Page 54 of Forever, Maybe

Chapter forty

Nell bought a pregnancy test five weeks later.

Too scared to take it at home, she headed for the relative anonymity of the Buchanan Galleries toilets. The sprawling shopping centre at the heart of Glasgow had bathrooms on the third floor, the only women’s toilets she’d ever encountered without a queue, thanks to an abundance of cubicles.

Her hands trembled as she pushed open the door to a stall tucked in the far corner.

The space was clean, but no amount of scrubbing could erase the telltale aura of a public toilet.

The industrial tang of disinfectant waged a losing battle against the stench of urine and worse.

It clung to the air, infiltrating everything.

Even the crisp, citrusy CK One she wore felt powerless against it.

She yanked down her jeans and underwear, peeing on the stick with a precision born of fear. When the test was done, she placed it face-down on the sanitary bin beside the toilet and checked her phone. The instructions said to wait three minutes.

One hundred and eighty elephants. One hundred and seventy-nine elephants. One hundred and seventy-eight elephants…

When she finally flipped the test, the double blue line confirmed what she already knew. Pregnant.

The first clue had come two days ago. Danny had poured her a glass of wine with dinner, and she’d recoiled at the smell, pushing it away with a grimace. What is this taste in my mouth? Then, as the realisation crept in: Oh god, oh god, oh god…

How had she made it through the rest of that weekend? Smiling through gritted teeth, playing the part of carefree Nell for Danny and his family, while her thoughts veered in crazy directions. It happened only once. I’m on the pill. This can’t be right.

But it was real. She was on the mini pill, the kind you had to take at the exact same time every day. Those two chaotic weeks at Stephanie’s had thrown her routine off. Had she remembered to take it every morning at seven? She couldn’t swear to it.

Her imagination launched into overdrive. I’ll have the baby. Maybe it’s Danny’s. We had sex that weekend. And even if it isn’t—don’t thousands of men raise children every year without knowing they’re not their own?

But then there was Jamie. Jamie, with his gingery auburn hair and freckled skin. The MC1R gene loved to dominate, didn’t it? A red-haired child would stick out like a beacon in both her family and Danny’s, where not a single soul had ever carried so much as a strawberry-blonde strand.

How would she explain that?

There was no other way.

Nell visited her then GP, a nondescript man with a bland smile who listened to her story without comment, nodding in all the right places. He referred her to a consultant at the Victoria Infirmary.

In the waiting room, nerves and nausea churned in her stomach. She slipped off her wedding ring, the absence of its familiar weight on her finger both freeing and damning. The ultrasound confirmed what she already knew: she was roughly six weeks pregnant.

The nurse spread cold jelly across her abdomen and moved the probe over her skin in slow, deliberate motions. She was silent, her eyes fixed on the screen, her expression carefully neutral.

Nell was ushered into the consultant’s office next, a room that felt as distant and clinical as the man sitting in it.

Doctor Carter had the air of someone who believed his time was being wasted.

Flanked by two nurses, he didn’t bother with a desk.

He didn’t need one—the space between them already felt insurmountable.

He held a letter in his hand and glanced at it before speaking, his voice clipped. “Your doctor informs me that you’ve found yourself pregnant by accident. Again.”

The words slapped her like an open palm. Guilt and humiliation surged, her cheeks flushing hot as tears spilled unbidden. She let her head drop, her blonde hair falling forward like a curtain to shield her from his judgement. The tears hit the floor with tiny, traitorous splashes.

Doctor Carter carried on, his voice tinny and distorted, like something from a broken speaker. It gave his words an almost otherworldly menace, but she understood enough.

He explained the procedure—he even gave the word air quotes, as if the act of termination were beneath him. When he finished, he leaned back and sighed heavily. “Afterwards, I strongly suggest you use Mirena, the hormonal intrauterine device. For goodness’ sake, sort your contraception out.”

She was given a date to return to the hospital. Because it was early in the pregnancy, a medical termination was possible. Two pills, taken in sequence, would induce a miscarriage.

As she left, a nurse followed her into the corridor. She glanced around before lowering her voice. “Doctor Carter and his wife are going through fertility treatment. It makes him… well, awfy judgy.”

Nell nodded, gratitude blooming faintly beneath her exhaustion.

Two days later, she miscarried anyway.

That morning, Danny left for work as usual. Nell heard the front door close and the sound of his footsteps fading down the street. The moment he was gone, she threw off the covers and stumbled out of bed.

The pain hit her in waves, a relentless, vice-like grip in her belly that doubled her over. She clutched the bedframe, the ache clawing through her as she bit back a scream.

She dragged herself to the toilet, one fist pressed hard against her abdomen as though she could hold the pain in. Fresh, bright blood—not the dark-brown spotting of a period—streaked the bowl and stained the tissue when she wiped.

The pain was relentless, a crippling vice that left her doubled over in bed, crawling back and forth to the toilet. Each trip brought the same grim ritual: flushing away blood and clots, the pieces of what her body was letting go.

She phoned in sick, only just managing to get off the phone before another wave of pain hit her.

Afterwards, she sank onto the cold tile floor of the bathroom, her cheek pressed to the cool surface, seeking relief. Tears slid down her face, pooling in the grout lines. Mother Nature had done her work. The baby that was never meant to happen was gone, as if it had never been.

It was a blessing in disguise, she told herself, though the words felt hollow. At that moment, all she knew was the ache in her belly and the deeper, sharper ache in her chest.

By the time Danny came home that evening, it was done.

She had called the hospital to cancel her appointment, explaining to the nurse what had happened.

“You may still need a D&C,” the nurse had said, gently urging her to come in to ensure everything was complete.

But Nell declined. She couldn’t face the sterile halls, the judgmental glances or the risk of seeing someone she knew.

Danny sat on the edge of their bed, his hand cradling hers. She blamed her pallor and lethargy on a stomach bug, brushing off his concern. “D’you want me to get you some Lucozade?” he asked, his brow furrowed with worry.

When she shook her head, his gaze dropped, shame carving deep lines into his face.

“Nell, we’ve no’ had a proper holiday in years.

Would you want to go somewhere in September?

I was thinking mebbe Italy, or Spain? For a week or two?

The shops and the vans can manage without us.

I know I haven’t been good at taking time off, even after what I promised you in July. I’m sorry. Forgive me, sweetheart.”

Each word hit like a blow. She welcomed the pain—it was exactly what she deserved.

“There’s nothing to forgive,” she said hoarsely. “We’ll go in January. That’s a quieter time for you. And I’ve got the exhibition to get ready for.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

When he kissed her knuckles, she flinched inwardly, his tenderness more than she could bear.

He climbed into bed beside her, curling his body around hers. One heavy arm draped protectively over her torso, his presence solid and warm. She stared up at the ceiling, her mind churning with the weight of the secret she would carry alone.

Confession was a selfish act, she decided. This was her punishment.

And so, she buried it.