A/n I watched the Liverpool Echo's video of some of the Bread cast at Carla Lane's funeral and there was a lovely moment when Joanna Phillips Lane brushed something off Peter Howitt's jacket, almost like a couple who'd been married for 25 years and tried to write a story about them still being contentedly together. Needless to say I couldn't do it, though it keeps bugging me and stopping me from finishing An Explosion of Boswells. A few days after Carla's death I suggested to my mum she channel her inner Nellie Boswell and do my washing, she refused point blank but passed me an article she was reading, screenshot below story. So here is my very late tribute to Carla Lane.

Disclaimer – I don't own Bread.

A Rather Unfortunate Coincidence.

"So that in a nutshell is it." Martina smiled ruefully at her friend Jane who worked in the housing dept.

"I don't see a problem." Jane tried not to sound too envious, "Martina you've got half the fellas here drooling over you, anyone of them would be dead made up to go with you."

"Don't exaggerate!" Martina rolled her eyes, "besides they'd all expect something to come out of it and I don't fancy any of them."

"Mmn," Jane sipped her drink. "What about Simon?" She nodded across the pub to a group of blokes enjoying a few pints.

"Simon?" Martina raised her eyebrows, "I dunno, he's a nice enough fella, but.." she wrinkled her nose and shrugged.

"I know what you mean," Jane looked at her conspiratorially. "He is lovely though there is a bit of a 'but' about him. He wouldn't expect anything at the end though."

"True. It's such a pain, if it wasn't for the fact that it'd provoke a massive row with me mam I'd be happy to give it a miss. I hate bloody weddings anyway."

"Would a row matter? I didn't think you got on with your mam."

"I don't to be honest, but I prefer not to have an out and out row and she wants us all to go. She's even making Tony get himself respectable and come along."

"Must be special." Jane was surprised to hear Martina mention Tony, her elder brother who was, by all accounts, a drunken waster.

"Yeah it is. It's me mam's god-daughter."

"But surely Tony's going on his own so why can't you?"

"Well, I was with David when me mam accepted the invitation, so..." she left the sentence unfinished.

"If you don't like the idea of Simon, what about an escort?"

" A what?" Martina wasn't sure she'd heard properly.

"An escort. You pay them to accompany you and that's it. A straightforward business arrangement."

Martina stared at her, eyes on stalks, unable to speak.

Jane laughed, "don't look so shocked, apparently plenty of business women hire them." She stopped overcome by a fit of the giggles at Martina's reaction.

"Pay for an escort!" Martina was disbelieving.

"My sister does when she has certain client do's." She paused, "I can get the number of the one she uses if you like."

Martina was still staring at her.

"Oh and by the way, the guy she uses now came from a gay contact. He's expensive but good, straight acting, plays the boyfriend, husband or whatever and doesn't provide sex as part of the deal, which apparently the gigolos do."

"That's something I suppose. I'm certainly not paying for sex. I can get that anywhere, and for free," Martina noted sardonically, waving her arm round. "The scouse randy army."

Jane nodded. "The only drawback is he only accepts bookings from men, so.."

Martina scowled, "how come your sister uses him then?"

"Now he knows her he doesn't mind, but the first time she made the booking she had to pretend to be male and do a lot of explaining when they met."

Martina pondered it all while Jane topped up the drinks. She knew Jane's sister Margie was a high flying legal eagle. Perhaps it wasn't as seedy as it sounded. And at least if he were gay there'd be no hint of any sleazy sex involved.

So that was how, one month later Martina Walsh was standing near platform 7 at Lime Street Station in her best dress, waiting to meet the man who was to accompany her for the afternoon and evening. Jane had been wrong, it wasn't expensive, it was bloody extortionate, but at least it had averted an almighty family row. She wouldn't have any explaining and justifying about her brother to do to an escort either.

She scanned the crowds milling around and spotted a tall figure making a leisurely way towards her.

Martina frowned, there seemed something vaguely familiar about the approaching person.

Oh dear Lord no, it couldn't be. She seriously contemplated jumping the barrier and making an escape on the train before remembering that a; she was in ridiculously high heels and a tight dress, and b; it was the London train, first stop Crewe.

She turned back, "Mr Boswell," she acknowledged stiffly.

"Martin Wainright I presume," he answered lightly. He looked her up and down, then around for the DHSS fraud team. There didn't seem to be anybody about who seemed particularly interested in them.

"Ok Miss Martina is this a sting?"

"What? No, no," she answered distractedly, finding it disconcerting to hear him speak with only a hint of his usual scally lad scouse accent.

"So, what's the idea then?" Joey seemed more curious than angry.

She hastened to explain her predicament. Then finally gabbled out, "so a guy at work gave me your number, and told me how to book, said you'd be perfect for the role, and that though it wasn't your usual line of work, there was a very good chance you'd agree to do it, so long as I was willing to pay. I had absolutely no idea it was gonna be you."

The confusion in her voice and eyes led Joey to believe she was speaking the truth and that it was just a rather unfortunate coincidence.

"I see." Joey inclined his head. Well, the cover he'd so carefully nurtured for such a long time was blown to smithereens with the one person who could now probably find enough evidence to bring a credible fraud case against him if she chose to. She'd been threatening it enough over the years.

My line thought Martina, a flash of amusement spinning in and out of her brain.

"Right well," he extended his arm to her. There was no point in not going through with it, now she knew. He'd get his money whatever, he'd just have to keep the bit of him that had always fancied her firmly in check. "The taxis are this way."

"Oh, thank you Mr Boswell I'm very grateful." She took his proffered arm.

"Mr Boswell sounds a bit too official for the occasion. What was the name of your ex?"

"David," she muttered. "I can hardly use your professional name, Mr Boswell."

He threw back his head and laughed loudly. "David I shall be then." He led her to the taxi rank.

Martina heaved a sigh of relief as she sat back against the taxi seat. The day was almost over, just the financial transaction with Joey Boswell to complete and she'd be done. In fairness he'd earned his money, been the perfect companion, fielded awkward questions from Martina's gawking relatives with ease, not been disturbed by her brother's drunken rants, her father's barely disguised hostility or her mother's outright curiosity. He'd been attentive, had danced with her both formally and fairly intimately without his hands straying anywhere that might discomfort her, yet to all intents and purposes appeared like a devoted boyfriend. She certainly didn't begrudge him his fee.

The taxi pulled up outside her flat and they stepped out, Joey holding the door, courteous to the end.

"Right, "she opened her bag, as the taxi pulled away.

"Do you think we could go inside Martina? You'll have people thinking it's a different sort of transaction we're making." Joey laughed at her naivety.

"Oh, er, yes, course." She fumbled for her keys, embarrassed, and led him inside.

"Um, do you want a coffee?" Martina wasn't sure what the standard practice was.

"No thanks." Joey smiled.

She handed him the envelope with the cash in it. "Thank you," she mumbled unable to met his eyes.

"Thank you," he replied, the emphasis on the 'you'.

He slipped the money into his jacket. "Milk, one sugar," he spoke in his usual voice.

"Pardon?" Martina was completely thrown.

"If the offer of coffee still stands I'll have milk, one sugar." His amusement at her discomfort was barely concealed.

"Ah, right, yes. Through there." She indicated the sitting room whilst she made for the kitchen, glad to be alone for a moment.

"Nice flat you have here." Joey was sitting in a chair, jacket off, collar and bow tie undone.

"Yes, I like it." She handed him his coffee before making for the other chair.

"The neighbours don't bother you then?"

"No, there's nothing to fear from the dead Mr Boswell. They do us no harm." She assumed he was referring to the fact that she backed onto Toxteth Park Cemetery. "It's only the living we have to worry about."

"True, true." He turned his face to look straight at her. "Martina, it's none of my business and you can tell me to get lost, but why did you feel the need to book an escort for today? I can't believe that an exceptionally pretty woman like yourself couldn't have got someone to go with her."

She blushed, and drew a deep breath, "I'm feeling crushed and cowed Mr Boswell, I've just had a messy break up, and l don't want to start anything up with anyone anytime soon. It was easier."

He nodded, "but a friend then. The fella you mentioned who gave you me number. He wouldn't be expecting..."

"Oh really," she interrupted raising her eyes to look at him. "You've seen my family, would you inflict them on a friend? I mean, I've got to work with him afterwards. I do worry you know Mr Boswell."

"About what?" Joey spoke gently aware from her face that something had got to her.

"About the fact that me dad's addicted to gambling, me brother to drink, me mother to being a burning martyr. And I wonder Mr Boswell, I really wonder," she clamped her lips shut as if afraid to go on.

"Wonder what?" Joey tentatively probed further.

There was a silence before she burst out. "What it is I'm addicted to. Is it crap men? I've spent me life slamming into the wall before I've had a chance to get me foot off the accelerator and onto the brake. One relationship after another, crash, bang wallop, each time a bit of me left lying naked and bleeding on the ground, till eventually I'll be torn to bits with nothing left. And then what?" She blinked furiously, trying to keep the hot tears from falling.

"Hey now, I'm sorry. I didn't mean for you to get so upset." Martina became aware he was kneeling in front of her holding out a handkerchief.

She took it and he returned to his seat, profoundly unsettled in more ways than one by a vision of Martina naked on the floor. A glimpse into the tortured mind that lay hidden deep from the public frosty face of the woman sat behind the DHSS desk, implacable despite everything that was thrown at her day after day.

She took a deep breath, wiped her eyes and demonstrated to an astonished Joey her capacity for getting her act back together.

"What about you Mr Boswell? You're not gay, so why a male escort?"

Joey bit back the response telling her to piss off, after all she'd just bared her soul to him, shrugged and gave the one word answer he hoped would satisfy her. "Money."

"Gay for pay eh?"

"If you want to put it like that." He was offhand, slightly offended even, surprised she knew the phrase.

"There's other ways to earn a living Mr Boswell. What do your family think about it?"

"They don't know," he gave her a contemptuous look before continuing, "and doing exactly what Martina? There's nothing out there at the moment and you'd be shaken what people will do for money when there's none to be had."

She shook her head, "doesn't it get to you?"

He ran his hand nervously across his face. "Not as much as any of the alternatives would." He swallowed, "what do you think the only other realistic option is for earning as much? Earning enough to keep me family going in reasonable comfort."

She looked squarely at him, "dealing."

"Yeah, dealing drugs, and to really make the money it'd have to be the hard stuff, handing out misery and despair and all the rest that comes with it. I'm not into causing pain to others Martina, least not unless I'm being specifically paid to." He stopped having caught sight of her face. "Sorry, tasteless. But this way it's only me being," he hesitated trying to think how to explain what he meant.

"Corrupted," supplied Martina.

"Not quite, I'll have to come back to you when I've thought of the right word." His voice was flat, his eyes distant, inward looking.

He sounded wounded and Martina decided to back off, wondering what moral adjustments he'd had to make with himself over the years, what hurts and humiliations he'd suffered. It seemed like he wasn't the scrounging, thieving toe rag she'd always had him down for, but a man prepared to do whatever he had to keep his family going. She finished her coffee in silence.

Joey put his cup down and got up, picking up his jacket as he did so. He needed to get away before he confided things to her that he'd instantly regret. They still had to meet regularly at the DHSS, though he knew he'd never be able to regard her in quite the same light again.

Taking her cue Martina rose, grateful he'd stopped talking when he had. She didn't really want to know any more, after all she still had to face him across that counter. Maybe in future she'd have more tolerance for him, stop trying to constantly catch him out. She held out her hand.

"My, aren't we being formal," he teased, his voice almost as chirpy as usual. He squeezed rather than shook the proffered hand and kissed her lightly on the cheek. "Thanks for the coffee."

She opened the door and managed a small acknowledging smile, embarrassed by what she had revealed to him. Still if he did try to use it against her she had plenty to retaliate with. Somehow though she couldn't imagine either of them ever mentioning this day again.

In this, as in so many other dealings with the men in her life, Martina was wrong.

About seven weeks later she was just finishing up for the evening when she noticed a dog sitting on the other side of the counter. She laughed as she read the note in his mouth, and Joey Boswell had soon followed after his dog, with some spurious claim. Neither of them had referred to that rather unfortunate coincidence, and their working relationship had continued almost as before. She ended up giving him the form he was after, commenting that although Joey had learnt all the tricks, found all the loopholes, studied all the booklets, Mongy couldn't read. Joey laughed and was on his way out when he stopped dead and returned to her, seriousness writ large on his face, "compromised, or complicit, I can't decide which."

Martina felt her cheeks flaming. Seems like she wasn't the only one who couldn't push that particular exchange completely out of their mind. "Right," she whispered into the counter, but by the time she raised her eyes he had already gone.

A nice motor and an eye for the ladies; Joey Boswell was the show's heartthrob. Joey was played by Peter Howitt, who went on to direct Hollywood film Reasonable Doubt starring Dominic Cooper and Samuel L Jackson in 2012.

Actor Peter Howitt was replaced by a less blonde Joey after just two years but for many, the original was the best. Nellie's favourite, Joey was cool, calm and almost always wearing a black leather jacket. Lane may have mischievously suggested he was a male escort.

I set this in series 2 because in virtually every episode Joey is either coming in to breakfast or leaving late at night dressed in a dinner suit.