And finally, a bit more action and plot progression. Joey is becoming incredibly unpleasant in his bid to have some time alone, but I promise we're coming towards the end of nasty season 7-Roxy-influenced- Joey ( in temperament, albeit written with Peter Howitt's Joey in mind) soon, he just has to work through his grief a bit first. As usual, I don't own Bread, original Joey in mind and so on.


5

The last straw for Joey Boswell

Joey didn't sleep well – he hadn't at all in the past fortnight, and come to think of it, given the state of affairs at home, he hadn't probably for the past year either. He was used to running on fumes by now, though not the resentment that came with the fact that by now he should have been happily married, at peace with himself and revitalised. Instead, he was lonesome, unable to face anything and anyone, and now to add insult to injury he was stuck here with a stubborn DSS lady who couldn't keep her nose out.

The weather seemed to have cleared up a bit; a ray of sunlight stole in through a gap in the curtains, streaming across the bed, illuminating Martina as if she were an angel. Except she didn't much resemble one at present.

In general, Joey thought, people were supposed to look peaceful in their sleep. Martina looked cross, as though whatever or whomever she was dreaming of was annoying her immensely. Joey leaned back, rested his head on his elbow and studied her. In this light, when he had longer to look at her, she somehow looked simultaneously both older and younger than he'd imagined her to be, wearied from the life she'd led and still somehow holding fast to a yolky core of innocence safely hidden below several layers of sternness. Her forehead creased as she frowned, and the eldest Boswell suddenly felt an uncontrollable desire to sit up, move over to her side of the bed and kiss those creases off it again.

He smacked himself in the forehead. No. He was still disappointed about his failed wedding, he was depressed and yes, he was more than a little bit sexually frustrated, but that was no reason to lose himself and do something daft. The lust he was feeling right now was not specifically for Martina, it was a demon born of the expectation that by now he would have a wife, that he would be celebrating, consummating, in this self-same plush hotel bedroom with the love of his life, and that he had been denied the fulfilment of this fantasy now. To take that out on someone else simply because he was frustrated and she just happened to be here just wouldn't do. It wouldn't be good for her; it wouldn't take away the sting—no, the deep, gaping wound—of being left at the altar. Just because there was a beautiful woman sleeping beside him didn't mean trying it on with said beautiful woman would ease the pain of Roxy.

Joey shut his eyes, trying to change the course of his thoughts.

Forget it, Joey. I'm going home. I don't know why I thought this would ever work.

He slapped desperately at his ear, trying to displace Roxy's voice from his head.

'Got an earwig in there, 'ave you?'

Joey startled at Martina's voice. He sat up slowly, trying to retain whatever shreds of his dignity remained.

'I didn't know you were awake.'

'It's a bit hard to sleep when someone starts thrashin' like they need a straitjacket.'

'Serve you right for stalkin' someone all the way into another country and turning up at their 'otel out of nowhere,' Joey huffed, his annoyance at her returning now she was conscious and making jabs at him. 'You take people as they are when you come uninvited.'

She took up very little space in the cavernous four-poster bed, had slept very quietly and very still, had really been no trouble at all, and yet her presence there still annoyed him. This would have been his and Roxy's marriage bed, had things gone to plan.

'Oh,' Joey groaned loudly, turning away from her and pulling the blankets over his head. 'Why are you here?!'

Martina tugged them back off him.

'That's enough of this now, Mister Boswell. You have been wallowing 'ere, wasting your time – and the state's – for weeks now. It's high time you faced your responsibilities.'

No sympathy. No sympathy. She was just after his head again, trying to get him to face the music and come back to the DSS and explain why he hadn't signed on. He thought she'd given that up last night.

'I hope the DSS pays you well,' Joey grumbled, 'if they're gonna send you on fool's errands runnin' off after everyone who doesn't sign-on.'

'It doesn't, but all the same,' she yanked the blankets off him just as he started to pull them up again, 'I don't fancy losin' the only source of income I've got – unlike some people I could mention – just because one Boswell who thinks he's above obeyin' the rules starts screwing with the system.'

The strange sliver of fondness and desire that had crept into his consciousness had quickly vanished. She was doing his head in again – and the fact that mere seconds after she'd regained consciousness she was already making jabs at him darkened Joey's mood.

The sooner he got rid of her, the better.


Joey had been right – it was bloody Baltic in here. Martina was freezing, frustrated, still completely clueless as to what she was going to do about Joey – much to her disappointment but not her surprise, no ideas had come to her after sleeping on it – and now she had a temperamental fire to contend with as well.

Joey had barricaded himself in the en suite as soon as he got out of bed and had been in the shower for well over half an hour now, and he wasn't showing any signs of re-emerging any time soon to help her. And so, shooting a futile glare in the direction of the bathroom door, Martina had grudgingly knelt down in front of the hearth and fiddled with a box of matches.

Oh, God, how did I get into this mess?

She'd been thinking variations of the same thing ever since she'd stepped off the train yesterday, and Martina was quite sure she'd have a lot more regrets before the morning was out.

Joey came out just as the fire was beginning to take hold. Selfish bastard. She wouldn't put it past him to have deliberately waited in there until she'd got it going herself, either out of a desire to make her suffer, lack of consideration, laziness or all three. His heartache over his fiancée had seemingly expunged his more honourable qualities. Martina only hoped he wouldn't notice she'd used a page of his newspaper to help the flames take hold.

'Here,' he tossed a hard, leather book into her lap. Martina winced as a corner hit her leg.

'D'you mind?! I get enough projectiles thrown at me at work.'

'Have what you want,' Joey ignored her, grabbing his leather jacket from the back of the door. 'Only don't take too long. I'm gonna get the train times.'

And then he'd stalked out of the suite, slamming the door as he went. Martina looked down at the book in her lap – the room service menu. Again, Joey simultaneously being accommodating and hostile. She was starving, she realised, having not had anything last night, too overwhelmed at how her ridiculous plan had unfolded to even think of it – and on some level he must have realised that, because he was offering her sustenance at his expense. Well, she supposed he'd taken enough money from her department over the years; one breakfast was a small repayment.

She was eating toast and drinking coffee when he came back, a train timetable crunched in his fist.

'Why aren't you dressed?'

Martina looked down at herself, still wearing his robe, and rolled her eyes.

'Forgive me for doing one thing at a time. I don't have a little army of brothers to do me buttons up for me.'

Joey tensed, an anger in him that, had he been an ordinary claimant on the other side of the desk, might have signified he wanted to strike her.

Then his face crumpled just as quickly. For an infinitesimal sliver of a second, Martina saw the flash of another man, a softness flickering through his eyes, mingled with defeat, the regret writ large on his face for just a moment. He was in pain, a wounded animal backed into a corner, claws baring whenever she touched a nerve, aware he was lashing out but unable to stop himself. She felt herself respond, a wave of pity travelling through her brain and a temptation to reach out, touch him, comfort him, but it was so closely followed by her anger at him and that strange, ferocious feeling she needed to quell, that it was short lived. She settled for glaring at him instead.

'There's a train at ten,' Joey said, quietly but still irritably. 'You're gonna be on it, so hurry up and get ready or you can go as you are.'

Martina had a good mind to stay put, but she wasn't sure he wouldn't make good on that threat, so she snatched up her things and retreated to the bathroom to change.

When she emerged, dressed in her crumpled clothes from last night, Joey immediately grabbed hold of her arm and frogmarched her to the door.

'D'you mind?!' she squeaked again, her usual cross tone of voice lost in the shock of his sudden forcefulness.

'As a matter of fact, sweetheart, I do.' For someone who had been practically comatose with depression Joey was surprisingly agile and strong now, walking her through the building so quickly she had to trot alongside him to match his stride, holding her arm so firmly that Martina, try though she might, couldn't shake him off.

'And as a matter of fact,' Martina echoed, viciously shoving against his arm to try and free herself as Joey momentarily paused to open the door, 'I happen to mind being manhandled for tryin' to do me job and keep meself out of hot water with my superiors.'

'Give over, won't yer?' Joey hissed through his teeth, still trying to balance wrestling with the door and wrestling against Martina's attempts to free herself.

'You have two options, Mister Boswell,' Martina growled. 'Either you can come back to Liverpool now, and I will give you a form on Monday and permit you to 'ave your giro late – or you can carry on being a ratbag and refusing to cooperate, in which case I'll report yer.'

She heard Joey sigh heavily, eyes rolling as he momentarily ceased the struggle to shake his head at her.

'I don't think you realise who's the one bein' given options here, Martina. Either you can come with me to the station and let me see you off nicely and politely, or you can carry on pesterin' me about comin' back home, in which case, I will sod the niceties and drag you there. Don't think I won't either. Me patience has gone well over its limit.'

Martina pursed her lips, exhaling sharply. He really wasn't budging on this. She'd have to think of another way.

'All right…but will you let go of me?' she shook her arm furiously until Joey's grip loosened. 'I'm perfectly capable of walking by myself.'

She stomped out of the building before Joey could say any more.


It was fine outside now, though still overcast, the dampness still hanging in the air and dripping off the trees.

Joey took in the fresh air for the first time in a fortnight, blinking at the sun, even though it was behind a cloud. It was uplifting after being shut up in that room, and had Joey not had an errand to run, now he was out here he might have found somewhere peaceful to sit, taken in a few lungfuls of the clean atmosphere, let the dim sunlight revitalise his spirits for a while. But the reason for his being out here was making life very difficult for him.

No sooner were they outside than Martina had immediately made her way over to his Jaguar, and was now leaning against it, a what are you going to do about it? look on her face that darkened Joey's mood again. He stormed after her. She was not going to annoy him into taking her back to Liverpool for the sake of that bloody form. Joey was in control here, he'd decided, and he wasn't going to take any resistance to his plan to get rid of her.

'What d'you think you're doing?' Joey grabbed her wrist and tugged, but she stood her ground.

'I'm not going anywhere, Mister Boswell,' she said obstinately, 'unless it's in this car with you, headed in the direction of the DSS.'

Joey pulled at her wrist again, but for someone so small and slight, Martina was good at planting her weight evenly so that, try as he might, Joey simply could not drag her along.

'I'm gettin' fed up with this, now, Martina.'

'And I'm gettin' fed up with this daft idea of yours to hide out in Scotland for the rest of your life and ignore your responsibilities.' Martina yanked her wrist back, took a step back, stared him down.

'Which is, in fact, none of your business, sunshine.'

'It most certainly is my business when I'm havin' to account for you not signing-on for weeks on end.'

Joey resisted the urge to growl out loud. Martina had only got on his nerves once before in his life – when she'd mocked his family while he was trying to get a phone bill sorted – but now she was vying with Billy and Connie for top position on his nerves podium. He knew realistically, logically, that wallowing indefinitely wouldn't do, but he felt after so many years of running about after his family, running himself ragged, getting no peace of his own and then being denied the joy and peace he thought he was finally getting, that a bit of wallowing was damn well overdue. And the fact that Martina was making him be more active than he had been in a week, trying to test his mind and force him to come to his senses when he was indulging in being selfish and sulky for once, was driving him over the edge.

'That's it,' he said, letting his selfish side win (although his plan for what to do next, he was surprised to realise, involved teasing her slightly). He moved quickly as he spoke, so quickly she wasn't expecting it, stooping down and grabbing her arm with one hand and looping his arm around her leg with the other.

'Fun's over now, sweetheart. I've 'ad it.'

And with this last comment he yanked her, throwing her bodily over his shoulders as he had once threatened to do, standing up straight so she had no way down, was wrapped around him like a scarf.

'How dare you!' Martina shrieked. She made to wrench herself free, but Joey's fireman's lift was pretty sturdy, his arms wrapped around her tightly enough to keep her there, and her efforts were futile.

'I'm puttin' you on that train, Martina, even if I have to carry you down the station and throw you in the compartment meself.'

'You – bastard! Put me down… I mean it, Joey Boswell…you let go of me!'

She was struggling as much as she was able, given her vulnerable position, given Joey was quite tall and she was now suspended six feet above the ground, and given she was wearing a dress that didn't quite reach her knees, which could easily ride up and expose her knickers if she weren't careful (and they weren't exactly the most modest pair of knickers in the world, Joey thought, remembering his glimpse of them when she'd laid them out in front of the fire yesterday). Still, in spite of all these factors being against her she gave escaping her best shot, shoving against his shoulder with her elbow, trying to free her leg from its position trapped beneath his arm, alternating between shouting obscenities and making threats she had no means of carrying out. She'd left her stern DSS-lady composure behind completely now, hollering as coarsely as some of the rougher claimants who graced the DSS with their presence.

'I mean it, Mister Boswell! If you don't put me down this instant, I will make you regret this for the rest of your life!'

'And what are you gonna do, sweetheart? Go on, then, overpower me.'

In spite of his current irritation with her, and the ongoing misery and gloom shrouding his very being, Joey couldn't help letting out a laugh – his first one in a long, long time, even if it was a bit sardonic. He started off in the general direction of the station. She didn't weigh much; it wouldn't be difficult to make good on his promise to carry her down there and fling her onto the train – except for the fact that her shouts were getting increasingly louder, and he suspected people would get the wrong idea seeing a man forcefully carrying a screaming woman off towards a station.

Daft idea. What were you thinkin', son?

He stopped walking but waited a few moments more, getting a guilty sense of satisfaction from Martina's struggling and the fact that after all the times she had said she was out to get him, and her strange attempt yesterday to actually do so, he'd been able to put a stop to her so easily, picking her up as though she were no more than a child or doll. And she could do nothing about it other than wriggle unsuccessfully. It definitely brought her down off her pedestal and that, he thought, was long overdue, given the way she wielded power down the DSS when it took her fancy. The thought caused something strange to sweep over him, though given the state of his addled brain, he couldn't quite identify what it was.

'Mister Boswell…' Martina's voice was calmer now he'd stopped walking, though it didn't quite hit her usual stern, intimidating mark. 'I realise you believe you're invincible owing to that enormous, united mafia you call a family, but your little Boswell jurisdiction doesn't extend this far – and while they are not here, owing to your ridiculous determination to hide out here, you need to watch how far you push people who are out to get yer, and –'

She was still speaking a little too quickly to be intimidating and yet somewhere along the line, her words had pierced Joey, made him freeze. His blood turned to ice, and perhaps it was the fact that he was well and truly over the threshold of insanity, or the crushing guilt about his family, more powerful than he'd realised, but Joey couldn't keep his emotions in check anymore. The drawbridge was on the verge of crashing him down, Martina's reminder a battering ram against the gates of his mind.

'How can I face me family now?' The words were out of his gob before he could stop them.

He'd dropped the anger now, given her a glimpse of the hurt and fear inside of him, and maybe that was the wrong thing, only Martina stopped wriggling, rested her chin on her elbow against his shoulder, a sign she was listening.

'How d'you mean?'

'I can't go back there, I…' he could barely string a sentence together, but now he'd started to let something out, he couldn't simply shut his gob either. He struggled through the most basic coherent sentiment he could muster. 'I've done too much damage. I hurt me family just to get here and it all backfired, and now… now I don't know how to go back there and face up to what I did to them.'

He felt her tense in surprise.

'I just wanted a life of me own, that was all. Some independence from me family and to have summat I always wanted…and when that fell through, a part of me wanted to hold onto that pretence. I didn't know what to do, you see. How to cope with it.'

'That's called feeling guilty, that is.'

'Yeah, I know,' Joey said thoughtfully.

'Well, what d'you know? Devious Joey Boswell has a conscience.'

'There's a lot you don't know about me, sweetheart,' Joey said irritably. 'You can put down facts in that file of yours, tabulate them and punch details into your computer, but it doesn't mean you know somebody, does it?'

'Point,' he felt her shrug. 'Go on.'

'If I go home, what am I going home to?'

'They're your family. They'll forgive yer.'

'Even if they do,' Joey felt a tinge of panic come into his voice, 'things can't go back to the way they were. I wasn't coping, Martina. I just couldn't do it anymore. I love them, but…I can't magically solve everyone's problems all the time. I've got the weight of everyone's burdens on me shoulders all the bloody time, and I want to help, but… I can't. I can't keep doin' it. I'm burnt out on it. I want a normal relationship with them, not one where…'

'Where you're a cross between father and guardian angel with no life of yer own.'

'Exactly!' The relief in his voice was palpable, even to himself. 'I wanna be…a brother and not a father. A son and not a husband.'

'Why don't you just explain that, then?'

'I did, a bit…well.' Joey laughed ruefully. 'I sort of shouted it. I wish I hadn't done that. They were doin' me 'ead in and I just…lost the plot. And I don't think I've found it again since.'

'And I think,' Martina said gently, 'that running away from all that is not gonna resolve anything. You need to go back, love, and talk to 'em properly. Calmly.'

She was being frightfully understanding, given what he had just done to her. Given she was still dangling over his shoulders like a prize carcass.

'You're right. I can't hide here forever. It was a joke to think I could. It doesn't help, does it?'

'D'you think you could put me down, now, Mister Boswell? Only I can't feel me feet anymore, and if I'm gonna use them to inflict pain on yer for doing this to me, I'd like to get some blood back into them first.'

Joey shook his head and lowered her to the ground. Martina wobbled slightly on the ground, shaking one foot and then the other.

'Don't you ever,' she said, her voice stern now she was back on her feet, now she wasn't in such a vulnerable position, 'put me over your shoulder again. I handle your file at the DSS, not forgetting.'

'Don't push me, sweetheart,' Joey stared her down. 'I'm just in the mood.' He wasn't really anymore, though; his admission to Martina that he wasn't coping had forced him to admit it properly to himself, and he felt the weight of it all again now, the sadness rather than anger. He couldn't be bothered to keep fighting her. Painful as it was to accept the fact, she was right. And he couldn't keep trying to deny it anymore.

He sighed in resignation and turned towards the hotel.

'All right, then. Let me just get the rest of me things, and we'll go.' Joey paused, turned back to her. 'But if I see so much as one smug smile, Martina, you won't be comin' with. I'll drive you to the middle of the woods and leave you there.'


Well, they're finally heading home, but this is only the beginning. And hopefully I'll get a bit better about updating soon.