I lied twice. I said I'd update sooner, then I promised I would by the end of Jan, but I've been absolutely smashed with work so chances to write were a bit thin on the ground. Finally had a chance to update though. Usual disclaimers apply. Hope everyone is doing well and staying safe. This chapter was a bit hard, but I'm quite excited about the next one as there are some decent sized plot developments. And it's half written, so we'll see how many months it takes me to finish ;)


17

The spare jacket of Joey Boswell

If I could offer more of meself, I would.

The words sliced through Martina's head over and over, turning her brain to the consistency of cotton wool every time she tried to make sense of them. Joey Boswell was many things – a charmer when he wanted to be, a blatant liar down the Social Security (and seemingly proud of it) a grumpy bastard when things didn't go his way, a genuine, heartfelt bloke at other times. One thing he'd never been, Martina reflected, was the sort of person who told someone what they wanted to hear.

Which left her in even more of a state. Because if he wasn't just telling her what she wanted to hear… no, she couldn't let herself consider that. That was straying into dangerous territory, letting her thoughts devolve into deluded fantasy – the kind that had led her eventually on a fool's errand in Scotland. And if she kept down this path, the only conceivable outcome was more pain.

Besides, Joey had more or less encouraged her to see other people. If that wasn't a brush-off, she didn't know what was.

The look on his face, though, the tone of his voice, reluctant as he spat the words out…

The conflicting thoughts chased each other round her head until they almost did it in. It was impossible for her to decipher whether Joey's words had been a suggestion he did harbour something for her, or a warning that he didn't, and trying to work it out was bringing on a headache.

The best she could do, she decided, was to put it out of her head as much as possible. It perplexed her beyond what she could take trying to decipher what Joey had meant. She daren't allow herself to hope too much. That, she knew from past experience, led to nothing but setting oneself up for disappointment.

The DHSS lady was aware, still ensconced in Joey's arms, not sure of his motive in keeping her there, that she hadn't spoken for a good few minutes – but for the life of her, she wasn't able pluck a topic from her mind to bring up, let alone string together a coherent sentence.

'Still bloody cold,' she muttered for want of anything better to say.

She shivered, clutching him tighter before realising doing so didn't particularly aid her cause. She pulled back, folding her arms around herself instead.

'Are you getting enough iron?' Joey asked suddenly.

Martina frowned. 'What?'

'Every time I see you you're always cold, tired or both.' He took one of her hands in his. 'God, your hands are like ice.'

'Could that not just come from me bein' frosty behind me counter?' Martina mocked, though he'd given her something to think about. Took her mind off their earlier conversation, anyway.

'I've seen this before. Our Aveline's anaemic, you know.'

This was new. 'Is she?'

'Yeah, few years back we found out. She got rushed to hospital and put through a shedload of tests just because nobody could work out what was wrong with her. Now she just takes iron tablets and she's fine. But she was gettin' tired and cross and cold before she realised what it was. D'you get headaches?'

Martina nodded.

'Fits.'

'I don't have fits.'

Joey chuckled. 'No, I mean it fits with the situation. Mind you, if you wanna talk fits, how about that one you threw, chargin' off to Scotland to…'

'Not again.'

It had been a good few months now, and still he was bringing it up at every opportunity. Perhaps, Martina thought, he really was going to make good on his promise to still be reminding her of it until the day they died and beyond. Just her luck. At least things felt back to normal between them, the crust of ice that had formed over them thawing. She smirked in spite of herself.

'You should get it checked, though, sweetheart, just in case. It's not normal to be that cold all the time…unless you're secretly a lizard in human skin.'

She rolled her eyes at that.

'It's all right for you, swanning around in that leather jacket…at least your skulduggery can keep you warm.'

'Fear not. I've got a spare in here. No need to envy me any longer.'

Joey reached in the Jag, to where one of his older-style jackets was strewn across the back seat. He retrieved it and draped it ceremoniously around her shoulders.

'There. Knock yourself out.'

Martina wrapped it around herself, rolling her eyes to disguise her gratitude.

'You might as well put it on all the way, sweetheart. No rush to return it; I've got loads.'

'Oh you have, have you?' Martina smirked as she slipped her arms into the sleeves and zipped it up. It was lovely and warm, trapping the heat in with her. 'Should I be makin' a note of that? I think the DSS might find that an interesting bit of information.'

Joey shook his head, and they did another lap of the precinct, the conversation between them light enough but tinged by an awkwardness Martina couldn't seem to shake off. It was as if their discussion earlier had laid a strange cloud over things, and it was almost a relief when they ended up back in the carpark, Joey's Jag looming like a bird of prey and signalling the end of their outing.

'I'd best be off. Our Adrian's coming round tonight. Want a lift back to the Pink Palace?'

Martina rolled her eyes. He'd been calling her flat that in retaliation to his house being The Palace of Kelsall Street, and she supposed she deserved to be teased back, but it still annoyed her.

'No, I need to get a few things while I'm here.'

'Okay, then. Fair enough.' Only Joey Boswell could make sliding into the driver's seat of a car look like a work of art. 'Supposing…'

'Supposing you stopped asking to see me by conjuring up hypothetical situations where you bump into me,' Martina put her hands on her hips. 'When d'you want to meet?'

Joey pondered, revving the Jag's engine as he mulled it over.

'Tomorrow? I've got nothing on tomorrow.'

Martina shook her head. 'Me brother's coming round. Better be Thursday.'

'Thursday it is, then,' Joey still had a habit of winking and clicking his tongue when they agreed on anything, a small thing that was beginning to grate on her. She hadn't mentioned it though – he'd likely do it even more. 'I'll see you later, okay?' And he was sailing out of the parking spot, turning the Jag in such a perfect arc she was sure it was a deliberate boast, waving through the window as he went.

'Your jacket!' she called.

'Just bring it next time,' Joey shrugged. 'No sweat.'

Martina shook her head after him until he was out of sight, and then wandered back inside.


It was strange, walking around the precinct doing her shopping in Joey's jacket, feeling nice and warm and oddly confident and dangerous in it. Martina allowed herself to guiltily indulge, aware she would never be able to afford a garment like this, allowing herself to inhale the scent of Joey's cologne that clung to it and feel, just for a moment, that she mattered. No wonder he wore the bloody things all the time. Put the right gear on and you almost felt you were someone else. And given what she knew of him now, his family situation (far less unity and far more responsibility on his shoulders than he'd admitted before), his lack of hope for a future, it wasn't any wonder he wanted to at least dress as though – pretend – he had everything together.

She was just wandering out with a bag of groceries, pondering whether she should risk the dark clouds and walk home or play it safe and get the bus, when a large figure lumbered into her.

'Watch where you're –' the familiar voice died down, replaced with a snicker.

Jack Boswell leered at her, mouth contorted as though trying not to laugh. His eyes flicked pointedly up and down, eyebrows raised.

Martina shrugged her shoulders, suddenly self-conscious about her attire.

'This isn't what it looks like.'

'Oh, yeah? 'Cause it looks like you're wearin' our Joey's leather jacket.'

Martina made a feeble attempt to bluff her way out of it.

'How'd you know it's his?'

'You sayin' this isn't what it looks like and turnin' the colour of a radish, that's how I know. And that's the old one with the crumbling patch in the shoulder where our Joey didn't treat the leather properly. I remember when it happened, that.'

God, the only way out of this conversation was to change the subject – and being a DSS clerk with a vested interest in the Boswells' skulduggery, she had plenty of ammunition on hand.

'Er – speaking of things we've remembered…the most recent form I've got from you, you'd made a note that you were seventy-two and had broken your leg,' she jerked her head in the direction of his two perfectly-working limbs. Jack, however, had never been one to quake in her presence.

'Healed, didn't it?'

Martina quirked an eyebrow. 'Oh, yeah? How, precisely?'

'The passage of time, that's how.'

Jack couldn't pull off the slick excuses the way his brothers could, but she had to give it to him, he didn't half try.

'In one week?' She usually got a slightly sadistic pleasure ripping into one of the gaping holes in a scrounge story – only problem was, doing so never seemed to have the desired effect on Jack. Either he was a bit too simple to worry, or he simply didn't care.

'Wasn't a big break.' He was still obnoxiously cheerful, even as he was blatantly lying to her face, offering explanations he couldn't even be bothered to add a touch of credibility to.

'Seventy two?' She could see he wasn't deterred, but she may as well try and worry him anyway.

'Well, you may not notice it, darling, bein' as how good lookin' I am for me age…' in typical Jack Boswell fashion, he couldn't pull off a remark like that without spoiling it. 'That was a joke, you see.'

'Oh, is that what it is? I don't get out enough to experience them in the wild.'

Her sarcasm was wasted on him as well.

'We're not in the wild.'

Martina gave up. 'Fill out your details properly next time, all right? I won't turn a blind eye again.'

That twinkle in his eyes set off alarms in her brain.

'And I won't turn a blind eye to you wearin' our Joey's jacket, then.'

'Unlike your attempts to defraud the state, my attire is not a matter of state importance.'

'It is when you're cosyin' up with my brother.' Jack winked, turning away from her, a clear signal he thought he'd won the argument. 'I'll see you later.'

'With the correct details?' Martina attempted, but he'd already sloped away.

Oh, God. This was getting out of hand. Between Jack's jesting and Joey's indecipherable comments, she'd fallen into a bloody mess.


Joey would have made for the phone and hashed things out with Roxy straight away, got it over with – except the second he walked through the door a hand had been thrust in his face to shake, followed by the rest of Adrian, early for dinner.

The meal that followed was…well, Joey had to admit, he'd had better dinners with his family. Connie (that bloody girl seemed never to go home anymore) had made a cheeky remark and been sent from the table almost as soon as they sat down, resulting in Billy stropping off after her. His Mam was in a foul mood, the result of a nosy neighbour spotting his Dad and Lilo Lil in Sefton Park. And Adrian was in full artistic flow, and in far too good a mood to resist sharing his latest creative efforts with them all.

'I've, er…I've written a song about Irenee. An ode. I brought my guitar if you'd like to hear it.'

'No!' Joey and Jack chorused as one, before the eldest two Boswells composed themselves enough to remember their manners.

'Er… p'raps wait til after Mam's said prayers, sunshine,' Joey's excuse was walking the line between believable and pathetic.

'Or until I've gone 'ome,' Jack's not so much. Adrian shot him a filthy look, slamming his guitar on the floor in a strop just in time for their Mam to plonk a plate in front of him.

'Don't torment our Adrian,' Nellie chided Jack, shooting him a disapproving look. 'He's a sensitive soul. His efforts deserve recognition.'

Jack rolled his eyes. 'Our Joey's sensitive because of 'is pain, our Adrian's sensitive because 'e's an artistic pouf…'

Adrian looked up in outrage, a mouthful of stew temporarily stopping up his forthcoming outburst.

'The world has suffered unjustly because of 'is sensitivity. You wanna talk recognition, everyone in the street's been forced to recognise My Granny's Bucket four or five times. If 'e starts singing, they won't be able to hold on to their urge to get him by the throat.'

'Jack!' Nellie snapped, fairly slamming his plate down. 'This is your brother – your own flesh and blood you're talking about!'

And even though Joey had been more or less minding his own business, the Boswell matriarch wasn't about to spare him either.

'Really, you want to cut that hair, Joey!'

It was long enough now at the back that Joey had had to resort to tying it back, the result being a scraggly ponytail his Mam loathed. This wasn't the first of such comments he'd endured, and he'd been tempted to, only he was determined not to touch it until the resulting haircut was all one colour and therefore respectable.

Bloody Martina – the fact that he was doing this was her fault, of course, and it gave him pause for a moment why he'd acquiesced to her pact at all.

And then he remembered, holding her hand in his in the precinct this afternoon, noticing that for the first time since he'd been her friend that the palm of his hand hadn't been gouged by those God-awful long fingernails, and he relented, focussing on defending himself to his mother.

'Well, our Adrian 'ad it like this for a while! Didn't yer? Remember Aveline's wedding?'

'Adrian's artistic, Joey – you look like a Hell's Angel!'

From across the room, Jack snorted.

'What's yer girlfriend say about that?'

'She's not me girlfriend,' Joey ground out. His Mam was giving him a curious look now – God, it was fortunate Billy was off somewhere with Connie and wasn't here to overhear this. He'd never hear the end of it.

'Oh yeah? 'Cause I bumped into her in the precinct earlier wearin' your leather jacket.'

'She was cold! I lent it to her! What's wrong with that?'

'Who said anything was wrong with it?' Jack was giving him a lecherous smile though. 'Looks like you're markin' your territory, though. Or she is.'

Not exactly what he wanted to hear when he was still trying to determine what – if any – territory he could claim with her. Even their now well-trodden friendship terrain seemed tenuous at present.

'Is this 'air for her benefit?' Jack was enjoying himself far too much.

'What's all this?' Now Jack had done it. Nellie was peering at him through narrowed her eyes. 'Who's this, Joey?'

'Just a friend o' mine,' Joey said, struggling to keep his voice even. 'That's all.'

His Mam, oddly enough, appeared saddened by this news.

'Shame, Joey – you ought to be thinking about finding another person for yourself. It'd do you good to look for someone a bit more worthy of you, who'll appreciate your family, not like that Roxy.'

'And if I did…' Joey stopped in his tracks. A little bubble of the old anger had begun to well up. His Mam didn't often take kindly to their people – although he'd noticed a change in her around Oswald of late, and that got him thinking. Oswald had been putting the hours in – and in spite of his Protestant persuasion being against him, he had clearly been getting a return on investment. Nellie was warming to him. Joey paused to consider a little while longer. Towards the end of his time with Roxy, he'd begun to resent his Mam's overprotective hand in their lives, her disapproval of their people, but come to think of it, very few of their people had done much to make her think better of them. His Mam had always invited their people round, even if they didn't come. She'd always been hospitable. And very few of their people had returned this even with basic courtesy.

Julie had shown blatant resentment towards the family in their presence; Carmen had always dragged Adrian in looking dishevelled and over-sexed; Magdelana had worn out her welcome. Rachel had only ever turned up to bonk Jack in Joey's empty room (he shuddered at the thought; he'd had no idea at the time he'd come home from his weekend away to find his bedroom defiled), Leonora, in spite of her insistence that Nellie didn't like her, refused to do anything to rectify the situation, only turning up at Number Thirty to row with Jack. Connie was insufferable, a bad influence on Billy that Joey himself wished his younger brother would give up. And Roxy…

Roxy, Joey forced himself to acknowledge, swallowing the lump in his throat, had been the worst of the lot. Her jealousy around his family, his Mam, her resentment – even though Nellie had opened her home to Roxy and offered her refuge from Stan – had known no bounds. Roxy had not only refused to meet his family, she'd played games with him, storming off from planned meetings at the last second when he rushed to the aid of a tearful Billy, trying to force Joey into choosing between her and the family at the most inopportune moments – Christmas, their wedding…

His Mam's reservations about their people had been right. And none of them would listen until the cause of those reservations had come back to bite them.

Joey twiddled his thumbs under the table. Much as he'd been trying to distract himself during this dinner, the conversation had followed its tail back around to his current predicament. As soon as Adrian had gone and his Mam was sufficiently distracted with the washing up, he was going to have to sit himself down, pick up the phone and ring Roxy. And this time, rather than sitting there like a stunned mullet, he was going to have to force his mouth to form words and actually speak to her, close the book on her as much as humanly possible.


It was well after half nine by the time Adrian finally left, having performed three or four renditions of his Ode to Irenee (which had been just as awful as Joey and Jack had predicted). Joey had hoped to get over the mountain of a task ahead of him earlier – his nerve was beginning to wane now, having agonised over it all throughout dinner – but there was no backing out now. He'd made a prat of himself once before, but the time had come to get closure once and for all, and he'd have to force himself onwards no matter what. Too much was at stake now. If he couldn't at least begin to come to terms with Roxy being gone, there was no hope of seeing what other possibilities could open up for him. If she was still there at the back of his mind, haunting his memories, how could he even know whether he felt anything for Martina, how could he even consider anything at all, whether with her, with someone else or alone? No matter what the future held, it was being stalled by the spectre of Roxy Hartwell, and that had to change.

He sat in the thankfully empty parlour and dialled, wringing a hanky around his fingers in an attempt to calm himself.

'Hello?'

It was as if his heart had leapt up through his throat and out his gob.

Bloody hell, when she was out of sight, out of earshot, it wasn't that bad. But all it took was a couple of syllables down a crackly phone line to bring back all those memories – the day they met, trysts every Tuesday and Saturday, clandestine meetings in the Adelphi, their would-be wedding day – in painful, vivid technicolour.

Joey licked his lips.

Come on, son. You can do this. It's got to take this time. It's got to stick.

'Roxy.'

A pause down the end of the line. She was deliberating her plan of attack, he knew, unsure whether to come in on the offensive or attempt the coquettish approach and reel him back in.

Joey got in there before she could attempt either.

'We need to discuss this.' He was employing the tone he used when chiding one of his siblings. No nonsense. No embellishments. That was how he wanted the conversation to go; he was going to start as he meant to go on.

'Two months it's been, Joey,' Roxy hissed. Clearly his opening gambit had pushed her into attack mode. 'You expect that after two months not speakin' to me we can just pick up where we left off?'

Well, at least if she spoke like this it would be easier for Joey to achieve his mission. Dulcet, seductive Roxy was far more difficult to shake off than venomous, vengeful Roxy. It was as if, Joey reflected momentarily, there were two of her, and he'd never known at any given moment which one he'd get until he was staring her in the face. And while he missed the lovely Roxy, the Roxy who'd kissed him in the park when he'd been too shy to initiate it the first time, the Roxy that had laughed and run with him through the fields and got stuck with him in a muddy puddle, the Roxy who'd turned up out of the blue to spend the day with him, the sobering reality was that the nasty one was never too far away. And when the nasty one was unleashed, that usually strengthened his resolve to stay away a bit longer.

'No, Roxy,' he said quietly, pouring all his energy into keeping his voice even. It was a struggle, as though he were holding up an enormous drawbridge, summoning the last of his strength to hold it up and keep it from crashing down around his ears. 'I don't wanna pick things up where we left off. That's not why I phoned.'

'Hoping to start again, then, were you?' Her voice was horrific now, acrid venom spewing forth, akin to her worst outbursts, when she'd sat in his car and spat that she deliberately hurt his Mam to hurt him, when she'd hollered call me when they're all dead, Joey from the train window. 'Because if that's your game, you can't expect to just pick up the phone any time you feel like it and expect I'll come running. You hurt me, Joey. Hurt me.'

'That's rich!' Joey scoffed, a sudden surge of bravery hitting him. 'I wasn't the one who walked out of our weddin', now, was I?'

'Our wedding,' Roxy laughed caustically, 'our wedding. You talk about it as if it mattered to you. As if you weren't willing to throw it away because you couldn' untie yourself from your family's apron strings!'

'I threw it away?' his heart was pounding, hand shaking and twitching around the phone, but his gob had been spurred into action, and there was no stopping it. 'I was the one who organised it, Roxy – or did you forget that?! I wasn't the one who made an unreasonable ultimatum with only a few seconds to decide and then –'

'It's not unreasonable, Joey! Asking you to put me first is not unreasonable! And if you can't see that, it's just as well we didn't get married!'

'Puttin' you first is one thing,' Joey had to pause, catch his breath – every word was knocking it out of him – 'cuttin' ties from me family…it's bloody ridiculous to expect I'd turn me back on me own flesh and blood!'

Something Martina had said came back to him – some much-needed reason when he'd been despairing.

'You don't ask that of someone. You don't.'

'You've made your views clear, Joey,' Roxy was all but snarling now, clearly displeased Joey was clinging to the upper hand, trying her utmost to wound in retaliation, 'you chose them over me. Your chose your Mam over me. Mam first, I've always known it was like that – did you ring just to rub salt into that wound again?'

Joey was seeing red flashes before his eyes, but he steeled himself, forced himself to take a few deep breaths before he spoke again. He needed to stay calm for this, lest his words sound like an emotional outburst and not be taken seriously.

'No, Roxy,' he said each word slowly, with finality, 'I rang to tell you I never wanna hear from you again.'

He might have stuttered a little bit, voice trembling, but the eldest Boswell hoped his statement had carried the gravitas he'd intended. Hoped Roxy realised he meant it.

The silence on the other end suggested he'd struck some sort of chord, anyway.

'You were the one who phoned me,' Roxy said finally, though there was a note of shock in her voice she couldn't quite hide. 'Is another game, Joey? Leave me hanging then remind me you're there? Make me chase after you by telling me I can't have you? Well, I've got news for you, Joey. You can forget it, that's what you can do! I told you before, if I can't be first in your life, forget it!'

'Okay,' Joey said, 'I will, then.'

And he ended the call before she could respond and put his head in his hands.

It was the closure he'd thought he needed, and yet he'd still been wrung through a mangle, insides tangled and crushed. It hadn't helped in the way he'd hoped it would. In fact, Joey wondered why he'd thought it ever would. Was it always going to hurt like this? A bit of distance and he'd stopped dreaming of that horrible day in Gretna Green, had started thinking of other things – and yet at the first hint of a reminder, all the pain had come slicing back through the stitches on his wounds and made them bleed once more.

Perhaps, Joey considered, that's why he'd needed to do it. If those wounds were always going to be there, able to be reopened just like that, he needed to close off every avenue that would lead to them being reopened in the first place.

'Well, then,' he said, raising his head and staring aimlessly at his lifeless mobile. 'That's that, I suppose.'

' 'oo are you talkin' to?'

The eldest Boswell nearly jumped out of his seat.

'Billy, how long were you standin' there?!'

'I need to use the phone, don't I?'

'I'm not usin' it, Billy,' Joey waved his mobile in front of his brother's nose. 'I'm usin' me own. What's to stop you?'

Billy faltered. 'Oh.'

In spite of himself, Joey couldn't help but laugh. His brother's ignorance, though it irked him at times, couldn't half be endearing. His eyes were bugging from his head in surprise, mouth formed into a small 'o', and he picked up the living room phone as if in wonder.

Joey, not fancying hearing Billy either cackle with Connie or argue with the suppliers for his pizza business, took that as his cue to get up and slink back upstairs, where he could reflect in private.

Bloody hell, but it had been hard. Simply willing himself to be ready to tie up loose ends didn't make it any easier when it came down to it.

It was done, though. It didn't really feel like closure – he was still shaking all over, his stomach threatening to upend its contents, Roxy's voice was a migraine-inducing echo in his head, but it was done. He'd at least achieved what he'd set out to do, no matter how terribly it had gone. He was one step closer to being a whole man again, the sort of man who could work out what he wanted from life, and what he could offer to those he wanted in his life.

Talk to Roxy, check.

Get his life in order…now that one was trickier. He'd better start tackling that in the morning.


Joey's nightmares had lasted a good month or so this time, his brain seemingly using his last phone call with Roxy to dredge up and purge all his hurt again, his mind knotting together into an unmanageable mess of half-melted memories, Roxy's detached voice and the odd dash of Martina, always out of step with him, reminding him of time he didn't have to work out the logistics of a future that might not even happen. His nights had become something he dreaded; he feared closing his eyes knowing those pervasive, unwanted memories and thoughts would come creeping in around his eyelids and the moment he did.

Not that his days were much better. His waking hours had seen him drift back into his old ways, focussing on his family's issues in a desperate attempt to keep his mind awake and off his own anguish, worrying and wondering too much about them for it to be good for anyone. For the most part, he'd managed to stop himself from falling into his own patterns, drawing his lines in the sand and remaining behind them when his Mam or siblings started to make unreasonable demands on his time and energy, but there had been days he wasn't proud of. Days where, exhausted after another night of no sleep, he'd found himself sucked into driving miles to pick up his Dad after he wandered off with some of his new gypsy mates, or trying to talk sense into Billy after he nearly lost his pizza delivery job adding his own toppings in defiance of the guidelines he'd been given.

Really, son, raw broccoli on pizza?! He'd been mid-lecture before a snatch of common sense seeped back in and reminded him to take a step back. If Billy went and put something really stupid on his pizzas, that had nothing to do with Joey. It was Billy's mistake to make, Billy's consequences to face. Billy's problem to sort out.

And they could sort these things out, when left to their own devices, Joey had realised. They had been, these past few months. They just chose not to if there was any chance he'd step up and sort it out for them. And as long as he asserted himself, stood his ground on the minor issues, they'd manage. He just needed to stick to that.

Aware Martina had jokingly accused him of annoying her as a way of coping with his own problems – and what was it they said about many a true word spoken in jest? – Joey had tried to keep to himself while he rode out the worst of it, restricting his interactions with her to his weekly signing-on appointments and the odd phone call lest he start leaning on her too heavily or inadvertently make a move he wasn't ready to make. She'd already made it clear she spent far too much time with him, which could have been spent making inroads into her own future. And Joey, as long as he was unable or unready to be one of those inroads, had been determined not to take up more than his fair share of that time.

That was, until she'd cornered him one day as he was leaving the DSS.

'You know, your radio silence could be construed as suspicious, Mister Boswell,' she'd said, barring the door and his way out. 'Either you're avoiding me because of last time, or you're up to something devious.'

She quirked an eyebrow.

'Which is it?'

And Joey, overcome with an unexpected flood of relief, had grinned.

'Oh, something devious of course.'

And he'd known there and then he couldn't stay away from her. He'd rung her that evening and taken her to dinner, and though he was supposed to be sorting himself out, not wasting too much of her time or distracting himself with her, it had brought a smile to his face for the first time in God knew how long.


They'd more or less settled back into their usual routine these past few weeks, Joey's guilt somewhat assuaged by the fact that he'd spoken to Roxy, and done something in the direction of fixing the mess that consisted of himself, his broken engagement and his embryonic feelings for Martina. He hadn't taken any further steps in that direction, it was true, but the fact that, even if it didn't really feel like it, he was a confirmed free man helped things a bit. He felt he had a right, at least, as a single man and genuine contender in her life, to want her all to himself.

And now, at least, he'd done something about his vocation as well.

In a bid to stop brooding (or distracting himself from brooding by sorting out his family's minutiae), Joey had rung all his old contacts, sniffing out whether there was work to be had – a more difficult feat than he'd imagined. Most of his old reliables had fallen away, either too successful or not successful enough to need him anymore, and he'd resorted to reaching out to his dodgier connections. A few slightly immoral hundred here and there had done more for his morale than whole weeks in the shop, and so Joey had delved further into the world he'd been moving away from, asking Jack to take more and more shifts in the shop and rebuilding connections of old, fossicking for new ones.

Today, however, he was dreading a bit. Owing to a shortage of decent jobs this week, Joey had been forced to look into a few less-than-savoury ones, and out of a need to keep himself going, had turned to a couple of contacts he'd rather forget, to take a job he was sure could land himself in hot water were he not careful. It was only for a couple of months, according to them, but still. That was a couple of months too many.

He was on his way there now, his mobile clamped to his ear to distract himself from his own sweaty palms and sense of foreboding, Martina on the other end and somewhat miffed at his interruption into her day.

'I assume you're aware,' came her cross voice down the line, 'that one o'clock is normally when I take me lunch break. Which means, Mister Boswell, that you are deliberately waiting until me sixty minutes of sanity have started before ringing and winding me up. And that can only lead me to conclude that you are trying your hardest to drive me barking mad.'

'Sweetheart, if you want an undisturbed lunch break, you really ought to take it away from your desk.'

'Somehow, I don't think that would be possible either. The second I stepped out that door you'd have ambushed me and dragged me somewhere against me will.'

Joey snorted. 'Sound as if you don't want my company.'

Martina muttered something that sounded like now he gets it.

'Oh, and, er…you were right, as it goes.'

Joey blinked. 'Bout what?'

'My iron. Bought some supplements this morning.'

'Notice anything yet?'

'Early days, Mister Boswell. Early days. But if you wanna test it out, you can come round later when the temperature drops… and I'll put me 'ands all over yer face – see if they're still cold.'

Joey chuckled, but he'd already got a way to one-up her up his sleeve. 'Oh, I didn't mean the results, sweetheart. I meant the side effects.'

There was a pause on the line.

'What side effects?'

He couldn't force down his grin. 'You'll find out.'

God, he'd have enough jokes at her expense to last the rest of the year – and it was only February.

'You'd better be making this up.'

He shook his head in mirth.

'Joey – Joey – what side effects?'

'I 'ave to go, sweetheart – I'll talk to you later.'

'Eh – you can't bow out after sayin' something like that! Joey Boswell, if you hang up –'

He shouldn't be taking such pleasure from teasing her, Joey thought as he ended the call – but Martina was far too easy to tease for her own good. And once again, he noted, a little guiltily, his tormenting her was acting as a distraction – not just from his muddled thoughts about her and the rest of the shambles of his private life, but from what he was about to do. His nerves had gone dormant during their phone call, but now he approached a familiar long white car, they were beginning to tap dance inside him again.

It had to be done, if Joey wanted to move forward, get back to working as he used to – but boy, did it sicken him that he'd have to start off this way.

The two men in front of him nodded slowly as he approached, the first tipping his trilby, the second making a haphazard grab for his hat and missing.

Joey gritted his teeth.

'Gentlemen.'

'Didn't expect to be seein' you around, did we, Yizzel?'

'Didn't expect it, gov. No.'

'It gives me no pleasure bein' here, believe you me.' Joey shifted his weight, planted his feet squarely apart, tried to convey more confidence than he felt. 'But after considering our discussion t'other night, I've decided to take you up on your offer.'

'No pleasure, he says. Strange words for a man who's come to us voluntary. Who's accepting our offer in less than twenty four hours.'

'Twenty four hours, gov. Yeah…what offer?'

Joey didn't know how Yizzel put up with his henchman, he really didn't. It was like watching Billy – only his younger brother could, on occasion, comprehend basic instructions.

'The offer,' Yizzel's mate waggled his eyebrows a bit, clearly enjoying dangling Joey like this, 'he couldn't afford to refuse, Yizzel.'

'Cut the Godfather bit,' the eldest Boswell hissed through his teeth. 'What d'you want from me?'

'Ooh, he's got his hackles up. Mustn't get on the wrong side of his nibs, must we, Yizzel?'

'Wrong side, gov, no.'

'Not with his little army of brothers to back him up. I'm surprised your little holier-than-thou mafia are reachin' out to the likes of us.'

Joey felt his shoulders tense.

'Look, I wouldn't come to you two unless I 'ad no other choice.'

'Shouldn't have told us that, should he, Yizzel?'

'Shouldn't have. No…why?'

Yizzel's mate raised his eyes skywards. 'Because, Yizzel, now we know he's desperate, it puts us in a better position, doesn't it. At an advantage, you might say.'

'I didn't say I was desperate,' Joey hissed. 'I'm just tryin' to make the necessaries to get on, that's all. And if you start doin' me out of what you promised…'

Yizzel's mate threw back his head and laughed.

'I was like you, Joey, you know. Had a little life. Wife and a canary, like. Dreams of a little house in the country.'

'And a duck,' Yizzel piped up.

'Am I telling this, Yizzel, or are you?'

'Don't know, gov.'

'Will yeh let me finish?!' Yizzel's mate turned back to Joey, making a point of cold-shouldering his companion. 'As I was sayin'. Dream of a normal life. Hopes of a better future.'

Joey shrugged. 'So?'

'So I know what it's like to turn in this direction because you're feeling in the pits. And I sympathise. That's why I saved this job for you. One of me best.'

There was something about this comment that sounded ominous.

'Got a bit of a scheme going, haven't we, Yizzel?'

'Have we?'

Yizzel's mate looked close to despairing at him.

'D'you ever pay attention, Yizzel? Or d'you just wander about with your head in the clouds and your gob on automatic pilot?'

Yizzel just gave him a blank look, and his mate gave up, turning his shoulders away from him and facing Joey squarely.

'We made a little earner, didn't we, Yizzel?'

'Earner. Yeah.'

'Thing is, though, Joey, we can't disclose to anyone where it came from. Sentimental reasons, you know.'

Joey knew full well this was a lie; such was the nature of the game.

'Of course.'

'So to prevent any misunderstandings, we need a way to clean it up, don't we, Yizzel? Make it look kosher. Respectable.'

'Yeah,' Yizzel monotoned. 'Launder it.'

'Subtlety's not your strong point, is it, Yizzel?'

'Strong point, gov. No.'

Yizzel's mate's teeth were gritted, but he did his best to ignore his sidekick.

'And I thought to meself, who do we know who's got a respectable business?'

Joey's face darkened as he took the man's meaning.

'Me dad's business?!' he spat. 'Forget it. On yer bike.'

'It's good money, Joey. You'll get a twenty per cent cut.'

'I wouldn't do that,' he hissed. 'As I said, forget it.'

'Listen, all you have to do is put the takings a bit higher they were and it'll just…trickle through.'

'Like a fish in a stream,' said Yizzel.

'It won't harm it, Joey,' Yizzel's mate slung his arm around Joey's shoulders, an attempt to be friendly that had the eldest Boswell shuddering. 'Not an ounce of harm'll come to the business.'

'And how can I be sure it won't?' Joey flinched, shrugging him off. 'I've already been done by the tax man once before – you think he's not keeping an eye on me?! And that's before we consider the legalities of it…'

'We know what we're doin', you know! It'll be layered through two businesses – you'll be second in line. Pass it through the other one, then through to yours – much harder to link it to you. All the other business has to do is to order a bit of produce through you – which you never deliver.'

'And what about the poor sod who's first in line, then? He either takes the rap or lands me in it.' Neither sounded appealing to Joey. The whole thing was far, far too dodgy for Joey's liking. Not that he hadn't laundered money through the number plate business before, when the going got rough, but that was him working alone. Any implications wouldn't have fallen back on the rest of the family.

The organic business was his and Freddie's, though. His dad had slogged his guts out growing that produce.

Until, of course, he'd pranced off for the best part of twelve months, leaving Joey more or less alone to deal with it, leaving him far less free to deal with anything else in his life. If this was, as Yizzel's mate had professed on the phone, a short term arrangement, it could give him the means to set Jack up in the shop, or hire someone else, freeing him up to go out there and seek other means of living.

'We've already the got the other business lined up,' Yizzel's mate was persistent, acting as if Joey had already agreed and passing him a foled up bit of paper. 'You'll work together. Organise it. Be the middle men. Evan's his name.'

He pushed the paper insistently against Joey's hand.

'Give 'im a bell. He'll show you the ropes. Fix you up, like.'

'Fix you up. Yeah.'

Evan…that name sounded familiar, though Joey couldn't put a face to it. God, he hoped it was someone he'd dealt with before, and not one of Yizzel's mate's goons who'd given him the runaround before. Didn't matter; it still wasn't sitting well with Joey, regardless of who he'd be working with.

'I don't like this, mate.'

'It's for a couple of months, that's all. You were the one who said you wanted back in the game.'

'Not like this,' Joey shook his head.

'What choice do you have? This could open doors for you. Do it and we'll pass your name on to all our best contacts. But if you're not game to help out, well, if they ever ask for a good man for a job…obviously the first lads I'd think of would be the ones with balls.'

And there it was. The inevitable blackmail working with these two always entailed. Do it and he'd cement his reputation once again. Leave it and Yizzel's mate would make sure he lost future opportunities.

What did you talk to them for, son? You should have known this'd happen.

Joey took the number, but as he did so, he felt his stomach sink. Wanting to get back into it was one thing, but he had a dark sense of foreboding about this, and he couldn't help thinking, as he waited for the phone to ring, that this might be the daftest decision he'd made in a long time.


Oh, Joey, this may come back to bite you in a big way. Hopefully I'll try and update soon. We'll see how well I stick to that though.