DC Green was polite enough to not make a complete joke out of it at Swain’s expense. DC Green Discretely poked Swain’s upper arm with his elbow before holding out his hand for a handshake.
“Detective Constable Green.” Green nodded to Swain. “I am here with Detective Sergeant Swain.”
The interview passed unremarkably. Aside from whatever Swain would refresh from the case file, one unwritten line remained in memory.
A jovial chuckle. “Always knew you can trust a man in a slipover. Or woman.” A nod to Swain. “Thank you for taking me seriously. Most dismiss me as a pedantic old man.”
(a man in a slipover)
*
The amount of times Police Constable, Detective Constable and Detective Sergeant was assumed to be him by people who’d never met Swain was uncountable.
Gender was not something Swain thought much about in any context outside of her sexuality and the gender of the overwhelming majority of her colleagues. All these male police officers with manly banter that she tried to fit in without making her sexuality overtly known or her womanhood a problem.
Growing up, Lisa was a bit of a tomboy who resisted and rejected dresses in favour of a t-shirt, hoodie and jeans – but that was normal for anyone who favoured practicality above looks. Right?
She was a police constable in a ‘unisex’, sexless, ill-fitting uniform.
She was detective constable forced to prove herself twice as much as her male colleagues.
She was a detective sergeant forced to prove herself thrice as hard.
She was a daughter, girlfriend, partner, mother, wife and widow.
II
Detective Sergeant Swain had taken a mentee for lunch at the Bistro with the knowledge that Carla was having a business meeting with a handsome man. Izzy and Sarah had in turns heavily emphasised the manliness and the handsomeness separately as well as together.
Swain was neither of those things. Never the handsome afternoon delight or love interest solely by the virtue of sex. Men had it so easy. Presumed sex gods and automated love interests. No need to know if he’s funny, polite, kind or anything at all as long as He’s a Man. Not even Be Good in Bed.
Unfairly easy, Swain thought watching Gareth reach across the table to stroke Carla’s cheek.
“You’re glowing. So is it some kind of new wonder drug, or is it a new man in your life?” Gareth asked.
(…new man in your life… new man in your life… new man in your life…)
Amongst the stomping horde of jealous elephants a single little butterfly fluttered through the room.
“Actually, it’s neither of those things,” replied Carla, blowing the butterfly away with a gale.
*
Every morally good detective on television was a mediocre and at minimum mildly sexist man in a suit. Supposed to be handsome, but Swain did not really get that. Jealous, she was. Wishful of how easy it was to crack a smile to get the girl and solve the case without anyone arguing or ogling. If only Swain was someone like that.
It never mattered how many suits and formal shirts Swain got and felt powerfully armoured in. No clothes could hide her breasts. No heels hid her short stature. No professionally commanding and authoritative tone hid the undeniable feminine pitch compared to the burly masculine voices all around.
The first and only time Swain really blended in was in Dress Uniform that actually fit properly because it had been altered in a way that parts of the duty uniform never could be. All hair tamed in a tight low bun. Serious expression and sharp jaw made Swain blend in. For a glimpse it was not a Woman looking back among the Men. It was just a Police Officer marked by a rank, not by gender.
III
Detective Sergeant Swain was preparing for Police Constable Craig Tinker’s memorial.
“Do I look all right?” Swain asked, having fussed in front of the mirror for more than five minutes.
Carla came to stand behind, put her hands on the uniformed shoulders and smoothing over to brush non-existent lint and dust off the night dark cloth.
“You look handsome. Fit for duty.”
“Handsome?” Swain raised an eyebrow to Carla in the mirror.
“Yeah.” Carla lowered her voice. “Very handsome in uniform.” She stepped back and reintroduced her normal voice. “Come on. Places to go.”
With Very Important Places to Be, Swain had no time to dwell on the feeling that fluttered past like a butterfly.
(handsome in uniform)
*
Carla’s first and from the start genuine “handsome” months prior had echoed through the depths of Swain’s mind invisibly through days and days.
One Halloween years and years ago Swain went all out as Hercule Poirot, complete with a fake moustache and all. Short as the fictional Belgian was, made him a fitting character that actually got plenty of approving responses from other partygoers all night. Except for… Well, that didn’t matter.
Swain never wore a masculine hat or moustache again.
A few years down the line Swain ceased to be beautiful too. Until Carla Connor Came along.
Carla Connor came along, sharing compliments like flowers. Often. Easily. Carla saw the garden, saw the weeds and the wilted flowers somewhere amongst the overgrown everything. Carla tended to Swain’s garden one watered flower at a time. Heck, she watered the weeds too.
“You’re doing your best… Brilliant… Thank you… I appreciate you… I love you…”
IV
Lisa Swain had been dragged to The Rovers Return for Drag Night. Been strongly motivated by Carla.
The pub was packed and more sparkly than usual.
Sean, Glenda and surprisingly George were all throwing sisterhood around like confetti crisscross all over sex and gender without boundaries.
“Hello, gays!” Debbie greeted, waving her hands like she was making a rainbow.
(Hello, gays! Hello, gays! Hello, gays! Hello, gays, gays, gays, gays, gays, gays! Gays!)
Swain was not ashamed of being gay – anymore. Swain was proud of being a lesbian, albeit a well assimilated boring one who had since very young years wanted nothing more than to live a life with a wife.
Life with a Wife. Just like neighbours did. Just like everyone on television did. Just like the family did.
One Major Problem materialised so early that Swain cannot even recall when exactly it happened. It just happened one day, shattering the young dream that still existed in memory as something pure preserved like artwork forgotten in the dustiest corner of the museum archive.
Lisa Swain could not be a Husband. Therefore, could not have a Wife.
Forty odd years later Lisa Swain had had a wife for a brief period of time after a lifetime of an impossible dream, followed by the prospect of a lonely rest of a lifetime until Carla came along.
But. Swain was once again “the gay one”. Always the Gay One together with Asha and Billy and Sean and... Not the simply existing just Lisa Swain, like every Straight Man in the pub was.
A butterfly of relating flew out of Swain’s hair when Carla grumbled “do we have to put a label on everything”.
*
Swain was a proud lesbian, proud detective sergeant.
But sometimes, deep down the buried museum exhibit rattled in its box. Could Swain be a husband? If not, could the Swains be just a Family and not Gay Family.
Sometimes in the dead of night, in a humorous fun moment, in a party, after a film, sometime where the exact situation, time and place was lost from memory, Swain had let the “husband” slip out.
The heavy hammer to the chest that followed, however, was etched so clearly into memory that nothing of the sort ever passed Swain’s lips again.
Rebecca had laughed like it was the funniest joke, then frowned, then made it obvious that she didn’t actually want a husband – if she did, she would have married any man by now. But she loved Lisa Swain. And if anyone in the house was the Husband, it was Rebecca. Obviously. The years together were scattered with Reminders so Lisa would Never forget Her Place.
Daughter. Girlfriend. Partner. Mother. Wife. Widow. Bad.
V
“You’re so handsome carrying boxes with bare arms,” Carla flirted in the hot orangery late on moving day.
“Uh-huh.” Swain wagged his eyebrows and fluttered her eyelashes.
“So, that’s two kids and a picket… ish fence and a big car.” Carla drew circles over Lisa’s back.
“Guess it is.”
Carla put her mug down.
“Did you ever dream about a family growing up?”
Carla’s loving eyes and grounding hands made and held space. Held Lisa. Held Swain. Held space for anything. Knowing enough about Carla’s colourful life, Swain knew that Carla wasn’t a judgemental type.
“I uh…” But even with knowledge backed up with mountains of solid evidence, the words got stuck. Swain just could not speak. “I…” A simple throat-clearing. “Uh.” A chug from the mug. “I used t… [cat with a fur ball noise].”
Carla played with Lisa’s hair, like always. It was calming and safe, like always. “Yeah?”
“I used to, I guess dream about living in a house with my wife just like everyone else and go to work with my hat.”
“You never wear hats,” Carla remarked with kind humour, ruffling Lisa’s hair.
“And then I realised that I couldn’t be a husband, so that put a lid on it. Two wives wasn’t in the realm of any possibility then, so…”
“So you gave up on the dream of wearing nice hats,” Carla joked, mouth running fast as usual. Gobby.
Lisa Swain was surprised by her own laugh now. “Pretty much.”
Their giggles ended with an affectionate kiss.
“A husband, huh?” Carla tilted her head, intrigued. “You kept that quiet.”
Lisa shrugged, restless with the first whispers of discomfort that made her skin all prickly and unpleasant. The boxes in the room were Very Interesting to look at.
“You could be, if you want,” Carla threw the words out sincerely but with such casual ease that the shrug was audible.
Lisa blinked her way back to Carla. “What?”
“Hey? Where’d you go?”
*
Once upon a time Swain cooked a meal, brought massive flowers and fixed the creaky kitchen cupboard door that Carla took weeks of procrastinating to sort. Carla showed her appreciation with her smokiest voice and look, getting down on her knees to rock Swain’s World in minutes. While it was the first time they had done it like that, the routine seemed too well oiled to have been the first time Carla had done it.
Every time Swain pulled out and pushed in a chair, held open a door, carried a bag, brought flowers and stepped into puddles to save Carla the trouble, a lone butterfly flew past.
Carla always thanked. Some of those times Carla gave a compliment in return.
“Such a gentleman- woman- gentlewoman,” Carla fumbled the first time.
“It’s fine,” Swain replied, deep down unsure which one was more fine than the other.
(a gentleman)
VI
So what about what Lisa Swain wanted? What young Lisa Swain dreamt of?
What if she wanted to be Carla’s first wife? What if he wanted to be Carla’s last husband?
*
Sitting in the car waiting, Swain was well aware of the huge crowd filing out behind Carla.
Lisa got out of the car, holding the hat for propriety of a complete uniform. Her nervous hands needed a task to focus on. The hat worked well. In the few steps she took towards Carla, the crowd thinned.
Carla was the only one there that mattered.
“Carla Connor, you have the right not to remain silent, cause I’ve got just one question to ask you.”
Lisa remembered to take down her hair. Carla’s absolute delight at the surprise waves immediately made all the trouble worth it.
“You are… The most beautiful, courageous, confounding, complicated and infuriating woman I’ve ever met. And I couldn’t love you more.”
“Am I blushing? I feel like I’m blushing,” Carla squeaked, stepping down the stairs like princess going to a ball. Maybe Cinderella, as easy as it was to lose a flipflop.
Lisa Swain didn’t need footwear to know Carla’s the right one. Just getting down on one knee and how that felt confirmed it again.
“And you would make me the happiest woman on the planet, if you would do me the great honour…” The ring box opened easily. “…of becoming my wife.”
Carla walked over. “If I said yea, are you gonna stop showing me up cos I’ve got my reputation to think about, you know,” she joked, solidifying Lisa’s decision as correct. Why wouldn’t she want to marry this woman who made her laugh so easily?
Carla turned back, catching something Betsy tossed and tossing it back.
Lisa held the ring up. “Still not hearing an answer.”
“Oh my goodness,” Carla gasped. She reached for Lisa. “Come here, you, I want us face to face for this.” She held Lisa’s hands chivalrously supporting her up.
Lisa Swain had seldom felt so adored. Supported, even when she was strong and capable, not just when she’s vulnerable and small. Carla made her feel strong and capable.
“Yes.”
Neither the crowd nor the nerves mattered when she said yes.
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
Carla showed a ring. The Ring.
“Oh.” Oh. Lisa could cry then and there, feeling so loved and so much like a princess getting her happy ending with a ring of her own. The sudden double proposal felt nothing like a silly lesbian cliché.
“Yes, yes, yes, yes…”
They threaded the rings on each other’s fingers and kissed so boldly for so long that would have been inappropriate in any other situation.
When Betsy and Ryan rushed over to crush them all in a massive hug, Lisa Swain the Older could tell Lisa Swain the Younger that even the wildest dreams come true.
It was no coincidence that the finally successful proposal channelled an officer and a gentleman, that Lisa Swain donned the uniform with free hair.
She was bold. He was beautiful.
For once in his life, she was the Romantic Lead. The handsome one who gets the girl and all the cheers, and gives the girl the Love she deserves.