see why you’re drinking on a Saturday afternoon.’
‘Yep.’ He took a sip.
‘So when’s your boy coming back?’
‘Olly.’
‘Yes, I knew that, Olly,’ she repeated.
‘Tomorrow at some point. I’m looking forward to hav-
ing him home. The house has been quiet without him.’
‘I know what that feels like.’ She looked at the floor
and he tried to imagine not having any family around
and wondered if she ever saw or spoke to the mum who
had done a runner.
‘I’m looking forward to it, but also a bit nervous.’ He
found it easy to talk to Beverly, unafraid of being judged.
‘Nervous how?’
He took his time in forming a response. ‘It’s the strang-
est thing; I never thought I’d feel anxious about him
coming home, but I do. And I suppose…’
‘You suppose what?’
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‘I wonder if he has left me behind, even a little bit.
Or worse: I wonder if I might embarrass him in some
way. I think I always had a fixed idea of what Uni might
be like if I went, posh kids who knew stuff that I didn’t.’
‘You were going to go to Uni?’ she asked with slight
surprise.
‘I thought so, yes.’ He felt his cheeks colour. ‘Or more
specifically my dad thought so. I mean, I had the grades
and I think I might have even sent off for a prospectus,
can’t really remember.’ He made it sound casual, recall-
ing the day it had arrived and how he spent the hours
before bed reading about the halls of residence and the
lecture theatres…
‘Where for?’ She drank again.
‘Exeter.’
‘Exeter? Could you have picked a place further than
Burston?’ She laughed.
‘Not really, but anyway’ – he coughed – ‘life had
other plans.’
‘It usually does.’ Beverly rattled the can that she was
emptying at pace. ‘It’ll be fine with Olly. You shouldn’t
worry.’
‘I guess not. It’s just that he’s becoming an educated
man and I’m a very ordinary one. He’s broadening his
horizons.’ He spoke freely. ‘Even the idea of it makes me
feel sick. I suppose I don’t want him to outgrow me.’
‘But you’re his dad. That can’t happen.’
‘I know, I know … And he’s a great kid, he really is …
and it’s only been one term, but ever since I left him last I wonder how he might have changed? How I might have
changed?’ He ran his palm over his face, embarrassed. ‘I’m
not explaining it very well. I suppose I’m just conscious
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that our lives are so very different from the way they were
this time last year and it’s…’
‘Scary.’ She filled in the blank.
‘Yep. It is.’
‘I suppose that’s the good thing about not knowing
the rules – you can make up your own. Do things your
way and at your pace. This is your journey, no one else’s.’
‘I guess so.’ He considered this and felt a little less ap-
prehensive about seeing his boy; in fact, he felt a bit less
apprehensive about everything. Her words offered plainly
and without agenda had a calming effect on him, but of
course that might have been the beer.
‘Anyway’ – she swallowed – ‘reason I came by is to
say that I’m having a bit of a do on New Year’s Eve at
my place, not a fancy party exactly, but more a chance
to use up any leftovers and the last dregs of wine in the
bottles, and so if you’re at a loose end, come along. You
know where I live?’
‘Yes. I do.’ Nick pictured her terraced two up, two
down in Appledore, a side street off Market Square.
Beverly’s house, like the others on that road, was an old
farm worker’s cottage that fronted the cobbled street. He
considered her invitation and felt a mixture of relief and
disappointment that there was a purpose to her visit, and
that she hadn’t just popped in.
‘I’ll see what Olly is up to, but that might be good.’
‘Everyone congregates there. It’s become a bit of a
tradition. People I don’t even know pitch up at midnight,
but I don’t mind, I kind of like the idea of my little house
being a beacon, a place where folk gather to see in the
New Year. It’s good. Bring beer, if there’s any left!’ She
took a large swig and, finishing the can, placed it on the
sideboard before reaching for her coat. ‘Try to come; it’ll
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be good. There’s a few from work coming and Eric and
Jen, and I promise not a Monopoly board in sight.’
‘Thanks, Bev.’
‘What for?’ She paused in the hallway and looked
back at him.
‘I dunno, just…’ He searched for the words. ‘Thanks
for thinking about me.’
‘That’s all right, Nick. I think about you a lot,’ she
added almost matter-of-factly before letting herself out
of the front door and closing it behind her.
He sat on the bottom stair and felt a flush of warmth
and the rush of something that could have been happiness,
but he wasn’t sure, it had been a long time since he had
felt that, and again it might have been the beer.
I was at school with Beverly. She’s a nice girl … He heard Kerry’s voice and closed his eyes tightly.
* * *
Nick woke early, washed and showered and was in the
bathroom when he heard a key in the door. For a muddle-
headed split second he thought it might be Kerry and
his heart jumped before Oliver shouted out, ‘Hell-o-o?’
He dried his hands on his jeans and raced down the
stairs. ‘Hello, son!’ He put out his hand and widened his
other arm, leaving it up to his son, which he might pre-
fer, a hug or a handshake. Oliver stepped into his arms
and held him fast. Nick closed his eyes briefly in thanks.
There was no time to feel nervous or to second-guess how
his boy might be feeling. He was home, safe and sound,
and that was all that mattered. Oliver pulled away and
Nick studied him; he looked wonderful, even with his
unshaven top lip, a poor, wispy attempt at a moustache
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that Nick would rib him about later, and with the dark
bruises under his eyes of someone who was not getting
enough sleep.
‘You look tired.’
‘I’m knackered. I feel like we kind of went from
fresher’s events into Christmas events. I don’t think I’ve
been to bed before three a.m. for weeks.’
‘Well, you’re back in boring old Burston and there’ll
be plenty of nap time, as there’s not much else going on.’
‘I think some of my school mates are home so I said
we’d go to the pub later.’
‘Jesus, Olly! Tonight? You’ve only just arrived. You’ve
still got your coat on and already you’re planning to go
&n
bsp; out!’ he shouted half in jest.
‘Well, okay, not tonight.’ Oliver rolled his eyes. ‘But
tomorrow maybe.’
Treacle came trotting out to the hallway and Oliver
dropped to his knees, scooping up their hound to hold
her close to his chest and run his face over her warm fur.
‘I’ve missed you, girl.’ he said with obvious affection.
‘Cup of tea?’
‘Please, Dad. It’s nice to be home.’
These simple words spoken with the hint of a sigh
removed all trace of worry. Nick watched as Oliver
scanned the walls, the staircase, furniture and pictures,
as if reacquainting himself with the fabric of the place. He
watched as Oliver walked slowly into the kitchen. Nick
remembered his words spoken during his ‘code red’ visit
when he had sat on the bed in his student room.
I tell myself she’s at home … I picture her in the kitchen
… I think she’s there and that I’ll see her soon and it helps…
‘So what’s your news?’ he fished, as he filled the kettle.
‘How’s Tasha?’
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‘Good, yeah, good. She went home yesterday.’
‘And home for her is?’
‘St Albans. Hertfordshire. She didn’t want to go
back – she doesn’t get on that well with her mum and
stepdad – so I told her she could come and stay here if it
got too much.’
‘Of course she can.’ Nick felt chuffed that Oliver was
comfortable inviting his friends back here. He thought
how much Kerry would have loved to make a fuss of
his mates, traipsing up and down the stairs with endless
bacon sandwiches and cups of tea.
‘Bacon sandwich?’
‘Please, Dad, if you’re making. Can I put my laundry
on?’
‘Course.’ He smiled as he reached into the fridge for
the bacon, noting that only a term ago Oliver would either
have left his dirty clothes on the floor of his bedroom or
heaped them into the laundry basket, waiting for them
to magically appear clean, dried and folded at the bottom
of his bed. He was growing up. Nick placed the rashers
under the grill and poured hot water on to the tea bags
before adding a splash of milk.
‘This is the hardest room for me to be in.’ Oliver took
the mug from his dad.
‘I thought it might be. I remember you saying as
much before.’
Oliver nodded. ‘It was her space. Wasn’t it?’ He swal-
lowed. ‘She loved cooking for us and she liked to potter
out here with the radio on.’
Nick looked towards the sink and pictured her bop-
ping in her rubber gloves to the sounds of Absolute 90s
on the radio.
‘She did.’
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‘And she loved Christmas. She’d have had this place
groaning under the weight of decorations by now.’
‘Ah, well, I did get the boxes down from the loft,
but Nanny Mags thought you might like to do it or help
me do it.’
‘Did she now, what am I, six?’ Oliver scoffed, sipping
his tea.
‘Well, in that case, I will set to this afternoon and
transform the place into something more grotto-like.’
He reached for the grill pan and rested it on the stovetop,
turning the bacon with a fork and putting it back under
the gas-flamed grill for its final crisping. ‘And talking of
Nans, I’ve had your Auntie Di chewing my ear off about
seeing you.’
‘She does go on.’
‘She does, son, but only because she cares.’
‘I guess so.’ Oliver pulled dirty clothes from his bag
and sorted them on the floor into two piles of whites and
mixed colours.
‘They have all missed you and so I’m afraid you’re
going to have to do the rounds.’
‘I’m looking forward to seeing everyone, actually. It’s
weird, Dad. I was never that fussed about spending time
with them all when I was at home, but now I’m away, I
think about them all a lot more. I guess because Mum’s
not here anymore it kind of makes Gran and Auntie Di,
in fact everyone, more important somehow.’
‘I guess it does.’
Nick breathed a sigh of relief. This would make every-
thing easier.
‘Bacon!’ Oliver shouted and pointed at the grill where
flames leapt. Nick grabbed the pan with the bacon alight
and shoved it into the sink, where it hissed on contact
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with the suds-filled water. He shook his head at his dad
and sighed. ‘I think I’ll go straight to Nan’s; at least she
can cook me a decent breakfast.’
‘Think I might come with you.’ Nick looked at the
bacon sinking under the foam of washing-up liquid and
rubbed his eyes; he was going to have to sharpen his skills
for the Christmas dinner, if this was any example.
The two sauntered along the street with Treacle on
her lead and Nick realised now with Oliver by his side
how in recent months loneliness had begun to creep into
his bones. It was one thing walking around town know-
ing his wife and son were at home, or out and about, but
quite another to picture the quiet empty rooms that would
greet him upon his return. He stared at his boy and felt
the joyful punch of reunion in his gut.
‘What’s that on your top lip?’ He ran his finger over
his own.
‘Do you like it?’ Oliver beamed.
‘Like what? I thought a caterpillar had landed there.’
‘I knew you’d laugh at it.’ Oliver kicked the pavement.
‘I said as much to my mates.’
‘Olly, however much I laugh is nothing compared to
how much Eric will tease you.’
‘I know that too. I grew it for Movember – raising
money for men’s charities, cancer, mental health, stuff
like that.’
He felt proud of his son’s efforts. ‘Good for you.’ He
squeezed his shoulder. ‘I’ll sponsor you if it’s not too late.’
‘Thanks. Anyway, Tasha kind of liked it so…’ He let
this hang.
Nick laughed. ‘I remember your mum trying to get me
to grow my hair into a centre parting with two curtains
either side of my face. Like one of the Backstreet Boys.’
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‘One of the what?’ Oliver looked at him with a blank
expression.
‘Never mind, but it was a haircut fashionable at the time.’
‘Did you do it?’
‘Did I ’eck as like! I told her it was against factory
regulations on shop floor and got a buzz cut all over – she
never made a hair suggestion to me again.’
‘That was mean!’ Oliver laughed.
‘Well, the laugh was on me after all – it exposed the
beginning of my bald spot, been a bit thin ever since.’
‘See, you could have grown it long and had a
comb-over.’
‘I could that. Still might.’ Nick touched h
is fingers
to the thin hair of his pate, which hadn’t spread, leaving
him with a full-looking head of hair from any angle other
than looking down at him from above. He glanced up
towards the heavens and smiled.
Oliver knocked on his Nan’s front door.
‘Aaaaagh!’ Nick heard her scream as she spied them
through the glass pane at the top of the door. ‘It’s Olly!
Olly is home!’ His mum opened the door and grabbed her
grandson. With a dishcloth in her hand she pulled him to
her whilst standing on the doorstep, putting them at equal
height. ‘You’re home!’ She reached for the handkerchief
secreted up her sleeve and blew her nose.
‘I am.’ Oliver smiled and let her muss his hair and kiss
his face. ‘Any chance of breakfast, Nan?’
‘Oh, darlin’, every chance! Come in, come in! Oh,
Olly, how we’ve missed you!’ She squeezed Nick’s arm
as he walked past. ‘He’s grown!’
‘Yep.’ He winked at his son, who rolled his eyes. His
mum had said this every time she had laid eyes on him
since he was a baby.
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‘I didn’t know if you would come here straight away,
but I got a few bits in anyway. Now, sit down, love, and
let me get you breakfast. Bacon? Sausage? Egg? Fried
bread? Beans?’
‘Yes, please.’ Oliver sat at the table.
Nick stood by the kitchen sink and looked at the boy,
remembering his own dad leaning in this exact same spot
in his work boots and shorts during that hot, hot summer.
Finish your tea, lad. I’ve got something for you…
1992
Eric stayed for two nights and Alex for one and it was
agreed that for the next few weeks this would be the
arrangement. His friend was an easy houseguest, apart
from the farting, which wound up his sister and therefore
became a positive thing. He ate anything and everything
Nick’s mum put on the table in front of him and even
showed enthusiasm for his dad’s boring stories that Nick
had heard about a million times before. His dad seemed to
like telling them, happy for a new audience. The weather
was even warmer and the grass turned brown. They lived
with all the windows in the house open, trying to en-
courage a breeze to take the edge off the uncomfortable
closeness, and his mum started preparing salad for every
meal, as if even the thought of hot food was too much
when the surface of the tarmac shimmered under the heat.
The Light in the Hallway (ARC) Page 15