Page 67 of Forever, Maybe
Liza puffed out her cheeks and let out a slow, rattling sigh. “S’pose I had tae face the auld bastard at some point. Gimme a beer, will ye? So’s I can fortify mysel’.”
Josh handed over one of the already opened cans. Liza grabbed it, downed half in one go, then let out a thunderous belch. “Doon the hatch! Got these at the big Asda near yours,” she said, raising the can vaguely in Nell’s direction. “Imagine, eh? If your man convinces them to takeStuffed!’s dips and salads at that pitch on the twenty-seventh, next time we’re there, we might see ’em on the shelves!”
Nell froze.
As did Danny, on his way back into the kitchen yet again for more sausages to grill. His eyes locked onto hers. The dismay in his gaze was instant, unmistakable. A thin smear of tomato sauce marked his forehead—evidence of him brushing back his fringe while barbecuing and doling out sausages. The vein there throbbed, as if trying to will words from his brain to his tongue, words that might stitch this moment back together.
When he does that pitch on the twenty-seventh…
He’d mentioned Asda. But never the date, which meant…
Behind her, Liza sucked in a breath. “Aw, shite. Youdidknow about that, didn’t you?”
And just like that, everything clicked into place.
Danny, showing up unannounced on Tuesday. Danny, home for dinner with her parents—twice. Danny, splurging on those musical tickets. Danny, playing the perfect partner, all charm and sweetness.
All of it. Buttering her up. Softening the ground. Bracing himself to break yet another promise.
And she’d sworn—again—that she’d leave him if he did.
Chapter twenty-eight
Shite,shite,shite…
This hadn’t been how Daniel had imagined the conversation about the supermarket pitch going. It was never going to be easy; now it was guaranteed to be like climbing Ben Nevis while blindfolded with one leg cut off at the knee like level.
He caught up with Nell in their living room, which was thankfully empty. She spun around, eyes flashing, and he ran through his mental Rolodex of phrases, trying to pick the ones that might calm a storm he had no real chance of avoiding.
“The supermarket pitch. When is it?”
He closed his eyes briefly, the answer dragging itself out. “May the twenty-seventh.”
From the corner of the room, Corrie, their cat, nestled in the dark grey recliner, having wisely sought refuge from the guests, especially the little children. His front paws tucked over his head as if shielding himself from the room’s sudden plummet to sub-zero temperatures.
“My birthday.” Nell’s voice was steady, but the words landed heavy. A daft thing to say, given he knew the date perfectly well. He nodded anyway, a reflex.
“Aye, I know that—”
“I told you I’d leave if you let me down again.” She sounded so matter of fact, a ten out of ten for composure, which bothered him more than if she’d been shouting and yelling.
“You did.”
“This isn’t about cancelling a weekend away, Danny. It’s a pattern. A tedious, soul-sucking pattern that makes me sick to the back teeth. I keep wondering—what if your ambitions had stopped at a shop and one bloody van?”
What if they had?
Eight years ago, during the global financial crash, he’d dropped a stone in three weeks. Nell had noticed, tugging at the loose waistband of his jeans, frowning.Are you okay? Should you see a doctor?
But he couldn’t eat. The news consumed him. Shops shuttering, businesses collapsing, pensions evaporating. And he’d carried it alone, determined to shield Nell from the worst of it.
What if… people packed their own lunches instead of buying his overpriced sandwiches?
What if… no one came into his shops, choosing the shiny new discount supermarkets instead?
What if… the festivals dried up? No more country fairs, no more summers of Ts in the Park, no more crowds queuing for street food under tarpaulin skies, and he ended up just with a single shop and a van?
And it had been tempting. For a while. But then he looked around. At the house, the life they’d built. Nell’s fragile freelancing career. The people he employed—Joe, his oldest friend, chief among them. Didn’t they all need him? His relentless drive, his blinkered focus, his hard, hard work?
