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…"
Turner appeared behind her, shaking Kyle and Liam
off, though they clung on to his legs like limpets. "Mum."
Emily felt like a spare part, and knew it wasn't her place any more. Instead of leaving, she beckoned to Kyle and Liam, and managed to persuade them into the kitchen. She took the tea towel from Mrs Black's hands as she passed her, and nudged her into the living room so she could close the door on their reunion.
"Come on, lads. Let's make some tea, hey?"
For the six-year-olds, helping in the kitchen meant eating biscuits, but they were happy enough to stay put as Emily busied herself in the old ritual. She knew exactly where everything was, after all.
The boys chattered about nothing and everything as she pottered around the small kitchen. She couldn't hear what was being said in the living room, and she didn't want to. It wasn't long, anyway, before the door cracked open again and Mrs Black entered, her face split by a smile almost wider than Turner's shoulders.
He followed, equally full of joy, and his eyes lit up at the cups of steaming tea. "What a welcome home. I couldn't ask for any more than this."
Turner stayed standing against the counter, with his mum nestled against his side, beaming. "You sound so positive and ready for a new life," she said. "I'm so glad."
"And you!" he returned. "The all-clear… oh god, that means so much. So much."
"Don't start up again…"
"Sorry."
Emily looked from one to the other. Turner's facial expression was that of a small child, like all men became when they were with their mums. She guessed he had been apologising for being in prison while she completed her gruelling cancer treatments.
"Anyway," Mrs Black went on, "It's all change, and for the better." She cradled her hot cup between her hands and smiled at Emily. "Things will be easier for all of us, now. This new business thing of Turner's sounds great."
"Ahh… websites, computer stuff?" Emily hazarded, realising that she didn't know as much about it as she ought to have done. He had mentioned it, but she'd been quite caught up in her own work issues and problems.
Plus, when he was writing to her from prison, it was easy to dismiss his plans as just a daydream. But now, in the bright kitchen, it seemed that he really was going to make it real.
"That's right," he said. "A total change."
"Well, you know me. I am a firm believer in shaking things up and making big changes," Pearl said.
Turner laughed. "Yes but you usually say that when you want a new hairdo."
"Same thing. Just for you, on a larger scale."
Emily looked around the kitchen and felt out of place all of a sudden as the easy banter between Turner and his mum continued. Mrs Black said, "Just relax a little on the big plans, you know? You don't know what's around the corner."
"I don't care because it's big plans that mean I can cope with anything. Prior preparation and planning prevent poor performance, remember?"
"You can't control everything."
"Oh yes I can." Turner bent his arms in the arm, posing like a superhero or muscle man, and the twins began to hoot with laughter, seeing it as their cue to latch onto him again.
Emily realised Mrs Black was looked at her, and she smiled at the older woman. "I'd better be going," she said, sidling towards the living room door.
Mrs Black nodded. "Thanks. For today, and for everything."
"Hey, no probs."
Turner tried to shake himself free of the boys, but all of a sudden, Emily just needed to be out of there, and on her own. She dashed through the living room, waving to Turner as she reached the front door.
"Don't worry - no it's all right. Look. I'll catch you tomorrow. You've got so much to do, and I am sure you need some time alone too."
"Does it look like I'm going to get it?" he retorted, dragging his left leg behind him, while Kyle rode it like a cowboy clinging to a bucking horse.
"I thought you'd go to your house…"
"Yeah, you're right. Are you sure…?"
"You need some time."
Actually, I think I need some time. She launched herself through the door before he could protest any more, and walked briskly down the street, back to her car. It wasn't until she had buckled up and started the engine that she realised she was shaking slightly.
She ran her damp hands over the steering wheel, and sighed deeply. Everything was different, now. She'd actually got used to how things were. Elaine, Turner's sister, had grown to accept her and no longer blamed her for Emily's role in the crime that sent both Turner and Riggers to prison.
Emily had also grown used to helping Mrs Black out, taking her to appointments and generally being useful.
Now, Turner was back, and things couldn't go back to how they were before, because how they were before was awful. He was going straight this time, and that meant change.
Big change.
She turned the key in the ignition and edged away from the kerb. Even the smell of Turner - musky, seductive - lingered in her car.
Oh, this is all just nerves. There's nothing to worry about.
After all, she had a lot of other things to worry about at the moment.
Chapter Two
In Emily's dream, she was riding a horse through a snowy landscape. Bells decorated the horse's bridle, jangling and ringing as they galloped over a rolling white hill. Yet she wasn't feeling exhilarated. Instead, fear and panic were chasing her.
As she clung to the mane, hair whipping into her face, the jingling sound grew louder and louder. It was after her. What was? Her dream was unclear. Something. Wolves, monsters, something huge…
Jingling, jangling, high-pitched and regular.
Her eyes snapped open. She could hear the beeping sound of a truck reversing. Grey light fogged the edges of her room and she could see the numbers on her bedside clock; not quite seven am.
It wasn't bin collection day. She closed her eyes, and at last, the beeping stopped.
It was replaced by a furious and insistent buzzing as someone in the entrance lobby of her apartment block leant on her intercom.
What the hell? Instinct took over, propelling her to her feet. The heating hadn't clicked on yet and the wooden floor was chilly. She dragged a robe around her shoulders and ran through to the hallway.
"Hello?" If it were kids messing around, she'd go down there and rip their heads off.
"Ms Carrera?"
"Yes. Who is this?"
"Ms Emily Carrera, my name is Shaun. You are the owner of the blue Smart car?" The voice was light and efficient, a Liverpool accent. He read off a registration number - her registration number.
"Yes, that's mine." She began to understand what was happening, and she felt sick. She leaned against the wall, grateful now for the cold air in the flat that was waking her up. She knew what it was about, but she pretended not to, as if that would make it all right.
"Do you have the money to settle the loan?" the chipper Scouser continued.
"What loan?"
"You know what loan, Ms Carrera." He let a bored tone slip into his voice. They must both be following a script, she realised; the same old script everyone would stumble through when the log-book loans company came for their possessions. The man downstairs knew exactly what she was going to say.
Damn.
"Shit. Okay. Yes. Um, do I need to come down?"
"We could do with your keys, love. Yes, please. Quick as you can."
"Okay. Won't be long." She placed the receiver back in the cradle and squeezed her eyes shut, but no tears came. She was too stunned to cry or even move, for a moment.
She'd needed the money to pay the rent and she had been so sure that a big commission was just around the corner. So she hadn't bothered going to the bank to arrange an overdraft. With her credit history she wasn't sure she'd get one, and she hoped, one day, to buy a house. The more overdrafts and loans she had, she was sure, would reflect badly on her.
So she'd used a high-street shop, instead. The sort that offered loans of cash in exchange for the registration documents on yo
ur vehicle. Don't pay, and they came for your car.
The beeping resumed. There was nothing she could do about it. She didn't have the money to pay them off; the rate would be ridiculous by now anyway. The big commissions had never come, of course. She knew she hadn't really tried, and so she had no one to blame. Dully, she went back to the bedroom and pulled on a pair of baggy jogging bottoms over her pyjamas, and wrapped a thick winter coat around her upper body.
There was no time to do her hair or wash her face. She untied her ponytail, scraping her fingers through her locks as she took the stairs down to the ground floor.
Oh great, and there's a fucking audience. She had no idea what all these people were doing at this time in the morning, but like rubber-neckers on the motorway, suddenly the car park was full. Dog walkers, joggers, people just randomly passing to buy their papers or milk. Perhaps there was a breed of voyeurs who followed repossession vehicles and bailiffs, hoping for a free drama show.
There was a large orange recovery truck backed up in the car park, lights flashing to really advertise its presence, and her beloved car was being attached to the tow ropes. She held her head high and ignored all the onlookers as she walked over to the two men in high-visibility vests.
"Keys," she said flatly.
"Cheers, love. Makes it a lot easier." A tall man, the one with the Liverpool accent, took her keys and flashed her a friendly smile. He threw them over to the man who was kneeling at the front of her car, who smartly caught them without even standing up.
"Got a few bits for you to sign, if you will," the Scouser continued.
"What the hell am I signing?" she muttered, following him to the recovery vehicle's cab. They both knew it was a weak and pointless protest, and he didn't answer. He passed her the clipboard and she barely even skimmed the wall of text that she was given.
"There." She pushed the clipboard back at him, slightly too roughly. "Is that everything?"
His face was still friendly but there wasn't a scrap of sympathy in his eyes. He was pleasant and efficient and totally unconcerned by other people's mistakes. "Thanks, love. You get off, now. We'll sort it."
Hidden Kiss (Love Is The Law 2) Page 2