Hidden Kiss (Love Is The Law 2) (4 page)

She made herself a deadline, to make her message about
deadlines into truth. She'd find herself a job by this afternoon. Somehow.

* * * *

It's an oldie but a goldie.
Turner air-guitared his
way through his house while the Red Hot Chili Peppers made the windows throb.
He was on a cleaning kick, determined to spray, scrub, polish and dance his
house to a state of high shine.

He'd taken great pride in keeping his cell pristine. A lot
of the guys in prison did. When you don't have a lot, what you do have becomes
very important. Some of the guys were padded up with another person, and in
those cases, personal hygiene and living habits became even more important.
There was more than one instance of new prisoners being forcibly taken to the
shower block by the other men, and shoved under a jet of water with orders to
clean themselves up.

No-one had ever had to do that to Turner. Not that they'd even
try. He'd kept his head down and stayed out of wing politics, but he was aware
of the ripples and the gangs, the allegiances and the fights. He wanted no part
of it.

His house had been kept in a reasonable condition by his
sister Elaine, and his mum. But he still felt the need to give everything a
thorough spring clean. Like the fast-food stop, this was another symbol of
renewal and change.

He set his laptop up on the kitchen table. While he
spiralled around with a mop and bucket, it was updating and downloading,
getting back up to speed with the latest software. It piggybacked off his
neighbour's Wi-Fi network for the moment, but he was getting connected soon. Now
he knew what he knew, he was positive he could build a nice business.

If Emily had time between her writing jobs, he could employ
her to write him some good copy, too.

I hope she isn't burning herself out. Deadlines,
deadlines. But, I know, they've got to be met.

He missed her already but he had other things to do, people
to see. Once his house was in order, he decided he'd go to see his mum again,
and hopefully catch his sister and get to the bottom of what she was doing with
Riggers. He left the laptop still whirring away, and walked the short distance
round the corner to his mum's.

Mrs Black was sitting in the living room, watching a reality
chat show. The host was goading a couple into confronting each other about
various affairs, and his mum was frowning in disgust and glee.

"Aw, mum, why do you watch such rubbish?"

"It's that or cookery." Mrs Black's hands clutched
at her cardigan in horror as the host let an audience member berate the couple
under the spotlight. "Listen to that! Terrible!"

"I'd go for the cookery." Turner tipped his head.
"Mum, is Elaine about?"

"She is. She's upstairs. The lads are at some kind of
half-term play-scheme thing, thank god. After Kyle's little do last week, we
didn't think they'd be allowed back." Mrs Black stood up and went to the
door that opened to the stairway. "Ee-laine!"

"Wait, what did Kyle do?"

Mrs Black returned to her seat and grabbed the remote. She muted
the television, to Turner's relief. "Oh, he's been kicking off a bit.
Usual kid stuff really. I just think-
Elaine!
Your brother's back!"

Elaine stood in the doorway, arms folded, making her face as
set and firm as she could. She was the same old Elaine that he knew and loved.
She'd visited him regularly but it shook him to see her in front of him, not in
the vast and impersonal visiting hall.

"Hey! No hug for your favourite brother?" He
opened his arms and grinned at her, as winningly as he could.

She tipped her head back and her enormous gold hoop earrings
clattered. She had three or four in each lobe, now, and the way she kept her
hair tightly back in a bun made them stand out. She was impeccably made-up, as
always, and he noticed that she was finally wearing clothes that fitted, rather
than one or two sizes too small.

"C'mon!"

"Oh for god's sake," she muttered, and stepped
forward, hiding her grin as she was pulled firmly against his chest.

"It's good to see you."

"I know."

"Same old Elaine."

"Not quite." She pulled back and he assessed her.

"How's the job?" he asked. She'd started training
as a nail technician when he had started his prison sentence.

"Really good. I'm doings loads more training. And I've
got more hours at the salon. It's all working out really well now the boys are
at school."

"Good."

There was an awkward pause, and Turner wasn't sure how to
ask what was on his mind. Mostly, he didn't want to hear the answer. Elaine
knew it.

"So, yeah, sorry I missed you yesterday," she
said.

"I was hurt. Deeply hurt. I had brought you a massive
box of chocolates and some flowers and everything, but as you weren't here, we
had to eat them."

"The flowers?"

"The chocolates."

"So where are the flowers?"

"Uh. Yeah, so we ate them, too."

"Liar."

"Whatever. Where were you in my hour of need, my day of
release?"

Elaine threw herself into an armchair, and crossed her legs.
Her pink fluffy mules looked incongruous, dangling from legs that were tightly
clad in sequined denim. "You did say that Emily was collecting you."

"I thought you might be here, at home, though."
Turner was aware he'd been dragged into a long conversation that should have
taken a few words. And he knew why. "So, then, it's that Riggers."

Elaine was defiant. She kept her jaw tilted up and her black-rimmed
eyes fixed on his. "Yeah."

Turner stayed standing up and tried to keep his fists
relaxed. "You gonna tell me he's a changed man?"

"No, but he is. I just don't expect you to believe it.
And I don't care."

That did hurt, so he didn't mention it. "Just be
careful."

"I will. I can cope. I always have, you know. I'm not
stupid, Turner. I know you think I'm just some cheap chavvy slapper but I know
about real life."

"I do not think that!" Turner was shocked but he
had to fight the rising guilt. He
did
 think that about her, sometimes.
But she was his sister - it didn't mean he loved her any less. And he'd have
killed anyone else who dared said it about her. "I'm really proud of you,
Elaine. Bringing up Kyle and Liam, looking after mum, getting yourself back to
college. You're amazing."

She dropped her gaze at that. "Do you mean that?"

"Hell, yes."

She sucked in her breath and nodded to herself, but then
raised her eyes to his once more. "Thanks. Means a lot. Doesn't change
things, though, about me and Riggers. We're giving it another go."

"Right." Turner pushed his hands into his pockets
and tried to seem nonchalant.

"There's more."

Turner looked sideways to his mum but she was pretending to
watch the soundless television. "Go on."

"I'm moving in with him."

"He lives in a poxy shitty little bedsit! What about
Kyle and Liam? And mum?"

"Leave me out of it," Mrs Black said, without
taking her eyes away from the screen.

Elaine folded her arms and snapped her chewing gum
defiantly, acting for all the world like her fourteen-year-old self would have
done. "He's got a house, now, actually. A semi, one of those social
housing things on that estate round the corner. Got two bedrooms, and a fitted
kitchen, and a garden. A garden, Turner! For the boys."

Oh that's right, guilt-trip me.
But it was true that
these terraces had nothing but a bare concrete yard at the back, and the
syringes in the alleyway meant it was no place for a kid to play.
"When?"

"I'm packing. At the moment. We've been spending a lot
of time there. It's easy enough for me to get to college and to the salon. I'm
part time at both. And it's close to the boys' school. You should come
round."

"I don't fucking think so."

"Turner!"

"Sorry, mum." He thought for a moment. "Okay,
then. You want a hand with the packing? Bringing stuff down?"

Elaine got to her feet. "Suppose you can be useful,
yeah." She headed towards the door and he followed.

There was a rap at the front door and it opened straight
away. Turner's heart sank as a skinny young man with the chiselled features of
a rat pushed his way in. It was Riggers, though with a new wispy goatee that
contrasted oddly with his shaven head.

Turner blinked. Before the prison sentence, Riggers had
favoured the trying-too-hard-white-gangster look, with sports casual tracksuits
and enormous running shoes. Now, he was in a plain, neatly pressed pair of
black combat trousers and a plain dark blue tee-shirt. He still looked like a
smack-rat, but a slightly more upmarket one. He didn't look as if he smelled of
urine any more.

"Hello, Turner."

Turner couldn't help but stand on the defensive. He felt his
chest inflate as he faced the man, and had a mental image of himself from the
outside as a puffer fish or startled tom cat. "Riggers."

"How you doing?"

"Okay." He would be
damned
if he asked the
scrote how he was.

"Good. Good." Riggers slid his gaze to Elaine, who
was curiously poised by the door to the stairs, as if she were waiting for
something. "Elaine, babe. How's the packing coming along? I can't wait for
you to be in my house properly."

"I'm nearly done. Turner was just going to help bring
some stuff downstairs."

"Ah, right, thanks mate. No need, yeah? I'm here
now."

Turner felt as if he'd been dismissed. Riggers waved a
cheery greeting to Mrs Black, and followed Elaine up the stairs and out of
sight.
Not out of earshot,
Turner thought.
I've got be careful.

He sought his mum's face for clues as he asked, in a low
voice, "How are you? With this?" He nodded in the direction that
Riggers and Elaine had gone, trying to convey to her his meaning.

Mrs Black's mouth pursed small but she said, very neutrally,
"I'm delighted for everyone. I think it's really important for Elaine to
move out and make her own life."

Turner perched on the edge of the sofa next to her, and
hissed, "With
him?"

Suddenly Riggers was at the doorway again, a box in his
arms. He looked at Turner and Turner tensed, expecting a confrontation. Riggers
would know they'd been talking about him, even though he couldn't have heard a
thing.

Instead, Riggers spoke with a calmness that Turner did not
feel. "I just want to tell you that you are welcome in my house at any
time, yeah?"

"Right."

"And it would be a shame for Kyle and Liam if you
didn't come and see them, you know."

"Right."

"Good."

Turner stood up. He didn't like being smaller than Riggers
and he felt the need to loom over him, but Riggers, as always, was unbowed.
"I suppose you want to tell me that you've changed," Turner said.

"No," Riggers replied. "I could say anything
but you wouldn't believe me, and you would be right to. A man is judged by his
actions, not his words, Turner, and you will come to see that."

Turner's mouth slackened and he could only stare as Riggers
slid past him and out of the front door. Elaine followed behind, carrying a
bag.

"Elaine…" Turner started to say, his mouth dry and
his tongue tumbling.

"Hang on. Just putting this in his car."

Turner turned to his mum, who was watching everything with a
strangely blank expression. "Did I just hear him right? That wasn't
Riggers. That wasn't how he talks. He sounds different. What the…?"

Mrs Black shrugged and her focus shifted to over Turner's
shoulder. Riggers and Elaine were back in the room.

"One more load and I'll be off. I'll come around later
to pick you up, babe."

"Thanks."

"Where are you going?" Turner made an effort to
sound polite.

"Just giving her a lift to college. Night class."

Turner looked at Elaine. "Be as quick to get the
tram."

Riggers shook his head. "At night? You know the sort of
people out on the streets of Manchester at night, Turner. People like we used
to be."

"You, maybe. Don't you dare tar me with that
brush."

"Whatever. But you know what it's like out there. Would
you really have me let your own sister chance it?"

Turner furrowed his brow. This wasn't right. Elaine could
look after herself; hadn't she just told him that? And yet, Riggers had a
point.

Judge by actions, not words.
No wonder Turner was
feeling unsettled. Maybe Riggers was a changed man; it didn't sit right, and
Turner made a humph noise. "Right then."

"Right then." Not one flicker of triumph crossed
Riggers' face. He led the way up the stairs to collect another box, and Turner
took his leave of his mum. He walked back to his own house in a fog, barely
even registering the people who greeted him on the street.

Riggers. With a house and a sense of responsibility?

Well, damn me. If that little toad can make a fresh
start, I've got no fucking excuse.

* * * *

Emily's intercom buzzed. She leapt to it, nearly flinging it
across the hallway as she dropped it in her haste.

"Hey."

"Hey. Come on up."

She released the door and waited, nervously, counting the
seconds. Would he take the stairs or the lift? She always took the stairs,
resolutely trying to stave off the increasing wobble around her belly. He was
so fit and buff from the prison gym that he probably didn't need to take the
stairs for extra exercise.

He probably didn't need the lift, either. He could just
scale the outside wall and dive in through her windows, hopefully clutching a
purple box of chocolates.

He must have taken the stairs. Right on cue, there was a
rapping on her door, and she swung it open wide.