The Light in the Hallway (ARC) Page 22

  other’s blood.’

  Both boys let the idea permeate and the air crackled

  with anticipation.

  ‘Do you think we should do that then?’ Nick tried to

  make it sound casual.

  ‘We could!’ Eric jumped up and switched on the

  overhead light.

  ‘Do you know how to do it?’

  ‘How hard can it be? You just make the cuts and hold

  them together.’ Eric spoke with enthusiasm and Nick

  felt the first quiver of nausea at the thought of having to

  deliberately cut himself.

  ‘Does it hurt?’

  ‘I don’t know!’ Eric laughed. ‘I’ve never done it, but it

  only needs to be a little pinprick, just a little dot of blood.’

  ‘Okay.’ Nick felt a little relieved. ‘Ooh, I know.’ He

  reached into the drawer of the bedside cabinet and pulled

  out the multi tool. There was a little edge, a small, sharp,

  almost invisible curl of steel on the rim of one of the

  spanner holes that when it snagged his skin caused a small

  prick of blood to appear. ‘We can use this!’

  The boys knelt on the floor and Eric went first, put-

  ting his index finger into the spanner hole and dragging

  it over the raised edge.

  ‘Ouch!’ He pulled his finger out of the hole and, with

  a look of determination, squeezed at the base of his finger

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  until a shiny scarlet bauble of blood formed on the pad

  of his finger. ‘Your turn.’

  Nick lifted the multi tool and felt the room sway a little.

  ‘You all right?’ Eric stared at him. ‘You’ve gone a

  funny colour.’

  Nick exhaled, trying to focus on the multi tool in

  his hand. ‘Yeah, I just…’ He didn’t manage to finish the

  sentence as he vomited. The action bent him double.

  Eric yelled and ran to the door, smearing the white

  paintwork with his blood in the process. ‘Mrs Bairstow!

  Nick’s being sick! In his bed!’ he shouted down the stairs.

  Nick lay on the floor with his head on Eric’s pillow.

  The room spun and he felt clammy. He heard his mum’s

  footsteps coming up the stairs.

  ‘Nicky! What on earth! You poor love, is it something

  you ate, do you think?’

  ‘I think it was the thought of the blood,’ Eric added

  unhelpfully.

  ‘What blood? What?’ His mum bent down and ran

  her hand over his sticky forehead.

  ‘We were going to be blood brothers and I cut my

  finger and he was about to cut his when he threw up.’

  It was then Nick heard the laughter from the landing

  as Jen made her presence known. ‘Oh my God, you abso-

  lute dweebs!’ she chuckled, before retiring to her room.

  Nick got the feeling that this would not be the last time

  she mentioned his wimpy shame.

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  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Nick stepped into his steel toe capped boots and pulled

  on his high-vis jacket. Going back to work after a few

  days off was never easy, but never harder than when his

  mind was on other things, namely Oliver, who, when

  he did deem to answer the texts Nick sent, did so with

  one-word, curt responses. Although in truth Nick was

  just happy he was answering. He was also more than

  a little nervous about having to endure the winks and

  comments from the workforce; he was in no doubt all

  knew that he had snogged Beverly in the loo on New

  Year’s Eve. He cringed to think of conversations where

  he was the topic. It had been hard enough knowing they

  were talking about him when he lost Kerry, but this? He

  wished the gossip could have been something a little more

  dignified, the circumstances not quite so bloody awful.

  And as for Beverly, she hadn’t answered his texts

  even with one-word answers, nothing. He knew that

  this relationship, not that it was ever such a thing, had

  floundered before it had even begun. He felt saddened by

  the thought, but if ever he would accept his phone calls,

  at least he could tell Oliver with certainty that he really

  did have nothing to worry about. No one else was about

  to take up position in his mum’s kitchen any time soon.

  Shame, though…

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  He heard Kerry’s voice for the first time in a long

  time and smiled.

  ‘Yep. Shame.’ He parked the car and ran to catch up

  with Eric, who had cycled in and now dismounted, steer-

  ing his mountain bike towards the factory gates.

  ‘I hate my job,’ Eric sighed, his whole demeanour

  downcast.

  ‘No, you don’t; you just hate going back to work and

  we all feel like that.’

  ‘Just let me moan, will you?’

  Nick laughed. ‘Sure, the floor’s all yours.’

  Eric stopped walking and, with his hand on the saddle

  of his bike, stared up at the large white side of the Siddley factory. ‘Do you ever wonder if this is it? If coming here to this bloody place every day is the sum total of our lives?’

  ‘No, because I know that this is it.’

  I thought I might have more, thought I would go to university but then I thought I’d do the right thing, was happy to do the right thing, marry my girl, become a dad … and then I thought things would work out and that an opportunity would present itself for me to better this life … I thought a lot of things. But now the one thing I do know is that I didn’t know jack shit…

  Eric looked at his mate. ‘I keep thinking about my

  dad, about your dad, and the hours they gave to this place.

  Born in Burston to mining families who couldn’t mine

  anymore or farming families who never owned the land

  they worked and us, relegated to bloody Siddley’s; pack-

  ing up and shipping off lights so that people with more

  money than us can attend events, have parties, drinking

  champagne no doubt and eating them canopies or what-

  ever they are called.’

  Nick chose not to point out that you didn’t need to be

  a champagne drinker to shove up a set of fairy lights; at

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  least this much he knew. Again he thought of Oliver. He

  didn’t interrupt his friend, seeing his need to get whatever

  ailed him off his chest, and hoping that by doing so his

  mood might improve; otherwise it was going to be a very

  long day for both of them.

  ‘I could stand it, you know. I could stand it all – the

  shit wages, no prospects, crap weather, all of it – I wouldn’t notice all the bad stuff if I had someone like Jen to come

  home to.’

  Nick felt the familiar stab of responsibility: his best

  mate and his sister … He had always felt like he should be

  the conduit, the link that might bring these two together,

  but what could he do if Jen just wasn’t interested?

  ‘As I’ve told you before, she has her faults. She is

  messy and can’t cook and is so competitive.’ He laughed.

  ‘And being in a relationship with a serving police officer

  is no picnic. There’s the shifts, the unsociable hours, the

  dangerous job
for which I think she might carry a multi

  tool.’ He tried as he often did to defuse the moment with

  humour.

  ‘No, Nick! This isn’t funny. None of it is funny

  anymore.’

  Nick stopped laughing, it was rare to hear Eric so

  serious, and it unnerved him.

  ‘I’ve tried everything over the years, you know I have;

  I’ve been patient, attentive, direct. I’ve bought her gifts,

  praised her, followed her! I’d have gone to the ends of

  the earth just for a chance.’

  Nick knew all of this to be true.

  ‘But I’m done.’ Eric kicked the wheel of his bike. ‘I

  can’t do it anymore. It’s time I pulled my head out of the

  clouds and faced facts.’

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  Nick chose not to comment that it had taken his friend

  the best part of two decades to face these facts. He felt

  the stirring of relief, knowing Eric deserved someone

  nice, and knowing how much he had loved being part of

  a couple with Kerry, despite the rows and the moments

  that felt like he was walking on a cliff edge. Eric was

  right: it made all the bad stuff worth it when you had

  someone you loved to come home to. He pictured the

  empty lounge and cold kitchen where warmth used to

  live, where Oliver’s music used to shake the floorboards

  and Kerry’s singing would drive him to distraction, and

  he felt a bolt of longing fire right through him. Life had

  been a rollercoaster, often a worry and sometimes a chore,

  but he had never felt lonely and that he knew had made

  all the difference. The house had been a home.

  Eric wasn’t done. ‘There comes a point when you

  realise that you have been banging your head on a locked

  door, thinking of how wonderful it’ll be when it even-

  tually opens, thinking about all the treasures that might

  lie inside, but I now realise that it’s never going to open

  and I’ve got a bloody headache.’ He rubbed his temples,

  suggesting his words weren’t only metaphorical. ‘As I

  say, I’m done.’

  ‘Well, for what it’s worth’ – Nick looked his lanky

  friend in the eye – ‘I think it’s Jen’s loss. I always have.’

  ‘Thanks, mate,’ Eric answered with a hardened edge

  to his voice. There was no funny quip, no smile, and Nick

  missed the humour that had peppered their chats for as

  long as he could remember, realising that it might just be

  true: the man who had always said it was a waiting game

  and that he was prepared to wait for as long as it took …

  was not prepared to wait any longer.

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  ‘It’ll all be okay.’

  ‘It will.’ Eric nodded. ‘Because I’m going to make it

  all okay.’

  ‘Good for you!’ Nick liked his spirit.

  ‘I thought about it a lot over Christmas and I told

  you I was thinking of spreading my wings, getting some

  sunshine. I’m going to make a plan, change things. I’m

  not going to waste another year hanging around Burston

  and working hard so that Julian Siddley can upgrade his

  Range Rover while I ride a bloody bike!’

  ‘It’s a good idea. A holiday will reset you. Where are

  you thinking?’

  ‘I’m thinking Australia.’ And then he smiled, his ex-

  pression back to the one Nick knew.

  ‘ Australia? Flippin’ ’eck! That’ll be some holiday!’

  Eric shook his head. ‘Not a holiday – I’ve applied

  for a six-month visa and I’m going to go and work in

  the sunshine where I might meet twenty women all

  nicer to me than Jen has ever been and I won’t have to

  drive a shitty forklift truck in this shitty factory. And

  after six months, I’ll try to figure out a way to make it

  permanent.’

  Nick stared at him and felt his stomach drop. He

  didn’t know what to say, but the prospect of his oldest

  friend being on the other side of the world was almost

  inconceivable. Eric was one of the fixtures in his life,

  always had been. Oliver’s words came to him now and

  he clamped his lips together so as not to let them escape.

  I’m … I’m not ready … I’m not ready for you to move on

  like that … He remembered standing in the garage that summer as kids when Eric had announced he was going

  to stay with his mum in Derby; this felt the same, like he

  wanted to punch something or shout out that he did not

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  want him to leave. Of course he did neither, but instead

  stared at his mate.

  Australia…

  ‘Mr Siddley wants to see you in his office, Nick.’

  As he tried to summon a response, Nick turned to

  see Beverly walk past, her head held high, a little aloof,

  having issued the statement in a neutral fashion.

  ‘Oh dear.’ Eric sighed.

  ‘Yep,’ Nick could only agree. ‘Oh dear. I’ll see you

  later?’

  ‘Course you will, Doreen. I’m not going today, am I?’

  Nick placed his lunchbox and keys in his locker and

  made his way to the big office where his boss spent in his

  days sitting in the red leather captain’s chair. He combed

  his hair with his fingers before knocking and entering to

  find Beverly standing by the desk. He was a little taken

  aback. It felt strange to see her in this environment when

  their last proper encounter had been so very different. He

  felt his pulse quicken at the memory. He wished she had

  answered his texts, thus avoiding this inevitable awkward

  reunion that brought their personal life into the workplace.

  ‘Julian wanted to see me?’ He wished he had coughed

  and made his voice deeper. Nerves gave his words a slight

  warble.

  ‘No, I wanted to see you, but didn’t want to say so in front of your blabbermouth mate. I figure there’s enough

  people discussing my business right now.’

  ‘Where’s Julian?’ He looked around the office as if he

  might be hiding.

  ‘Not here, and will you just forget about him for a

  second!’ She raised her voice. ‘I want to talk to you.’

  ‘Oh.’ He felt the bite of nerves. ‘I tried to call you

  and I texted—’

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  Amanda Prowse

  She cut him short. ‘Yes, yes, I know you did, but we

  are not kids, Nick. I didn’t want a text chat or a late-night phone call. I wanted you to come and knock on my door

  and sit and talk to me like a grown-up. Face-to-face, a

  confident man who knows what he wants.’

  ‘I thought about it, but wasn’t sure if you wanted me

  to come to your house or…’ He ran out of ideas.

  She shook her head dismissively. ‘You were very rude

  to me and I didn’t like it.’ She bit her lip. ‘I didn’t like it one bit.’

  ‘I know, I’m sorry. But when you pitched up at the

  house, it was the worst possible timing—’

  ‘Not just then!’ she interrupted. ‘On New Year’s Eve

  you just pulled away and ran, literally ran, out of my house />
  without so much as a goodbye or a wave. Like I didn’t

  count. Like it was no big deal. I stood there like an idiot

  and I felt so small. It wasn’t only you who felt exposed

  that night, Nick. You were selfish and you made me look

  like a fool and I don’t like it. I’ve carefully guarded my

  reputation over the years. I’m not that kind of woman.’

  This he knew; there was not a sniff of scandal or a

  whisper of gossip about her. She was seen as solid, de-

  pendable, smart and kind, a good lass…

  ‘I don’t let people get that close to me, Nick. I don’t

  like people generally, I’m picky, but I took a risk on you

  and you made me feel stupid.’

  ‘I never wanted to do that.’

  ‘Well, y’did!’

  He took a step toward her, imagining for the first time

  what it might have been like for her and feeling embar-

  rassed that it hadn’t properly occurred to him before.

  She was right – selfish. Bloody selfish.

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  The two stood enveloped in strained silence for a beat

  or two, until the atmosphere calmed and Beverly spoke.

  ‘There’s something about you. I feel…’ It was appar-

  ently her turn to run out of words.

  ‘Connected?’ The word suddenly came easily.

  ‘Yes.’ She nodded, quite sternly. ‘I feel connected to

  you.’

  ‘I feel connected to you too,’ he said softly.

  ‘And that’s all well and good, but I think your situ-

  ation might be too complicated for me. It might be that

  I want more than you can give me and that’s not your

  fault, it’s just how it is.’

  He felt the second punch to his gut of the day, first

  at the thought of Eric leaving and now the fact that he

  and Beverly had seemingly failed before they had even

  started, and it was only at the very real prospect of this

  chance slipping through his fingers that he realised he

  wanted to hold it tight.

  ‘I see.’ He put his hands on his hips and glanced at the

  clock on the wall, thinking about the start of his shift and

  putting on a hardened air. Hiding his disappointment, he

  shifted into self-preservation mode.

  ‘No, you don’t see.’ She took a deep breath and he

  pushed his toes against the tip of his boots, steeling himself for what else she might have to say. ‘I don’t regret what

  happened on New Year’s Eve, apart from how it ended –

  I do regret that, but not the first bit. In fact, I kind of