Chapter 12

If he thought he'd felt battered and bruised before it was nothing to how he was now feeling. Like he'd been churned up in a washing machine and wrung out through a mangle.

Joey wasn't sure how he'd made it through the last week, keeping up the pretence that he had everything under control, when all he wanted to do was crawl into a dark hole and hide away forever. Yesterday he'd driven to Burton Marsh, found a deserted hide, locked the door and sat in the corner and cried until he'd no more tears left to fall. The nights he'd spent lying rigid in bed, holding back the sobs so the others wouldn't hear. He hadn't had more than a couple of hours fitful sleep either, and any food he'd been able to force through his lips had turned to grit in his mouth. Looking in the mirror this morning he hardly recognised the reflection staring back at him. Sunken eyes, hollowed cheeks, shirt hanging off him.

And oh God, the family were doing his head in. Billy and Adrian constantly arguing. Celia having a go at Shifty, his mam having a go at all of them. Billy and Julie rowing whenever they saw each other. First one, then another. Surely they couldn't think that he was unaffected by everything that had happened? Did they believe he had no feelings, no emotions? Couldn't or wouldn't they see the state he was in? Wasn't he allowed to have a life of his own like the rest of them?

He had no one who wanted him, just for himself. He knew his mam loved him, too much probably. She took care of him, he'd never had to cook or clean or shop, but it wasn't the relationship he was craving. She was his mam after all. And his family loved him without reservation, he knew that, but to them he was the fixer, the one who sorted everything and everyone. They'd never be able to manage if he admitted to his problems, so he'd got into the habit of pretending he could cope with anything. He'd been so successful that none of them stopped to think that actually he might not be sound. They all knew what had happened, some of it had been so public, they'd all read the letter. But not one of them had checked to see what had happened or if he needed anything. It was like they couldn't face him not being strong and capable, as though the whole family edifice would come crashing down if he was shown to have any weak spots. The shock on their faces when he'd walked out. He desperately wanted a special person, like everyone did he supposed, and for years he'd invested everything in Roxy. They'd been happy enough at first, in fact they'd shared some wonderful times together. But she'd never been able to accept his family. It was all or nothing with her and he'd worn himself into the ground trying to reconcile the two. And he was still reeling from his latest run in with Roxy. The letter, the meeting when he'd finally got the truth, and that last fateful encounter.

He shut his eyes, clamping his lips tight to make sure nothing escaped them. First one whining on, then another, and finally Aveline prattling on about him being wise and not screwed up about love. That did it, he couldn't sit there any longer, not without breaking down and screaming at them. He just had to get away and made some excuse about leaving the car unlocked and needing to see to it.

He unlocked, got in and took out his phone. He stared at it. He should never have touched Roxy, just that momentary caress, his hand on her face, telling her there'd never been anyone else. All the old feelings came flooding back, overwhelming him. He'd been hoping to slip the envelope with the money in through the letterbox, but she'd opened the door. He managed to avoid her invitations in, but her sad, regretful voice telling him she was sorry she'd lost him nearly blew his resolve. If only he'd kept his hand to himself and his gob shut. Then her hand touching his, a fleeting moment before he moved his away. It would have been the work of but a moment to turn back, to go through the door to her. It'd taken all his willpower to keep facing away and walk back down the steps.

He screwed up his eyes, breath coming in rasps as he struggled to control his tears. He slammed his phone back on the seat, his mind in turmoil, his emotions yo-yoing about. Roxy, oh Roxy.

He watched Mongy come lolloping up the street and in at number thirty. He rested his head back, eyes unfocused as he faced down the street. A movement on the river caught his eye. He squinted, a tug, perhaps heading for Garston, where a ship or two still birthed. All those ships, all the dock wallopers, gone never to return. Life was short, nothing was permanent, nothing guaranteed, except death and tax, he curled his lip, even he had to pay VAT sometimes on his purchases. Grab some happiness while you can, before death claims you.

His hand strayed back to the phone, a momentary stalling, then he couldn't hold back any longer. He dialled.

"Hello?" He paused waiting for the response, "I need you."