Page 113 of Forever, Maybe
When he came back downstairs, Stephanie and Nate had composed themselves. Stephanie had thrown on a hoodie, covering the braless state she hadn’t seemed to care about earlier, and Nate had adjusted his posture to something less like a man casually invading another man’s home.
Daniel lifted his bag. “Right. I’m off.”
Stephanie exchanged a glance with Nate, who gave her a discreet nod of encouragement.
“Are you really walking out on a partnership of twenty-two years because your wife slept with someone else when she was drunk and unhappy?” she asked.
His temper erupted. “That’s none of your fucking business,” he snapped. “You know fuck all about marriage. I’m sure this guy”—he swung a hand in Nate’s direction—“is nice enough, but you’ve never been with anyone longer than, what, three months? And you don’t know Nell like I do. Youthinkyou do, but you fucking don’t.”
“Mate.” Nate stepped forward, his hands spread in a placating gesture. “That wasnae necessary.”
The absurdity of it all hit Daniel—the indignity of arguing with a stranger in what was supposed to be his home. This man would be sleeping here tonight while Daniel retreated to his parents’ house.
“Fuck off!” he barked, storming out of the living room.
The front door slammed behind him, rattling in its frame, and he followed it with an angry slam of the car door.
It wasn’t until he’d reached the turn-off for Paisley Road West that he remembered: the car insurance was due for renewal at the end of August, and the paperwork he needed was still upstairs in Nell’s study.
Could he leave it and come back later, when Stephanie was less likely to be there? The idea was tempting. But he wasn’t entirely sure the renewal date was the end of September—it might be mid-month, as in right now. Sure, he could risk driving around uninsured, but the consequences—a hefty fine and six penalty points on his license—weren’t worth it.
He already had six points, courtesy of two speeding offences. Twelve points would mean a revoked license.
With a sigh, he performed a textbook-perfect three-point turn and headed back to the house. This time, he knocked instead of letting himself in.
Stephanie opened the door, the arch of her left eyebrow doing all the talking.
“Sorry,” he said, clearing his throat. “I didn’t mean to swear at you.”
Her other eyebrow joined the conversation.
“Or your boyfriend,” he added grudgingly.
She dipped her chin in a nod that was surprisingly gracious. “Apology accepted.”
Behind her, Nate drifted into the hallway, hovering like a protective shadow. The guy radiated eagerness, the kind of earnest enthusiasm Daniel had never seen from any of Stephanie’s previous boyfriends. And there had beenmany.
The irony wasn’t lost on him. He and Nell were teetering on the edge of divorce, while Nell’s oldest, perennially single friend seemed to have found something resembling happiness.
“I, uh, also need to grab some paperwork,” Daniel said, scratching the back of his neck. “Car insurance is due.”
Stephanie smirked, clearly aware that the apology alone wouldn’t have brought him back. She stepped aside, her tone light. “Of course.”
As he headed upstairs, he could feel two sets of eyes boring into his back. He resisted the urge to glance over his shoulder.
The car insurance papers were exactly where he thought they’d be. Five years ago, Nell had reorganised her office in a fit of boredom, buying filing cabinets and painstakingly labelling each drawer by hand. The drawer markedCar and Home Insurancewas neat and well-organised, everything alphabetised in a way that made it impossible not to find what you needed.
For a moment, Daniel lingered, flipping through the folders. It felt strange—like touching a life that had already started moving on without him.
He slid open the drawer labelledDanny’s car, its neat label adorned with a small illustration of a man speeding along in a convertible. Sure enough, the insurance papers were right on top.
Corrie padded into the room, announcing his arrival with a soft miaow. When Daniel bent and rubbed his thumb against his forefinger, the cat ambled over, pressing his chin against him in a slow, familiar gesture.
Who got the cat when a couple divorced?
Daniel had never thought of himself as an animal lover. Corrie had been Nell’s idea, her campaign to get a cat fuelled by shameless doses of emotional blackmail:
You’re never here! The cat will keep me company. Plus, you won’t have to do a thing—I’ll handle the feeding, the litter tray, the vet visits…
