by M K Turner
Terms
of
Affection
M K Turner
Edited by Sharon Kelly
Cover by ebooks-designs.co.uk
Copyright © M K Turner
This edition published 2019 by 127 Publishing
The rights of M K Turner to be identified as the author of this work have been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the permission of the publisher.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed are entirely the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or events is entirely co-incidental.
By M K Turner
Meredith & Hodge Series
The Making of Meredith
Misplaced Loyalty
Ill Conceived
The Wrong Shoes
Tin Soldiers
One Secret Too Many
Mistaken Beliefs
Quite by Chance
Family Matters
Bearing Witness Series
Witness for Wendy
An Unexpected Gift
Terms of Affection
Others
The Cuban Conundrum
Murderous Mishaps
The Recruitment of Lucy James
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen.
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty One
Chapter Twenty Two
Chapter Twenty Three
Chapter Twenty Four
Chapter Twenty Five
Chapter Twenty Six
Chapter Twenty Seven
Chapter Twenty Eight
Chapter Twenty Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty One
Chapter Thirty Two
Chapter Thirty Three
Chapter Thirty Four
Chapter Thirty Five
Chapter One
Nothing.
Amazed that even the rising panic and feeling of urgency couldn’t summon something . . . anything, Henry tried again. Hushing his thoughts, he calmed himself. He needed to be logical. It could be the shock or bruising causing the paralysis. Silent instructions were issued. Now, try again. Take a breath. Had he? He had no idea. The only thing he knew for certain was that his brain was working perfectly.
Concentrate!
Focusing his mind, he chose one limb at a time, picturing it, concentrating on it, and when he could almost feel the muscles with his thoughts alone, he tried again. By the time he reached his left arm the panic was returning. Unable to turn his head to look at it, Henry pictured it, and willed his fingers to flex.
Nothing.
They might have moved, he didn’t know because he couldn’t feel them. A tear ran along the bridge of his nose. This was serious. Blinking, a second tear followed. Opening his mouth, he called for help. In his mind he bellowed up at her, when in reality all he managed was a muffled grunt.
Unsure how long he’d been there, not knowing if he had drifted off, he watched the first flakes of snow fall on the rubble immediately in front of his face. They’d got it wrong again; it was only supposed to be a sharp frost tonight. He might not know much, but he knew with certainty he would die here if she didn’t bring help soon. Had she gone for help?
A sadness gripped his heart, not fear as he would have expected. What was there to fear? He could feel nothing. No. That wasn’t true. More tears arrived as he realised he could feel regret and longing. His emotions were working perfectly.
What if? What if? What if?
It might have been better to have been in screaming agony and not be able to think.
A noise reached him. Shutting down his thoughts, Henry concentrated on his hearing, and wondered if he was frowning. Did that still work? Could he still frown?
Concentrate!
There it was again. Rain drops . . . no, hailstones, tip tapping as they bounced around him. A whooshing noise, then the hailstones. How could that be when immediately in front of him a light snow was falling?
A stone landed in front of his face, the next one hit his cheek, then another and another, until he was unable to see. He was being buried alive. The bitch was burying him alive, and he couldn’t fight it, he could only accept it.
Closing his mouth and eyes, he thought of Lorna. If he was going to die, which he knew was inevitable, he would die thinking of her. His mind raced through the memories of their short time together, he settled on the first time she’d told him she loved him and he smiled.
~ ~ ~
The draught coming in under the front door caused the fringe of Henry’s scarf to sway. The hall was freezing and normally he would keep calls short to get back in front of the fire, but the blood raced around his body as his heart pounded. If necessary, he could stay on the phone all night. Henry grinned and was glad that Lorna couldn’t see the colour rise to his cheeks.
Lorna Rogers was going out with him, they were an item. Big and clumsy, unless he was on the rugby pitch, Henry Cooksey had a girlfriend, and what a girlfriend. Sitting in her own hall five miles away, she had laughed and said of course they were going out, and yes, they were now a couple, and tomorrow she was going to the dance with him.
He’d met with Lorna numerous times over the last couple of months, but it was always casual, someone else was usually around. This would be the fourth time it was a proper date, and this would be the date when everyone would know they were now an item. Even her father had given his approval. It was a better feeling than when he’d scored the hat trick of tries against Colston’s first team.
A shadow blocked some of the light coming through the kitchen door glass and he knew his mother was eavesdropping. He didn’t mind, he didn’t care who knew about this. Content she wouldn’t interrupt as Lorna had called him, he pulled his father’s coat off the newel post and wrapped it round his legs.
“Do you have heating in your hall?”
“What?” Even her laugh was intoxicating.
“Heating. We don’t. I’m freezing here. If you hear a tapping noise, it’s only my teeth chattering. They reckon it’s going to snow.”
“You’re so funny. It’s one of the things I like most about you. Yes, we do have heating in the hall. You know that, you’ve been here often enough.”
“Weirdly, I’m always only concerned about the extra maths I’m about to endure, I don’t take a lot of notice of the furnishings. What else do you like about me?”
This was a lie. From the moment he’d first seen Lorna, Henry had been smitten. If it weren’t for the possibility of seeing her, he’d never have agreed to take the extra lessons. Every time he walked through the sitting room to her father’s study, he looked for signs of her. Did she snuggle up in that armchair? Did she lounge out on that sofa watching the telly? During the lesson, when he heard a noise above, he’d sometimes freeze, quite literally hold his breath. Was that her in her bedroom? If so, what was she doing?
“Are you fishing for compliments? W
ould you like me to make something up?”
Now she was teasing him, and he didn’t care. “No, I think the truth will do. Unless of course you’re going to say that’s it. That the only reason you’re going out with me is because you needed a laugh.” He crossed the fingers on his free hand.
“It was actually. But then I discovered not only were you handsome, strong and funny, you were also kind and considerate, and . . . WHAT! Sorry, Henry, she’s stopped pacing next door and is now miming at me.”
The voices reaching Henry were muffled and he guessed Lorna had placed her hand over the receiver. After a minute or so, she was back. She didn’t sound happy and he knew her mother was still there.
“I’m sorry, Henry, I have to go. Apparently, even though it’s after six and the cheap rate has kicked in, I’m causing a financial crisis in the Rogers’ household, and the homework that will take me all of twenty minutes must be done now. I’ll see you tomorrow night, can’t wait.”
“That’s okay, I’d better go too. It’ll take me a while to chip the ice off my fingers and I’ve got training tonight.” He smiled at her giggle. “See you tomorrow, I love you.”
A fire enveloped his whole body and there was a silence before she whispered her reply.
“You too, bye.”
He sat there stunned, holding the phone to his ear long after she’d hung up. What had he just said? Why had he said it? Was it true? Who cared? She said it back. Lorna loved him. Beautiful, intelligent, funny Lorna Rogers loved him.
He jumped as his mother bustled into the hall.
“I’m sorry, I know it’s love’s young dream, but I have to pay a visit, can’t keep these legs crossed any longer.” Stopping in front of him, she put her hands on her hips. “Are you not even on the phone? Then why are you sitting there in the dark?” Flipping on the light switch, she shoved him to one side. “Get out the way. I nearly wet myself.”
“I’ve only just finished.” Replacing his father’s coat, Henry stretched his arms above his head and arched his back. “You could have gone up earlier, instead of listening at the door you know.”
He grinned as his mother laughed from the top of the stairs and poked her tongue out at him before she shut the bathroom door.
Glancing at the clock he grimaced, he’d have to leave in ten minutes, not enough time for a proper snack.
Turning off the hall light, his mother came into the kitchen. “You can’t be eating again. Oh, a banana. You shouldn’t train on a full stomach. In fact, with the snow forecast, and your dad being on nights, are you sure you want to go? That’s a long way to cycle if it snows.”
“It’s less than four miles, Mum. It helps keep me fit.” Dropping the peel into the bin, he hit the light switch in the hall. “Yes, I’ll be careful. Yes, I’ll ride on the pavement in the lanes. Anything else I have to agree to before I leave?” Picking up his scarf, he wound it round his neck before pulling on his coat. “By the way, you need one of those sausage dog things for that door, as Dad would say, there was a force ten blowing through there.”
“Yes, there is as it happens.” His mother’s eyes twinkled as she walked to him. Reaching up and grabbing his face she pulled it down and kissed his cheek.
“Get off. What else? I’ve got to go. Why are you smirking?” He returned her grin as he forced his hands into gloves a little too small for him.
“I like you being in love. You’re nice when you’re in love, not all moody and brooding like some teenagers.”
Pulling open the front door, he shook his head. “See you later, Mum, and I am not in love. Stop making stuff up.”
“You are, I heard you. Just save a bit of love for your old mum.”
Throwing his leg over the saddle, Henry adjusted his bobble hat. “I’ll always love you, Mum. Now get in out of the cold and make my supper.” Bumping down the steps and out of the gate, Henry lifted his arm as he pedalled away.
“Cheeky devil.” Annette blew a kiss at his back before closing the door.
Chapter Two
Hugging the cushion tight to her body, Angie’s lips quivered as she stared at the television and tried to control her emotions. Raucous laughter reached her as Graham Norton shared an innuendo with a celebrity she didn’t recognise.
“You’re awake, finally. You had one, didn’t you?” Her husband, Ryan, stretched out his arm causing her to jump. He took her hand. “Do you want to tell me?”
“Yes, I did, but I don’t want to talk about it, if you don’t mind. Maybe tomorrow, I need to get my head around it first.” Taking back her hand, she massaged her temples. “I’ve got a stinking headache and feel knackered.”
“I’ll get you some paracetamol.” Getting to his feet, Ryan checked the time. “You’ve been asleep for two hours.”
“Not up here, I haven’t.” Tapping her fingers against her temple, Angie closed her eyes.
Itching to ask what Angie had witnessed, Ryan bit back his questions. Instead he went to the kitchen to get her the promised pain relief.
The day before, Inspector Tipper had dropped in a box containing unsolved missing persons’ files. The box now sat in the middle of the kitchen table, empty apart from the scarf which had belonged to Henry Cooksey. Ryan looked at it, hoping Angie would be able to find out what had happened to Henry.
The women in the Bearing family received communications from the dead. There were no candlelit seances, no hand holding, no consultations with grieving relatives. Triggered by various things, the visions simply came to them. Angie’s mother, Margaret, called it a curse, and her grandmother, Bridget, a gift. Whatever it was, Angie’s curse, or gift, was stronger than her elders’. Angie also experienced the emotions of those contacting her, good or bad, and it exhausted her.
Anything could bring on what Ryan called a witchypoo moment. A touch from a stranger, a newspaper story, reading a file, or walking into a room. The only thing common to these visions was that the person communicating with them had unfinished business.
Angie had only recently discovered she had inherited this ability, when she found that her dreams were true events. Working together, the three women had solved the cases of two missing women.
Bridget Bearing had decided they should use their gift to help find out if missing people were dead or alive, to give their families some form of closure. She’d called it Bearing Witness. Inspector Frank Tipper, the policeman who became involved with the women when they were trying to find out who had killed a missing actress, Wendy Knight, believed the women could help. He had no problem in accepting, and hiding, their gift.
Inspector Tipper had supplied the files of three missing persons. Each of the women, or coven, as Ryan now affectionately called them, had taken a file on a missing person from the box.
Ryan had been against it at first, but it had become obvious the three women could no longer ignore their abilities. Having seen the good the women could do, the now supportive Ryan had already got someone working on a website for them. Families of the missing needed closure, and wrongdoers brought to justice.
To do this, Angie had given up her job as a scriptwriter on a television soap. But the bills wouldn’t pay themselves and they had to find a way of earning from their gift. Working under the guise of being investigative journalists and writers, it was decided that if the families of the missing agreed, Angie, a professional writer, would dramatise their loved one’s story. Ryan had spent hours working out how they could self-publish the stories they uncovered.
Filling a glass with water, Ryan collected a couple of pills and returned to Angie. “Bob reckons he’ll have a basic mock-up for you by tomorrow. Who knew building a website could be so easy?”
“Only if you know what you’re doing. It’s like you giving me a camera. I do all the things you tell me to, point the same camera at the same object, you get a photograph of the pores on a man’s nose, I get a picture that may or may not be a male. Horses for courses.”
“Yes, you’re right. Here take these, no poi
nt in going to bed with a headache. Shall I put this back in the box?” He lifted the police file from the coffee table.
“Yes, please. No more tonight, I need sleep. Lily will still be up at the crack of dawn.”
“I can see to Lily, you lie in.” Ryan paused in the doorway. “You don’t want me to bring the scarf, I take it?”
“No. I can’t take any more today, that’s if I’m given a choice, of course.”
“Enough said. Not nice, I take it?”
“No.” Angie brushed away a tear at the memory. “Buried alive. Seventeen years old, madly in love, and buried alive.” Sniffing, she dabbed the back of her hand on her nose. “The worst part was he died smiling. Thinking about a girl called Lorna.”
Walking back into the room, Ryan dropped the file back on the table and pulled her into a hug. “That was his girlfriend. Lorna. Love’s young dream his mother called them.”
Pushing Ryan away, Angie looked at him in surprise. “Have you read the file?”
“Yep. Cover to cover, the telly was rubbish, I didn’t want to disturb you, and I knew by the twitching and sweating you were in another world, so I thought I might join you.”
“Sweating? Don’t smirk, I don’t sweat. I know who Lorna is, I haven’t seen her yet though, only his mother, she doted on him.”
“Do you think Tipper will tell her he’s dead? You don’t usually know that straight off. Look at what happened with Teresa and Daisy, all three of you had that one wrong.”
“I don’t know what Inspector Tipper, or Frank as we’ve been instructed to call him, will do. As for me, I have no choice, what will happen, will happen. I’ll either find out more or not, but Henry knew what was happening, and he knew who was doing it. When the gravel started hitting his face he thought, ‘the bitch is burying me alive’, that tells us it was a woman, which is surprising. Poor boy.” Angie brushed another tear from her cheek. “I hope it wasn’t Lorna.”
“Did you not see?”