Page 85 of Forever, Maybe
“Tell ye what—ma respect for Liza, already high, is now double, triple, quadruple what it was. It’s a bloody miracle she doesnae bash someone o’er the heid wi’ a rolling pin every day.”
Joe took another bite of his wrap, a fresh wave of garlic fumes drifting back toward Daniel, who shuffled sideways again. Give it a few hours, and that heady mix of cabbage, garlic and chickpeas would be making its grand exit—an aromatic assault of fruity farts.
A Volkswagen Vista car pulled up. Liza leaned out of the open window, her face lit up with a wide grin.
“All right, Joe? Gaffer?”
Daniel stepped forward. Josh, Liza’s partner, sat in the passenger seat. He raised a hand in a sluggish wave. Even that small gesture seemed to drain him. Once, Josh’s sandy-blonde hair had been thick and lustrous. Now, it clung to his scalp in thin, greasy strands, and his gaunt face—skin stretched too tightly over prominent bones—was a stark reminder of how close he’d come to death.
After the accident, he’d spent days in a medically induced coma, followed by extensive surgery. A broken leg in three places, a dislocated shoulder, a shattered elbow, cracked ribs and a skin graft on his thigh had left him battered in every sense. Weeks of gruelling rehabilitation had only recently brought him back to walking, though each step was a painful effort.
Liza had warned Daniel earlier. “When we show up, let him help me out of the car. It’ll take forever, but he cannae stand feeling helpless.”
Josh pushed the passenger door open and reached for the crutch that had become an extension of himself. He climbed out slowly, limping as he made his way around the car. His grimace deepened with every step, and Daniel had to fight the instinct to intervene, channelling his tension into a light-hearted exchange with Liza about how the Hyndland shop had gone downhill since Joe took over.
Josh popped open the boot. Inside lay Liza’s wheelchair, its bulk and awkwardness a challenge even for someone fully able-bodied. With a crutch propped against the car, Josh clung to the boot lid for balance as he wrestled the chair out, inch by painstaking inch.
A passing pedestrian shot a scathing look at Daniel and Joe, clearly horrified that they weren’t rushing to help. Daniel’s jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists at his sides.
The wheelchair hit the tarmac with a thud. Joe started forward, but Liza’s brisk shake of the head stopped him mid-step. He backed away before Josh could notice.
Crouching carefully, Josh steadied himself on his good leg and unfolded the chair with deliberate precision. He wheeled it to the driver’s side, where Liza already had the door open and her legs swung out, ready.
This part, at least, was routine. Liza twisted with practiced ease, shifting her weight until she landed firmly in the chair.
Josh grabbed the handles and pushed her down the short stretch of pavement to the shopfront. Liza glanced up at the banner strung across the entrance. Her expression twisted.
“Fuck’s sake! What a fuss over nothing.”
But the glassy sheen in her eyes betrayed her. Joe stepped forward, holding out a bouquet of flowers.
“Welcome back.”
He pulled out his phone. “Shall we take a wee photo to mark the occasion?”
No one seemed particularly enthused, but it would look good onStuffed!’s social media. Liza was a familiar face to the Hyndland regulars, and whatever Joe said about the locals, most of them were decent enough. They’d all been shocked to hear about the accident.
The photo was quickly snapped, Josh already back in the car by the time Daniel opened the shop door. They had half an hour until opening.
The shop had changed little in the past twenty years. Like many buildings from the late 19th or early 20th century, it boasted soaring ceilings and a sense of quiet grandeur. Shelves lined the walls, crammed with packets of pasta, bottles of olive oil, speciality flours and tins of beans and sardines. Behind the tightly packed goods, glimpses of marbled blue and white tiles peeked through—just visible if you knew to look—leading the eye up to a ceiling ringed with intricate cornicing that spoke of a more elegant era.
Liza wheeled herself in, coming to a stop in front of the deli counter. In an unguarded moment during one of their recent phone calls, she’d confided in Daniel.
“I hate being a carer. Stuck at home, looking after everything. It’s ironic, isn’t it? Josh’s looked after me nearly a’ my adult life, and now it’s turn-about, and I cannae stand it.”
Now, she brushed her fingers against the glass-fronted cabinet like it was a museum artifact. “How’s turnover these days?”
Daniel filled her in on the stock and takings from the last two months while Joe disappeared into the back to find a vase for the flowers.
“And how’s Nell doing?” Liza asked, her tone casual but her eyes too intent.
“Aye, she’s fine,” Daniel replied quickly, steering the conversation away before she could dig any deeper. “Joe’s staying with you for the first few hours to get you up to speed. Will you manage after that?”
“I’ll be fine. Joe said Marty’s coming in later. I’ll hae him to boss around and dae the heavy lifting.”
Marty had worked in the shop nearly as long as Liza. They were a bit of a double act—he handled the grunt work: stacking shelves, hauling down goods from the higher reaches, and keeping the place ticking over. Liza took care of the rest: ordering stock, balancing the till and charming the customers with her brisk efficiency.
Joe reappeared, holding the flowers in a vase so large it covered half his torso. “Been testing some new sandwich and wrap combos this week. You wouldnae believe how popular they’ve been!”
