Page 27 of Forever, Maybe
Chapter twenty
The morning of the party dawned bright and sunny, much to Daniel’s relief.
Pulling back the bedroom curtains, he was greeted by a cloudless blue sky and golden sunlight that brought every colour in the garden to vivid life.
Their house could comfortably accommodate plenty of guests, but it was always easier when the crowd spilled outside—something the weather was mercifully encouraging.
Nell had suggested the annual party years ago, a way of showing appreciation to all Stuffed!
’s employees, along with their friends and families, before the chaos of the summer festival season consumed them.
It had become a tradition. They opened their home and filled it with limitless booze and enough food to soak it all up.
Now, Nell lay curled on her side in their king-sized wooden sleigh bed, the rich walnut frame gleaming faintly in the morning light.
Her hair fanned across the pillow in a golden tangle, and she was fast asleep.
Daniel knew how hard rest had been for her lately, so he dressed in his running gear as quietly as he could and slipped out the door, determined not to disturb her.
The first ten minutes of his jog were a test of will. His heart thudded in protest and his lungs burned. Every step jarred through muscles that felt woefully underused. Pollokshields was unusually quiet for a Saturday morning, with the faint hum of occasional cars and vans breaking the stillness.
As he reached Queen’s Park, the world opened up a little.
The paths were almost empty, except for a few early risers.
He followed the route he and Nell had walked together just days before, pushing himself up the familiar incline.
His breaths grew ragged, each step heavier than the last. By the time he reached the summit, he doubled over, hands on his knees, fighting the nauseous churn as he struggled not to throw up.
He straightened slowly, wiping sweat from his brow.
Once, this route had been a regular morning ritual to counterbalance the hours spent sitting behind a desk.
Back then, he could run it in under twenty minutes without breaking a sweat.
Today, it had taken him twenty-five, and it had felt like a marathon.
As he looked out over the city, the nausea subsided, and the distant hum of life carried on the breeze. The view stretched far and wide, a reward for his effort, but it was a reminder too of how easily habits slipped, how quickly the things you used to take pride in could fade.
For the past few days, he’d dragged himself out of the office by six-thirty so he could join Nell and her parents for dinner.
He’d patiently fielded all of Bobby’s endless questions about the business, carefully explaining every detail.
On top of that, he’d splashed out for Nell to take Cate and Bobby to see a musical at the King’s Theatre, fully aware he was racking up brownie points in advance of delivering some bad news: their trip to London for her birthday wasn’t happening.
If he broke it to her tomorrow, the presence of her parents might act as a buffer to her going completely ballistic.
Maybe.
Jogging back down the hill, he took it slow, mindful of the strain on his knees. Halfway down, his quads started screaming, and he leant against a park bench to stretch, cursing himself for skipping a proper warm-up.
“Hey, Sandwich King! We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”
Jennifer Frazer. Again.
Her golden retriever, Daisy, waddled over, tail swishing back and forth and tongue lolling out in delight.
Jennifer was as impeccably turned out as ever, even at seven in the morning.
This time, she sported a purple velour tracksuit with shiny gold lettering emblazoned across the back, brand-new white trainers, and the usual scarlet lipstick and nails.
The air around her was saturated with the same cloyingly sweet perfume that made Daniel’s nose prickle.
“I’m trying to get her more exercise,” Jennifer explained, scratching Daisy behind the ears. “Not that it’s making much difference. Mum won’t stop sneaking her biscuits.”
Daniel gestured toward Daisy, whose round middle was proof of Jennifer’s mother’s generosity. “Hard to say no to that face, though.”
Jennifer smiled. “True. I didn’t have you down as a jogger.”
He couldn’t tell if that was meant as a compliment or an insult. Shrugging, he replied, “Haven’t been out in ages and regretting it already.”
Jennifer tilted her head and glanced up at the sky. “If you’re counting on a nice day, don’t get your hopes up. See that big dirty cloud rolling in from the west?”
He spun around, relaxing when he saw what Jennifer was pointing at.
A dark grey mass of cloud hurtled eastward across the sky, swift but harmless.
Nothing to worry about. Like many Scots, Daniel had developed a knack for reading clouds early in life—distinguishing between those that barked but didn’t bite and the heavy, ominous ones that promised hours of relentless rain.
“Thanks for sending over those photos Nell took,” Jennifer added. “They passed muster with the picture editor, and he’s a fussy bastard. Actually, I was going to phone you tomorrow. I’ve got another question for the article.”
Before Daniel could respond, a grey squirrel darted across the path, prompting Daisy into a frenzy of barking.
The golden retriever lunged against her lead, straining toward the small creature now safely perched high in a tree.
The squirrel chittered defiantly, its twitching tail and erratic movements taunting the frustrated dog.
“Bloody dog!” Jennifer grunted, tugging Daisy back into submission.
Once calm was restored, she turned to Daniel with a glint of determination in her eyes.
“Now, where was I? Oh yes—your origin story. How does an eighteen-year-old from a deprived background manage to buy a sandwich van and the only a couple of years, later, the lease on a shop?”
His muscles tightened. Like the time she’d casually brought up the length of his marriage, her question felt less innocent curiosity and more a test to confirm something she already suspected.
Jennifer, however, pressed on breezily. “Of course, that was back in the good ol’ days,” she added, waving a hand. “The nineties, eh? When banks threw money at anyone with a half-decent business plan and the bollocks of steel to ask for it.”
No, they didn’t. Not for people with his address or his accent. The memory of the hoops he’d had to jump through—and the assumptions he’d faced—flitted across his mind. But he shrugged, keeping his movements loose and his expression casual.
“A relative lent me the money,” he said evenly. “I paid them back in full a few years later.”
He caught the faintest flicker in Jennifer’s eyes. Was it surprise? Doubt? Whatever it was, she masked it quickly, her attention shifting as Daisy gave the lead another impatient tug.
“Always so driven, eh?”
That perfume was making him feel sick again. If he’d known he was going to run into her, he might’ve dabbed Vicks under his nose. Luke swore by the trick. His younger brother worked as a technician at the city morgue, where everyone used it to keep the stink of death at bay.
“Yup. Anyway, I’d better get back to the house. Busy day ahead,” he said, turning to leave.
As he jogged off, she called after him, “I’ll let you know when the article’s coming out! Might be a while yet.”
He waved over his shoulder, picking up his pace as he headed down the gentle incline. The park was coming to life, scattered with early-morning dog walkers and fellow runners. Despite the bright start to the day, his thoughts darkened.
What did she know about Uncle Shane? Could her pointed question prove problematic? The timing gnawed at him. Shane had been muttering about that car parked outside his house for weeks, claiming it was watching him. Could there be a connection?
No. That was ridiculous. Those concerns had surfaced years ago and been brushed aside as baseless paranoia. Even if Jennifer suspected something, what could she actually prove?
Daniel’s temple throbbed, tension tightening in a band around his forehead.
She could insinuate all she wanted, but the newspaper wouldn’t dare publish anything without hard evidence.
Nothing untoward had ever been proven, and the publishers would know full well that even a whisper of impropriety would invite a libel suit that they couldn’t afford.
Besides, he advertised in that paper. Stephanie always claimed that when it came to a clash between journalists and advertising executives, the winner was rarely the one typing up news stories and articles.
He exhaled slowly, forcing his shoulders to relax. There was nothing to worry about.
Nothing at all.