Page 2 of Forever, Maybe

Twenty-two years later

Nell’s phone buzzed as she stood outside the Theta Bar and Grill, a newly opened spot in the city centre that had quickly become the place to be.

Running a few mins late. Won’t be long. Promise X.

So far, so predictable.

Sighing, she decided she might as well wait inside. The air had a bite to it, and lingering on the pavement felt increasingly pointless.

Tommo, ever the charmer, greeted her at the door and whisked her upstairs.

He insisted on taking her coat, his cheerfulness matched only by his determination to make everyone feel special.

“Aye, business is booming, Nell,” he declared, gesturing to the packed tables around them.

It was hard to argue with him. A Thursday night, no less, and the place was heaving.

Glaswegians, it seemed, were more than ready for reasonably priced Greek food, even if it meant joining a waiting list. Theta had hit the jackpot.

Her table was tucked beside a window overlooking the street.

She sat, gazing out at the small group of women weaving their way down the pavement, arms linked like a human chain.

Their heels were impossibly high, the kind that defied both logic and physics.

Nell marvelled at their coordination, especially as one tossed her head back, laughing loud enough to be heard through the glass.

Someone, at least, was having a good night.

A waiter appeared, his attention flitting between her and the empty seat opposite. “Would you like something to drink?” he asked, polite but curious.

“Yes, please. A glass of soda water.”

He nodded, murmured, “Of course,” and disappeared, returning moments later with a highball glass brimming with sparkling water, ice cubes piled to the brim.

Her sensitive teeth twinged at the sight of it.

Alongside the drink, he placed a small ramekin of glossy black olives, their sheen catching the soft overhead light.

Nell plucked one from the dish, trying to quell the growing irritation gnawing at her. Being late wasn’t a crime, but it was a Danny habit she loathed, especially when it left her sitting alone, sipping soda water and pretending not to care.

She popped the olive into her mouth, hoping he wouldn’t be long.

The restaurant had filled, a lively hum of chatter weaving through the air.

Most of the tables were small and close together, seating two or four, fostering an atmosphere of intimacy and warmth.

The walls were adorned with paintings—sun-drenched Mediterranean landscapes interspersed with maps of Crete, a long, narrow island once celebrated as the cradle of civilisation.

Nell’s gaze lingered on one of the maps. She and Danny had gone there before they got married, back when life felt endless and uncomplicated. Hot sun, golden beaches, ancient palaces and two twenty-somethings fuelled by Ouzo and the thrill of being utterly, blissfully alone together.

They’d spent their days exploring and their nights tangled in each other, so much so that she’d ended up with a raging case of thrush and a bout of cystitis.

God, it had been worth it.

Sorry, sorry! Be there soon!

Another message from Danny. It was now quarter past eight.

Waiters surrounded her, delivering plates over-flowing with food, scenting the air liberally with garlic, griddled pork, oregano and dill.

When he finally arrived, Danny would be in his element.

He loved micro-examining what other places did.

Look at the amount of meat they’ve piled on the plates, Nell! How the hell are they making money?

A couple took the table nearby, shuffled into place by the same waiter who had taken her coat. Nell guessed the woman was ten years younger than her. The woman patted her protuberant belly sheathed in bright pink. Her partner beamed, directing his happiness all around him.

They didn’t so much sit as collapse into their chairs. “Bring me food!” the woman exclaimed, “and a tonne of it! I’m eating for two!”

The waiter bent over, resting a hand on her stomach. The over-familiarity didn’t seem to bother the woman. “Ah, Mitera!” he said, and she returned his smile.

“What does that mean?”

“Greek for mother!”

The waiter moved off, promising to return soon with menus and complimentary pita bread and hummus.

Nell, realising she’d been staring blankly after him, turned her gaze back to the street outside.

The yellow-orange glow of the streetlights cast fluorescent puddles onto the pavement, their reflections rippling faintly with each passing car.

From this vantage point, she would spot Danny the moment he arrived, whether tumbling out of a taxi or rushing up from the city centre train station.

The streets remained stubbornly Danny-free.

“Madam?” The waiter reappeared, the same one who had brought her soda water earlier. His expression was carefully polite but laced with visible concern. “Will your dining companion be joining you soon? We’re extremely busy tonight.”

Nell forced a tight smile. “I’ll call him.”

The waiter didn’t budge. He obviously didn’t trust her to make the call. Nell sighed, pulling out her phone, acutely aware of the couple at the next table watching her every move. They exchanged smirks, clearly delighted by the unfolding drama.

She dialled Danny’s number, willing him to pick up. The phone rang and rang… and rang.

No answer.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the couple exchanging a smug smirk. The fourteen-year-old version of herself stirred, itching to flip them a one-finger salute.

“He’s probably on the train,” Nell said brightly, forcing her most casual, unaffected smile. “But he won’t be long!”

The waiter gave her a slight nod and walked off, stopping by the other couple’s table to assure them that their hummus and pita bread were on their way.

He hadn’t offered the same to Nell, who found herself ravenous—at the point of wanting to yank every plate that passed her by and wolf down the contents.

Her phone rang.

“Danny! Where are you ?”

“Nell, look, I’m so sorry but Dennis called me. They’re running out of bread, so I’ll need to stock up on supplies and nip up to—”

She hung up, enraged. The couple at the next table—the woman no longer bothering to hide her curiosity and staring in Nell’s direction as she stuck ripped up pieces of pita bread into the ramekin dish of hummus in front of her—whispered to each other.

Nell fiddled with her bowl of olives, tempted to hurl them at the woman.

The phone rang once more.

Another couple, two men opposite her, turned their heads. “Well, really!” one of them exclaimed. “I know!” The other flattened his hand against his chest. “ Someone didn’t notice the phone signs on the door!”

Too late, Nell remembered the sign on the wall when you walked in, politely requesting customers turn their phones to silent. She twisted away from the scrutiny, answering the phone with a hiss. “Yes?”

“I’ll make it up to you! Swear to God. Look, why don’t you call Stephanie. She’s nearby, isn’t she? Pass me onto Tommo, and I’ll have him charge whatever you eat and drink to my credit card. Treat yourself to the works.”

Stephanie’s flat on Ingram Street was only a five-minute walk from the restaurant.

Danny’s suggestion to crash there was well meant, but if Nell’s best friend wasn’t out on a date, painting the town red, she’d be busy with her version of “essential maintenance.” That meant topping up her fake tan, slapping on a face mask or drying freshly Shellac’d nails under the UV lamp she’d bought for DIY mani-pedis.

Besides, she and Stephanie already had plans to go out on Saturday night.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m just going to head home."

Danny launched into another round of apologies, protesting with the entirely valid excuse that running out of bread at a sandwich van outside the student union wasn’t exactly ideal.

Nell let out a long sigh, cutting him off. “I know, Danny. But what about those oh-so-earnest promise you made back in January?”

She heard his sat nav ordering him to take the second exit onto the motorway. “How about next weekend? I’ll take Friday, Saturday and Sunday off, and we’ll go somewhere. Paris, Berlin, Dublin. Wherever you want.”

“It’s the annual Murray barbecue next Saturday. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten that.”

“Aw, shite! Look, I don’t…”

She let him think it through. The food and drink he’d stockpiled, the suppliers and people he’d invited to keep sweet, her mum and dad traipsing all the way up to Glasgow from Norwich.

That blasted waiter had appeared again. This time, waving two menus at her ostentatiously. She snatched them from him out of spite, studying the three-page fold-out as if she meant to order something. He moved off again. Nell set the menu down.

“Okay, I’ll think of something else. I promise. What you wearing?” Danny’s voice dropped, low and insistent.

Ah, the New Year talk again. Alongside his pledge to work fewer hours, she’d pointed out how their sex life had dwindled to something resembling high days and holidays only.

“Go on, tell me,” he coaxed.

Nell pulled a face, somehow irritated and turned on at the same time.

“The things I do for you, dickhead. Fine. I’ve squeezed myself into that dark red dress—the one I have to keep yanking up, or my nipples will be introducing themselves to strangers.

Paired it with those black, over-the-knee boots. I look like a cheap whore.”

By this point, the pregnant woman and her partner were not even bothering to disguise naked curiosity.

Nell, wearing a dark orange Aztec print, long sleeved midi-dress extended a bare leg, tapping the heel of her flat-soled beaded sandal on the tile in front of her.

Pregnant woman’s partner’s tongue hung too far out for a man who ought to be devoted to his partner’s needs.

“What about your underwear?” Daniel’s voice had dropped. Nevertheless, it appeared to Nell that everyone in the restaurant heard him and swung around, intrigued.

“No bra,” she whispered, “and a black G-string, matched with lace-topped black hold-up stockings!”

His groan coincided with the return of the waiter. “Madam, is your dining companion about to arrive? As you can see,” he gestured around him, “it’s very busy in here.”

“He can’t make it. Sorry about that. The table’s all yours.”

Nell scraped back her chair and stood up, fumbling with her phone in the process. Her thumb inadvertently hit the speaker button.

Danny’s voice, clear and unmistakable, rang out across the restaurant, “Keep the stockings and boots on, and make sure you’re on your hands and knees when I get home.”

The words sliced through the chatter like a knife.

The pregnant woman across the room tutted loudly, while her partner exclaimed, “Honestly, some people!” with the kind of indignation that made Nell wonder if he’d ever said something half as exciting to anyone.

At another table, an older woman threw her head back in laughter, her guffaws echoing through the suddenly hushed room. “Hen, you rush back tae that man o’ yours and let him service ye good and proper!”

Nell’s cheeks burned, but she couldn’t help the giggles bubbling up inside her. Stifling them as best she could, she bolted from the restaurant, her sandals clacking against the tile floor as she made her escape.

One thing was certain: she could never show her face there again.

Out on the street, two women, their accents identifying them as Americans, searched their phones for TripAdvisor cheap eat recommendations. “Go in there,” Nell said, pointing towards the door she had exited, “and ask if you can have the booking under the name Murray. My husband can’t make it.”

She handed them two twenty-pound notes. “Order the champagne on me.”

“You are awesome!” one declared, shoving her phone back into her pocket.

“Amen to that!” the other high-fived her. They disappeared inside.

Waiting at Central Station a few minutes later for the train that would take her home, the woman in the restaurant’s words came back to her.

No, her man would not be waiting for her at home ready to deliver a jolly good rogering.

Edinburgh, tonight’s location for one of Daniel’s pop-up sandwich vans, was almost an hour’s drive away.

When he arrived there, the van would be going like a fair and he would be roped into helping. He wouldn’t be back before midnight.

By that time, she would be tucked up in bed, sans imaginary red dress, stockings and black boots, wearing her pyjamas and in no mood for any how’s-your-father.

For the past few weeks, she had felt as if she were wading through treacle every single day.

She hadn’t made it through an afternoon yet without needing a nap.

Danny, having just worked an eighteen-hour day, wouldn’t be any keener either. They were kidding themselves that dirty talk on the phone would lead anywhere.

Happy wedding anniversary, Nell.

Just another day where Danny worked his socks off, cancelled stuff at the last minute and she got tetchy about it.

The train was five minutes late. Nell’s phone buzzed. A message from Stephanie.

Check out White Lightning Communication’s Instagram account!

Nell followed the prompt, tapping into the app. The company had posted a carousel of photos to commemorate its twentieth anniversary, the caption brimming with nostalgia. She swiped through the images of team events, celebratory dinners and the usual corporate highlights until one stopped her cold.

It was a group photo from a night out years ago, taken after the small firm had won a game-changing contract. Jamie Curtice grinned at the camera, his arms draped around her and Stephanie, radiating the smug confidence of a man who knew he’d be handing in his notice the very next day.

Oh God, oh God, oh God.

Nell’s body flushed first hot, then cold. She had no recollection of that photo being taken. Her thumb hovered over the screen before she clicked out of Instagram, only to click back in moments later, desperate to see who had liked or commented on the post.

No one incriminating.

The train pulled into the station, spilling out giggling girls in sparkly dresses and gallous lads full of swagger, their night still unfolding with the promise of adventure.

Nell climbed aboard, slipping into an empty seat. Her heart thudded against her ribs, refusing to settle. She checked the post again, scanning for any interaction that might expose her. Nothing. Still nothing.

The train rattled past the O2 Academy, its imposing facade of a Grade II listed former church slipping into the night.

She exhaled slowly, willing herself to believe it.

She was safe. For now.