With an unwelcome inevitability, Christmas day finally arrived. Joey pulled himself out of bed after yet another fitful night’s sleep. He couldn’t put his finger on exactly when it had happened, but at some time during the night his guilt had turned to anger. The more he thought about it, the more convinced he was the whole bloody mess could be laid at his mother’s door. If she hadn’t interfered and stuck her nose in all the time, he wouldn’t have had to abandon his lover. The self-righteous old bag would have to see the damage she’d done. Joey became increasingly convinced he had to go round and have it out with her. He’d tell her that her precious son was a fruit, a fairy, a shirt lifter. If she cast him out, then so be it, but there was no f*****g way he was going to compromise on Simon
