Hidden Kiss (Love Is The Law 2) (2 page)

"Well, isn't that good? It means you will get used to
life outside of prison again, too, pretty quickly."

"Oh no. I am not going to take any of this for granted.
Not ever again. I've got my new life in my sights, and I tell you something,
Emily, I am going to make the most of it. Of
everything.
"

"That's… great." Emily smiled but she didn't turn
her head, keeping her eyes on the taillights of the car in front instead. His
passion was slightly unsettling and she felt bad, like her lack of enthusiasm
was somehow letting him down.

"So, come on, how about you? Your work? Your articles?
You haven't said much in your letters."

"I didn't want to bore you."

"You're a journalist! That's fascinating. The other
guys inside have got this idea of you having huge dinners in fancy restaurants
in London, being passed bribes in envelopes."

"I review films, and write about gallery
openings."

Turner was silent and when she slid her gaze across the
dashboard to her side, she saw that he was watching her quizzically.

"You don't sound so enthusiastic about it all. When you
were writing about social justice and stuff, you were full of fire. Have things
not panned out so well?"

She forced a smile, shook her head, laughed it off.
"It's up and down. But at the end of the day, Turner, it's
work.
A
job, like any other, and right now, let's not talk about work! Do you want me
to take you straight to your mum's house?"

"But work should be - ahh. Okay, another time. Yeah.
No, wait. Let's eat."

"It's ten in the morning!"

"I haven't any breakfast, not that I missed out on
much. I tell you what, though, I have lain awake at night, dreaming of burgers
and grease. Is there a drive-through on the way home?"

"You are kidding me!" Emily laughed with true
delight this time. "What happened to the cultured foodie that I knew?
Before…well, before, you were all about the tapas restaurants and fancy meals
out. Now you want a heart-attack-in-a-bun?"

"I do, and my mouth is watering just thinking about it.
Gherkins, oh my god, yes. Gimme lard and gimme extra ketchup on that."

"You're a sick man. Okay, then."

Once they were on the edges of the city, they had a choice
of fast food palaces. She joined a surprisingly long queue behind a mix of
sales reps and tradesmen in vans.

"Can we park up and eat in the car?" Turner asked
as he was handed a paper bag of calories.

"Sure." Emily had just opted for a very large
fizzy drink and there was silence for a while as Turner submerged himself into
the meal, eating like a man who had been starving.

"It's not just about the food," he said at last,
wiping his mouth on the paper napkin. "It was about me choosing what to
eat, and when. And paying for it. And enjoying it. And eating here, not where I
am told to eat."

"Control."

"Yeah, the little things we take for granted. Control,
and of course, responsibility. That's why a lot of guys prefer to be in prison
- they don't have to take responsibility for anything. Speaking of which…
Riggers."

Emily looked down at her hands, clenched in her lap.
"Well, he was released four weeks ago."

"I know that. His release date was as important to me
as my own. Has he made any contact with you?"

"No, not a thing." She didn't want to talk about
Riggers. She didn't want to answer the difficult questions that Turner might
ask. He was going to find out soon enough.

"Thank god for that."

"It's been weird, though". She didn't want to talk
about him but it was like picking a scab, and she continued. "I think I
might have preferred it if he had. This waiting… was worse." She looked up
as a warm feeling of relief flooded her and caused fresh tears to threaten her
eyes. "I am so glad you're out now."

Turner pushed the crumpled wrappings to the foot-well and
reached out to her, awkward in the confined space. He put his large hands over
hers, and his eyes were intense as he said, "If that little shit comes
anywhere near you, or any of my family, I will see to it that he regrets
it."

Shit, there it was. "But Elaine…"

"She hasn't seen him, has she?"

"I don't know." Emily had to drop her gaze again
as she said, miserably, "Okay, yes, she has. I'm sorry. I haven't seen him
or anything but Pearl said they were… in contact. But he is the father of her
children, and you've always said yourself that having a dad is important."

"And you persuaded me that it's the quality of the dad
that's important. Shit. I do need to get home and sort this out."

"You can't."

"She's my sister."

"She's an independent adult, Turner. Please. Go steady.
Don't make her choose between you both."

Turner sighed and opened the door. He almost tumbled out of
the car and balled up the wrappers. She watched him as he strode across the car
park to the litter bins. He still moved like a panther; powerful and dangerous.
She wanted to shake him, scream at him:
you can't control your sister's
life. Let her make her own mistakes. Settle down with me and let's shut out the
whole wide world.

But then, brothers were funny things. And she remembered
again that if her brother, Matthew, knew that his sister was seeing his own
client who'd just served another jail term, Matthew would be as angry as Turner
was right now.

* * * *

Turner paused by the litter bin. He was outside! Not in an
exercise yard bound on all sides by fences and watching officers. No; outside,
properly
outside. He threw back his head and breathed in as deeply as he could. He
knew he was taking in exhaust fumes and city stench, but it didn't matter. It
wasn't prison air, and that was important.

I don't want to argue with Emily. Not over Riggers, that
odious little prick. I don't want to give him that sort of power over us.

His senses were still being overwhelmed by the newness all
around him. The prison slang was "on the out." He was, now, on the
out and he wanted to whoop with relief. He drew in another breath, tasting it,
swallowing it, before walking back to the car. He tried to leave his thoughts
of Riggers behind him, by the bin, in the litter and the rubbish where shits
like him belonged.

If it wasn't for the cramped space inside the ridiculous
car, Turner  would have leaned right over and gathered Emily in his arms and
held her for hours. Her hair was longer than he remembered it, and choppy. He
wasn't sure if it was a trendy new style or just needing a cut, and he wasn't
going to risk a comment about it. Her eyes were slightly pink from crying, and
it made him want to hold her even more.

"I could stay here for ever, and just look at
you," he told her.

She smiled back at him in a way that made his stomach clench
with anticipation. "No, you couldn't. You're like a coiled spring, ready
to burst out of here."

He laughed, and grabbed the seat belt, buckling himself in.
He tapped the dashboard. "You're right. Come on. I do need to see my
mum."

The little car made him feel vulnerable and slightly
motion-sick. He knew that he would take a few days to adjust to the noise and
movement of the outside world, and he tried to relax, forcing himself to follow
the breathing patterns he'd learned in the meditation classes. There was too
much colour happening all around him, too much movement, too much
unpredictability.

In prison, the noise was loud but followed a pattern.
Shouts, clangs, bangs, echoes; they would fade into the background very
quickly. The colour in prison was grey. Even the classrooms, where the teachers
tried to make interesting displays, were monotone and dull. They were hampered
by the ban on things like glue, staples and sticky tack anyway. Clockwork
movements were occasionally enlivened by unscheduled interruptions to the usual
routine; someone might kick off, or a visitor could appear. Even the
Independent Monitoring Board was something different and interesting in the
otherwise monotonous trudge through a long, long sentence.

Out here, on the out, there was no structure at all. The
random energy coursed through him, sparking new ideas, giving him new vitality
to rush forward and seize his future, but he could feel himself in danger of
drowning in it.

Right now, he wanted to be with his family.

They inched along a stop-start queue, trying to break
through the city centre snarl-ups to reach the estate. He'd grown up among the
high-rise blocks and squat little nests of terraces, the red brick houses
identical from street to street, at least to the casual observer. He wasn't
sure if he'd groaned, or sighed, or shifted in his seat, but Emily said,

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah. Just… nervous. How mad is that?"

"No, actually, I think I would be, too."

He studied her as the traffic moved off. She had to keep her
eyes on the road, and he took the opportunity to watch her. He couldn't wait to
get settled back at home and start his new business, and he was itching to
share it all with her. But he didn't want to overwhelm her with his ceaseless
talking. She seemed quiet, as if she were holding back.

It was understandable. He'd been away for seven months. A
lot would happen in that time. He pushed aside his constant flickering doubt.
There was no place for suspicion. She was here, and that was that.

It would take time, he knew, to rebuild their relationship.
They'd barely started, anyway, when he'd been sent down. So of course it was
going to be new, all over again.

He grinned, spontaneously, as more excitement flooded him.
"Everything is new!" he said, sharing his thoughts out loud with her.
"I can't wait."

"For what?"

"For
everything.
"

* * * *

Emily parked at the end of the long, narrow street. Turner's
mother lived in a terrace about halfway down, but even in a tiny Smart car she
found it difficult to drive between the two rows of parked cars to reach it.
She pulled up behind a Subaru that was plastered with stickers implying it was
some kind of rally car. It wasn't.

Turner eased himself out and stretched. She couldn't help
but giggle at the sight.

"What?"

"Nothing. Sorry. Just that when you stand next to my
car, you look enormous. Or, you make my car look tiny."

"Your car
is
tiny."

"I know. It's economical and compact. The environment
loves me."

Turner pursed his lips and shook his head. "I cannot
wait to get back behind the wheel of my Range Rover. Now that's a car worth
driving."

Emily looked away, making a strangled noise. Immediately,
Turner was alert, his shoulders rising. "What?" he demanded.
"What's happened to my car? Tell me!"

She looked back at him, but she was unable to keep her face
straight. "Nothing," she reassured him. "Just messing."

"Oh for god's sake!" His tone was severe but to
her relief he was laughing. "Don't do that to a man. I've dreamed about my
car, you know, while I was away. Worried about it. You never wrote to me about
my car. In fact, my
car
never wrote to me, the ungrateful bastard. Visits
from family is one thing, but you know, I really needed to see my car…"

"Fool." His humour made her feel warm inside. She
fussed with her bag, checking her phone, then glanced down the street. It had
become so familiar to her over the past months, as she'd tried to support
Turner's mum as much as she could, through her treatments. "Come on.
You're stalling, aren't you?"

She began to walk along the pavement and Turner caught her
up after a moment, taking her hand in his. "Yeah, I guess I am. I
shouldn't be, should I?"

"Just relax."

Like all the old terraced properties around the area, the
house opened straight onto the street, and Turner hesitated by the blue front
door. "Do I knock…?"

"I usually walk straight in," Emily said, and rapped
the knocker for a split second before she opened the door and called into the
living room, "We're here."

She heard Turner mutter behind her. "Christ, you are
more a part of this family than I am…" and she half-turned, suddenly aware
of her awkward position, but before she could reassure him, she'd been leapt
upon by a small boy, all legs and arms and excited chatter.

"Emily!"

"Kyle, let go… here's your Uncle Turner!" She
peeled the six-year-old away and he took a step back, staring up with big eyes
at Turner, who loomed just behind her shoulder. The door connecting the living
room to the kitchen slammed open and Kyle's twin, Liam, rushed in. Emily
pressed to one side, holding herself against the wall to let Turner come past
her, so he was into the living room fully. She stayed by the door, wondering if
she ought to leave them all to their reunion. She couldn't just walk out, so
she waited for a good chance to say goodbye.

For a moment the two boys stared. Turner opened his arms
wide and said, "Where's my hug?"

Then they were all over him, and Turner was brought to his
knees as the monkey-like lads wrestled him to the ground, screaming with
laughter as he played mock-dead.

She looked away and saw another figure in the doorway.
Turner's mum was leaning on the door jamb, a tea towel in her hands, watching
the scene. Emily thought it was strange that she wasn't smiling, but then she
realised that Mrs Black's eyes were brimming with tears, and the corner of her
mouth quivered. She was experiencing the same feelings that Emily had had.

Only infinitely worse, as she was the mother.

"Pearl…" Emily squeezed along the wall, past the
heaving heap of play-fighting on the carpet, and put out her arms to the small,
plump woman. "Come here."

They shared a brief hug, and Emily rubbed her hand on Mrs
Black's back, comforting her like she had done weekly over the past seven
months. They'd shared tears and joys both about the cancer, and about Turner. Then
she pulled back, remembering the new situation - he was back. "I'm sorry…
it's not me you should be holding…"