I've been delayed in posting this chapter, mainly because of being flat out with work and Christmas preparations, but it's finally done. I've got most of the next one written as well, so it should be up sooner. Hope everyone's doing well.


6

The return of Joey Boswell

The drive home was…unpleasant, to say the least. In other circumstances, riding in Joey Boswell's infamous Jaguar would have been a golden opportunity to get a few jabs in – at the fact that Joey's story about where he acquired it was inconsistent (tell me again, was it loaned to you by a dear old lady, or did you borrow it off a mate? she would have said), at the leather seats and the extravagant interior. In other circumstances, having ammunition like this would have been a dream come true – if only for the fact that it meant she could temporarily discomfit him, watch him struggle to come up with a new lie on the spot, make a quick jibe about being out to get him.

But as with most things in her life, Martina's expectations did not, even slightly, match up with reality.

Joey may have relented, but his foul mood still hovered in the car between them, creating a tension so thick Martina felt she daren't even try to cut through it by speaking to him.

Oh, Lord, what's come over me? I spend half me life trying to frighten ratbags into compliance – and here I am, actin' the coward around Joey Boswell of all people.

More than once she resolved to put that cowardice aside, say something – but Joey's driving matched his mood; he tailgated any car that got in his way, stopped so abruptly at traffic lights Martina felt the car seat slam against her back, and the DSS lady thought it best not to distract him, lest he lose control of the Jag completely and go off the road.

Still, something to soften the uncomfortable silence wouldn't go astray. She reached for the radio.

'No.'

Joey's voice made her jump in her seat.

'I just thought – '

'No,' Joey growled again. 'It does my head in. And you have done enough of that today without inflicting a racket on me as well.'

Martina huffed and turned to face the window. It was still taking a lot of effort not to give him the sharp edge of her tongue for his attitude – and yet every time she made up her mind to, the memory of his hurt earlier today stopped her in her tracks.

He'd dropped the façade for just a moment, let his guard down for her – he wasn't angry, he was in agony, not only from being left at the altar, but from a row with his family he himself had caused in a bid to reach the altar in the first place. And for a moment, that rebellious urge to hold and comfort him returned, and she hastened to squash it down inside her again.

She was doing this for the sake of her job, she told herself. She didn't care what happened to him. She wasn't in love with him. Not anymore.

That had been a long time ago, an attraction that had been so inappropriate, so naïve of her in spite of her usual ability not to fall for anyone's faux attempts at charm. A daft assumption, years ago, when Joey Boswell had been new to the DHSS and his stories were not yet the stuff of legend, that his teasing was meant to be genuine flirtation, that he had actually been interested. An even dafter assumption that if she teased him back, showed a sort of hard-to-get receptiveness to his attentions, he would eventually get around to making some sort of move.

He hadn't, though. Her initial interest had at first inflated, magnified by Joey's apparent hesitation, then swollen into the painful blister of unrequited love, her anticipation slowly bleeding away as years went by with nothing changing, morphing into bitterness as it slowly dawned on her, one day, that he never intended to do anything. That his jesting tone and those winning smiles and winks, those little kisses he blew her and lingering touches on her hand were nothing more than part of a larger picture – the picture of a bastard who thought he could get what he wanted if he turned on the charm. And as the embarrassing revelation came upon her, piece by piece, that she had somehow managed to find herself in love with a deceitful rogue who didn't give tuppence about her, it had laced her attraction with a vengeful fury. Her words had become sharper when she spoke to him, her tone harder, her I'm out to get you flavoured comments had stopped being teases and started being genuine. And still the bastard had only seemed encouraged by her steely countenance, had flirted with her more ferociously until she had been tipped over the edge into pure hatred.

And by the time Shifty had come along, she had more or less given up on Joey, other than a leftover determination to ruin him somehow, citing his benefit fraud as an excuse to cover up her scorn. Shifty had been diabolical, smarmy, a blatant thief and a conman without Joey's suavity to disguise it – but he had at least made it clear he wanted her. And after all those wasted years longing for someone she couldn't have, being wanted had appealed enormously.

It hadn't occurred to her those feelings for Joey had still existed – until Shifty had let her down, lied to her about Grandad. And Joey had shown her a kindness and sympathy that still astonished her even now.

Have you ever been in love, Mister Boswell? The words had been out of her mouth before she could help herself, such was her despair at Shifty's rejection. And it was only once they were out in the atmosphere that it had dawned on Martina they weren't about Shifty.

Not really.

She'd never been able to truly suppress those feelings again, in spite of going back to Shifty twice more afterwards, in spite of pushing them back down at every opportunity – in spite of telling herself, as she was now, that she was unequivocally not in love with Joey Boswell. They were there, woven into the very fibres of herself, occasionally wreaking havoc on her and making a fool of her. Exhibit A, her ridiculous misadventures in Scotland, trying to bring him back to Liverpool. God, she had to get over this somehow. It was driving her mad.

She was so deep down this rabbit hole of her own muddled thoughts, so absorbed, that it took her a moment to realise the Jaguar had stopped.

Martina blinked. That was quicker than she'd thought it would be. The familiar steps to her workplace towered from the other side of the road.

'And this is the point where my patience with you runs out,' Joey said, gesturing to the door of the car.

'I don't live at the DSS, you know.'

Joey shrugged. 'You know your way home from here, don't you?'

Martina bristled. 'It'll take me half an hour to walk home from here. It's five minutes to drive.'

'And?'

'You're not serious, Mister Boswell?' Even as she said it, the sinking feeling in Martina's stomach told her otherwise. He was serious. He had every intention of leaving her here.

'Out you get, then,' Joey commanded, pointing forcefully at the door. Still fuming, but realising this was as good as she was getting, that she had taken great liberties with Joey Boswell this weekend, and supposing that his emotional state was to some extent an excuse for his behaviour, Martina relented and got out of the Jag.


Oi, you! Was the first thing Joey came home to, along with a walking stick being waved in his nose.

'Oi, you!' Grandad repeated. 'What d'you think you're playin' at, poncin' off to God knows where?!'

Joey opened his mouth to respond, but any words he could have thought of died before they formed in his brain, let alone reached his tongue.

'I could've been dead you know!'

'Don't say that, Grandad,' Joey muttered.

'I could, you know! Dreamt it, I did! Ooh, you none o' you care! Gaddin' about goin' off to different countries, while I'm left to starve – one chicken leg, I got today! One paltry leg! I can't live on that – I'll be gone one day, you know; I'll be—'

Joey did his utmost to tune the old man out. The last thing he wanted, upon his anxiety-ridden return, was to come home to a barrage of guilt when he was already consumed by it. He was dreading stepping through the threshold of Number Thirty, his heart hammering in his chest, legs shaking as he took another step towards it. This wasn't going to go well, he could tell. Bloody Martina, harassing him back here – he was beginning to wish he had thrown her on the train instead; he already missed the sanctuary of his hotel room.

His heart sank further as the front door all but flew off its hinges, Billy and Connie rolling out of Number Thirty half entangled with each other, cackling to themselves and so engrossed in snogging each other's faces off that they managed to go straight past him without even noticing.

Oh, well. The front door was still wide open. Might as well get it over with.

They were in the kitchen, as he knew they would be, sitting around the table, a half-baked argument wafting towards him as he walked towards the kitchen doorway.

'Greetings.'

It came shakily out of his gob, but it was enough to plunge the room into silence and send every head in the room snapping in his direction. Joey noticed, to his surprise, that Oswald was still among them, sitting in his place by Nellie, but he hadn't time to analyse that now. Nor did he really have time to register that his Dad was back, sitting glibly beside Oswald as if he hadn't been gone for the better part of a year, nor that Adrian, rather pale, now sported an ostentatious (if slightly effeminate) ruby-encrusted wedding ring.

Joey was in hot water and he knew it, and the only thing that actually stuck in his brain was a basic fight or flight response – a strong desire to sprint back out that door, leap into his Jag and speed off in the direction of Gretna Green again.

Nellie's face looked thunderstruck, a shock frozen on it that signalled a ferocious shouting match was on the horizon. The others were gaping, gobs hanging so wide he could have lobbed a tennis ball into them.

'Joey.' His Mam's voice was terse, the anger only barely suppressed.

'Mam.' He cast a desperate glance at the others, but they were shifting in their seats, clearly eager to leave before the inevitable eruption, none of them wanting to be the first one to actually do it.

'I'll, er…I'll be off then. Irenee'll be halfway through making dinner by now,' Adrian finally shattered the tension, getting to his feet and doing rather a good job of controlling his quaking. He hesitated, then thrust his hand in Joey's face to shake. 'Welcome home.'

'Cheers, son,' Joey shook it half-heartedly, trying not to look too much at Adrian's ring, nor dwell too much on the idea of Adrian going home to his wife, while he—

'Yes, I'd…best be making tracks. It's about time for my dinner Russian roulette. Will it be stuck to the bottom of the pan, or to the ceiling, I ask myself?' And Oswald was gone as well, leaving Joey standing awkwardly in the kitchen in front of his parents.

The eldest Boswell swallowed, anticipating his Mam's explosion before it hit him.

'Where have you been?!'

'I – '

'Two weeks, Joey, two weeks without so much as a word from you, two weeks of hanging up on us, abandoning your family, leaving us to fear for your very life!'

'You needn't go that far, Mam; it wasn't—'

'Now look,' Freddie's attempt to be parental was no more convincing just because he raised a finger at Joey, although it did succeed in angering his son further, 'you can't go worrying your mother like that!'

Joey ground his teeth so loudly he heard Nellie wince. The weak hold on himself snapped; there was no way he was going to get his piece said without raising his voice, much as he'd hoped not to.

'And where did you go off to, then, for a whole year?! Carrying on as if you have no people, no family, no responsibilities, no shop…'

Nellie looked as if she was about to speak again. Joey pushed on before she had the chance.

'And what about t'others? Billy carryin' on with Connie as if the world needs to be privy to their hormones?! Adrian flyin' off in his sports car when he had a row with Irenee?! Aveline flouncing in and out whenever she doesn't particularly fancy bein' a wife and mother anymore?! They've all been at it! So pardon me if I thought I had just as much right as any other member of this fam-i-ly to have a momentary lapse in me own sanity and go to pieces meself!'

Joey desperately tried to steady his breathing. He didn't want a repeat of two weeks ago, thundering at them, harming his family yet again – that wasn't what this was about. He was here to clear the air, not do more damage.

'Look,' he pleaded, 'it's not that I don't love the fam-i-ly. And it's not that I don't want to be here... for all of you. I just can't do it all day every day. I'm knackered, Mam. I'm burnt out on it. I'm entitled to a life of me own, that's all. And I want a chance to live it, before I reach the end of it finding all me days have been spent runnin' about clearing up all their messes! That's why I went in the first place!'

'And what am I entitled to, Joey?' Nellie's voice was soft, calm, hesitant now rather than going on the offensive, but its undertones betrayed a deep despair. He'd wounded her again, even if that hadn't been his intention.

'Jesus, you're entitled to a life as well, aren't you?! You don't need to shackle yourself to the sink every minute of the day, do yer? If you wanna go off with someone, you—'

He stopped short abruptly. He had been a hair's breadth away from mentioning his Mam's friend in the presence of his Dad – and distraught though he may have been, Joey had no intention of doing anybody else harm. He had no idea if Freddie knew – and as far as he was concerned, he would do best to stay out of it.

'I mean,' he tried again, straining to keep his voice gentle, 'all I wanted was to have a life of me own occasionally. Summat for meself... the others have all got their people, their futures ahead of them, but not me… I mean, God, we all need something, don't we, to keep holdin' onto? Some sort of hope that one day we'll achieve something?! And I need...'

He had to trail off, he was practically breathless even just trying to articulate all this.

Nellie's shoulders heaved.

'What is it you need, love?'

'I need…I need peace, Mam. A chance to have the years I lost. I need to be…' he'd been able to articulate it to Martina without any trouble at all. And yet getting the words out now, the real thing not a practice run, was proving harder than he thought. 'A young man. A brother to that lot and… and a son to you.'

'I don't understand, Joey. You are a brother to that lot and a son to me.'

'Yeah, but that's just it. I'm not, am I? I'm the one who sorts out all the dramas, aren't I? The one who has to step up and play father while me own Dad runs off and acts like he's one of the lads.'

'Eh! I'm a free spirit!' Freddie piped up. 'I can't be dealing with the regimented life! I dream of the wind and the rain and open skies!'

'You shut your gob, Freddie Boswell!' Nellie snapped. 'You dream of a chest and an open blouse!'

Joey gritted his teeth.

'I'm –' he began.

'If you hadn't wandered off nine years ago chasing that chest of doom,' Nellie's voice had gone up three levels of shrillness, 'then perhaps our son would not be sitting here in the jaws of despair—'

'Mam!' This had gone on too far; Joey had to intervene, even if his interjection was a tad harsher than he'd intended.

'You see!' Freddie was thundering his four penneth before Joey had a chance to get any further. 'Joey's not in the jaws of despair – he's been driven to insanity by the fact that YOU WON'T LEAVE OFF, WILL YER!'

'Now look!' he was already doing what he had hoped to prevent; stepping into the father role again, his parents another pair of squabbling children in his care. He could feel the familiar throbbing headache coming on already, the walls and the sickening sense of being trapped closing in around his temples. Joey realised, to his horror, that tears were pricking around his eyes; he blinked ferociously, trying with all his might to keep them out of his parents' sight.

'Look,' he repeated, openly pleading now, 'I can't keep shoulderin' all this. I'm always the peacemaker, the breadwinner, the one to get them all out of strife, the one to do everyone's dirty work at the DSS when they can't be arsed to go themselves…'

'And what about when you got into strife youself… twenty thousand pounds, Joey! Twenty thousand!'

The last thing Joey needed right now was a repeat of Nellie's scream in church.

'And why was I in that situation in the first place?!' he pushed on. 'Because Dad had left us all in the lurch, t'others were out there buyin' rubbish and bringin' home vegetables and spending their giros like water…someone had to do something or we'd all have been out on the street! I did what I had to, Mam. And the only way we were gonna get by was if I put aside me own scruples and got what I could, how I could. But now…'

Joey sucked in air; this was going to be the trickiest hurdle to get over in this conversation.

'I want to step down from that. Adrian's married now; Jack's with Leonora, Aveline could be happy enough with Oswald if she could give what they've got half a chance and stop fillin' her head with daft ideas about bein' a model at her age. We're above water now, we're doin' all right, the time for having to cling together to survive is long past.'

'But you said, Joey, you said – time and time again – unity is our strength, it's what keeps us afloat!'

'But I can't be the only one responsible for that unity! I can't carry everyone on me shoulders—not now, now when they could shoulder some of it themselves, they just choose not to. I'm worn out, Mam. And sometimes I just…I've got to be able to look after meself before I start spreading meself thin taking care of everyone else.'

'And that's what you want, is it, Joey?'

Nellie looked pained; he could see it, but there was a glimmer of realisation in her eyes that Joey clung to, a solitary strand of hope in the tangled mess of this conversation. A hope that, perhaps, she understood what he meant.

'Well,' Freddie slapped his moth-eaten cap onto his head, his ruddy face far too cheery for the situation, 'all sorted then!'

'It is not all sorted!' Nellie's tongue could flick quickly back to sharp where her husband was concerned. 'Oh, isn't that just like you, Freddie Boswell – a problem comes your way and you take the first exit off the freeway…perhaps Joey's right, if you hadn't…'

But Freddie had already made his escape, and her own words seemed to stop Nellie in her tracks.

'Perhaps…' she repeated weakly, sinking down into her chair again, 'Joey…was…'

Joey's arm acted on instinct for him, finding his Mam's shoulder.

'Mam…' he tried again feebly.

'I should say you deserve what you get for entangling yourself with an adulterous tart!' Nellie couldn't help it; the word 'tart' had to be belted out several decibels louder than the rest of the conversation, echoing through the house and likely through the street as well, before she settled down again. 'But I won't, love. When you see your children in pain, it's like a knife in your heart. You'll understand when…' she trailed off, visibly realising it wasn't the most tactful thing to say to him.

It was too late though; it he felt it prick and sting his chest, the idea that that might never happen. That all his dreams of one day having a little lad of his own to hoist in the air and shower with love had floated off, untethered by Roxy as she swept out of their wedding ceremony, taking the last pieces of his heart with him.

And Joey couldn't push back the hurt any longer. That last thought dropped into the pond of his mind like a dirty great rock, sloshing a great wave of emotion over the sides. Joey buried his face in his hands, letting the tears fall that he'd held at bay for nigh on a fortnight. And feeling Nellie's arms around him, the familiarity and sense of security he hadn't even realised he'd missed, only served to open the floodgate further.

'She left me, Mam. I just can't make me mind accept it…we were gonna…we were this close to….' He couldn't choke the right words out, but no matter. He knew she understood. And it was wonderful just to be able to air his grievances, receive maternal comfort for once, rather than trying to dish it out himself. He let himself sob into Nellie's shoulder, releasing all the anguish in a way he hadn't been able to since this whole mess began.

'I know, love. I know.'

'I didn't wanna lose me temper, Mam, I just thought… I just wanted a future for meself like the others had…oh, Jesus, I didn't want to drive you away…'

'You haven't, love! You're with your family. You're safe now. And we may have to learn to get by without you, but…we still want you love. We still want you.'

The words were such a comfort, so desperately welcome, that Joey's tears intensified, born of gratitude mingled with his despair.

'And if a bit more time to yourself's what you need, love , if you need us to let you work out what you can handle– we'll try. We'll try.'

'That's all I ask, Mam,' Joey choked out, gripping her tighter to him. 'That's all I ask.'


It was strange to be in his own bed, in what had once been Aveline's room but was now his. The streetlamp bled in through the window, something he hadn't had to deal with when he shared with his brothers – and yet in spite of this small annoyance, and in spite of the fact that his hotel bed in Scotland had been significantly larger and exponentially plusher, Joey felt more comfortable here than he had his entire sojourn there. There was something to be said for being where you belonged. Home is where the heart is and all that. And if Joey still had any heart, if it hadn't been completely shredded to ribbons by Roxy, whatever was left still took comfort in being here.

It would almost be peaceful, were it not for Billy and Connie cackling in the next room.

Much as it was great to see Billy happy again, after the fiasco that had been his marriage to Julie, Joey couldn't stand Connie. Not that he hadn't tried, but he just couldn't help it. She simply wasn't likeable.

Clearly to Billy she was, though, judging by the raucous giggling going on next door.

Aw, hey. Do they have to do that here? Mam'll go spare.

Joey dragged himself out of bed to go and tell them off, then paused.

Nellie had just given him carte blanche to decide what he could handle. She'd undone the handcuffs of his responsibility, let nine years of carrying the family on his shoulders fall away. And Joey wasn't quite sure how long this new lightness, this new unburdening, this new sense of being part of the family without having to try and hold the cracks together would last. But they were offering it to him all the same – and he was going to make the most of it.

He got back into bed, leaving Billy and Connie to it, and considered the current state of his life.

It wasn't much better. There was still a big gouging, gaping wound in his heart, a ringing in his ears sounding like Roxy's voice. Forget it, Joey. I'm going home.

There wasn't much hope for him, future-wise. He wasn't sure his family would be able to keep the pact they'd just thrashed out.

But the tiniest sliver of hope was shining through that – that perhaps, one day, he could claw his way back up, pull together all the broken pieces of himself from off the floor and remould them into something workable. And, washing over him, allowing his eyelids to droop a little, giving him the faintest sense of calm, was the relief that he'd made it back at all. That, in spite of him unleashing a torrent of fury at the family before storming out, in spite of disappearing for a fortnight and biting the head off of anyone who attempted to reconcile with him, he'd been pardoned.

Martina's words flickered back to him.

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

She'd been right, bloody interfering cow. This was all her doing – and yet now, in spite of a few lingering wisps of annoyance at her, he was glad she'd done it. It was because of her he was back home, safe and sound, reality not as daunting as he'd built it up in his mind to be.

And he realised, cringing down into his bedclothes, that he'd been…well, quite appalling to her in return.

The first thing he would do with his new life, he decided, would be to make it up to her. And it was the thought of this, above all things, that unwound his mind enough to let it drift towards sleep.


Well, now the source of Joey's nervous breakdown has been addressed, he can start to think a bit more about what happened in Scotland...some more Joetina hints coming soon, I promise.