Page 7 of Forever, Maybe
Simpler times. Better, in a lot of ways.
“Our readers willlovethat,” Jennifer threw in. “And after all these years, you’re still together. Incredible.”
Daniel’s brow concertinaed. Was it that incredible? There was a knock on the door and Joe stuck his head in. “Boss? Have you finished boasting about your brilliance yet? I was wanting a wee word.”
Daniel shushed Joe with a sharp gesture, pointing at the blinking red light on the conference phone. Every word would be crystal clear to the person on the other end.
A harsh, raspy laugh erupted from the speaker, making Joe wince. He grimaced theatrically, earning a fleeting smirk from Daniel.
“Yes, I’m just about finished here,” the woman on the line said, her voice still ringing with amusement. “The photographer will be in touch to arrange times, and the article should run in a few weeks, depending on what else is happening in the news cycle. I’ll give you a shout when it’s confirmed. The subs will have a field day with the headline. Something like,‘All hail Daniel Murray! The sandwich king’s bread and butter may be his chain of Glasgow shops and delis, but his ambitions go far beyond the city—and even Scotland.’You know the drill.”
Joe frowned, eyebrows knitting together, and Daniel shook his head. “Don’t mention the supermarket stuff,” he muttered.
“No, no, of course not!” the journalist replied, her voice almost too cheerful. “It’s all hush-hush. But I’ll be the first to know if it happens, won’t I?”
Daniel clenched his jaw. Damn it. He shouldn’t have let anything slip. Joe leant casually against the doorframe, arms crossed, clearly waiting for the fallout.
“Eh… aye. Maybe,” Daniel said. “Probably won’t, though.”
“Oh, I think it probably will,” she countered breezily. “Anyway, thanks, Danny.”
“It’sDaniel,” he snapped, the words sharper than he intended. Only Nell got to call him Danny.
“Okay,Dan-iel,” she replied, her tone noticeably cooler now. “Thanks so much for your time.”
Joe’s smirk widened as Daniel rolled his eyes. The goodbyes wrapped up quickly, and as Daniel hung up, he let out a long sigh, the force of it lifting his fringe half an inch off his forehead.
“‘Danny,’ eh?” Joe drawled, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “Oh, Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are callin’. From glen to glen and down the mountain side…’”
“Wheesht!” Daniel shot back, jamming his fingers into his ears. “You’ll have every cat in the neighbourhood howling along wi’ that racket.”
Truth be told, Joe’s singing voice had been good enough to land him a coveted spot as an altar boy back in their childhood. But these days, he seemed more interested in weaponising, rather than showcasing it. His grin only grew wider, and he plonked himself in one of the squishy armchairs sticking his feet on the table and his arms behind his head.
Despite working with Daniel for almost twenty years, he was still a tall, skinny rake of a man whose waist size was at odds with his undiminished appetite for wraps and sandwiches. Unlike Daniel, who regularly gave thanks to that maternal grandfather who’d sported thick, dark locks well into his 60s and whose genes he’d inherited, Joe’s hairline had receded substantially. He’d shaved off what remained of his hair to disguise it.
“All hail the king of sandwiches, eh?” The smirk planted itself firmly back on Joe’s face. “What does that make me? The crown prince? The joker?”
Daniel raised his middle finger in the air, wiggling it for emphasis. “Piss off. You were the one who said doing an interview was a brilliant idea. What do you want, anyway?”
“Eh… the thing is—”
Joe swung his feet off the table, only to knock a silver-framed wedding photo of Daniel and Nell onto the floor. The clatter made them both wince.
“Shite—sorry,” Joe muttered, stooping to pick it up. He dusted the frame off carefully, but the interruption jogged Daniel’s memory.
“Joe, d’you mind if I check something on the computer? Won’t take long.”
“Aye, sure.”
The wedding photo on the table, him in a hired kilt, Nell in a white sheath that emphasised the skinniness of her arms and shoulders, uttered silent recriminations as Daniel asked the search engine for ‘twentieth wedding anniversary presents’ and skimmed the results.
China was the usual gift, according to Google, but he couldn’t picture the key to Nell forgiving him for abandoning her last-minute on Thursday night lying in a porcelain dinner set, no matter how gorgeous the blue-green glaze.
Besides, hadn’t she pointed out (repeatedly) that time was the most precious gift he could give her? He pulled up a browser and typed‘five-star hotels’. Multiple options flashed across the screen, many boasting deals for the late May bank holiday weekend. Perfect. They could hop on a train, escape their ordinary routines, and immerse themselves in luxury in Bath, Birmingham or even London.
The Langbourne, an Edwardian masterpiece in the heart of the capital, caught his eye. Its offer of a two nights’ stay with breakfast and dinner promised opulence at a breathtaking price. The non-refundable deposit alone was on par with what he and Nell had paid for an entire week in Crete years ago.
His fingers hovered over the ‘Book Now’ button as his mind raced, already calculating how to carve out the time from an overstuffed schedule. But then again, if anyone called the boss to complain they’d run out of bread, he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it.
