Page 5 of Forever, Maybe
She hung up, enraged. The couple at the next table—the woman no longer bothering to hide her curiosity and staring in Nell’s direction as she stuck ripped up pieces of pita bread into the ramekin dish of hummus in front of her—whispered to each other. Nell fiddled with her bowl of olives, tempted to hurl them at the woman.
The phone rang once more.
Another couple, two men opposite her, turned their heads. “Well, really!” one of them exclaimed. “I know!” The other flattened his hand against his chest. “Someonedidn’t notice the phone signs on the door!”
Too late, Nell remembered the sign on the wall when you walked in, politely requesting customers turn their phones to silent. She twisted away from the scrutiny, answering the phone with a hiss. “Yes?”
“I’ll make it up to you! Swear to God. Look, why don’t you call Stephanie. She’s nearby, isn’t she? Pass me onto Tommo, and I’ll have him charge whatever you eat and drink to my credit card. Treat yourself to the works.”
Stephanie’s flat on Ingram Street was only a five-minute walk from the restaurant. Danny’s suggestion to crash there was well meant, but if Nell’s best friend wasn’t out on a date, painting the town red, she’d be busy with her version of “essential maintenance.” That meant topping up her fake tan, slapping on a face mask or drying freshly Shellac’d nails under the UV lamp she’d bought for DIY mani-pedis. Besides, she and Stephanie already had plans to go out on Saturday night.
“Don’t worry about it. I’m just going to head home."
Danny launched into another round of apologies, protesting with the entirely valid excuse that running out of bread at a sandwich van outside the student union wasn’t exactly ideal.
Nell let out a long sigh, cutting him off. “I know, Danny. But what about those oh-so-earnest promise you made back in January?”
She heard his sat nav ordering him to take the second exit onto the motorway. “How about next weekend? I’ll take Friday, Saturday and Sunday off, and we’ll go somewhere. Paris, Berlin, Dublin. Wherever you want.”
“It’s the annual Murray barbecue next Saturday. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten that.”
“Aw, shite! Look, I don’t…”
She let him think it through. The food and drink he’d stockpiled, the suppliers and people he’d invited to keep sweet, her mum and dad traipsing all the way up to Glasgow from Norwich.
That blasted waiter had appeared again. This time, waving two menus at her ostentatiously. She snatched them from him out of spite, studying the three-page fold-out as if she meant to order something. He moved off again. Nell set the menu down.
“Okay, I’ll think of something else. I promise. What you wearing?” Danny’s voice dropped, low and insistent.
Ah, the New Year talk again. Alongside his pledge to work fewer hours, she’d pointed out how their sex life had dwindled to something resembling high days and holidays only.
“Go on, tell me,” he coaxed.
Nell pulled a face, somehow irritated and turned on at the same time. “The things I do for you, dickhead. Fine. I’ve squeezed myself into that dark red dress—the one I have to keep yanking up, or my nipples will be introducing themselves to strangers. Paired it with those black, over-the-knee boots. I look like a cheap whore.”
By this point, the pregnant woman and her partner were not even bothering to disguise naked curiosity. Nell, wearing a dark orange Aztec print, long sleeved midi-dress extended a bare leg, tapping the heel of her flat-soled beaded sandal on the tile in front of her. Pregnant woman’s partner’s tongue hung too far out for a man who ought to be devoted to his partner’s needs.
“What about your underwear?” Daniel’s voice had dropped. Nevertheless, it appeared to Nell that everyone in the restaurant heard him and swung around, intrigued.
“No bra,” she whispered, “and a black G-string, matched with lace-topped black hold-up stockings!”
His groan coincided with the return of the waiter. “Madam, is your dining companion about to arrive? As you can see,” he gestured around him, “it’sverybusy in here.”
“He can’t make it. Sorry about that. The table’s all yours.”
Nell scraped back her chair and stood up, fumbling with her phone in the process. Her thumb inadvertently hit the speaker button.
Danny’s voice, clear and unmistakable, rang out across the restaurant, “Keep the stockings and boots on, and make sure you’re on your hands and knees when I get home.”
The words sliced through the chatter like a knife.
The pregnant woman across the room tutted loudly, while her partner exclaimed, “Honestly, some people!” with the kind of indignation that made Nell wonder if he’d ever said something half as exciting to anyone.
At another table, an older woman threw her head back in laughter, her guffaws echoing through the suddenly hushed room. “Hen, you rush back tae that man o’ yours and let him service ye good and proper!”
Nell’s cheeks burned, but she couldn’t help the giggles bubbling up inside her. Stifling them as best she could, she bolted from the restaurant, her sandals clacking against the tile floor as she made her escape.
One thing was certain: she couldnevershow her face there again.
