"Turner! Don't you think I can be the judge of who I… get involved with?"
"Sure." He shrugged, his body contradicting his words. "But you don't know me. Not all of me."
"I want to."
"Know me?"
"All of you."
"It's difficult."
It was Emily's turn to shrug. "You're not so special, Turner Black," she told him, and was delighted by his raised eyebrows.
"What?"
"Oh, you think you're plagued by this terrible past and all that, but who isn't? I've been spending a lot of time navel gazing about my own mistakes, both professionally and … in relationships. I…" she faltered, her light-heartedness dying as she remembered Kayleigh. "I had an argument with my best mate recently and she told me some home truths, too. About what holds me back. I think we both need to move on."
"Move on?"
She took a deep breath and forced herself to maintain eye contact. This was it. She had to let him know how she felt. "Move on, together."
He didn't reply for a long while as he mulled it over. He kept her hands firmly ensconced in his, almost idly rubbing his thumbs over the backs of her fingers. Eventually he said, "I was afraid of this."
"I'm sorry." She pulled away to go. At least she'd told him. She wasn't going to let herself regret this. She'd never have to wonder what would have happened.
"No, don't." He held on, and pulled her back, closer towards him. She wanted to fall against him and be gathered into his arms.
"Turner-"
"Emily. Stay. You're asking so much, and there's so much I have to do, to change." He stretched his mouth wide in a sudden, bright smile. "But fuck me, I do like a challenge."
He did embrace her, then, and she went to him willingly and allowed herself to be smothered in his safe, secure, bear hug. Her belly was swirling with cartwheels but she was grinning, even though her face was pressed hard against his chest, and she could feel him tremble with suppressed laughter too.
"Fucking get a room," muttered a passer-by, and Emily peeked out to see a surly young teenager glowered at them, holding his skateboard.
"I think we're in the way for some skating practise," she muttered.
Turner released her and growled at the kid, who took a few steps back in alarm, and Emily slapped Turner lightly across his stomach. "Stop that. Leave him. Come on, let's go."
This time, as they walked, Turner wrapped his arm across the top of her shoulders and kept her close to him. He told her a bit more about college, and the range of courses he could choose. His dreams seemed as precarious as hers, but they both talked with confidence.
She described pitches that she had made to magazines as if they were definite acceptances, colouring in the edges of her workday with certainty. Fake it till you make it, she told herself. She was going to make it true.
They were both going to make it true.
They walked on a little further, but Turner stopped by the end of the park. "I'm really sorry, Emily, but I've promised I'll do some babysitting so my sister can go shopping. I'm going to have to run."
All her pre-prepared speeches about why he couldn't come back to her flat were now useless, and she felt illogically affronted. "Oh, okay. That's cool."
"Look. Tomorrow. Let's meet up again."
"Sure. What do you want to do?"
"You're into films. We can't keep hanging around cafes all the time. I'm getting worryingly metrosexual, you know."
"You're shedding your bad boy past, remember?"
"What, rehabilitation through the power of lattes? There's an article idea for you. Why don't you have a see what's on, and text me a time. I'm free all day tomorrow."
She could have jumped up and down with delight, but she kept a mature lid on her excitement. "Excellent. I'll do that."
He glanced at his watch. "Shit. Sorry, I am running late… I kinda feel I should walk you home."
"It's the middle of the day and I've lived here all my life!"
"I know, but it's the principle."
"You're late. Go!" She pushed at him and he retaliated by scooping her back into one final embrace, finishing with a lingering kiss that should have lasted forever. He broke off and turned, and she watched him go with such a mixture of sadness and joy that she thought she could burst from the confusion of emotions.
Chapter Six
It proved very difficult for Emily to choose a film to watch. She browsed all the listings for the local cinemas, but what genre to go for? She first decided on a typical action-adventure with meat-headed thugs and an arsenal of weapons, but would Turner find it too stereotypical? She couldn't face the idea of a fluffy romance, and she was pretty sure he didn't want to watch a subtitled Indonesian epic about betrayal in the fifth century.
Eventually she plumped for a screwy American comedy, and texted him the details. It was just after lunch, and they met outside under a warm but overcast sky.
Emily had bounced along to the rendezvous, aiming to pick up on the surge of energy that they had finished on the previous day. She bounded along the street and, as usual, he was already there, punctual to a fault.
She was smiling like a loon but he grabbed her in an enfolding hug and didn't seem to want to let go. He nuzzled his face into her hair, and she felt his breath sigh across her scalp.
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah."
"Turner."
"No. I'm sorry, so much for the new me and all that." His voice was muffled and he didn't seem to want to let go. "Someone came around last night. And it annoyed me."
"Who?"
He stepped back but kept hold of her hands, and his face was drawn, making lines in his forehead. "Oh, just that arsehole Riggers. Giving it all this."
"Tell him to get lost!"
"I wish it were that easy. He's still Liam and Kyle's dad, isn't he?" Turner screwed up his face for a moment in tension, then deliberately smoothed it out, shaking his head. "Right. Okay, enough of all that. I don't want to even think about it. Let's go and enjoy this film."
They walked into the shiny, identi-kit foyer and stocked up on exorbitant amounts of popcorn and fizzy drinks, and entered the muted, plush auditorium.
It was about a third full, attracting the family crowd and some groups of hipster teenagers. They settled in to the seats and while the endless advertisements were running, Turner amused himself by seeing how high he could throw popcorn into the air, and still catch it in his mouth.
Eventually Emily had to jab him with her elbow. "You'll get us thrown out! How old are you again?"
He responded by poking her in the ribs, his playful tickling turning to a caress that crept around her waist. In the semi-darkness, he sought her lips and kissed away her complaint.
As he pulled back he said, "There's something about being in a cinema on a date that just makes me feel childish, sorry."
"Honestly."
"Oh, by the way, if you get really scared you can snuggle up to me."
"It's a comedy."
"Just saying."
She shook her head and couldn't help smiling sideways at him, as the curtains drew back fully from the screen and the lights dipped down. "Hush, now. Watch."
By the time the film had ended, Emily was feeling more relaxed and happy than she had done in a long time. The jokes had been corny but there can be a point, with endless puns, that laughter took over, even if they were individually groan-worthy. They stepped out into the mid-afternoon light, blinking and quoting meaningless lines from the film at each other.
"Come on," Turner said, wrapping his arm around her again, proprietorially. "I need to top up my trendy, urban style-quota. Café?"
"Go on, then. May as well."
They ambled along until they came to a pavement place quite close to Emily's flat. The sun had emerged in a late August burst of enthusiasm, and they sat outside, talking about the film, and people-watching, and generally avoiding any serious conversation at all.
God, I've needed this. Emily smi
led at Turner, as an unexpected wave of simple pleasure surged up through her.
"You all right?" he asked, looking up from his coffee.
"Yeah. Just feeling… really, really happy."
He smiled back. "Me too."
He stirred his drink and then said, "Hey, something I've been wondering about. You know those newspapers that print all sorts of bull shit about, well, everything. The one that is always saying what's going to make you ill, or which celebrity is doing this, that and the other. And all that gossip. Do you journalists really believe what you write?"
"Oh god, if I had a penny for every time I'd been asked that." She started to tell him about her training and the code of ethics, but it soon descended into terrible fuck-ups that she'd heard about, or done herself.
They were laughing about a mistake she'd once made, as an intern on a newspaper, where she'd spelled a word wrong in the prize word search. That had gathered more letters of complaint than any other topic the newspaper contained that week. Suddenly, Turner stiffened and looked over her shoulder, down the street. Emily half-turned to see what had caught his attention.
Just the usual window-shoppers and general public, making the most of the last hour of Sunday shopping. Then a figure emerged out of the rest, coming straight towards them with a broad grin on his angular face.
"Turner! My man. How you doing? Good to see you. And this must be… Emily."
Emily raised her eyebrows in surprise and shot a glance sideways at Turner, but he wasn't looking her way. His attention was fixed on the man and he sat forward in his chair, his hands gripping the armrests.
"Riggers. What do you want?"
Riggers ignored Turner's unfriendly tone, and came to a slightly swaying halt in front of Emily. He was dressed in expensive jogging bottoms, the type that were never used to actually go running in. It was matched by his pristine white trainers, and a muscle vest that revealed little in the way of muscles. Emily had met many like him over the years, and was not inclined to pre-judge. But Turner's reaction to him had put her on guard.
"Let me just say what a pleasure it is to meet you at last."
"Thanks."
Turner stood up, and Riggers moved to directly behind Emily's chair, making her feel uncomfortable, as if she were a human shield between the two men. She tried to shift her chair but Riggers was actually holding on to the back of it, and when her shoulder blade touched his hand, she recoiled and sat forwards.
"Riggers, we're having a nice lunch out. Is there something in particular that you want?"
"No, no, no. I was just out for a stroll and when I saw you, I thought I'd say hi." Emily heard him yawn, then his hands moved and his head came down past her shoulder as he bent to scratch his ankle. She couldn't help but wonder if he had some kind of electronic tag, and she averted her eyes out of politeness.
"Call me, yeah?" Riggers moved away, to her great relief.
Turner sat back down, already dismissing him. "Yeah, whatever."
"You will call me."
Emily shivered. Riggers' final words weren't said in his light, street-boy tone. There was a darker meaning to them, and she watched Turner's face as he kept his eyes fixed firmly on Riggers.
Riggers melted back the way he had come, and then Turner looked at Emily and met her eyes with his flinty gaze. "I am so sorry about that little prick interrupting our good time."
"It's okay, it's not your fault."
Turner was quiet for a moment and she could tell he was working up to saying something. She was starting to understand his moods a little more, and she gave him the space to get his thoughts in order. At last he spoke.
"That was Andy Rigby, and he's the father of my sister's twin boys."
"Ahh. And he's the man who…"
"Yeah. Started me off down this whole sorry business."
"It's all his fault?"
Turner snorted and shook his head. "No. It's still all my fault. But I blame him anyway, you know. Look, he's put me in a foul mood and I just need… I dunno. To go work out, or something. Can I walk you home?"
"Sure." She reached for her bag but he waved at her, offended. "Hey, this is my treat. Let me."
They walked slowly, chatting about nothing in particular. The shop window displays, a passing moped with a row of round mirrors like a mod-styled hedgehog, a street musician who had cymbals tied between his knees. Emily didn't want it to end. They got to the parking area below her building, and stopped.
"Do you want to come up for coffee? I mean, actually come and have a coffee. I'm not talking euphemisms."
A flicker of regret crossed his face and he smiled wanly. "No, I'm sorry. But I am really, really glad we met up today. I've had fun. I really have. But…"
"But…?"
"But we need to do this right, don't we?" He looked up and their eyes met, and she didn't ever want to look away. She could gaze at him forever. "Take it steady, if it means anything. Especially… well, an ex-con like me, what use I am? But I want you to know that I am going straight, Emily, I really am. I'd do anything to … be able to be with you. But I need you to be proud of me."
"I'm proud of you just for trying to go straight." She was startled by his sudden change of mood and tone. Riggers seemed to have a sinister hold over Turner's emotions.
"I need to do more. I will, I promise you. Are you… okay with that?"
"More than okay. Come here, you big lump." She reached out her arms and he stepped into them, embracing her with a fierceness that squeezed the breath out of her.
Eventually she had to fight free, and he released her. "Go on. I've got to go out of town for a few days, but I promise you I'll see you again. Don't panic if you can't get hold of me."
That came out of the blue; he hadn't mentioned that before. But then she remembered his camping trip, and nodded. It was easy to understand how he'd need to find his own space again, after so long in prison. "Of course."
Reluctantly they backed away from each other, moving by slow degrees, like a teenage couple who'd just discovered they were the first people to ever fall in love. Emily started to giggle, and it set Turner off as well, until she was peeping out of the doorway and he was holding his hands to his chest, acting like a lovesick swain out of an old melodrama.
It took five minutes of goofing around until Emily made it up to her flat, and as soon as the door clicked behind her, she felt oddly alone in the silence. She tried to hold on to the warm joy that was still under the surface of her skin, and she ran to the window to catch a glimpse of Turner as he walked away through the car park and down along the street.
He was going straight for her.
She hugged her arms around her waist. There was something about him that made her want to be the very best that she could be, too.
She glanced at the papers on her desk. Things weren't really going as well as she'd implied - not yet - but he had now given her extra motivation to really make things work. She flicked her computer out of sleep, and while it re-awoke, she went through to the kitchen to make coffee.
She'd only been working for about an hour when her phone rang. She was tempted to ignore it, as no editor would be calling her on a weekend, but on the chance it was Turner, she picked it up.
The number wasn't recognised. Curious, she answered, expecting a marketing call.
"Hello, Emily."
"Who's this?"
"It's Andy. You met me earlier, outside that café, with Turner."
"Andy… Riggers?"
"Andy Rigby. Riggers, yeah, if you like. Listen, babe, you left your purse behind at the café."
She bit back her angry snipe at being called babe. "No I didn't. You must be thinking of someone else. But thank you."
"Go check."
Emily sighed and stood up to fetch her handbag from where she'd dropped it on the sofa when she'd come in. A chill tickled her neck.
"It is gone. I don't … how did I drop it?"
"I dunno, babe, but it had your phone number taped inside.
Forget your own number a lot, do you? Anyway I thought I'd better return it. Because in spite of what you might have heard from Turner, I'm a nice sort of person, you know."
I don't believe a word of it. "I can meet you back at that café."
"Are you worried about me knowing your address?"
"It's easier for me to meet you there."
"No it's not. Just come down, because I'm right outside."
Holy fuck - what? She drew in a deep breath and said, as steadily as she could, "Sure. Okay."
He can't mean any harm or he wouldn't be trying to return it. I don't know how I lost it, but it's good of him to find me again.
He can't have stolen it just to give it back.
Buoyed by her logical reasoning, she ran down the stairs and out into the sunny car park, scanning the area not just for sign of Riggers but also in the hope that other members of the public were around.
To her surprise, Riggers was standing by the low wall that bordered the car park, talking over it to another man who had two small boys with him. They looked about four or five, and were twins.
Who'd mentioned twins recently? She walked slowly over to him, and when Riggers saw her, he beckoned the two boys over and they jumped the wall, aided by the other man. By the time she reached Riggers, he was holding the hands of each boy, and the other man had retreated somewhat. He was standing about thirty feet away, and playing with his phone.
The presence of the children didn't really comfort her, and she wasn't really sure if that was Riggers' intention.
"Hello Emily," he said, in that fake tone of voice that people used around children when they had no idea about children. "These are my sons! Kyle and Liam, say hello."
They had big eyes that echoed Turner, and pale hair cropped short. They stared at Emily, with clearly no intention at all of saying hello. She smiled at them warmly, and then turned to Riggers, realising his motive.
He must have stolen the purse, and she could hardly have a screaming fit at him with two kids standing there.
"Thank you for returning my purse," she said, pointedly. He hadn't made any move to give it back to her yet, but he took the hint, and dropped the boys' hands so he could fish in his pocket, and hand it over.
Hidden Heart (Love Is The Law 1) Page 9
