Page 45 of Forever, Maybe

Dip number one loomed large in his mind: Nell’s pregnancy scare not long after they moved into their first home.

How excited he had been when her period was late.

She hadn’t told him, but he knew, keeping schtum because a daft part of him thought if neither of them mentioned it, somehow, she would come around to the idea.

Then there was that time, a few years later, when he suggested trying again. Her response had been unwavering: what she’d told him before they got married—about not wanting children—hadn’t changed. “If you don’t like it now, Daniel, you can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

The next dip? The fallout around her exhibition at the MacLennan Street Gallery. Two weeks of silence after a particularly venomous argument, Nell threatening counselling. “I don’t want to stay in a marriage with a workaholic,” she’d warned.

Counselling? He’d balked at the idea, horrified at the thought of laying himself bare to a stranger.

It hadn’t come to that. For whatever reason, the tension smoothed itself out.

Likely because Nell left White Lightning Communications—the job she loathed—not long after.

Setting herself up as a freelancer had given her the freedom she craved and meant they saw more of each other.

Not much more—his insane work hours hadn’t changed—but just enough to keep her happy.

He’d helped, too. He’d found her a business coach, sent clients her way and cheered her on from the sidelines. It was enough for her to see him as a supportive partner again.

But then there was his secret. The dip that wouldn’t appear on Nell’s timeline because she didn’t know it existed. A memory he couldn’t fully confront, couldn’t even make sense of himself. Whenever it threatened to surface, he shoved it back down. No. I will NOT think about that now.

This was the trouble with too much time for introspection. It was no wonder he hated being idle.

One of the passengers who’d disembarked at Birmingham had left a newspaper behind. Grateful for the distraction, Daniel picked it up and began flicking through the pages, skimming headlines and avoiding his thoughts.

A crime writer had published a piece on the rise in arson attacks on small businesses in Glasgow, sending a shiver down his spine. It was all too familiar—just like the bad old days of the nineties, when one Glasgow family had made it their signature move.

Towards the back of the paper, a business leader he respected had penned a column about the upcoming referendum, where the UK would decide whether to remain in the EU. The man voiced deep concerns about the potential fallout if Britons voted to leave.

If the UK votes for what can only be described as a gigantic cut-your-nose-off-to-spite-your-face move, he’d written, imports and exports will suffer greatly. The consequences for the supply chain will be catastrophic, particularly for food prices…

Daniel folded the newspaper and slid it back onto the overhead luggage rack, unwilling to let worries over a hypothetical future—one he still hoped wouldn’t come to pass—cloud the rest of his journey.

He turned his attention back to the window.

Now that they’d left the Midlands, the scenery had changed again.

Countryside gave way to sprawling urban landscapes.

Warehouses, industrial estates, motorways and rows of housing dominated the view.

It gave him a fresh appreciation of Glasgow.

For all its urban chaos, it had hills, munros and vast lochs within easy reach.

He wouldn’t, couldn’t, live anywhere else.

The conductor’s voice crackled through the speakers, announcing their imminent arrival at Euston Station. Passengers were reminded to take all personal belongings and thanked for travelling with Virgin Trains.

As the train slowed, the woman with the book brushed past him on her way to the doors. “Enjoy your time in London,” she said, her tone cool but her eyes scorching.

Before he could respond, she pressed a card into his hand, her fingers lingering just enough to make him flinch. “Just in case you ever want some extra-marital fun,” she added with a sly smile.

Blimey. Did women really do that?

He shoved the card into his jacket pocket—not out of interest, but out of habit as leaving litter behind felt wrong. He imagined Nell’s reaction when he told her. It would make her laugh out loud.

The train doors hissed open, releasing a flood of passengers onto the teeming concourse. It was quarter past three on a Thursday, and rush hour had already begun in earnest.

Even so, he spotted Nell immediately, waiting near the main information screens. His heart lifted at the sight of her. He hadn’t expected to meet here, but there she was, her smile radiant, lighting up the chaos around her.

She flung her arms around him. “Oh, it’s so great to see you!” she exclaimed, her voice brimming with warmth.

For the first time in days, everything felt right.

“Happy almost forty-second birthday!” he exclaimed, sweeping Nell off her feet and spinning her around. His suitcase toppled in the process, and her legs bumped into a few passers-by, drawing irritated growls. He set her down quickly, laughing as he caught his breath.

Her dark blonde hair gleamed, freshly washed and styled, but he couldn’t help noticing how much more weight she’d lost. The sleeveless jersey dress she wore highlighted her slender frame, and despite her radiant smile, the tension around her eyes betrayed her.

He pulled her into another hug, prompting a startled “Ooh!” from a passing stranger. “You look beautiful,” he murmured. “C’mon, let’s get to the hotel. There’s a king-sized bed waiting, and it needs breaking in.”

She grinned, slipping her hand into his. “If we take the tube from here, it’s just one change to Covent Garden.”

Descending into London’s subterranean depths, the heat and stench of the Underground hit them like a wall.

Packed trains forced him to grip a strap handle with one hand, while the other held onto his suitcase.

Nell clung to him, her head resting on his chest. Every lurch and curve of the carriage sent her tumbling into him—or worse, into another passenger.

“Sorry, sorry!” she muttered repeatedly, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

By the time they reached the Langbourne Town House, the chaos of the journey faded into the background. Liveried doormen in dark green tailcoats with gleaming gold buttons tipped their caps.

“Welcome to the Langbourne Town House, Sir, Madam! Would you like us to call a porter?”

Daniel opened his mouth to decline—two small suitcases hardly justified the fuss—but changed his mind. Why not embrace the full experience?

A fresh-faced lad in a matching green-and-gold uniform, who looked barely old enough to shave, whisked their bags away with an eager smile.

Inside, the sheer opulence made the hefty cost of their stay abundantly clear. Chandeliers sparkled above marble floors, polished wood gleamed in every corner, and staff glided silently, as though their feet never quite touched the ground.

Nell glanced around her. “There’s something about places like this that makes me want to behave very badly.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I’ll check us in. Feel free to start misbehaving whenever you like.”

She punched his arm, playful, then wandered off to snap photos of the building’s iconic gold signage and elegant canopies.

At the front desk, the receptionist smiled warmly as she confirmed their reservation. She handed over two key cards along with a glossy pamphlet outlining restaurant hours, gym facilities and Wi-Fi details.

Taking his credit card, she paused. “Mr Daniel Murray? A message came in for you earlier—at half-past eleven.” She offered him a folded piece of cream hotel notepaper.

Half-past eleven. Not long after he’d left Glasgow. It was probably from Joe or Holly. They’d been the ones to insist he leave his phone behind. But if they’d gone through the trouble of contacting the hotel, it had to be urgent.

He reached for the note, but before he could unfold it, Nell’s voice called out.

“Stay there. I’ll take your picture!”

With a care-free smile plastered across his face, Daniel tucked the note into his jeans pocket. Whatever the message said, it could wait.

Nell joined him in front of the desk, slipping seamlessly into her best David Attenborough impression. “The lesser-spotted Danny Murray,” she murmured. “The holiday version, so rare that only the most skilled wildlife photographer can capture him in his natural habitat…”

She offered the receptionist a conspiratorial wink. “This is our first proper break in ages.”

The receptionist’s professional smile never wavered. “I hope you both have a fantastic stay. May I suggest booking dinner for half-past seven? The restaurant’s always busy.”

Daniel agreed and tugged Nell’s hand. “C’mon, let’s go.”

In the lift, he glanced at the key card. “We’re in room 158. Supposedly, it’s got a great view of Covent Garden. Did you bring your dookers? There’s a swimming pool in the basement.”

Nell wrinkled her nose. “We’re not going swimming, for God’s sake! Who brings swimwear on a city break?”

Room 158 was at the end of a long, plush-carpeted corridor—far enough from the lift to avoid passing foot traffic.

“Everything okay?” Nell asked as Daniel slid the key card into the lock.

“Aye, fine,” he replied with a grin so over-the-top it screamed, This is my absolutely not thinking about work face.

He opened the door, and they both stopped in their tracks.

“Oh my God,” he said, his tone one of mock awe. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Bloody hell.” Nell whipped out her phone, snapping a picture of the swan painstakingly crafted from white bath towels and proudly displayed on the king-sized bed.

The junior suite was far more than he’d let on.

A small living room that housed a vintage gramophone, a flower arrangement so massive it looked like it required scaffolding, a box of chocolates and a bottle of champagne nestled at a jaunty angle in an ice bucket. All of it had cost him a small fortune.

But it was worth it for her reaction. She spun around, joy lighting up her face. “Wow! This is amazing!”

Still, the paper in his pocket burned like a live ember.

What on earth had prompted Holly or Joe to contact him?

A gas explosion at the Hyndland shop? An armed robbery?

If it had been something major, wouldn’t Nell have already seen the news alerts and told him?

Or maybe it was a health inspector’s visit leading to the sudden closure of one of his businesses… ?

He ran a hand through his hair, the fake smile slipping for a moment.

In the ensuite, Nell’s voice floated back to him, excitement cutting through his thoughts. “L’Occitane toiletries! I’m nicking these when we leave. And you should see the bath. It’s enormous!”

She reappeared, grinning and clutching a pristine bathrobe. “How on earth do hotels get these so white?”

“Magic,” Daniel said solemnly. “It’s the only explanation. Nothing you wash at home comes out half that clean.”

She flung the robe at him, laughing. “Absolutely fuck off! Tell you what, you’re on laundry duties from now on!”

He caught the robe, grinning back, the familiar smell of her Bodyshop perfume from years ago wafting up.

The note in his pocket couldn’t be anything serious, he decided.

Probably Holly, indulging his control-freak tendencies by seeking unnecessary approval, or Joe, needing last-minute reassurance about tomorrow’s supermarket pitch.

Or worse—Joe leaving a lewd message as a joke, imagining some posh receptionist delivering it in crisp, clipped tones while he cackled to himself back in Glasgow.

If it had been urgent, they would have called Nell. He resolved to read the note later. Right now, nothing mattered but this moment, and he plucked the champagne from the ice bucket.

“Mrs Murray, d’you want your wine waiter to pour you a glass?”