I can't remember if there were any particular things I wanted to make note/mention of in this chapter, but anyway. We're revving up to Christmas and we're really, really starting to rev up to the point when all this tension won't be able to hold out much longer.

I don't own Bread.

26
Beware the plague of Boswells

So far, Martina had done all right, Christmas-shopping wise, especially considering her limited budget. Rosary for Nellie—only a plastic one, and she probably had a few already, but she'd appreciate the gesture, Martina was sure—book of postcards with vaguely Greenpeacey slogans on them for Celia. The usual bottle of something for Diana and her other colleagues behind the counters. Jack had already said, to the dinner table in general and no family member in particular, that he didn't care how many bottles of Scotch he got from people this Christmas, even if it was cheap even if it was all he got off anyone; he intended to get absolutely bladdered. And so Martina had complied with this request. She'd wryly contemplated an inflatable girlfriend for Billy, just to see the look on his face, but had decided against it and gone with the safer option of a Liverpool FC mug (he'd been complaining long enough that Julie had smashed his on the pavement. She only hoped the others hadn't all had the same idea, though knowing Billy and crockery, it wouldn't hurt him to have spares anyway.)

For Adrian she'd picked up a copy of Rilke's Letters to a Young Poet (in the hope that, as well as inspiring him, it might give him some advice and he'd start churning out some slightly better verses and not endless spin-offs of My Granny's Bucket) and on an afterthought she'd gone and got some chocolates for Aveline and Oswald to share, in case one or both dropped round, and the same for Freddie.

Shortbread for Grandad, whose stomach would no doubt be more demanding over Christmas.

That just left Joey.

And it was here that Martina had hit a stumbling-block.

The others had been relatively easy to buy for—beginner's level Christmas shopping. Joey was a jump right up to expert.

Joey had very specific tastes—very expensive, what was more. And everything he would like, he seemed to own already. Martina had been out for an hour on a mission to find something suitable and was still empty-handed, despite having traipsed all over the city centre in search of something, or at least an idea she could mull over and come back to.

She leaned against a wall and sighed. Why did Joey have to be such a difficult human being? It didn't help that she had to be extra-careful about her choice, lest Joey thought he cared too little or too much. If she went too over-the-top, it might be a bit of a broadcast of the feelings she was trying so desperately to hide. But Joey was her friend, and she needed to put enough thought into it tha he knew she appreciated him, appreciated everything he'd done for her.

Martina glanced at her watch. She still had a bit of time before she had to go back to work—owing to how much she had accomplished, paperwork-wise (Diana had been very suspicious of her having had a day off and then returning with everything completed, but her supervisor had been delighted) she'd been granted a longer break. And Martina had intended to use that productively.

Well, she'd found things for all the others, all her selections packed neatly into a carry-bag and weighing her down, and that counted for something, but until there was something in that bag with Joey's name on it, she wouldn't be satisfied. Still, she'd been around all the big shops, several twice, and seen nothing that leapt out of her. Her brain needed a bit of time to regroup, she thought. There was still time. It was only the twenty-first of December now.

Martina ached for a coffee and a sit-down. Evidently she was going to get nowhere with this today, and if she was to waste the rest of her double-length lunch break, she might as well waste it in relative comfort, getting something into her system which would hopefully stimulate her brain enough to get through the rest of the day.

Using the wall as a support to push off from, she started down the street, nearly colliding with Jack as he came charging out of one of the shops.

'Oh!' Martina stepped back, smoothing down her clothes.

Jack grinned. 'Hullo, girlie.'

She didn't fail to notice his hands had flown behind his back.

'Not often I see you out and about, darlin',' he said, a little too cheerfully. 'Let you out of your cage, have they?'

Martina held one hand out. 'What were you tryin' to sell?'

Jack spent a couple of seconds trying to come up with a lie, his eyes darting back and forth and his lips moving as he tested a few ideas out in his mind. The problem with Jack, though, was that he didn't have Joey's quick wit, didn't have the cunning and cleverness to not only come up with a believable story but stand there and convincingly pull it off.

He shrugged irritably, bringing his hand out and opening it to reveal what appeared to be a silver pendant.

'It's rubbish,' he said, tossing it up in the air. Martina caught it neatly and inspected it.

'Not silver. It's just cheap stainless steel. The hallmark's been forged.'

If Jack was actually making a profit from his antique buying-and-selling, Martina would have considered it grounds for a cancelled allowance. As his forays into the market, she'd discovered, invariably ended in losses or in large quantities of vegetables ending up in their house (Nellie had planned a leek soup for lunch today, another reason Martina had chosen to spend her lunch break out), she hadn't seen much point in stopping him. If her clients wasted their money, that wasn't her concern (unless they then tried to claim for their wastages.)

She passed the necklace back to him.

'What are you gonna do with it?'

Jack crunched his fist around it. 'Chuck it. It's rubbish.'

'How much did it set yer back?'

'Twenty bloody quid! I'm no good at this game. What else can I do with it, though?'

'Give it to someone?'

Jack held it out to her.

'I didn't mean me. I wasn't tryin' ter scrounge it.'

He drew his hand back and pocketed the necklace. 'Not a bad idea, that, though. Christmas present for someone, I suppose. Still. It was supposed to make me some spendin' money.'

'Could've been worse.'

'Yeah. I bought a bicycle once. Tried to sell it to a policeman.' Jack paused, a boyish smile coming over his face. 'It was only 'is in the first place.'

'And did you get arrested?'

'No. Just humiliated,' Jack said cheerfully. 'Billy loves tellin' anyone who'll listen about that. I'm surprised you hadn't heard it before.'

'I haven't heard much out of Billy lately except about his divorce.'

'God help us all. I know everything there is to know about the proceedings of a divorce court thanks to 'im.'

'The Billy version, anyway,' Martina said.

Jack snorted.

'Yeah. Anyway. What are you doin' out of yer cage?'

'Avoiding the leek soup we're apparently 'avin', thanks to you.'

'You think that's bad, darlin', you should have seen the time I got a shedload of tomatoes.'

'I'd have preferred that. I can stand tomatoes.'

'I'd have preferred if I'd got the consignment of watches I was supposed to. Still, you live and learn, as our Joey says.'

'More words of wisdom from Joseph Shakespeare.'

Jack took a little step back. 'Why have you got yer knife into Joey?'

'I haven't. It was a joke.'

'I can never tell with you. You use the same face when you're jokin' as when you're bein' vindictive. You need to have one face for DHSS business and… a separate face for jokes.'

'I'll pick up a mask from the shop before I go back to work, then.'

Even as she said it, Martina regretted doing so. Her witty comments were wasted on Jack.

'Joke or serious?'

She shook her head. 'Doesn't matter. Anyway, I'm gettin' coffee—I've got an 'eadache. D'you want one?'

'Headache or coffee?'

'Coffee,' Martina growled.

'You're not my type, darlin'.'

Martina rolled her eyes. 'I didn't mean it like that.'

Jack considered. 'Okay, then.'

They started down the street, Jack following Martina's lead.

'I was gonna say,' he said as they strolled, 'I thought you had your cap set at our Joey.'

Martina's teeth ground so hard they squeaked, a spike of pain going through her head, causing her to shudder as if someone had walked over her grave.

'I can't bear it,' she muttered.

'Eh?'

Martina turned to Jack, unleashing upon him a look of anger there could be no mistaking for a joke. 'Don't start,' she warned. 'Just don't bloody start. I don't need this from you as well.'

'So I'm not the first one to…'

'I said don't start.' She doubled her pace, stalking off down the street and leaving Jack to jog to catch up with her.

'Eh, keep your knickers on! I meant no offence.'

'Of course you didn't,' Martina sighed, pushing open the door of the café and going inside. Jack lumbered in after her.

'You'd better be shoutin' this,' Jack said. 'I just blew twenty quid on that tin piece of rubbish.'

The DHSS lady rolled her eyes, but she opened her purse all the same.

'Right, then,' she said, sitting down across from him while they waited for the coffee. 'There was a reason I wanted to talk to yer.'

'Oh, yeah?'

'Joey,' she said. 'Christmas present. Help.'

'If you want me to chip in, love, you're too late. I've already got somethin' for 'im.'

'No, I didn't want you to chip in. What've you got him? I've got no ideas.'

'What I get him every year. A bucket full of car-cleaning paraphernalia. He gets through polish and cloths like tissues.'

'Wish I'd thought of that.'

'Well, you can't have the idea. It's mine.'

Another eye roll. Martina had done it so often over the past couple of months, what with Boswells in her home life and clients all throughout the day, it was lucky for her one really didn't get stuck making a face when the wind changed, or she'd have been left permanently looking halfway up her eyelids.

'I don't want the idea. I want me own idea. Jack, you know 'im better than I do. What would he want?'

'No-one knows what Joey wants! That's why he ends up with a stack of car products and shirts and black socks every year!'

Martina deflated at this. She'd hoped she could somehow scrounge a decent glimmer of an idea from talking to Jack, but evidently this wasn't the case.

'Why doesn't anyone know what 'e wants?'

'Because he's Joey.'

'Oh, well that's cleared it up for me.'

'Well, you know. Joey doesn't tell anyone anythin', does he? If he's into somethin', we don't find out until his interest has passed and he's sellin' all the junk he collected. He went through a John Lennon phase when he was fifteen. No-one picked up on it 'til he got over it and chucked all his records.'

'You didn't hear him playin' them?'

'He was secretive, was our Joey. Even more than now.'

Martina remembered Adrian having said something similar while they were decorating the tree.

'D'you know why?' she asked.

'Who knows? Joey's a mystery. He decided one day he didn't want anyone to know anythin' about him, and from that day forward nobody did. Then he got hung up on some tart and toned that down a bit…'

'I've heard this bit, yeah.'

' 'oo from?'

'Adrian.'

'Oh. Right. But anyway. He's not good about receivin' presents.'

Martina narrowed her eyes. 'Why?'

'Oh, it's not that he doesn't like them or anythin'. But you ask him what 'e wants for his birthday and it's all oh, I don't mind, I'll like anythin' you get me…oh, I'm just not sure, I'll think about it and then 'e never does come back to tell yer what he's thought. In fairness, he does like what he gets. Even if it is the same generic stuff every birthday and Christmas.'

'Doesn't help me, though, does it?'

'Why? You wanna get 'im somethin' special?' Jack leered and she pursed her lips at him.

'No. Just… something specific to him.'

'I told you—generic stuff is specific to Joey. You see, there's a lot of theories goin' round about our Joey, and although he dresses in macho leather and dyes his 'air blond and drives around in a fancy car, and although he acts all mysterious to try and be interestin', you know what?' Jack leaned in conspiratorially. 'Underneath all that, he's just incredibly boring.'

Martina was inclined to disagree with this. Boring was never a term she could have applied to Joey, even when he wasn't showing off, even when he was sitting on the sofa coldified with a tissue stuffed up his nose or asleep. He fascinated her, more than she normally cared to be fascinated by anybody.

And she didn't want to give him yet another shirt or pair of socks. She wanted him to appreciate that she'd thought of him, that she'd got him something he could use, or enjoy, or at the very least, smile at for a few moments when he opened it. A DHSS staff handbook might amuse him, she thought briefly, but that would leave the door open for him to come up with new tricks, and that, affection for Joey or not, occasional lettings-slide of devious behaviour or not, wasn't something she ever planned to encourage outright.

Their coffee arrived and Martina sipped hers, frowning as she considered. Talking to Jack had been no help whatsoever. He was back to ranting about his financial loss with regard to the necklace now, all discussion of Joey and the difficulty with choosing gifts for him dropped from the conversation, and though Martina tried to join in, offering vague comments and hmms when required, her mind wasn't fully on it.

She had spent nearly her entire lunch break on Christmas shopping, she had spent more time with Jack today than in the whole time they'd been living together, and to no avail. She still didn't know what to get Joey for Christmas.

'You said you were going to tek me for a drive! You lyin' hound! You fairy cake! Poncin' off in yer leather and yer posh car and neglectin' yer promises! Come back here when I'm shoutin' at you!'

Joey waved in Grandad's general direction.

'Tomorrow, son! Tomorrow!'

'I despair of you! All you lot in there ever think about is starvin' me, neglectin' me and 'anky panky!' He slammed his front door and then opened it again. 'You none of yer care about me!'

Joey did feel a tad guilty about having forgotten about his arrangement with Grandad, and he fully intended to make it up to the old man when he got the chance, but first, he had a few things to do. He'd waited until his brothers were all out before he turned down Kelsall Street, in the hope that he could sneak the Christmas presents he'd just procured into the house without being spotted (not that Billy's was leaving the boot of his Jag until the day itself; while the others might have been curious, they knew not to look in his drawers or under his bed, Billy didn't have the same self-discipline.)

He opened up the back of his Jag, stacking parcels into his arms and lurching towards the house with them.

He was very tempted to put Celia's under the Christmas tree in her parking space. He paused, considering. And then a better idea came to him, and he shook his head and continued into Number Thirty.

'That you, Joey?' Nellie called.

'Greetings!' he called back, staggering towards the stairs.

'Can you come in here for a minute, love?'

'Yeah, all right, just…' Joey glanced from the presents in his arms to the kitchen, 'one moment! I've just got to put something away!'

He dashed upstairs, shoving the lot under his bed and arranging his bedclothes so the duvet hung down over the sides, blocking them from view.

A whining noise sounded from the other side of the room.

'Mongy! What's the matter, handsome?' Joey strode over to pet the dog, who was where he'd been for the past couple of weeks, curled up on Jack's brand-new, extra-bouncy, deluxe mattress.

Mongy nudged Joey's hand, then pushed his leash forward with his nose.

'Not now, son, I…' Joey was reminded of the thought he'd had as he got out of the car, and he smile. 'All right, then, Mongy. I'll take you for a walk…but you're going to have to do somethin' for me afterwards…'

Clipping the lead to the dog's collar, he set off downstairs.

'Joey!'

'I'm here, Mam, I'm here.' He veered into the kitchen.

'I won't keep you if you've got the dog,' Nellie pulled out his chair, gesturing for him to sit down. 'I just wanted to ask you about something.'

Joey looped the handle of Mongy's leash over the back of his chair and sat down.

'Fire away, Mam.' He leaned back in his chair, looking at her expectantly.

'Is everything all right?'

Joey's smile froze on his face. 'Of course it is…why would everything not be all right?'

'I worry about you, Joey. Over the past few weeks…well, you've become sort of…closed-off. You keep disappearing…'

'I've always done that.'

'Not to this extent. The last time you kept running off like this without a word was when it was all about that Roxy—oh, she was dreadful for you, Joey. She stomped on your heart, she did.'

'I know, Mam.' And Nellie didn't know the half of it.

'It's not her again, is it? Causing you all this distress?'

Joey crossed and uncrossed his legs.

'It's not…' he said cautiously, 'about Roxy, no. Not exactly.'

'What do you mean, not exactly? Either it is or it isn't!'

'Well, she does come into it somewhere, I suppose…' he frantically tried to clarify as Nellie's face turned to horror, 'but not like that! More that I've had to think about…complicated things. About why I loved her in the first place. About what it was about her. About how to stop meself gettin' manipulated like that again and about…bein' sure…being sure if something was love or just, I don't know. Somethin' else. I've just been thinkin' about all that in general.'

He hadn't intended to tell Nellie any of this, but, as Freddie had said once, Joey's forehead started throbbing when the truth was just itching to escape him. He could feel it doing that now. It had always been hard keeping the truth down when his mother was around, not just because he had it ingrained into him as a boy not to lie to his parents, but because a part of him didn't want to. Oh, sometimes he had no qualms about forcing himself to remain silent when something was going on, dealing with it himself and never letting Mam know anything had been amiss, but sometimes, when he just wasn't feeling strong enough, and he realised Nellie already knew or suspected more than he'd thought, he couldn't help but begin spilling his guts.

'Martina has something to do with this, doesn't she?'

Now that Joey hadn't been expecting. His Mam noticing that something was amiss was one thing, and listening to him spew out rubbish about Roxy and thinking about love in general was fair enough, but for her to suddenly come out with that was something else entirely.

Joey opened his mouth but he had no words to release from it.

'None of you give me much credit, do you? You all think I don't observe what goes on in this house!'

'Nothin''s going on in this house!' Joey protested.

Nellie didn't say anything, didn't change her facial expression, didn't move. She just allowed a silence to fall over the kitchen.

'Well, nothin' is… Joey insisted. 'I mean…nothing…really…' He could feel himself weaken.

'Yeah,' he admitted reluctantly, running one hand through his hair. 'She does have something to do with it.'

She might have tried to hide it, but Joey didn't miss the smug expression that adorned Nellie's features for just a second.

'I said, didn't I? I know what's going on amongst all of you.'

'I maintain nothing's going on,' Joey said.

'I know you, Joey. You're my son. I saw you go through all that anguish over Stacey, only to be let down. I saw you go through all that turmoil over whatshername with the pink suede jacket... and then get disappointed when she didn't turn out to be what you thought she was. And I've seen you struggle through sheer torture with that Roxy and look how that—I know you, Joey. I know when that sort of thing is on your mind. And it's on your mind now.'

'Maybe it is, Mam,' Joey said softly, suddenly too tired to offer up any sort of argument.

'Have you told her?'

'No.'

'Why not?'

'I don't know if it's the right thing. I'm not sure what I really do feel, even. As I said, love or…just somethin' else.'

'Oh, yes,' Nellie's tone suddenly became stern. 'Lust. That destroyer of marriages, that demon that feeds people like Lilo Lil…'

'No, Mam, no! That's not what I meant! I meant more…well, Roxy wasn't really that long ago…'

'She was over a year ago, love!'

It occurred to Joey, despite how much Nellie claimed to know about what was going on, just how much she'd missed as well. Just how much he'd managed to get away with being secretive about. There had been the encounters that had started up after Roxy had sent that poison pen letter, the quick, sneak little outings and stayings-in whenever either of them had had time. There had been the ticket to Rome he'd booked for her, a disastrous liaison that had ended with her flying back again before he'd even so much as caught a glimpse of her, rendering all his money and careful planning completely wasted. And after that, there had been that dreadful afternoon in bed with her, when a phone call to his Mam had sent everything off the rails and crashing into a ravine. The torment that had followed. Meetings she hadn't turned up to. That dinner, when she'd been there with Stan.

Roxy had only really ended a couple of months ago at most, and had still only been tapering out of his life since then.

'Yeah,' Joey said, deciding against dredging any of this up, 'but…even so, Mam. She was part of me life for so long, and she had such an effect on me brain that…well, it makes me worry I might just be…' he was going to say it. He was going to grit his teeth and come out with it, now he'd been offered an opportunity to do so, now he could actually bring up the notion with somebody else. 'I might just be, well, transferring me affections for Roxy onto Martina.'

Nellie's brow crinkled. 'What d'you mean, transferring?'

'I mean, what if, just 'cause I was still trying to get over Roxy that sort of…started misguidin' me to think I felt more for Martina than I really did? That I was just clingin' to her because I needed to reach out to somebody?'

'Do you really believe that?'

Joey made a face. 'Well, no, not really, but I still worry…'

'I could tell you didn't, Joey. It's written all over your face! Even the way you said it—sounds like an idea someone's force-fed you and you've just regurgitated it like a mother bird! Where did you hear such nonsense?'

Joey didn't want to tell her he was seeing a psychologist. He could already imagine what his mother would say, the rants and lectures he'd be subjected to about not wasting good money to hear uppity, stuffed-shirt so-called professionals give ungodly talks about Freud and linking everything back to sex.

'Er, just…around.'

His evasiveness didn't escape his mother, he could tell, but she didn't press him on it.

'I don't know what I should do, Mam.'

'I think you should stop all this nonsense and talk to her!'

Joey blinked. 'You do?'

'Joey, you're putting yourself through agony, and for what? For some cock-and-bull notion you don't even believe yourself?'

'Hang on a minute…' something didn't sit quite right here. 'Are you actually encouragin' me in this?'

'I'm not saying anything either way. You need to decide that, love. All I will say is… she may be a cheeky little madam and downright obsessed with her job, but…she's better for you than that Roxy. I've seen the smiles that pass between you, and all the laughs. You make each other happy. And that's all I want for you, Joey—for you to find someone that makes you happy. Not someone who destroys you like Roxy did. And as for Martina, well...you could probably love some of that prickliness out of her. You're a good lad, our Joey—you could get her to trust again, if she saw you cared. I do find it hard, you know, sometimes, when she refuses to place her trust in the family.'

All of this would have been a dream come true to hear, especially from his own mother, who was often wary of anybody her children interacted with for fear they'd get hurt (in her defence, those fears had thus far been warranted, if you went by Julie and Carmen and Roxy and all of Jack's past failures) had he been more certain of Martina's thoughts on the matter. And, on top of that, of all the other things which were only just beginning to dawn on him as Nellie spoke.

'Well, that's just it, Mam. Her and the fam-i-ly…I mean, she is family now, isn't she? You've all said it at one time or another, and I think more than anythin' she wants to belong here, even if she's mulish enough not to say so…I don't want to take that away from her. I mean, supposin' I told her tonight what I'd been thinkin' and she didn't feel the same, or she got scared or started thinkin' of Shifty…it might ruin all the trust she's started to build up.'

Nellie was thoughtful. 'I wish I knew what to say, Joey. I can't speak for how she feels about these sorts of matters—she won't confide in me, will she? It's like getting blood from a stone just to ask how she is some days!'

'I don't really want to do anythin' now anyway. I've got Christmas to think of. Plenty of time for that later, eh?' He was reminding himself as much as his Mam.

'I didn't want to worry you, son, bringing up all that. Didn't want to put you on the spot. It's just…' Nellie took one of his hands, fondling it lovingly between her own, 'I do worry about you, Joey. I do notice when something's off with you. I just wanted to check in with you, see if everything was all right.'

'And I appreciate that, Mam. I appreciate that.' Joey smiled, and then his chair was nearly tipped over backwards as Mongy lunged at the leash holding him in place.

It seemed there was only so much waiting around and listening to heartfelt matters a dog could take.

'Time to go on that walk, I think, eh, Mongy?' the eldest Boswell said cheerfully, 'come on, then, mate. Off we go. Joey's got a little errand for you, while we're out there, hasn't he?' Disentangling Mongy's lead from the back of his chair, he got up to leave, shooting his Mam a friendly smile before he went.

'I'll be okay, Mam. Don't panic about me.'

'I'm a mother, Joey,' Nellie returned. 'We were put on this earth to panic about our children. It's what keeps us alert enough to get through life.'

Joey didn't know what to say to this, so he said nothing. Instead, he took Mongy outside, letting the dog charge up and down the road and drag him around the block, taking him, when he'd let out all of his energy and simply trudged alongside Joey, panting, over to the Christmas tree stationed outside Number Thirty-Two.

'Sit,' Joey commanded. Mongy heaved himself onto his haunches, and the eldest Boswell attached his lead to the tree. 'Now you—watch dog—keep watch on my parkin' space for me, okay? And I'll bring you a nice cut of meat from the butcher's in a little while if you sit there lookin' gorgeous and annoy Celia.'

It went against everything Joey stood for to actually walk into a butcher's shop, but Nellie went regularly. There was bound to be something in the fridge he could reward Mongy with. Provided, that was, that his little prank was noticed by its intended victim, otherwise the whole escapade was for nought.

Just to make sure it went as planned, Joey waltzed over to Celia's and rang the doorbell, then sidled back inside his own house before she answered the door.

'Martina!'

Celia beckoned, and the DHSS lady, who'd just found her way home and had wondered the entire long walk there how she was going to sneak her presents past the others, immediately went over to her.

'Just look at this!'

She pointed. Martina looked.

Mongy sat beside Celia's Christmas tree, little paws folded over each other and a dejected, yet still dignified expression on his face.

'Well,' Martina said, keeping a deadpan expression intact with some difficulty, 'that's a turn-up for the books. The Boswell guard dog actually guardin' something for once. I should probably up his allowance.'

'It would have been better if he was guarding their house.'

She couldn't hold onto it any longer. Martina laughed. Of all Joey and Celia's ridiculous attempts to claim the space, this one was by far the best, in her opinion.

'It's a good thing he hasn't lifted 'is leg on yer Christmas tree,' she guffawed.

'I'm hopin'.' Celia shook her head.

'How long's he been there?'

'About half an hour. Joey played a little game of ring and run—I saw him through the window.' She tapped her nose. 'I'm pretending I haven't seen Mongy yet. I'm gonna make Joey wait, keep him in suspense. He hates it when his brilliance isn't appreciated. I'll make him really wonder why I haven't done anything about it… whether or not I heard the doorbell at all…and then I'll drop the dog back. It's only petty, I know, but it's still revenge.'

They grinned at each other.

'Play along, won't you?'

'Of course, love. I told yer—as far as this parkin' space war's concerned, I'm on your side.'

'But perhaps not when it comes to…other things?' Celia lowered her voice. 'Anything happened yet?'

Martina shook her head.

'You want to come in for coffee and a chat?'

'Better not.'

'Why not?'

'I've got yer Christmas present in this bag,' Martina said, holding the carrier aloft. 'It's gonna be hard enough keepin' the Boswells from snooping.'

'You think I'd snoop?'

'I don't know, love—but I'm not gonna risk it!' She waved over her shoulder as she stepped into the house.

Nellie did go out that evening, brushing off the inquiries of her children with repeated refrains of I'm going out, that's all, just off into that thing they call the world, just doing things that need to be done, and Martina, true to her word, said nothing about it, did nothing which might give away that she knew anything about the Boswell matriarch's whereabouts. She sat primly on the sofa, pretending not to listen to Billy's continual demands—but what about us dinner? But what time'll you be back? Are you seein' our Dad?, pretending to examine her nail polish until Nellie was well away from her house and the rest of the little Boswells had all simmered down and started going about their business again.

'Well, what are we gonna do about dinner?' Billy said loudly. 'We're gonna starve!'

'Mam's gone out before, son, don't get your knickers in a twist!' Joey said. He lowered his paper, peering at the front window briefly, and Martina kept a lid on a smirk. Watching for Celia, no doubt. 'We've never gone short where food's concerned.'

'Remember that time we cooked?' Billy said, not convinced by this. 'And you and Aveline made a right hash of it—you didn't even peel the vegetables! Even Grandad wouldn't eat that! Unless… is Martina cooking?'

Martina's head shot up.

'Martina worked all day! Give her a rest, son,' Joey said, and she heaved a sigh of relief. It wasn't that Martina would have minded cooking, but having it sprung upon her with no notice that she needed to cater for five people (no, six—she couldn't forget Grandad), all of whom, save Billy, were finicky eaters in one way or another, was not something she would have taken kindly. That kind of ordeal would have required a great deal more mental preparation at the very least.

'Well I'm not goin' through a meal like that again,' Billy was saying now. 'I had indigestion for weeks after that! I'm goin' over to Julie's!'

'I thought she told you never to go and barge in on her again!' said Jack.

'Yeah, well…' Billy was lost for words momentarily. 'I, er…I'll go and see Francesca!'

'Well,' said Joey, 'I was thinkin' of pickin' something up from the chippy…'

'Can you get curry sauce for mine?'

'I thought you were goin' to Julie's,' Joey said innocently. 'I assumed you didn't want any chips…'

'Julie wouldn't want me round anyway,' Billy planted himself back on the sofa.

Martina snickered.

'Right, then,' Joey announced, hiding his own mirth and assuming a serious, head-of-the house voice as he got up off the sofa, 'anyone got any objections?'

'No,' wafted up the answer.

'I'll be back shortly, then,' he turned towards the door, but before he could advance towards it, someone had come through it and was now standing in the parlour, a rather stern expression on her face.

'I believe this belongs to you,' Celia said, holding out her arm, attached to which was a leash. Mongy yapped joyfully and rushed towards Joey.

'Ah,' said Joey sheepishly, 'I did wonder when you'd notice.'

'Oh, I noticed straight away. I just thought it might be worth confiscatin' your dog for a while…but I warn you, Joey, if he ends up outside my house again, I'll assume he was a present and keep him.'

The eldest Boswell assumed his most charming smile. 'That doesn't apply to cars, does it?'

'It doesn't matter. Because only one car is permitted in that space.'

Joey beamed. 'Mine.'

'No,' Celia said, 'mine.'

'Shifty crashed yours.'

'I'm havin' it repaired. I should have it back in a few weeks.' Celia tossed her head smugly and flounced out.

Joey stared after her.

'Well,' he said, trying too hard to make light of his defeat, 'that was uncalled for.'

'So,' said Diana.

Martina, realising this was being aimed in her direction, raised her eyebrows at her colleague.

'Yes?'

Diana raised her glass, clinking with nobody. 'Christmas with the Boswells, then.'

'Don't make me think about that now. We've got all this wine to get through before I 'ave to think about that.'

The counter clerks were hosting their end-of-month drinks inside the DHSS today, owing to the fact that they had all opted to take their holidays over Christmas and were closing up early, and the numerous bottles of the same wine they had all bought each other as presents. It was a bit of a novelty, sitting on the other side of the counter for once, taking up the entirety of the room without having to think about clients—a pathetic excuse for fun, they all knew, but they took a strange, perverse delight in having fun and drinking in a place which usually filled their days with misery. In truth, it was beginning to bore Martina a little. Despite what she'd just insisted to Diana, a part of her was itching to go home now (since when had she started saying 'home' with reference to Kelsall Street? She couldn't pinpoint an exact second where her thought patterns had shifted, but they had all the same.) Yes, she had to keep up at least a vague pretence of objecting to living with the Boswells, spending time with the Boswells, spending Christmas with the Boswells, but the impending celebration was honestly something she was looking forward to.

'Who are the Boswells?' asked the new girl, causing the other two to exchange disbelieving glances. She was a tiny, mousy, ignorant thing, was their latest colleague, far too giving, falling so easily for even the most glaringly obvious tricks, and Martina and Diana hadn't decided to like her yet. They hadn't bothered, yet, to learn her name. She was, as far as they were concerned, on probation as one of them—she needed to prove herself in some way before they'd accept her, properly initiate her into their little gang. Looked like that wasn't happening any time soon. She still needed a lot of training.

'The Boswells,' Martina said, smirking at Diana. 'Where do we start, eh?'

'Where to begin…' Diana mused.

'How does one to begin the hurricane…the plague…the catastrophic natural disaster that is the Boswell family?'

The girl appeared to be wishing she'd never asked. 'Should I be afraid?'

'Oh, yeah,' said both at once.

'Unless you're Martina,' Diana post-scripted. Martina aimed a smack at her but couldn't quite reach.

'The Boswells,' she said, drawing herself up, 'are an unstoppable force, but not for want of trying. Remember that man you came across the other day who'd been doin' sneaky little odd jobs and claimin' benefits?'

The girl nodded.

'Well,' Diana went over to her, putting a hand on one of her shoulder, 'multiply his cleverness by about an 'undred…'

'Maybe a thousand,' Martina leaned over her other shoulder, 'so that he actually gets off scot-free…add in some tricks to ensure they can't be done for anything, because it's all just bendin' the law out of shape…'

'And multiply that version by…how many would you say, Martina?'

'Oh, we've given up keeping count. They spring up like wild mushrooms, don't they? Everywhere you look there's another one. Once they run out of brothers to send down 'ere, they turn to the distant cousin stock.'

'And the more that come out of the woodwork, the more allowances they can claim because of havin' a large family…'

'Which they will be sure to bring up every single time. And they will plead poverty, cryin' crocodile tears as they regale you with dramatic tales of woe and suffering…while wearin' leather and gold jewellery and ownin' luxury cars.'

'A terrible lot.'

'You couldn't be more right, Di.'

The girl made a face. 'What do I do if I come across one of them?'

'Prepare your brain for battle,' said Diana. 'And try to come out with at least some of your wits intact.'

The two more experienced DHSS clerks' eyes met, both of them choking back wicked laughs. Poor little thing looked positively terrified now. Still, it was part of her initiation. They were yet to determine whether she had it in her to do this job, and they weren't going to smooth the road for her. If they hadn't had a cushy wicket, then nobody else should either.

'I'm not sure I like the sound of these Boswells.'

'Well, don't panic, love,' Martina said gently, 'I'm normally the one who has to handle 'em.'

'Martina's good at handlin' them, all right,' Diana taunted.

'And what's that supposed ter mean? I'm findin' out their tricks undercover.'

'Working very closely with Joey Boswell undercover, I'll bet.'

Martina smacked her on the arm.

'No!'

'Who's Joey Boswell?' The new girl saved Diana from being rounded on—Martina intended to give her a good piece of her mind as soon as they were alone.

'The ringleader,' she said, 'the eldest brother, the one with the quickest silver tongue, and always full of tricks…'

'Well you should know…'

'Di, I'm gonna tear yer throat out in a minute!'

'I meant no offence, love,' Di said, sounding as if she meant every word of it.

'Joey Boswell,' Martina said, looking only at the new girl, 'has probably cheated this country out of half its money and he never gets caught. Well, he 'asn't been caught yet.'

'Not in that way.'

'Di…'

'Er…' the girl looked from one to the other and then at her watch. 'I think I'd better be off.' She gathered her things together in record time (she always dawdled and usually made packing up take longer than it should) and was through the double doors in a flash.

'She's not going to last long, I don't think.'

'No,' Martina said. 'Her skin's not thick enough. I'll give 'er 'til February.'

'That long, eh?'

'You won't be alive to see her go if you keep goin' the way you are. What are you trying to achieve with all those snide asides about Joey Boswell?'

Diana looked at her as if it was painfully obvious. 'Well, I ask you. Standing there bold as brass tryin' to frighten that poor daft girl about the Boswells…'

'But we always do that!'

'Yeah, but we both used to mean it.'

She had Martina there and Diana knew it. There wasn't any way Martina could say, with any degree of honesty, that the Boswells unnerved her anymore. It was impossible, living with them, to see any of them the same way, even when they did come down here to claim. She thought back to last night, sitting on the floor in the parlour eating chips with the four Boswell brothers, all of them working together to protect the food from Billy (who not only wouldn't stick to eating his own, continually trying to pinch chips and battered sausages from others' portions, but had, on one occasion, almost flipped everything off the coffee table in one of his usual rages), all of them teasing each other, arguing over who had what condiment and what it said about them. It was so startlingly normal, in a mad, dysfunctional family kind of way, and it hadn't been until much later Martina had even remembered that she hadn't always been part of them, hadn't always been here partaking of little, ordinary, but special all the same, family moments. They were her family, or the closest thing she felt she'd ever had, her real family included.

She sighed. 'I'm still goin' to find evidence of fraud if I can.'

'Of course you are,' Di said, her tone unfathomable.

'Well I am,' Martina insisted. 'Anyway, I'd best be off 'n' all.'

'Back to the Boswells.'

'I live in the same house as the Boswells, yes,' Martina said, 'it stands to reason they'll probably be there.'

The last Martina saw of Diana that year was her colleague shaking her head. No matter. She was free now until the second of January. No more paperwork, no more ratbags queueing up to discuss their giros…she still had to find a Christmas present for Joey, but there were still three days til Christmas; she could spend all day tomorrow searching if she so desired. She'd be all right. She'd had a bit of an idea.

Last night, after the others had had their fill of the chips and dispersed, she and Joey had sat a while longer, grazing at the leftovers and chatting about nothing in particular. They'd both reached for the last chip at the same time, resulting in a tussle which Joey had won, prompting Martina to pout and to make a comment about grasping Boswells. And Joey had laughed. He had thrown back his head and made the loveliest sound in the world while ruffling her hair and telling her never to change, and Martina had known then what road she wanted to take. Even when Joey seemed down or confused, she'd always managed to cheer him up, if only in a little way, with a jab or a jibe or a little competition. She wanted to give him something that would make him laugh.

Just what that was remained to be seen, but she would find something, she was sure. She had time.

Martina spent the taxi ride home alternating between tossing up different present ideas for Joey and joyfully anticipating the time off work, wondering what the Boswells had in store for Boxing Day, for that little winding-down period after Christmas, for New Year's Eve, the thought dawning on her that not that long ago, the prospect of this much time stuck inside the house with the lot of them would have sent shudders of dread down her spine.

She was looking forward to it now. She wasn't dreading a whole week with the Boswells, she was pleased at the prospect at a week with her family.

Oh, God, she thought, shaking her head. I've become one of them. Invasion complete. They'd taken over her whole blood brain. And though she tutted about this to herself, giving the driver a bit of a fright by muttering to herself while she paid him, she was smiling as she walked towards the door of Number Thirty.