And I'm back after another work-related-not-having-time hiatus. Things are getting close to kicking off, but you get one more chapter of being cruel first. Next chapter should be up sooner as it's already completely written, it just needs bowdlerising so it can still fall under the T umbrella.
21
The sleepless nights of Joey Boswell
He'd put Billy and Connie to bed in Billy's room at around three (give or take another half an hour of one or both of them trying to get out of bed, landing on their faces on the floor, roaring with drunken laughter and having to be settled again like bloody toddlers), and then Joey had stumbled into his own room, but although he was tired, sleep had decided to bypass him.
The frustration burning through his veins was unbearable. Joey hadn't felt like this for years – not since he and Roxy had been ensconced in a fresh romance, back in the day, and every fresh outing until they'd finally consummated their relationship had left him wild with desire. God, he'd forgotten how exhilarating it was, exploring feelings for someone new – exhilarating and absolutely bloody torturous. Twice in a row he'd tried to move things on with Martina, only to be thwarted, and the eldest Boswell was beginning, in his addled mind, to wonder whether that was a sign or simply sheer coincidence.
The thought occurred, niggling at the corners of his mind, that this had all been a bad idea, that Martina not wanting to waste her time didn't necessarily equate to wanting to be with him – and though these insecurities played about in his mind, they were vastly overshadowed by the encouragement she'd given him this evening.
Not just this evening, either. Her words from the park this afternoon, when he'd been inches from making a move, came back to him.
Don't mess me around, Joey. You have to mean it.
And, well…that seemed pretty clear cut to him. If he went for it, she wanted to do things properly. And while he'd hesitated on that front, unsure whether he was ready to plunge into something else, Joey was aware he hadn't positioned himself well if he really, truly wanted to wait and heal on his own.
The minute he'd got himself out of the house, he'd been in her face, strongarming her into spending time with him and trying to ignore the lust he felt seeing her in that dress of hers and trying to convince himself that his desire to get to know her was born of loneliness.
That it wasn't an opportunity he'd never had before, when Roxy was on the scene.
That it wasn't the fact that now Roxy was gone, he actually had licence to look twice at girls he'd guiltily fancied when she was around, a free man to explore possibilities with them. That he didn't have to deny those desires, pushing them into the depths of his subconscious out of a loyalty and fidelity he'd never got from Roxy in return, but had stuck to nonetheless.
Bloody hell, when he looked back in hindsight, it all made sense. He hadn't latched onto Martina because of loneliness, or because she'd turned up at his hotel room in Scotland – though she'd certainly done a good job keeping herself on his mind.
He'd reached out to her because, in some way, he'd always wanted to. He'd just never seen himself as a single man, even when Roxy was far away, until a definitive end had occurred.
And that had been when…
Oh, God, you're not trying to charm me into being friends with yer, are you?
Would you like to be?
Somehow I don't think I get a say in this.
Thinking back on it startled Joey. He'd never asked her to be his friend. He'd asked her to dinner, ostensibly to make up for what had happened in Scotland. She'd put the word into his mouth, a misinterpretation of an asking-out Joey only now realised he'd put forth at the time. And he'd picked up on it and run with it – happily so, given the shambles his life had been in at the time – but it had never been his intention in the beginning.
Not really.
The more Joey thought about it, coming to the conclusion it was…he didn't want to risk thinking it was certain, but, well…highly likely this thing between them was mutual, deeper than he'd realised and existent (albeit dormant) for far longer than he realised, the more unsettled he became.
The sight of her, still starry-eyed after their almost-kiss, resigned to him leaving, swishing off in that short dress of hers assaulted his brain again and again. Joey could still almost feel her in his arms, smell the perfume she'd been wearing (the special one she put on when she dressed up; exotically different from her usual scent and dizzyingly exciting when he was in this sort of mood), hear the taunting whisper of her voice at his ear – why, Mister Boswell, if you're trying to charm me, you're not exactly being subtle, are you? and he tossed and turned, unable to get her or their encounter out of his head.
Still wide awake as the clock struck four and frustrated beyond belief, he gave up on the possibility of a good night's sleep and got up to have a cold shower, unwilling to act on his desire on his own. That would have ruined everything; a weak shadow of what he really needed. He didn't simply want gratification, he wanted her – and if that meant waiting until the time was right, the stars aligned and they actually managed to take their twice-aborted conversation further, so be it. His frustration, he was realising, wasn't just physical – it was emotional as well. For too long now Joey had been thrown from crisis to crisis – first his family's, then his own, then the pain of trying to navigate the post-Roxy world he'd found himself in. There had been far too many nights fraught with bad dreams, disturbed sleep worrying about the paraphernalia of life. And though he was loath to put too many expectations on any potential entanglement with Martina, she'd been the only thing that had brought him any sort of comfort or hope for the future. And his need for her was overwhelming, bordering on all-consuming.
And, given it was four in the morning, there was absolutely nothing he could do about that.
Freezing but no calmer (the shower had had little effectiveness in dampening his ardour) Joey got back into bed, resigning himself to his torment.
Nellie's reaction to finding Connie in bed with Billy come morning was loud enough to wake the entire street – as well as Joey, who had finally dozed off into a shallow half-sleep as it started to get light outside.
The eldest Boswell groaned, stumbling downstairs towards the source of the commotion.
'You don't seduce my youngest son in this house!' his Mam's tirade was in full sail, her voice climbing in volume with every word, until it was almost at the level typically reserved for mentions of Lilo Lil's tartdom. 'Do you hear me? Not in this house! You can go straight home, madam!'
'All right, keep yer knickers on,' Connie scowled, 'I was goin' anyway.'
'And now she's mentioning knickers in my kitchen!'
Joey didn't usually step in these days, waiting instead until family rows resolved on their own or petered out, but his Mam seemed on the verge of an aneurysm.
'Mam,' he said softly, trying to manoeuvre himself past Billy and Connie to get to her.
'God,' Connie popped her chewing gum loudly, 'can a person not 'ave a kip in peace without bein' accused of debauchery?' She rolled her eyes with an attitude that put all of Martina's best eye rolls to shame.
'I'll see yer, Billy. We'll stay at my gaff next time we get bladdered. Least there my Mam won't mind.' And then she was mercifully gone, loping off towards the front door.
'Flouncing off on those long legs,' Nellie scoffed again as a swish of Connie's ponytail marked her exit from the house. 'A Lilo Lil in the making, that one, seducing my son with her…sarkiness and her…legs.'
She sank down into her chair with a bump, clutching at a mug of tea as if to ground herself.
'Steady on, Mam, steady on,' Joey said, raising his hands to calm her down. 'She was only here because she was too drunk to get home – I brought them both back. I was worried. Speakin' of which, Billy, you really need a lesson in what's appropriate in public!'
'And what about you, then?!' Billy protested. 'Grindin' on the DSS lady on the dance floor!'
Joey felt his face colour; he'd thought Billy would have been too drunk to remember that, let alone subject the memory to his Billyish exaggerations.
'Joey!' Nellie chided.
'I wasn't grinding on her,' he said calmly. He sat down, flicking open his paper, acting as nonchalant as he could. 'I was dancing with her. It's a pastime people sometimes partake in at parties – something which can be enjoyed sober, in fact.'
His attempt to shift the spotlight back onto Billy backfired.
'Well, it's the truth, isn't it! That's what he did! And he had his 'ands all over her–'
'Biiiilllyyyy!' Joey sing-songed his brother into silence, thankfully before he could let forth a word into the conversation that probably would have sent Nellie into hysterics. 'Given you were legless to the point of spewing all over the floor, I don't think you should be trustin' your memory that much, now, should you?'
It was pretty low, really, to use Billy's drunkenness as an excuse to get away with bald-faced lies, but Joey was getting pretty desperate to avoid humiliation, or any sort of wrath from Nellie.
Not that it mattered.
'And he nearly kissed her!'
'Billy!'
Joey was aware his own voice had gone up a few decibels. He struggled to rearrange his face into a more neutral expression.
'Just mind your own business,' he said calmly, reaching for a piece of toast to signal the end of the conversation. 'Okay?'
Billy was all too happy to drop the subject once he noticed there as bacon on offer, but once he'd sufficiently loaded his plate, his characteristically daft thoughtful-face.
'Eh, does that mean you wanted to –'
'Billy!' Joey raised his fork in warning. 'That's enough about last night, okay?'
'You wanna be careful, Joey,' Nellie, now calmer, was eyeing him curiously. 'You start dancing with a pretty girl, and next minute she's ensnaring you with her…assets…and where does it all end?'
'He knows where it ends,' Billy's tactlessness was nearing its peak, 'left at an altar in Gretna Green!'
Oh, that was it. His wound may not be as raw as it had once been, but for his brother to bring it up so callously still rubbed Joey up the wrong way. He pushed his plate away, tossing his napkin onto the table and standing up.
'I'm gonna take Grandad's tray.'
Getting out onto the street and away from the others calmed Joey again, and he took a deep breath, trying to recalibrate. He was tense as it was, an undercurrent of sexual and emotional frustration running through his every thought – and Billy bringing it up in front of his mother had only served to add a layer of embarrassment and annoyance to his already turbulent mind.
God, he needed to do something about this soon. It was a shame he had to meet Evan later to go over the books, otherwise he'd be round her flat as soon as breakfast was over, ready to hash things out. At this rate, he wasn't sure when he'd be able to see her, and the thought of waiting for an unspecified number of days to resolve this was a brutal one indeed.
He shook his head, trying to shake himself back into reality, and knocked on the door of Number Twenty-Eight.
'Half past ten, it is!' He heard Grandad's reproach before he saw the man himself, a pair of doddery old hands emerging from the door and snatching the tray. 'Might as well call this bloody lunch and be done with it.'
'Sorry it's late, son. Me and Billy, we…er…we got back a bit late last night, and our Mam's only just done it for everyone.'
'Oh, aye,' Grandad curled his lip, though whether he was digesting this information or inspecting his breakfast for defects Joey wasn't sure. 'Gaddin' about late at night, gettin' your hanky panky in…'
Not the best timing to hear that, when Joey was desperate for it and continually falling short.
'It was just a party with a few friends and our Carol – at Sandra's, you remember Sandra…'
'Aye,' Grandad said. 'The irritating one. What d'you want to go hanky pankyin' with her for?'
'Not her – ' Joey protested.
'Who, then?'
Joey kicked himself.
'No-one, Grandad,' he struggled to rectify his mistake.
'You listen to me, there are plenty of women about. No point chasin' after irritating, namby-pamby women who cry at the drop of a hat. Find a good 'un – then get the hanky panky out of the way. Then once it's out of the way, you'll find all that's left that you want in life is a decent meal. That's a battle in itself.'
'Cheers, Grandad,' Joey muttered, shaking his head. The old man may have been going soft in the head, but he was still capable of adding to Joey's inner torment. 'Thanks a lot.'
The day had been agonising. He'd barely been able to concentrate – and now night had fallen, Joey was lying awake once again, his thoughts and loins rebelliously active when the rest of him was about ready to drop dead with exhaustion.
The streetlight outside was bothering him. When he'd shared with his brothers, his window had faced the yard instead, and he'd never had to worry about light filtering in. Now he'd claimed Aveline's old room for his own, he was acutely aware of it, light creeping around the curtains and cutting through the blackness. And when he was wracked with insomnia to this degree, the extra light only served to intensify both his exhaustion, and his frustration that he was still awake.
Martina was still emblazoned on his mind, burning onto the back of his eyelids every time he shut them, filling his brain and his body until he was buzzing with an insatiable electricity.
Would it be wrong if he went over there now? It was late; at the very least it would be inconsiderate. She was probably asleep. And what was he going to do? Turn up at her doorstep and say excuse me, but I've got insomnia, so do you mind if I work it off on you?
Then again, what was the alternative? Another night staring at the ceiling, writhing in physical and emotional torment?
He deliberated and tried to sort his head out, but Joey's brain wasn't really doing his thinking at present. Admitting to himself he wanted her had stirred awake some powerful urges, which he'd been trying violently to suppress (whether he realised it or not) ever since he'd woken up in his Gretna Green hotel room to see her asleep beside him.
Propelled by a need so powerful it took control of his senses, he threw the blankets off and got out of bed.
As a rule, Martina didn't like taking work home. And on the rare occasion when she did, inundated with claimants to the point where she had little time to devote to admin, and was scribbling down details to add to their files later, she didn't, as a rule, like leaving it to the last minute.
And yet here she was, up late on Sunday evening, acutely aware she now had no other option but to face the pile of it she'd put off all weekend, but completely unmotivated to pick up her pen.
She couldn't focus on it. She couldn't focus on anything, come to think of it, save the one thing that was clouding her mind – Joey bloody Boswell and their encounter last night. Dancing with him, the way he'd held her, touches bordering on inappropriate, coming so close to –
She massaged her temples, trying to clear her mind; make sense of things.
Much as there had been something between them that night – something that had been building for some time now, that had finally seemed to come to a head – she didn't want to rush headlong into anything uncertain.
A large part of her was obnoxiously, logically aware that Joey Boswell had not all that long ago been left at the altar by a woman he had, by his own admission, been in love with for the better part of a decade. There was a word for relationships born off disappointments and heartbreaks like that. Rebounds, they called them, and Martina didn't want to be one of those.
Then again, they were practically entangled in a romance now anyway, lovers in almost every way. They just hadn't gone that extra step and admitted it, or consummated it.
And she loved him.
She always had, really. She'd tried to deny it, but it had never really gone away, no matter what she did.
Now, though, it was a bit different. Time spent in his company had swept away any fantasies she had once had about him. She didn't love him from afar as she once had, resenting him for making her feel that way and for her lustful dreams about the suave bastard who had everything together in his life, she loved him from up close, seeing a broken human man who simply looked as if he were a suave bastard who had everything together. Her love had evolved into something a bit more realistic, but it was still there, still just as consuming. She'd told him yesterday she liked the real him better than the shop-front he'd put on all these years – and she hadn't been lying. Getting to know him had only solidified those feelings, built them from sketchy fantasies into a three-dimensional entity.
And from the looks of things, the time they'd spent together had made something shift in Joey's mind as well.
A couple of times this afternoon she had nearly just chucked in the towel, given in to her urges and picked up the phone.
And each time, she had just – only just – managed to steel herself and put the phone down again. It may have been daft, but she wanted him to come to her, to make the first move.
And it seemed as if he'd been ready to do so, daring himself to work up the courage at the party to take things a few steps further. And it wasn't nerves or hesitation that had stopped him – it was those sodding little Boswells with their never-ending string of problems. She supposed, like any addiction, springing up to help his family at the drop of a hat was proving hard to kick. Plus, carrying things any further when Joey was covered in his brother's spew wouldn't have been the best idea.
She sighed. Bloody Billy Boswell. The whole bloody lot of them, driving her mad as usual – the cause of that madness was just a bit different.
She was trying to force herself to focus on the record in front of her when the buzzer went off outside.
Martina glanced at her watch. It was quarter to twelve – the only person who bothered her at this hour was her brother when he'd had a skinful and didn't want to face his wife.
'For God's sake!' she called, stumbling up to answer the door. 'Three times this month – you're gonna have to find someone else to cover for yer; some of us have work to get up for, and – oh!'
And the rest of her sororal chastisement fell away when she yanked the door open, only to find not her brother, but Joey, slightly befuddled at being hit by a rebuke not intended for him.
And she knew, as soon as she saw him there. He hadn't been able to stop thinking about it either.
'Evening, Mister Boswell.' Martina kept her tone calm, raised an eyebrow, folded her arms.
'I know it's late, Martina. And if you wanted to shut the door in me face, you'd be within your rights. For disturbing you, like.'
'I've a good mind to,' she said, although she was lying.
She didn't want to.
He wanted to come in, to kiss her like he hadn't yesterday. And not just kiss her. He wanted to go much further. She knew this with absolute certainty – that if she let him in, that was how the evening would go.
And she wanted to let him.
'I was still up anyway.'
He looked a bit surprised at this.
'Paperwork doesn't do itself, you know.'
'Ah. Right.'
Martina waited, but when it was evident he wasn't going to say anything, she pushed the conversation forward for him.
'What are you doin' here at this time of night?'
'I couldn't sleep.'
'Oh, yeah?'
So, he'd decided to go for the couldn't sleep approach, had he? Then again, when she took in his face, she realised that might not be all that far from the truth. His eyes had their usual dark rims; he looked dishevelled, and she wondered briefly just what had happened at Kelsall Street tonight to prompt this bout of insomnia.
'And what do you want me to do about it?' She already knew the answer, but she was going to say this anyway.
'I…I don't know.'
She crossed her arms again. 'I think you do, Joey.' And then she let her DSS lady mask fall away, gave him a proper smile. 'Come in.'
Joey seemed startled, although she could see the flicker of gratitude in his eyes.
'Are you sure, sweetheart? I mean…is that what you really want, Martina? I mean…,' he lowered his voice, even though there was no-one around to hear, 'if you let me in, I might not be able to stop meself.'
And there it was; the final confirmation – he had come here to finish what they'd started. Martina had suspected it, had hoped for it, but hearing it from the horse's mouth made it all the more real. And the thought of that happening, of sealing their relationship, of Joey being, once and for all, well and truly hers, was sending shivers down her spine. She wasn't going to let this opportunity slip away from her.
'Come in, Mister Boswell.' She shook her head, held the door open for him, jerked her head towards the doorway.
'Come in.'
