Page 68 of Forever, Maybe
Somehow,Stuffed!had ridden out the storm. The weight crept back. His thighs, his backside and his stomach all reclaimed their former bulk. The business had survived, and in its wake came a quiet, steely resolve: he would never let himself be that vulnerable again.
“And what if,” Nell continued, the words spilling out now, “I’d moved to London instead of marrying you all those years ago? We’d have tried long-distance for a while, realised it wouldn’t work and split up. Maybe we’d both be happier now.”
Daniel stirred. “No. I dinnae accept that. Not for a second.” He heard the edge of desperation in his voice. “You’ve always been the one and only woman I’ve ever wanted.”
His voice had risen. He stepped forward, hands outstretched as if to grab her, to hold her in place. Nell dodged his grasp, and he froze, retreating a step. “Sorry, sorry. I didnae mean to…”
She sniffed and turned her head, her gaze drifting across the room. The accoutrements of his wealth surrounded them: the recliner Corrie now used as a makeshift cat bed, the enormous TV screen, the polished mahogany floorboards and her artwork displayed in ostentatious neo-baroque frames.
She nodded toward them now. “I overheard Shane earlier letting slip that the exhibition at the MacLennan Gallery all those years ago had nothing to do with my talent and everything to do with him pouring expensive whisky down Mr MacLennan’s throat. You asked him to do that. As a favour.”
It wasn’t a question.
Bloody Shane and his big gob.
“Aye, but you still sold all your paintings, didn’t you?” he said. “Folk wouldn’t have bought them if they thought they were rubbish. Or if they didn’t like them.”
“Never offered me a solo exhibition, though, did he?”
A shout rang out from outside, followed by a burst of raucous laughter. Joe, no doubt—probably cracking some crude joke at his expense to the party guests still milling about. All of them somehow tied to him: employees, suppliers, people whose rent or mortgages and groceries depended on his unrelenting drive to keep succeeding.
Daniel exhaled deeply, the sound drawing her back to him. “I’ve been thinking a lot. About how things can change.” He reached for her hand, and this time she let him take it. “Once the supermarket pitch is done, and—”
She snatched her hand away. “Ah, there it is. Jam tomorrow.Always one more hurdle to clear before you can finally stop putting the business first. Why will this time be any different, Danny?”
Before he could respond, Trish poked her head around the door. “Any more sausage rolls, Nell, love? Some of the guests could do with a bit more lining in their stomachs—soak up all the booze.”
Honestly, who cared? But he nodded briskly. “I’ll dig them out of the freezer,” he muttered, seizing the excuse as if he had been granted a last-minute reprieve from the firing squad. He was gone before anyone could stop him.
Chapter twenty-nine
July2003
She came back eleven days later, a Saturday, late at night, when she knew he’d be home. Every one of Daniel’s texts and calls had gone unanswered, and by the fifth day, he’d resigned himself to the worst: she was leaving him. The thought hollowed him out, like a dinghy adrift on a stormy sea, its one-man crew clueless about where or when it might sink.
When the front door creaked open, he shot to his feet.
The woman standing in the hallway was Nell—but also not. She was still tiny, blonde and pixie-like, but she seemed diminished, a shadow of herself. As if her body were here but her essence hadn’t quite caught up. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I should have answered. I should have told—”
He cut her off, stepping toward her as the words tangled in his throat. Ten days had given him too much time to brood. Between long hours at work—his default refuge—he’d replayed everything in excruciating detail. She wasn’t to blame. She’d told him about the no-children thing when he proposed, before they married, several times, and after. She’d been clear. He hadn’t listened.
The priest from school—an old man with breath potent enough to strip varnish—loved to repeat a favourite question:Do you know why God gave us two ears and only one mouth?He never waited for an answer, filling it in for the children himself every time.
Because He thinks listening is twice as important as speaking.
“Nell.” His voice was rough, frayed at the edges, like he was saying her name for the first time after thinking he never would again.
He reached her in two strides and wrapped her in a crushing embrace. She was slight, fragile in his arms. “No, dinnae say anything more,” he said. “I’m an arsehole. I’ll come to the exhibition—of course I will. And the kids thing… you’re right. You told me, more than once. I’m sorry I didn’t hear you.”
She sighed, the sound soft and weary, and he felt the weight of her breath like forgiveness.
“I’m sorry,” he said again, his face buried in her hair, drinking in the scent of her.
“Honestly, don’t worry about the exhibition,” she murmured, her words muffled against his chest. “You’re right. You should… do that thing in Dumfries & Galloway. As long as you’re there for the second night.”
“No, honestly, I’ll come.”
“The mortgage,” she murmured. “I don’t… contribute much at all. The fair will help secure more business, especially if you’re giving up the Byres Road shop.”
