Page 78 of Forever, Maybe
Unseen by anyone except Corrie, who protested loudly at being jostled from his cosy perch on Daniel’s lap, Daniel punched the air, grinning like an idiot.
Yes!
Chapter thirty-five
May2016
“Is he whistling?” Joe asked, incredulous, his eyebrows shooting up.
“Aye,” Holly replied with a shudder. “Gonnae ask him to stop? It’s doin’ ma head in.”
Daniel poked his head out of the office door, his expression halfway between amused and exasperated. “Oi! I’m still the boss here, mind. If I want to whistle, I’m allowed to whistle.”
Holly, seated at her desk in the reception area, made a face that could rival a troll’s. “Aye, but it’s thesamebloody tune. Over and over for two hours. Honestly, why don’t you just leave? Everything’s under control here. We’ll see you Monday morning.”
Joe, perched precariously on the corner of Holly’s desk, nodded in agreement, his chin dipping to his chest. “Aye, off ye go. Liza’s coming in this afternoon to go over the Asda pitch one last time. We’ll manage fine without you.”
Daniel hesitated. The earlier train was tempting. Holly had booked open tickets, so he could catch it anytime. If he left now, he’d make it to central London by three, with a few precious hours to spare. Days of bliss stretched ahead: a wife he hadn’t seen in three weeks, hopeful talks about starting a family and all the other joyful efforts required to make that happen.
“You know what?” he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I get it. I’m off. Joe, I hope everything goes smoothly on Saturday, but I don’t want to hear about it while I’m away. Even if the buyer gives you an answer on the spot.”
Joe’s eyes lit up with mock indignation. “Ooooohhh! Are you takin’ notes, Holly? The boss says we’re no’ tae contact him. Of course, if he really means it, he’ll leave his phone here.”
He patted the space on the desk beside him for emphasis.
Holly, grinning, played along. She slid open the top drawer, revealing a series of neatly arranged plastic dividers, tags marking what each of them contained. “Aye, stick it in here and prove you mean it.”
Daniel rolled his eyes. “Very good. But how am I supposed to get in touch wi’ Nell when I get to Euston? She might not be at the hotel yet. She’ll be expecting me later. Or she might want to contact me on the way down.”
Without missing a beat, Holly retrieved a packet of pink Post-its from beside her desktop, scribbled something and handed him the top note. “There. That’s Nell’s number. If you need her, find a phone box.”
Daniel stared at the scrap of paper, shaking his head. “A phone box? Do they even still exist?”
Joe nudged Holly with a smirk. “Terrible thing tae be addicted tae yon silly wee bit o’ plastic, eh?”
Holly returned the smirk, folding her arms triumphantly. “Mmm-hmm. Seems we’re no’ the ones with the problem.”
“Fine!” With a theatrical sigh, he handed over his phone, but not before quickly texting Nell to explain the situation. The gesture would earn him some much-needed brownie points. Nell had often threatened to toss his phone into the nearest river, lake or sea whenever it interrupted their holidays, nights out or even just a quiet dinner.
Retrieving the small black suitcase on wheels he’d packed that morning, he strode past Holly and Joe, exuding mock dignity. Joe’s parting comment stopped him mid-step.
“Hope you spend most o’ the next five days staring no’ at the London Eye, but at the ceiling o’ that Langbourne bedroom!”
Daniel didn’t turn around, but his hand wave shifted seamlessly into a two-fingered salute as he kept walking, earning a burst of laughter behind him.
He was already out the door and halfway down the street towards Buchanan Street and Central Station when the phone he’d just surrendered began ringing on Holly’s desk. He never heard it.
Holly picked up, her tone shifting from playful to alarmed. “Liza, aye? Oh my God. That’s awful. I’m so, so sorry.”
The Gods of British Public Transport, not known for their benevolence, granted him a rare blessing. The Virgin train, with its sleek red and grey carriages, departed precisely on time and hit every scheduled stop down the line like clockwork.
He’d splurged on first class—an indulgence the canny Scot in him dismissed as completely unnecessary, but well worth it for the peace and quiet. For the first thirty minutes, the view outside the window kept him entertained. The rolling greens of Lanarkshire gave way to Cumbria, Carlisle marking the first stop. The grandeur of the Lake District flashed by. Hills rose like ancient sentinels, while clusters of passengers boarded in trekking gear crusted with mud, grumbling as they lamented the return to the big smoke after their rural escape.
By Preston, the gentle rocking of the carriage lulled him to sleep, and he drifted off. When he awoke an hour later, somewhere in the Midlands, reality hit him like a freight train: no phone.
Shit. How did peopledothis? Sit still, doing nothing, for hours on end? His restlessness built like static electricity. Around him, other passengers seemed perfectly content.
An older couple across the aisle sipped tea from thermal flasks, their murmured conversation drifting over as they unwrapped foil-wrapped biscuits. Snippets about grandchildren, family holidays and retirement plans floated his way, their nimble fingers pausing only to brush away crumbs.
