Emily pressed the black plastic to her chest and her eyes unfocused. They'd had such good times. Then Kayleigh had moved on, moved up in her career, grasped life and actually left the country.
Yeah, I really was jealous, Emily thought. I'm such a cow. And yet, I have no reason to be jealous. I just… I dunno. What? Thought that my friend's progress and success somehow made my own life look crap in comparison? Who was ever judging that, except me?
Emily pressed the phone back onto the cradle and went through to finish making her cup of tea. She took it through to the bathroom. She wanted to sink into deep, foamy water and scrub off the smell of the fire and the hospital, and she knew she would think better in the bath, too.
She got in while the taps were still running, enjoying the sensation of getting more and more weightless as the bath filled up. Things were coming together in her mind at last, and she could now look back on the past few weeks - no, the past year, since meeting Turner - and see how it fitted together.
He was right. She hated journalism. Hated it! She giggled to herself and the giggle stretched into laughter, into a sudden whoop. The truth of it slapped her, and she splashed her hands in the water, paddling up and down to make a wave. Acknowledging it brought release and relief, like removing a heavy vest she'd been wearing for years.
And she had skills she could use in charity work instead. That's what fired her up. She'd been distracted, thinking she wanted to write about social issues. No, she wanted to deal with social issues, and that was a different thing entirely! How had she not seen that before?
I suppose I always thought that once you settled on a career after college or university, you had to stick with it. Only the dedicated got anywhere. But no - Turner's shown me you can still change. Kayleigh did too, and maybe that's why…
That's why I've been such a shitty friend.
And after all that, Kayleigh was still extending the hand of friendship. Shamed, and spurred to make things better, Emily finished off in the bath. Once dressed in comfortable jeans and a sweater, she sat at her desk and pulled her writing pad out of a drawer.
She wrote, and wrote, spilling out her thoughts and confessions and emotions. It started out as a letter of apology and renewal to Kayleigh but she knew by the fourth page that she would never send it. But she continued, her pen swooping over the paper. Her thoughts came so fast she started scattering journalistic shorthand into it. It didn't matter about legibility anymore; she was writing an explanation to herself, of herself, and creating a blueprint for her future, too.
Once finished, she sat back and stacked the papers carefully. Without even reading them back, she pushed them to one side, and began a new letter to Kayleigh. This one was shorter, and to the point.
Dear Kayleigh
Thank you for your phone call. I missed it because I was in hospital - don't panic! There was a fire, arson, and Turner rescued me. I stopped overnight in hospital but no-one was injured seriously. It's a long story and I will phone you soon and tell you everything. It wasn't at my flat.
Turner and I have split up. I lied to him. There was lots of stuff I didn't tell him. My excuse, which is not good enough, is that I didn't know what I wasn't telling him. I know that sounds mad. I need to sort my own life out before I can be with someone else.
I am giving up pretending to be a journalist. It was bollocks. I am temping at a homeless charity and that's what I'm going to do from now on. I was trying to live up to some stupid self-imposed image of what a successful mid-twenties career woman looks like.
I have not kept in touch with you because I found it difficult. Me, not you. I really regret it. You are a good friend and I'd be mad to lose our friendship.
I'm in debt. My car was repossessed. I am not telling you to get sympathy! Just that, I want to come and see you, but it will be a little while before I have saved up.
I will ring. I promise. I might have even rung you before you get this letter and then it will all sound quite odd…
She signed it off and shoved it into an envelope. She'd post it today. She didn't even consider putting it into an email - she needed a day or two's grace, and she knew Kayleigh loved getting letters. It was a small way of showing her old friend that she knew her preferences, and she'd put the effort in to make her smile.
* * * *
She took the long way to the post box. On the way back, she saw a familiar figure approaching her apartment block from the other direction. She recognised Turner at the same moment that he saw her, and he raised a hand in greeting, slowing to wait for her at the entrance.
Emily felt a little ill but she knew this had to be faced. She walked briskly, and managed a smile as she got close enough to talk to him. "Hi there. I was going to call you in a bit."
"It's okay. I was out and about, and I thought I'd call by."
"Been anywhere interesting?"
"The police."
"Oh."
They stood for a moment, facing each other, and a woman with a push chair grumbled and complained. Emily jumped to one side to let her pass. "Uh, okay. About the fire…?"
"Yes, of course." He grinned at her suddenly, his face lighting up with cheekiness. "What else? I went to them. They didn't come for me."
"Come on. Can we sit?" Emily nodded to a bench that was pocked with graffiti by some trees at the edge of the car park. Turner nodded and followed her. Sitting side by side was easier to talk. Emily twisted her hands together between her knees, and said, "So, first of all, how are the boys? Are they out of hospital today, do you know?"
"Yes. They're at my mum's, with Elaine. I've just been to the house and I saw Riggers, and I told him about your mate Joel."
"He's not my mate."
"Yes, well. Anyway. So we went to the police about it. They'll probably come and talk to you at some point."
"Right. Did they think it might be Joel?"
"They gave no clue. It was like talking to a wall. A wall in a uniform."
"I think it was him."
"We'll see. How did he know where Riggers lived?"
Emily rubbed her hands again. "I don't know. Followed him, maybe?"
"Are you cold?" Turner asked.
"No. Just… plucking up courage to tell you stuff."
"Oh god." Turner shook his head, and laughed with a sigh. "What now? What else?"
She shrugged, accepting the jibe as her due. "I think you already know all this. That I messed this relationship up because I've been trying to be what I'm not. I've got it, now. I'm staying in social work. I'm going to sort it all out. I really want to stay friends with you, but that's going to be hard."
"We can try…"
"I will, but not yet. There's one more thing, Turner. I doubt I should say this. Funny, really. So much I should have said, and didn't. And this one thing, that I ought to keep to myself… I am going to say it. I care for you. More than anyone I've ever met. More than anything. A proper, deep feeling. It hurts me that I care for you so much. I think I love you."
She clenched her hands tightly and waited for the sky to fall.
Chapter Nine
Turner stared out across the car park. He fixed his attention on a smart looking Subaru. I wouldn't have chosen those rims myself, he thought idly. There's bling, and then there's fucking awful.
He felt Emily shift slightly on the bench. He kept his gaze away from her, and after a while, probed his thoughts, feeling out the right words for the feelings that were confusing him.
"I am torn," he said, hesitantly. She'd been honest, and he'd demanded no less of her. Now it was his turn. "Because you've let me down more than once, and I don't want to keep going through that. I care about you, Emily, probably too much. So each time you do this to me, it's like a knife in my guts."
He stopped, and waited, but she didn't speak, didn't answer or argue or try to justify anything. He heard her stifle a sigh, so he continued.
"Emily, what about your brother?"
She had to reply to that. "I don't know. He's angry. But he can
't actually stop me, and he can't actually do anything. He's all threats."
"I don't want to be a rift in your family. Family's important."
"I know. But I don't think it's anything we can't work out. He will come round."
"If it came to a choice…"
"I would choose you," she blurted out in a rush, half-turning on the bench, so that her knees were slanted towards him. He looked to his side, finally letting his gaze rest on her.
"Do you mean that? It's a big ask."
"I do mean it. But it won't come to that."
Turner pursed his lips but he had to accept it. "Okay then. About us…" He sighed.
"I'm not asking for another chance," she said, very quietly. "I know it's too much. I just had to tell you how I felt."
Turner was surprised as she got to her feet, knitting her fingers together tightly in front of herself like a shield. "Anyway. Thank you. For everything. I can't ever repay you. And please stay in touch. Your mum… Elaine… Kyle and Liam… I'm going to miss them, too, you know."
Turner realised that she was trying not to cry, and he got to his feet, but he was too late as she turned away and began to walk towards the entrance to the block of flats. He reached out his hand but stayed rooted to one place, and slowly let his hand drop as she reached the doorway and buzzed herself in and disappeared without a glance behind.
Turner knew then what he had to do. He headed into town.
* * * *
Emily took the stairs back up to her flat. She felt as if she were in a dream, almost numb and floaty.
Tiny details seemed large and important. She noticed the scuffmarks on the skirting boards in her hallway and the yellow marks on the white plastic light switches. She wandered into her main room and blinked, seeing at last the chaos that had built up over the past months. The past year, in fact. She'd never been keen on housework and just performed the bare minimum to ensure it wasn't actually a health hazard.
But behind the shelves and under the sofa and hidden by piles of books, she knew there was a year of dirt lurking.
Her brain felt skittish, leaping from sensation to sensation like a kitten with a toy. She shook her head, and stood for a while in the middle of the room, waiting for some kind of revelation, or even a concrete idea.
She felt very, very alone.
I'm glad I sent that letter to Kayleigh. I've let it all slide. Friendships. I thought I could do this all alone - and while Turner was in prison I concentrated on his family, and myself.
All the missed opportunities now presented themselves to her and she sighed.
But that's the past, she realised with a dawning clarity. That's the past.
Emily pulled her mobile phone out of her pocket and stared at it. There were names in her contact list that she barely remembered. She logged in to facebook and there were long-forgotten friends requests still waiting for her.
Polly Dalmar. Her broad face grinned from the smartphone screen and it made Emily smile in return.
She thumbed "accept" and spent a moment browsing through Polly's life. That's how I would like to be. I know this is all a careful construct of how we want people to see us, but even so. Polly's energy and warmth - it's magical.
This is ridiculous. I can't just stand on the outside, looking in. Her smartphone began to perform some voodoo, matching up contacts, and she was presented with Polly's phone number, and before she could talk herself out of it, she phoned her up and invited her over.
* * * *
"I need help."
Polly didn't reply to Emily's opening statement. Instead she surged forward and enfolded her in a warm-smelling hug of pure acceptance that had tears springing to Emily's eyes.
Then she stepped back and folded her arms and stared at Emily, her smile still lingering but her eyes serious now. "Tell me, pet."
"Everything. I… shit. I haven't asked for help before."
"With?"
"Anything. Everything. I'm supposed to be an independent woman, you know?"
"You never asked Turner for help, either, did you?"
"Nope."
Polly kissed her teeth with a smacking noise, and shook her head in mock-despair. "And it's definitely over?"
"Yes."
"Tell me more."
"I…"
"Sit!"
Emily jumped, and then sank down onto her sofa, pulling a colourful blanket around her for comfort. Polly settled next to her, and bit by bit, Emily told her all about the fire, and the part she suspected Joel to have in it, and Turner, and all the things she'd done wrong.
Up to, and including, realising she'd made herself isolated and alone.
Polly listened. Emily was surprised that Polly didn't react to any of her revelations - not with surprise, horror or even murmurs of support. She just listened and as Emily relaxed, she found it easier and easier to talk, until she was exhausted and her mouth was dry.
And the first thing Polly said was not, "oh dear" or "never mind" or "all men are bastards" but "Well, I'll get the kettle on, shall I pet?"
"Yes, okay then."
Polly stood up. "And what are you going to do next?"
Emily winced. "I was rather hoping you'd tell me." Hang on, I'm reaching out for help here…
Polly's wide grin returned. "Well, okay pet. You've got a whole heap of stuff to sort out, but let's start with your flat, yeah?"
"Turner, Joel, the debt, my job…"
"It'll all seem much better with a nice cup of tea and a clean place to live. Got milk in the fridge?"
"Yes, I should have."
"Excellent." Polly rolled up her sleeves. "Let's get this party started. You get the tunes on the deck and I'll make a brew and start filling buckets. Did I ever tell you about the time I lived in a squat in Bristol?"
"Er - no."
"Great. You'll laugh till you're sick. Come on, pet, let's get started…"
Chapter Ten
Sunlight streamed through the window and Emily was almost tempted to throw it open, wide, and let the breeze in.
She resisted. It was the end of May but it was still too early in the year for the air to be warm enough. Hell, this was Manchester, it was unlikely to ever be warm enough. She stretched and sat back in her fraying office chair, and smiled at the morning sunshine.
She allowed herself one distracting game of spider solitaire, and then returned to her work. The weekly blog posts representing the charity on Manchester's community website were a discipline that she welcomed, even if it was sometimes hard to come up with fresh, original content. Still, it had been worth it. She'd only started doing it ten weeks ago, and already it had landed her some articles in local magazines. It felt good to be writing as an official representative of something. Especially now her job had been made permanent.
"Time for a brew?"
She turned and smiled as Turner emerged from the kitchen, covered in flour and dough and smears of food. "It's always time for a brew," she said.
"I thought as much." He had already made it, and brought the steaming mug of tea over to her desk. "Still working? Haven't you packed yet?"
"I have, actually. While you were playing the chef in there, I threw together an overnight bag. It's on my bed. So there."
"Ahh, excellent. Well, food will be ready in about ten minutes. How's the blog post doing?"
"I'm nearly done. Will you read it through for me?"
"What's it about?" Turner shoved her sideways off her chair and she hit his arm playfully, before pushing herself back onto his seated lap, leaning to one side so he could see the computer monitor.
"Debt," she replied, her voice suddenly sober.
"Aha. Okay, then."
Emily let her eyes scan, unseeing, over the lines as Turner read slowly. Debt still made her stomach churn with guilt and with shame. Every time she slid behind the wheel of her new-but-second hand car, she felt a little ill. Every time she went to the bank to check her balance and to print a statement, which she did weekly, she tasted bi
le in her throat.
But she knew that she had to live with it - for the moment. Only by facing it could she drag herself out of it.
And only by accepting help could she beat it. Turner's loan had been the hardest thing she'd ever accepted.
If she hadn't taken his money, he wouldn't be here now. It wasn't just a loan of money to tide her over. It had been a symbolic gesture, and she understood that. Saying yes to it was saying yes to a lot more than just financial help.
She gained a new relationship and a new start. She tried not to think about the fact she'd lost her brother. He hadn't been in contact since, and it was getting harder to hide the fact from their parents.
"I still think about that day," she said. She ran her hands up his arms and around the back of his neck, leaning her head in against his, warm skin against skin, and half-closing her eyes. "When I walked away, and you came after me."
"Not right away," he laughed, snaking his hands around her waist. "Did I tell what I did first?"
"I assume you went to the bank."
"I did go to the bank," he said. "To check I could lend you what I did. Then I just walked. I walked around Manchester. Around the city centre, around the shops, through the parks and down the dodgy alleyways. I looked at people. I looked at the beggars and the homeless, the rich and the businesspeople."
"Why?"
"I dunno. I kinda feel I ought to come out with something all deep and meaningful but there wasn't any kind of revelation. Except perhaps that none of us are perfect. I have such high standards for myself, you know. I have to prove myself. Yeah, to society and to my family, I know that. But mostly, Emily, I have got to prove to myself that I can do this."
"You can!" She pulled back and studied his serious face. "I believe in you."
He half-smiled. "Thanks. I guess I just started to expect a high standard of perfection from everyone else, too."
"You're right to, though."
"Perhaps. Anyway. I just knew that giving you another chance was like giving myself another chance too. If I hadn't, I was saying that people couldn't make mistakes, that people couldn't change."
Hidden Kiss (Love Is The Law 2) Page 13