Breaking Joseph

by Lucy V. Morgan

  He chewed his lip. “Depends. I don’t think I made my case very well.”

  Breath stuck in my throat. “Are you withholding evidence from me, Mr Merchant?”

  He dropped his head to whisper. “I realized…I realized that I’m in love with a very good lawyer.” The words were barely there above the buzz of the street, but he said them. They cost him more than he’d ever budgeted for this madam, I think. Joseph mashed his forehead to mine and it was cool, damp, gorgeous. “Do you?”

  “Joe. Don’t be such a moron.” The smile made my face ache, but it was worth it. “Of course I love you.”

  His kiss was a tease and a loaded precursor. “Fuck. I’m glad that’s over with.” He laughed and bit his lip. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. About…everything, ah–”

  “Even the rabbit?”

  “Even the…well, aside from your cryptic shite. For that, I need a translator. You possibly need a therapist.”

  “Says the man who doesn’t believe in any of that.” I grinned.

  “There’s more than one type of therapy.” He nudged me away gently. “Leila.”

  Dad leaned against the car with his arms folded and his face screwed in mild disapproval.

  Matt stood a few feet behind him.

  Crap.

  Matt shrugged again, his smile sad and rueful, and then it hit me like a fist to the gut.

  “You.” I hurried up to him. “You knew about this, didn’t you?”

  He cringed. “Was it that obvious?”

  I threw my arms around his neck. When he recovered, he squeezed me back in a crush of freshly laundered cotton and solid chest.

  “Why?”

  “God. Leila.” He gazed at the pavement, his fists plunging into his pockets. “I knew you weren’t coming with me after last weekend. At the party.”

  “I was–”

  “No, you weren’t. Not really. You even said it.” He pressed his lips together. “I just…I couldn’t be that guy. And we’d have been miserable. This way, you’re happy, right? I wanted to give you that.”

  “Don’t make me cry again.” I tried to hold trembling shoulders stiff. “Why would you do that for me?”

  “You know why.”

  I gave a little sob and cocked my head back toward Joseph. “You hate him.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I do.” He rolled glassy eyes. “But you know, without him, I’d never have been with you. And I don’t regret that I was.”

  “Me either.” I reached up and straightened the collar of his rugby shirt. “You’re so lovely, Matt. You’re going to find someone perfect, you know. Someone who…” Erm. “Someone who isn’t a whore would be a start.”

  A soft laugh emerged from beneath his thick hair. “Maybe.”

  “I mean it.” I remembered what Aidan had predicted and I wished, just for a second, that I could turn him into the man he might have been.

  Might still become, one day.

  I lunged back at him for one last hug. “Thank you. Thank you.”

  “He better fucking make you happy.”

  “I’ll threaten him with Cockspank’s first album.”

  “Oi. Don’t push your luck.” He pinched my waist, and I swatted him, giggling.

  “Look,” said Dad huffily. “Are we going? Because there’s a parking warden over there looking more pissed than–”

  “Dad.” Fuck. “Apparently…apparently we’re not going, no.”

  Dad glanced at Joseph, then at Matt, and finally to me. “Who’s the tosser in the posh jumper?”

  Matt cleared his throat loudly and I led Dad away. The blood crashed against my pulse points in waves.

  “Dad,” I said nervously, “this is Joseph Merchant. My boyfriend.”

  Joseph held out a hand; I’m sure it was shaking, just slightly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr Vaughn,” he said.

  Dad pumped his hand hesitantly. “Merchant–weren’t you her boss?”

  “I was.” Joe tried not to squint.

  Dad’s upper lip twitched; he wasn’t sure whether to be amused or slightly disgusted. “Jesus, Leila. Again?”

  Joseph stifled a grin. “I’m a fair bit younger than Flemming, if that helps.”

  Dad studied him for a second and then started to chuckle. “It’s a start.” He leaned in to me. “What do you think you’re doing to poor Matthew?”

  “It’s okay, Dad. He set all this up.” I found myself beaming at Matt. “He’ll be all right.”

  “Will he?”

  Matt mouthed something at Joseph, who gave a silent response. Then he climbed into his car and started the engine.

  “I think so, yeah.”

  Dad put a hand over his eyes to check for parking wardens again. “So what happens now?”

  “I don’t know. Um.” I glanced at Joseph. “Any ideas?”

  Our fingers tangled, palms melted together. We hadn’t held hands like this in public since a walk in the park a few weeks ago when he first hinted that he wanted more than an hour-long slot in my life. Now I stared at the broad-shouldered figure he cut in the sunshine, and shivered–mine. Mine, mine, mine. And not a knife in sight.

  Did that mean I was still whole?

  “I didn’t plan much further than this.” God, his eyes were even greener than usual. “But I’d like to take your dad for lunch. If he wants to.”

  “I’ve not long had breakfast.” Dad laughed.

  “The pub, then.”

  “Sounds good to me.” Dad’s car keys jingled as he held them aloft. “Need to park somewhere though. And shouldn’t have more than one.”

  “I can sort you out. Pull around the corner to the blue BMW, the one by the bushes–then you can follow me.”

  Dad shuffled off to start the car again, and then we were walking. Together. Alone. If he’d slipped through my fingers like a spectre, I would have believed it. Would have mourned all over again, regardless.

  I squeezed his hand. “You meanie.”

  “What?”

  “Expecting me to behave myself with you in public for the next few hours.” I could’ve torn the flesh off those forearms and devoured him, still alive. No chance of escape then…

  “Oh.” He smirked. “You won’t starve, Leila.”

  “Wolves are good with just beer, are they?”

  An arm wrapped around my waist, tugging me back to a hard torso. Warm breath poured over my neck. Ah, ah. He turned me, peeled his shirt from the belt that secured it, and pressed my fingertips to the faint raise of an L that curved about his smooth hipbone.

  “They do like a fine cask ale, if you’re asking,” he murmured. “But remember… wolves eat little girls too.”

  Epilogue

  Snow fell in February, and London was unprepared.

  Streets were made of white velvet that creaked pleasingly underfoot, roads stuffed with last night’s abandoned vehicles, now thick with powder after a night of blizzards and ink. All around, the trees were frosted lollipops and the sun winked through loaded clouds.

  Wonderland, and Eden frozen over.

  Joseph had no apples, it transpired. No rabbits either. What he did have was a pleasing array of cards to lay on the table and one by one, we pieced together a life in hearts and spades.

  The past six months had been fraught and busy. With Joseph’s help, I worked for free for a little while in order to qualify. We spent two months in New York; we networked and hobnobbed and got incredibly drunk at Kenji and Elise’s wedding. There was a flying visit to Stockholm, where he stayed while I returned to help my parents finally pack up the house. The new office had been opened and I was as excited about owning a photocopier as I was about the way business flooded in.

  Did I ask Joseph what had gone on with Matt? You bet. Did I get it out of him? Bah, no. Neither of them would talk, actually. All I know is that it involved a bottle of very good vodka, but they never did shake hands.

  Now, I made my way to another past home: Clemmie still lived in my little old flat and insisted on playing hostes
s.

  Aidan greeted me at the door.

  “What the hell have you done to your hair?” I reached up to tug on his short quiff.

  “I had it all lopped off.” He pulled me into a hug. “There wasn’t much point in keeping the curls when I didn’t have to match my playmate anymore.”

  “It suits you.”

  “Hello, stranger.” Matt smiled at me from the sofa. A messy box covered in knobs and wires sat in his lap.

  “Hey.” I sank down next to him. “That’s a synthesizer, right?”

  “Correct. Have a Smartie.” He gestured to Aidan. “We’ve been writing songs.”

  I winced. “Really?”

  “Oh, fuck off, Lei-Lei. We can’t all be globe-trotting superwhores. Yet,” said Aidan. “Clem! Will you get a move on with dinner? I’m going to expire, or whine. Or something.”

  “Are you chopping these onions or what?” she called from the kitchen.

  “What do I look like, your fucking slave?” Aidan sighed as he went to join her. “You see what I have to put up with? Bossy cow.”

  “What have you been up to, then?” I said to Matt. “How’s the job working out?”

  “Good. Really good, actually.” He twisted on the sofa, draping himself over the back. “Although I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be a lawyer.”

  “Oh?”

  A faint blush crept along his cheekbones. “We scored a development deal last month. My band, that is.”

  “Oh gosh. Matt, that’s awesome.” I gave his arm a squeeze and the blush deepened. “Oh my God!”

  “Yeah. Huh.” He fiddled with a synthesizer wire. “What about you, then? Last time I saw you, you’d only just qualified.”

  It was before Christmas, when Clem cooked dinner and I made the mince pies.

  I dug a purse out of my Mulberry bag and presented him with a thick ivory business card.

  Matt scanned it before handing it back. “Merchant Deity. Wow.” He frowned. “Shouldn’t your name be on here? After…”

  After I invested most of my money? I lowered my gaze just a little, trying not to smile. “My name kind of is on it.”

  “Oh.” His eyes widened. “Oh. Congratulations.”

  “Not yet. Not for a while.”

  “Well. When they’re due,” Matt said softly.

  Somewhere in our apartment, an emerald sat in a locked drawer. Waiting. I wasn’t ready to put it on, nor was Joseph close to asking. All the same, he’d had it reset on a band for my third finger without so much as a mention. I came home one day and it sat in a polished box on top of his heap of new novels, just there. Do you like it? Joseph had asked. I nodded. Good, he’d said. My Gramma thinks it’ll suit you. A bit of me liked to think it would, though I’d yet to try it on.

  Clemmie emerged from the kitchen with two steaming plates.

  “Harlot.” She beamed as she passed one to me. “I’m going to teach you to cook eventually, and we can swap for once.”

  I sprang up to hug her. “You sit down, have this one. I’ll go and help Aid.”

  She rolled her eyes at Matt. “If I did let her cook, it’d be ice cream for dinner.”

  Matt smiled knowingly. “Nothing wrong with that.”

  Aidan sloshed wine into Clemmie’s jewel-coloured glasses, and I prodded him in the back.

  “Make mine a little one. I need to be sober.”

  “Why? Did the Marquis buy a trapeze?”

  “Sod off. I’ll never get home drunk, not in this weather.” I helped myself to a fork from the drawer and leaned against the counter to eat. “So how’s business?”

  “Busy. What I’ve done of it, anyway.” He handed me a drink. “I’ve got a couple of new performing partners now but none of them are quite the same.” He snorted in disgust. “They bleed too much during anal.”

  I clapped a hand to my face, trying not to snigger with my mouth full. “Aidan!”

  “What?” He batted his eyelashes innocently.

  “You should teach them. Like you did for me.”

  “Ahh, memories.” He sighed. “I’ve tried, Lei-Lei. Nobody has a sphincter quite as retractable as yours, it seems.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment,” I grumbled. “Ooh, I almost forgot. What happened with that restraining order?”

  Aidan gawped at me for a second–I did remember that properly, right?

  “Nikolai?” I prompted.

  He slumped against the counter in badly disguised relief. “Oh. That.” He stuck his tongue out. “Well, it’s calmed the poor boy down a bit. I can’t drink at his bar anymore but I suppose it’s for the best, after all those roofies.”

  “You’re not even joking, are you?” I giggled.

  “Nope.”

  I clinked my glass to his. “To picking lovers who aren’t psychopaths.”

  “Indeed. Speaking of which.” He grinned at me. “Any more stories to tell me?”

  “What, from New York? Mmm.” I twisted a ringlet around my finger. “Nothing I didn’t tell you last time, I think.”

  “I can’t believe you’ve got a proper girlfriend,” he teased. “I suppose I should teach you the secret bi handshake. Do you know if Clem’s got any lube?”

  “She’s not really my girlfriend.” A flush crept up from beneath my dress. “Elise, that is.”

  “As good as. You need to take pictures,” he said, straight-faced.

  “That’s what Joe keeps telling me.”

  “Looky here.” Aidan nudged me and nodded toward the sofa. “Matt and Clemmie.”

  “What?” Oh God. I recognized those pensive little smiles. “Oh. Matt and Clemmie,” I repeated, staring in fascination and disbelief. “Have they…”

  “Not yet. But just look at them–classic fuck me poses.”

  They leaned in together, giggling and prodding each other with the cutlery.

  I cleared my throat. “That’s quite weird.”

  “It’s borderline incestuous,” Aidan said cheerfully, “but we both know how much fun that is.”

  Why hadn’t I noticed before? They made sense, when I thought about it. “She’s too fiery to be vanilla wife,” I decided.

  “Which is a bloody good job, isn’t it? Quick, where’s the laptop? We’ll order them some paddles for Valentine’s Day.”

  “I think I’ll let you do that.” I patted his hand before I reached for my phone, now vibrating out of my pocket. “I’ve got to run.”

  “Already?”

  “I’ll be back later tonight, I promise.” I stood on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek. “I’ll bring some vodka too. Got some fab stuff in Sweden.”

  “I want a blond tart next time,” he called after me. “A slutty one!”

  I said goodbye to Matt and Clemmie, and hurried back down to the lift. When I reached the glass doors, the snow had begun to drift down again and I could barely see past the end of the road.

  A familiar figure stood a few feet away, pouring a pale silhouette over the snow.

  I fell into step with him. “Good meeting?”

  Joe took my gloved hand. “Not bad, considering that they’re all stuck in the country for a good week longer than planned.” He smiled down at me. “How about you?”

  “I was distracted.”

  He cocked a snowy eyebrow. “Oh?”

  “I’ve got a complaint to make, Mr Merchant. You haven’t fucked me in our new office yet.”

  “I haven’t, have I?” He rubbed the snow off his watch. “It’ll be fucking freezing in there, you know.”

  “Can’t get much colder than Stockholm.”

  “This is true.” He glanced up and down the empty street. “Race you?”

  “I’ll only embarrass mys–”

  The bastard. He took off, leaping down the road and whooping like a teenager. His footprints carved the way into a brave new world.

  “You cheat!” I shrieked. “Come back here!”

  “Last one there is a very good lawyer,” he shouted, laughing.

  You’ll be
wondering, sooner or later, what happened to Charlotte.

  Did she get a happy ending? It wasn’t the shape she expected it to be. I don’t think she ever expected one at all. Perhaps she was afraid she would melt in the daylight, but the brighter the sun, the fatter the swell of the shadows. And Charlotte still likes shadows very much.

  Leila still lives in London. I still live sex and money beneath a thin slick of law. I am composed of memories, sour and sharp and bloody, and I am particularly defined, I think, by the moment where a tall blond man embraced me on this very street. Where a whisper saved me. Was I ashamed to need him? I was only one girl, and yet I needed to put two back together. What do you think?

  With him, no longer was I unfinished. Charlotte melted like a snowflake and I sank back into my own skin with a sigh. Now she waits behind closed doors for the wolf who takes her hunting, and there is nothing quite as sweet as the moment when he tugs her back through my flesh.

  There's only one thing better than the thrill of two, and that's the man who can match me.

  Fuck for fuck.

  Matt’s “Alternative” Ending

  (told from his perspective)

  “God. I’d forgotten how gorgeous your bed is.”

  Leila gazed up at the carved four-poster that dominated my beamed room, her eyes like petrol puddles reverberating with traffic. Her hands sat on her hips as she paced around.

  “I’m sure you’ll make it even more gorgeous.” I gestured to the bin liners full of expensive linen that we’d piled up beside her boxes. Sequins winked at me in the sunlight pouring through the window; a girl lives here now, they said.

  Weird.

  “I seem to remember making a mess of it, last time,” she murmured, throwing me a coy, knowing little smile.

  Oh, fucking hell. I wish she wouldn’t do that to me.

  Only when I let myself look at her--really look at her--did I realize she was crying.

  “Hey.” I strode over, wrapping her against my chest. She leaned in willingly, all warm and smelling like marzipan and flowers. “What’s wrong?”

  She shrugged as she sobbed on to my rugby shirt, her tears soaking into the creases.

  She knew why, really. So did I. But we were off on the yellow brick road to our shiny new jobs; maybe even a shiny new us. It didn’t feel right to belittle that. I stroked her back with flat palms, trying to ignore the way her breasts melted against my ribs.