Page 63 of Forever, Maybe
Danny appeared in the doorway, brandishing a pair of kitchen tongs like a man prepared for battle. If his mother had complained about being the punchline in a joke between her daughter-in-law and Stephanie, there was no sign of it. Nell made a mental note to mention it to him later—and to apologise. Trish was Trish, but she was still his mother, and laughing, however irresistible, had felt disrespectful.
He snagged an alcohol-free beer from the counter, then threw Stephanie a smirking glance. “Stephanie! Didnae recognise you with your clothes on.”
She gave him an eye roll so exaggerated it was a wonder her eyeballs didn’t eject from her head. “Hilarious. Honestly. You should have knocked. Anyway, how did that interview with theScottish Postjournalist go?”
“Ach.” Danny waved a hand dismissively. “It was fine, but it dragged on and on and on. Funny thing is I bumped into her again this morning in Queen’s Park. She must have to get up awfy early to plaster on all that make-up and sort her hair.”
He’d bumped into her again…? The skin on the back of Nell’s neck prickled as she recalled the journalist’s pointed question about Jamie Curtice when they’d crossed paths in the park earlier that week. She’d known, instinctively, that she recognised Jennifer from somewhere but no matter how hard she searched her memory, the woman’s face refused to slot into place.
It was as if she were a near-perfect replica of someone familiar, a lookalike hired to impersonate a person Nell should know. Close, but not quite. The kind of resemblance that made you frown, unsettled by the almost-but-not-quite rightness of it.
“Did she mention when the feature’s coming out?” Stephanie asked.
“In about a month, apparently. Dunno if she’s any good, though,” Danny said, directing his words to Stephanie. “Keeps asking follow-up questions. Like the other day. She wanted to confirm how long we’ve been married, even though I told her during the interview, and she recorded it.”
The prickle on Nell’s neck flared into a hot, crawling itch. Why had the journalist circled back to that, especially right after mentioning White Lightning Communications?
Had she let something slip to Danny without realising? Something he’d eventually piece together?
The heat gave way to a cold, creeping chill, like ice water trickling down her spine.
God. What if she had?
Chapter twenty-six
April2016
Stephanie had shrugged an elegant, red lace-clad shoulder at Daniel’s question about the journalist being no good, saying that asking the same things twice just meant she was thorough—keen to get her facts straight.
“If you say so,” Danny had replied. “Anyway, I’d better get back to the barbecue. Or the sausages’ll end up like charcoal.”
He’d taken his beer and vanished outside.
Stephanie had raised her wine glass with a grin and a wink. “Time for me to mingle and jingle. Better make sure I dodge your ma-in-law, eh?”
With a flurry of clacking heels and a sweet-spicy waft of that fig perfume Nell had bought her for her birthday, she’d swept out, leaving Nell alone again.
The icy feeling down her spine began to ease.
No. Jennifer Frazer couldn’t have said anything to Danny. If she had, he wouldn’t have slipped into bed beside her last night, wouldn’t have reached for her the way he always did—one hand on her breast, the other sweeping down her side.
Would he have stiffened if he had known?
Stephanie once said—half bitter, half amused—that a man could hate you and still sleep with you. For a woman, though, hatred was the coldest shower in the world.
And if he knew… he’d hate her.
Nothing could have been said. She was letting her imagination run riot. She turned to the tubs, stacking the empties neatly by the sink, trying to make order of something.
The doorbell rang, interrupting her thoughts. When Nell swung it open, Mark greeted her with his usual lazy grin.
Of all Danny’s siblings, Mark resembled Trish and his eldest brother the most. Luke and Sarah had taken after their father, but Mark’s hair colour, style and build often made him a near double for Danny—at least from a distance. Up close, the differences stood out. Her husband would never wear jeans that tight or ankle-grazing, but the faded denim jacket? That was Danny to a tee.
“Gosh, wearehonoured!” Nell twinkled back at him, her tone light. If there’d been a better offer, Mark wouldn’t have bothered turning up and certainly wouldn’t have informed them.
“Hello, favourite sister-in-law!” he declared, shaking a blue plastic bag. The unmistakable clink of bottles and cans betrayed its contents.
Nell stepped back to let him in, raising an eyebrow. “What about Alicia?” Luke’s wife.
