Page 47 of Forever, Maybe
No. Not a chance. Saying yes would be too easy, too reckless. And maybe she wouldn’t even get pregnant—at her age, it wasn’t likely. Nicky might be forty-one and pregnant, but she and Joe could’ve been having unprotected sex since the last baby popped out. Who knew?
Still, she heard herself say, “Tell you what. Maybe. I could get checked out when we’re home.”
It wasn’t a yes—but it was enough for Danny, whose face lit up with the kind of joy most people reserved for winning the lottery or watching their team take the league title.
His thank-yous came thick and fast, absurdly over the top. She smiled anyway, lay back against the pillows, and let herself enjoy the moment. Just the two of them, naked in a fancy hotel room, eating ludicrously overpriced chocolates and laughing at their ridiculous descriptions.
He made love to her again, tender this time, as if already picturing her ovaries unguarded, the coil gone, millions of his sperm on a solo mission seeking out an egg, breaching its outer layer, fusing, dividing, embedding itself deep in the uterine lining.
(It was a wonder anyone ever got pregnant.)
Danny had reserved their table for seven-thirty. Emerging from the ensuite bathroom later that evening, Nell caught him hastily placing her phone back on the bedside cabinet.
The restaurant was one of those old-fashioned places that insisted on black tie for dinner, and Danny had brought his penguin suit for the occasion, the bow tie dangling loose around his neck.
“Everything all right?” she asked, stepping closer to fix the tie for him. “Were you sneaking a peek at Stuffed! ’s Insta account?”
He shook his head—too quickly to be convincing.
Oh well. A workaholic stumbling a few times on the road to a healthier work-life balance wasn’t a shock. She let it go, smoothing the fabric of his lapels.
But then her eyes landed on a piece of paper on the bedside table, one she hadn’t noticed before. She reached for it, as Danny made a clumsy attempt to snatch it back.
It read:
Message for Daniel Murray, booked in for Thursday 26 May to Sunday 29th.
Liza’s Josh was critically injured in a motorbike crash this morning, and she is signed off work indefinitely.
Supermarket pitch now not going ahead, as Joe will need to cover her job at the Hyndland shop for the next few weeks/months.
I’ve sent flowers. Sorry, I know you said no contact, but I thought you might want to message Liza. Best wishes, Holly.
“I wasn’t going to tell you,” Danny admitted, rubbing his temples.
Only the coldest, meanest woman in the world could begrudge her husband’s reaction to news like that.
Josh had been a fixture at the annual Murray barbecue over the years—a warm, cheerful man, with his easy smile and London accent.
The thought of him now, mangled and in pain, sent a shiver of revulsion through her.
Would he recover? Or would this mean a wheelchair and a lifetime of adjustments for both him and Liza? How would their relationship survive that kind of strain?
Danny glanced at her phone again, an involuntary flicker that betrayed his inner turmoil.
Nell picked up the device and pressed it into his hand. “Call her,” she said gently. “You’ve known her for years. She needs to hear from you. Give her my love, too.”
He shot her a look that blended gratitude with relief before wandering into the room’s living area, phone in hand. Nell pulled the towel from her head, shaking out her damp hair and running a comb through it.
The serious talk—the one she had planned—Danny’s baby chat had hijacked it. Now what? Did she too wait to bring it up later that weekend, waiting for the fabled right moment…?
“Christ, I’m so sorry, Liza. Aye, of course. Take all the time you need. Don’t rush back. We’ll manage fine wi’out you…”
Danny’s voice drifted through the suite, one side of a conversation steeped in sympathy and practicality.
Poor Liza. The thought flitted through Nell’s mind. But oh, the timing…
Tonight, they would sit in that fancy restaurant, waiters bustling around them with practiced efficiency.
Cloth napkins would be laid on their laps, iced water poured into his glass, perfectly chilled white wine into hers.
Plates would be presented like works of art, adorned with swirls of sauce, delicate fronds of greenery, tiny portions of meat, fish, and eggs crowned with shavings of truffle and glistening pink pearls of salmon roe.
Mushrooms in pastry because that was always the default veggie dish.
“Is everything alright? Can we fetch you anything more?” the staff would ask, their attentiveness bordering on reverence.
Danny would smile, meeting her gaze across the table, his words full of warmth as he asked her the same—checking in, making plans for her birthday tomorrow.
Yet his mind would be somewhere else entirely, preoccupied with what Liza’s absence meant for the business, how it disrupted his carefully laid plans to slow down.
How would she possibly bear it? Sitting there, pretending everything was fine while her husband’s thoughts drifted miles away, tethered to responsibilities and a future they hadn’t yet agreed on.
And all the while, she’d be bracing for him to bring it up again—the baby question—turning over the odds of getting pregnant, of becoming that Nell again.
The one who’d been pregnant before.