Hidden Kiss (Love Is The Law 2)

by Isabella Brooke

  She fought away after a while, aware of the stare of the other customers, and her own rumbling belly. "Let me grab a sandwich."

  They ate quickly, not talking. Emily watched Turner, drinking in his movements. She still couldn't get enough of him. Looking at him, absorbing him, feeding off his vitality.

  "Have I got mayonnaise on my chin?" he asked her at last.

  "No. Sorry. Just… watching you."

  He opened his mouth to say something sarcastic but then shook his head, and smiled. He placed one hand over hers, and she smiled back at the warmth that travelled up from the skin right to her heart.

  "So," she said. "What have you been up to?"

  "Website commission for a band. It's a great chance for me."

  "Oh, cool, you'll have to show me. How much have you done?"

  "I got loads finished last night." He tore his glance away and looked down. "How about you? This new job going well?"

  "Great fun. Loving it. It's busy but I like that."

  "Are the people nice?"

  She thought about Polly and smiled to herself. She pushed aside the image of Joel that rose in her mind. "Yeah, they're great too. Especially this one woman, Polly. Oh god… the time. I'm really sorry." She stood up and reached for her coat.

  "No probs. I'll get this." He nodded to the bar. "Any plans for the weekend?"

  "It's only Wednesday," she protested. "I can't think further than my own feet at the moment…"

  "So, no plans then." He grinned in triumph and she knew she was in for a surprise as he planted one last kiss on her lips.

  Emily floated out of the coffee shop wrapped up in a cloud of lust and love, her belly roiling like a teenager with a crush. Onwards. Forwards. Forget her past. Forget Joel. Forget the mistakes - hers, and Turner's. The future was going to be great.

  Chapter Four

  Turner made an effort. He bought a large bouquet of flowers, telling the florist it was for a housewarming, not that he thought it made any difference to what colours and blooms were used. He picked his mum up in his Range Rover, and drove her the short distance round to Riggers' house. Pearl Black was still weak from the long months of chemotherapy and Turner didn't want her walking any further than she had to.

  Maybe he could understand Riggers' protective manner towards Elaine, after all.

  "Thank you for this," Pearl said as he helped her down. Turner knew she didn't just mean the lift to the house; she was referring to the fact that Turner had accepted the invitation to tea with Riggers and Elaine at all.

  "It's all right," he muttered, refusing to acknowledge it. He felt like he was there under duress, for the sake of his mum and general family relations. He was there for Elaine, and her kids, not for Riggers. His first instinct had been to refuse the housewarming meal invitation, and he still wondered if he was making a mistake in coming.

  Well, they were here now.

  Pearl oohed and aahed with appreciation and delight as Elaine led her through the tiny house, pointing out features like the downstairs cloakroom and the shiny metallic oven. Compared to Pearl's run down terrace, in spite of the freshly painted kitchen, the new build was modern and sleek. It was the sort of place that Pearl aspired to, and she was genuinely pleased that her daughter had finally "made it."

  In the living room, they'd pushed the sofa back against the wall and brought in another coffee table and a borrowed chair, and Turner was urged to take a seat with Pearl, Riggers, Kyle and Liam as Elaine bustled about in the kitchen. She kept the dividing door open, but didn't talk through to them.

  Kyle and Liam squirmed together in the single armchair. Turner sat on the sofa with his mum, leaving a gap for Elaine. Riggers took the hard-backed chair that must have come from upstairs, or more likely, a neighbour.

  Turner expected an awkward silence but his mum was more than ready to fill any gap with endless chat, and for once, he was grateful. She talked brightly about the house, the weather, the local news, the dreadful decisions by the council, and what was happening in the soaps. Finally she leaned forwards, and called through to the kitchen,

  "Elaine? Anything I can do, love?"

  "She's all right." Riggers answered for her.

  "I should have asked before. I'm so sorry. How rude. She usually asks me to go right in and help out, though. What's she doing in there?" Pearl started to rise to her feet, but Riggers waved her down again.

  "I said, she's fine. She takes a lot of pride in her housework, does Elaine."

  Turner's eyebrows shot up and he snorted. "There's a change."

  Riggers shrugged but didn't rise to it. Pearl must have sensed an undercurrent, because she immediately began to ask how Kyle and Liam were doing at school.

  "Really well, aren't you, lads?" Riggers stared at them.

  The twins scowled downwards, not happy at being dragged into the conversation. They were entwined around a handheld games console. Neither looked up but Kyle yelped, "School sucks." Liam elbowed him.

  Elaine came through at that moment, carrying a large tray of food. "Kyle! Liam! Enough of that!" She smiled apologetically at Pearl and Turner as she set the tray onto the table. "I'm sorry. We're trying to teach him manners but… boys, you know." She unloaded the plates and then straightened up, addressing Kyle. "You'll end up back on report again. Now come on, put that thing down. We're ready to eat."

  "Report?" Turner shook his head in mock disappointment at the still-grumpy face of Kyle. "What have you been up to?"

  "It's nothing," Riggers interrupted smoothly. "A few weeks ago he was being a handful in class. It's all better now, isn't it?"

  Kyle took his time closing down the game that he was playing. It riled Riggers, who spoke again, with menace in his voice, "Put that game down now and show your mother some respect."

  Kyle dropped the console over the arm of the chair, to the floor, and shuffled to the edge of the cushion, keeping his eyes on the food, not on Riggers or anyone else.

  "Well." Pearl cleared her throat. "What a lovely spread. Well done, Elaine. Aren't you getting domestic!"

  Elaine smiled tightly as she dished out the rice and curry to everyone. Turner balanced it on his knees and accepted a fork. It was a tight squeeze on the sofa once three of them were on it, trying to eat, but that was how it was, so he bit back his complaint. He was pretty sure that the two downstairs rooms of this semi-detached were smaller than his mum's old terrace, but the insulation and the upkeep were going to be better.

  He still preferred the older houses, himself.

  He wished he was anywhere but here, yet he had to admit to a horrified fascination with Riggers' new personality. Turner felt as if he was watching the ex-con, just waiting for him to make a mistake and revert to how he used to be: cocky, arrogant, slimy and usually high on drugs.

  Because when he slipped up, Turner would be there to ensure he slipped hard.

  This wasn't the place for such fantasies, and Turner pushed it from his mind. At least the curry was good. It was out of a can, but not a value-brand can, as far as he could tell. It had flavour. Turner liked food. "What is this," he asked politely, "Thai?"

  "English," Riggers replied.

  "No, really…"

  "The English invented curry, as it happens," Riggers said, waving his fork proudly. "Back in the days of the Raj, when we had India."

  I'm really not sure we can say we "had" a country. "Well, yes, I've heard that our influence there mixed with the local traditions and all that. But there's still different types of curry. Chinese, Indian, Thai. This tastes like a Thai mix? Lemongrass, perhaps?" Turner kept his tone light and questioning.

  Riggers shook his head, clearly refusing to acknowledge any other culture's influence on curry. "There's too much pandering to other races," he said. "That's half the problem. We've got to go back over our own history now and make up stuff about how being English isn't actually English, and all that! Denying our empire and apologising for it all."

  Turner didn't follow a word of it. "Huh?"r />
  "It's the same with women," Riggers continued, pointing a fork at Elaine, who kept her head bowed. "All that bullsh…rubbish about rediscovering important women in history. It's all made up by fat lesbians who have nothing better to do because they can't get a… anyway. Men and women are different. That's just obvious. But it's all about respect, isn't it? I respect Elaine a lot. More than I can say. For who she is."

  "I can't fault that, the respect thing," Turner said slowly. "But…" and he stopped. There were holes he could pick in Riggers' argument but with the twins on the chair looking wide-eyed, and his mum shifting uncomfortably beside him, he chose to change the subject instead. "But anyway. Great curry, wherever it's from. Tesco, ahahaha. So, um, Riggers… Andy…" Fucking hell, this politeness bullshit is killing me. "Uh, so how's the new job going? Well done for finding one. They're like hen's teeth these days, aren't they?" He forced a jocular tone into his words. I hope you appreciate this effort, mum.

  He made eye contact with Riggers, trying to convey to him that he was really trying to avoid any confrontation. To Turner's relief, Riggers moved with the conversational turn.

  "It's all right. I mean, it's warehouse work, it's nothing special, but it's a job. And I need to be working and paying my way. I see that now. I learned a lot in prison, and one of the things I learned is about self-worth and being a member of society. I thought it was about the fight, the game between me and the police. But it's not."

  Pearl nodded. "It's so nice to hear you say all that, Andy."

  "Thanks. Elaine? Coffees, please."

  Turner stood up and put his plate on the tray, and reached out to collect the plates from Kyle and Liam. "I'll help."

  Elaine looked from Turner to Riggers. "No, no, it's okay."

  "I'll bring this through."

  "No." Elaine spoke sharply. "You're a guest. Sit down."

  Pearl's hand on his sleeve tugged Turner back to the sofa. "I don't like not helping out, seems rude," he muttered.

  "Her house, her rules," Pearl said lightly, patting his leg as if he were a kid and not a grown man.

  Tuner subsided. Kyle reached down over the arm of the chair, hunting for his games console again, but Riggers hissed and the boy retracted his arm immediately, gathering himself into a ball, legs tucked under him.

  "So, are you full time, Andy?" Pearl asked, with genuine interest, not just politeness, in her voice.

  "Yeah, just about. I'm really pleased. Overtime sometimes, too. It's only minimum wage but it's something. And like Turner said, it's hard these days, with all these immigrants taking our jobs."

  Turner squeezed his eyes together briefly. Breathe. Don't even rise to it. He probably expects me to agree with him. He's probably not even deliberately picking a fight.

  "It's a scandal, isn't it," Pearl murmured. "The stuff you read in the papers! Shocking. Well, anyway. Ah! Coffee! Thanks, love."

  "You're welcome." Elaine passed the mugs around and Turner accepted one gratefully. The china didn't match but it didn't matter. The coffee was hot, milky and sweet, and it gave them all something else to focus on.

  I've got to get away. Everything the little rat says needles me, somehow. And I don't want to cause a scene but I can't stay silent much longer.

  I should speak out anyway. It's because of people staying silent that shitty attitudes like his gain in power. But I can't, not in front of my mum and the kids.

  Perhaps it's even worse if I don't challenge him. Kyle and Liam could end up thinking Riggers is right about stuff.

  Fuck. Fuckity. Let's drink this and get gone from here.

  Turner forced the hot liquid down, burning his lips and throat. "Ready to make a move, mum?"

  * * * *

  Emily didn't want to be stuck late at work on Friday night. Or at least, that's what she'd told everyone. Yet when Polly wandered through the front office at five thirty, she was still at her computer. Polly slicked a fresh application of lip gloss across her mouth and patted her hair.

  "Hey, pet, you're last here. Thought you said that you wanted gone?"

  "I do, I did. Just… a few more things."

  "You've got some hot date surprise from your lover man, haven't you? There ain't nothing that won't wait till Monday. Go on!"

  "Almost done."

  "I am gonna come around and just unplug your computer." Polly shoved the lip gloss away, smacked her lips, and then began to advance around the desk. "C'mon."

  "All right, all right!" Emily hit save and started to power down. "Jeez."

  "Don't you want to be home?"

  "Of course I do."

  "Seen much of him lately?"

  Emily pulled on her coat and started to flick the lights off. She sighed. "This week? Not since we had lunch on Tuesday."

  "Hmm. Going off the boil, is it, pet?"

  "No, not at all. Okay, I'm ready to go."

  They walked out of the building together, and out onto the street. It was still light, as spring was creeping across the country, even to the north. "But something's bugging you," Polly insisted, unwilling to let it go. "Tell your auntie Polly."

  "I'm just tired."

  "You're working too hard, pet! You don't need to prove anything to anyone. Come here." Emily was dragged into a warm, bouncy hug, completely out of the blue. Polly hung on for a good while before releasing her with a tut. "Did you know that hugs are supposed to last at least three seconds? For the best effect? Okay. Off you go now. Have a great weekend with your stud muffin!"

  "Er… thanks. And you."

  Emily walked briskly home. She did long to see Turner, she really did. But she also knew she'd been avoiding him this week, telling herself - and him - that she had a lot of work to do.

  I probably just like the suspense and build-up. Recreating that rush of first love.

  Her mobile pinged with a text from Turner and she smiled as she read it. He was going to be round to collect her at seven that night, so she had enough time for a leisurely bath and relax. There would be candles, music, heaps of bubbles, and any other female stereotype she could think of, short of cheap white wine.

  The cash flow crisis she was experiencing was easing slightly, as she'd had her first pay packet from the new job. Thank heavens that agency work paid weekly. Still, she was dancing precariously around the lower reaches of her overdraft. This meant that the bubble bath she'd bought looked like it could clean drains, and it took half the bottle to create any decent pile of foam.

  A hot bath was a hot bath. A soon as she was home, she started the bath running and emptied almost the entire bottle of lurid "sheer indulgence" foam into it. Then, armed with a cup of tea on the chair by the bath, and a female vocalist of the "empowering" sort on low in the background, she slid into the warm water and told herself, I am not going to fret about Joel.

  She groaned to herself. It was like saying "don't think about pink elephants." Okay, so what is still bothering me about him?

  It felt like unfinished business and it reminded her of her past mistakes in journalism. She wanted to make everything better for him, but knew that she couldn't. Maybe it was just that - the powerlessness she felt. She should walk away and leave well alone.

  I guess this is how Turner still feels about Riggers. But in that case, he has to accept him as part of family life. Ugh.

  She splashed around in the bath, making little waves to amuse herself. Ignore the past. We both need to do that.

  * * * *

  Turner was on time, and he was beaming from ear to ear when Emily opened her flat door to him. He was dressed in casual jeans and a lumberjack-type shirt, with a wide leather belt that drew her eyes to his waist. Not that she needed any encouragement.

  "Come on in. So, what's the surprise?"

  "We're going away for the weekend!" He beamed like a small boy.

  "I've not packed. I didn't expect…"

  "We've got time. Off you go."

  "I…" Emily laughed at him. "Well, okay. Where are we going?"

  "Su
rprise!"

  "I need to know." She folded her arms defiantly. "So I know what to pack." She put on a fake southern accent. "One wouldn't wear a track suit to dinner with the Queen, you know. Simply wouldn't do."

  "The Queen? Your hopes run a bit high. Sorry. Um, a track suit will be a better option."

  "Really? Are we going running or something?"

  "Ahh, no. But yes. Seriously. Look, um, dress warmly. Lots of layers. And a very basic overnight bag."

  Understanding began to stroke its cold fingers down Emily's back. She remembered what he used to dream about doing, when he was in prison. His escape. His fantasy.

  "We're going camping, aren't we?" she said flatly.

  "Yeah!" He grinned again, looking like a happy puppy. "I'm going to take you to the place I love best. Up on Yorkshire."

  "I thought you loved the Peaks. That's where we went before."

  "We weren't camping. This is something else. Limestone pavements!" His face became more serious. "I've never shared this place with anyone before."

  Emily forced a smile onto her face. "Okay. Give me ten minutes." She disappeared into the bedroom and tried to convince herself it was going to be fun.

  * * * *

  This might be all right. Emily muffled herself up in lots of clothes, scraped back her hair into an inelegant ponytail, and followed Turner down the stairs and out into the car park. I'm game for new things. It's a bit bloody cold, but hey. We're together.

  His excitement was infectious, that was for sure.

  He bounded over to his Range Rover and she peeked in through the back window. It was stuffed with gear. "I hope most of that stuff is sleeping bags and duvets," she told him.

  "Oh, I've got ways of keeping you warm."

  "I hope so."

  He sprung the locks and they hopped in. "Hey," Turner said as they swung around and began to move out of the car park. "Where's your car? I know it's small but it can't be hiding behind a stone or something."