Page 62 of Forever, Maybe

Chapter forty-six

T o Daniel’s horror, Stephanie was sitting in his living room when he let himself into the house on Thursday evening. She wore a camisole top that made it glaringly obvious she was braless, paired with loose pyjama bottoms.

“God, sorry,” he said quickly, averting his eyes from her chest and doing his best to focus anywhere else. “I thought Nell was coming back tomorrow. I just wanted to grab some clothes.”

Stephanie, her face flushed, pointed the remote at the TV and clicked it off. “No, she’s staying down there a while longer,” she said, folding her arms across her chest and fixing him with a beady glare.

Corrie, sprawled half-across Stephanie’s lap, mirrored her disdain. The cat opened one eye lazily, then closed it again, as if Daniel’s presence wasn’t worth the effort of acknowledgement.

The house felt foreign to him—like he didn’t belong there anymore. Even the smell was wrong. A dark red Yankee candle burned on the coffee table, its synthetic sweetness cloying and out of place.

The back door opened and shut. “D’you want me to make dinner, Steph?” a voice called out.

Daniel froze. A man, dressed in running gear with sweat glistening on his top lip, wandered into the living room. He stopped short when he spotted Daniel.

Stephanie’s flush deepened to an alarming shade. For a detached moment, Daniel noted he’d never seen her without makeup before. Her face, usually framed by false lashes, heavy eyeliner and a dark lipstick, looked oddly exposed—and, right now, totally flustered.

“I asked Nell if it was okay for him to stay here, and she said it was fine!” Stephanie blurted, her words spilling out in a rush. “Daniel, this is Nate—short for Nathan. Daniel, Nate.”

Nate stepped forward with a hand outstretched. His grip was firm—bone-crushing—and Daniel reflexively matched it. What was it about men that turned every handshake into a pissing contest?

“Hi there,” Nate, having established his superior strength credentials, resorted to friendship. “I go intae that shop o’ yours in Hyndland all the time. The deli bit’s amazing.”

Daniel gritted his teeth, doing his best to smile back. The handshake ended, but the awkwardness remained. Stephanie and Nate stayed where they were—Stephanie on the sofa, Nate standing beside her like a human shield—while Daniel lingered in the doorway, feeling like a trespasser in his own home.

Fucking ridiculous that he felt the need to ask permission to go upstairs, grab his clothes and leave.

Nate scratched the back of his head. “Nell did a brilliant job wi’ my website,” he said cheerfully. “Tell her I’ve had aw’ these folk saying how amazing it looks.”

Daniel stared at him, incredulous. Surely Stephanie had filled him in on what had happened?

Stephanie shot Nate a look—a mix of shock and suppressed amusement—and Nate’s face fell. He slapped a hand over his mouth.

“Eh… sorry. I’ll… eh … tell her mysel’.”

Daniel waved it off, though the words stung. “No, no, it’s fine. Nell is talented,” he said evenly. “I’ll just grab my stuff.”

As Daniel climbed the stairs, their whispers turned to giggles. Stephanie’s voice carried, exclaiming at Nate’s tactlessness and Nate’s low agreement followed. The energy of their new relationship—fresh, electric and oblivious—chased him all the way to his bedroom.

He could already imagine it: later tonight, they’d climb these very stairs, Stephanie leading the way, Nate pinching her bottom, both of them dissolving into laughter before tumbling onto the spare bed, their excitement filling the house that no longer felt like his.

Inside his room, the emptiness hit him like a blow.

It wasn’t just a physical emptiness but something deeper, accusatory.

Nell’s face stared at him from a ridiculous photo propped on the bedside table—a memory from their holiday camel ride when they’d agreed to play tourists for a day.

Her side of the bed was missing its familiar chaos: the stack of teetering paperbacks, a mix of schlocky thrillers and Booker Prize winners she pretended she’d read (and never did) and the absurdly expensive face cream she swore by.

The bed itself was too neat, the duvet draped symmetrically, the pillows devoid of the faint head impressions that made it feel lived-in. He kicked the base of the bed in frustration. It made no difference.

Her dressing gown hung on the back of the door, its presence a cruel tease. He pulled it down and pressed it to his face, inhaling. It didn’t smell like her anymore.

With a heavy exhale, he wrenched open the wardrobe and began pulling out T-shirts, jeans and sweaters—layers for the chillier nights ahead—tossing them onto the bed in a chaotic heap.

When he came back downstairs, Stephanie and Nate had composed themselves. Stephanie had thrown on a hoodie, covering the braless state she hadn’t seemed to care about earlier, and Nate had adjusted his posture to something less like a man casually invading another man’s home.

Daniel lifted his bag. “Right. I’m off.”

Stephanie exchanged a glance with Nate, who gave her a discreet nod of encouragement.

“Are you really walking out on a partnership of twenty-two years because your wife slept with someone else when she was drunk and unhappy?” she asked.

His temper erupted. “That’s none of your fucking business,” he snapped.

“You know fuck all about marriage. I’m sure this guy”—he swung a hand in Nate’s direction—“is nice enough, but you’ve never been with anyone longer than, what, three months?

And you don’t know Nell like I do. You think you do, but you fucking don’t. ”

“Mate.” Nate stepped forward, his hands spread in a placating gesture. “That wasnae necessary.”

The absurdity of it all hit Daniel—the indignity of arguing with a stranger in what was supposed to be his home. This man would be sleeping here tonight while Daniel retreated to his parents’ house.

“Fuck off!” he barked, storming out of the living room.

The front door slammed behind him, rattling in its frame, and he followed it with an angry slam of the car door.

It wasn’t until he’d reached the turn-off for Paisley Road West that he remembered: the car insurance was due for renewal at the end of August, and the paperwork he needed was still upstairs in Nell’s study.

Could he leave it and come back later, when Stephanie was less likely to be there?

The idea was tempting. But he wasn’t entirely sure the renewal date was the end of September—it might be mid-month, as in right now.

Sure, he could risk driving around uninsured, but the consequences—a hefty fine and six penalty points on his license—weren’t worth it.

He already had six points, courtesy of two speeding offences. Twelve points would mean a revoked license.

With a sigh, he performed a textbook-perfect three-point turn and headed back to the house. This time, he knocked instead of letting himself in.

Stephanie opened the door, the arch of her left eyebrow doing all the talking.

“Sorry,” he said, clearing his throat. “I didn’t mean to swear at you.”

Her other eyebrow joined the conversation.

“Or your boyfriend,” he added grudgingly.

She dipped her chin in a nod that was surprisingly gracious. “Apology accepted.”

Behind her, Nate drifted into the hallway, hovering like a protective shadow. The guy radiated eagerness, the kind of earnest enthusiasm Daniel had never seen from any of Stephanie’s previous boyfriends. And there had been many .

The irony wasn’t lost on him. He and Nell were teetering on the edge of divorce, while Nell’s oldest, perennially single friend seemed to have found something resembling happiness.

“I, uh, also need to grab some paperwork,” Daniel said, scratching the back of his neck. “Car insurance is due.”

Stephanie smirked, clearly aware that the apology alone wouldn’t have brought him back. She stepped aside, her tone light. “Of course.”

As he headed upstairs, he could feel two sets of eyes boring into his back. He resisted the urge to glance over his shoulder.

The car insurance papers were exactly where he thought they’d be.

Five years ago, Nell had reorganised her office in a fit of boredom, buying filing cabinets and painstakingly labelling each drawer by hand.

The drawer marked Car and Home Insurance was neat and well-organised, everything alphabetised in a way that made it impossible not to find what you needed.

For a moment, Daniel lingered, flipping through the folders. It felt strange—like touching a life that had already started moving on without him.

He slid open the drawer labelled Danny’s car , its neat label adorned with a small illustration of a man speeding along in a convertible. Sure enough, the insurance papers were right on top.

Corrie padded into the room, announcing his arrival with a soft miaow. When Daniel bent and rubbed his thumb against his forefinger, the cat ambled over, pressing his chin against him in a slow, familiar gesture.

Who got the cat when a couple divorced?

Daniel had never thought of himself as an animal lover. Corrie had been Nell’s idea, her campaign to get a cat fuelled by shameless doses of emotional blackmail:

You’re never here! The cat will keep me company. Plus, you won’t have to do a thing—I’ll handle the feeding, the litter tray, the vet visits…

Growing up, pets had been out of the question. He and his siblings had begged for years. Sarah had lobbied for guinea pigs, Mark argued for a snake (certain it would boost his street cred) and he and Luke dreamed of getting a dog.

Trish refused them all. Animals, she declared, were dirty, unhygienic germ factories.

And expensive too—vet bills, pet food, the whole lot.

To appease them, she’d occasionally take them to the petting zoo at Strathclyde Country Park.

Sarah would stare wistfully after the rabbits, while he and Luke leant over fences, stretching their hands toward sheep that came tantalisingly close, only to veer away at the last moment.

So, when he’d finally said yes to Corrie, a small part of him had relished the quiet defiance—an unspoken up yours to his mum.

Losing Corrie now, old and arthritic as the cat was, felt like a hammer blow. He thought of the cat’s pitiful pleas to be lifted onto the bed, his reluctance to jump anymore. It wasn’t just about Corrie being a pet—he was a constant, a piece of their life together that had endured.

Why should Nell automatically get him?

Who had paid for the cat’s insurance over the years? Covered the vet bills when the insurance fell short—FIV and cat flu vaccinations, flea and tick prevention? Bought the vet-recommended Science Plan food that cost more than some human meals?

Me, every time.

He scooped the cat up, holding him close. “What do you think, Corrie?”

Corrie had no interest in the debate. He wriggled stubbornly, extending a paw in protest. Daniel let out a resigned breath, kissed the cat’s nose and gently set him back on the ground.

As Corrie padded away, Daniel grabbed the insurance paperwork and headed downstairs.

By the time he came back downstairs, Nate—freshly showered and changed, as though he owned the place—was lounging on the sofa next to Stephanie, scrolling through his phone.

A bleep sounded, and Nate bolted upright, pressing the phone tightly to his ear. “Erin? What’s the matter?”

He strode into the kitchen, the patio doors creaking open and closed behind him as he stepped into the back garden.

Daniel nodded toward the kitchen. “Is he alright?”

Murmured conversation floated back to them, punctuated by Nate’s repetitive uh-huh, uh-huh, and the sound of pacing footsteps.

Stephanie stared after him, her brow furrowed. “Erin’s his daughter. She’s sixteen, so… well, she’s got all the teenage stuff going on.”

Daniel blinked. A sixteen-year-old daughter? Good grief. He’d pegged Nate as late twenties—kudos to Stephanie for netting a younger man—but a sixteen-year-old suggested he was older than he looked.

Nate reappeared a few minutes later, his face grim.

Stephanie sprang to her feet. “Is Erin okay?” she asked, clasping his hands.

Nate let out a weary sigh. “Another argument wi’ her mother, who has just found out, as have I, that’s she sleepin’ wi’ her boyfriend.”

He glanced at Daniel. “Small world, though. It’s the wee guy who works for you. In the vans. Ryan something?”

That kid Joe and Holly had interviewed. Way back when.

“Ryan?” Stephanie’s voice sharpened, and she shot Daniel a look he couldn’t quite read.

“Mmm-hmm,” Daniel said carefully. “One of our summer temps. I haven’t met him myself, but Dennis, who handles a lot of the van stuff, says he’s a hard worker. Conscientious. And a nice lad.”

Later, as Daniel replayed the evening in all its awkward absurdity, one moment stuck in his mind: the look on Stephanie’s face when she’d responded to his comment with, “A hard worker? I wonder if that’s in his genes.”

There’d been something in her tone. Contempt, maybe? Something that seemed to cut deeper than Daniel walking out on his marriage.

Now, what the hell was that about?