Chapter Text
Lisa woke to the sound of the front door clicking shut.
Her eyes flew open, body tense before her brain caught up. She sat upright in bed, straining to listen. For a second, she thought maybe she'd imagined it, another restless dream after too many late shifts. But then came the faint creak of the garden gate, the quick scuff of trainers on the path.
"Bloody hell," she muttered, scrambling out of bed.
By the time she reached the window, the street was empty. Just the faint blur of movement vanishing around the corner, too far away to call back.
Lisa swore under her breath, grabbing her phone off the bedside table. She checked the time: 4:07 a.m. Quickly checked beside her, Carla Connor, her girlfriend of 9 months still sleeping beside her, in their bed. Her stomach dropped. Betsy. Who else would it be?
She dialled her daughter's number with shaking fingers. It rang. And rang. No answer.
"Come on, pick up," Lisa hissed, pacing the room. She called again, then again. On the third try, the call cut off immediately. Declined.
Lisa opened messages and started firing texts.
Lisa:
Where are you?
Answer me now.
Betsy this isn't funny.
Three dots appeared. Then disappeared. No reply.
"Jesus Christ." Lisa pressed her knuckles against her mouth, trying not to panic. She was supposed to be the calm one. DS Swain, steady under pressure. But this wasn't work. This was her girl. Her only girl.
The duvet rustled behind her. "Lis?"
Carla's voice was thick with sleep. She propped herself up on one elbow, hair sticking out in all directions. "What time is it?"
"Too bloody early." Lisa shoved her phone into her dressing gown pocket and started for the door. "She's gone. Snuck out. Just walked straight out the front door."
Carla blinked, trying to catch up. "Who? Betsy?"
"Of course Betsy!" Lisa snapped, then immediately softened at the look on Carla's face. "Sorry. I just...I heard her leave. I tried ringing. She's ignoring me."
Carla swung her legs out of bed and stood, tugging Lisa gently back before she could bolt down the stairs. "Alright, breathe. She's seventeen, Lis. She's not, she's not out committing armed robbery."
Lisa shot her a look. "Don't joke."
"I'm not." Carla squeezed her arm. "She's probably meeting a mate, or going to get a bit of space. Kids do that."
"Not mine," Lisa whispered fiercely. "She knows better. Anything could happen out there. You've no idea the kind of calls I've been on at this time in the morning."
Carla did know. Not the details, maybe, but she saw it in Lisa's eyes often enough. The things that stuck to her skin even after the uniform was off.
Lisa's phone buzzed in her pocket. She snatched it out, heart in her throat. Betsy. Finally. She opened the message.
Betsy:
Stop. I'm fine. Be back soon.
"That's it?" Lisa's hands trembled as she showed the screen to Carla. "No where, no when, just back soon?"
"At least she answered," Carla offered carefully.
"That's not good enough!" Lisa paced the bedroom, energy sparking off her like static. "She's a kid, Carla. Out there at God knows where, four in the morning. Anything could happen."
Lisa sent another message.
Lisa:
No Betsy, home now!
You're not an adult!
Carla caught her hand, steadying her. "And it hasn't. Not yet. She'll come back."
Lisa wanted to argue, wanted to tear the street apart until she found her daughter. But Carla's grip was firm, her gaze level. Reluctantly, she sank onto the edge of the bed, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes.
"I can't do this," Lisa whispered. "I can't lose her. Not after—" Her voice cracked. She didn't finish.
Carla sat beside her, a hand smoothing down her back. She didn't push, didn't ask her to finish. She just sat there until Lisa's breathing evened out, until the tension in her shoulders eased slightly.
An hour dragged by. Lisa checked her phone every minute, rereading Betsy's single line of reassurance until the words blurred. Carla coaxed her downstairs eventually, making her tea she didn't touch, turning on the kitchen light against the dark.
When the door finally creaked open just after six, Lisa was already in the hallway.
The light snapped on.
"Elizabeth Swain." Lisa's voice was sharp, slicing through the silence.
Betsy froze halfway through shutting the door, hoodie zipped high, hair damp with mist. "Mum"
"Where have you been?" Lisa's voice was tight with anger and fear twined together.
Betsy kicked her trainers off, not meeting her gaze. "Out."
"Out where?"
"Just out."
"Don't you dare fob me off." Lisa stepped forward, tone rising. "Do you have any idea what you've just put me through? Waking up to find you gone, not answering your phone, ignoring my messages"
"I wasn't ignoring you!" Betsy snapped, eyes flashing. "I just didn't want" She stopped herself, chest heaving.
"Didn't want what?"
Betsy's throat bobbed. For a second she looked about twelve again, small and lost. "Didn't want you to come after me."
Lisa blinked, thrown. "And why wouldn't I?"
"Because—" Betsy's voice cracked, soft now. "Because I went to Mum's grave. Okay? I didn't want a scene. I just... needed to talk to her."
The words sucked the fight right out of the air.
Lisa's shoulders sagged, the anger dissolving into something rawer. "Oh, love..." She reached for her, but Betsy sidestepped, keeping the hood up like armour.
"I'm having a shower." Her voice was small but final. She darted up the stairs, footsteps heavy. A moment later, the bathroom door clicked shut.
Lisa stood frozen, staring at the empty space her daughter had left. Her chest rose and fell too fast, her hands shaking.
Carla stepped closer, hair messy, voice gentler than Lisa thought possible. "Don't go too hard on her."
Lisa swallowed. "She should've told me. I can't... I can't keep her safe if she sneaks around like that."
"I know," Carla soothed. "But she's grieving, Lis. Same as you. She's not out causing trouble. She's just... trying to keep a piece of Becky close."
Lisa let out a shaky laugh, bitter around the edges. "I should understand that better than anyone."
"You do," Carla said firmly. She eased Lisa onto the bottom stair and sat with her. For a while they just listened to the shower running upstairs, the pipes rattling faintly.
Then Carla tilted her head, almost casual. "Maybe what she needs isn't you watching her every second. Maybe she needs something else. Something good."
Lisa glanced sideways. "Like what?"
"Holiday."
Lisa blinked. "Holiday?"
Carla smirked faintly. "Yeah. Sun, sand, a few cocktails for us, mocktails for her. Give her a chance to feel seventeen again, instead of carrying the weight of the world."
Lisa stared at her, half in disbelief, half in wonder. "You'd do that?"
Carla shrugged. "She's yours. Which means she's a bit mine too. Whether she likes it or not."
Something fragile flickered between them. Lisa leaned her head briefly against Carla's shoulder, and for the first time that night, she breathed easier.
Upstairs, Betsy stood with her forehead against the bathroom door, listening to the faint murmur of their voices through the floorboards. She didn't understand why it made her chest ache, but it did.