Hundreds and Thousands

'I love you, Toms,' said Ronnie. But she didn't turn to him, just tucked her feet in the tatty plimsolls up on the park bench, arms around huddled knees.
It'd be better, he reckoned, if she shut it. She'd been shouting her mouth off since they got caught.
The copper, the bloke, he was up the hill a way, his back to them now. And the other one, the woman, she'd gone towards the main gates, like she was off somewhere.
Weird.
Then again, it wasn't like they were going to run away, was it?
Ronnie said, 'D'you hear me?'
He watched her staring at the pond - the ducks quiet now, drifting about. Then he saw her lift her head, squinting at the sun.
And he wanted to touch her again, her hair especially, the thick blackness of it, and see that look of hers, the violet eyes, and feel that pike-slim body next to his.
Half an hour ago, among the laurels and the yew bushes, he would have reached out, but here, what with all the people and that ...
'Ronnie ...' he said, hoping there'd been enough in his voice to make her look at him, show him those eyes again ...
'What?' she said, still staring down the hill. 'Dun't say nothing.' Her fingers were in her hair now, twisting it, saying, 'Unless you wants to say what I just said.' That soft Gloucester voice - Burronica.
He left it a while, watching her pulling at the black strands, winding them round her thumb. 'I do love you, Ron.'
'Liar.'
'No,' he said. 'Really.'
'Love.' She shook her head, tutted. 'We're not supposed to know what that means, are we?'
'Dunno.'
'Bugger it,' she said. And she uncoiled her legs, came towards him, arms going round his neck now, then her lips on his: her lovely liquorice taste. He tried to get her to ease off a bit, then saw the woman walking back with a couple of 99s and felt the panic knotting in his belly again.
'They said we're just to sit here ...' he said.
'Sod them and what they want us to do.' He felt the snake belt on her shorts pressing into his side.
He pushed his fingers through her hair, saw past it to the woman: going quicker now, frowning as she walked over the grass.
'Hold up, Ron. The woman.'
'Bollocks to that bitch.'
'She's got some ice-creams. Maybe we're just going to get told off. Maybe it's going to be OK.'
But Ronnie had a hand down his trousers and was love-biting his neck, hard.
'Don't, Ron,' he said. The WPC came round the pond, eyes blazing.
'Ice cream's for kids,' said Ronnie. 'And we stopped being them just after lunch.'