A bit of a delay with this update, but I've just had so much to deal with I wasn't even able to look at it for a while. I finally got a chance to, though. This fic is winding down a bit; only one more chapter after this one. As usual, I don't own anything, original actors in mind and so on. Enjoy.

29

A second chance for Joey Boswell

He had to admit, living with Martina was nice. Difficult, but nice.

Joey had never lived anywhere but Kelsall Street before, had never shared living quarters with anyone but his family, save for a couple of weekends away with Roxy. It was a bit of culture shock, cohabiting with a completely new person, and every day brought new learning experiences – and new sources of conflict as well. It was like doing an intensive study on the human female (or on the specific one known as Martina anyway), and having to quickly learn her habits so he could work his own around them.

He'd discovered so far that Martina was pedantic about doing the dishes but could go for weeks at a time without changing her sheets (he'd got fed up and done it himself eventually). She tended to go to bed earlier than he did, rise earlier than he did, and she became irritated when he refused to adhere to her sleep routines, which clashed horribly with his own. She was annoyed by how much coffee he drank a day, how many biscuits he ate in one sitting (I just bought those Digestives on Thursday!) how much bog roll he got through in a week and the fact that he used three different towels when he showered (why can't you use the same towel to dry yerself and dry your 'air?!And why do you have to stand on that one when we've got a bath mat for that?!). She nagged him about how long he took to get ready in the mornings, how long he took to read the paper when she wanted a turn with it, how often he disturbed her at night.

And yet these experiences were all overpowered by a cacophony of happy little moments. Joey loved that Martina hummed to herself when doing the washing but swore to herself when cooking. He loved her little grumbles when her alarm went off (culminating in her shrieking all right, for God's sake, and assaulting the clock at the second snooze). He loved that she would lay with her head in his lap when they watched telly of an evening, and that some days she would come home from work, smile at him and immediately start unbuttoning her blouse, and they'd spend a passionate afternoon on the floor in the living room. He loved how she'd lit up when he'd brought her flowers, how she'd sat and mended a hole in his favourite shirt for him when he'd torn it on a job, how she had, upon discovering he had never learned to change the washer on a tap, taken him into the kitchen and shown him how to do it. He loved how he'd wake up in the middle of the night to discover she'd shifted over to his side of the bed in her sleep, and he'd find her arm wound round him or her head nestled against his shoulder, her vulnerability coming out in a way it didn't when she was conscious.

Martina praised him for his ability to Hoover right into the corners, the quick, efficient way he put up shelves in her kitchen, his ability to fold clothes a lot more neatly than she had been, clearing space in her drawers for his things without having to sacrifice any of hers, and his calm ability to humanely remove the huge spider she'd found in the bath.

He'd got used to doing the crossword with her in the morning, and she'd got used to saying mealtime prayers with him.

And within about a month, once they'd ironed out most of the kinks and worked out a routine that more or less worked for both of them, Joey had found himself feeling astoundingly at home in her flat. Or their flat, he should get used to thinking. He was paying half the rent, half the bills, had had his name added to the lease. This was his home now. And though it was still a bit strange, an adjustment, very different to his life on Kelsall Street, the thought made Joey smile.

He was smiling about this, reflecting as he kissed her goodbye this morning and let her out the Jag at the DSS. Her face always melted into a lovely smile as she waved to him, then by the time she'd got to the steps he could see a change in her – stiffer posture, grimmer expression, pulling the DSS lady persona on for the day as she drew near to the building. It was a sight he had come to enjoy each day – as was the sight of her waking up in the morning, the sight of her asleep beside him (she always had a cross expression on her face in slumber), the sight of her mouth curving into a smile when she greeted him at the end of the day. Every view of her, from every angle, in every interaction, had now become a welcome thread embedded in the tapestry of his life – and the more Joey thought about it, about what they had, the more Joey was convinced that he wanted to keep on having it forever.

Living with Martina was nice, but Joey was still a Boswell, a Catholic and a proponent of the old adage if something's worth doing, it's worth doing properly.

And this was definitely worth doing.

And as such, he'd come to a decision. He intended to run it by Evan today at the shop, but Joey's mind was pretty well made up regardless.

He smiled to himself as he parked his Jag.

'Really, Joey? Really?! You're havin' me on right? It's been three months!'

'Nine, technically,' Joey tried. 'We were friends long before we…well…and if you add in all the years before that…'

'Gobshite. Claims do not constitute any sort of relationship, Joey,' Evan rolled his eyes. 'I'll give yer the nine months, then, but I draw the line at you fancyin' her while holding out your begging bowl at the DSS. It only counts from the first time you spent time with her outside the Social Security.'

Scotland, then. Joey let out a snicker before he could stop himself. Oh, the bloody irony – he'd gone there expecting to be married to Roxy, left with Martina, and now…

'Okay, okay,' he said, because Evan was looking at him strangely now. 'Now are you okay with this, or what?'

'Least it's you, I suppose. Least I like you. I couldn't abide any of her other fellas – I mean, the one before you – that Shifty?! Slick git if ever I met one. I'd have 'ad a coronary if he'd pulled this.'

Joey felt this wasn't the best time to mention Shifty was his cousin.

'Eh, and Joey – let her down and I will kill yer. You know that, right?'

'Oh, I've no doubt of that mate,' Joey clinked glasses with him. One obstacle down in his plan.

If Martina from nine months ago could have seen herself now, she would have done a double take. She'd got Joey Boswell in the most unexpected sense of the word – not only had she embedded him firmly into her life (something she'd written off as an impossible dream), but into her home as well. And in spite of her vow, after Shifty had taken advantage of her hospitality one time too many, not to be hasty about letting lovers live with her and consume her resources, Joey was surprisingly eager to pull his weight, contribute rather than sponge, build a life rather than taking what he could and leaving mess in his wake.

It was going oddly well – normal adjustments aside. In spite of being pleased he was here, Martina still found herself experiencing surges of irritation at times – but these, at least, could be attributed to reasonable clashes of personality and habit rather than any serious grievance.

He made her life a lot easier in some ways – and a lot harder in others.

On one hand, she never again had to do a load of washing and find she was short of darks – Joey's seemingly endless supply of black shirts, socks and underpants helped her fill her wash basket pretty quickly. On the other, cooking had become about a hundred times more difficult, given she now had to adjust most of her planned meals to account for the fact that Joey wouldn't eat meat, didn't like onion and would frequently comment on the lack of salt in her cooking. His friendship with Evan was great – except when they were constantly filling the living room with their accounts papers, making a mess of them all over her coffee table (her refusal to do their books had meant they had decided to have a crack themselves, and while they were managing, they were being bloody martyrs about it for show). He was surprisingly helpful around the house – in spite of Nellie Boswell's assertion that none of her children knew what a duster was, let alone ever wielded one, Joey did his fair share of keeping the place tidy. She found herself exceedingly thankful to get home after a harrowing day at work to find the housework already taken care of, Joey waiting for her with a smile and a cup of tea, or on occasion something stronger.

There were times when she wanted to strangle him – or smother him; she couldn't decide which.

Joey devoured biscuits, scoffing them as though he'd miss out, a relic from the days in Kelsall street where he'd apparently go to the cupboard to find someone (Billy) had beaten him to them and they were all gone. It wasn't that she didn't understand the concept of Boswell-related scarcity (such was the state of her budget at work usually), but it was beginning to drive her mad that every time she fancied a Digestive an evening, she'd find nothing but an empty packet. He daydreamed and dawdled in the morning when she was rushing to get ready for work – given he started whenever he felt like, and the Boswell café seemed to run til nine, he had been accustomed to taking mornings at a far more leisurely pace than she, something that did her head in. Seemed whenever she was in a hurry he was there, taking up every space lazing about. If Martina found him in the way sipping coffee again when she was frantically looking for her handbag so she could get out the door, she'd probably tip it all over him.

And yet there were times when his tender side came out and Martina found himself overwhelmingly grateful for his presence. He'd sat up with her when she'd had the flu, pressing cool cloths against her head and forcing glasses of water to her face until she'd sipped at them, running baths for her and changing her sheets, stroking her forehead and soothing her, bringing her magazines and aspirin and generally being quite wonderful until she'd got over it. She supposed taking care of your family to the extent Joey did was good for something. His inbuilt sense of loyalty meant he'd refused to leave her side until she'd recovered, and had moved Heaven and earth to make sure she was comfortable.

He'd come down with it himself after that, poor sod, and she'd had to wrestle him into bed, such was his insistence, born of all those years struggling to pretend he was all right to tend to his family, that he was still capable of going about his business. She'd had to field worried phone calls from Nellie Boswell while Joey was asleep and all – that one had been an experience and a half. If Martina had had to hear what have you done to him, letting him catch cold? one more time, she might have tried to throttle Joey's Mam through the phone.

Oddly enough, though, aside from making her life (on the whole, more or less) better at home, he was making her time outside of it more bearable as well.

When she'd seen a managerial position in the Department of Health and Social Care advertised, it had been Joey who'd encouraged her, sat with her and helped her reorganise her CV, built her confidence enough for her not to dismiss the idea as a pipe dream and actually apply for it. She'd astounded herself with how well she'd done in the interview, and now she was waiting to hear back about it, she let herself consider, every now and again, the possibility of a future in which she was no longer shackled to that grotty desk down the Social Security, the possibility of leaving that job for good and starting afresh in a different department, with a much better salary and title to boot. And if it happened, she'd have Joey Boswell, of all people, to thank – an irony indeed, given he'd always been the one to make her work life a misery in the past.

She'd been considering that in bed last night, Joey asleep beside her, having spent the better part of his evening giving her his undivided attention to make up for a crap day at work. If the resentful, lust-filled version of her had seen herself now, Martina reflected, she'd wonder how in the bloody hell she'd got here, Joey Boswell not only fulfilling all her fantasies and then some, but being a damn good companion on top of that.

Just lucky, she supposed. And it was funny to catch herself thinking she was lucky, when not all that long ago she'd seen her life as a dismal grey fog stretched out in front of her.

He had a lot to answer for, did Joey Boswell.

He'd done everything he had to do, got everything in order and in place. He'd knocked the conversation with Evan out of the way, struggled through a brief chat with Martina's parents, asked Adrian for a bit of advice. He'd done a bit of surreptitious measuring, bought what needed to be bought to execute his plan – and now there was nothing left to do but grit his teeth and get it over with.

Joey paused at the door to their flat, shifted about awkwardly, albeit a little more comfortably in the cotton trousers he had on than when he wore his leather ones. He'd been trying to minimise their use, saving them for nights out or jobs where he had to look particularly dangerous, wearing his other pairs around the house mainly for Martina's benefit. A long-concealed hatred for his leather trousers had revealed itself somewhere in the midst of all their newly-developing domestic arrangements, compounded by the fact that they were, in her words, disgusting at the end of the day when he took them off. She'd been even more unimpressed that the offending sweaty garments needed to be turned inside out and hand washed, and had outright refused to be involved in their upkeep in any way.

He shook his head, turned his key in the lock and let himself into the flat.

'Hiya, love,' Martina called from the kitchen.

Joey swallowed, trying to chase his nerves down.

'Sweetheart?'

'Yeah?'

'Can you come 'ere a minute?'

Martina emerged, a dirty apron round her waist and a quizzical expression on her face.

'What d'you want? I'm trying to get dinner on.'

'Will it burn?'

'I've just put it in the oven. It's got about half an hour yet.'

'Then you're all right,' Joey grabbed her by the wrists, tugging her into the front room and leading her towards the sofa. 'Come 'ed. We've got something important to discuss.'

'If this is a confession that you and Evan've been up to your necks in something you shouldn't…'

'Tsk. You've known me how long, and your first reaction is still to assume I'm up to no good. Why is that, sweetheart? Why is it?'

'Precisely because of how long I've known yer. I'm all too familiar with that devious brain of yours, Mister Boswell.'

'Well, it's nothing like that, all right?'

'Better not be,' Martina dusted off a patch of flour on her apron, sending up a little white cloud.

'Oh, get that off,' Joey said, tugging at her apron strings. 'I'm got a lovely evening planned. And that does not fit with it.'

Martina rolled her eyes, but she let him take the apron and guide her into a sitting position.

'Now, then. I need to sort something out with you, sweetheart. If you're not doin' anything for, oh, say, the next few decades…'

'I'll need to check me schedule,' Martina teased. 'At some point in the next few decades I'll probably be washin' me hair.'

Joey chuckled and kissed her forehead, fond of her wit as always, but he didn't want her to take what he was about to say as a joke. He assumed his most solemn face, hoping she'd understand the seriousness of the moment.

It must have worked, because Martina sobered up too.

'Go on. What plans are you trying to work out, then, that are gonna take a few decades to get done? Cause I'm warning you now, if this is another proposition about doin' yer books, forget it. I'm on the verge of gettin' a job that might actually get me somewhere and I'm not gonna throw me chance away.'

'If you're not doing anything,' Joey tried again, 'for the next forty…fifty…sixty years or so…' he swallowed, the hardest part of the sentence sticking against the nervous lump in his throat before he managed to choke it out, 'then I'd…'

One more deep breath, just to help it out.

'…I'd really…like it if you were me wife.'

Martina looked a bit stunned. Her mouth opened and then closed again without anything coming out; she blinked, blinked again; looked at the floor, looked at him, trying to process but coming up against a wall of shock every time she tried.

'Well, go on,' Joey urged after almost a minute of this. 'Say something, won't yer?'

'Joey…'

'Oh, God, I don't like that tone of voice.'

Martina's hand found his. 'Calm yerself down, love. I can see your panic bell about to go into overdrive.'

She used her free hand to mime breathing in and out.

'After three months, Joey –'

'Why does everyone keep sayin' three?!' Joey threw up his hands in exasperation. 'Nine, sweetheart. Nine!'

'I didn't realise you'd backdated our relationship to the friendship you harassed me into,' Martina shook her head, but she was smirking, which lifted Joey's spirits and hope a little. 'I suppose I should've guessed. The first day you came in to the DHSS you backdated yer family's claims by a good few years.'

'Nothing like a good lump sum to get you through the day,' Joey went along with it, but his insides were roiling. 'And I'm backdating it to Scotland, if you want to be precise.'

She smirked again, then sighed.

'But Joey – count back nine months and think about it properly. Really think about it, and what had just happened in Scotland – d'you see where I'm goin' with this?'

'You think it might be too quick,' Joey sighed, heart sinking.

'Well…not to put too fine a point on it…'

'You were willing to live with me this quickly,' he pointed out. 'You were the one who asked me to move in with yer.'

He had here there; she faltered.

'Sweetheart,' Martina took his hand in both of hers now, her voice painfully gentle, 'nine months ago, you were lying on the floor in a hotel room heartbroken over Roxy. Even six months ago, you couldn't even bring yourself to phone her – and when you did, you disappeared into thin air for a few weeks trying to recover.'

'Yeah, I know, but…'

'It hasn't been a year since you were charging off to another country to marry somebody else. You still weren't over her when we started spendin' time with her. And Joey, you know…' it was her turn to shift uncomfortably, 'you know how much I love you. How much I've always loved you. And it'd kill me to think I was just a consolation prize off the back of all that.'

There was a fear in her eyes, and an insecurity Joey was surprised to see there but instantly understood. He clutched her hands tighter.

'Martina, I know what Roxy and I had,' he said quietly. 'And I know what you and I have. And they're nothing alike. And God, I hope you don't think I'm so thick as not to know the difference between real love and desperation!'

Joey swallowed, trying to condense nine months of his own emotional evolution into something she'd understand, be satisfied with.

'I mean…I never gave meself a chance to see what life would be like with anyone else, did I? And once I could let go of that, I saw in you…well, the kind of woman I always wanted. I just needed to get me blinders off from all that time I'd wasted.'

Martina hummed, her face unfathomable.

'What I went through…it wasn't just about her. I don't think it was for longer than I realised – all those times I kept goin' back to Roxy – I think…I thought she was me ticket to what I wanted. And what I wanted was me independence. The chance to be me own person outside the fam-i-ly – and once I had that under me own steam, everything that happened with you was separate from it, not a reaction to it. You're the first person I've been with as…truly meself, not Joey-the-son or Joey-Boswell-family-protector or Joey-Roxy's-puppet. And that means I've always been able to love you for...who you are and what we have, not whatever escape I needed at the time.'

He could see her eyes softening; something glimmered in them that gave Joey a bit of hope.

'And it's because of that I've truly been able to appreciate…that you're brilliant… and you're…beautiful, and clever, and you're kind…and…and you've got the sort of integrity I admire…and…and you're great fun – well, when you're not just doin' jigsaws, that is, and you're…'

He paused for a moment to catch his breath, to try and gather his thoughts. God, he was rambling at lightning (or Billy) speed.

Martina leaned back against the sofa, folding her arms.

'Go on. Don't stop now; I'm enjoying this speech.'

Her eyes were properly twinkling now, a smile hovering about the corners of her mouth that brought one to Joey's face as well.

'Oh, that's your game, is it? Hold out so you can sit there and have me shower you with compliments for an hour?'

'I do have an ego, you know, Mister Boswell. It might not be as towering as yours, but it likes a bolstering now and again, just as much as the next person's.'

Joey laughed at that, kissing her hands before going on.

'Martina, you…you've rescued me. Not just from what happened, but from meself and from everything that dragged me down, and…you've brought out the best in me. I don't know where I'd be without you

He could see her face melting with every word he said, and so Joey went on, letting himself ramble, aware if he tried to think about it first and embellish it, she'd write it off as insincere. Not that he could really stop himself anyway; it poured out of him in a garbled torrent.

'And…and I wanna have kids with you and I want us to fret together over them and then…I want us to grow old and sit out in wicker chairs on the street telling people to piss off.' Joey paused, trying to lighten the mood. 'In sync.'

She couldn't help it; she smirked at that.

'And I just think…I just think, sweetheart, that…spendin' the rest of me life with you would be…a life well spent.' He exhaled heavily, gave up the pretence he was at all in control of this conversation, and let one last desperate plea fall out of his gob.

'Marry me.'

'Speechwriter deserted you again, has 'e?' But she was laughing, and the light in her eyes sent shockwaves of anticipation through Joey's gut.

'Go on, then, Mister Boswell,' Martina said, pressing herself close and kissing him, her smile when she pulled back simultaneously wicked and lovely, 'I'll marry yer.'

Joey's hands clenched around her arms. 'You mean that?'

'Oh, God. Yes.' Another eye roll, right up to Martina standards. 'I mean it, all right?'

'As in, this is really actually gonna happen?'

'Well, if you can get yer gob off the floor for five minutes we might be able to organise something, mightn't we?'

'Well, then,' Joey felt himself grin so broadly it hurt, 'on that note, to mark your transition into bein' a Boswell – which I'm warning you now will involve a lot of expensive things…'

Joey had wondered if it was the right thing, if he'd been too hasty, but now she'd agreed he felt more confident in reaching into his pocket, bringing out the ring box, getting down onto one knee and opening it in front of her.

Martina's eyes flicked from the ring to him.

'Bit presumptuous, weren't you? Buyin' that before you knew what me answer was gonna be.'

'Oh, but you're forgetting one crucial point, sweetheart.'

'Which is?'

'I did know what your answer would be. Given I am irresistible.'

She tutted.

'Are you gonna give me that ring or not?'

Joey laughed as he pulled it out its box and made a grab for her hand.

'Now I warn you, sunshine, this is gold, so if you feel the need to make a snide comment about wearin' gold jewellery while claimin' you have no money, this is your last chance before you become a hypocrite.'

'It could be fairly argued, Joey, that you with your leather and your vegetarian rubbish – and your pleas of poverty down the Social Security while drivin' around in yer Jaguar – are the biggest hypocrite in this city. So if I marry you I'll be Mrs Hypocrite, and I think I'll be entitled to go on makin' comments as I did before.'

'Fair enough. Fair enough,' Joey slid it onto her finger. 'There. Hope that's not too tight; I was goin' off the measurements I made when you were asleep.'

Martina's mouth dropped open. 'When did you do that?!'

Joey counted back. 'Last Tuesday night?'

'Joey!' Martina thumped him.

'Come off it, sweetheart – what else could I have done? Said excuse me, sunshine, but do you mind if I measure your ring finger for no particular reason? You must admit, even with my natural ability to spin words as I choose, it would be a bit difficult to make a good excuse for that one.'

'Might have been worth seein' you try, though.'

Martina looked down at her hand, wiggling her finger, appraising its new adornment.

'Mm, not bad. Not overly flashy. Very restrained for you.' Her eyes flicked in his direction. 'Thank God.'

In spite of his temptation to go completely overboard and find something enormous and diamond-studded to mark her as his, Joey had been very unadventurous in his final choice: modest solitaire; plain gold band. Not much chance of going wrong with that, he'd reasoned. It was a bit generic, but he'd erred on the side of caution, aware Martina was wont to scoff at some of his own flashier pieces of jewellery, aware she didn't share his taste for the excessively shiny and sparkly and obvious signs of wealth and instead preferred understated things (except for all that pink décor. That would have to go when they got married, or at least be toned down a bit. Much as it had been a novelty at the beginning, it was starting to grate on him).

'You've done well, Mister Boswell. I won't be embarrassed to wear this.'

Joey chuckled, holding her to him for a while, letting his mind soar ahead of him mapping it all out – their lives, their future, the smiles on his family's faces to see him properly happy and doing it right this time…

'Oh, go on,' Martina said at length, shoving at him to free herself. 'Go and do it, then.'

'Do what, sweetheart?'

'What I know you're itching to do.'

That was the great thing about her; in spite of her criticisms of Boswell unity at the DSS, she completely understood the way Roxy didn't.

And so Joey grinned again and reached for the phone.

'Eh – if you're gonna go proclaiming this to your Mam and no doubt every other little Boswell in the vicinity, you can at least save us on the phone bill and use yer mobile.'

'If we're gettin' married, that mobile bill becomes shared as well, you know. What's mine is yours 'nall that – bills and all. So really, what am I saving you?'

She shook her head fondly.

'Go on, hurry up and give them the news. Dinner will be ready in about fifteen minutes, Joey – and you know me rule about phone calls at the table.'

'Even on a special occasion?'

She swatted at him as he went to retrieve his mobile.

'Oh, and Joey?'

Joey paused halfway to the door.

Martina reached out and flicked his ponytail.

'Cut your hair before the wedding, won't yer?'

'Told you, didn't I?' Jack muttered when they turned up to Kelsall Street for dinner later that week, Martina's engagement ring a glistening eyesore on her left hand.

'I'd get a different ring for Connie,' Billy said to no-one in particular. 'Less borin' and predictable. Prob'ly red.'

'Just tell me your family are invited to this one, Joey,' Nellie said, a harsh warning tone permeating her demand.

'You did, nobody cares, and of course they are,' Joey said, nodding at each one in turn as he responded to their comments in one sweep. Beside him, Martina stifled a smirk. She was gradually getting used to the nosiness and the tactless blurting of the Boswell family – and surprisingly, finding them all more endearing than she'd expected.

She stole a sideways glance at Joey. He was fiddling with his hair at the back, still unused to his new haircut, though he'd readily agreed after the ponytail came off it was a vast improvement – back to the stylish cut he'd once taken pride in, slightly updated for the times, and all one colour. And though Joey was sick of Martina banging on about it, she'd continue to maintain forever just how much better it looked. She'd never really liked the blonde.

'And where are you planning to have this wedding, Joey? I hope you're not going to subject us to a Proddy service – I've had to plan enough contingency Confessions to make up for that pathetic Christening for Augusta –'

'I've got somewhere in mind, Mam. I've got somewhere in mind.'

Joey turned to give Martina a cheeky grin. They'd discussed it, and while she had apprehensions about his idea for the place and time, the light that came to his eyes every time he mentioned it had had her giving in pretty quickly.

'Where?' Billy demanded.

Joey shook his head. 'We'll confirm it first, son, before we start chargin' into preparations.'

'Eh – watch it, Joey. You might get left at the altar again – I've heard about history repeating itself. Deja day they call it.'

'That's not gonna happen,' Martina growled. She was all too aware Joey was still a little tender over that, a little wary of a repeat performance. 'And it's déjà vu, not that it matters.'

'Eh – what would you say to Roxy if you saw her?'

Martina felt Joey tense next to her – but she knew exactly how to respond to this question. She'd always known.

'Thank you,' she said.

'Thank you?!' Billy went on tactlessly.

'Yeah. Thank you,' she repeated. She squeezed Joey's hand, smiling up at him. 'Roxy didn't know what she had…but I know what I've got. And I'm not about to take that for granted.'

Of course, announcing their engagement to each of the Boswell family offshoots in turn also meant sitting through a cringey song Adrian had written, but Martina bore it with fortitude. She missed the days when the sight of her could send the artistic Boswell into a bout of quaking – and stop whichever of his ghastly artistic pursuits from being foisted upon them – but there was something touching about the effort he'd made – and once the song (which she sincerely hoped could be erased from her memory as soon as possible) had concluded, they spent something close to a normal evening with Adrian and Irenee.

They were sitting round for coffee now in Adrian's strangely-decorated flat, Joey's brother having heartily approved of their possible venue (well, he would, wouldn't he – it appealed to his poetic side).

'Just – one word of advice. From one brother to another – now we're both going to be married.'

Joey sat back in Adrian's armchair, folding his hands and letting his smile get broader (nothing had been able to wipe it off his gob since she'd said yes to him).

'Go on, then, son. What wisdom have you got to impart from your almost year of marriage, then?'

'You see, I didn't get married in brown. And Irenee – she didn't get married in deep blue.'

'Oh, here we go,' Irenee leaned her head back against the upholstery of her chair, rolling her eyes. 'And we didn't get married in colours each other liked best – because of course you know, Joey, that the secret to a successful marriage is what you're wearin' on the day.'

'Oh, as long as he doesn't turn up in leather,' Martina said, flicking a michievous smile in Joey's direction, 'I think we might just make it.'

One more chapter to go! Things will sort of come full circle in the end; I've left some small hints here as to how, but you'll see soon enough.