Page 39 of Forever, Maybe
“God almighty!” Stephanie had exclaimed, waving her glass with disdain. “Baby birds are absolute bastards. If I were Mummy Starling, I’d tell the weans to go fuck themselves.”
Danny, mid-pour as he topped up their drinks, had paused. “But Ma and Pa Starling do their bit, don’t they? Then they bugger off and leave the weans to fend for themselves. That’s nature for you.”
Nell had wriggled her bare toes in the soft evening light, the Prosecco fizzing pleasantly on her tongue. Talk of parenting always made her skin prickle, so she’d deftly pivoted the conversation into a spirited debate about the recent election and the prime minister’s promise that a referendum on continued EU membership would take place, asserting that it would end with a resounding ‘yes’ to remain. Danny and Stephanie had agreed, their faith in common sense unshaken.
Outside, the gravel crunched under tyres as a car pulled up, scattering the long-tailed tits. Their little black wings flapped furiously, faster than their size seemed capable of. Nell frowned. No deliveries were due. Maybe Danny had ordered something for the party.
“Oi, wifey, I’m home!”
She spun from the window, her hand flying to her neck. What the actual…? Her eyes darted to the calendar on the wall, as if she’d misremembered the day.
12th April 2016. A Tuesday.
Definitely a Tuesday.
“Nell!” Danny’s voice rang out again, his tone playfully impatient. “Where are you?”
She dashed downstairs, finding him in the hallway, arms spread wide. He was wearing the black polo shirt with the red collar—theStuffed!uniform—paired with dark jeans cuffed at the ankles.
“Surprise!”
“What the hell are you doing here?” she blurted, bolting into his embrace.
His arms wrapped tightly around her, pulling her into the familiar warmth of his chest. “Och,” he murmured, his breath brushing the top of her head. “If a man wants to see his wife, he should be able to, eh? How about a picnic in the park, since the sun’s out?”
“I should be working,” she mumbled, even as her body melted into his. “I just sent Oscar his website pages for approval, and he’s bound to come back with some nitpicky quibble. If this job drags on any longer, it’ll throw off all my other clients.”
“Doggie Oscar?” Danny asked. He was well-acquainted with her client roster, courtesy of her frequent rants. “Nell, you’re far too soft. Next time he asks for more changes, tell him it costs extra. That’ll stop his nonsense.”
She sighed into his polo shirt, which smelled faintly of the new fabric softener she’d picked up last week. Danny showing up unannounced on a Tuesday afternoon—completely unprecedented—proved he had actually listened to her late-night tirade last Friday.
“Okay, okay, oh wise business guru. I’d better smarten up.” Nell tugged at the hem of her baggy pink sweatshirt and glanced down at her holey yoga pants.
Danny followed her upstairs to their bedroom, settling himself on the edge of the bed as she rummaged through the wardrobe. She searched for something suitable for early April—sunny but just shy of warm.
“What’s going on at work?” she asked, stepping into a pair of blue cargo pants and easing them over her hips. She swapped the sweatshirt for a thin, dark blue fleece, then grabbed her dark green vinyl raincoat because rain never stayed away for long in Glasgow.
Danny leaned back on his hands, watching as she moved to the mirror to apply tinted moisturiser, a swipe of mascara and a touch of lip gloss to brighten her pale complexion.
“Och, the usual,” he said, shrugging. “Busy, busy, busy. Joe’s come up wi’ this idea for meal kits, which I reckon has potential. But now he wants to take six months off as Nicky’s expecting again.”
She spun around, mid-swipe of gloss. “Again? But—”
“I know. Number five. Says she needs more help this time.”
Nell blinked, processing. “What are you going to do?”
He avoided her eyes, focusing on the floor instead. “Well, I cannae really refuse him. Liza can step up to cover Joe’s job, and I’ll hire someone else for the Hyndland shop.”
Ah. So that’s why Danny had gone all wistful at the frankly laughable possibility that she might be pregnant. Nicky and Joe’s effortless fertility was a stark contrast to his own quiet childlessness—a gap he rarely spoke of, but clearly carried. Nicky was only a year younger than her, after all.
Nell turned back to the mirror, smoothing the raincoat’s collar. She sighed, forcing a smile at his reflection. “Ready for that picnic, then?”
Queen’s Park was a ten-minute walk away. Not the largest park in Glasgow, but Nell loved its varied terrain and the spectacular views from the top: the sprawling city below, the Campsie Hills to the south, and the twin peaks of Stob Binnein and Ben More rising near Crianlarich to the north.
The lower section of the park buzzed with life. Mums and grandparents pushed small children on the swings, while dog walkers skirted the pond, tugging at leads as their dogs strained to chase ducks. Nearby, the playground and five-a-side football pitches echoed with laughter and the occasional sharp whistle.
Nell and Danny followed the paved path winding around the central hill. By the time they reached the top, her heart and lungs protested the climb, but the view—and the reward awaiting her—made it worthwhile. Danny spread a blanket on the grass in front of the flagpole marking the park’s best viewpoint, then gestured for her to sit. She eased down, resting her back against his knees, his body shielding her from the chill breeze.
