The Light in the Hallway (ARC)

by Amanda Prowse

  He found her directness refreshing and mature, despite

  her rather awkward, childlike stance.

  ‘I think the stock phrase is: I’m doing as well as can

  be expected.’

  She nodded. ‘My dad died when I was five. Olly and I

  have talked about it a lot. My dad was like way, way older

  than my mum, but it was still rubbish. I didn’t think he

  died; I thought he had become a Teletubby and lived in

  the Teletubby house and that was why he couldn’t come

  home. And when it came on television I used to sit with

  my nose pressed to the screen and my mum thought I

  loved the show; she used to buy me the character teddies

  and I even had curtains with them on.’ She giggled. ‘But

  it wasn’t that – I was looking for little clues that it was my dad inside the costumes. I couldn’t decide which one he

  was, but I think I settled on Dipsy.’

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  Nick stared at her and felt his mouth move as if form-

  ing a response, but the words failed him.

  Oliver laughed heartily. ‘She comes out with things

  like that all the time.’ He spoke as if the girl wasn’t standing in front of him, but his tone was one of affection, and

  in that instant Nick felt like a gooseberry.

  ‘Look, I’d better push off. It’s a long drive home.’ He

  smiled at the girl. ‘Nice to see you again, Tasha.’

  ‘Sames.’ She nodded and it took him a second to inter-

  pret her answer. ‘We have to get ready anyway; we have a

  fresher’s event tonight in the bar and we need costumes.

  I’m thinking we should go as cavemen and just scruff up

  our hair and put on sacks or something and get bones as

  accessories from the big bin at the back of the canteen.’

  ‘Is that right?’ Nick eyed his son who usually shied

  away from dressing up, ‘I thought you had a load of books

  to read; hadn’t you better make a start?’

  ‘The thing is, Dad, one night is not going to make

  any difference. I need to not get in a flap about it, put it

  in perspective, and tonight I think beer is more import-

  ant than reading.’

  Nick smiled at his boy and fished in his pocket for his

  car keys before making his way down the stairs and out

  into the cold afternoon air. He smiled up at the window

  as Oliver waved goodbye from his room with Tasha by

  his side.

  He was tired when he got home. Without the fear

  and adrenaline that fanned his journey there, the drive

  seemed to take twice as long. And the fact that he was

  sustained by no more than a cup of tea and three ginger-

  snap biscuits didn’t help.

  It had been a long and emotionally draining series of

  events and the evening had truly pulled its blind on the

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  day. He pulled the car up onto the drive in darkness and

  pictured climbing the stairs with the usual dilemma. He

  longed to fall onto the soft mattress and plant his face in

  the pillow, but at the same time felt the stab of loneliness

  when he considered her empty side of the bed. The house

  was eerily quiet and he flicked on the kitchen light before

  filling the kettle and looking at the dirty dishes from

  yesterday, and possibly the day before that, still stacked

  in the sink. He’d do them tomorrow.

  The front doorbell ringing took him by surprise. He

  opened it to find Diane, his sister-in-law, standing on the

  step with Treacle. He painted on a smile.

  ‘Di! Hello, Treacle.’ He unclipped her collar and

  watched her run inside.

  ‘I bumped into Eric earlier, who was out over The

  Rec with her.’ She pointed at the dog. ‘He said you’d had

  to go and see Olly? What was that all about? Is he okay?’

  He looked away from the crease of concern that sat at

  the top of her nose; the same one Kerry too had inherit-

  ed from their mum. Tonight any resemblance was more

  than he could stand.

  ‘Come in, Di.’

  She followed him into the kitchen and he had to

  remind himself to be welcoming and pleasant, wanting

  nothing less than visitors at this time of night when his

  mood was a little low. And the only thing he wanted

  less than company was the company of his sister-in-law.

  ‘Yes, I went down to see Olly, but he’s fine, went

  into a bit of a tailspin earlier, but I think he just needed

  reassurance. I’ve literally just got back. Thirty quid

  poorer after filling up, and knackered, but actually just

  glad he’s okay. He misses his mum – that’s what it boils

  down to.’

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  ‘Course he does. We all do.’ Diane looked down,

  not bothering to wipe her tears that fell. He understood;

  everything was still so raw, so painful.

  ‘Anyway…’ She sniffed. ‘I told Eric I’d take Treacle

  and here we are.’ She wiped her nose with a soggy bit of

  kitchen roll. She managed to make her act of kindness

  sound like a huge imposition, her undertone of martyr-

  dom ringing loud and clear.

  ‘Do you want a cup of tea, Di? I’m just making.’ He

  pointed at the kettle.

  She stared at him with narrowed eyes and bit her lip.

  ‘It’s funny, isn’t it? How many times have I sat in this

  kitchen, talking to my sister?’

  He blew out. ‘I don’t know, thousands.’ He imagined

  the laughter that used to explode from the kitchen, the

  two of them together – it used to make him smile and

  irritate him in equal measure, the interruption when he

  was trying to catch up on the news or watch football.

  ‘Yes, thousands, and I never once had a cup of tea. I

  don’t drink it, Nick, can’t stand the stuff. I don’t drink

  coffee either.’

  ‘Is that right?’ He stared at her, reminded in that second

  that Kerry was the conduit between him and her family,

  in fact between him and their friends. She was the glue,

  the one who remembered birthdays and anniversaries,

  the names of newborns, dates of christenings, who was

  dating who, whose marriage was on the rocks, who had

  a new job and where, how people had done in exams,

  who was wearing new glasses, had got their hair cut and

  who did or did not drink tea.

  ‘I said to Mum earlier, you must feel lost, Nick. I think

  it’s bad for us – I miss my sister…’ She paused to try to

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  control the catch in her throat. ‘I guess I sometimes forget

  that I’m not the only one hurting.’

  ‘I do feel lost.’ It was a rare admission. ‘Adrift. It’s

  like I’ve left the house and forgotten something but I

  can’t think what. Like I need to be somewhere but have

  no idea where. Anyway’ – he took a deep breath – ‘I’m

  rambling. Thanks for bringing Treacle home.’

  ‘Any time. You know where we are, Nick.’

  ‘I do. Thanks, Di.’ He nodded, keen to get her out of

  the door before his sadne
ss, urged on by fatigue, over-

  whelmed him. Diane patted Treacle and made her way

  along the hallway. He closed the front door and sank

  down onto the welcome mat on the exact same spot where

  Oliver had crumpled and he let his tears fall.

  ‘I don’t like being on my own! I miss having my fam-

  ily around me.’ He spoke through gritted teeth. ‘I don’t

  like it, Kerry.’

  1992

  The knocking on the front door was urgent. Nick quickly

  tied his trainer laces and finished the last bite of his toast and peanut butter, eaten illegally in his bed. His dad, the

  custodian of standards in the house, was already at work

  and his mum had given it to him with a wink. It made

  him love her more. Today was the day they had decided

  to go hunting for the things they needed to build Half

  Bike and had drawn up a list:

  saddle

  lights

  pump

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  wheels

  inner tube

  tyres

  water bottle holder

  water bottle

  stickers for frame

  Nick heard his mum’s sing-song greeting and the

  sound of feet thundering up the stairs. Alex pushed open

  the bedroom door, his face red, his tone a little panicked,

  as he began gabbling.

  ‘He’s not at home! I can’t find him! His dad opened

  the door when I knocked and he looked really mad and

  he was a bit smelly, and he said if I see him then I had to

  tell him to go straight back. I didn’t know what to do,

  so I came straight here!’ He sat on the bed, a little out of

  puff. It was obvious he was talking about Eric as he was

  the only one missing.

  ‘What do you mean you can’t find him?’ Nick had

  to admit it was a curious state of affairs that Eric was

  not around. Eric was always ready to leave his house of

  a morning or was knocking for Alex, if not already on

  Nick’s doorstep bright and early.

  ‘I mean’ – Alex gulped – ‘his dad said he didn’t know

  where he was and I thought he might be here, but your

  mum said he’s not.’

  Nick considered this.

  ‘Do you think he’s in trouble?’

  Alex nodded vigorously. ‘I do. I think something has

  happened with his dad, maybe he told him off and that

  was why he looked so mad.’

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  Nick nodded; this sounded plausible.

  ‘We should go and look for him,’ he decided. ‘We’re

  out looking for bike bits anyway; we can look for him

  and the stuff we need at the same time.’

  The boys headed down the stairs. ‘Mum?’ Nick called.

  ‘We’re going to look for bike stuff and Eric.’ It didn’t occur to either boy that a water bottle and discarded saddle might

  not be lurking in the same spot as their missing friend.

  ‘Okay, lads, you know the rules, stay together and come

  back when you’re hungry.’ She smiled, clearly without

  sharing their concern for their missing mate.

  Nick ran down the path and past his sister, who had

  set up a deckchair in the front garden and now sat with

  a copy of Look-In open and lifted to her chest.

  ‘Where you off to, dweebs?’ she asked casually.

  ‘We’ve lost Eric,’ Alex explained over his shoulder as

  they trotted along the pavement.

  ‘Lost him how?’ Jen sat forward in the chair and her

  magazine fell to the floor.

  ‘He’s gone missing.’

  ‘Do you want me to come and help you find him?

  I could … I could maybe join your gang for one day?’

  Alex laughed and Nick shook his head. ‘As if!’

  ‘Well, good.’ Jen sat back and reached for her magazine.

  ‘I wouldn’t want to join anyway! You’re idiots!’

  ‘Your sister scares me,’ Alex whispered as they headed

  towards The Rec. The boys could see after scanning the

  place that Eric was not here, or if he was he was hidden.

  They combed the sloping field, looking behind trees and

  using thick sticks to thresh the long, weed-riddled grass

  that grew on the east side and where dogs liked to pee

  but found nothing – nothing vaguely bike related that

  might have been of use and no Eric Pickard.

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  ‘Where next?’ Alex asked, a little jumpy at the fact

  that they had been searching for their friend for a whole

  thirty minutes, but had found nothing.

  ‘How about Market Square?’

  ‘Okay!’

  The boys ran as the sun began to climb on the bright

  summer’s day, and arrived in the cobbled square with

  fringes damp from sweat stuck to their foreheads. Three

  older boys from school sat on the bench and looked at

  them challengingly, Nick looked away sharply; he knew

  the rules. He and Alex were about five years away from

  being able to sprawl like that on the coveted bench un-

  challenged. He ran his fingers over the comforting outline

  of the multi tool in his pocket.

  A cursory glance in shop doorways and at the tables

  and chairs in front of the pub told them this was not

  where they would find their friend.

  ‘Maybe he’s been taken by aliens,’ Alex whispered.

  Nick stared at him. ‘Yes, that’s probably it. Or we could

  go and look up at the Old Dairy Shed?’ He suggested the

  only other place the three ever went.

  ‘Yes!’ Alex clicked his fingers as if his friend were a

  genius.

  Surprisingly, the place was a lot scarier during the

  day. Partly down to the lack of snoggers, which made

  the space seem echoey and vast, and also because without

  the darkness to mask its many imperfections the true

  state of its dilapidation was revealed. The windows that

  weren’t smashed were covered in a dull, green slimy moss

  and the rafters were covered in pigeon shit. One or two

  of the birds still roosted there, sitting with chests pushed

  out and watching as he and Alex crept over rubbish and

  planks of wood, the remnants of rusted machinery and

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  most intriguingly an old fridge freezer which looked to

  have been dumped there.

  ‘This place is scary,’ Alex said softly.

  ‘More or less than my sister?’

  Alex considered this. ‘About the same.’

  It was unmistakable and heart-thumpingly alarming

  all at the same time, the sound that suddenly floated from

  behind one of the girders: crying. And not the sweet

  burble of girls’ tears or the kind of crying you heard on

  the telly, but loud, breathless sobs, as if the person couldn’t stop even if they wanted to.

  Alex took a step behind Nick and the two walked

  slowly forward in this pantomime horse manner.

  ‘Eric?’ Nick called out.

  ‘Go away!’ his friend screamed.

  The two did the opposite and ran towards the voice.

  And there they found him. Nick looked down at his mate,

  who sat on the concrete floor with his knees raise
d and

  his arms folded on them. His head was bowed onto his

  forearms and his narrow shoulders shook.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Alex asked gently.

  ‘Nowt!’ Eric roared, looking up briefly to reveal eyes

  that were bloodshot, a runny nose and two dirty tracks

  down his cheeks where tears had carved a sad path over

  his skin.

  The three often found each other’s distress comical –

  when Alex accidentally pinched the skin of his thumb

  between two links on the bike chain, he and Eric had

  watched, waiting for the tears that they could then mock.

  It was just what they did. But not this time. Eric’s hurt

  went way beyond pinched skin.

  Nick sat down on the floor and Alex followed suit and

  there they sat in silence while their mate sobbed. Nick

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  thought about when he cried and his mum put her arms

  around him. It made everything feel a little bit better,

  but there was no way he could hug Eric! An idea came to

  him. Instead of a full-scale hug that would only embarrass

  them both, he extended his index finger and the one next

  to it and pressed his fingers onto his friend’s leg. Contact

  that he hoped might just take the edge from his distress

  in the way that his mum’s hug did for him. Alex copied;

  extending his two fingers he pushed them on Eric’s other

  leg, and strangely it seemed to work. Eventually, with a

  hiccup to his breathing, Eric extended the two fingers

  of both hands and laid them on top of his mates’. They

  were joined and calmed, the three of them, by this odd

  and well-meant salute.

  Eric took a deep breath and wiped his teary lashes with

  the back of his hand. ‘My dad came home from billiards

  and had a fight with Dave The Milk.’

  ‘A proper fight?’ Alex was clearly both intrigued and

  excited by the prospect.

  Eric nodded. ‘I was in my bedroom and my mum had

  told me to stay there and I was setting up Domino Run

  when I heard them all shouting. It sounded like something

  on the telly.’ He swallowed. ‘I sat at the top of the stairs

  and my dad and Dave The Milk were thumping each

  other. They came out into the hallway and I saw my dad

  punch him in the mouth and blood flicked up the wall.

  And my mum came out of the front room in her dressing

  gown and my dad pushed her back in and then…’ His

  tears came again. ‘And then my dad chucked Dave The