Page 114 of Forever, Maybe
Growing up, pets had been out of the question. He and his siblings had begged for years. Sarah had lobbied for guinea pigs, Mark argued for a snake (certain it would boost his street cred) and he and Luke dreamed of getting a dog.
Trish refused them all. Animals, she declared, were dirty, unhygienic germ factories. And expensive too—vet bills, pet food, the whole lot. To appease them, she’d occasionally take them to the petting zoo at Strathclyde Country Park. Sarah would stare wistfully after the rabbits, while he and Luke leant over fences, stretching their hands toward sheep that came tantalisingly close, only to veer away at the last moment.
So, when he’d finally said yes to Corrie, a small part of him had relished the quiet defiance—an unspokenup yoursto his mum.
Losing Corrie now, old and arthritic as the cat was, felt like a hammer blow. He thought of the cat’s pitiful pleas to be lifted onto the bed, his reluctance to jump anymore. It wasn’t just about Corrie being a pet—he was a constant, a piece of their life together that had endured.
WhyshouldNell automatically get him?
Who had paid for the cat’s insurance over the years? Covered the vet bills when the insurance fell short—FIV and cat flu vaccinations, flea and tick prevention? Bought the vet-recommended Science Plan food that cost more than some human meals?
Me,every time.
He scooped the cat up, holding him close. “What do you think, Corrie?”
Corrie had no interest in the debate. He wriggled stubbornly, extending a paw in protest. Daniel let out a resigned breath, kissed the cat’s nose and gently set him back on the ground.
As Corrie padded away, Daniel grabbed the insurance paperwork and headed downstairs.
By the time he came back downstairs, Nate—freshly showered and changed, as though he owned the place—was lounging on the sofa next to Stephanie, scrolling through his phone.
A bleep sounded, and Nate bolted upright, pressing the phone tightly to his ear. “Erin? What’s the matter?”
He strode into the kitchen, the patio doors creaking open and closed behind him as he stepped into the back garden.
Daniel nodded toward the kitchen. “Is he alright?”
Murmured conversation floated back to them, punctuated by Nate’s repetitiveuh-huh, uh-huh,and the sound of pacing footsteps.
Stephanie stared after him, her brow furrowed. “Erin’s his daughter. She’s sixteen, so… well, she’s got all the teenage stuff going on.”
Daniel blinked. A sixteen-year-old daughter? Good grief. He’d pegged Nate as late twenties—kudos to Stephanie for netting a younger man—but a sixteen-year-old suggested he was older than he looked.
Nate reappeared a few minutes later, his face grim.
Stephanie sprang to her feet. “Is Erin okay?” she asked, clasping his hands.
Nate let out a weary sigh. “Another argument wi’ her mother, who has just found out, as have I, that’s she sleepin’ wi’ her boyfriend.”
He glanced at Daniel. “Small world, though. It’s the wee guy who works for you. In the vans. Ryan something?”
That kid Joe and Holly had interviewed. Way back when.
“Ryan?” Stephanie’s voice sharpened, and she shot Daniel a look he couldn’t quite read.
“Mmm-hmm,” Daniel said carefully. “One of our summer temps. I haven’t met him myself, but Dennis, who handles a lot of the van stuff, says he’s a hard worker. Conscientious. And a nice lad.”
Later, as Daniel replayed the evening in all its awkward absurdity, one moment stuck in his mind: the look on Stephanie’s face when she’d responded to his comment with, “A hard worker? I wonder if that’s in his genes.”
There’d been something in her tone. Contempt, maybe? Something that seemed to cut deeper than Daniel walking out on his marriage.
Now, what the hell was that about?
Chapter forty-seven
“Thenightsarefairdrawing in, eh?” Holly poked her head around Daniel’s office door, fastening the buttons on her dark green raincoat. Her penchant for granny-ish sayings matched her old-fashioned dress sense.
Daniel nodded absently. Chit-chat wasn’t his strong suit, and these days even small talk felt like a chore. But Holly was a grafter, always had been. He owed her a token effort, at least.
