The Light in the Hallway (ARC) Read online

  ‘Well, that’s the beauty of it, son.’ His dad walked over

  to the offending frame and ran his hand over its pitted

  surface. ‘Not only is it the bike you have been nagging

  us about, but it’s also a project. And it’s good to have a

  project in the summer holidays. You and those two vaga-

  bond mates of yours are going to have to use your wits,

  find the bits you need to finish the job and build a bike.’

  ‘I don’t think we know how to build a bike,’ he whis-

  pered, picturing Eric, who had the patience of a gnat and

  the dexterity of an elephant. Plus, they had no money

  to buy the bits they needed, even if they did have the

  knowledge.

  ‘You will never know what you’re capable of until

  you try, lad. The trying is good for you and the rewards

  great if you take the chance. But mark my words: by the

  end of the summer, Nicky, lad, you will have a bike. You

  will succeed, if you want it badly enough.’

  He watched as his dad reached into his back pocket

  and pulled out a small brown leather case.

  ‘What’s that?’ This object lying in his dad’s palm, with

  a sturdy zip, containing something precious enough to

  be cased in leather – a grown-up thing! Now, this had his interest, going a long way to ease his disappointment.

  His dad drew a slow breath and took his time in hand-

  ing over the case, as if a little reluctant to part with it.

  ‘In this little pouch is everything you need to build

  and maintain a bike.’ He nodded, and again came the hair

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  ruffle, which Nick gratefully received, tilting his head a

  little like a happy dog whose owner has found just the spot.

  Nick licked the blob of ketchup from the side of his

  thumb and carefully undid the zip. Inside the case was a

  steel tool, rectangular in shape, but with hexagonal holes

  cut out of it at various points, a U shaped indent and a

  sticky-out key shape with two mini prongs on the end.

  His dad leant close and blocked out the light. Nick

  could smell his workingman’s smell of sweat, the glue they

  used up at Siddley’s and a scent he didn’t yet recognise.

  It was the faint tang of fear that hung over the man in

  a cloud, common to all who worked for the wage that

  helped them ride the wave from one month to the next,

  but were fully aware that one dry spell, one bump in the

  road and the whole family would sink. It was the smell

  of a man trapped on the hamster wheel of life.

  ‘My dad gave this to me. It’s a Raleigh multi tool or

  multi spanner and it has seen some use, I can tell you.’

  He smiled as if recounting some of the use it might have

  had, and judging by the smile on his face Nick guessed

  they were good memories.

  ‘What y’doing’?’ his sister Jen hung out of the back

  door and shouted.

  ‘Nothing for you to stick your beak into, lass,’ his dad

  responded, and Nick liked the way his comment isolated

  his sister. This was between him and his dad.

  ‘Good, because I couldn’t care less anyway!’ Jen shout-

  ed, but the quiver to her bottom lip and her shrill tone

  suggested otherwise.

  ‘It’s man’s stuff.’ His dad chuckled and Nick smiled.

  He felt invincible and excited.

  ‘Yeah, man’s stuff,’ he echoed over his shoulder.

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  ‘Shut up, you dweeb!’ Jen yelled before running back

  inside.

  Nick turned his attention back to the spanner; not

  even his sister’s jibe could dampen his joy.

  His dad pointed at the tool. ‘These holes fit over the

  nuts and bolts to loosen and tighten them, and the big

  scoop is for removing pedals. The little prongs will tighten

  and loosen the brakes. You take good care of it,’ he added

  sternly, his tone enough for Nick to feel the full weight

  of responsibility as custodian of the tool. Man’s stuff … It went some way towards lessening the completely gutting

  dissatisfaction he felt at being given half a bike.

  ‘I will, Dad.’ He nodded at the big man. ‘I will.’

  With fish fingers no longer on his mind, Nick ran to

  Eric’s house and the two of them went to call on Alex.

  ‘What’s up?’ Alex asked as he slipped from the front

  door, stopping on the path to shove his index finger into

  the back of his trodden-down sneakers and pull them

  up his heel.

  ‘Wait and see.’ Nick built the tension.

  ‘Do you know, Eric?’ Alex was intrigued, as the three made their way back to Nick’s parents’ garage.

  ‘Nope.’ Eric frowned as he dragged a stick along the

  wall. ‘He won’t tell me what the big secret is.’ He shook

  his head, but with a spring in his step that suggested he

  too was excited.

  ‘You’ll see in a minute.’ Nick liked this powerful

  position in which he found himself, especially having

  the little leather case nestling in his pocket.

  ‘You’re not the only one with a secret,’ Eric piped up.

  ‘What’s your secret then?’ Alex asked.

  Eric looked up and down the road and without the

  need for further coaxing, confident that he was not being

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  overheard, he beckoned his mates closer. ‘My mum has

  got a secret new job.’ He beamed.

  ‘Is she a spy?’ Alex asked, wide eyed.

  Nick didn’t know much about spying, but even he

  thought it might be a stretch for Mrs Pickard to go from

  working shifts in the care home in Thirsk where she

  looked after old people who were really old, like forty,

  to spying.

  ‘No,’ Eric laughed, ‘not a spy, but a secret job that I

  can’t tell my dad about.’

  ‘What kind of secret job?’ Nick was curious.

  ‘A job with Dave The Milk.’

  The boys all knew the local milkman, Dave.

  ‘Why’s it a secret?’ Alex asked the question for them both.

  ‘Because it’s a surprise – she’s earning extra and I

  mustn’t spoil it,’ Eric explained, ‘but Dave The Milk comes

  over on a Thursday night while my dad is at Billiards and

  I’m not allowed in the house.’

  ‘In case you see their secret work?’ Alex asked.

  ‘Yep.’ Eric nodded, still dragging the stick over each

  and every surface. ‘I bet she’s saving up to get my dad a

  stereo for his car; he’s always banging on about one and

  I think that’s the secret.’

  ‘What are you supposed to do when they are work-

  ing?’ Nick couldn’t imagine being barred from his home

  for any period of time, especially of an evening when in

  the winter it would be dark and cold; he swallowed the

  fear this conjured.

  Eric shrugged. ‘Don’t know. Go up The Rec, come

  to yours…’

  Nick nodded, as if both of these sounded reasonable.

  With the Bairstows’ garage in sight, the three boys

  broke into a run, as if the anticipation were more than

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  they could stand. They let themselves in via the side door

  and immediately switched on the lamp on the workbench

  and sat on the green canvas camping stools his dad had

  given them to use on the condition they did not leave

  the garage.

  ‘Okay,’ Nick began, as his two friends stared at him.

  Carefully he reached into his pocket and pulled out the

  leather case.

  ‘What’s that?’ Eric, impatient as ever, leant in.

  ‘Is it a nail scissor set?’ Alex guessed.

  ‘He’d better not have dragged me all the way over

  here for a chuffin’ nail scissor set!’ Eric scoffed.

  Nick and Alex laughed, not only at his anger, but the

  fact that they knew there was nowhere else Eric needed

  to be and that he would tramp all the way over for a lot

  less than that.

  ‘It’s a Raleigh multi tool, also called a multi spanner.’

  He liked demonstrating his knowledge.

  ‘Can I hold it?’

  Nick nodded and passed it to Alex, who wiggled his

  fingers inside the little holes and turned it gently over in

  his palm.

  ‘What’s it for?’ Eric asked, while balling up a sheet of

  newspaper and trying to throw it up over the steel beam

  that ran the length of the garage.

  ‘It’s the tool for our project.’

  ‘What project?’ Eric sneered; Nick had made it sound

  dangerously like work, and the summer holidays were

  for anything but.

  Nick stood and marched them to the garden, confident

  his friends would follow.

  ‘This!’ He pointed at the frame still propped against

  the shed.

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  ‘Where’s the rest of it?’ Eric asked with typical candour.

  ‘That’s the best bit.’ Nick drew on enthusiasm he was

  starting to feel. ‘We have to finish it, build it, and then

  we get a bike!’

  Alex ran his hand over the frame and nodded, as if he

  knew what he was looking for and approved.

  ‘We need to find the parts and the bits we need and

  then figure out how to fix it all together.’ Nick hoped he

  made the task sound less Herculean than it felt.

  ‘So hang on a minute.’ Eric wiped his nose with his

  fingers. ‘We find all the bits and parts and we build it

  together…’

  ‘Yes.’ Nick confirmed.

  ‘So who will own the bike at the end of it?’

  Nick pondered this.

  ‘We could all own a piece of it,’ Alex suggested, fair-

  minded as ever.

  ‘Well, it’s my frame, technically, and I’ve got the tool.’

  He banged it against his palm. ‘Plus we’ll be doing it in

  my garage, so I think I should have half and you can each

  have half of a half.’ His maths wasn’t that great.

  ‘So a half of a half each for us and whole half for

  you?’ Alex clarified. Nick nodded; it didn’t occur to any

  of them at that point that only one person could ride the

  bike and so technically they would each have one hundred percent of the bike when they were on it.

  ‘Let’s shake on it,’ Eric suggested, and the three put

  their grubby hands into the middle and clasped what they

  could, heaving up and down with force.

  ‘Anyone want a cookie and some juice?’ his mum

  called from the kitchen window.

  Eric ran inside quicker than Nick could suggest they

  should name their bike-building gang…

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  Alex looped his fingers under one of the brake wires

  and joggled it back and forth, shaking his head. ‘That

  bike tool is really cool.’

  ‘It is, isn’t it?’ Nick turned the coveted object over

  in his palm.

  ‘I don’t want to put anyone off, but it might be harder

  than we think to build a bike. I tried to build an Airfix kit my Auntie Natalie got me for my birthday, but I couldn’t

  finish it. It’s still in the box under my bed.’

  ‘The way I see it’ – Nick drew breath – ‘we will never

  know what we are capable of until we try. The trying

  will be good for us and the rewards great … At the end

  of it we’ll get a bike!’

  Alex stared up at him. ‘You sound like your dad.’

  Nick smiled, unsure as to whether he was pleased or

  offended.

  ‘You ladies comin’ in for snacks or what?’ Eric yelled

  through the back door with a mouthful of custard cream.

  36

  CHAPTER TWO

  Nick manoeuvred into the spot in the car park, pulled

  on the handbrake and took a deep breath.

  ‘Flippin’ ’eck, I thought the whole idea of living in

  halls of residence is that everything is provided for you.’

  He looked up through the windscreen at the vast blue-

  and-yellow Ikea warehouse and felt the ball of dread in

  his stomach. Shopping was his least favourite activity. He

  always found his attention wandering and a mild sense of

  claustrophobia setting in after a few minutes. And whilst

  a quick scoot around B&Q with knowledge of exactly

  what he needed was just about bearable, shopping for soft

  furnishings and homeware was his most dreaded thing.

  ‘I don’t know what we need from here.’

  ‘Dad.’ Oliver sounded a little exasperated and a lot

  more like the adult out of the two. ‘It said online that in

  my room there will be a bed and a desk and a chair and

  a noticeboard, that’s it. I need to get a duvet and pillows,

  duvet cover, wall stuff, fairy lights.’

  ‘Wall stuff? Fairy lights? What on earth?’

  ‘Dad! Everyone has fairy lights in their room. It’s a

  thing.’

  ‘It’s not a thing in Burston. Crikey, when I was a lad

  people thought you were posh if you bothered with a

  lampshade on the big light.’ He laughed. ‘And besides, can

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  you imagine what Eric and the like would say if they knew

  you were buying lights from Ikea! They’d say “What’s

  wrong with Siddley lights? Are we not good enough for

  you now you’ve got a place at a fancy university?”’ He

  smiled at the half-truth.

  ‘Okay, can I just say, don’t start any conversation with

  anyone you meet at Uni with the words, “when I was a

  lad” or “flippin’ ’eck!”’

  ‘Olly, you haven’t even finished your degree and you’re

  already ashamed of me. This must be the great social div-

  ide everyone speaks about.’

  ‘That’s right. And I am ashamed of you. I don’t want

  Siddley lights; I want Ikea lights, and while we are on

  the subject, don’t try to make a joke with anyone. Your

  jokes aren’t funny, which makes them more like weird

  statements.’ Oliver jumped from the passenger seat and

  shut the door, laughing.

  ‘My jokes are funny,’ Nick huffed.

  ‘They’re not, Dad. It’s just that no one has the heart

  to tell you.’

  ‘Well, you’re certainly all heart today, son.’

  Nick followed him. This was a g
ood day. Not one he

  had been looking forward to. Dropping his only child

  in a city he had never visited was a fearful prospect, but

  packing up the car to leave that morning, chatting en

  route, stopping at the service station for a gargantuan

  breakfast and even here, in this soulless car park, as their

  light-hearted jibes flew back and forth, it felt as if a weight had been lifted, distracted as they were from the business

  of grief by this momentous day.

  Oliver grabbed a trolley and Nick felt an uncomfort-

  able shiver at just how much money might be spent. They

  had only been financially straight for a year or so, and since 38

  The Light in the Hallway

  Kerry had been ill he had worked his set hours and no more,

  which meant no bonus and no spare cash. Not that he would

  have changed a thing; spending as much time as possible

  with her had of course been his priority, and neither did he

  want to restrict his son in any way or put a dampener on

  this day, but all that aside, with money tight, it was always at the forefront of his mind. His five-hundred-pound nest

  egg was more quail sized than ostrich. They wandered into

  the store and found themselves in the ‘marketplace’.

  ‘What on earth are these?’ Nick picked up the flat

  square rubber trays that were stacked in a myriad of co-

  lours, running his fingers over the jigsaw-shaped indents.

  ‘They are novelty ice-cube makers.’ Oliver held his

  gaze, clearly waiting for the retort.

  ‘Of course they are. Who buys this stuff?’ Nick could

  see no sense in spending good money just to have your ice

  in the shape of a jigsaw piece or a ball, and who bothered

  with ice anyway?

  ‘Everyone apart from us, Dad, that’s who.’

  Nick laughed heartily. ‘Now that’s funny. I remember

  you coming home from school and telling me you needed

  a BMX because everyone had one apart from you, but you

  were seven. I thought you might have grown up enough

  to think of a more convincing argument.’

  ‘It was true, everyone had a BMX apart from me!’

  ‘Everyone?’ Nick raised his eyebrows.

  ‘Well, all of my mates and so it felt like everyone.’

  ‘When I was not much older than seven, my dad—’

  ‘I know. I know.’ Oliver raised his palm. ‘He made you

  build a bike and it taught you a lesson, blah-di-blah-di-blah!

  I really don’t need to hear the bike story again, but while

  we are on the subject, everyone did have a BMX apart

  from me.’