Page 66 of Forever, Maybe

Chapter forty-nine

T he taxi dropped Nell off as close to the office as it could manage.

Alone on the pavement, she tilted her head back, eyes fixed on the red-and-black sign above the shop.

Her courage wavered, slipping away like sand through her fingers.

Did it really matter that Danny might have been unfaithful all those years ago, when she’d done the same?

Those unresolved arguments from their split still hung in the air, sharp-edged and unspoken.

Her fingers trembled as she pulled out her phone and dialled Stephanie. The words tumbled out, each one laced with tension. On the other end of the line, Stephanie made a sharp hissing sound—either disgust at Danny’s behaviour or shock at Nell’s confession.

“Grant never told you about this, did he?” Nell asked, picturing the time Stephanie had been curious about that photograph.

“Noooo,” Stephanie replied, dragging out the word, her voice wobbling with a poor attempt at lying.

“You could have said something.”

“I didn’t think it was my place,” Stephanie protested. “All I knew was that Mhari got pregnant nine months after Danny went on that stag do in Amsterdam, but I told myself that didn’t prove anything. It still doesn’t. Do you want me to come with you?”

Stephanie’s flat was close enough to make the offer reasonable, but Nell declined.

Shame prickled beneath her skin, though she wasn’t sure why.

She shouldn’t feel it—but logic and emotion had never been on speaking terms. Stephanie had always idolised Danny, dropping little comments about him being the perfect man.

The last thing Nell wanted was for her to witness that pedestal crumble.

“I’ll come by after,” Nell promised. Whatever happened, it was bound to be hideous. Squaring her shoulders, she pressed the door buzzer.

“Hello?” Holly, Danny’s ferocious secretary. No doubt under strict instructions to keep her out. Nell stuck her tongue out at the intercom before responding.

“Holly, it’s Nell. Let me in, please. I need to speak to Danny.”

“He’s not here.”

A lie, obviously. Before Nell could argue, a woman in a navy suit brushed past, murmuring an apology as she unlocked the door. The building housed Danny’s office, the shop and a couple of other businesses. Nell seized the opportunity, slipping in behind her and taking the stairs two at a time.

Her heart pounded in her chest. This was it. No turning back now.

Nell hadn’t set foot in the Stuffed! central office in years. The brass plaque on the door gleamed, understated yet professional, announcing the business within. She punched in the keycode and pushed the handle. The door opened into the reception area, where Holly sat at her desk in her cubby hole.

Danny’s secretary stood as soon as she saw Nell, her expression a mix of dismay and discomfort.

Holly had been working for Danny for years—starting not long after he’d opened his second and third shops.

Fresh out of school back then, she’d been a peculiar mix of youthful enthusiasm and old-soul seriousness.

Today, she wore a pleated navy skirt and a pale green jumper with a white Peter Pan collar—a getup that looked straight out of Frump Monthly .

Her manner towards the boss’s wife always smacked of someone who thought she was the one who knew Danny best. Though to be fair to her, she’d probably spent a lot more time with him over the years than Nell had.

“He isn’t here, Nell!” she protested, her voice almost a bleat, as Nell strode past without breaking stride.

She pushed open the door to Danny’s office, her mind a whirlwind of accusations she wasn’t sure how to phrase. Bastard! You’ve got a child! And you had the gall to lecture me about integrity, you sanctimonious prick!

But Holly hadn’t been lying. The office was empty. Papers were scattered across the desk, and the walls were lined with certificates and framed photographs. Nell’s eyes darted around, searching for something—anything—that might confirm her suspicions.

The coffee table where their wedding photo used to sit was bare.

But there she was, frozen in time in other pictures on the wall: her and Danny at the Taste of Scotland awards six years ago when Stuffed!

had won best Scottish small food business.

Danny in his wedding kilt, her in the grey sheath dress she’d worn weeks ago when all the Jamie Curtice stuff came out.

“Are you alright, hen?” a familiar voice asked. Joe had slipped in behind her, pulling the door closed softly. His office was directly opposite Danny’s, though his impending sabbatical meant he wouldn’t be around much longer.

Nell turned to face him, and for a moment, he wasn’t the middle-aged man she saw now but the lanky young guy she’d met twenty-two years ago.

Tall and wiry, with light brown hair and pale blue eyes set wide around his broad, angular nose.

Back then, he’d been standing at the van’s serving hatch, shaking his head in bemusement as she wailed about not having enough money for a sandwich.

“Where’s Danny?” she demanded, snapping back to the present.

“Gone down tae some farm in Ayrshire. This place that breeds rare pigs. Tamworths. They butcher them onsite. He wants tae start stocking their produce in the shops. Thinks there’s a market fae it.”

Of course. Why would Danny let something as trivial as his marriage crumbling stop him from expanding the empire? Priorities, after all.

Nell nodded at Joe, who studied her with quiet concern, his hands shoved into his pockets.

“What time will he be back?” she asked.

Joe shrugged, his expression a mix of discomfort and forced neutrality. “Mebbe about three? Though I think he’s going tae Trish and Jack’s first. Dropping off the car, then coming in fae there. Eh, I could take you for a coffee if you want? Or lunch?”

The offer was kindly meant, but Nell recognised the subtle signs—a man crossing his fingers that she’d say no.

Joe might have sympathy for her, but first and foremost, he was Danny’s loyal employee and long-time mate.

They’d been inseparable since first year at Holyrood Secondary.

Had he known what happened in Amsterdam in 1999?

Probably? But while he might sympathise, he was never going to take her side.

“No, thanks,” she said, and almost smiled at the relief that flickered across his face. “Pass on my best wishes to Nicky. I hope baby number five makes their way into the world with minimum drama.”

“Will do.” He hesitated, lingering at the door with her. They both knew the unspoken truth: if—when—she and Danny divorced, they’d likely never see each other again.

“Take care o’ yoursel’, Nell,” Joe said softly, his tone making it clear he’d thought the same.

“And you,” she echoed, forcing a brightness into her voice.

But as she turned away, the words snagged on the sudden ache of memory.

Summers in their twenties. Helping Danny and Joe at music festivals.

The bass pounding in their ears, forcing them to shout over the noise.

Laughing, jostling in the cramped vans. Buttering bread and stuffing pitas with fillings as the queue outside grew longer.

At the bottom of the stairs, she opened Instagram, her fingers flying across the screen. Her first search for Ryan Colquhoun came up empty, but then she thought of Tadgh. He was easy to find—instantly recognisable from the profile picture of Coco in his bio.

Scrolling through his friends list, she found Ryan. Being a typical young person, his account was public.

She skimmed through his posts, her breath catching when she landed on a recent selfie. Ryan’s face was pressed against that of an attractive girl around his age, both grinning at the camera.

Her heart lurched.

God, he looked just like Danny.

The ache sharpened into anger, reigniting the resolve that had brought her here in the first place. Fine. If Danny wasn’t at the office, she’d go to Trish’s house. She’d beard the lion in his other den. Let him squirm. Let his mother see what a piece of shit he really was.

She would make sure of it.