The Light in the Hallway (ARC)
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The Light in the Hallway
It’s what we always said, Nick; we’ll raise him right and let him fly…
‘Aye, we did. But I didn’t think it would be this hard
to watch him go.’ He swallowed. ‘I miss you too. So
much.’ He cursed the tears that gathered.
You’re doing great, love. It’ll get easier. You’ll see…
* * *
Darkness had begun to bite on the day as Nick pulled up the
steep driveway. His mum must have dropped Treacle off, as
he heard her barking at the sound of the car arriving home.
He put the key in the lock and was in truth glad of
the dog’s welcome; walking into the echoing silence
might have been more than he could cope with today.
He put the kettle on and let Treacle out into the small
back garden for a run. He watched the steam rise from
the kettle and plopped a teabag into his mug, looking
forward to the restorative brew. The front doorbell rang.
Nick sighed, feeling an instant flush of guilt at the dread
he felt. The prospect of having to entertain his mum or
Kerry’s mum, Dora, regaling them with each and every
detail of Oliver’s arrival at Uni was not something he
wanted to do, not tonight, when tiredness left him feel-
ing a little frayed and now missing Kerry too so much.
He wanted nothing more than to be left alone to mourn.
He flicked on the hallway light and opened the front
door.
‘Oh!’ He took a step back, surprised to see Beverly
from work on the doorstep. Odd to see her out of con-
text and in casual gear.
‘All right?’ She pushed her hands into the pocket of
her jeans.
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Amanda Prowse
He nodded.
‘We’re going to the pub’ – she nodded in the direc-
tion of the Blue Anchor – ‘a few of us from work, and
thought you might fancy a pint?’
‘Oh!’ he uttered for the second time in as many sec-
onds. This was unexpected. He and Kerry had not been
the ‘going to the pub’ type and he couldn’t remember
the last time he had done anything social.
‘You coming then?’ Beverly pointed down the lane
and took a step backward along the path.
Nick pictured his teabag in its mug on the countertop.
‘D’you know I think I’ll give it a miss tonight, but thanks
for asking, Bev.’
‘Next time then,’ she said casually, turning and walk-
ing back out into the darkness.
‘Yep, cheers.’
He settled Treacle into her basket and climbed the
stairs with his mug, letting his eyes run over the neatly
made bed, the floral bed linen chosen by his wife, and
again he hoped Oliver was warm enough, comfortable
enough, or failing this, having too good a time to care
about the discomfort of a single duvet. He again pictured
Tasha with her large specs and goofy smile.
Beverly’s knock on the door had unnerved him a little.
He was grateful of course for everyone’s concern, but at
the same time felt her arrival to be a slight invasion of his privacy. He couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t
known Beverly, but there was a big difference between
knowing her to chat to at work and going as part of her
gang to the pub, one thing to receive her condolences
across the warehouse floor as she passed through with a
clipboard, but quite another to have her turn up at his
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The Light in the Hallway
home. She and Kerry had been a year apart at school and
whilst not mates, they were acquaintances.
With his tea drunk and teeth cleaned, Nick undressed
and bundled his clothes into the wicker laundry basket by
the door. He wondered why she had thought to ask him.
The last thing he wanted was an invite to the pub out of
pity. He wondered if his mum or Dora had put her up
to it, or maybe his sister, Jen. They were friends. It was
his last thought before falling asleep, it had been quite a
day. He flung his arm over Kerry’s pillow, as he had done
every night since she had gone in to St Vincent’s, and it
helped a little, the feel of something beneath his arm. A
poor substitution, of course, and the vague scent of her
that had lingered on the cotton was now sadly gone.
‘Night, night, love,’ he whispered.
Night, night, my love, sweet dreams…
1992
The boys had fallen into a routine more rigorous, time
consuming and exhausting than school, but none of them
seemed to notice that. And apart from Alex’s one week
in a caravan in Blackpool with his nan and grandad, the
three had no plans that might get in the way of their
project. They saw the six-week summer holiday stretch
out in front of them like an eternity. Eric, always up
first and seemingly keen to be out of the house, would
call for Alex en route and the two would arrive bright
and early at Nick’s house, rain or shine. In shorts and t-
shirts, the boys paid no heed to the weather but dressed
for the date, and August was certainly the month for
shorts. Nick’s mum would make Eric a breakfast of egg
on toast, which he would wolf down. His dad would
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Amanda Prowse
shake his head. ‘Slow down, lad! No one’s going to take
it away from you.’
Nick was getting dressed in his bedroom when he
heard the boys thunder up the stairs.
‘Nick!’ Alex called with urgency.
He slipped his ‘Batman Returns’ t-shirt over his head
and stared at the door as his friends burst in.
‘Look!’ Eric beamed as he lifted the beautiful Y-shaped
object in his hands. ‘Handlebars!’ he screeched. ‘And not
just any handlebars, really wide ones!’
The three jumped up and down on the floor until his
mum yelled up the stairs, ‘For the love of God, stop the
jumping! Sounds like you’re coming through the ceiling!’
The boys stopped jumping and each held a piece of
the unwieldy metal tube, staring at it as if it were the
gift of gold.
‘Wow!’ Alex spoke for them all.
‘Where d’you get it?’ Nick couldn’t believe that this
glorious bit of kit had fallen into their grasp. They had
spent the best part of the last week, after careful instruc-
tion from his dad, rubbing off the old and knackered paint
from the frame with wet and dry paper and painting it
with primer, ready for a new coat of paint, the colour of
which they were yet to decide on and over which there
was much debate. Then they had carefully taken the chain
apart and cleaned and oiled each link, delicately putting
it back together. A fiddly job, especially with slippery
fingers and an overwillingness to use the tool that actu-
ally made the job a lot harder, but that didn’t matter, not
when to hold it in their hands and do man’s stuff felt so brilliant! They had made a good job of working on the
bits they had, but they knew the time was drawing close
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The Light in the Hallway
Nick felt more than a little nervous. Working on the half
a bike in the garage within reach of a cold glass of squash
and the biscuit barrel was one thing, but to go hunting
all over Burston for specific parts without a bean in their
pockets felt like quite another.
‘Dave The Milk got it for me!’ Eric admired the
handlebars with a look of self-congratulation. ‘And I
thought it was only milk he delivered,’ he quipped.
‘Where did he get it?’ Alex shared Nick’s curiosity.
Eric shrugged. ‘Don’t know. I told him we were
building Half Bike’ – he unwittingly and officially named
their creation – ‘and said we needed bits and he pitched
up last night with these in his hand. Aren’t they brilliant?’
‘They are!’ Nick confirmed.
‘Is your mum still doing her job with him?’ Alex
wondered.
‘Yep.’
‘How do we fit them on?’ Alex stared at the rather
sharp ends.
‘We use the tool and figure it out.’ Nick grabbed his
trusty leather case from the bedside table.
‘Nick, do you think, erm,’ Alex hesitated. ‘Do you
think … I mean … Could I…’
‘Spit it out, Wendy!’ Eric shouted. They didn’t know
why, but Eric often gave them both random girls’ names
and if you weren’t on the receiving end of such a moniker,
there was nothing funnier.
Nick giggled.
Alex continued unabashed. ‘Can I take the multi tool
home one night? I promise I’d look after it and I’d bring
it straight back in the morning.’
Nick shook his head and put the gadget in his pocket.
‘No, Alex,’ he said firmly. ‘It’s too valuable to let out
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Amanda Prowse
of the house. It used to be my dad’s and it’s got its own
leather case.’ He stressed this important factor. Not that
he didn’t understand Alex’s desire, because to have this
thing in his own possession was empowering and gave
him confidence. Nick often fell asleep thinking of how
he might tackle an intruder; with the multi tool in his
hand, he would jump from the bed, lunging the little
pronged end at the baddy’s throat – not dissimilar to a
Batman move – and just knowing this little weapon was
within reach meant he slept soundly.
In the garage, Nick and Alex straddled the frame and
held it firmly in place, with muscles flexing unnecessarily
and sweat forming on their smooth top lips. Eric stood
with the handlebars raised and with his tongue poking
out of the side of his mouth, manoeuvred the longest pole
until it was lined up with the corresponding opening at
the top front of the frame. He pushed until they heard a
satisfying thunk.
‘It fits!’ Eric yelled taking a step back to admire his
handiwork.
Alex rested his end of the frame on the floor and ran
to the front of the bike, where he dropped to his knees
and with the multi tool in his hand and at the ready, used
it to tighten the bolt at the top of the bars that sat snugly inside the frame.
Eric sat forward in the spot where the saddle would
live and gripped the bullhorn handlebars.
‘This feels great! When I grow up I’m going to get
a Harley Davidson and ride all the way across America!
And I’ll stop every time I see a hot dog shop and get a
hot dog with onions and mustard and ketchup then I’ll
have an ice cream and set off again.’
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The Light in the Hallway
Alex shoved him to one side and took up the same
position. ‘When I grow up, I’m going to get a Harley
Davidson and ride around Market Square really loudly!’
Nick laughed. ‘Well, I don’t want a Harley Davidson.’
‘Why not, Shirley?’ Eric interrupted, and it was Alex’s
turn to giggle.
Nick looked at his dad’s tools all neatly tacked to the
shadow board on the garage wall behind his workbench
and drawn around with a marker pen so he always knew
exactly where to put it after use.
‘I want to get a nice car and drive to work in an of-
fice, and I want to have a ham and cheese sandwich for
my lunch and live in a big house, and I want to press a
button on my desk and someone will bring me an orange
Fanta whenever I want one.’
‘Well, my dad says if you want to work in an office
you have to go to college or university,’ Alex added.
‘I think I might go to university,’ Nick said softly,
surprised that there was not more ribbing.
‘Is there a university near here?’ Eric asked, his voice
a little raspy.
‘There’s one in York. Jen’s ballet teacher went there,’
Nick said with authority.
‘You could go to university,’ Alex said. ‘You’re clever,
Nick.’
‘I’m as clever as Nick!’ Eric yelled.
‘It was Nick that got the frame for Half Bike and he’s
the one with the multi tool,’ Alex pointed out.
‘That doesn’t make him clever!’ Eric spat. ‘It makes
him lucky.’
Nick stared at his friend, who looked like he might
cry, and he didn’t know what to do.
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Amanda Prowse
‘What would you learn at university, Nick?’ Alex
eased the moment with his question.
Nick shrugged. He hadn’t thought that far ahead.
‘He’d do ballet like Jen’s teacher, wouldn’t you, Shirley?’
Nick laughed – they all did.
And just like that, Eric wiped at his eyes and was back
in the room.
56
CHAPTER THREE
‘Can you say it again, Olly?’
Wearing his high-vis orange vest over his company
polo shirt, Nick stood in the middle of the yard surrounded
by pallets of sealed, taped boxes waiting to be loaded onto
the trucks. He shoved his finger into his free ear to try
to dampen the noise coming from the packing floor and
beyond. The whir and beep of forklift trucks, the drone
of the packing machine, the ringing of bells and timers,
the rumble of the conveyor belt and the chitter chatter of
the workforce, interspersed with their raucous laughter,
made it hard for him to hear what his son was saying.
‘Olly, say that again? I didn’t quite hear you!’ He
walked briskly to the wire perimeter fence and faced
the white metal wall of the warehouse opposite, an ugly
structure Aubrey Siddley had put up in the nineteen
nineties, blocking the once beautiful sight of the wide
sweep of the moors that had been his father’s view when
he was a packer at Siddley’s.
‘I said I want to come home! I hate it here, Dad. I
don’t want to go to university. I’ve changed my mind. I
don’t like it! I’m not staying here. I don’t want to do it.
You said to just call you if I wanted to come home and<
br />
so I am.’
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Amanda Prowse
‘Okay, okay, son. Just take a deep breath.’ Nick closed
his eyes and placed his hand on his brow, trying to think
of the right thing to say, the right thing to do. It wasn’t
as if it was a call from nursery to say he had a slight
temperature and Kerry could pack up at the café early
and go fetch him home; this was grown-up stuff. Nick
had read with a sense of alarm articles on teenage kids
at university committing suicide. Peter, the counsellor
at the hospice, had warned him that depression was not
uncommon among families, especially youngsters, who
had to deal with losing a parent, and even more so if the
loss was preceded by a prolonged illness, often with the
full effects being felt after the parent had passed away.
All these thoughts now raced around his head. And they
scared him.
‘What’s happened? You sounded happy the last time
we spoke.’
‘I don’t know! Nothing’s happened, nothing I want
to talk about over the phone. I just don’t want to be here,
Dad, I really don’t. I want to come home!’
He was aware of the swell of panic in his son’s voice,
matched by a hike in his own heart rate. He heard Kerry’s
words in his head: Actual y, Nick, this might be grown-up stuff, but it real y is just as straightforward as a call from nursery – whether three or eighteen, you need to pack up and go fetch him home…
He took stock and mentally planned the conversation
he would have to have with Julian Siddley, explaining
why he needed to abandon his shift and hotfoot it down
to Birmingham, whilst also wondering if he had enough
fuel to make the trip.
‘Just calm down, Olly. Take deep breaths. It’s okay.
I’m on my way. I’ll be with you in a few hours, as quick
as I can and we can talk it through—’
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The Light in the Hallway
‘I don’t need to talk it through, Dad! I just want to
come home. I’m not staying here. Please just come and
get me or I can jump on a coach and we can come back
and pick up my stuff later?’
‘No, don’t do that.’ Nick knew he had made a promise
and also figured that if his son was quitting it’d be better to make one trip and shove all of his belongings into the back
of the car. ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can. Just sit tight, okay?’
‘Okay. Thank you, Dad.’
Oliver sounded a little calmer now and so young. To