The Light in the Hallway (ARC) Read online

  cheese residue so she can’t use it. So it’s her very own one

  to keep in her room, cheese free.’

  ‘Nice. And there’s me thinking perfume and chocolates

  were still in fashion.’

  ‘Not on my student budget!’

  ‘Don’t start with that. You have a princely sum com-

  pared to me when I was your age. In fact, thinking about

  it, the first Christmas present I got your mum was a baby-

  changing mat. How’s that for romantic?’

  ‘Not very, but practical.’ Oliver looked at the lit tree

  and Nick wondered if like him he pictured his mum in

  front of it. The cardboard star Oliver had made at nursery

  suddenly tumbled from the top of the tree and landed

  on the rug. Oliver jumped up to retrieve it and placed it

  back on the top branch.

  ‘Have you had a nice Christmas Day, Olly?’

  ‘It’s been memorable, Dad, hasn’t it?’

  Nick nodded.

  Memorable…

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  * * *

  Ironing was never his forte, but Nick did his best with

  the denim shirt his sister had bought him for Christmas.

  ‘So you’re actually going to a party?’ Oliver laughed

  and shook his head as he devoured the fried egg sandwich

  laced with ketchup that was apparently going to provide

  a beer cushion for the evening ahead.

  ‘Yes, what’s so funny about that?’ Nick held the iron

  still and stared at his son.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Oliver shrugged. ‘I suppose it’s just the

  idea of old people having a party. I mean, what’s the point?’

  Nick stared at him, a little taken aback as well as lost

  for words. ‘Old people?’ He snorted. ‘I’m thirty-five! I’m

  in my prime!’

  ‘Hardly.’ Oliver wiped ketchup from his mouth with

  his fingertips.

  Nick sighed in mock offence. ‘I used to think thirty-

  five was old, but then I got here quicker than I could ever

  have imagined and I find it’s not old, not at all.’

  ‘Mum got short-changed, didn’t she?’

  ‘She did.’ He liked that they could talk about Kerry

  with such ease, and yet whilst he would never admit it,

  tonight, getting dressed to go to a party, something he

  had not done in more years than he could remember, he

  didn’t want to talk about her, didn’t want the reminder

  of the sadness that bookended his every waking thought.

  ‘So what will you do at your party?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know, Oliver, probably have a game of

  whist and then a nice cup of milky tea, and if we are lucky

  someone might have brought along a gramophone and

  we can listen to some Big Band sounds. But rest assured,

  after a cup of hot cocoa and with my slippers lined up

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  on the floor, I’ll be in bed by ten o’clock. I do need the

  rest. At my age.’

  ‘Ha ha, but you know what I mean – do you dance?

  Drink?’

  ‘I don’t know, Olly!’ He put the iron down and

  pulled the plug. ‘The truth is I’m absolutely bricking

  it. I can’t remember the last time I went to a party, but

  I’m pretty sure I didn’t enjoy it. But I also know your

  mum is right; I’m young and I have a whole life ahead

  of me. No matter that this it isn’t a life I would choose,

  one without her.’

  Oliver stared at him. ‘What do you mean, Mum is

  right?’

  ‘I mean…’ He sought out the words that didn’t sound

  like he was losing his marbles. ‘I dream a lot about your

  mum, and I talk to her and she gave me advice and it

  made me feel better.’

  There was a beat or two of silence.

  ‘I can’t imagine…’

  ‘What?’ Nick buttoned up his shirt, concerned by

  Oliver’s expression of confusion, his happy demeanour

  faded.

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘No, go on, Olly. Talk to me.’

  ‘I can’t imagine you with someone else. I can’t im-

  agine someone else being in this kitchen. Mum’s kitchen.’

  Nick shook his head and caught his breath. ‘You don’t

  have to worry about that. You don’t. I can’t imagine it

  either.’

  Oliver’s shoulders seemed to relax a little and both

  were again quiet for a second or two as the uncomfort-

  able topic still fizzed around them.

  ‘So who you going to the pub with?’

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  ‘Ned and Jason and I think some of the girls from my

  year and a couple of Jason’s mates from Uni who have

  come down. It’ll be good.’

  ‘It will.’ Nick reached into his back pocket and took

  out his wallet. He pulled a ten-pound note out and handed

  it to his son.

  ‘I’m okay, Dad, I’ve got money. Granny Dora and

  Nanny Mags both gave me some for Christmas.’

  ‘I know, but a bit more won’t go amiss, I’m sure.’

  Oliver took the note and smiled at him. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘And anyway, you should be saving your Christmas

  money for something nice, not using it as beer tokens.’

  ‘Like a baby-changing mat?’ Oliver asked, wide eyed

  with a smile on his face.

  ‘Don’t even joke!’ Nick felt a hot flash of something

  that seemed a lot like fear and wondered if this was how

  his dad felt when he broke the news…

  Kerry’s having a baby … so I’m going to get a job and stay here … We’re getting married…

  But! But … what about college, going to university? All

  your plans?

  Plans change, Dad. Plans change.

  ‘Oh my god, Dad! I even scare myself saying that. I

  mean not that I don’t love Tasha, I do, but a baby?’ He

  shuddered. ‘Not for, like, a million years.’

  The front doorbell rang and Oliver let Eric in, who

  strolled into the kitchen.

  ‘What are you feeding this kid? He’s nearly taller

  than me.’

  ‘And me!’ Nick piped up.

  ‘In fairness, Dad, that’s not that that difficult,’ Oliver

  quipped.

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  ‘Oh, I see, one term at university and you think you’re

  too old for a thick ear!’ Eric made out to swipe in his

  direction.

  ‘Lucky you, I can’t even reach his ear,’ Nick added.

  Oliver chuckled. ‘He can’t reach, and you’re too weak-

  ened by age!’

  ‘What is this?’ Eric asked with mock hurt. ‘I come

  here to pick up my friend for a night on the town and

  all I get is abuse? And for your information my height is

  the one aspect of life in which I’m way above average.’

  ‘I used to be tall.’ Nick added.

  ‘You have never been tall, mate.’ Eric laughed.

  ‘I was!’ Nick scoffed. ‘I was way taller than you and

  Alex when we were little.’

  ‘True, but I think the definition of tall is where you

  end up, not how tall you are while you’re growing. I

  know I was at least a head and shoulders taller than you

&n
bsp; that summer,’ Eric pointed out.

  ‘What summer? Sounds ominous!’ Oliver laughed.

  ‘The summer we built the bike.’ Eric’s eyes creased

  at the memory.

  ‘Oh, that summer!’ Oliver enunciated.

  ‘So you know about that then?’ Eric held his gaze.

  ‘I do. In great detail.’ Oliver gave a mock yawn.

  Eric smiled at Nick. ‘In some ways it was the best

  time ever, but it was also the worst.’

  ‘Because you had to share a crappy green bike?’ Oliver

  interjected.

  ‘No, and it was anything but crappy to us,’ Eric of-

  fered. ‘Because my mum left us. I guess I’m just saying I

  know what it feels like.’

  Nick looked to his mate; this kind of revelation was rare.

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  ‘But she came back?’ Oliver looked a little confused,

  aware as he was of Eric’s mum who lived in the bungalows

  by the main road.

  ‘Yes, she came back and then two years later she went

  again, and left little David with me and my dad, and then

  she came back and … You get the idea.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound like the best time ever at all.’

  Nick rubbed his hands and exchanged a knowing look

  with Eric. It would be too hard to explain to this young

  man just what that summer had meant, how their ex-

  periences had laid the solid foundation of trust on which

  their friendship was built.

  ‘I don’t know if I should give you this now, you cheeky

  beggar.’ Eric removed a slender wrapped gift from his

  pocket and handed it to Oliver.

  ‘Oh, thanks.’ Oliver pulled the paper off to reveal

  a fountain pen in a fancy box. ‘Thanks, Eric! That’s

  awesome.’

  ‘Well, I figured you’d have more use of it than me;

  it’s been gathering dust in a drawer and I’d rather it was

  used. It was that or a razor – speaking of which, what is

  that thing on your lip, son?’

  ‘Oh, don’t you start.’ Oliver groomed his facial fuzz

  with his thumb and forefinger.

  Nick packed away the ironing board and placed it in

  the gap between the kitchen cabinet and the window. He

  was touched by Eric’s gift.

  ‘Right then.’ He picked up his jacket and patted his

  jeans pocket to feel the reassuring shapes of house keys,

  phone and wallet, before grabbing his box of bottled lager.

  ‘I shall see you next year!’

  Oliver groaned. Nick said this every New Year’s Eve

  and had done so since Oliver was small, when Nick would

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  tuck him up in bed and whisper, see you next year … from the doorway.

  ‘Yes, Dad, I shall see you next year. And don’t do

  anything I wouldn’t!’ Oliver called down the path after

  them. ‘Like fall and break your hip or lose your bus pass!’

  Eric laughed. ‘He’s in good form.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’

  ‘How’s it been?’ His friend’s tone now was a little

  more subdued.

  ‘A lot, lot better than I was expecting. Actually, it’s

  been good. Apart from Treacle necking the whole turkey!’

  ‘She never!’ Eric roared with laughter.

  ‘She did! We had sausages with all the trimmings.’

  ‘The little beggar!’

  ‘Yep.’ Nick was able to see the funny side now

  Christmas had passed without a hitch. ‘I had this weird

  dream about Kerry…’ he paused, wondering how much

  to share.

  ‘Weird how?’

  He smiled just to think of it. ‘She looked wonderful,

  really healthy, and she told me that I needed to let go a

  bit and carry on living – told me that this was going to

  be my year.’

  Eric smiled. ‘And that’s what she would say. She was

  a top lass. And don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m

  proud of you, Nicky, lad. You’re doing great and I think

  Kerry is right; this is going to be your year. Might be

  mine too if I get it right.’

  ‘What are you thinking?’

  ‘I’m thinking of spreading my wings and going off to

  find some sunshine.’

  ‘Well, you work hard. A holiday would do you good.’

  Nick smiled and the two walked to Market Square in

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  silence. He took a deep breath as they approached the

  end of Beverly’s street.

  ‘Don’t forget, you can leave at any time.’

  ‘Yes, Mum,’ Nick tutted at his friend, trying to hide

  the slight swell of embarrassment he felt at his kindness,

  but also hoping the fake bravado might carry him into

  the house when he was, as he had stated earlier, absolutely

  bricking it.

  There were more people inside the house than he had

  been expecting. It seemed like half the back office was

  here and a handful of people he hadn’t seen for a while.

  He swallowed, nodding and waving to acquaintances as he

  made his way through the crowds to the kitchen, where he

  dumped his box of beer bottles and took one for himself.

  Beverly was nowhere to be seen and it felt a little strange

  being inside her house without having said hello, impolite

  almost. He downed the beer and reached for his second.

  Go easy … He heard Kerry’s voice.

  Dutch courage … he replied in his mind.

  ‘Nick! Nick, mate!’ He turned towards the shout and

  saw Mikey Sturridge walking towards him. He was a big

  lad, a rugby player, who now strode with his arms raised,

  as if it was water he waded through and not a throng of

  smaller people. ‘Now then!’ He grabbed him in a bear

  hug and Nick smelled the beer fumes on his breath. ‘I

  haven’t seen you for a long time! How’s tricks?’

  ‘Not bad, Mikey, not bad.’

  ‘It’s good to see ya! You still at Siddley’s?’

  ‘Yes.’ He nodded with a dry laugh, as if there might be

  any other option in Burstonbridge for someone like him.

  ‘I’m only home for a few days, come to see our lad

  and my mum and dad, but then straight back to France,

  where I’m playing my rugby now.’

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  ‘I heard you were living it up out there. Sounds like

  nice work if you can get it.’

  ‘It is, mate, it is. Good weather, good food, good life!’

  He raised his arms over his head, as if his vast frame were

  not already taking up enough space.

  ‘Well, I envy you. Best we can hope for is a quick

  thaw to a cold frost and a dodgy pie from the chippy,

  but it’s home.’

  Nick looked over Mikey’s head and spied Beverly in

  the hallway. It was the first time he had seen her dolled up

  in a glittery top and with fancy put-up hair and lipstick.

  She looked lovely. And he felt the long-dormant pulse

  of attraction fire through him. She looked up and into

  his face and her mouth broke into a smile that he felt was

  just for him and his gut jumped accordingly. Nick looked

  around, furtively, wary of anyone recognising
the flicker

  of desire that rippled through his veins. He was after all

  a man in mourning, a man who came home to a dark

  house with no one to flick on the light and await him.

  Mikey bent close and the booze and garlic danced

  from his mouth in a pungent brew. ‘You should come

  over and see me, come to France! I mean it. Kerry would

  love it; I’m not far from the beach and there’s good shop-

  ping! She can top up her tan while we visit a few bars;

  a mate of mine runs a vineyard, I’m not shitting you! A

  vineyard! He flogs the cheap stuff to the tourists but the

  really good wine he keeps back and honestly, Nick, you

  should taste it. Ask Kerry if she fancies it – where is she

  anyway?’ Mikey looked around from his vantage height,

  trying to spot Nick’s wife.

  Nick stared at him, his mouth dry. He felt his legs

  sway a little and didn’t know how to answer, didn’t know

  what to say. It was inconceivable to him that there might

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  be someone in Burston that didn’t know about Kerry,

  and yet here he was, the kind, sweet buffoon, Mikey

  Sturridge, who had been away, playing rugby and drink-

  ing good wine…

  ‘She’s…’ He swallowed, but try as he might the words

  couldn’t find their way to his mouth.

  ‘Oh no! I’ve not put my foot in it, have I? Don’t tell

  me you two lovebirds have had a tiff?’ He nudged Nick

  in the ribs. ‘You’ll work it out, no doubt, made for each

  other! I remember when she got up the duff and every-

  one said it wouldn’t last and yet here we are. Is she off

  sulking?’

  ‘No, no she…’ Nick realised in that instant that there

  was something nice about living in this small town where

  he had grown up and where everyone knew his business.

  It meant that he had not had to have this conversation, as

  gossiping tongues all over the place had verbally paved

  the way with his news, meaning all encounters were

  pre-loaded with the terrible, terrible facts. There was also

  something inexplicably joyful to him that Mikey lived in

  a world where Kerry and he were just fine, plodding on

  as usual. He certainly didn’t envy the man his fancy life

  in the south of France, but he envied him that.

  ‘Sturridge, y’bastad!’ Rob Bowman, one of his old

  rugby contemporaries yelled from the hallway.

  ‘Got to go, Nick, see you around. And think about

  what I said!’ Mikey thumped him on the arm before mak-