Apologies for yet another delay, but I am now officially ahead again. This chapter picks up pretty much where the last one left off. Lots of Joetina fluff, a few revelations. Enjoy.


15

The secret admission of Joey Boswell

It wasn't until Martina found herself seated in a fancy restaurant opposite Joey Boswell that she really registered what had happened today. Her face still stung somewhat, and yet she couldn't even focus on it, the pain dulled by an odd sense of…contentment.

She hadn't really considered how much she was putting on the line, turning to Joey for help like this. Unlike him, she had other friends she could have turned to. Her Mam, too, if she'd needed support, or her dad if he was at home for once…even her brother, if he'd been sober.

She hadn't even stopped to consider any of them. In that moment, the only face that had come into her mind was Joey's. She'd just wanted him.

And, dispelling the last of her doubts about him, he'd actually come to her.

It was only occurring to her now just how much this actually meant. Joey came to see her every other day, trying to work through another splinter of family or Roxy-related pain, or simply because he was trying to dodge the overwhelming sense of loneliness and boredom that had dogged him since his family started to have lives of their own. But the fact that he'd made good on his promise to reciprocate – actually turned the tables and been there for her when she needed him – proved this friendship of theirs wasn't one-sided. Joey really did care about her, a concept that sent a strange flutter of warmth through her insides. They were really getting somewhere with this.

Martina wasn't daft enough to let herself think it was anything more than that. That would be straying into territory that could only cause her pain – him as well, probably, given his drastic altar-leaving incident. He wasn't really in a position to be thinking about anything. Not when the Roxy-related debris in his not-too-distant past wasn't really sorted yet. He still hadn't talked to her properly, still hadn't demanded that explanation, that closure he craved. By his own admission, he'd just sort of sat there like a lemon and said nothing. That, in Martina's book, was not a particularly good indicator of someone who'd moved on.

She had to admit, though, Joey wasn't making it easy for her to keep those thoughts at bay. Taking her to dinner, pulling out her chair for her – she was aware he hadn't had much friendly interaction with anyone for a long time, but even he should surely know certain actions had certain connotations, and this entire evening seemed to be straddling the territory between friendly and romantic.

Still, she was guiltily enjoying this evening. Joey was doing his best to cheer her, regaling her with amusing anecdotes from around the Boswell dinner table (she noticed a hint of bitterness in his voice when he mentioned his vicar brother-in-law), and by the time the waiter came round with her green salad and whatever strange vegetarian concoction Joey had ordered, she was in something resembling a good mood.

'Creature of habit, aren't you?' Joey commented as he observed her choice.

'P'raps I might get to eat it this time, without you pilfering it.'

Joey tossed his head at the memory of that DSS visit. 'Would you deny a starving man sustenance?'

'When it comes from my lunch box, yes!'

'Your face!' Joey was shaking with laughter. 'Remember that discussion we had?'

'Something along the lines of you tormenting me every time I react?'

'Well, you're not learnin', are you?'

Martina speared something with her fork ferociously, not even stopping to see what the tines had picked up.

'And by the looks of it, you won't, either.'

She tried to avoid looking at him while she ate, but it proved difficult. He was right, the bastard – her resolve, when it came to his obnoxious behaviour, was pathetically weak. She couldn't leave a cheeky remark alone.

She sighed and turned her attention back to him.

'Ready to concede, then?'

'For now, Mister Boswell. My hunger has overtaken all me rational thought.'

She ignored his face as he commenced his own meal, for fear his expression be smug enough to force her to withdraw her concession.

When she did glance up, plate nearly cleaned, Joey was studying her.

'What's the matter with you now?'

'You can eat meat in front of me, you know. I don't mind. You don't have to limit yourself to salad because of me.'

Martina shrugged. 'You're the one payin' for it.'

'All the same.'

'No, that's not… I would have no qualms about eatin' meat in front of you, if only to get me own back from time to time. But I'm not ordering fancy dinners when the funds are coming from somebody else's pocket.'

Joey's face turned to surprise. 'Don't be so bloody stupid!'

'It's not as if I can return the favour, is it? I don't go on about it the way you do when you trot out your sob-story claims complete with string quartet, but my pay packet barely stretches beyond rent and groceries.'

'God, Martina, it was meant to be a nice gesture! Nobody's keepin' score, okay?'

When she didn't respond, he reached over, clasping her hand across the table.

'From now on, let me do summat nice for you without thinkin' you owe me in return, okay? All I want is your company, sweetheart. It's nice.'

'Oh, yeah? Nice, is it?'

'It's the first time in ages I can just…sit and talk to somebody over dinner without an almighty row. At home battle commences the second prayers are said. And I never got through a dinner with Roxy without an argument. Not once.'

'Last time I went for a proper dinner with Shifty,' Martina mused, 'he made off with the tablecloth, three place settings and the vase from the middle of the table. Flowers and all.'

She considered. 'Not that we went much. Shifty's idea of a lovely evening was usually…'

'—the back of a stolen car?'

Martina scoffed. 'I'd ask how you know that, but I have a fairly good guess.'

'Shifty is predictable, I'll give 'im that.'

'And Roxy?' she kicked herself for letting the words come out uncensored. Joey rarely volunteered information about Roxy; the fact that he'd just done so wasn't an invitation to push him headlong into his pain. Still, she'd begun now; her mouth wouldn't let her keep the question unfinished.

'Was she predictable?'

Unlike the last time he'd discussed Roxy in any detail, Joey's face didn't contort with pain this time. Only a few weeks ago, he'd been practically hyperventilating on the street remembering her. Perhaps he was turning a corner, and though she knew she shouldn't invest so much in his mental recovery, given those ridiculous resurrected feelings were rampaging out of control, she couldn't help but be pleased.

'Much as I'd be tempted to say no…' Joey considered, playing absentmindedly with his fork, 'the more I think about it, the more I realise she was. Every time I'd convince meself this time we'd get it right, this time it'd work…and time after time it followed the same pattern. Whether it was me family, or her catching the eye of somebody else…it always came crashing down in the end.'

'I'm sorry,' she muttered.

Joey shook his head.

'Never mind that now. Let's forget about them, eh? What shall we discuss instead? Whole world of conversation topics at our disposal, you know.'

Now that was just careless. He was handing her ammunition.

'All right, then,' Martina folded her hands, settling back in her chair. 'Tell me something else about you I don't know. One of those deep, dark secrets you never got round to in the cornfield.'

She'd expected him to laugh it off, but Joey, oddly enough, seemed game.

'Think you could handle it, sunshine?'

'You'd be surprised at what I can handle, Mister Boswell.'

'If you say so,' Joey leaned in. 'But only because you've 'ad it rough today and I feel sorry for yer. If what I tell you leaves this table, you're in for it. Okay?'

'Kindly remember, love – I might say I'm off duty, but I can't be held responsible for what I conveniently forget not to write down in your file tomorrow.'

'No, it's not that sort of thing. Look, I've never told this to a living soul before – not even Roxy. So keep your gob shut.'

'Or you'll have to kill me, I suppose,' she deadpanned. He walked into these things with his melodramatics, he really did.

'D'you wanna hear it or not?'

She did, actually, she just didn't want to come over too eager. 'Go on.'

Joey exhaled dramatically. He really needed to tone down the theatrics. Martina had noticed, now she knew him better, that half the time they were a front, a way of making light of a serious discussion to help him get through it – but they didn't half get on her nerves.

'I can't stand the taste of meat. Any meat. Never could, even when I was a kid. Or the texture, for that matter. It's like chewin' on rubber.'

And it dawned on Martina, as she furrowed her brow, what he was trying to tell her.

'You don't mean…'

'I don't know what it is, it's just…too overpowering for me. I just can't do it. Even the smell of it makes me sick.'

'Let me get this straight, Mister Boswell. You've had people bendin' over backwards to accommodate your vegetarianism – and all along you've been avoiding meat because you don't like the taste?!'

'Look I didn't intend to let it go this far. I told me Mam I was vegetarian when I was seventeen, just 'cause I wanted to get out of eatin' another Sunday dinner. I never expected her to believe me, let alone let me get away with it, but… everyone made such an effort I could never admit the truth. It was just easier to see it through. And it's not really that difficult to keep it up. I didn't have to sacrifice a lot – other than food I couldn't stand anyway.'

'Except for yer leather, of course. And let's not forget forcing your poor mother to cook you a separate meal every night, and then there's… I don't know…pretending you care about the plight of suffering animals…'

'I do care, all right?! It's just I'd be lyin' if I said that was the reason for the switch, that's all.'

'But evidently, not enough to give up yer leather…'

'A man's eating habits are one thing, Martina. But a man's style…'

Unbelievable. It was all Martina could do not to get up and tip his plate over his head – the urge was so overwhelming she had to sit on her hands.

'You are without doubt the most ridiculous, shallow, hypocritical bastard I've ever met in me life!'

'Eh – be kind to me, sweetheart. It was an exercise of trust, that. I just gave you summat you must never use against me. Besides, you were the only one who noticed my – shall we say – discrepancy with the leather.'

'Oh, I might have been the only one who mentioned it, Mister Boswell, but I guarantee everyone who's looked at you has thought it at some point.'

'Have to test that theory, won't we?' Joey lunged for the bill as it went past. 'Given your questionable taste when it comes to me appearance.'

'I highly doubt I'd be the only one to notice you're getting outdated.'

He was moving off to pay; she hastened to follow him, ignoring the way he very deliberately tossed his head, putting himself on display as he settled the bill.

She shook her head.

'Come on then, Brylcreem Boy,' Martina aimed a ruffle at his hair, but Joey was too tall for her to pull it off. 'Let's go home.'

'Do I look as if I wear that stuff!' Joey snorted.

'Blow Dry Boy, then,' she got him this time as he inclined his head downwards to put his wallet back in his pocket. 'Don't tell me you don't spend hours in front of the mirror applying something to it.'

'Will you leave off about my hair?! I've already said I'll ruin it for you.'

It was all she could do not to double over with laughter now, the earlier incident relegated to the back of her mind, the tears and trembling of this afternoon well and truly gone. If there was one thing she could say about Joey, he knew which buttons to push – to irritate her or cheer her up. It seemed a lifetime ago she'd been behind her desk, trying to hold it together even though the impact of her claimant's hand had rattled her teeth and skull. It hardly even seemed real.

Bloody Joey Boswell. He had a lot to answer for, brightening her existence like this.

It was spitting rain now, dark and chilly, and Joey held his jacket around her as he ushered her to the Jaguar. Instead of starting the engine, though, Joey just sat there for a while, gazing out the window and watching the rivulets of rain trickling down the glass.

'Something wrong?'

'I know I'll regret tellin' you, but…' Joey shrugged. 'But… I can't really talk to anyone else. Not at the moment. They'd make a major drama out of me so-called fragility.'

'Fragility, eh? Are you sure you can handle me tearin' it to pieces, then?'

Joey tutted. 'I'm serious. Look, I…I know you've got responsibilities down the DSS, but…could this be off the record? Just this once?'

Oh. Martina hadn't expected that. Sounded like Joey was revving up to admitting something about his shadier side, and the shock of it had her reeling enough to nod without thinking.

'Great. Fantastic. Because, of course, if you go back on your word and let this slip, I'll tell everyone how I got back from Scotland in the first place.'

Martina rolled her eyes.

'And if that gets out,' she warned, 'I'll tell everyone what you did to me there.'

'And I'll tell everyone just how scantily clothed you were when you slept in me bed. Who loses credibility then?'

Check. She hadn't thought that far ahead.

'Nothing happened.'

Joey grinned. 'Who's gonna believe you?'

'Point taken, Mister Boswell. You've got enough blackmail on me to keep this quiet. Are you gonna get round to tellin' me or not?'

'I was thinking,' Joey gazed into the distance. 'I've told you this before, but…the shop; it's just not… it's just not enough. It doesn't give me any sense of purpose. I'm scrapin' enough profits to feed me dad's habit of buying Lilo Lil drinks… and that's about it. I need summat else. On the side, or…'

He cringed as he said it, evidently ashamed, 'instead…'

'You wanna give it up and go back to yer life of petty crime, is that it?'

'No,' Joey insisted, 'not… give it up. It's a fam-i-ly business; I'd never crush me family's efforts to make a legacy, but…I can't handle that side of things. Our Jack's been spending more time there with me and…he's great at all that stuff. I'm not. And if I had somebody else to help me out in the shop, I could concentrate me efforts on summat I was good at.'

'And that's where the petty crime comes in?'

'D'you mind not saying petty crime every other word? Does me head in. It's not like that.'

'All right,' Martina's mouth quirked. 'Your … questionably legal means of earning, then.'

It was Joey's turn to cast his eyes skywards. 'I suppose that's the best I'm gonna get from you, isn't it? I wanna find meself some alternative work, you could say.'

'So?' Martina shrugged. 'What's the problem?'

'I just…don't think I can, that's all. A lot of me contacts have dried up. And the ones that are left…I don't know if they'd take me after all this time missing in action.'

'All your old mob bosses in gaol, are they?' Martina suspected Joey was offering her as much as he could tonight in exchange for her earlier confidence in him, eager to keep their newfound trust going. But, although she'd take it gladly, she did have some semblance of a reputation to maintain, after all. And to do that, she had to tease.

'I wasn't in the mob, sweetheart.'

'Of course you weren't.'

'Look, I…did some odd jobs, that's all. Some were as harmless as decoratin' and putting up wallpaper for old dears.'

'And the others?' Truth be told, she was itching with curiosity – but Joey had already told her he wanted those details to remain private. And given she'd already threatened to dob him in today – jokingly, but what did they say about half-joke whole-earnest after all – she couldn't really push it too much.

And so when Joey shook his head, she simply shrugged, muttered a reassurance that something would come up, and let it be.

Besides, he'd been wonderful this evening, japes aside. He'd been the friend she desperately needed, at a time when things had looked so bleak and horrific she'd been a hair's breadth away from quitting her job and signing-on herself out of desperation. Martina hadn't experienced that sort of caring, that sort of gentleness since she was a child, and a tear of gratitude sprang to her eye.

She lowered her head, concealing it.

'Joey?'

She felt his hand on her shoulder.

'I, er…' the words seemed to stick in her mouth, shying away from letting themselves out until she pushed them with all her might. 'Thank you. For…tonight…for…'

She exhaled heavily, trying to force the rest of her sentiment out with her breath.

'You don't need to say it, sweetheart,' Joey's arm had snaked around her now, pulling her closer. 'I know.'

His arms were both round her now, and Martina embraced him fiercely, trying to convey with her grip the words that were failing her.

She wasn't sure how long they sat there – and whether that length of embrace was really appropriate on a platonic level – but she didn't particularly care. It had been a long time since she felt this secure, and it certainly wasn't something she was going to waste. In spite of her own apprehension, she let herself relish it, treasure his warmth and gentleness. She'd been hurt today, after all. Surely that was a reasonable excuse to hold him just a little bit longer.

'Thank you,' she murmured again.

'No sweat. No sweat.'

Martina pulled back reluctantly, an idea occurring to her as she did so. She hesitated, taking advantage of his close proximity and seated position to pretend to scrutinise his hair.

'What?' Joey's hand was hovering around his head, his face wary. 'What're you lookin' at?'

Martina smirked. Well, even if she was incredibly grateful for his presence this afternoon, for the way he treated her, his comments about her hair and fingernails still deserved some sort of revenge.

'You've got nits.'

All the years she'd dreamed of Joey going white with fear, defeated by her words, and this was the context it happened in. If only she'd tried that years ago, during one of his more frustrating claims.

'You'd better be havin' me on, sweetheart – honest to God…' He was all but frantic, trying to inspect himself in his rear view mirror.

'Calm down, love. No need to get hysteria. I was havin' you on – but how could I resist, now I've got vanity ticked off on your list of weaknesses?'

Joey paused, eyeing her up and down.

'Right, that's it. I'm gonna wallop you.'

The playful scuffle that took them another fifteen minutes probably wasn't all that appropriate either, but Martina pushed her conscience to one side and let it happen.


When Martina turned up to work the next day, self-consciously tucking her uncurled hair behind her ears and hoping nobody would comment, the last thing she expected to see was an enormous bunch of flowers on her desk.

Plump and colourful, wrapped in bright yellow plastic – clearly a small fortune had been shelled out on their purchase. It had been a long time since Martina had received flowers of any sort, and these were a far cry from the odd tangle of weeds or stolen blooms Shifty had brought her from time to time.

She couldn't help the smile stretching across the face as she read the little card.

Chin up, sweetheart. It's not you, it's them. – J

Bloody thoughtful bastard.

'Who's the feller?' Sylvia in the next partition called over her shoulder.

Martina faltered. 'There isn't…'

'Oh? Who are they from, then?'

'Friend of mine.'

'You wanna watch it, queen. When a 'friend' starts bringin' you flowers, they usually expect something in return, don't they?'

Oh, God, if only. Martina berated herself for that thought.

'He heard what happened yesterday, that's all. He was trying to cheer me up.' She winced. She'd let slip that it was indeed a he – she'd never hear the end of this now. At least it might get Sylvia off her case – stop her trying to fix Martina up with any more groping bastard brothers-in-law of hers.

'And I bet he's got a few more ideas about how to cheer you up.'

'There's no feller,' Martina insisted. 'It was a friend of mine, all right?'

'Oh, yeah? If that's so, what've you done to yer hair?'

Martina reached up self-consciously to touch it.

'Nothing. Me curling iron broke, that's all.'

An utter lie, of course – and Martina hated lying; it was the reason she'd cut ties with Shifty that first time– but she refused to allow the others to think she'd changed her hair because of some feller. Even if it was technically true. Besides, if she admitted it was Joey Boswell's doing, that would open a can of worms best left undisturbed. She'd been strict about keeping their friendship quiet, drawing a sharp line between inside and outside the DSS, keeping it from the ears of either her colleagues or his social circles, for fear of the repercussions coming back to either of them.

Of course, Joey had crossed that line now, and she supposed she should probably have his guts for garters for that, only the flowers were too lovely a gesture. Still, she'd have a cautionary word with him all the same.

Her colleague smirked wryly. 'If you say so, love.'

Martina shook her head, resolutely blocking Sylvia out and focussing her attention on tidying up her desk, taking the flowers into the office kitchen to find a jug to stick them in.

It was only as she was throwing out the wrapping, detaching the little card to save it for later, that she noticed the small writing on the back of it, crammed into the bottom right corner of the card so tightly the letters began to squash together at the end.

P.S. If you can hunt me down in Scotland, you've got enough guts to stand up to them.

Oh, she was going to kill him.


'We thank Thee, O Father, for the food on the table, for those who return home, even when we're not sure what they're up to…'

His Mam's pointed prayer was directed at Freddie, Joey was sure.

'And we ask Thee, dear Father, to keep food on the table, and bring us all home safe. Amen.'

An odd prayer, but Joey suspected it had to do with the fact that both Oswald and Adrian were conspicuously absent, presumably having dinner with their own wives for once.

Jack was here, as he typically was after yet another row with Leonora – although, the eldest Boswell noticed, the second the pot's lid was removed he was looking as if he wished he were anywhere else.

'A yellow day,' Freddie flicked a few notes into the dish, ignoring Nellie's suspicious state.

Jack was far more reluctant to part with his cash.

'I've got Leonora to support.'

'What d'you mean, you've got Leonora to support?' Billy's gob was right on cue. 'She's the one with a proper job – she supports you!'

'I'm a man, aren't I? I provide.'

'I provide,' Billy insisted, tossing in a single pound coin. 'That's for me and Connie. I don't live off 'er.'

'Oh, I don't know about that. See, when you're confined to a wheelchair from the duffing up I've given yer, she might well 'ave to support yer!'

'All right, cut it, you two.' Joey reached for his own wallet, then bit his lip. He'd tentatively reached out to a few old contacts, but his wallet hadn't really replenished itself yet, and the skimpy payments the Social Security gave him didn't really cut the mustard. And after petrol for his Jag, a few groceries to help out and Martina's dinner and gift, he really didn't have a lot left over.

'I, er…' the porcelain belly of the pot seemed to be taunting him, 'I bought some flowers for somebody.' He clinked the chicken back on top, covering that guilt-making chasm.

Jack snorted. 'Oh, yeah? For yer girlfriend, was it?'

'She's not me girlfriend,' Joey muttered half-heartedly.

' 'oo?' Billy looked up, his mouth mercifully empty of food.

'Leave it, son,' the eldest Boswell knew that in spite of this, a prying conversation was imminent – he offered up a prayer of thanks that the phone chose to rang at that exact moment.

'Hello, yes?' His Mam's eyes darted about for a moment as she listened, and then she leapt from her seat so rapidly she could have put Billy to shame, the phone flying from her hand and skittering across the kitchen floor.

'Oh, dear Father!' Her hand, still shaped as though clutching her phone, was flying across her forehead, her chest, her shoulders, drawing Crosses in the air. 'Aveline's in labour!'