Page 76 of Forever, Maybe
Daniel didn’t answer, fiddling with the curling edge of the spreadsheet. If only life could be as simple as spreadsheets—problems broken into neat rows and columns, solved by formulas that guaranteed success.My wife wants to leave me because I work too much. Solution? Divide work hours by 3.64 per cent to achieve maximum happiness! Business thrives; wife satisfied!
But there was no formula for this. Nell had been gone almost a month now. The first week, she’d ignored his calls entirely. Since then, their exchanges had been sparse and frosty, conversations that barely qualified as communication. She mostly asked about the cat.
Joe stood, gathering his papers. “Aye, well. Holly wants tae ken about hotels in Leeds. Should she book for one night or two? She’s fair chuffed wi’ herself—found yin place wi’ bidets in the en suites.”
Ah, the wonder of a bidet. Not a staple in your average Scottish bathroom.
Despite everything, Daniel cracked a smile, and Joe’s lips twitched in response. Trust Holly to deliver a rare flash of levity, in her own inimitable way.
For days, Daniel had turned over every possible solution—everything from pitching to the supermarketandwhisking Nell off to London for the weekend. But it always led him back to the same, blindingly obvious conclusion. One he should have reached long ago.
“The supermarket pitch,” Daniel said, straight to the point. “Would you take it on yourself, or team up wi’ Liza?”
Dismay darkened Joe’s face. His mouth shifted sideways, and his nose crinkled. “I’m no’ great wi’ presentations.”
Daniel had expected this. He summoned the persuasive charm that had served him so well over the years. Liza could manage the formal pitch; all Joe had to do was deliver the facts and figures—something he excelled at. He’d just proven it earlier that day, laying out a compelling case for how a meal kit plan could work.
“But they’ll be expectin’ you,” Joe argued. “If me and Liza show up, they’ll think you don’t care or that we’re no’ reliable. You’re the yin who’s always harping on about first impressions.”
Didn’t he know it. The supermarket pitch had already stirred Daniel’s imagination, conjuring vivid, tempting images. The panel chair extending a hand, saying,Congratulations, Mr Murray. We’d love to stock your range. How about expanding it…?
Or the ultimate fantasy: being invited to join the Dragons onDragon’s Den. Sitting alongside Peter Jones, Touker Suleyman and Deborah Meaden, grilling hopeful entrepreneurs and handing out cash to promising ideas.
It was a deeply embarrassing daydream he’d never admitted to anyone—Joe would never let him live it down. He had always made his opinion on the Dragons abundantly clear: “Whit a bunch o’ wankers.”
Daniel leant forward, his expression earnest. “I wouldn’t ask this if I had any other way to stop my wife from walking out on me.” He locked eyes with Joe. “Think about it. If she leaves, I’ll be round your place all the time, in the way, moping and being a pain in the arse.”
Joe snorted. “Nae change there, then.” He blew out his cheeks. “Och, all right. You owe me. But if we dinnae get it, that’s on you.” He jabbed a finger for emphasis.
Daniel nodded. “Fair enough. And if it’s no’ meant to be, I’ll live wi’ that.”
Joe froze mid-motion, staring. “Fuck. Thisisserious.”
Serious didn’t begin to cover it. As Joe left, Daniel sat back, his thoughts drifting to his marriage. He and Nell had weathered countless storms, including that one time from years ago that still made him flush hot and cold.
Yet, despite everything, Nell remained his delicate, fairy-like wife—the same woman who had once stood in front of his van, tearfully lamenting she couldn’t afford a sandwich. From the start, he’d known she was his future. And he’d do whatever it took to make sure he cemented her place in it.
He needed to prove it now more than ever. Nell had flung at him was that love was in the actions, not the words, which was why he had to back out of the supermarket pitch.
They’d spent Hogmanay at a hotel in Aviemore, where a thick blanket of snow transformed the sprawling grounds into a Victorian Christmas card scene. On the morning of January first, she woke later than him, handing him the hotel’s branded notepad—a sturdy, cream-coloured affair—and a fountain pen.
“That’s for your New Year’s resolution. Singular,” she said with a sly smile. “I, Daniel Christopher Francis Murray, do solemnly promise not to work as hard in 2016.”
He snatched the pad from her grasp with exaggerated indignation. “Fine, fine! This is the year I cut back my hours.”
With an over-the-top flourish, he signed the resolution she had already written for him. She made him fold it into a precise square and tuck it into his wallet, as if that act alone could hold him to his promise.
Later that day, they’d visited the hotel’s gym and swimming pool. When she stepped out of the pool, water streaming off her still-slender, bikini-clad body and her hair slicked back, he noticed the man lounging opposite him on one of the recliners. Lust and envy flickered across the man’s face. Had Daniel not been there, he would have tried to worm his way into Nell’s company, no doubt about it.
Daniel’s own reaction had surprised him. His body stirred in a way it hadn’t in months, enough to make him grab one of the hotel’s thick, fluffy white towels to cover himself until the feeling subsided. But then, he whisked Nell back to their room, where they’d spent the rest of the afternoon reminding each other of why they worked so well.
No. Imagine losing all that.
The thought made his chest tighten. The prospect of Joe taking a sabbatical so soon was enough to make him twitch, but Liza was more than capable. Would it really be such a bad thing to ease off the accelerator and let the business maintain its current level?
Yes.
No.
