Hidden Heart (Love Is The Law 1) (11 page)

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 stepped
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 excited 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."

"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."