I know it's been a really long time between updates; I kept turning my attention to the next chapter instead of this one because it's intense, but I've finally got round to doing the one I was up to. Enjoy. Usual disclaimers apply.
13
The Annus Horribilis of Joey Boswell
'For you.' The box of chocolates was one part pathetic attempt to make up for a lack of Christmas present, one part grovel, and judging by Martina's half-amused expression, Joey wasn't sure how well he was pulling it off. Despondent and alone for most of the post-Christmas period, which had seen Billy off with Connie, Jack and Adrian off with their respective partners, Aveline stuck on bedrest and his Mam sneaking out not-so-subtly with her 'friend', Joey had found himself round Martina's every day. Her initial reaction, apparently pleased to see him judging by the smile she'd struggled to hide, had slowly devolved into her archetypical raised eyebrow, her greetings becoming more snide each day (if you're going to take up me entire Christmas, she'd teased yesterday, you could at least bring me something for me troubles, hence the chocolates today), and Joey was acutely aware he was walking the fine line between being a wanted guest and outstaying his welcome.
'Why'd you even bother goin' ome?' Martina glanced at her watch and then up at him. 'I may as well put me lease in your name, seein' as how you've decided you live here.'
Joey wrung his hands awkwardly. 'Er – if you're busy, I'll just –'
'I didn't say that, Mister Boswell,' Martina's voice was stern, her hand raised in warning. And then she melted, a little of her natural loveliness peering out from beneath her usual layers of frost as she smiled. 'Come in.'
Joey grinned back, and Martina held out her hand.
'And you can give me those while you're at it. If I'm gonna endure another day of Boswell treachery during me time off, I'll need something to keep me going.'
He chuckled as he complied, handing them over and following her into her flat. For such a dismal little place, Martina had certainly done a good job in making it nice – her fire was on, staving off the chill, the pink walls and various trappings giving a cosy, homely feel that brightened Joey's mood. He'd had a particularly horrible Roxy-flavoured dream last night and had woken at two, unable to go back to sleep. And after that excruciating night-time incident, a morning listening to everyone's loved-up conversations a few stray sympathetic comments thrown his way, a bit of brightening-up was just what the doctor ordered.
Except that the object of his attention wasn't doing much more to keep him occupied than his family had. Martina had ignored him more or less the second she'd stepped through the threshold, completely absorbed by the array of colourful little pieces scattered across her table.
'Are you still doin' that jigsaw?'
Martina's parents gave her one every year, apparently. Joey, thought he liked a good game of wits and a handful of clever card games, had never been one for puzzles of any sort – and watching her poring over a boxful of tiny little pieces day after day had at first astounded him (her patience in this area vastly outstripped her patience down the DSS), then had gradually started doing his head in.
'Are you gonna just stand there gawking, or are you gonna help me?'
'Neither of the above. We're goin' for a bevvy. Come on.'
He copped one of her best glares for that. 'That wasn't multiple choice. Come 'ere and give me an 'and.'
'I don't do jigsaws; I told yer.'
The chair next to Martina's scraped out so forcefully from the table Joey had to leap back.
Martina jabbed a finger in the direction of the seat.
'You do now.'
Joey tried to engage for about five minutes, rummaging around in the box and trying to jam odd pieces together, but it was no use. A patient man he could be, and he'd withstood no small amount of mind-numbing, patience-trying irritation over the years from various memories of his family – but when faced with an activity this indescribably dull, there was only so much he could take.
He glanced across at Martina, swiftly and systematically laying pieces out, making triumphantly efficient clicks and somehow having managed to put together a huge chunk of the jigsaw while he was fussing with the same pair of pieces.
'Oh, give over sweetheart,' Joey found himself half-rising to his feet, unsure whether he was simply going to do a Billy or physically pick her up out of her chair and drag her out. 'We've got our whole lives ahead of us!'
'Is that statement supposed to alter the course of humanity in some way?'
'It's supposed to alter the course of our day, anyway. Or is enjoying yourself a foreign concept?'
'Who said I wasn't enjoying meself? Believe it or not, love, it is possible to find enjoyment in activities which don't involve displacing yerself.'
'You little hermit, you. I can show you some great places – you can do that any time!'
'I know what you can do, Mister Boswell.'
Joey's head jerked up. 'Name it.'
'You can sit quietly,' Martina pulled at his arm, forcing him back down into the chair, 'and let me have…oh, say, another half an hour of peace? And then I'm all yours. I do realise Boswells and following instructions don't go together, but we're going to make a start on fixing that today – all right?'
'Oh, all right,' Joey reached out and flicked a strand of hair off her face. 'I'll give you what your little heart desires for half an hour.'
'If you'd be so kind.' Her attention was already three quarters back on her puzzle, her hands practically flying between the pieces and the box, and the eldest Boswell sat back in his chair, trying to exercise a bit of self-control. He was normally quite good at sitting patiently, usually while a family row raged about him, waiting for the opportune moment to leap in and sort it out, or sitting patiently while Grandad prattled on about his past and bestowed dubious life lessons. Sitting patiently watching the human equivalent of paint drying was a new experience.
Joey's eyes travelled ceiling-wards. There was a bit of mildew up there, which distracted him temporarily, but not long enough to do as she'd instructed. There was only so long he could sit around fidgeting – and so his fidgeting became more pronounced, more deliberately disruptive. He twiddled his thumbs, crossed and uncrossed his legs, leaned so far back in his chair it nearly toppled, gauging Martina's reaction every time he turned the dial up. He seemed to be getting under her skin, if the tensed shoulders, pursed lips and twitching jaw were anything to go by. Just to ice the disruptive cake, burst her last attempts at self control, he whistled.
Martina's head slowly inclined, her eyes swivelling upwards to meet his.
'This isn't gonna happen, is it? I'm not going to get a peaceful day in doing me jigsaw, am I?'
Joey offered her his most winningly naughty smile by way of a reply.
Her sigh could have won a medal, if sighing in resignation had been an Olympic event.
'Go on. Lemme just put something warmer on and we'll go.'
'Need any assistance?' He couldn't resist, if only to see the look on her face.
'Don't push your luck, Mister Boswell.' Her bedroom door slammed behind him, and Joey was left to inspect the ornaments on her mantelpiece while he waited for her to change.
'Hurry up, won't yer, sweetheart? For someone who has to clock on and clock off every day, punctuality's not your strong suit, is it?'
'Keep yer wig on! I'm ready!' Martina snapped, appearing at the door with an enormous scowl and the most hideous woolly jumper Joey had ever seen. Lack of style aside, hand-knitted snowman jumpers, Joey resolved, should not be permitted on anyone over the age of three, and certainly not on beautiful-yet-frosty thirty-something ladies to whom he might have a guilty little attraction to.
'Wearin' that?!?' He flicked at it.
'It's warm enough.'
'It's hideous,' Joey countered.
Martina glared. 'It's for Christmas.'
'Which was two days ago.'
'I hate to break it to you, Mister Boswell, but the after-effects tend to linger on til the New Year.'
'In which case,' Joey said, 'the celebrations linger as well. Don't they?'
'If you insist,' Martina grumbled, and Joey sensed this was not the right time to inform her that he'd already accepted an invitation to a New Year's Eve Party for both of them. Martina really was, he was discovering, a little hermit crab, who had to be forcibly prised from her shell just about every time a social occasion beckoned. She'd enjoy herself when they were out, but as soon as she'd crawled back into her sanctuary she reverted to her previous state.
He'd made a few comments about it, but given Martina had the perfect retaliatory ammunition in his reclusive sojourn in Scotland, he tended to avoid taking these digs too far.
'Come on, then,' he offered his arm to her, waiting only a split second for her response before dragging hers through it anyway. She gave another heavy sigh, but she went with him, and that, Joey supposed, was victory enough.
The air was bracing, almost refreshing on Joey's face, although clearly colder than Martina had anticipated. She was shivering, huddled against him, her previously reluctant grip on his arm now vicelike.
'Told yer, didn't I?'
'I stand by my clothing choice,' Martina said stubbornly, and Joey couldn't help shaking his head.
'Tsk. Remind me to buy you a nice suede jacket sometime.'
'I can buy me own clothes, thank you, Mister Boswell.'
'Questionable, that. Given we see the results before us…' he flicked at her jumper.
'Is this your newest method of torturin' me? Picking to pieces everything I wear?'
'Oh, don't give me that. You love it.'
'In what reality?'
Joey stopped so suddenly he saw her jump, whirling around and grabbing her round the waist before she knew what was happening.
'Just for that…'
Martina shrieked as he lifted her.
'Don't you dare – I mean it, Joey Boswell, if you try that on again…'
'You'll what?'
'I'll…' she couldn't quite be stern, not when he had her half upside-down – it reminded him a little bit of Scotland, sending a pang of guilt flickering through him.
'I'll…I'll never speak to you again.' She was laughing though, and he let his own laugh escape his throat, mingling with hers and echoing across the street.
Joey felt an odd sense of déjà vu – it hadn't been that long ago he'd had Martina across his shoulders, shrieking – though it had been an entirely different situation altogether. They'd both been at the end of their ropes – Joey due to despair, Martina out of a mixture of fury and frustration – and he looked back at that day as one of the lowest in his life, his behaviour a big part of that. Now, however, it was as if he were turning the tables on that situation, rewriting that memory with a happier iteration of it. Martina's laughter was contagious, cutting through the crust of his down mood, letting some warmth in. The only thing that could make this moment better was if he could have seen her face – Martina's natural smile was a rare but beautiful gem.
Joey spun her around, carried away with it, and then flinched as his eyes alighted on movement across the road.
A few figures slouched against a nearby wall, waiting less-than-patiently in the queue for the cash point machine.
Joey blinked. He could have sworn he'd seen his Jack out the corner of his eye – and yet, as he scanned the group, he couldn't see anyone he recognised.
A thump on his shoulder jerked his attention back to Martina.
'What's wrong?'
Joey shook his head, lowering her to the ground.
'Nothing, sweetheart. Nothing.'
'I don't know why I bother.' Nellie slammed the pan of scouse onto the table so violently the salt and pepper shakers shuddered. 'Freddie Boswell – oh, I'll make it up to you, I won't go anywhere again – can't even turn up for lunch with his own family! I shouldn't have thought – I should never have thought – put that spoon down!'
This last comment was directed at Billy, who, using her tirade as cover, had begun ladling stew into his bowl.
Joey and Jack exchanged glances. The latter had popped round on the cadge, Leonora being away at some work do, and blessedly, for the first time in ages, Oswald wasn't around – it would have been a peaceful family lunch, had his dad's latest letdown not driven Nellie into another bout of hysterics.
'Did you see him, Joey? Was he at the shop when you –' Nellie paused mid-question, uncertainty on her face when addressing him, the unspoken don't disturb Joey, he's fragile hanging in the air.
'Er – no…no,' Joey fought back the ambivalent mix of irritation and relief. 'Haven't seen him all morning.'
'I knew it. Gallivanting about with that tart in that shed of his – why did I think, why did I think he would keep his word? When has Freddie Boswell's word ever meant anything?! The day after our wedding I woke up alone to find he'd scarpered to the pub with his friends from the docks – you can guarantee if he has somewhere to be, he'll make sure he's somewhere else!'
Joey tried to tune his Mam out. Comments about Lilo Lil weren't something he particularly wanted to her – too many mentions of her and his mind wandered back to that horrific afternoon in his Dad's shop, Lilo Lil's terrifying talons coming his way, her foghorn voice smugly bellowing I heard you were going t'rough a bit of heartbreak… and of course, remembering Lilo Lil's judgement on his heartbreak had reminded him of Roxy, and his stomach began to turn.
Joey shuddered, trying to concentrate on the wallpaper, the shape of the pot, nested in the middle of the table, anything that could distract him. Mercifully, the need to deliver Grandad's tray reared its head, and once Billy had been all but shoved out the door to go and do it, the phone had rung and Nellie had been consumed by a cloud of thank yous, Joey had been able to push his thoughts away, turning to his brother in the hope a bit of idle chit chat might help.
'Sooo…' Joey turned his spoon around in his fingers, glancing at his reflection in it. His hair needed a bit of a cut – he hadn't taken much care of himself since the elopement debacle. He'd probably better get round to that. 'Booked the nursing home for Leonora yet?'
The words fell out of his gob in spite of his attempts to suppress them. Joey kicked himself – he knew old habits died hard, but wondering and worrying about his family wasn't going down without a fight. And given he was desperately trying to alight on suitable conversation topics, it was only natural he'd let his instincts take him in that direction.
'Sorry,' he muttered. Jack, however, didn't appear too irritated. The corners of his mouth were upturned.
'I'd worry about yer own love life, if I were you.'
'Lack of, you mean,' Joey said glumly.
'Oh, yeah? Who was that with his 'ands all over the DSS lady yesterday?'
Joey raised his head slowly. His brother was wearing a lecherous grin he knew all too well.
'She's just a mate.'
'I'm not that daft, Joey. I may not be clever, but I'm not thick either. I know what I saw.' Jack leaned in conspiratorially. 'And what I saw was the prelude to bonkin'.'
'She's just a mate,' Joey insisted. 'Is it impossible to believe I might be hangin' around her just because she's me friend?'
Jack snorted. 'Look at her! She's the poster girl for your type!'
Joey's brow furrowed. 'What d'you mean my type? I 'aven't got a type!'
'Petite. Brunette. Blue eyes,' Jack held up another finger as he listed each attribute, 'and nasty. She ticks every box on Joey's Lust List.'
Joey's eyebrows shot up. Thinking back, Jack had a point. None of them looked or acted the same, not by a long shot, but there were similarities. Alice Waring, Lisa Clarkson, Roxy, of course… Martina did fit the mould, physically, of what he liked in a woman, and he couldn't deny he was attracted to her, flickers of their time in Scotland coming back to him – but that last one…
'She's not nasty!'
Jack just gave him a smirk.
'And that aside, she's not…I'm not…we're not…'
Jack's smirk evolved into a grin, his eyes twinkling with the same mischief they used to get when he'd sneak a glance at mags their Mam wouldn't approve of, when he'd applied for a job for the lady up at the big house, when he'd spotted a girl in a short skirt across the road.
'Stop geggin' in,' Joey said grumpily, turning away from his brother. It made sense, what Jack was saying, of course. He was aware, of course, that most blokes didn't go about with women like this without some sort of sex or romance involved, or at least the desire for the friendship to culminate in one of the above. He was aware what it must have looked like. And he was acutely aware that he was getting riled up because a little part of him – a small, confused little slice of his brain – was nodding along with his brother.
Joey blinked, taken aback by his own thoughts. Perhaps there was a tiny, mustard-sized seed of truth to Jack's words – perhaps it was too soon to consider the prelude to bonking part; given Joey's treatment of her in Scotland still had him on a cautious, making-amends footing, but he couldn't deny there was a small hint of desire there. A glimmer of Martina in his hotel room came back to him, that moment when, watching her asleep beside him, he'd been overcome with temptation, followed closely by flicker of Martina in that revealing dress, sitting across from him in the pub…
He shook his head again – the last thing he was going to do was push that any further. Martina certainly wouldn't welcome it, he was sure. He was skating on thin ice as it was; half the time he couldn't tell whether she was teasing him with her annoyance or whether he was one wrong move away from being out on his ear.
Besides, it wasn't as if he were in a position to offer her anything. He couldn't do casual – just couldn't – but a proper relationship was beyond his grasp just now. Joey's mind was a mess, something he was well aware of, the lingering after-effects of Roxy and his abandonment at the altar still clouding his mind, marring even the hope of starting something new. That emotional baggage was too raw, too recent for him to be plunging headlong into any potential catastrophes. Until he sorted himself out, or some sort of appropriate mourning period had elapsed, giving him sufficient time to get over it (and God knew how long that would take, given he had to work through nearly ten years of agonising passion), he had no chance of making a success of anything.
And the last thing he wanted was to mess Martina around, give her false hope that he could be what she needed and then inevitably wind up breaking her heart. By her own admission, she'd sifted through enough bastards, been disappointed enough times, been promised the world and then let down enough times – she deserved better than to go through all that again. She'd given an impassioned account of her slowly dwindling hopes of a proper future, of meeting the right one – and Joey did not, could not, fit into that picture, much as the idea was optimistically tempting. He was too much of a mess.
Oh, God – now Jack had put that idea into his head, though, or rather, shone the spotlight on an idea that had always lurked in the back of his head, waiting for its moment, it was difficult to chase it away. He was supposed to be spending New Year's Eve with her – a night that was going to be difficult for him as it was – adding these thoughts to the tumultuous mass in his mind was that last thing he needed.
'This is the last time I let you trick me into spending the evening with you, Mister Boswell.'
Martina made a face of distaste at the party raging around them. Joey had known this wasn't going to be her cup of tea, but he'd persisted anyway, pushing his earlier conversation with Jack aside. More than anything, he wanted to get out tonight – he was thrilled to see the back of this year, and it seemed fitting to get shot of it in style. And given Martina had unexpectedly given his year a better end than he could have hoped for, in spite of the despair and woe that had crashed down upon him so close to its conclusion, there was no-one he'd rather have with him right now.
'Well, we know what your resolution is, then, don't we?' he nudged her with his elbow, hustling her past the throng and towards the drinks. 'Prise open that shell of yours and venture out now and then.'
'Don't think this is becoming a reoccurrence. My stores of pity don't replenish that quickly, you know.'
'Who said anything about you pityin' me? We were talkin' about you here – New Year, you know. Opportunity to improve yourself.'
'Oh – and does the great Joey Boswell have any improvements to make – or are you about to lecture me on your polished state of perfection?'
'Oh, I didn't say that, did I?'
'Go on – what's your resolution then?'
'We-ell…' Joey had a vague resolution in mind, although he was having trouble articulating it. 'I suppose, in part, it'd be givin' meself space to sort out what I need…'
'And here I was, thinking you'd already resolved to do that.' Martina wrinkled her nose. 'Run out of ideas, have yer? I hate to break it to yer, love, but plagiarising yer own material is a it below your standards, isn't it?'
'And… I suppose I'd better stick me nose out of other people's businesses as well. I'm still having trouble with that. I had the phone in me hand ready to book Leonora into Sandford Park the other day.'
Martina snorted.
'Don't you mock me, Miss Martina,' Joey turned a stern gaze on her. 'You could do with a resolution in that direction yourself – it wasn't that long ago you were stickin' your nose into my business in –'
'Don't start…' Martina warned. 'P'raps your resolution should be not to bring up Scotland every five minutes.'
'Or to mention it as often as possible,' Joey elbowed her, getting a painful jab in the ribs in the retaliation. 'Eh – d'you fancy a –'
Dance was on his mind, sitting on his tongue ready to escape, but as Joey glanced around the word fizzled out and died before it reached his lips. The scene before him was bubbling with life, and yet even a glance at it filled him with misery, draining the colour from his vision. He used to be in his element here, dressed to impress, eager to show off, filled with the hope for the future. That was before he'd had most of his hopes dashed, of course, when Roxy was still a wistful dream in the back of his mind that hadn't been completely shattered yet, when a future with her wasn't off the cards yet. And in spite of his best efforts to make this a pleasant night to remember, the scene had turned before his eyes into a cruel mockery, dredging up every last ounce of pain from within his chest. He wasn't just saying goodbye to a horrendous year, he was watching another year of his life drain away with nothing to show for it except for a lot more suffering and loss.
'Never mind,' he muttered. 'I'll…I'll just be a sec. Wanna get some air.'
He stumbled for the door, unsure whether Martina was following, not really caring.
Outside on the street, he bent forwards, steadying himself on his own knees, watching his breath come out in clouds and shuddering, though the cold had nothing to do with it.
'Joey?' Martina's voice was foggy in his ear. He felt her hand on his shoulder.
'Are you all right, love?'
'Yeah,' Joey sighed, his hand coming up to meet hers. She had far more of a steadying influence than his own pathetic attempts, and her touch gave him the strength to stand up straight again. 'Just…thinkin', that's all.'
He hadn't intended to spoil the atmosphere by saying anything, but now she had seemingly given him licence to go on, he didn't think he could bottle it back in.
'Another year's gone past, that's all, and…it's as if nothing's happened at all. Well,' he laughed ruefully, 'not nothin'. There was our little adventure in Scotland, wasn't there?'
'Joey,' Martina warned, 'If you keep bringing that up, me sympathy won't be guaranteed to overcome my urge to strangle yer.'
Joey tousled her hair, though he wasn't really in good enough spirits to tease her.
'I mean…nothing that meant anything,' he tried again, steering the conversation back onto the rails. 'Another year older…I'll be thirty-five this year, and…well…by that age, you're supposed to've achieved summat, aren't yer? You're supposed to have worked out what you're doin' with yourself.'
'I'm not that far behind yer, Mister Boswell, not forgetting.'
'Yeah, I know, I know,' the slight note of pain, perhaps even offense in her voice didn't go unnoticed, and he hastened to wrap a conciliatory arm around her shoulders. 'I'm not sayin' you've got it any easier than I have, sweetheart.'
Martina snorted. 'You'd better not be.'
'I wouldn't feel so much like I was driftin' if…if I hadn't lost it all at once, Martina. Me family started untethering…Mam was clingin' on and I wanted to as well, but… the tide was pulling away and I thought I'd better swim with it or I'd be left behind. T'others were movin' on and I needed to as well…I'd already lost me sense of purpose, you see. I know my business got me up to me neck in it with the tax man, but it was mine…and God, I loved it sometimes, that feeling that I was providing. That I was doing well. It's what a man's supposed to feel, isn't it? And then to lose Roxy as well, just at the point I thought it was finally gonna work out for us…'
Joey could feel that familiar clenching taking hold in his chest again. No-one had told him, before he met Roxy, that heartbreak was physical as well as mental. It was apt; it was as if you really could feel your heart being distorted in your chest, a crushing, clawing, ripping, twisting sensation he'd become familiar with on and off over the past five years or so. Ever since Scotland, though, since Roxy storming out of their wedding ceremony had become a permanent ghost in his dreams, that feeling had intensified a hundredfold, and it only took the tiniest trigger to bring the agony thundering back into life behind his ribcage.
'You know,' he forced himself to keep talking, in spite of his internal mutilation, 'I never spent a single New Year's Eve with Roxy. Not one. I never got to stand with her and count down and think about what lay ahead for us…no New Year's Eve kiss…there as always summat wrong around this time of year. Either she had the hump because I had to sort something out with the fam-i-ly, or she was with someone else. D'you know, I remember telling Billy…Christmas, when she came down to the Adelphi, it only took a couple of nights before she started to flutter and wiggle at the assistant manager.'
Joey sighed. Coming out to a party didn't help much. Every female body on the crowded dance floor somehow morphed into a ghost of Roxy, of memories now gone to waste.
A warm hand came down on his arm again. Joey jumped in surprise.
'Still in there, Mister Boswell?'
'Yeah,' he sighed, letting his hand come to rest on hers. 'Just don't think this is my scene tonight.'
'Never was mine to start with. I'm only here 'cause you dragged me out.'
'Seems a bit pointless botherin', doesn't it, then?' Joey hadn't intended it to come out so bitter, but he couldn't really help it. He was suffering what he now thought of as Scotlanditis – a few remnants of the deep-cutting misery that had engulfed him bubbling back up to the surface, needing working through before he could get rid of them for good. This particular onslaught was horrific. The only way out of it was a good distraction.
'Come on,' Martina's voice was gentle, her face betraying how acutely aware she was of his inner turmoil. 'Come back to mine. We'll ring it in with the telly instead.'
'Sounds a bit dull, doesn't it?' Joey had to tease – just had to, sometimes there was no escaping that desire to see Martina's cross kitten face come out – but the gratitude ebbing within him was immense. No, he didn't normally enjoy ringing in the New Year on the telly – it wasn't really his way. Under normal circumstances, he liked to go out, celebrate in style, flaunt himself a bit on a dance floor somewhere, if not for Roxy's benefit, for the benefit of the gaggle of girls whose eyes he inevitably caught. But just now, a quiet evening in, far from the dancing crowds and snogging couples, somewhere safe and cosy (albeit a bit too pink) with the only person who seemed to understand sounded unbelievably wonderful. For once, sitting around doing nothing would be ideal. He'd even help her with that bloody jigsaw if he had to.
'You want dull, Mister Boswell? Try a day behind my counter – you'll never take anything for granted again. Ironing your shirts will become the most thrilling part of your day just by comparison.'
'I've said it before and I'll say it again – you don't paint much of a picture of the wage-earnin' world, Miss Martina.' He smirked in spite of himself as he followed her down the street.
Joey's intuition had been spot on – the next four hours in Martina's flat passed far more quickly, far more pleasantly than the excruciating hour they'd spent out. Sitting in front of Martina's grainy telly with a mug of tea, good company and a Digestive biscuit was calming Joey into a far more relaxed state, so much so that he could almost put his memories of Roxy completely to the back of his mind for the time being.
Well, good company up to a point – Martina had been slowly moving into a horizontal position for the past couple of hours, slouching against the arm of the sofa, her foot pushing into his side as she lost control of her faculties and the memory that she was sharing her space.
Joey nudged her.
'Don't have a kip now – you'll miss it!'
' 'm just restin' for a minute, that's all.' Her voice was already foggy.
'Can't even stay awake til midnight…how old are you? Five?'
The fact that she didn't respond at all, not even the slightest hint of grief for the jibe, signified she'd dozed off. Joey sat in resigned silence, holding her foot in his hand to stop it crushing his internal organs, until the impending arrival of midnight was heralded and cheers erupted from the telly.
The eldest Boswell glanced down at Martina. She was peaceful, a glow emanating from her face, a childish calm which signified this was a much-needed snatch of shuteye. The gentlemanly thing to do would be to leave her – and yet seeing out the New Year by himself, albeit with someone asleep next to him, was such a grim prospect Joey let his selfish side win out.
'Martina.'
Joey nudged her foot gently.
'Hrmf.' She flinched, her eye twitching, but otherwise didn't move.
'Martina.' He jiggled her foot this time, to be rewarded with an inadvertent kick as she stirred.
'What are you doing?!' Martina slurred sleepily.
'It's almost time, sweetheart.'
'Mmf. All righ'.' She heaved herself into a sitting position, leaning against Joey's side to prop herself up.
They were counting down on the telly, screeching the numbers in an ecstatic frenzy that matched neither Joey nor Martina's moods. Neither of them joined in. The imminent arrival of 1992 seemed to Joey like nothing more than another reminder of how low he'd sunk, how much he had lost, a catalyst for all the black clouds in his head to gather at the forefront of his brain. Martina, although not outwardly depressed, looked so close to dozing off again Joey wasn't entirely convinced she'd make it to the stroke of midnight.
He nudged her again when the countdown got to two, just in case, and her resultant retaliatory kick and the brief scuffle that ensued meant neither of them were actually paying attention when the new year actually hit.
'Oh. It's already happened.'
Joey wasn't expecting the little laugh that escaped his lips. 'Well, so much for that, eh? New Year, new opportunities for us…and we missed it.'
'Opportunities?' Even her scoff lacked its usual lustre — it was as if she'd hit a wall, her energy draining as soon as the clock struck ten. 'What opportunities?'
'If that's the best witticism you can come up with…' Joey chuckled, giving her a fond ruffle of her hair. 'I'd best be off – let you embrace old age and nod off in peace.'
'Don't wanna toast the new year?' his impending departure seemed to have woken her up, although her eyes were still heavy-lidded. 'I've got half a bottle of red kicking around somewhere. Strips the palate but it'll do in an emergency.'
'Nah, I'm driving, aren't I?' He let out a tremendous yawn, losing his upper hand against Martina's inability to stay awake.
'Stay if you like,' Martina gestured to the sofa, 'if you can't be bothered drivin' home.'
Joey paused. The idea tempted him a little. Sleeping late, not having to bother dealing with whatever woes Billy brought in (or worse, whatever raucous shenanigans he and Connie got up to at the table), not having to wake up in his childhood bed in a room that wasn't really his and remember how he hadn't progressed in life would be nice. It would be a welcome respite. And his Mam wouldn't mind – or at least, she'd pretend not to mind, putting on a good show, as they had all been doing, of not-minding Joey wasn't there every minute of the day.
He hadn't even brought his mobile with him tonight, such was the tremendous effort they were putting in not to pester him.
And that tremendous effort was what made up Joey's mind. They may not be going about it as he would have liked, but they were trying – really trying – and Joey's appreciation for this effort was off the charts. And it was this enormous attempt on their parts to give him what he wanted that spurred Joey to go home. He wanted to be there on New Year's Day with them, not disappear completely, show them that even if he didn't have to be there, he had chosen to be there.
'Nah, best be off,' he smiled appreciatively, 'thanks all the same. I wanna be with me family in the mornin'.'
He was making his way to the door when an idea took him. 'Whatcha doin' on Friday?'
'What I'm always doin' – fending off scroungers.'
'How would it be if I ran into you as you were leaving the Social Security?'
'How would it be if you asked me to spend time with yer like a normal person, instead of drivin' me mad with cryptic remarks?'
'Do yourself a favour, sweetheart,' Joey laughed, 'don't try and take me on in a game of wits until you've had a good night's rest. You're no match for me like this. Our Billy could do better than you at the moment.'
'All right, all right,' Martina shook her head. 'Be off with yer.'
On an impulse, Joey grabbed her hand, putting it to his lips.
'What was that for?'
'New Year's Eve kiss,' Joey grinned cheekily when he saw her eyebrow ascend. 'Or a friendly variation thereof.'
The last he saw of her was a fond shake of her head before she shut the door on him.
Joey stumbled into Kelsall Street just after half past twelve, passing Billy and Connie blind drunk on the staircase and barely noticing. His bed was inviting now, and he fell gratefully into it, the smell of Martina's hand cream still lingering about his face.
And for the first night in God knew how long, Joey slept without dreaming of Roxy.
Some significant stuff is coming in the next chapter, as well as a lot of Joetina...and I will have it up in a shorter timeframe. Stay tuned.
