Page 28 of Forever, Maybe
“Shush, keep your voice down!” Ronnie cut in, ironically much louder than either of them, his volume dialled up by a steady mix of wine and Scotch. “Bet’s wearing so many diamonds she’s a security risk!”
He leant back in his chair, clearly delighted with himself, as a few heads turned their way.
Nicky returned to the table just in time to catch the exchange. She shot Daniel a wry grin, her necklace—a simple silver chain with a painted seashell nestled between the twin mounds of her freckled breasts—making a quiet statement. Much nicer than Bet’s flashy display.
Another image flashed through his mind: unfastening the clasp of Nicky’s necklace as she unzipped her dress, his hands sliding over the bump, marvelling at the tautness of her skin.
God. Inappropriate thoughts about his best friend’s wife—for the second time tonight.Go directly to jail, do not pass Go,etcetera.
“Not drinking, then?” Jennifer’s voice cut through his self-recrimination. Her fingers slid slowly up and down the stem of her wine glass, deliberate and suggestive.
He shook his head. “Early start in the morning.”
The truth—I don’t drink at all—always sparked further questions, so he wheeled out the early start excuse, which was more often truthful than it was not.
Jennifer tilted her head in Nicky’s direction. “When’s your wife due?”
Ah. She’d mistaken Nicky for Nell. He shook his head again, more firmly this time. “Nothing to do wi’ me. Nicky’s Joe’s much better half. Nell had another commitment tonight.”
“Nell?”
“Aye, my wife.” Come to think of it, he hadn’t mentioned Nell’s name when recounting their first meeting during the interview. He offered more. “She’s a graphic designer and artist. Before she went freelance, she worked for the council and White Lightning Communications. D’you ken her?”
The motion of her fingers stopped abruptly, mid-stroke and her mouth tightened in a thin line. She swirled the wine in her glass, then knocked back half of it in one go. “No.”
It was an obvious lie, but he couldn’t summon the energy to call her out on it. Maybe Jennifer had crossed paths with Nell through the council or White Lightning and hadn’t liked her. He’d ask Nell tomorrow—if he remembered. Then again, maybe not. Nell viewed her time at White Lightning the way others might view a stint in a grim prison camp. She never talked about it, and he never pushed.
Joe had returned from wherever he and Dennis had escaped to earlier on, a glaicket-ness to his eyes that suggested one beer too many. While he was not a teetotaller, he rarely drank due to the incompatibility of hangovers with young children. But when he did, he went all in.
It provided the perfect opening. Daniel got to his feet. “Nicky, do you want a lift home?”
She beamed. “Aye, please. This yin’s on his biannual mission tae get hammered, and I’m no’ keen on hangin’ around tae witness it. ‘Specially the bit where he starts singin’.”
Joe looked as if that was the only prompt he needed, and they fled, chortling together. There was little fuss as they left. The others at the table were too busy draining the last of the beer and wine to offer anything more than a half-hearted wave or a distracted “cheerio.”
They made their way to his car. To Daniel’s relief, whatever fleeting attraction had lingered around Nicky earlier had dissipated. She’d reverted to the Nicky he’d known for over sixteen years—his oldest friend’s partner, her familiar, homely face comforting and her body softly rounded with pregnancy. Even when she slipped her arm through his, as she had at the start of the evening, nothing stirred, except a faint wistfulness at the sight of her growing belly.
“Joe said you lot are gonnae have a van down at Largs for the Viking festival in August,” Nicky said. “Can I volunteer Kylie to help out?”
Daniel squinted at her. “She’s twelve. Pretty sure that’s breaking child labour laws.”
“No’ if you dinnae pay her,” Nicky replied, a bit too cheerfully for someone offering up their twelve-year-old for unpaid graft. “If anyone asks, say she’s daein’ work experience. That yin needs tae learn the clothes on her back and those fancy trainers on her feet dinnae come fae the magic money fairy.”
“Oh, alright then,” Daniel agreed, wondering what he was taking on. A twelve-year-old who needed constant supervision sounded like more hassle than it was worth—especially one as mouthy as Kylie. He couldn’t imagine her obeying instructions without a full-scale negotiation.
Then it hit him: the first time he’d ‘met’ Kylie, he’d been working at a festival. Fitting—or full circle—that she’d now be ‘volunteering’ for him at one. (Technically volunteering, because the law said she had to be thirteen to work. Semantics.)
Considering what happened shortly after that meeting, he had no desire to dwell on it—made easier by a voice calling out across the car park.
“Hey, Sandwich King!”
He and Nicky turned in unison towards the Marriot’s entrance. Jennifer Frazer waved, her voice cutting through the night air. “Any chance of a lift home, too?”
Nicky jabbed her elbow into his ribs, her voice low and teasing. “She’s a live yin. Bet she’s hopin’ ye drop me aff first, then take her home for a coffee and a knee trembler.”
He nudged her back with mock outrage, his response a hushed, “Behave yourself’,” that only she could hear. Nicky giggled, laughter making her breasts jiggle (delightfully) beneath her dress. He averted his eyes, the last remnants of that earlier madness firmly snuffed out.
Nell had already messaged to say she’d grabbed a taxi home, so there was no harm in doing the gentlemanly thing. Besides, Jennifer might write up his interview even more favourably after a little chivalry.
