Waking to knocking and doorbell ringing on Monday morning, Joey’s hung-over brain was alert enough to register a sense of déjà vu.
As he padded barefoot down the hallway, tying his dressing gown around his waist, Joey wondered who wanted him this time. He hoped it wasn’t his mother, he doubted he could face her yet, even though he was certain she’d have been told by Carole that he’d agreed to take Simon.
Opening the door, Joey was met by a fist slamming into his nose, the force of the blow sending him to the carpet. Lifting a hand to his nose, Joey felt a growing pool of warm sticky liquid spreading across his face.
“You f*****g bastard!”
Joey looked up at his attacker, who appeared to be almost as wide as the doorframe. Stunned, it took him a few seconds to work out the man’s iden
