And we've arrived at the final chapter. As usual, I own noting but owe a debt of gratitude to Carla Lane for creating the magnificence that is Bread (even if the ending broke my heart). Original Joey, no particular message, and so on. This one comes a bit full circle with the first chapter.

Epilogue

1983

(The following Tuesday)

He's back again. That bloody man. Sauntering in seven hours late in all his macho leather like nothing matters, like he hasn't just ignored his appointment to sign-on, even though she'd ripped into him last time for trying to worm his way out of it.

Just her luck. She was about to go home and wallow about the rough day she's had, and now he's here, standing in the doorway, one leg crossed over the other in a far too casual pose for someone who has done exactly what he was told not to.

She's only met him the once, but she doesn't need more than a few minutes with him to see he's one of those ones. One of those claimants who seems designed with making your life a living hell in mind. Blatant committer of benefit fraud, clever and smarmy enough to talk his way out of the line of suspicion, with an ego and pseudo-charm and false flattery just to cap the whole, irritating package off.

Deceitful, untrustworthy bastard.

Martina turns back to packing up, staring resolutely away from him.

'Ten o'clock, I seem to recall saying,' she growls, shoving two plastic chairs in a stack so angrily they might crack. 'Not ten to five.'

'As I mentioned on my last visit to this establishment,' Joey Boswell is too blithely cheery for someone in trouble, 'when I hear the call of me family in need, I'm gonna answer it, appointment or no appointment.'

'And as I mentioned on your last visit to this establishment,' she mimics, 'if you want something for nothing, you do as you're told.'

'If I were to, let's say, have circumstances beyond my control preventin' me from coming when I was told,' he's really trying it on, pushing her patience to its limits, 'I would hope there would be a shred of understanding from a lovely lady such as yourself, which might spur you to let me sign-on now instead.'

'And as you may be able to notice from this empty room,' she gestures around her, 'we're closed. You've missed your window.'

And serve you right.

'You could throw me a bone just this once,' Joey has the nerve to say, and Martina turns around and looks him right in the eye, intent on giving him a piece of her mind for his ridiculous assumption that she would ever bend regulations for someone who has done nothing but be uncooperative.

He's got minxish, playful eyes. Greenish with a little bit of a naughty twinkle in them. Likely because he's probably out there doing naughty things she'd rather not know about. And she'd better stop looking at his face, because he's attractive in that bad-boy, tall-dark-and-handsome sort of way that makes her go all fluttery (technically tall, blond and handsome, but she can tell from his roots it's not real; take all that bleach away and he would definitely be dark), but he's also quite possibly the most obnoxious person she has ever encountered and that diminishes some of her attraction again.

'Don't get your hopes up, Flash.'

'Joey,' he insists. 'Joey Boswell.'

'I know your name,' Martina snaps. 'You announced it over a loud hailer last time you were here.'

'You callin' me a spiv, then, Martina?'

'That's exactly what I'm calling you.' She probably shouldn't, but someone like Joey Boswell deserves no politeness from her.

'Bit unprofessional, that, isn't it?'

'You can talk about being professional, Mister Boswell,' her hands are on her hips, 'when you are one. Given you're down here pleading destitution, it's quite clear you are not.'

She hesitates.

'Unless there's something you wanna tell me?'

That's got him. She sees him freeze, debate opening his gob and delivering what he no doubt thinks is some sort of witty comment, sees a sliver of guilt cross his face that makes him think better of it. He's definitely up to something. He doesn't want to blow his cover.

Hmm. This might be worth investigating at some point. There would be something tremendously satisfying about watching him crash and burn, about finding out exactly what he's doing and pulling the rug out from underneath him. In which case, Martina decides, infuriating or not, she'd better keep an eye on him. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, and all that.

She reaches over her desk, pulls a form across it.

'Fill that in.'

Joey leans over her to do so, his aftershave infuriatingly nice, mingling quite well with the smell of all that genuine leather. She has to take a step back to clear her head.

He gives her a wolfish grin she can only imagine spells trouble, and then a horrible tinny tune issues from the end of his pen.

Oh, God. She's always hated novelty musical pens – or novelty musical anything, turning ordinary tasks into a noisy nuisance – and it's quite clear, from the way Joey steals a glance at her face and snickers to himself, that his choice of writing implement is deliberately to wind her up.

Martina glares as hard as she possibly can.

'For you.' Joey proffers the form, the music mercifully stopping as soon as his boastfully swirly signature is finished. She snatches it from him, creasing it unintentionally in her haste to get rid of him.

'And thank you, for your kindness and understanding towards me plight, and for excusin' my most unintentional lateness.'

That last comment just drives her up the wall.

'If you ever do this again,' Martina makes her voice as dangerous as she possibly can, speaks through gritted teeth, 'if you dare turn up this late again, if you put another toe out of line in my department, then I will personally make sure you regret it for the rest of your life.'

'I must admit, I look forward to findin' out what you personally are going to do to me,' Joey winks at her, the innuendo taking her off-guard, causing her to lose her footing in the conversation.

'Get out.'

He laughs, a lovely ringing sound that nonetheless grates on her, and swaggers back off towards the door, hesitating just as it seems he was finally about to go away.

'You know,' he says, turning back around, striking a pose that makes her want to either guffaw or throw something at him, 'beneath that austere stance and that cross little face, there's a generous soul screamin' to get out, isn't there? If I thought you wouldn't swoon dead away, you know what I'd do?'

'I don't think I want to hear this.'

'I'd marry you and take you away from all this.'

Martina bristles, the words another shockwave through her, partially because of an unwitting dose of flattery, a bigger part astounded at his sheer bloody gall.

It's nowhere near the gall he displays the following week though. Turning up outside the building in – she might've known – a Jaguar, which he is flashing around blatantly in front of her, clearly intent on getting a rise out of her. Standing around leaning against it – posing – he's making her grind her teeth in annoyance now, and Martina tries to hang back a bit, to avoid any confrontation, then decides instead she'll just walk past without giving him the satisfaction of a reaction – then her anger gives way, and she decides she will confront him after all.

'I can see you!' she hollers down the stairs at him, her self-control momentarily lost. God, the nerve of him! That car looks like it costs more than she earns in two years.

'Can you, sweetheart? Or am I just a figment of your imagination?'

'I'm gonna get you, you know,' Martina says through her teeth. He can't hear from this distance, but no matter. 'I'm gonna find out every last little thing you're up to, and I'm going to bring down a tonne of legal bricks down on your head. Mark my words.'

Joey Boswell winks, blows her a kiss and then gets in his Jaguar and glides away from her as if he were doing nothing wrong.

Martina glares after him, muttering curses under her breath until his car is out of sight.

2011

Martina doesn't get another job. She doesn't want one, and nobody expects her to have to put herself through that again. They're all in agreement. She's been through enough.

She has plenty to do, though – she's got the house and the garden, the odd dodgy to do with Joey when she feels up for it (though she draws a line at going into business with him; it's never going to happen); she's got Annabelle to look after when she's not at school. She's got her Mam; she finds herself spending more time with her than ever before and relishing every moment.

And when he's not out on jobs of his own, she's got Joey. Now she's not working, he works more days as well as nights, taking even boring decorating jobs because, he assures her, he owes her a bit of hard labour after the lot she put in, and as she said years ago, they need to keep up some pretence of Belle having one parent doing honest work.

He takes his name off the list at the DWP (long overdue, considering he hasn't really needed Jobseekers for many years) relies only on his little lucrative schemes, and they're lucrative enough, Martina finds. Now she doesn't need to separate her home life from her professional one, he places his laptop in her lap one morning, goes to his online bank account and reveals its contents to her to reassure her they'll be all right. And though she's flabbergasted by the enormous sum he's got in there (and this is only one of five accounts, apparently), she pretends to shrug it off. Because, well, she does have a reputation to maintain after all. She's always pretended to be unimpressed by Joey's accoutrements.

And when he's not taking little extra jobs for appearances' sake, and to make it up to her for all the years she suffered, he does his utmost to make sure she enjoys her days. Joey kisses her awake in the morning, even if he's been out all night doing his less savoury jobs and needs to rest, he devises new things to do and outings for her every week, he sleeps holding her against his chest, always comforting her when she awakes in tears or screaming from a nightmare that contains a mix of Roger, Shifty and her own fears about herself. He fills her life up, seeping into every crack that's formed in her countenance, plastering over every scar, holding the skin together while she works towards healing. And every time she trudges back to the psychologist he's there, if not in the room with her, waiting for her, ready to hold her hand and kiss away any residual negative feelings from the visit.

It's just as it was when they first married. Yes, she still has demons, and there are moments when she still can't face the morning. But Joey is there when she needs a shoulder, he listens when she needs to vent, he takes the brunt of her abuse when she's at her least logical and starts taking it out on him. And though she does still hit those low points, she comes back. She has a reason to. And the low points, she's noticed, are beginning to space themselves further apart, the contented gaps in between them broadening. She may never be rid of them for good, but if she can get them down to a manageable level, well, that'll do. And she won't be alone in doing so.

They're sitting outside this morning as they used to do as newlyweds, drinking tea curled against each other on the ancient garden bench that had come with the house, now mossy and dilapidated to the point where it would be viable to replace it, only neither of them want to. They're wrapped in the blanket Martina finally finished darning in this morning, her stress-induced squares repurposed into something that's brought her, she has to admit, a great sense of accomplishment. Martina's legs are draped across Joey's lap; she relaxes, basks in his company, because there's no-one else around to see her, and if she simply wants to lay back and depend on him, who's to stop her? She's tried to be her own strength for so long, but sometimes, even the ostensibly strong need help. Even the seemingly tough, impenetrable ones need someone to curl into when the going gets rough, to give the burden to for a time while they're picking themselves up.

'D'you remember,' she asks absently, 'when we first met?'

Joey chuckles into his cup. 'Course I do. I'd never seen such a vision of loveliness, and you were stunned by the epitome of masculinity you were faced with.'

She snorts. 'I don't think it was quite like that. You were tryin' to charm me to get benefits and I couldn't stand you.'

'Ah, but you admitted when we got engaged you'd fancied me back then.'

'Under duress, Joey Boswell; I told yer – that doesn't count!'

Joey tickles her and she shrieks, thankfully able to save her tea from spilling everywhere.

'If you do that again – ' she warns.

'You'll what?' Out of nowhere, his arms are around her so tightly she can't move.

'I'll – think of something.'

Joey roars with laughter. 'Losin' your touch a bit, there, aren't you? Forgettin' how to play Miss Frosty Face now you're away from that counter.'

He hesitates.

'Or perhaps you're just not out to get me anymore.'

'Hmm.'

Martina wrinkles her nose thoughtfully.

'Don't gloat, but… I've sort of gone off the idea.'

He laughs again. 'Took you long enough.'

She's not sure if he intended a double meaning to his words, but she takes one from it all the same. She's not out to get him, not in the I'm going to find out what you're up to, Mister Boswell type way – the fact that she helps him with his shady jobs is proof enough of that.

But it's more than that. She's not out to prove she can't trust him, either. She's not trying to sabotage what they have, keeping pieces of herself away from him to protect herself emotionally. She doesn't lay awake at night afraid he'll be gone.

Something in her head is finally at rest where he's concerned.

She'd always thought of her mind – even her life, when she was in worse moods – as a time-bomb, ticking away, ready to send her careening into the mires of hopelessness forever, the fuse shortening every time she took another strain. But she's beginning to realise something now.

It might be daft, and she might wake up tomorrow and dispense with the idea, crawling back under the blankets and bemoaning the misery of life (and no doubt she will at some point; she did yesterday). But right at this moment, while she's in a reasonably good mood, she can't help but consider the possibility.

She might, possibly, maybe ... trust Joey. Properly, this time. Wholeheartedly. Because Joey saw how she was beneath her frosty exterior, the defensive layers under it and the hurt, anguished layers beneath those. He saw someone that transcended all that, and he's fought hard to keep her with him, keep that person alive. He's reached into the mess of her mind and grabbed hold of her, tried to put her back together again.

And in spite of everything, he's still here. She's verbally attacked him, pushed him away, shown him the worst sides of her, placed the most vulnerable pieces of her in his hands. Taken the risk and depended on him when she needed someone the most. And Joey has borne it all and stayed.

And though she knows she's got more black clouds ahead, feeling for the first time in her life that she's not completely alone might just be enough – for now – to keep pushing through.

Well, I couldn't really end this with 'and she lived happily ever after', because that's not really realistic, so the best you get is 'and she was better able to cope some of the time.' She's getting there, though.

That's also the end of this universe, unless I decide to ever finish one of the million half-written fics about other Boswell family members I've started (and I may at some point, but for now I've got other universes I want to play with).

And just on a side note, seeing as this universe won't go any further forward in time: yes, Martina does eventually go into business with Joey. Because of course she does. Joey always wears her down in the end.