The Light in the Hallway (ARC) Read online

Milk out of the house.’

  ‘Is it because he found out about your mum’s secret

  job?’ Alex tried to make sense of it.

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  ‘I don’t know, but my mum…’ Eric paused and with

  a look of utter despair, whispered, ‘My mum went with

  him. She went with Dave The Milk and I don’t know

  where she is now.’

  Nick felt like crying himself. The idea, the very thought

  of his mum going somewhere and him not knowing where,

  or worse, the thought of her not coming back! Well, that

  was really the worst thing he could possibly imagine.

  ‘It’ll be all right,’ he offered.

  ‘How will it?’ Eric asked without his usual air of sar-

  casm; he was a kid wanting both answers and reassurance.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Nick levelled with him, ‘but I bet it

  will.’

  The three sat quietly for a while until Alex piped up.

  ‘Do you think because your dad hit him, Dave The Milk

  might want his handlebars back?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Eric managed.

  Nick stood up. ‘Come on, we need to go and find

  stuff; sitting here isn’t going to get Half Bike finished, is it?’ He wiped the back of his shorts, which were damp

  from the floor, and was happy that the other two fell into

  step. He turned to look at Eric, who hadn’t lost his sad

  expression. Nick reached into his pocket.

  ‘Eric, you can be in charge of the multi tool today.

  You can keep it in your pocket.’

  Eric took it and gripped it tight. Nick was happy to

  see the small smile form on his friend’s face. He ignored

  Alex’s barely audible huff.

  ‘Can I take it home? Just for tonight?’

  Nick nodded. ‘Yes, you can. Just for tonight.’

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  CHAPTER FOUR

  Winter claimed the landscape of Burstonbridge. Thin

  frost sat on the grass in the early hours and the ground

  was hard as iron. The air was sharp with cold and chim-

  neys let loose plumes of smoke as folk set fires of coal and

  wood to try to stave off the chill. It was a cold November

  day with a bright blue sky, three months since they had

  laid Kerry to rest. His grief, while no less weighted, had

  changed gear. Gone was the unexpected smack of sadness

  that hit him at the most random of times and in its place

  was something slower, a smouldering melancholy that he

  carried with him like a cloak, one, in truth, he was almost

  used to wearing. The house was exactly as she had left it,

  apart from the kitchen that maybe sparkled a little less,

  the bedroom, which was in need of airing, and he still

  couldn’t get the hang of how to plump and position those

  damn cushions. Her clothes hung in her wardrobe and

  her boots and coat were where she had last placed them

  in the cupboard in the hallway. At first he took comfort

  from the items, running his fingers over them; they helped

  him pretend that she was not gone but had just nipped

  out. Now he didn’t notice them as such; they were just

  part of the fabric of the building that had been her home.

  A harsh wind blew up from the moors that cut his skin.

  Nick pulled his scarf up over his mouth, glad of the warm

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  glow that radiated along his limbs, his exertion providing

  the fuel for him to climb up the hill to the graveyard.

  He gripped the stems of the small bouquet, which Jean

  in the florist had fashioned for him, a neat posy of rust-

  coloured marigolds and fronds of greenery, along with

  the obligatory sprig of purple heather, which had been

  present in every bouquet he had ever given Kerry, both

  before and after her death. He looked at them now; such a

  soft, beautiful thing to leave at the cold, hard grave where

  sad and mournful thoughts lingered. He wished it were

  not the case that he had given his wife more bouquets

  in death than he had in life. He wished a lot of things…

  Standing now at the brow of the hill, Nick caught his

  breath, looking out over the wide bowl of Burstonbridge

  below and the russet and gold tapestry of farmland be-

  yond. Beautiful.

  ‘I can see everything. It feels like we are on top of the world up here…’

  ‘That’s how I always feel when I’m with you, Kerry, like

  I’m on top of the world, like I can do anything.’

  ‘Oh, shut up, Nick, you old softie!’

  ‘Do you reckon we’ll bring this baby up here?’

  Nick had looked at the bulge of her stomach beneath her coat, her pregnant state alien, petrifying and yet at the same time so familiar, the impending birth fearful and exciting in equal measure. ‘I reckon we might…’

  Walking slowly along the ridge, he made his way to

  the plot where Kerry had been laid to rest alongside her

  dad, and he bent low, placing the bunch of flowers on

  the grave where the fresh words of remembrance and the

  cruel short dates of her time on earth had been added to

  her father’s headstone. He tried not to look at the vast

  floral display left by her mum in a fancy silver-coloured

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  urn, where wire held each flower proudly in place, and

  he tried not to feel the paw of inadequacy bat his con-

  science at the thought that Kerry’s mum and Diane came

  here more regularly, left more extravagant blooms and

  no doubt cried harder.

  It’s not a competition…

  He heard her words and gave a snort of uncomfortable

  laughter. ‘I know it isn’t, but I feel it nonetheless, that

  feeling like your mum and family don’t think I’m doing

  enough, not doing things right.’ He paused, looking be-

  hind him and all around to make sure there was no one

  around before he carried on the conversation.

  ‘You know I’ve always felt a bit like that with them, and

  the truth is, Ker, I don’t know how to be. I feel sad most

  of the time, but you already know this, and then when I

  do feel the gloom lift a little bit, I feel guilty, as though that’s not allowed – I don’t know what is allowed. And

  I don’t know what to do about Olly; how much should

  I contact him? Interfere? I think if I haven’t heard from

  him then things must be going all right, but then I read

  about kids away from home who are lonely or struggling

  and I feel worried sick about him.’ He took a deep breath.

  ‘The house is so quiet. I can’t tell you how much I hate

  coming home to a dark house without the hall light on.

  I’m still lost, Kerry. Still lost, and I wish—’

  ‘Now then, Nick!’

  He turned sharply at the shout in time to see Diane

  walking along the ridge.

  Bloody brilliant…

  ‘Di.’

  ‘Ah, you brought flowers.’ Her tone hinted that this

  gesture was long overdue. She bent down and instantly

  started clearing weeds from the plot, balling them and

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  popping them into a carrier bag she unfurled from her

  poc
ket. ‘I like to get rid of these; they strangle the flowers and plants. Mum and I take it in turns.’

  He was at a loss at how to respond, aware for the first

  time of this rota in which he wasn’t included. His next

  thought was that if they had asked him to participate he

  would not have had the time – or worse, the inclination…

  ‘How’s Oliver? Mum said she misses him.’

  ‘I bet she does, Di. I do too.’

  ‘Yes, but you’ve probably had some contact, unlike

  her. I mean it’s hard enough losing her daughter, but the

  thought of losing contact with her grandson too…’

  He could only picture his mother-in-law sobbing

  and clinging to him and was ashamed of the shiver of

  unease he felt, as if her sadness were cloying and he

  wanted nothing less than to be coated with it. ‘That’s not

  going to happen.’ He shook his head as if to emphasise

  the point. ‘And the way I look at it is, if he’s too busy

  at Uni, preoccupied with life to call his gran, then that

  probably means he’s having a good time. I know we all

  miss him, but I know more than that we all just want

  him to be fine, happy.’

  ‘Oh God! Yes of course! But they do have phones in

  Birmingham?’

  He held her gaze and bit his bottom lip – better than

  giving voice to the words that queued up on his tongue.

  He’s eighteen, lost his mum, is away from home, finding his feet; give him a bloody break…

  ‘I hear what you’re saying, Di, and when I do finally

  speak to him, I’ll mention it would be good to call his

  gran.’

  She nodded and gave a small, satisfied hum. They

  both turned to look at the headstone.

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  ‘Can’t believe it’s been nearly four months. Some days

  it feels like yesterday and others a lifetime.’ He made

  the observation more out of the want of small talk than

  anything else.

  ‘Three months, nine days and six hours…’ Di tilted

  her chin. Again, she won, knowing more accurately how

  long it was since his wife had passed away.

  ‘I’d better get on, Di, I’m on a late shift.’ He nodded

  his head down the hill in the general direction of Siddley’s.

  ‘See you around.’

  ‘Yep.’ She took a sharp intake of breath. ‘See you around.’

  * * *

  Nick checked the printed inventory against the batch

  number on the pallets and gave the thumbs-up to the

  forklift driver to proceed with loading. He stood back

  and watched as the forks slid beneath the wooden pallet,

  stacked high with plastic-wrapped boxes, and slid them

  with ease into the back of the waiting truck with its door

  rolled up and the tail lift lowered.

  ‘What you doing tonight, Nick?’ Eric shouted across

  the yard.

  ‘Nothing.’ He stared at his mate, as if there might be

  any other answer.

  ‘Fancy coming to quiz night?’

  ‘Quiz night?’

  ‘Yes, up at the Blue Anchor, all in teams, three pounds

  each to play and we answer general knowledge questions

  and the winning team takes the pot. It’s a bit of a giggle

  and we have a pint.’

  Nick considered his friend’s invite. ‘I’m not very good

  at general knowledge.’

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  ‘You don’t have to be, you mardy bastard. It’s not

  about knowing the most; it’s about getting you out of

  the house, about mixing with people and not sitting in

  watching rubbish telly and talking to Treacle.’

  ‘I like rubbish telly,’ he said in his defence; unable to

  deny the lengthy conversations he had with the pooch.

  ‘We all do, Nick, but not every night. Come out, Barbara!’

  Nick laughed. ‘I don’t know…’ He tried to imagine

  going to the pub and being sociable and immediately

  pictured Di clearing weeds from the grave. ‘I don’t know

  if I’m up to it.’

  ‘You’re never going to be up to it if you don’t make

  the leap. I can’t force you, but I think it’ll do you good.’

  ‘Thank you, Doctor.’ He smiled at his friend.

  ‘Tell you what, come out to the pub and if you don’t

  like it or you’re not having fun or you’d rather be at home

  then just get up and walk out and no one will think any

  less of you for it. Or even if they do, you will have already left so you won’t know about it.’

  ‘I might do.’

  ‘Good lad.’ Eric beamed as if he had given a hard yes.

  * * *

  He gave the invite little thought until he let himself into

  his mum’s house.

  ‘Only me!’ he called, as he wiped his work boots on

  the mat.

  ‘In’t kitchen, love!’ came her reply. ‘What can I get

  you to eat?’ This before she had even seen him.

  ‘Nowt,’ he replied, and made his way along the hall.

  ‘How you doing?’ She had an irritating habit of looking

  at him with her head cocked to one side and her lashes

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  lowered, her expression sympathetic, as if she were on the

  verge of tears or he were to be pitied. It annoyed him.

  Emasculated him.

  ‘I’m fine,’ he snapped.

  ‘Listen to how sharp you are with me, Nicky. You

  used to love me being your mum.’

  Oh, please not this again…

  ‘I still do.’

  ‘Yes, but you used to think I was kind, not a nag,

  wise not annoying, and you used to be able to talk to me

  without sighing or raising your eyebrows.’

  ‘Do I do that?’

  ‘Yes, darlin’, you’re doing it now.’

  He stared at her. ‘I don’t know what you want me

  to say.’

  ‘I know.’ She pursed her lips as if his phrase only em-

  phasised her point. He knew she spoke the truth. She did

  irritate him, as if the way she treated him as a boy was

  perfect, comforting, and yet that same treatment now he

  was an adult … he found it infuriating.

  ‘And how’s my Olly?’

  ‘Good, Mum. I bumped into Di earlier and she was

  moaning that he hasn’t phoned Dora, kind of had a go

  and said he should make more effort with her.’

  ‘Well, she needs to lay off! Firstly, you have enough

  on your plate, and, secondly, that boy is away from home

  for the first time, having just lost his mum; the last thing

  he needs is pressure from Dora bloody Forrest. I won’t

  ’ave it, Nick!’

  ‘It’s okay, Mum. Calm down. I told Di if he wasn’t on

  the phone to us all every five minutes it probably meant

  he was having a nice time. I think she agreed.’

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  His sister, Jen, who had moved back home after her

  divorce, ran down the stairs. ‘Who’s having a nice time?’

  She reached for an apple and bit into it, caring little that

  the juice ran down her chin. This was home and they

  were siblings after all. No need to stand on ceremony in

  front of the p
erson you had shared everything with from

  parents to chicken pox.

  ‘Olly. And me too, apparently, if I go to the pub to-

  night for quiz night – Eric’s making me go.’

  ‘Ericisadick,’ she mumbled with a mouth full of fruit.

  ‘Yep, you might have already said that once or twice.

  But you should give him a break.’

  ‘He knows it’s only banter,’ his sister tutted. ‘We’ve

  always been like that.’

  It bothered him just a little, how scathing she had

  always been about his friend, who was in his opinion a

  good bloke, and he had stopped finding her banter funny

  a long time ago. He bit his lip, trying to quell the rising

  irritation he felt towards his mother and sister, figuring

  that as the common denominator it must be him who

  had the problem and not them.

  Tolerance … They mean well … He heard Kerry’s wise

  words.

  ‘Plus if you were planning on joining our team, you

  can think again. We are on a winning streak and I don’t

  want to change our winning formula.’ Jen held his gaze.

  ‘I’m more than capable of sorting a team. And I know

  the Blue Anchor is your hangout, but I’m thirty-five, Jen.

  I need to leave the house or what’s the alternative, sit

  and watch rubbish telly and chat to Treacle? No offence,

  Treacle,’ he called towards the sitting room, where he

  was confident the dog would be asleep on the sofa she

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  was technically barred from sitting on. Nick clicked his

  fingers, summoning the dog.

  He turned and looked at his sister as she devoured

  her apple.

  ‘And actually, Jen, not having me on your team might

  be a huge mistake. Far better to be on a team with me on

  it that against me – remember when you asked me what

  the capital of Paris was?’

  ‘I got confused! You knew I meant France!’

  ‘But as I said at the time, you answered your own

  question!’ He sighed.

  ‘Tell him, Mum!’ Jen pointed at her brother in jest,

  sounding nothing like a woman in her late thirties who

  was a police officer. He laughed, shut the door behind

  him and with Treacle in tow they set off for home.

  * * *

  Nick was uncertain what to wear to a pub quiz; this was

  the kind of thing that Kerry would know. He showered

  and stepped into his jeans and a cleanish shirt, which

  when ironed, would do for one more wear. His phone