Page 101 of Forever, Maybe
“And you, Kylie,” he replied. He’d always enjoyed the honorific title, even if it occasionally came with pre-teen drama attached.
She clattered up the stairs, leaving a wake of muttered grumbling behind her. Nicky appeared in the kitchen doorway, her hands bracing her hips. The huge bump in front of her transformed her into a toffee apple on legs. Her fine ginger hair formed a frizzed halo around her face, as though the argument with Kylie had left her electrically charged.
“Hiya, Daniel. ‘Mon in. I’ve made a big pot o’ chicken and mushroom casserole.”
The kitchen air was heavy with the warm, savoury fugue of garlic and chicken. The back windows above the sink were fogged with steam, and on the floor near the table sat the couple’s youngest, not yet two, dozing peacefully in a car seat. He was dressed in a Celtic FC onesie, a tiny emblem of team loyalty.
“Didn’t the shouting wake him up?” Daniel asked, nodding toward the sleeping toddler.
Nicky shook her head with a grin. “That yin could sleep through an earthquake. Thank the Lord God Almighty for his wee mercies.”
Daniel offered to help serve, but Nicky waved him off, already bustling with purpose. He took a seat across from Joe at the battered kitchen dining table, its surface nicked and worn from years of family life.
“If it helps,” Daniel said, lowering his voice, “I could buy Kylie a mobile. Pay-as-you-go. No strings attached.”
Joe leaned back in his chair and shook his head. “Naw, ta. Kylie needs tae learn that things don’t come for free. She acts like the world owes her a favour.”
“It wouldn’t be free,” Daniel replied. “Not with her helping out—sorry, volunteering—at Largs next weekend.”
That had been the deal with Nicky, way back in April, when his biggest problem was finding ways to pacify Nell for him working all the hours God sent.
“Even so,” Joe said, unconvinced.
From the counter, Nicky added, “Anyway, she’d burn through the credit in a week, texting her pals and checking Instagram. We’ve got enough on our plate wi’oot that nonsense.”
Daniel nodded, even though part of him still wanted to argue. But this wasn’t his call. They knew their own kids better than he ever could.
Instead, he leant back in his chair, letting the comforting aroma of the casserole fill the silence. The kitchen’s warmth eased the tension in his shoulders.
Joe watched him, steady and quiet, teetering on the edge of saying something. When he finally spoke, it wasn’t what Daniel expected.
“Mind Darren McCardle fae school? Dropped dead. Heart attack.”
“Jesus. He was forty-four.”
Both of them touched their chests, instinctively.
“Funeral’s Thursday week. St Roch’s. I’m gonnae go. D’ye want tae come wi’ me?”
Daniel shook his head. Joe had always been better at keeping in touch. Daniel hadn’t seen Darren in years. Besides, someone might ask about his wife. It was bad enough fielding questions from family—he couldn’t face them from former classmates too.
“Buy some flowers,” he said. “Stick them on the company account.”
“Makes ye think, though. Doesn’t it? Life’s awfy short, and mebbe no’ worth—”
Whatever philosophical point he was about to make—Daniel would’ve bet good money it was headed straight for ‘forgive Nell’ territory—was cut off by Nicky setting down a shallow bowl of casserole, its glossy surface flecked with yellow oil, followed by a heap of roast potatoes.
“Right, lads,” she said, “fill yer boots! D’ye want tae stay the night, Daniel? We can turf Kylie oot her room.”
“No, thanks. That’s no’ fair on the lassie,” Daniel replied, sure that he didn’t want to stay, anyway. Every inch of the house screamed ‘family’. From the crude felt-tipped and crayoned pictures sellotaped to the fridge door, to the Lego fragments scattered across the living room carpet, which the unwary stepped on with bare feet (and never made the same mistake twice).
Living with his mother might not be fun. She tutted at him all the time, forcing him to spend even more hours in his office, but at least it didn’t shove family happiness in his face.
“Muuuuummmm! Kylie’s stolen my ice-cream!” one of the kids wailed from the living room, and Nicky raised her eyes skywards and headed out, off to sort out her squabbling offspring once more.
Joe cracked open another beer and took a long swig.
“Can I have one?” Daniel asked.
