Page 65 of Forever, Maybe

Chapter forty-eight

“N ell, isn’t it?”

Nell, engrossed in the express supermarket’s display of discounted near-expiry food, turned toward the voice. The red-headed man, his twinkling blue eyes and familiar grin, was already gesturing to the packet of prawns in her hand.

“Buy that, and the stir-fry sauce,” he suggested, plucking a packet of Blue Dragon hoisin sauce from the shelf. Its yellow sticker proclaimed it reduced to ten pence.

“Bargain basement meal,” he said cheerfully. “Two pounds thirty for something that’ll feed you and your husband for at least three nights. Tadgh, by the way. We met at Lock Down, a few months ago.”

Oh. Him. The friendly stranger from a time when her worst problem was Danny’s relentless workaholism.

That felt like a lifetime ago. She’d returned home last night, still numb from Cate’s diagnosis, only to find the house eerily empty, with Danny’s wardrobe and drawers stripped of his clothes and shoes.

She managed a polite smile and added the prawns—destined for Corrie as a peace offering for her absence—into her basket. “Hi there. Do you live around here?”

He shook his head. “Nah. My dog’s outside. Thought I’d take her for a walk around Queen’s Park.”

“Nice day for it.”

Tadgh balanced the hoisin sauce back on the shelf, but it teetered and fell to the floor.

He didn’t bother picking it up. “Ma gran lives near here too. She’s in the old folks’ home on the other side of the park, so I’ll probably pop in tae see her afters.

Not that she’ll know who I am—she’s doolally these days. ”

The word hit her like a slap. Should she correct him? If someone called her mum doolally… For what felt like the hundredth time that week, tears welled in her eyes. She blinked rapidly, willing them not to fall.

“Are you alright?” Tadgh asked, his eyes flicking to the hand she used to brush away her tears. That morning, in a fit of despair, she’d wrenched off her wedding ring, telling herself it was time to get used to the idea of it not being there.

“It’s nothing,” she muttered.

“Well, that’s a lie,” he said bluntly. “Tell you what—why don’t you come wi’ me to walk Coco?” He gestured behind him toward Queen’s Park.

Still irked by the doolally comment and ready to refuse, Nell hesitated. The truth was, she was sick of her own company. Maybe peppering a stranger with questions about his life would distract her from her own.

She paid for the groceries—just prawns, some stir-fry vegetables and a modest loaf of wholemeal bread—then watched as Tadgh insisted on carrying the bag, even though it weighed next to nothing.

Outside, Tadgh’s dog—a boisterous chocolate Staffordshire bull terrier—was tied to a bike stand. The moment she saw them, Coco practically launched herself at Nell, paws landing on her legs as Tadgh offered half-hearted scoldings.

“Down, Coco! Stop embarrassing me.”

Coco ignored him entirely, tail wagging furiously.

They crossed the road to Queen’s Park. It was mostly empty, it being a Tuesday morning. Small children teetered unsteadily around the playground, darting between the swings, the slide, and the roundabout, while anxious parents hovered, ready to scoop them up at the first sign of danger.

Near the pond, a dark-haired man—about Danny’s age—crouched beside a little girl, talking to her earnestly. She listened for a moment before declaring she hated him and running off, leaving him to straighten up with a long-suffering sigh.

“Weans, eh?” Tadgh remarked with a shrug. “Nothing I’ve ever seen has convinced me they’re a good idea.”

Nell blinked back tears, her chest tightening.

Easy for Tadgh to say. Men like him—and Danny—never had the choice stolen from them.

Mother Nature let them keep their options open indefinitely.

Danny might not even wait for the ink to dry on his decree nisi before throwing himself into the dating pool again, hooking up with some late twenty-something or early thirty-something and procreating left, right and centre.

She cleared her throat, pushing the bitterness aside. “Not working today?” she asked as they circled the small pond.

Tadgh shook his head. “Got a few days off. Me and Grant were supposed to head to Tenerife for a week, but he bailed last minute—got a better offer. Thought it might be a bit tragic to go on my own.”

Nell pulled the loaf of bread from her bag, tearing off pieces and crumbling them for the ducks. Male friendships baffled her. If Stephanie ever cancelled a planned holiday at the last minute, they wouldn’t speak for a month—and that went both ways. But Tadgh didn’t seem remotely fazed.

She tossed some crumbs onto the water, and the ducks swarmed, wings flapping noisily. Coco, to her credit, stayed rooted to the spot, watching them intently but obeying Tadgh’s firm command to sit.

“She’s better behaved than I expected,” Nell said, glancing at him.

“Only when it suits her,” Tadgh replied with a grin.

For a moment, as the ducks quacked and Coco whined softly in excitement, Nell felt the knot in her chest loosen just a little.

Tadgh returned the question about work, and Nell explained her freelancing career as a graphic designer.

“How’d ye get into that?” he asked, curious.

She shared her journey: art school, the graphic design course she’d taken in her final year because a tutor had bluntly pointed out that most art students wouldn’t make a living selling their work.

Then came the years in the public sector, followed by the private sector, until she eventually packed in the nine-to-five and struck out on her own.

“It’s a lot safer takin’ that chance when ye’ve got a partner wi’ a steady income, though,” Tadgh commented.

Oh, hell. The thought hit her like a punch.

She’d been so focused on worrying about living alone after all those years with Danny, she’d barely considered the financial reality.

House prices were astronomical. Even if she and Danny split the proceeds from selling their home and she had enough for a flat, how would she manage the bills?

Her freelance income swung wildly from feast to famine.

The grim truth loomed: she might have to go back to full-time office work.

Yet another thoroughly depressing aspect of divorce.

Stephanie, who’d once worked with a life coach, liked to say there were bright sides to everything.

“We’ll make a list of them,” she’d promised, when Nell had told her about the divorce.

They had yet to complete it, and Nell wasn’t holding her breath.

Perhaps sensing she was close to tears again, Tadgh changed the subject. “Ken something? Staffies are such a misunderstood breed. Folks think they’re vicious, dangerous dogs, but there’s no such thing as a dangerous dog. Only shite owners who dinnae ken how to train them properly.”

Their walk brought them full circle around the pond and back to the playground.

A pink-and-white ice cream van had parked by the railings, its side emblazoned with a painted rosette proclaiming its wares “award-winning.” It was one of the pricier vans that frequented the park, but its reputation was well-earned.

Dodgy dementia comments aside, Tadgh had been kind to her, so she offered to buy him an ice cream. They wandered over to join the growing queue.

Tadgh resumed his dog chat as they waited.

“The staffie I had before Coco was such a wee sweetheart. I’d leave her alone wi’ my nephew when he was just a wee yin, and she was nae threat to him at all.

Now, Ryan and Coco are the best o’ friends too.

He often dog-sits for me and Grant when we manage to get away on holiday.

Mind you, he’s a busy lad these days—working for your husband. Mebbe you’ll meet him at some point.”

Nell blinked. Ryan , Tadgh’s nephew.

“Working for my husband?” she asked slowly.

“Aye. On one o’ the sandwich vans that go round the industrial estates. He even did a few o’ the festivals this year.”

Danny employed several young people on a casual basis, and she didn’t know most of them. But the mention of Ryan working for Stuffed! set her mind racing.

“Can I see that picture of your nephew again?” Nell asked.

In the months since that time she had seen the photo, she had tucked the incident away in the back of her mind, meaning to bring it up with Daniel but never following through. And then everything else had happened.

Tadgh shot her a curious look, something flickering behind his eyes—maybe he was dying to ask about the missing wedding ring—but he simply said, “Aye, sure.” He scrolled through the photos on his phone, thumb hovering briefly before he handed it over.

It was the same photo as before.

Nell stared at it, blinking, her mind racing but unable to make sense of the pieces falling into place.

“When… when was Ryan born?” she asked, the words sticking in her throat. She remembered Stephanie telling her once that Tadgh’s sister had been unusually secretive about who the father was.

“Tenth of January, 2000,” Tadgh said, his tone casual but his gaze sharp as he studied her reaction. “He turned sixteen this year.”

Sixteen. That meant he was conceived nine months before—April 1999.

Her chest tightened once more. April 1999.

She’d still been working at the council back then.

Daniel had just bought another shop, adding even more hours to his already packed schedule.

They’d celebrated their third wedding anniversary that first week of April.

And then…

And then.

“What can I get you?”

The cheery voice of a young man in a white shirt, pink bow tie, and a peaked cap pulled her out of her thoughts. She and Tadgh had reached the front of the ice-cream queue.

“What would you like?” she heard herself ask Tadgh, her voice distant and hollow, as though it belonged to someone else. “And for Coco, if she wants anything?”

“Eh, a ninety-nine for me and a slush puppy for Coco, please,” Tadgh replied, watching her closely.

Nell fumbled with her purse, tossing a handful of coins onto the counter—more than enough to cover the cost.

“Thanks, Tadgh,” she said, clutching her bag tightly. “I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go.”

She turned and fled before he could respond, his confused shout—“Did I say somethin’ wrong?”—echoing behind her.

Out on the main road, her heart hammered as she waved desperately for a taxi. The first two black cabs cruised past her without slowing, but the third finally pulled over. She yanked open the door and dove into the back, slamming it shut behind her.

“Where to, love?” the driver asked.

“Forty-four St Vincent Street, please,” Nell replied, her voice sharper than she’d intended.

Daniel wasn’t answering his phone, but on a Tuesday at this time, he would almost certainly be in his office. If not, he’d be at the Hyndland shop. She needed to catch him off guard. His reaction would tell her everything, and surprise was key.

The driver signalled right, and the cab headed north. Nell’s heart pounded so violently it felt as though it might break free from her ribcage.

In the weeks since she’d first seen Ryan’s photo, she had tried to convince herself that the resemblance to a younger Danny was just her imagination. But after days of scrolling through her old photos of him, crying over every detail, the truth had become impossible to ignore.

One image in particular haunted her—the wedding photo she’d taken down just days ago.

It used to hang proudly in the living room, showing Danny as a fresh-faced twenty-three-year-old.

He wasn’t much older in that picture than Ryan was now.

Broaden Ryan’s jaw slightly, add a hint of dark stubble, deepen the intensity of his gaze and it was the same man staring back at her.

The thought burned in her mind: Tadgh, where was your sister in April 1999?

That was all she’d needed to ask him to confirm her suspicions.

If Tadgh had replied, Aye, Mhari was in Amsterdam that Easter, away wi’ her pals on a wild weekend, it would have meant only one thing.

Danny had cheated on her. Years before her own mistake with Jamie Curtice, Danny had broken their vows.

And it hadn’t been just any old one-night stand. Ryan had been born barely a year after their third wedding anniversary.

But she hadn’t been able to bring herself to ask Tadgh. It was too enormous, too devastating a revelation to uncover through a stranger.

Why had Danny hired Ryan, if not because he knew the boy was his son? Had he been secretly supporting him for years? Were there clandestine meetings under the guise of late nights at work? Was he siphoning money from the business into a separate account for Mhari?

The pieces fell into place with cruel clarity. She had been the na?ve, stereotypical wife, blissfully ignorant of their finances while Danny handled everything. He paid the bills, made the decisions, kept her in the dark.

The cab turned onto St Vincent Street, and Nell clenched her fists in her lap. This was why she was here now, speeding toward the city centre with a single purpose: to march into Danny’s office and demand the truth.