Page 17 of Forever, Maybe

“Everything okay? I’ve made you tea.” He held the mug in front of him.

“And downstairs, I’m in the middle o’ making the greatest breakfast known to mankind and womankind.

After which, I’ll do all the cleaning and washing up, then spend the entire day doing whatever my lovely wife desires.

No Stuffed! stuff. None. Penance for my many, many sins. ”

“No Stuffed! stuff?” Nell raised an eyebrow. “I’m deeply honoured.”

He ducked his head in a mock bow. She patted the bed beside her, and he sat down, handing over the tea. It was perfect, just the way she liked it. The teabag barely steeped, the liquid a pale red-brown, with the tiniest splash of semi-skimmed milk.

“That was Stephanie,” she said, wrapping her hands around the mug for comfort. She filled him in on the conversation, including the grab-a-granny comment, which made Daniel wince.

“And before that, Artie phoned.”

Danny sucked in his cheeks and furrowed his brows, his uncanny impression of her oldest brother’s habitual grim expression drawing a brief laugh.

“Take it he was in his usual fine fettle?”

She nodded.

“Someone needs to tell him about this groundbreaking new app called a sense of humour and suggests he downloads it.”

“That’ll be the day,” Nell said, though her smile faded as quickly as it appeared. “He’s worried about Mum.”

Danny’s playful expression sobered. “What, the forgetfulness?”

Oh, he had noticed too. Artie was right to berate her. What a rubbish daughter she was.

“Yes. Lorraine’s convinced she’s in the early stages of dementia.”

Daniel reached for her hand, squeezing her fingers together. “Och, Nell. That’s shite. But aren’t there drugs these days that can slow it down?”

“I don’t know. Guess I’ll be spending the next few days tapping up Ms Google for the answers. If only I didn’t live so far away from them!”

He gave her fingers another squeeze. “Aye, I know. Tell you what. Why no’ invite Cate and Bobby here a few days early? Then you’ll have more o’ a chance to see what Cate’s like. If they’re only here for the party, you’ll no’ see her much by herself.”

“The party’s still going ahead then? Not going to be called off at the last minute because of work demands…?”

The Murrays threw a party every year before the music festival season began. To Daniel’s credit, he’d never cancelled it, no matter how chaotic life became.

“No, swear to God.” He crossed himself with exaggerated solemnity. “It’s awfy hard for you. You’ve made so many sacrifices for me and the business over the years.” His voice was soft, almost wistful, and his dark eyes searched her face, as if pleading for forgiveness.

Forgiveness for what? For Nell choosing to settle her life in Scotland—a choice she’d made eagerly to escape Norfolk all those years ago? For working himself into the ground so they could afford a beautiful house and a comfortable life?

The idea that he might have fathered a child in some distant past felt more absurd than ever. Danny’s work consumed him entirely; there simply wasn’t room for anything else. Fidelity wasn’t something she took for granted, but she’d never doubted him.

“Not really, Danny,” she said gently, cupping his cheek. The rasp of his unshaven stubble was familiar, almost comforting. She’d always found it irresistible. “You wanted kids. I didn’t. That’s the sacrifice you made for me.”

“Ach, I’ve no regrets,” he replied quickly.

But his glance flickered away for the briefest moment, betraying the lie. God, he was such a good man. She didn’t deserve him.

Danny reached out, brushing his fingers against her cheek. “Are you okay otherwise? You’re awfy pale. You always are, but more so today.”

It was Sunday morning, and for once, Danny didn’t have his phone on him. Miraculously, Stuffed! didn’t require his attention today—a promise he’d made in the early hours of Friday during yet another too-familiar argument about his relentless work hours.

She could tell him. Confess everything.

The thought gnawed at her, as it had since she’d checked the White Lightning Instagram account yesterday. Beneath the celebratory posts marking the company’s twenty-year milestone, one comment stood out like a flashing neon sign:

GOD, the hangover I had the next day was EPIC, Curtice, you tosspot! Can’t imagine how YOU felt the next day. Or should that be who…?! @johndraws

The profile picture for @johndraws was a black Labrador, but a quick scroll revealed the man himself.

He’d been there that night too, lingering as long as she had.

The comment felt pointed, as if he knew something.

But he hadn’t tagged anyone, and no one had replied, except for @QueenAbi79, who echoed the epic hangover sentiment.

Nell bit her lip, the confession rising to the surface before she trampled it down again. Instead, she blurted out the first excuse that came to mind.

“God, I’m… I’m so ashamed. I was sick last night while out with Stephanie,” she said in a rush.

“At my age! It’s not like I’m some silly teenager.

So now, in addition to never being able to show my face at Theta Bar and Grill again, I’ll have to steer clear of Lock Down too.

And I can only pray both places don’t circulate my photo to some secret Glaswegian Facebook group for pubs and restaurants, warning, ‘Do NOT let this woman in.’ ”

So much for confessing.

Danny’s lips twitched, a small smile breaking through. “Tommo owns Lock Down,” he said, amused. “And Theta Bar and Grill. Along with half the pubs and restaurants on the south side. You might end up barred from the lot of them.”

The smiling lips straightened out once more. “Nell, I know how tired you’ve been the past wee while. And hungry. Exhaustion. Being sick like that. D’you think.” He bit down on his bottom lip. “You might be pregnant?”

What? Nell stared at him, floored by the leap he’d just made.

A wild part of her wanted to laugh it off— Don’t be ridiculous!

The science is clear: female fertility drops off a cliff after thirty-five.

Besides, we’ve hardly done the necessary logistics for sperm to even get close to making that perilous journey up my fallopian tubes to find an ovum.

Not to mention, I’ve been on the Mirena coil for what feels like an eternity.

But the way he’d said pregnant —with so much raw longing—dissolved her urge to laugh, replacing it with a fresh wave of guilt.

“When was your last period?” Danny’s voice was soft but intense, as though sheer willpower could conjure a multiplying bundle of cells into her womb. His dark eyes bore into hers, and he reached out, gently stroking her cheek. “Wasn’t it longer than a month ago?”

She grasped his hand, wishing more than anything that she could give him what he wanted. But the weight of the secrets she’d carried for years compelled her to be truthful now.

“Danny, sweetie,” she began. “It was weeks ago, but we both know I’ve never been regular.

And the inconvenient truth—though I swear this isn’t another dig about your working hours—is that we haven’t had sex since the start of the year.

Unless I’ve suddenly become the Virgin Mary, I’m pretty sure I can’t get pregnant without doing the dirty. ”

The joke, meant to diffuse the tension, landed like a brick.

Danny pulled back, his shoulders hunching as a shadow crossed his face.

His lapsed Catholicism gave him no love for the rigidity of his parents’ faith, but outright mockery of it was a no-go.

Her comment had hit a nerve, and he must see it as belittling not just his hopes but something deeper.

“Forgive me,” Nell said quickly, clasping his hand again. “I shouldn’t have said that. We atheists are appalling.” She took a deep breath, her voice softening further. “And I’m truly sorry I’m not pregnant, if that’s what you secretly want.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy with sincerity. Danny didn’t reply immediately, but the flicker of emotion in his eyes told her he’d heard her.

His gaze fixed on the window, remaining there for a few seconds before snapping his attention back to her. “Forget it. I’m talking out my arse. But you reminded me of something I said the other night.”

He removed the by-now empty teacup from her hands, stood up and stripped off his T-shirt, revealing pale skin and a hairy chest. With a clang, his belt landed on the floor, and he unbuttoned his jeans.

The white jockey shorts underneath bulged, tellingly, in front.

“Gonnae do the hands and knees thing you told everyone in Theta Bar and Grill about?”

Lust glazed his eyes, adding a shining lacquer to the brown colour, as he watched her remove her pink camisole top and matching bottoms, and her thoughts flickered, momentarily, to the early days of their marriage.

“If you insist…”

The man who climbed onto the bed definitely wasn’t thinking about kids now.