The Light in the Hallway (ARC) Read online

  I loved my wife. I loved her!’ He raised his voice. ‘And

  I always will. Always. But be under no illusion that the

  last year of her life was thoroughly shit. Just awful and

  I never left her side, not once, and before you jump in,

  I don’t want a medal and I don’t want thanks – I would

  do it a thousand times over, a hundred thousand times

  over! But I started to say goodbye to her on the day she

  got her last results, when they said there was nothing

  they could…’ He let this trail. ‘And I’ve been grieving

  for her a little bit since then, because for me she didn’t die 171

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  suddenly, on the fifteenth of August at a quarter to eight

  in the evening.’ He shook his head. ‘She died a little bit

  every day from that point until she finally closed her eyes.

  A year, Di. A whole year of absolute hell. And I held her

  hand all the way through until the very end. So it might

  have only been four months or so since we laid her to

  rest, but I lost her a long time before that.’ Nick thought

  about the gentle erosion of the woman he loved, phys-

  ically, mentally, emotionally, until the pale husk that lay

  attached to a tube resembled her little. So much so that

  by the time her passing came, his sadness had become

  cocooned in unspeakable, shameful relief.

  ‘I know all that, don’t you think we have suffered

  too?’ she railed. ‘You need to put it in context, Nick,

  you need to—’

  ‘No, Di! This is not some competition about who

  has suffered the most. We are all hurt, all of us. But this

  thing between me and Olly and what happened tonight is

  nothing to do with you, and as for context…’ He stopped

  and took a breath, tried to control the quaver to his voice

  as anger brimmed and threatened to spill the harshest

  words that he knew they would both regret. That was not

  his way. ‘The context is that I was married to Kerry for

  eighteen years. Eighteen years! We went through some

  rough times, but we were friends, good friends, and we

  talked, we talked about everything, and I know what she

  said and I know what she wanted—’

  ‘What, she wanted you to hang around with Beverly

  Clark, snogging her in a loo and upsetting my mum and

  Olly, did she?’ It was like she couldn’t help herself, jump-

  ing in with her venom poised.

  ‘No.’ He shook his head, feeling suddenly weary, as if

  the whole evening’s events were catching up with him.

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  ‘But I know she wanted me to be happy when she was

  alive and I know she wants me to be happy now she isn’t.

  It’s that simple. We always wanted each other to be happy

  and I am trying, but it’s not easy – in fact there have been

  times when if it wasn’t for Oliver I would have given up.’

  He cursed the tears that threatened. ‘Does that make you

  feel better? Is that how you would like me to live? So sad, so alone that I can’t stand the thought of getting up each day?

  Because that’s the alternative for me, a very real alternative!’

  Diane looked at the floor and her tears matched his.

  ‘No, Nick, that’s not what I want, but I…’

  ‘But what, Di, spit it out?’ He waited for the next

  verbal assault and steeled himself. His feet firmly planted,

  his fists coiled.

  ‘I miss her,’ she squeaked.

  ‘Well, that makes two of us, but missing her isn’t going

  to bring her back and it’s not going to help Olly and it’s

  not going to help me. Life goes on, it has to. Tell Oliver

  I will see him at home in the morning.’

  He turned and walked down the path and he saw

  Kerry’s face in his mind. And she was smiling.

  * * *

  Nick hardly slept, despite his fatigue; his hangover was

  brutal, leaving him with the throb of a headache, as well

  as the discomfort that came with dehydration and an

  uncomfortable desire to vomit. When he lay down the

  room spun. He thought it best to sit up and wait for his

  symptoms to pass, hoping that would be sooner rather

  than later.

  ‘Never again.’ He looked at Eric across the breakfast

  table. His friend, who had spent the night on the couch,

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  was in comparison sprightly, drinking tea and eating toast

  and honey. Noisily.

  ‘I’ll push off; I expect Olly’ll be home soon. You

  okay?’ Eric asked, as he folded the last of his toast into

  his mouth and drained his mug of tea.

  ‘Not really. I don’t know what to say to him.’ Nick

  scratched his stubbled chin.

  ‘Don’t overthink it and just tell him the truth.’

  Eric made it sound so easy.

  ‘I know when things have hurt me…’

  He wondered if Eric was talking about that summer

  when his mum had abandoned him.

  ‘Knowing where I stood, the truth, would have made

  everything more bearable. The confusion, the worry was

  as bad as what happened.’

  Nick nodded.

  Treacle barked at the back door and as he let her out,

  he heard the front door open and close.

  Eric winked at his mate and sidled out along the hall-

  way past Oliver, squeezing the boy briefly on the shoulder

  and giving them the space they needed.

  Nick watched as Oliver stood in the kitchen doorway,

  leaning on the frame. He was beyond relieved that he

  had come back as requested, unsure what his next move

  might have been had he not shown up.

  ‘Cup of tea?’ He pointed at the kettle.

  ‘No.’ Oliver shook his head, hardly able to look Nick

  in the eye.

  ‘Sit down, Olly.’

  ‘No. I don’t want to. I came to get my stuff and to tell

  you I’m going back to Uni early. Today in fact. I don’t

  want to be here.’

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  ‘No! Please don’t do that! I think that would be a

  mistake. I know you’re hurt and I understand why, but

  leaving without giving us the chance to patch things up,

  without talking it through is I think the wrong thing

  to do.’

  ‘I don’t really care what you think!’ The wobble to his

  voice and the mist in his eyes suggested the very opposite.

  ‘I thought I would apologise to you about last night,

  but I’ve been thinking about it and I don’t think it’s about

  apologising,’

  ‘Well, you’d be wrong!’ Oliver fired; his fists inside

  his jacket pockets jabbed forward.

  Nick kept his calm. ‘What I mean is. I want to say I’m

  sorry for putting you in that position, but I don’t want

  to apologise for my actions, because life goes on, Olly.’

  ‘I was with my mates!’ His son continued to rant as

  if he hadn’t heard Nick’s words. Maybe he hadn’t, too

  wrapped up in his own thoughts and the words that

  were battering his lips to escape. ‘Someone said there

  was a party and we all jus
t piled in and we were having

  a laugh and then I opened the door and there you were!’

  He jerked his head like someone shaking a snow globe,

  trying to reset the image.

  Nick again replayed the moment Oliver had realised

  it was him and the look of absolute sadness on his face.

  He hated it and wished he could erase the memory.

  ‘I can imagine how—’

  ‘No! No you can’t imagine, Dad, not even a little

  bit! I miss my mum.’ His bottom lip trembled. ‘I miss

  her so much and Christmas has been shit. Treacle ate the

  bloody turkey and you can’t do the decorations and it’s

  all been rubbish!’

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  Nick felt his spirits sink even lower. Not only did he

  not know how to fix this, but the things Oliver referred

  to, sources of humour before New Year’s Eve, were now

  in this new light further failures with which his boy could

  taunt him, reminders that despite his words, he was still

  getting things very wrong.

  ‘I know you miss her,’ he said softly.

  ‘Is that woman your girlfriend?’ Oliver spat, ignoring his dad’s words, driven by his own agenda.

  Nick looked away. ‘No.’

  ‘So, what, that was the first time you’d met her?’ he

  asked with a back note of sarcasm.

  ‘No.’ Nick now held his son’s eye line. ‘We work

  together and have done for years. She knew your mum,

  of course, and she has been very kind to me. I’d say we

  are friends and last night was—’

  ‘Don’t tell me last night was a mistake, just because

  you were drunk.’ Oliver sneered.

  ‘No, Olly, I was going to say that last night was a bit

  like a beginning.’

  ‘So you want her to be your girlfriend?’

  Nick swallowed, his mouth sticky dry with nerves;

  he remembered Eric’s advice about honesty. ‘I don’t

  know. I honestly don’t know. I’ve never been in this

  position before and I’m trying to figure it all out as

  I go along. I know that it felt nice to be wanted and

  nice that there is the smallest possibility that I can be

  happy again.’

  ‘But…’ Oliver walked forward and leant on the table,

  as if this might help his point, ‘but…’ He shook his head,

  as if the words just wouldn’t come.

  ‘I know it’s a lot…’

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  ‘No, Dad, you don’t know! You keep saying you know

  how it is for me but you don’t, you think you do, but

  you really don’t!’

  ‘So tell me.’

  ‘I’m … I’m not ready.’

  ‘Not ready to tell me?’

  Oliver shook his head. ‘No. I’m not ready for you to

  move on like that.’

  Nick felt his heart flex for the words so bravely spoken.

  ‘Okay. Okay, Olly. I understand. But there is nothing

  you need to be ready for. Beverly and I are friends, and if and when anything else happens it’ll be a slow process so

  that by the time we have to think about it or talk about

  it then things will feel differently. Even if right now it

  feels like they never will.’

  Oliver seemed to consider this and his tone when he

  spoke was a little softer. ‘I don’t want another woman

  to be in Mum’s kitchen. In Mum’s house.’ He shook his

  head. ‘That’s the thing I don’t want the most.’

  ‘And I understand that too.’

  ‘Has she been here?’ Again his eyes seemed to glint

  at the terrible possibility.

  ‘Once, maybe, but only briefly. She popped in.’

  He watched Oliver’s jaw muscles tighten. ‘I want to

  go and see Tasha.’

  ‘Please don’t go, Olly – stay here and let the dust settle.

  I don’t want you leaving while things feel awkward. I’m

  your dad and you’re my boy. At the end of the day I’ve

  got your back. It’s you and me against the world, the

  Bairstow Boys!’ He smiled. ‘We need to go kick a ball

  at the Rec, take Treacle to walk off some of that turkey,

  go see some football, all the things we have always done

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  and some of them hard to do when your mum was so

  sick. Please don’t go, Olly; stay here and let me burn you

  some bacon.’

  Oliver allowed a small smile to form at the edges of

  his mouth. ‘You could save time and just dump it straight

  in the sink.’

  ‘I could that.’ He smiled at his son.

  The front door rattled; Eric must have left it ajar. Nick

  sighed, expecting to see his mum walk into the kitchen

  with the obligatory loaf of bread and pint of milk she

  always felt he needed, along with a running commentary

  on the weather, as if he lived on a different continent with

  a different climate, and a comment on how much Oliver

  had grown since she saw him two days ago. He felt more

  than a flicker of irritation. What he and Oliver needed

  right now was time alone.

  ‘Hello!’ the voice called. ‘Oh, is this a bad time?’

  Nick stared at Beverly, who walked slowly in and

  stood by Oliver’s side, her manner hesitant.

  ‘You are fucking kidding me!’ Oliver turned on his

  heel and raced up the stairs.

  ‘Oliver!’ Nick called after him, wanting to tell him it

  was not okay to talk to Beverly like that and to yet again

  try to smother the relit flames of his rage.

  ‘Should I. . .’ Beverly stood awkwardly, her face pale,

  eyes averted, as she pointed to the front door through

  which she had just walked.

  ‘I think so.’ Nick more or less ignored her, preoccupied

  as he was with his son who thumped around overhead in

  his bedroom, no doubt packing and preparing to run from

  the house in which he did not want another woman to

  tread, whilst a woman who had trod the path to the gate

  now walked away as quickly as she had arrived.

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  ‘I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.’ Nick said to

  the ether, pacing, as Treacle barked at the back door to

  be let in.

  * * *

  Dora, he noted, had aged. He thought this every time he

  saw her. The bungalow was to the untrained eye full of

  clutter, the windowsills, shelves and surfaces jam packed

  with trinkets, ornaments and knick-knacks. But it wasn’t

  clutter, not to her or those in the know, those aware

  that each item was a thing most precious to her, chosen

  specifically from a much bigger collection, salvaged if

  you like when she and her husband downsized from the

  Victorian villa that overlooked the Rec. The villa had

  been Dora’s parents’ home and one where she and Bill had

  raised their two daughters and built memories over thirty

  years of marriage, only leaving when Bill’s Alzheimer’s

  and failing health meant the stairs were a danger and the

  proximity to the main road a constant concern for a wife

  whose husband liked to wander off. Not to mention how

 
his care had stretched their finances almost to the break-

  ing point. Ironically, within weeks of moving into their

  new home, Bill had slipped away after a ferocious bout

  of pneumonia, which Dora had at the time referred to as

  God’s gift, loving him too much to watch him decline

  further. No one mentioned how the upheaval of the move

  was all now a little unnecessary; hindsight, he knew, was

  a wonderful thing and sometimes a cruel mirror.

  ‘Come in, Nick. How’s Olly?’

  He exhaled his air-filled cheeks, where to start…

  ‘He’s gone back to Uni in a bit of a strop. Left earlier

  today and wouldn’t even let me run him to the coach

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  station.’ He spoke lightly, hoping to mask the utter deso-

  lation he felt when he recalled how his son had spoken

  to him and the hurried manner in which he had left. He

  looked at her and shook his head, as if unsure what to

  add to this.

  ‘Come and have a cup of tea.’

  He welcomed the thought of this cure-all and followed

  her into the tiny, but functional kitchen.

  ‘He’s got a lot on his plate, Nick. Even if he smiles

  and tells you everything is great. He hides his hurt and

  it’s not surprising that it comes to the surface every now

  and then; trouble is when it does, it erupts with all the

  other hurts that lie beneath it, backed up for God knows

  how long and it seems you, as the person he loves the

  most, get both barrels.’

  ‘Lucky me.’

  ‘Yes, lucky you.’ She looked him in the eye without

  a trace of humour. ‘He’s a wonderful boy and this will

  pass. Everything does,’ she added matter-of-factly.

  ‘I just wanted to say thank you for letting me know

  he was at Diane’s last night. I was going out of my

  mind. I knew the longer I didn’t see him, the worse that

  interaction would be, or that’s what I thought anyway.

  Right now I don’t think things could be much worse.’

  He huffed.

  ‘Oh, trust me, they could, love.’ She smiled at him

  briefly, a sad smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, and

  he was reminded that the very worst thing had happened

  to her: she had lost her daughter. He let her words settle.

  ‘I’m sorry if I dropped you in it with Di; she didn’t

  seem happy to see me.’

  Dora gave a snort of ironic laughter. ‘She’s not happy

  to see anyone.’

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