Hidden Heart (Love Is The Law 1)

by Isabella Brooke

Nevertheless, he answered it.

  Even filtered through the distant pounding bass, she sounded remarkably perky. Sober, even. "Turner, hi. Can you talk?"

  "I - er, sure. Hi. Emily. How are you?"

  "Fine, actually. Really good. Yourself? You sound like you're out on the town…"

  "I am. Um, look. About last week…"

  "It was great, wasn't it? I should thank you for a really nice night out. I needed it."

  "Yeah, um…" He leaned against the dark wall, letting a gaggle of girls teeter past on impossible heels. "I enjoyed it." He genuinely had, but he was careful not to sound too enthusiastic. He didn't want to lead her into suggesting they do it again.

  Luckily, she didn't seem to want that. A pang of disappointment went through him when she said, "Don't worry. I know it was a one-off, and I'm cool with that. And you were right, about my article. Wasn't going anywhere. So sorry about that. I didn't phone you again because… well, because I was a bit embarrassed, to be honest, actually."

  She sounded contrite and he wanted to ruffle her hair, grin at her and tell her not to be a fool.

  But she wasn't there. She was just a voice on the phone. "It's okay," he said, lamely.

  "So, anyway, something's come up. Bit weird, this, but I thought I'd better let you know. I would have rang earlier today but time ran away with me, you know? The thing is, you remember that editor that I said was on holiday?"

  He didn't, but he could hardly admit that. "Umm, yeah…?"

  "I thought he'd love the article, and I was right. He rang me up today and said it was a goer. Thing is, I've moved on."

  Moved on? What kind of call was this? Turner shifted from foot to foot, concentrating on listening to her words as another crowd of noisy people pushed past him.

  "I'm not doing that kind of story any more, and I told him so. He was okay with that, and he's got someone else who's actually doing something similar anyway. I think he must have wanted me to collaborate with him because papers don't - anyway, you don't need the details. What I'm trying to say it, this other writer, he wants to interview you."

  "Right."

  "And there is money in it for you! Telling your story, I mean. This is a big newspaper. Honestly, it would pay you pretty well. So can I pass your contact details on to him? Can I give you his details? You can ring him, and sort something out."

  "I'm in a bar. I don't have a pen and paper to hand…"

  "I'll text it over." She sounded bubbly and excited and it just served to make Turner feel lower and darker. "Is that okay?"

  "Yeah, sure, whatever."

  "You all right?"

  "Yeah…" No, you're supposed to be pining for me. Like… "Yeah, just a bit noisy here. I'm out with the lads. Look, got to go…"

  "But Turner-" Finally, she sounded pissed off, and it gave Turner a horrible sense of pleasure. Briefly. He didn't really want her to be upset, but there was no point in talking to her. It made things worse.

  "Thanks, Emily. Laters." He ended the call while she was still speaking, and kicked the dented skirting boards at the bottom of the wall. The bouncer at the end of the corridor was standing half-in, half-out of the door, lighting a cigarette, and he looked up at Turner's fit of temper.

  Turner spread his hands wide in apology as he moved back towards the bar. "Sorry mate, sorry."

  The bouncer glared. Turner took the anger and added it to his own, balling it up into a fresh fire of irritation deep within.

  He was happy that Emily was happy, truly he was.

  It just wasn't fair that she was happy without him.

  Chapter Five

  Turner's attitude on the phone had annoyed Emily more than she expected. Her sleep that night was fitful and restless, but she refused to credit him with that. Instead, she rose early and went for a walk, ambling through one of Manchester's parks with a notebook ready in her handbag. She'd stopped at a coffee shop on the way home, feeling smugly metropolitan. She then collected an armful of the weekend papers and returned to her flat, ready to spend the rest of Saturday slobbing out and relaxing.

  It was always a temptation, as a freelancer, to work all hours of the day and night when a big job came in. She did intend to polish her article later that evening, but for now, she embraced the free time and indulged herself.

  When you didn't have any work, you didn't get to appreciate relaxation either.

  So when, mid-morning, Turner called her mobile, she was almost annoyed. She'd put him out of her mind, and she nearly didn't take the call. On the seventh ring, she answered, ready to be cross with him.

  "Hiya, Emily, how're you?"

  "Good thanks. Yourself? Worse for wear this morning?"

  "No, not too bad. I wasn't really drinking last night."

  "Did you have fun?"

  There was a pause. "Yeah," he said, flatly.

  "Sounds it."

  "Can we meet up?"

  It took her by surprise, that, and her pulse rate shot up. "No."

  She had obviously surprised him, too, and he sounded affronted. "I - oh. Look, I mean, about this guy you want me to ring. I just want to talk about it with you first."

  Oh really? "What about?" She loved the sound of Turner's voice. She wanted to see him. But she wasn't going to be anyone's little game, and she wasn't going to fall for him. She'd been so productive this last week - without him in her head. This was the new Emily, and she wasn't anyone's plaything.

  Turner stumbled through an explanation. "Just about the article, and what I should say, and all that. I don't want to get caught out. I don't know him, so how can I trust him?"

  "You didn't know me, but you met with me." She was unconvinced by his stammered words.

  "I knew you through your brother, though."

  He sounded so lost that she relented. "Okay. Look, I'm having a bit of a lazy Saturday. Do you want to do lunch somewhere?"

  "Yeah, that would be great! Near you?" Suddenly, he sounded lively again.

  She named a pavement café and he readily agreed. His enthusiasm rubbed off on her, but rang warning bells, too. Last night he'd been stand-offish, and it was to be expected. Today, he was like a puppy again. What had changed?

  * * * *

  I wonder if he'll like the new me? I wonder if he'll even notice… Emily had paid attention to her make-up, keeping it understated and fresh, but her hair had been cut into that kind of style that needed grooming. When she had just had it straight and long, it would fall as a dark curtain, smooth and natural. Now it had layers cut into it, letting waves take over, she had to pay it some heed, and it looked styled which wasn't the aim she wanted.

  What if he doesn't like the new me as much as the old me? Not that I want anything to happen between us, but that's not the point. It's about potential.

  Then she heard Kayleigh's voice again in her head, echoing their phone conversation: "You're how old?"

  Well, what of it.

  She'd tried not to think about her argument with Kayleigh but it had preyed on her mind. Eventually she was forced to admit that her friend had been right. Soon, she'd had to reach out and make amends.

  But not until she had done enough to prove to Kayleigh that she really had changed.

  She grumbled at her own inner voice as she walked along, enjoying another burst of rare late summer sunshine. The streets were busier now, with soporific holidaymakers and lost tourists, searching for the heart of indie music or the roots of working class protests. Manchester's soul was one of toil and industry, but the people on the streets today were voyeurs and shoppers.

  She was early, but Turner was earlier still, sitting out at a round, lime-green table, with a long glass of lemonade in front of him.

  His face lit into a smile as she approached, and he rose to his feet, then he stopped, a hesitation in his manner.

  Emily laughed, delighted to find she had the upper hand for once. "You don't know whether to shake my hand like the first time, or kiss my cheeks like the second."

  "Ha!" And he s
tepped forward decisively, embracing her in a bear-hug, and kissing the side of her face. It was not any kind of polite air-kiss, and she fought free, huffing at him.

  "Thank you, that's quite enough."

  He grinned broadly. "You sound like a harassed primary school teacher."

  "Which implies you're behaving like a…"

  "Sit." He pulled a chair out for her, all gentlemanly concern. "What can I get you to drink?"

  She obeyed, pursing her lips in mock-annoyance. He waved the waiter over and she ordered a cool fruit smoothie to match the summery day.

  "So."

  "Yeah."

  They sat in awkward silence for a moment, observing one another. Aware of her own differences, she searched for any sign of change in him. He was wearing a casual tee shirt, baggier than before, with a band she'd never heard of emblazed on the chest. His jeans were well-fitted and he was clean-shaven again. He looked smart, for a weekend. But his face was tired.

  "Go on," he said at last. "You want to ask me about my job hunt, and you're afraid of the reply."

  "How's the job hunt?" That would explain the tidy appearance.

  He exhaled through his nose, a nasal kind of sigh. "Not too bad, as it happens. So you needn't have skirted round the question. I've been in touch with a mate of mine who's a plumber, and he needs someone to help him on a big job over the next couple of weeks."

  "Plumbing? Don't you need, I dunno, particular qualifications for that?"

  He looked hurt, and raised his eyebrows innocently as he replied, "I know what gas smells like, and I know not to smoke if I think there's a leak. How hard can it be?"

  "I hope to god you're pulling my leg."

  "Sort of. Don't worry. He needs a bit of heavy lifting and stuff; it's a total system replacement. I'm just there to take up floorboards and hump radiators around. He won't let me anywhere near anything potentially explosive."

  "Glad to hear it! And glad to hear it - about the job, I mean. Well done."

  "Well done!" He imitated her. "You've gone back into primary school teacher mode again."

  "You invited me out here. Was it to mock me, or did you want to talk like an adult?"

  "Sorry." He didn't look at all contrite and she wanted to hug him and slap him in equal measure. "I'll grow up. Let's order. Are you hungry? I am."

  They spent a few minutes fussing over food before he settled back down to business. "So, you tell me. You look… good. The hair, and all that. Stylish. The writing going well?"

  "It is, actually. Thanks. Yeah, really well. I've changed direction. I've gone back to what I always originally planned to do - entertainment and media writing, mostly. I've already got a commission and I'm really excited!"

  She decided not to mention the lack of commissions once the film one was completed. Something was bound to turn up, and she had expected a slow start, after all.

  "Great stuff. Tell me, why did you change from what you wanted to do, originally? Didn't you start out wanting to write about entertainment and stuff?"

  She was saved from the awkward answer by their steaming hot paninis arriving. She tried to tuck in straight away but the fillings were nuclear-temperature, and she prodded at the bread while she thought out her careful reply.

  "I was lucky, I suppose. I got a break writing about homelessness and tuberculosis, and health in general, and about how young people especially fell through the cracks. It got picked up nationally and even got the interest of politicians - briefly. While it was the talk of everyone, I got more work in the same vein. So I kept going."

  He waved his fork in the air. "I kinda knew all that already," he reminded her. "You'd mentioned the basics. I was just curious to see if there was more to it."

  "Jeez. Are we reduced to having the same conversations over and over?" she laughed.

  "Like an old married couple? Christ no."

  Their laughter died at the same time, as the undercurrent in their words was felt. She coughed as a piece of hot panini went down the wrong way. "Anyway. Okay, so that's not the whole story. You're right. The thing is, there was this boy. The main feature of the first article, actually."

  "What was his name?"

  "You wouldn't know him; it doesn't matter."

  "It clearly matters to you."

  Emily sighed. "Joel." Saying it out loud didn't make it easier to continue. "Joel, and he was so young, you know? He didn't trust anyone. He'd been so abused and let down by the system, right through childhood. Hell, he was still a child. So when I met him, he didn't trust me, either. It took a long time. A long time to get through to him."

  "So why so sad?"

  "Because I was stupid and naïve and young, too. I thought that exposing his terrible story actually meant something. I told him so. I told him that if he could open up to me, I'd change things. I'd be able to change his life. That people wouldn't be able to ignore it, and that he'd be all right."

  "And he wasn't."

  "No, no he fucking well wasn't." Emily felt her shame and her anger swirl in her stomach and she pushed the panini to one side, half-finished. "Nothing changed. Someone posted him a woolly bobble-hat that they'd knitted, for christ's sake. Like, what good was that going to do? Otherwise, no-one really cared. They cared enough to write the odd letter to the papers, and there was a flurry of facebook commentary. Like this picture to get this man a house and a job? Don't make me laugh."

  "So, where is he now?"

  "I don't know. Dead."

  "Dead? Are you sure?"

  "Statistically speaking, yeah. Did you know the homeless die thirty years younger than non-homeless people? Anyway, he had TB and he never did get the treatment he should have done. He didn't have an address so he couldn't register with a doctor."

  "He could have used your address."

  That was the final straw, and Emily felt her tears brim over. She didn't even try to brush them aside. She felt that she deserved this public humiliation. "I know, and that's what's so fucking awful. I didn't even think about that! Seriously, it never even occurred to me. Can you believe it?"

  "I can," Turner said gently, reaching over to cup her trembling hands in his. Her hands nestled in the safe warm cave of his fingers. She wanted to curl up and fit her whole body in there.

  "Hindsight is so perfect, isn't it?" he said, like he was calming a horse. "At the time, in the moment… god knows how we make our decisions. It's a miracle to me that I even get through the day, sometimes."

  "I'm sorry," she burbled. "I don't ever talk about it."

  "Strikes me that you should." He let go of one hand and fished out a tissue from his pocket. "Here."

  "Thanks."

  After a few moments she had regained her composure. He was looking at her with concern. "Better now?"

  "Yes, thank you. Oh god, do you think I am an awful person?"

  He sat back then, and raised one eyebrow. He let the silence draw out for a few seconds before saying, very low, "Do you think I'm in a position to judge?"

  She swallowed and shook her head, as relief began to ease back into her body. "Ahh. Thank you."

  "S'okay. Hey, look, are you going to eat the rest of that?"

  She shook her head again, and he fell upon the panini with vigour. As he ate, he told her about his plans for the future - how he was going to the local college the following week, to see what trades he could learn. She was impressed, and infected by his glee. Maybe things could work out.

  "I'm stuffed." Turner pushed his plate away and his face was the one of a man who was well-fed.

  "The way to a man's heart…?"

  "It's very true. I think we need to go for a walk and burn some of that off."

  "You do!"

  "Well, okay. Fancy it?"

  "Sure."

  He got the bill and they headed out towards Piccadilly Gardens. Emily clutched her bag to her side, unsure of what to do with her arms and hands. This wasn't a date. It hadn't started out as a date. Yet it was starting to feel like one, and she was both ex
cited and nervous.

  No way was she going to let him come back to her flat. Not this time. If this were to go anywhere, she decided that she needed to set the pace, and she ran through some refusals in her head, preparing herself to turn him down later on.

  He seemed oblivious to her ruminations. Men were like that, on the surface. Then he surprised her and rocked her assumptions once more, by saying,

  "This isn't what I expected, and I bet you didn't, either."

  "Ah…nope."

  "I was thinking about you a while ago. You, and food, as it happens."

  "What?"

  "You know, when I went camping. I was eating cold beans from a can, and drinking lager, and I couldn't get you out of my mind." He sounded almost apologetic and it made Emily smile. "I was thinking, whether you'd be impressed by the height of my culinary expertise."

  "Cold beans. It's not exactly Gordon Ramsey."

  "I'll admit the presentation was lacking."

  "I think I'll turn down any dinner party invitations from you."

  "Who's saying you were going to get any?"

  They crossed the road and walked more slowly as they reached the shade of the trees along the edge of the tiny park. Emily couldn't think what to answer. Turner came to a halt by the steps at the base of a statue, and turned to her, reaching out to take her hands in his.

  There were people sitting on the steps all around, but Emily focussed on Turner. Everything else faded out of her attention as she looked up into his eyes, searching for sincerity.

  "Turner… please don't mess me around. Please."

  It was so strange, to see a broad-shouldered hard man with his crew cut and suppressed power, wearing a facial expression of concern and anxiety. It made her want to hug him and tell him it was okay. He tightened his lips briefly, and sighed.

  "Emily. I have messed you around, and it's been killing me. That night I spent with you… it was fantastic. I thought we had something. Then I went home and thought about it a bit more. I guess I had a kind of crisis of confidence. I mean, look at me. Look at my past. It drags me down, and it always will."

  "No…"

  "Hush. Let me finish. I thought, I can't let a woman like you be tainted by someone like me."