Page 27 of Forever, Maybe
“Promise it won’t be for long,” she murmured.
He nodded against her shoulder, his breath warm on her skin. Their bodies fit together effortlessly, the way they always had, like puzzle pieces clicking into place.
And yet, in the dim light, she swore she could see a hulking, grey shape in the corner of the room. A trunk twitching, ears flapping. Should she say something…?
Her brain helpfully presented a pros and cons list, weighing the arguments for and against. The ‘against’ column was worryingly full.
But shehadto say something.
Danny’s breathing had settled into that slow, steady rhythm that suggested he was on the verge of sleep. She hesitated, then whispered urgently, “Thing is, Danny… I don’t. And I mean this—I really, really mean it. I don’t want kids. Not at all. Not ever. Ever, ever,ever.Is that okay? D’you still want to marry me?”
“’Course,” he mumbled.
Had he even heard her? The steady rise and fall of his chest suggested… possibly not.
Well, she’d said it. Made it crystal clear.
She would marry him. Despite their age, despite the madness of it all, it did feel like something that would work.
It was just that there would never be any kids.
Never, never, never.
Chapter ten
April2016
Waiters circulated among the tables, offering teas and coffees that were mostly waved away. The punters were either too busy polishing off their beers and wine or unwilling to risk caffeine’s late-night effects. Another ten minutes of polite chit-chat, and Daniel could finally make his excuses and leave.
He and Ronnie had the table to themselves now, its surface cluttered with the remnants of dessert—half-eaten clootie dumpling and custard, the latter only Joe had bothered to finish. Empty beer bottles and glasses smeared with lipstick added to the mess, the scene a snapshot of an evening dragging on past its peak.
Ronnie’s face brightened as a woman who looked like a ten years’ younger version of his wife approached. “Sit down, sit down!” he urged, patting the chair beside him and grinning with exaggerated cheer.
The avuncular act didn’t quite mask the glaze of lust in his eyes as his gaze dropped to the deep neckline of her silver-sequinned dress, her chest catching the light—and his attention—with every step.
She favoured the same approach to hair and make-up as Nell’s friend, Stephanie. Way, way, way over the top: blonde hair swept to one side, false eyelashes, skin tone that weird orangey-colour and mask-like, and scarlet lipstick that matched her fingernails. Her perfume was just as in-your-face, the notes of vanilla, cinnamon so intense that she must have sprayed herself with half a bottle of the stuff.
She slid into the seat next to Daniel instead of Ronnie, her choice a clear sign of her ability to spot a man who hadn’t yet realised just how much women despised being pawed at by ageing leches. Leaning slightly across Daniel, she extended a hand to Ronnie, keeping him at arm’s length.
“Ronnie!” she trilled, her tone polished and bright. “Lovely to see you again. How’s business?”
Ronnie launched into a long-winded update on his latest developments and investments, rehashing the same drivel that had bored Daniel half an hour earlier. The woman’s thigh brushed his as she chimed in with admiring words, which might meanGod, isn’t Ronnie boring,or that she was flirting with him. The sour tang of white wine clung to her breath, suggesting it might be a bit of both.
“Daniel, have you met Jennifer? She writes for theScottish Post,” Ronnie said at last, remembering his manners.
Jennifer smiled, all teeth—a wolfish grin that didn’t quite reach her pale blue eyes, which were startlingly large and round. They were her best feature, though a faint pink rim against her heavy black eyeliner gave them a hint of vulnerability that felt oddly out of place with the rest of her polished appearance.
“We spoke on the phone when I interviewed him for theScotland’s Weekendsection,” she said smoothly, turning her attention to Daniel. “But no, we haven’t met in person. Hello, Daniel!”
She twisted in her chair, grasping Daniel’s hand and holding it just a moment too long, the contact teetering on the edge of polite. At the interview the other day, he’d mentioned attending theTaste of Scotlandawards. Was her presence here coincidental? It had to be. Tickets were expensive and scarce. Impossible to secure last minute.
Ronnie, oblivious, found one of the unused glasses on the table and reached for a bottle of red wine. He tipped it over the glass, the liquid glugging noisily until it stopped an inch shy of the rim. “Drink up!” he boomed.
Bet, who had been absent for the last ten minutes after spotting a gaggle of fellow ladies-who-lunch at another table, reappeared. “Jennifer! How lovely to see you! You look gorgeous!”
Her smile might have been pleasant, but her tone and body language radiated strong ‘back off, bitch’ energy.
Jennifer responded with a breezy waggle of her hand. “Bet. As do you. That necklace is something else.”
