Page 38 of Forever, Maybe
Holly returned a few minutes later, placing a steaming mug on his desk, accompanied by one of her homemade scones. Daniel waited until she’d left the room before wrapping the scone in a tissue and slipping it into his top drawer. He would dispose of it later—discreetly. Holly’s talents, while many, did not extend to baking. Her scones could double as paperweights.
He turned his attention to the stack of papers in front of him: invoices to review, printouts of priority emails, and several applications for the recently advertised vacancies. He decided to tackle the staffing issue first, asStuffed!urgently needed reinforcements.
The Hyndland shop required a new manager to replace Liza, who was stepping up to fill Joe’s role. There was also a vacancy for a general shop assistant in one of the Edinburgh branches, plus two temporary positions to handle the summer music festival rush. Those temp jobs always attracted a flood of applications, as young people saw them as a sneaky way to avoid paying the festival’s exorbitant entry fees.
That meant sifting through the dreamers to find the workers. Loving music was fine, but at the end of the day, they were there to work.
One application caught his eye. A sixteen-year-old from the East End who’d been working at a busy Greggs bakery. That kind of experience meant he’d likely be familiar with hygiene standards, which was a massive time-saver when training new hires.
Decision made, Daniel called through to Holly. When she appeared in the doorway, he held up the application.
“Get this lad in for an interview, will you? Let’s see what he’s like before we offer him the job.”
Holly plucked the paper from his hand. She glanced at it, squinting behind her cat’s-eye-glasses. “Ryan Colquhoun? Aye, good choice. Thought he sounded like the best bet. I’ll call him now. When for, gaffer?”
“Next week, oh fuck, no I’m too busy. The week after…”
She shook her head. “That’s too close. We’ll need tae have him out in a van doing the industrial estates before that, so’s he can get some practice in.”
“Okay, you interview him next week,” Daniel said. “Ask Joe if he can sit in too.”
“On it like a bonnet! Greggs, eh? Bet he’s a dab hand at sausage rolls. Maybe he’ll teachmea thing or two.”
Daniel nodded absently, his focus already drifting as Holly left the room. He reached for his coffee, the mug warm in his hand, and took a sip, wincing at the bitterness. He pulled open his desk drawer, retrieving a jar of sugar and added a generous spoonful to the mug, swirling it around with his spoon.
The irony wasn’t lost on him: running a chain of delis in Glasgow that prided themselves on stocking premium single-origin coffee beans, while here in his office, he drank supermarket instant.
The twenty-seventh for the pitch. A date carved in stone. He leant back in his chair, rubbing his temple as he mulled over the possibilities again. Joe couldn’t do it, but what about Liza standing in for him at the pitch?
For a brief, ignoble moment, he wondered whether Liza’s wheelchair might score them some bonus diversity points with the buyers. He dismissed the thought immediately. Like Joe, she would hate that kind of pressure, and he’d promised himself long ago never to compromise integrity for a deal.
A lesson learned courtesy of Uncle Shane. Albeit, not one his relative thought to teach.
What if he turned the opportunity down entirely? Focused on pitching to other supermarkets instead? The thought was tempting, but it would mean discarding everything he’d worked toward to getStuffed!in front of the UK’s biggest supermarket in the first place. Winning this pitch meant hitting the big time—a goal he’d set for himself two decades ago when he’d first started in business. To walk away now? It would feel like failure.
He sipped the coffee again, now marginally improved by the sugar, and sighed heavily. There was no getting around it. He’d have to break it to Nell that their weekend in London was off the table.
And then, somehow, come up with a list of wildly imaginative ways to beg for her forgiveness.
Chapter fifteen
April2016
Hi, Oscar, I've attached the pages with the adjustments you requested. Let me know what you think!
Nell signed off with an automatic kiss and muttered, “Shit!” as the email vanished. Oscar was a client—one who’d commissioned a website to promote his new dog-walking and sitting business. Would he now think she had a raging crush on him? She grimaced but decided his nine-years-younger-than-her status likely meant he was used to everyone adding kisses to emails, texts and DMs.
Oscar had also mentioned wanting blogs and news items for the site—something Stephanie could handle through her freelance PR services. Nell would need to pre-warn her, though. Oscar was a solid one/three/five-star client in their shorthand system. One star out of five for understanding the sheer effort design, writing and marketing involved. Three stars for the inevitable revisions (and the endless emails asking for them).
But five stars for the part that truly mattered. He always paid bang on time. As a contractor himself, Oscar understood the importance of cash flow. A rare gem.
Nell stood and stretched, arms angling in opposite directions. Her shoulder bones cracked audibly. She and Danny had converted the box room into her office, a tiny space overlooking the garden. The window was fitted with a bird feeder—so far, gloriously grey squirrel-proof. A long-tailed tit perched on the wire mesh, its claws gripping the feeder as it pecked at the fat balls. Its tail flicked rhythmically.
She watched the bird for a moment, exhaling softly.
Another of the same species fluttered down to join it—a fluffier, slightly bigger version of the first. The newcomer must be its offspring, as the parent pecked delicate morsels from the fat ball and gently placed them into the chick’s wide-open beak.
Her gaze wandered to the garden feeders below. Last May, she and Stephanie had lounged in the striped deckchairs there, Prosecco glasses in hand, as the evening hummed with warmth and birdsong. They’d watched the starlings arrive in waves, parents darting between fledglings to stuff one, two, sometimes three clamorous beaks at a time.
