The Light in the Hallway (ARC) Read online

  ing his way towards the hall. He passed Beverly and used

  his big hand to scoot her out of the way, almost pushing

  her into the kitchen and into Nick’s path.

  ‘I didn’t see you arrive.’ She bopped on the spot in

  front of him.

  ‘I’ve been here hours.’ He smiled and drank his lager.

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  ‘Cheers!’ She raised her glass of wine and knocked

  it against his bottle. ‘Good Christmas? Jen said you hid

  away until Boxing Day.’

  ‘We weren’t hiding exactly, well, only from her.’ He

  pulled a face.

  ‘Ah, fearful she might reach for the Monopoly?’

  ‘Something like that.’ He laughed. ‘What about you?

  Did you have a nice time?’

  ‘No. No I didn’t, actually.’ She shook her head and

  drank her wine. ‘I hate Christmas. It’s a bad time of

  year for me. I always feel really lonely and every advert

  and programme is a reminder of what I’m missing. And

  that’s why I have a New Year’s party – first, it gives me

  something to look forward to, and, second, it means that

  whilst Christmas might be shite, the end of the year is

  always epic!’

  He liked her candour. Most folks would try to sugar-

  coat or enhance their experience, attempting to convince

  you that their life really was as good as their Instagram

  life, but not Beverly; she told it as it was and he liked it.

  ‘Well, here’s to a less shite new year!’ He raised his

  bottle and drank it quickly, wishing that he too had

  thought about a fried egg beer cushion to line his gut.

  Eric danced into the kitchen, knocking people out of

  the way with his pointy elbows and jolting their arms

  so that drinks spilled. It made Nick wince, thinking of

  the clean-up.

  ‘Oi, Daphne!’ Eric called to him, laughing. ‘I just

  danced with Jen! Actually danced with her! This is the

  best party ever!’

  Nick shook his head and said to Beverly as Eric grabbed

  two beers and left the room, ‘Oh God, I’ll never hear the

  end of it. I hope she doesn’t mess him around. They had

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  a thing a few years back; a short-lived thing that looked

  like it might have legs. But after one weekend away they

  travelled back separately and normal service was resumed.

  It’s a shame; he’d be so good for her.’

  ‘And she for him.’

  ‘Yes, probably,’ he had to admit.

  ‘He’s pretty smitten, isn’t he?’ Beverly chuckled.

  ‘He always has been.’

  ‘Well, Nick, when you know, you know.’

  ‘Yep.’ He reached for another bottle of beer. His foot

  began tapping to the strains of Cheryl Crow’s ‘If It Makes

  You Happy’ – this was turning into a good party. ‘When

  you know you know.’

  It was approaching midnight and Nick was drunk.

  It had been a long time since he had felt like this. In

  fact, he could pinpoint the last time, a night after Kerry’s

  initial diagnosis when Eric and Alex had taken him to

  the pub and, unaware of how best to help their friend,

  they got him sloshed. He had woken the next morning

  with his head in a bucket on the bathroom floor and

  Kerry sitting on the edge of the bed, crying. This felt a

  little similar: he was out of his depth, not in full control

  of the situation and hoping that he might be able to slip

  home without anyone noticing just how drunk he was.

  The music of his youth pumped in his veins as he

  danced with abandon in the tiny sitting room with his

  arm around Eric’s shoulders and his shirt collar unbut-

  toned. Each song contained a memory, a moment from

  his short-lived teens, the time of his life when one minute

  he was excited about the future, planning to go to college

  where he would study hard before claiming his fancy of-

  fice job where he would sit behind a desk, and the next

  he was holding a crying baby in the early hours, pacing

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  the floor while simultaneously fretting about where they

  were going to find the money for rent. And it had hap-

  pened with frightening speed, as if he were on a spinning

  roundabout and it was all he could do to hang on.

  ‘Do you ever wonder,’ he shouted at Eric above the

  din, ‘about what your life would have been like if you’d

  made different choices, done different things?’

  ‘No!’ Eric yelled his reply. ‘Do you?’

  ‘Stometimes,’ he slurred. ‘I do, recently. I think I could

  be living in France or driving a Porsche, or just dancing.

  But I didn’t. I stuck around and it all kept spinning. It

  was bloody hard. It is bloody hard!’

  ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about, my drunken

  friend!’ Eric laughed and they carried on dancing.

  Time was skewed and he felt a bit woozy, when sud-

  denly there were loud shouts, counting down, ‘Ten …

  Nine … Eight…’ He felt someone grab his hand and saw

  it was Beverly who gripped his fingers tightly, her little

  hand in his, pulling him from the lounge where the crowd

  counted backwards, walking headlong into another time,

  a new age and a new year in which Kerry had never lived.

  The start of a new chapter.

  He wasn’t sure how he felt about it – he was too drunk

  to properly order his ideas. Instead, he took Kerry’s advice

  and loosened the lid on his thoughts a bit, letting some

  of his sadness float away and at the same time mentally

  lassoing the spikes of joy that fired through him at no

  more than this: the touch of a woman, this woman, who

  for whatever reason was drawn to him as he was to her.

  Beverly opened the door to the downstairs toilet and

  pushed him inside. He leant against the sink and took a

  deep breath as the room spun. She reached up and pushed

  his fringe from his forehead. The touch of her finger on

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  his face was like a jolt, an electric shock of a sensation,

  something new and a feeling he had quite forgotten.

  He heard the count reach its crescendo. ‘Two …

  One! Happy New Year!’ voices screamed and claps were

  interspersed with whoops, hollers and whistles.

  He bent down and kissed her gently on the mouth.

  It felt strange and at the same time wonderful. It was

  the first time he had kissed another woman since he had

  first held Kerry Forrest’s hand on a day trip to Drayfield

  Moor when he had been all of sixteen and without a

  clue as to how life would turn out. In truth, he felt very

  similar now as fireworks of longing exploded inside him

  and his body folded with sweet desire for this pretty girl

  who unbelievably appeared to want him too. He reached

  up and twined his fingers in her hair, pulling her to him

  as he leant in for a longer kiss.

  And it was in that moment – as their lips touched and

  her hands roamed
the skin beneath the fabric of his new

  denim shirt, as he felt his guard slip and his body yield to

  the joy of another human touch – that all hell broke loose.

  1992

  ‘What are you two looking so glum about this morning?’

  his dad asked as he sipped his tea and ate his toast at the

  table before work. ‘If I had the whole day stretching out

  in front of me with nothing to do and the sun was out, I’d

  be a bit happier. Look at you both! You look like you’ve

  lost a sixpence and found a shilling.’

  Nick and Eric exchanged a look; they had absolutely

  no idea what a sixpence or a shilling was.

  ‘Mags, have you seen the mardy faces on these two?’

  His dad now spoke to his mum, who came into the kitchen

  with an armful of dirty laundry.

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  ‘They’re fed up because they can’t find wheels or a

  saddle,’ she surmised as she dropped to her haunches and

  fed the dirty clothes into the washing machine.

  ‘Is that right?’ His dad sat up and put his mug down.

  ‘Have you tried looking?’

  ‘Ye-es! We’ve looked everywhere, Dad!’ Nick propped

  his head on his fist. ‘We’ve been to the scrap yard three

  times and the man there said we are not to go back as we

  just get in the way and it’s dangerous.’

  ‘Plus he’s got a really scary dog,’ Eric chipped in.

  Nick nodded energetically. This was true. ‘And I asked

  the bin man if he ever saw wheels lying around and he

  said if he did he’d sell them himself for scrap.’

  ‘That’ll be Henry.’ His dad raised his eyebrows at his

  mum.

  Eric backed up his friend’s story. ‘We go to the Rec and

  up to the Old Dairy Shed every day, in case anyone has

  dumped any. So far we’ve found an old fridge and a tractor

  tyre, and there’s always mattresses and stuff on the floor.’

  Again, Nick saw his parents exchange a look.

  ‘But we’ve never seen any wheels,’ Eric huffed.

  ‘ And we went up to the bike shop next to the butch-

  ers,’ Nick continued to explain, ‘and I asked the man

  in there if he had any old wheels he didn’t want or ever

  threw any away.’

  ‘What did he say?’ His dad leant forward with his

  forearms on the table. Nick wasn’t sure how to phrase it.

  Eric, however, had no such compulsion.

  ‘He told us to sod off.’

  ‘Right.’ His dad took a swig of his tea, but Nick could

  see him smiling behind the rim of the mug.

  ‘Well, you know what they say, lads; energy and per-

  sistence conquer all things. Keep looking.’

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  ‘The thing is, Dad, we’ve only got two weeks of the

  summer holiday left and if we don’t get the wheels soon,

  we won’t even finish the bike before we go back to school,

  let alone get a chance to ride it!’ He cursed the sting of

  tears that threatened. His words only served to highlight

  their predicament and it felt hopeless.

  His dad stood and took a deep breath. ‘I’d best get

  going or Mr Siddley’ll have my guts for garters. See you

  later, love,’ he addressed his wife. ‘And for goodness’ sake, you two, cheer up!’

  Alex stepped up and down the kerb as they made their

  daily pilgrimage up to the Rec in search of the elusive

  wheels.

  ‘Do you think your mum and dad will get divorced?’

  he asked Eric out of the blue.

  Eric shrugged. ‘Don’t know.’ Eric picked up a small

  round pebble and lobbed it as far as he could. It hit the

  wall of the church and settled on the pathway.

  Nick didn’t fully understand what divorce entailed,

  but he knew that Will Pearce’s mum and dad were di-

  vorced and didn’t live together anymore and Will had

  to have two sets of uniform, one at each house, and last

  year he had to eat two Christmas dinners as he spent half

  the day with his mum and half with his dad. It didn’t

  sound so bad.

  ‘Do you think your mum might stay in Derby?’ Nick

  asked.

  ‘Don’t know.’ Eric shrugged again, preoccupied with

  pulling the small branches from the stick he had now

  picked up. What was it with him and sticks? It seemed

  he always wanted one in his grip to bash, tap or poke his

  way through the world, like an explorer.

  ‘What does your dad say?’ Alex, like Nick, was curious.

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  ‘Not much, but I think he’s sad. He sits on the sofa

  and drinks cans of ale like he did when my grandma died,

  and then he starts singing.’

  ‘What does he sing?’ Nick tried to picture the tall,

  quiet man breaking into song and couldn’t.

  ‘“You’ll Never Walk Alone”.’

  The boys were quiet and Nick wondered if the other

  two, like him, were singing the song in their heads.

  ‘If my mum and dad got divorced, I would go and

  live wherever Jen wasn’t,’ Nick asserted.

  Alex and he laughed.

  ‘I like your sister,’ Eric said softly, looking into the

  middle distance, as if he was miles away. ‘I think she’s

  dead pretty.’

  Nick and Alex stopped walking and pulled faces,

  staring at their mate in horror.

  ‘She’s a witch is what she is!’ Nick said loudly.

  ‘A scary witch!’ Alex added for good measure, with

  his hands raised and his fingers bent.

  ‘I don’t think so.’ Eric gave a gentle nod and carried

  on walking to the accompanying tune of Nick and Alex

  singing loudly; ‘Eric and Jenny, sitting in a tree…’

  * * *

  ‘Well, marvellous!’ his dad offered sarcastically, as he stood

  in the kitchen with his hands on his hips and shaking his

  head. ‘I leave for work with two of you sitting there with

  long faces, and I get home from work to find the only

  thing that’s changed is that there are now three of you.’

  ‘Hello, Mr Bairstow,’ Alex sighed.

  ‘Have you been sat here all day?’ His dad washed his

  hands at the kitchen sink.

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  ‘No.’ Eric sat up. ‘We went round the Rec searching,

  and then we looked in the bins at the back of the bike shop.’

  ‘What did you find there?’ his dad asked.

  ‘Empty egg boxes, a cat litter tray and some Chinese

  takeaway boxes with noodles in them.’

  ‘I see.’ His dad dried his hands on the tea towel and

  leant against the sink. ‘I don’t think you’ve been looking

  hard enough.’

  Nick hated the feeling of disappointment in his gut,

  like he had in some way let his dad down. It was the very

  worst and to be reminded of this in front of his friends

  felt doubly galling.

  ‘We did, Dad! Honest! We’ve looked all day! But

  we can’t find wheels or a saddle. The rest of the bike is

  ready. We’ve got the paintwork good and the chain and

  everything is really shiny!’

 
‘And we all put in and bought a can of oil to keep the

  gears and everything in good shape.’ Alex also tried to

  demonstrate their commitment to Half Bike.

  Nick pictured the tussles they had over whose turn

  it was to administer the oil through the narrow plastic

  spout with the little red cap on the end.

  His dad took a deep breath and reached into his pocket.

  He pulled out three narrow metal tins and handed them

  out.

  ‘Wow!’ Alex beamed. ‘Thank you!’

  ‘Is it for keeps?’ Eric asked with a note of disbelief, as

  if this gift was too good to be true.

  ‘It is, lad. One each.’ Nick’s dad smiled.

  Nick felt his melancholy fade, replaced with something

  close to happiness, not only to be on the receiving end of

  a gift, but also that his dad had got the same for his mates.

  ‘Open them up,’ his dad instructed.

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  Each boy used his thumb to pop open the thin metal

  tin lid with a satisfying thunk and ran his finger over the

  neatly packed contents.

  ‘This is everything you will ever need to fix a punc-

  ture,’ his dad explained. Nick pictured riding the moors

  with the little tin in his pocket, nestling next to his multi tool. He knew that with his very own transport and these

  things on his person, he would feel invincible and even the

  thought sent a rush of joyous excitement through his veins.

  His dad sat in the spare seat at the kitchen table and

  pointed into Nick’s tin.

  ‘You’ve got a tube of rubber cement – careful, mind,

  once you’ve squeezed some out it seeps and it can be

  murder to get that little black nozzle off next time you

  need it so clean the top before you put the lid back on.’

  The boys nodded.

  ‘There’s a piece of chalk for marking any punctures on

  the inner tube, and those you’ll find by holding the inner

  tube in a washing-up bowl full of water and squeezing it

  gently all around under the water until you see where the

  bubbles come up from. There’s a square of sandpaper to

  rough up the surface so that the rubber cement keys to it

  better and a selection of patches to cover the puncture –

  round, rectangular and square, and it’s important to pick

  the right one for the right hole.’

  Nick and his friends listened intently to the instruc-

  tions from this grown-up who seemed to know all there

  was to know about punctures.