Page 64 of Forever, Maybe
Mark leant in, his face uncomfortably close. His stubble looked like it was on day four of neglect, and his glittering eyes gave the distinct impression he was still riding the tail end of whatever he’d indulged in the night before. “Doesnae have your peachy arse,” he murmured, his breath warm and beery.
No sensible woman would take that kind of comment as a compliment. And yet, Mark’s delivery—smooth, deliberate, soaked in innuendo—always caught Nell off guard. His voice had a low, velvety edge to it, like the brush of silk against bare skin.
She reminded herself, not for the first time, that he wouldn’t hesitate to sleep with his brother’s wife if he thought he could get away with it.
Still, for a moment, her mind wandered.
Would he be rough and selfish—a wham, bam, thank you, ma’am? Or something else entirely? She’d seen him in action before, with women who never lingered long but never seemed disappointed either. The way his eyes roamed over them, slow and possessive, as if peeling back layers one by one. The mouth that leaned in close to murmured nothings against throats, collarbones, the soft shell of an ear—promises of everything to come.
There was a decadence to him. A kind of lazy confidence that suggested he’d take his time and know exactly what to do with it.
Entertaining fantasies about her brother-in-law. God, what waswrongwith her these days? She stepped aside, gesturing toward the kitchen. “Come on through.”
Mark plugged his ears dramatically, the bag of booze still dangling from his hand. “Fuck. Is Joe here? I can hear his hundred weans screaming already.”
“Yep, and so are Sarah and Luke with their kids. Why don’t you go play with them and Calamity Jean? They’re about your level.”
Mark smirked, his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth. “You should see what that woman can dae with balloons. Especially the long, skinny ones. Ties them in knots and everything.”
Nell rolled her eyes, stifling a laugh despite herself, and trailed after Mark into the buzzing chaos of the gathering.
He rummaged in his bag, pulled out a can of Stella, cracked it open, and strolled down the hallway ahead of her like he owned the place. “Is Stephanie here?”
They’d reached the kitchen. Nell piled him sandwiches on a plate, along with one of his mother’s fairy cakes. “Yup. And way out of your league.”
Mark’s eyebrows wriggled in mock offense. “D’ye think? Mebbe if I chat her up, she’ll end up coming home wi’ me tonight. I’m no’ seeing anyone at the moment.”
Nell bit back a sharp retort. Warning him off Stephanie would only make her a more enticing target. Mark thrived on challenges, especially when they were forbidden. She was all too familiar with his treatment of women—Danny had told her enough over the years, including the occasional use of prostitutes. The sex might be out of this world, but he was hopeless at the everyday stuff.
Nell had made sure to share every detail with Stephanie, hoping it would put her off entirely. Despite their constant flirtation, she didn’t think anything had ever come of it. At least, not yet.
Grabbing a glass of sparkling water, Nell followed her brother-in-law into the garden.
Outside, the chaos of the party had calmed. Joe and Nicky’s three youngest, along with Sarah’s eleven-year-old son and eight-year-old daughter, were gathered around Calamity Jean. The entertainer had them mesmerised with her magic tricks, promising to teach them how to perform the illusions themselves. The noise level had dropped to a pleasant murmur, and Nell made a note to tip the woman generously. The woman deserved every penny.
She drifted from group to group, dropping in on conversations about kids, holidays, no-show partners, even the fortunes of Celtic FC. Her father-in-law perked up when she casually named both the manager (Ronny Deila) and their top scorer (Leigh Griffiths)—a feat Danny likely couldn’t have managed.
Time crept on. Give it another couple of hours—please, gods of the party circuit, grant mercy—and most of the guests would start to trickle away.
A quick scan of the garden revealed Cate and Bobby at one of the picnic benches Nell had made herself from driftwood chatting to the Greenbergs. Her mum nursed a drink, Stephanie’s handiwork with hair and make-up still intact. Her dad laughed at something Sandra said. Cate looked up, caught Nell’s gaze. For a moment, confusion flitted across her face before she smoothed it into a smile and gave a small wave.
Earlier, she hadn’t recognised Stephanie. Now, it seemed she hadn’t recognised Nell either.
Last night, Nell had asked Danny if he thought her mother’s forgetfulness was getting worse. His pause had told her everything—too long spent calculating which version of the truth to offer.
“It’s no’ so much that, Nell,” he’d said eventually. “It’s like she’s only ever seventy-five per cent in the room.”
It isn’t just your parent losing their identity, someone had written on a forum Nell had stumbled across (and instantly wished she hadn’t—the stories were bleak, relentless).You lose part of your identity too. The mother or father who knew you as a child, a teenager, who remembered the small, silly things: how you’d only eat eggs if they were hard-boiled and smothered in salad cream, or the way you mangled certain words until you finally got them right.
All those tiny, tender scraps of you that no partner, no matter how close, could ever truly know.
Would never know. Right?
But today wasn’t the day for such introspection. Nell swept her gaze across the garden again, scanning for anyone who looked like they needed a top-up. Danny had filled the cool boxes with ice, cans, and bottles, but the latter two were disappearing fast.
Time for a fridge run.
Stephanie was in the kitchen, rummaging around in her bag—a tiny thing that perfectly matched the deep red of her dress. She pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes, glancing up as Nell came in, her expression a mix of shame and defiance.
