Page 26 of Forever, Maybe

Chapter nineteen

“You’re early—I’m not even dressed, sorry, and—oh, you’re not Stephanie.

” Nell paused mid-sentence as she swung open the flat’s front door.

Stephanie was supposed to come over that evening since Danny was working late again.

The plan was simple: wine, crisps, dips and a thorough post-mortem of Stephanie’s latest string of dates with a guy she’d met a few weeks ago.

“That, dear lady, I am not.” Jamie Curtice stood there, fanning his hands out theatrically.

He always had that look in his eyes when he saw her—a knowing glint, as if he had X-ray vision and was peeling away her layers, his gaze sliding from her throat, down to her breasts and lingering just a little too long at her crotch.

Nell, wrapped in a fleecy pink dressing gown after her shower, reflexively tightened the cord. “What can I do for you?”

“I was visiting my mate upstairs, but I wanted to talk to you about something, too. Can I come in? I brought wine. Nice stuff, too.” He held up a bottle like a peace offering.

“Stephanie’s on her way over,” Nell replied, hesitating.

Jamie shrugged, entirely unbothered. He wore a suit, the tie loosened and the top button of his shirt undone, giving him a deliberately dishevelled, louche air. “Perfect. I want to speak to her too. It’s a proposition for both of you.”

Nell squinted at him, sceptical.

“Did I say proposition?” He flashed a grin. “I meant proposal.”

“Right,” she said slowly, stepping aside to let him in. “Take a seat in the living room while I get dressed. I won’t be long.”

The look Jamie gave her all but said that if she invited him into her bedroom to watch her untie that dressing gown, he’d be there before it hit the floor.

Jamie wasn’t just a friend of their neighbours—he was also an account manager at White Lightning Communications, the company that edited, designed and published the city council's glossy monthly newsletter. The publication, sent to every household, showcased the council’s self-proclaimed great and good work.

When White Lightning had submitted their slick bid for the contract, Jamie had shown up at Nell’s office a few months after she and Danny moved into their flat.

As a lowly junior graphic designer, Nell had no say in awarding the contract, but she often saw Jamie when he came in to review the newsletter with her department head.

She frequently provided him with graphics and retouched images.

Whenever they crossed paths, Jamie turned the charm up to full volume, proclaiming that the city council was his favourite client solely because it gave him an excuse to see her.

Nell endured the attention, equal parts flattered and exasperated.

She thanked her lucky stars that her own husband, Danny, wasn’t remotely flirtatious with anyone else.

How, she often wondered, did Jamie’s wife put up with him?

Choosing her outfit for the evening became a calculated move. Instead of the low-cut red wrap top she’d originally planned, she opted for a loose silver jumper, pairing it with a chunky silver chain necklace and matching bangles stacked along her forearms. Armour.

By the time she emerged from her bedroom, Jamie was lounging comfortably on the massive blue sofa in the living room. Nell’s new ginger-and-white kitten, a hard-won acquisition after much haggling with Danny, lay fast asleep on his lap. The tiny traitor never sat on her husband.

Jamie had poured himself a glass of wine and raised it in mock salute as she entered, his eyes briefly lingering on her chest despite her strategic jumper. “I love Fridays, don’t you? Where’s your man?”

“Working late,” Nell replied evenly. “Where’s your wife?”

“Alas, she’s abandoned me for the evening,” Jamie said with a dramatic sigh. “She’s off with her mother and sister, no doubt enjoying the chance to bitch about me to her heart’s content. But let’s not talk about them. Sit down.”

His smile was disarming, his tone far too casual. Nell hesitated for a moment before settling into the armchair across from him, carefully keeping her distance.

“What was it you wanted to talk about?” Nell asked, settling into the armchair.

“Shall we wait for Stephanie? Save me repeating myself.” Jamie leaned back, swirling the wine in his glass. “How’s life on the south side treating you? I’m amazed you’re still here. With Stuffed! doing so well, shouldn’t you have bagged one of those big houses in Pollokshields by now?”

Pollokshields—the suburb where Glasgow’s aspirational elite gravitated.

Sandstone townhouses, baronial mansions and converted villas, all nestled in leafy gardens along quiet, stately streets.

Nell spent far too much time lingering outside estate agents’ windows, drooling over properties they couldn’t afford.

Sure, she and Danny had saved a lot over the past four years, but nowhere near enough for a house there. Besides, Danny barely had time to eat dinner most days, let alone tour potential dream homes.

“No, we’re not that rich,” she replied.

Jamie raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “No? How many shops does he have now?”

“Three,” she admitted. “The Hyndland one, Byres Road and St Vincent Street.”

Jamie let out a low whistle. “And is he still hitting up the music festivals in the summer?”

She nodded, her lips tightening. The festival idea had been hers—back when she thought it would add a fun, seasonal twist to the business.

Now, she regretted it. Danny, being Danny, insisted on overseeing everything in person.

Stuffed! had since expanded into a small fleet of food vans that toured the summer festivals and Glasgow’s industrial estates in winter.

Sometimes Nell imagined how different life would have been if she really had been pregnant four years ago. She’d have been raising a child mostly alone, her husband a ghost flitting in and out between work commitments.

The doorbell rang, jolting her from the all-too-familiar spiral in her head.

When Nell opened the door, Stephanie breezed in, thrusting a bag into her hands. “Wine, crisps, chocolate I picked up from Tesco’s. All major food groups covered. You look amazing, by the way. Very boho.”

Coming from Stephanie, that was the ultimate compliment.

Nell glanced down at her outfit—the baggy silver jumper and statement jewellery—then back at her best friend.

Stephanie looked effortlessly polished in skin-tight black jeans, mules and a silky cowl-neck sweater.

Her loose waves framed her face in that artfully casual way that suggested hours of effort.

“Thanks,” Nell said, stepping aside to let her in. “You look stunning, as usual.”

“This is the bit where I’m supposed to say, No, I don’t, but that would be a lie. Of course I do,” Stephanie quipped, heading straight for the living room. “Now, where’s this drink I’ve been promised?”

Jamie’s presence in Nell’s living room visibly unsettled Stephanie, though she masked it well, ordering him to shift over on the sofa so she could sit down.

Nell watched the exchange curiously. Stephanie also knew Jamie through the council, but their indifference to each other always struck her as odd.

Stephanie’s taste in men usually ran toward flashy, arrogant types—the exact mould of the guy she was currently seeing.

And yet, Jamie Curtice, with his practiced charm and smug air, didn’t seem to pique her interest.

Nell poured them wine, handing glasses around as Jamie cleared his throat dramatically. The kitten objected and leapt off his lap.

“Ladies,” he began, pausing for effect. “White Lightning Communications is expanding, and the boss asked me to put forward some names for consideration.”

Stephanie narrowed her eyes, suspicion flickering across her face. “Are you offering us jobs?”

Jamie raised his glass in a mock toast. “Exactly. That quick mind of yours is precisely why I thought of you two. The business needs writers, editors and graphic designers. I’ve worked with both of you at the council, so I know what you’re capable of. How about it?”

Nell blinked, caught off guard. This wasn’t remotely what she’d expected.

But the thought of leaving the council and its soul-sucking bureaucracy sent a jolt of excitement through her.

A smaller company meant fewer layers of red tape and more room for creativity.

The idea of never designing another leaflet about paying council tax or picking up dog poo was downright thrilling.

Stephanie pursed her lips, assessing him. “What’s the pay like?”

Jamie spread his hands in a gesture of mock helplessness. “Naturally, I’m not privy to those details. Marcus handles that.”

Nell vaguely remembered Marcus—the sharp-suited owner of White Lightning—from a brief introduction at the council.

“But,” Jamie continued, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, “when he asks what you’re earning now, add at least five grand. The company has the budget to match it.”

Stephanie leaned back, considering. “Tempting,” she said, though her tone was carefully noncommittal.

Jamie downed the rest of his wine and stood, smoothing his suit. “Well, ladies, I’ll leave you to your evening. Think it over and let me know.”

Nell walked Jamie to the front door. He leaned in and kissed her cheek, the musky scent of his cinnamon aftershave lingering—a stark contrast to Danny’s preference for light, citrusy colognes. “Think about the offer carefully, won’t you?”

“Will do,” she replied, watching as he bounded down the stairs, phone already in hand. His voice carried back to her as he started a call, peppered with phrases like “darling” and “you saucy minx.”

Ten out of ten, whoever he was speaking to wasn’t his wife.

Closing the door, Nell returned to the living room, where Stephanie lay sprawled on the floor, playing with the now wide-awake kitten.

“Well, what do you make of that?” Nell asked, settling into the armchair. The job offer seemed almost too good to be true—but maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t.

Stephanie dangled a feather toy in front of the kitten, which pounced with enthusiasm. “It would fit into my long-term plan,” she replied, her tone thoughtful.

Stephanie was far more driven than Nell. Every year, she created a meticulous plan outlining where she wanted to be career-wise in twelve months. Since joining the council, she’d already earned two promotions.

“How so?” Nell asked.

“If I spend a couple of years with White Lightning, I’ll be in contact with loads of different companies. If I establish a good rapport with enough people, when I go freelance, I can take those clients with me.”

The kitten, growing bored of the feather toy, trotted out of the living room. A faint crunching noise from the kitchen indicated that he’d found his biscuits.

“You could do the same,” Stephanie added, sitting up and brushing a strand of hair from her face. “And you wouldn’t need as many clients as I would because you’ve got Daniel’s money to back you up.”

Nell stiffened slightly but didn’t respond immediately. It wasn’t the first time Stephanie had made a comment like that, and while Nell knew it wasn’t meant unkindly, it always left her feeling… unsettled.

Her friend was right, though. Freelancing would be much easier for someone with a partner bringing in a steady income.

And it wasn’t just about the financial cushion—it would give Nell the freedom to finally focus on her real passion: creating the charcoal landscapes she’d loved so much back in art school.

The thought stirred a flicker of excitement, one she hadn’t felt in years.

“Not sure I relish the thought of working alongside King Slime, though,” Stephanie added, wrinkling her nose.

“No,” Nell murmured. But Jamie was all bark, no bite. She’d manage.

By the time they’d polished off a bottle of wine, they’d both reached the same conclusion. On Monday morning, they would hand in their resignations.

Nell snuggled into the armchair, swirling the last sip of wine in her glass. The prospect of leaving the council— farewell dreary routines and endless bureaucracy—felt surreal.

“A new chapter,” Stephanie said, raising her glass in a mock toast.

Nell smiled, clinking her glass against her friend’s. A new chapter, indeed.