"Here you go. You'd better check inside, but I can tell you, it's all there."
She bent her head and opened it, and a movement caught the corner of her eye. The man who had moved off to one side was taking photos with his phone.
"Hey, what's he up to?"
"Don't worry about him." Riggers gathered up the small boys' hands once more. "That's my mate, just taking some insurance. By the way, tomorrow night, I thought Turner and me might pop around to see you. Have a few drinks. Maybe stay the whole night, just chatting and stuff. Like old friends do."
"We're not old friends." She felt a net tighten around her, but she couldn't tell what or even why. The man with the camera phone was now approaching, a grin on his pock-marked face.
"Lovely. Nice addition to the album," he said to Riggers.
"What the hell…sorry, lads… what's going on?"
Riggers tutted at her mild profanity and shook his head, flicking his eyes to the two boys beside him. "Nothing, babe. Nothing. But me and Turner will be around about eight tomorrow, and we'll bring some drinks and that."
"No, you won't. He didn't mention it. No, you're not coming round."
Riggers wrinkled up his face and spoke with menace. "Thing is, babe, it's like this. We need to be somewhere tomorrow night. We've got… work to do. A job, if you get my meaning. So we thought we'd pop round to yours, have a nice night, add to the photo album, then disappear for a little while… and then come back to yours. You're a nice, respectable sort of person. If anyone were to ask, you'd be able to tell them we were with you."
"Why these photos?"
"Charlie here was kind enough to take some of us there, earlier, by the café too. On my own phone, and his. It sets a bit of a precedent, you see. Otherwise I think it looks a bit suspect. But now there's history. And the lads, too. I'm just a family man and it's quite understandable that you'd be talking with me."
"That's total…" she looked at the boys who were still staring at her, dumbly, "Total rubbish. No-one would believe any of that. I'm not daft. And Turner's not doing any job, or whatever. You're wrong."
"Sorry, babe. He is, you see. He needs to. Or these little lads don't get no new shoes, and that would be a shame, wouldn't it?"
The net was pulling tight around her neck, and she struggled to breath. She put her hands on her stomach and took a moment to calm down. She couldn't process this fast enough. What the fuck was going on? "And so what's stopping me just ringing the police about any of this?"
"Turner."
"He's lied to me. I owe him nothing."
Oh god don't let it be true. Let this be a terrible mistake or some sick joke of Riggers' or something. But don't let him be a liar. She felt ill.
Riggers shook his head and pretended to look sad. "I don't think you mean that. He wants to go straight, for you! Imagine that. Just for you! You've got a lot of power over that man. I've never seen him like this before. But you grass us up, and both me and him are going down."
She stared at him, aghast, as he put the final turn on the screw. "And you see, babe, if we both go down, then who's gonna be there for these two? And his mum, see, she's ill, innit? Do you know how ill?"
"How ill?" Emily whispered.
To her horror, he looked down at the two boys, and then back up at her, and shook his head again, side to side, a clear gesture of finality and negativity. He might be lying about that, she reminded herself. Turner said his mother was ill, but not that ill. Perhaps.
"Anyway. I've got to go. These lads need to get home. I've got things to sort out, you know? Have a think. Have a good think about it, babe. Turner would be a good man - if he had the right woman."
He pulled at the arms of the two boys, who responded like rag dolls, limp and passive. "Say goodbye, boys."
They stared, silent. Riggers towed them away, and after a brief moment, his friend with the camera phone gave her a cheery wave and took off in the other direction. Emily swallowed down the bile in her throat. She clutched her purse in her sweaty hand, and walked heavily back up to her flat.
* * * *
Emily tried to sit and think about the situation but her heart refused to slow down and angry energy was thundering through her body. Who the hell did Riggers think he was? And how on earth did he think his ridiculous plan - "insurance" - was going to work?
She remembered what Turner had said about a lot of criminals - or at least, the ones who got caught. They weren't always very bright. The clever ones were businessmen and bankers, company executives and professionals who never did come under the scrutiny of the law. The dim ones, the daft ones, the stupid and the lazy - they were the ones who served sentences. The ones who based their criminal exploits on what they saw at the movies, or heard from a bloke down the pub. Idiots.
There was nothing stopping her going to the police, although she wasn't sure how she was going to explain it. Nothing had happened, yet. She would sound like a lunatic.
She tried to call Kayleigh but there was no answer. Probably screening her calls at the moment, and Emily felt a sharp pang of loss. She'd been a terrible friend to Kayleigh recently. She could see that now. She'd been taking, and not giving. And she needed to take even more, right now.
She cancelled the call and curled up on her sofa. The next best thing was an imaginary conversation with her best friend - what would she say? Emily knew her well enough to conjure up Kayleigh's common sense and forthright speech.
Kayleigh would laugh and dismiss the whole sorry situation as ridiculous. She'd scorn Emily for even asking what to do. It would be obvious - don't be at home. Go away for a few days. If Riggers was telling the truth, then what did she care what Turner did? Turner was a liar. If Riggers was lying, then she could happily go away because Turner had told he that he was away for a while, too. So it wouldn't matter.
It was no good. She had to know for sure.
Emily couldn't sit still. She jumped up and wandered her small flat, growling out of the window and feeling tense. She wanted to speak to Turner and ask him what the truth was - but did she really want to know? Part of her wanted to hide in her own flat and wait to see if anyone did turn up the following night, and if they both did, then perhaps as soon as they left, to do whatever it was, she could phone the police then.
It had only been a random thought but as she prowled her few rooms, it became more and more appealing. She wouldn't go to the police right now - that would just be too difficult to explain. No, she'd wait.
That way, if no-one came, she wouldn't have made a fool of herself.
But if Turner and Riggers did show up, she could play along, and perhaps even get details of what job they were planning to do.
She started to form a little fantasy in her head where she was cunning and clever, working out what they were up to, and then letting the police know. And somehow having to attend the scene, and just generally being a massive hero.
She shook her head at her own inflated imaginings. The reality would be dull and probably sordid.
She felt a little more settled, but she still had a ton of excess energy to use up, so to distract herself, she set about a full spring clean of her flat. It was rare for her to undertake huge housework jobs, and it only really happened as displacement activity for something else. Even as she dragged the sofa around, revealing a shameful amount of discarded sweets wrappers and a nest of lost hairbands, she knew she was avoiding the real issue nagging at her.
Was Turner a liar?
She plunged into hoovering, and even contemplated getting the duster and furniture polish out. Then she realised that would mean she had to clear the shelves and tidy the desk, so she ruled it out and came to a halt.
Was Turner a liar?
Waiting until tomorrow night seemed an awfully long time.
Was he…?
This is no bloody good. She flung herself onto the sofa and rested her feet on the abandoned vacuum cleaner. I will have to phone him. Now. Don't think about it. Just do it. I need to know.
Kyle and Liam bounced around the living room, shrieking with laughter. Turner was buried under a pile of cushions, making I'm A Giant And I'm Going To Eat You noises, which only caused the twins to scream even more. Kyle clambered onto the arm of the sofa and launched himself, Superman-style, onto the quivering pile of soft furnishings. Turner tried to grab him but the result was inevitable; Kyle slipped off the edge and onto the floor, his forehead bouncing off the corner of the low coffee table.
Laughter was replaced by tears and within moments, his mum was at the door, her pale pink dressing gown clutched around her bony frame.
She was surprised to see Turner. "I thought Andy was here."
"He's just gone, and dropped them off. I thought he was having them all day, but there you are. That's…" He stopped. It was no place to be bad-mouthing Riggers, not in front of his kids.
Kyle looked up at Mrs Black, hoping for sympathy, and resumed his sniffling. "Grandma, hurt my head, look," he said, snot trailing from his nose.
Turner sat up properly, scattering the cushions, and scooped Kyle up with one arm, pulling the boy onto his knee so he could get a good look at the reddened bump on his head. "Oh, hush now. Nothing there!" He shrugged at his mum. "Sorry, did we wake you? We were messing around and he fell off the sofa, and cracked his head on the corner of the table. No blood. He's fine."
Kyle's crying picked up when he heard the word blood, and Turner jiggled him on his knee, exasperated. "Come on Kyle, it can't hurt that much."
"It's the shock," his mum said. "Hang on. I know what makes it all better." She padded through to the kitchen, and Turner hissed at Kyle as she went.
"We've woken grandma up now. Come on, you're a big boy. Let's wipe your nose." He patted at Kyle's red face with a tissue.
Kyle ignored him, clearly knowing what was coming next. His eyes lit up as his grandma returned, clutching a lollipop.
She had one for Liam, too, forestalling any synchronised wailing, and soon both boys were happily rotting their teeth. Turner could help but grin as the two boys sat on the floor, their legs straight out in front of them, all bumps and bashes forgotten in a sugar haze.
"Turner, have you seen what Andy's done to the kitchen?"
He was immediately alert and ready to throttle him. "What?" Had he trashed it in a drunken rage? Nothing had been said by the boys, and he was sure they would be full of tales if their daddy had gone crazy in their own house.
"Don't panic. I know you two don't get on, but I don't know why. Honestly, you're not your sister's keeper. He's done a really good job."
Turner stood up unwillingly, and went through, only to find himself gasping in amazement.
Well, fuck me. The kitchen was a gleaming and freshly-painted palace to cookery and all that was stylish and fresh. "No way."
His mum pressed in beside him. "Hasn't he done well?"
Turner could have strangled Riggers on the spot. "I was going to do this. I told Elaine. Didn't I tell you, too? I was going to get Lee in on it."
"Oh, he just turned up with all the gear and got on with it. I wish you two could get on a bit better. For my sake? For the sake of the boys?"
"He was no good for Elaine."
"He's changed. People can change, you know, if you let them. He's trying to be a good dad. He took the boys to Blackpool yesterday. He was really upset when he brought them back, because he hadn't been able to buy them all the toys that they wanted. Breaks your heart, it really does."
"I'm sure." Turner could only reply through gritted teeth.
"Elaine can see he's changed, too."
"Oh god. She's not started seeing him again, has she?"
"She might, and this time you mustn't stand in the way. The kids need a dad. Anyway, I am sure he hinted that you're working together. I didn't believe it, knowing what you're like. Is it true? I thought you were doing that plumbing work with that other chap."
"We're what?"
"He said you have some work to do together. You should go into painting and decorating. He's obviously got a talent. And you could do the heavy stuff, like you're doing for that plumber. When is that? Do you start tomorrow?"
Guilt gnawed at Turner. "We're going to do one job together… general labouring, that's all. And then, I've got other plans. A new direction. The plumber hasn't got a date for me, and I can hardly nag him. So I've been looking at other things."
"Oh, what are you up to?"
Turner didn't want to talk about it. Any of it. Riggers was a liar and a cheat, and it dragged Turner down by association. He turned and wrapped his arms carefully around his mum, dreadfully aware that he could easily snap her. "It'll be a surprise. You better go on back to bed; you look tired."
"I'm not sleeping, just dozing." But she accepted his hug, squeezing him back with surprising force. "Thanks, love."
Turner wandered back into the living room where both boys were now engrossed in the children's channel on television. While he'd been away, the television screen had seemed to have doubled in size. A gift - no doubt stolen from somewhere - from Riggers.
He cursed the man, and sank onto the sofa in a hate-filled mood. While the boys watched the antics of a virulently coloured animate household object, he scrolled through his phone, idly tidying up his contacts.
First to be deleted was the editor at the paper that Emily had told him about. The interview would not be going ahead, not now.
His thumb paused over Emily's number. Delete? Call? Was it even worth it, now? He knew he had screwed it up - or Riggers had screwed it up for him - and it was only a matter of time before the shit really hit the fan.
Chapter Seven
Emily pressed the screen and the tiny telephone icon flashed up. Who even had one of those old-style phones anymore? Thinking about trivia like that meant she wasn't thinking about the pressing issue.
Turner.
He answered, and she felt her heart flutter. Part of her had been hoping he wouldn't pick up. As it was, she now had to speak. It was a shame, then, that her mouth had gone so dry.
"Ugh," she managed.
"Emily." His voice was flat and tired. She could hear high pitched sounds in the background, and children's laughter.
"Uh, Turner," she said, trying again.
He sighed heavily, his breath making the speaker crackle. "I really didn't expect to ever hear from you again. Riggers has been round. He told me."
"He told you? Of a plan the pair of you had hatched together?"
"Believe me, I didn't know."
"Oh, don't make me laugh. Believe you? After all that bullshit about going straight, for me?"
"I am."
"Crap. Don't you keep on lying to me."
"Oh, Emily. It is true about the job we're on tomorrow night. That's why I told you I'd be out of town for a while. This was - Kyle! Put that down!"
She blinked in annoyance as he was momentarily distracted from the conversation. She listened, curiously, as he dealt with a brief spat between the twins. She was surprised to hear their voices; after seeing them with Riggers, earlier, she could have believed they were mute.
"Sorry, Emily. Sorry. Look. I want to tell you everything. I really do. I owe you that, don't I? Come over. I'd come and meet you but I'm babysitting - Riggers, handily, dropped them and ran. And my mum is in bed."
She's ill, Emily remembered. How ill? "No, I don't think I want to see you again. I just wanted to tell you that… that I'm…" her voice started to break. Don't cry, don't fucking cry, you can't let this creep know how much he's hurt you… "I'm let down by you. I … believed you, you bastard."
"Emily, there's reasons, the boys, I can't just…"
"Good-bye, Turner." She ended the call and curled into a ball, but only shed a few tears. Her anger was building in a red-hot ball, making her feel sick and shaky.
Her phone buzzed with an incoming message. She hesitated, but she knew she couldn't fight her curiosity. Damn this instant connection. She was suddenly very glad
that things had gone too quickly for even her to get linked up with him on Facebook - his profile was quiet and unused, due to his prison time. At least there'd be no embarrassing Emily Carrera is now single to contend with.
It was, as she expected and feared, from Turner.
It was just his address.
Damn him. Bastard. He knew how to reel her in. No apology or explanation - just his street name and house number.
She swore she wouldn't go, and knew that within ten minutes, she would be out of the door.
* * * *
Emily's heart was hammering so much she realised she was in danger of a full-blown panic attack, something she'd not experienced since her caffeine-fuelled finals at University. She stopped on a street corner, and tried to surreptitiously glance through her A-Z street map of Manchester. Turner lived in an area she wasn't familiar with, and she always felt self-conscious consulting a map in a new part of town. She thought it was like a blazing neon sign: "I'm lost! Mug me."
Breathe, breathe, breathe. She worked her awareness from the top of her head to her feet, tensing and relaxing each set of muscles in turn. She needed to ground herself and be steady, so she reached out and touched the rough wall on her right, letting her hand rest on the red brick. This is real.
Gradually she felt calmer.
I could go home and forget all about this. I've got a new career beckoning - I hope - and this can be chalked up as just one more disastrous relationship mistake.
Was it even a relationship? It was becoming one. I'd dared to hope.
Sick anger clenched in her belly again. It was because of what they'd shared that she needed answers. It was more than an idle fling, and he owed her the truth.
She walked on, stepping carefully, keeping her awareness on her body, the pavement, and her breathing. She wasn't going to turn up at his door in a hysterical rage - she was far too old for all that nonsense.
His street was a non-descript row of terraces. She thought she saw his Range Rover down a side street, but kept going until she got to the front door of number eleven. All the houses faced directly on to the street here, and the cars were double-parked along the pavement.
Hidden Heart (Love Is The Law 1) Page 10