The Light in the Hallway (ARC) Read online

he knew he liked Beverly, but couldn’t decide if this level

  of anxiety was worth it. As he pondered the thought,

  the front doorbell rang. He closed his eyes, took a deep

  breath and opened the front door.

  ‘I bought wine,’ Beverly announced as she walked in,

  handing him the bottle.

  ‘Smashing, I’ll go find some glasses.’ He hoped he

  had two that matched.

  ‘Is something burning?’ She sniffed the air at the

  unmistakable residue of candle smoke, as she shrugged

  her arms from her jacket and hung it on the newel post.

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  ‘Don’t think so.’ He walked to the kitchen and opened

  the mug cupboard where four wineglasses sat on the top

  shelf. Matching, but rather dusty. He ran them under

  them under the tap and dried them with the tea towel.

  ‘Ooh, you’ve washed up – not on my account, I hope.’

  She looked at the empty sink.

  ‘I did wash up on your account, actually. I also ran

  the Hoover over.’

  ‘Well, I never – special treatment. I’m honoured.’ She

  took the glass of wine from his outstretched hand and the

  two went into the lounge. Beverly took up the spot in the

  corner of the sofa where his wife had sat night after night

  with a mug of tea in her hands and watched the soaps

  on television. It felt a little odd and he was glad Oliver

  wasn’t there, this thought instantly followed by a jolt of

  guilt that this woman was sitting in Oliver’s mum’s seat

  and just how the boy might react.

  Let it go, Nick! For God’s sake, let it go!

  ‘So, I hear the lads were teasing you yesterday at lunch?’

  She smiled over the rim of the wineglass.

  ‘Flippin’ ’eck, is nothing secret around here!’

  ‘Welcome to Burston!’ She raised her glass in a toast.

  He noticed the shape of her teeth against her bottom lip,

  painted with a pale pink colour, and the poker-straight

  hair around her face. She had gone to some effort and

  the thought that it might be for him made his gut jump

  with joy.

  ‘I sometimes wish I could fly away, escape.’ He took

  a sip.

  ‘So why don’t you?’ she asked in a way that suggested

  it might be possible.

  He gave a short burst of laughter. ‘Money, family,

  commitment, finances, cowardice, take your pick.’

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  ‘It’s funny, isn’t it, how some people just have the

  courage, they go and do great things, different things,

  and then there’s people like me who want to be near the

  pub where I’m comfortable, the shop where I know where

  everything is, my little house, my little job, it’s enough.’

  ‘I’ve always been the same. I say I’d like to leave

  Burston at times, but then I can’t think of where I’d go

  that’s better. I think I blew my chance of escape a long

  time ago. Besides, there’s a lot to be said for staying close to home.’

  ‘Is Oliver enjoying Birmingham?’

  ‘Yes, seems to be. He had a wobble when he first got

  there, felt a bit overwhelmed, but he has a nice girlfriend

  – well, I’ve only met her once, but she seems nice and

  he’s smitten. Tasha her name is.’

  ‘I don’t want to keep bringing it up, but that was ter-

  rible on New Year’s Eve, not the snogging bit, as we’ve

  already ascertained.’ She sipped her wine. ‘But the bit that

  came after. I felt for you and Oliver, and I was mortified.’

  ‘I know.’ He flexed his toes inside his socks, a little

  embarrassed whilst at the same time his chest boomed

  with the compliment that the snogging had been quite

  nice … ‘It’s hard to see things from his perspective some-

  times. And it’s hard to know what he needs. He’s at that

  horrible half-man/half-child stage and I often feel like

  I’m treading on eggshells.’

  Beverly nodded. ‘I suppose what he needs is to know

  that his dad is at the end of a phone if he needs him and

  that you aren’t going to disappear like his mum did.’

  He found the ease with which she spoke about Kerry

  as reassuring as it was alarming.

  ‘He needs to know that you’re the kind of man who

  is going to stay close to home and I get it.’ She took

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  another sip. ‘I always took great comfort from knowing

  my dad was at home and wasn’t about to go gallivanting

  off. No matter where I was or what I was getting up to,

  the thought of my dad at home, giving me a base, a safe

  haven should I need it, meant the world.’

  ‘Talking of gallivanting – and please keep this to

  yourself – but Eric is thinking of getting away, going to

  Australia.’

  ‘Australia? What, for a holiday?’

  ‘No, for good, to work. At least that’s what he says.’

  ‘God, I can’t imagine that. I always think of him as

  part of the furniture.’ She held the wineglass on her lap.

  ‘And I think that’s the problem. He’s sick of being

  taken for granted.’

  ‘Do you think it’s anything to do with Jen?’ she asked,

  without any hint of self-consciousness that some might

  have felt when discussing his sister in this way.

  ‘I think it’s a whole lot to do with her. He’s finally

  given up and I don’t blame him. But the irony is, I think

  she might actually have feelings for him.’

  ‘Jeez, she hides it well!’

  ‘She’s a complicated character and I don’t know if I

  know her as well as I should.’ He thought about their

  conversation. ‘I think a lot of her spikiness is a defence

  against getting hurt.’

  ‘Like a hedgehog?’

  ‘Yes, something like that. A Monopoly-playing hedge-

  hog.’ They both laughed.

  ‘Eric’s a good sort.’ She smiled and sat back in the

  chair, relaxed, and this was infectious. He felt his bones

  soften and his breathing calm.

  ‘He is that.’

  ‘You’ll miss him, but you can always visit.’

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  Nick laughed. ‘Yes, if I win the lottery! And as I don’t

  even do the lottery the chances of that are pretty slim.’

  ‘Well, you’d have to find a way. He’s your best mate.’

  ‘I know.’ He drained his glass, liking the cool tang of

  the dry white against his tongue. ‘It’d be nice if you could

  fly off, wouldn’t it? Just for a trip, a few days, a change of scenery and then come home. It’d make anything bearable if you could escape.’

  ‘What, like a pilot with your own plane?’ She smiled.

  ‘I’m thinking more like a bird,’ he suggested, ‘one of

  them tropical birds who gets to sit on the branch of palm

  tree on a deserted beach, just sitting in the sun, thinking

  … and then if the fancy took me, I’d soar, high in the

  perfect blue sky where there wasn’t a whiff of a cloud

  and take in the view. Flying out over the sea, high above

  the chaos of t
he world and the noise and the chatter. I’d

  ride the warm current and swoop down to the crystal

  clear water for a spot of seafood for lunch and then back

  up as high as I could go with the warmth of the sun on

  my back. I think it would be the most amazing feeling

  to have wings that could take me wherever I wanted to

  go, whenever I wanted to go. Imagine, no discussion, no

  planning, no justification, all I’d need to do was look in

  the direction I wanted to head and take off, I wouldn’t

  even need to look back or say goodbye … freedom.’ He

  looked up, remembering that Beverly was sat on the other

  side of the sofa. He gave a short burst of self-conscious

  laughter. ‘Mind you, knowing my luck I’d wish to be a

  bird and end up as one of those wonky-legged pigeons

  that lives on the railway or worse, my mother-in-law’s

  budgerigar! Christ, imagine being trapped in that cage

  and having to listen to the visiting Diane drone on about

  what a disappointment I am each and every day, with

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  the telly blaring and Dora drying her tights in front of

  the fire while the cat licks his arse. That’d be my luck!’

  Beverly laughed loudly and her hair fell forward over

  her face as she struggled not to lose the wine that filled

  her cheeks.

  ‘You are funny, Nick.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ He shook his head. ‘I’ve forgotten

  how to be funny.’

  ‘No, you haven’t.’ She cupped the glass in her hand.

  ‘You’re just out of practice.’

  ‘I suppose I am. It’s hard to be funny or find anything

  funny when you have the weight of the world on your

  shoulders and you’re wading through quicksand. And

  that’s what the last year or so has felt like. Kerry’s last

  months were hard, the last the hardest of all.’

  There was a moment or two of uncomfortable silence.

  These were uncharted waters, discussing his wife with

  the woman he’d kissed. It felt both odd and yet necessary.

  ‘It must have been.’ She looked down and sat forward,

  the relaxed air all but gone. ‘But when you properly

  come out the other side, you will laugh more. And I’m

  no expert, but maybe as you haven’t been able to laugh

  and live freely without worry for so long, life might be

  sweeter. Not that you will ever get over the loss.’ She

  floundered as if, like him, she was wary of besmirching

  Kerry’s memory. It was the verbal equivalent of handling

  a hot coal, flinging the words and the sentiment from

  palm to palm, trying not to feel pain or cause pain and at

  a loss of how to safely lay them down to rest. He looked

  forward to a time when this anxiety would ease, not that

  he could or would say this out loud. He tried to remember

  the last time he had been able to laugh, properly laugh

  with Kerry, and it was difficult to picture.

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  ‘I hope so,’ he conceded. ‘I feel like I’ve been in a

  cage – her too, and not a cage she would have chosen,

  one fashioned from her illness.’

  ‘I guess her passing was … in some ways … a relief.

  Is that the right thing to say?’ She faltered and two spots

  of colour appeared on her cheeks.

  ‘I don’t know if it’s the right thing to say, but there’s

  truth in it.’

  Beverly toyed with the stem of her wineglass.

  There was a beat or two of silence.

  ‘I should probably think about heading off. It’s get-

  ting late for a school night.’ She spoke with certainty and

  shuffled forward on the cushion.

  ‘Well, that was a quick visit; there’s more left in the

  bottle.’ He pointed towards the kitchen.

  ‘Yes’ – she swallowed – ‘but I have an early start tomor-

  row and I don’t think Julian Siddley would thank me for

  falling asleep at my desk on account of too much wine.’

  ‘No, probably not.’

  ‘Thanks, Nick, for…’ She let this trail, embarrassment

  robbing them both of the pleasant goodbye the evening

  had promised. She jumped into action, placing the glass

  hard down on the tabletop and simultaneously grabbing

  her bag that lay on the floor by the sofa. Nick looked up

  a little dazed and realised that by mentioning his grief

  and his wife it whipped the possibility of romance from

  under them. Talking about Kerry placed her as firmly in

  the room as if she were sitting on the chair in the corner.

  He part skipped, part ran to the hallway and opened

  the front door, waiting like a security guard trying to

  usher the last of the customers out of the shop door at

  closing time, keen now to halt the rising embarrassment

  levels that threatened to drown them. Beverly grabbed

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  her jacket from the newel post and more or less barged

  past him, head down, looking at the gate at the end of

  the pathway as if planning her escape.

  ‘Cheers then, Nick.’

  She spoke quickly; in the brusque manner you might

  address a friend when in a hurry, and was gone.

  Nick sighed and looked at his reflection in the hall

  mirror. He looked tired. He was tired. He gathered the glasses from the coffee table and took them to the kitchen,

  where he rinsed them under the tap. He placed them up-

  side down on the draining board and stared out into the

  darkness of the garden. The house felt deathly quiet. He

  felt a little flat. The evening that had started with such

  promise had not ended remotely how he had envisaged.

  There was the distinct gnaw of dissatisfaction in his gut

  and he wished he could do a re-run, where he would

  steer the conversation into safer waters, or at the very

  least, try again to be funny.

  He heard the hammering on the front door. It sounded

  urgent and he dashed along the hallway, wiping his damp

  hands on his jeans as he went; his heart thudded at what

  might be the matter. Treacle stood a few paces behind

  him offering moral support but little else as she cowered

  by his leg, the most rubbish guard dog in the world.

  ‘Beverly!’ He immediately tried to think of what it

  was she might have forgotten. She looked a little harassed,

  her breath quickening, her face flushed. She pushed the

  door and came in, closing it behind her.

  ‘It can’t be like that!’ She stared at him.

  ‘What can’t? What?’ He was trying to keep up.

  She pulled her handbag close to her chest and spoke

  with conviction, her eyes bright. ‘It can’t be that if you

  mention Kerry in a certain way, I feel the need to scuttle

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  away like something scolded. She can’t be a no-go area

  for us verbally. That would be impossible and wrong.

  I’ve tried to initiate conversations about her to show you

  I’m fine, mature, open, but it’s actually a lot harder than

  I thought. But here it is, Nick: you were
married to her

  for a very long time and she is Oliver’s mum and this is

  her house.’

  ‘Yes.’ He swallowed. ‘Yes.’

  ‘And nothing we can do or say will change those facts,

  not that we would want to, not at all. We need to be able to talk about her, of course we do. And it’s my belief that

  if we want to explore this … this…’

  He helped her out. ‘Connection.’

  ‘Yes, thank you.’ She smiled. ‘This connection, then

  we need to be able to talk about the stuff that is awkward,

  the stuff that makes us think or embarrasses us, because

  that’s often the important stuff and it’s certainly the stuff that will help us move forward.’

  Nick stared at her, a little at a loss for words but in

  absolute agreement. He knew she was right, not that it

  made the thought of being so open any easier. Kerry and

  he had grown up together, open books, and yet despite

  their longevity the nature of her demise had meant they

  had become expert liars, the keepers of secrets too un-

  palatable to voice.

  ‘How are you feeling today, love?’

  ‘I feel good, fine, maybe a little better even…’ She had barely been able to lift her grey-skinned face from the pillow.

  ‘What did the doctor say to you, Nick?’

  ‘Oh, he said you’re doing really well. Really well and that maybe you might be able to come home for Christmas…’ He

  had addressed his fingernails, which he closely examined, unable to look her in the eye.

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  ‘Okay?’ Beverly asked, holding his gaze and taking a

  step closer to him.

  ‘Okay.’ He smiled and reached out, pulling her towards

  him. He kissed her on the mouth and she stood on tiptoe

  while they held each other in a brief, tight hug that fired

  bolts of joy right through him.

  ‘I know folk will say this is too soon, that I’m overstep-

  ping a mark making a move, whatever, but who makes

  those rules? How soon is too soon? The truth is, this has

  happened and I feel happy,’ she whispered into his hair.

  ‘I feel happy too,’ he admitted, burying the thought

  that this happiness came with a large side helping of guilt.

  ‘Right, glad we got that sorted. I really am leaving

  now.’ She hitched her bag onto her shoulder. ‘But how

  about I come over on Friday and bring another bottle

  and we can try this again?’

  ‘Yes. I’ll see you then.’

  ‘Well, actually I’ll see you tomorrow at work, Nick,