cheese residue so she can’t use it. So it’s her very own one
to keep in her room, cheese free.’
‘Nice. And there’s me thinking perfume and chocolates
were still in fashion.’
‘Not on my student budget!’
‘Don’t start with that. You have a princely sum com-
pared to me when I was your age. In fact, thinking about
it, the first Christmas present I got your mum was a baby-
changing mat. How’s that for romantic?’
‘Not very, but practical.’ Oliver looked at the lit tree
and Nick wondered if like him he pictured his mum in
front of it. The cardboard star Oliver had made at nursery
suddenly tumbled from the top of the tree and landed
on the rug. Oliver jumped up to retrieve it and placed it
back on the top branch.
‘Have you had a nice Christmas Day, Olly?’
‘It’s been memorable, Dad, hasn’t it?’
Nick nodded.
Memorable…
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* * *
Ironing was never his forte, but Nick did his best with
the denim shirt his sister had bought him for Christmas.
‘So you’re actually going to a party?’ Oliver laughed
and shook his head as he devoured the fried egg sandwich
laced with ketchup that was apparently going to provide
a beer cushion for the evening ahead.
‘Yes, what’s so funny about that?’ Nick held the iron
still and stared at his son.
‘I don’t know.’ Oliver shrugged. ‘I suppose it’s just the
idea of old people having a party. I mean, what’s the point?’
Nick stared at him, a little taken aback as well as lost
for words. ‘Old people?’ He snorted. ‘I’m thirty-five! I’m
in my prime!’
‘Hardly.’ Oliver wiped ketchup from his mouth with
his fingertips.
Nick sighed in mock offence. ‘I used to think thirty-
five was old, but then I got here quicker than I could ever
have imagined and I find it’s not old, not at all.’
‘Mum got short-changed, didn’t she?’
‘She did.’ He liked that they could talk about Kerry
with such ease, and yet whilst he would never admit it,
tonight, getting dressed to go to a party, something he
had not done in more years than he could remember, he
didn’t want to talk about her, didn’t want the reminder
of the sadness that bookended his every waking thought.
‘So what will you do at your party?’
‘Oh, I don’t know, Oliver, probably have a game of
whist and then a nice cup of milky tea, and if we are lucky
someone might have brought along a gramophone and
we can listen to some Big Band sounds. But rest assured,
after a cup of hot cocoa and with my slippers lined up
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on the floor, I’ll be in bed by ten o’clock. I do need the
rest. At my age.’
‘Ha ha, but you know what I mean – do you dance?
Drink?’
‘I don’t know, Olly!’ He put the iron down and
pulled the plug. ‘The truth is I’m absolutely bricking
it. I can’t remember the last time I went to a party, but
I’m pretty sure I didn’t enjoy it. But I also know your
mum is right; I’m young and I have a whole life ahead
of me. No matter that this it isn’t a life I would choose,
one without her.’
Oliver stared at him. ‘What do you mean, Mum is
right?’
‘I mean…’ He sought out the words that didn’t sound
like he was losing his marbles. ‘I dream a lot about your
mum, and I talk to her and she gave me advice and it
made me feel better.’
There was a beat or two of silence.
‘I can’t imagine…’
‘What?’ Nick buttoned up his shirt, concerned by
Oliver’s expression of confusion, his happy demeanour
faded.
‘Nothing.’
‘No, go on, Olly. Talk to me.’
‘I can’t imagine you with someone else. I can’t im-
agine someone else being in this kitchen. Mum’s kitchen.’
Nick shook his head and caught his breath. ‘You don’t
have to worry about that. You don’t. I can’t imagine it
either.’
Oliver’s shoulders seemed to relax a little and both
were again quiet for a second or two as the uncomfort-
able topic still fizzed around them.
‘So who you going to the pub with?’
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‘Ned and Jason and I think some of the girls from my
year and a couple of Jason’s mates from Uni who have
come down. It’ll be good.’
‘It will.’ Nick reached into his back pocket and took
out his wallet. He pulled a ten-pound note out and handed
it to his son.
‘I’m okay, Dad, I’ve got money. Granny Dora and
Nanny Mags both gave me some for Christmas.’
‘I know, but a bit more won’t go amiss, I’m sure.’
Oliver took the note and smiled at him. ‘Thank you.’
‘And anyway, you should be saving your Christmas
money for something nice, not using it as beer tokens.’
‘Like a baby-changing mat?’ Oliver asked, wide eyed
with a smile on his face.
‘Don’t even joke!’ Nick felt a hot flash of something
that seemed a lot like fear and wondered if this was how
his dad felt when he broke the news…
Kerry’s having a baby … so I’m going to get a job and stay here … We’re getting married…
But! But … what about college, going to university? All
your plans?
Plans change, Dad. Plans change.
‘Oh my god, Dad! I even scare myself saying that. I
mean not that I don’t love Tasha, I do, but a baby?’ He
shuddered. ‘Not for, like, a million years.’
The front doorbell rang and Oliver let Eric in, who
strolled into the kitchen.
‘What are you feeding this kid? He’s nearly taller
than me.’
‘And me!’ Nick piped up.
‘In fairness, Dad, that’s not that that difficult,’ Oliver
quipped.
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‘Oh, I see, one term at university and you think you’re
too old for a thick ear!’ Eric made out to swipe in his
direction.
‘Lucky you, I can’t even reach his ear,’ Nick added.
Oliver chuckled. ‘He can’t reach, and you’re too weak-
ened by age!’
‘What is this?’ Eric asked with mock hurt. ‘I come
here to pick up my friend for a night on the town and
all I get is abuse? And for your information my height is
the one aspect of life in which I’m way above average.’
‘I used to be tall.’ Nick added.
‘You have never been tall, mate.’ Eric laughed.
‘I was!’ Nick scoffed. ‘I was way taller than you and
Alex when we were little.’
‘True, but I think the definition of tall is where you
end up, not how tall you are while you’re growing. I
know I was at least a head and shoulders taller than you
&n
bsp; that summer,’ Eric pointed out.
‘What summer? Sounds ominous!’ Oliver laughed.
‘The summer we built the bike.’ Eric’s eyes creased
at the memory.
‘Oh, that summer!’ Oliver enunciated.
‘So you know about that then?’ Eric held his gaze.
‘I do. In great detail.’ Oliver gave a mock yawn.
Eric smiled at Nick. ‘In some ways it was the best
time ever, but it was also the worst.’
‘Because you had to share a crappy green bike?’ Oliver
interjected.
‘No, and it was anything but crappy to us,’ Eric of-
fered. ‘Because my mum left us. I guess I’m just saying I
know what it feels like.’
Nick looked to his mate; this kind of revelation was rare.
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‘But she came back?’ Oliver looked a little confused,
aware as he was of Eric’s mum who lived in the bungalows
by the main road.
‘Yes, she came back and then two years later she went
again, and left little David with me and my dad, and then
she came back and … You get the idea.’
‘That doesn’t sound like the best time ever at all.’
Nick rubbed his hands and exchanged a knowing look
with Eric. It would be too hard to explain to this young
man just what that summer had meant, how their ex-
periences had laid the solid foundation of trust on which
their friendship was built.
‘I don’t know if I should give you this now, you cheeky
beggar.’ Eric removed a slender wrapped gift from his
pocket and handed it to Oliver.
‘Oh, thanks.’ Oliver pulled the paper off to reveal
a fountain pen in a fancy box. ‘Thanks, Eric! That’s
awesome.’
‘Well, I figured you’d have more use of it than me;
it’s been gathering dust in a drawer and I’d rather it was
used. It was that or a razor – speaking of which, what is
that thing on your lip, son?’
‘Oh, don’t you start.’ Oliver groomed his facial fuzz
with his thumb and forefinger.
Nick packed away the ironing board and placed it in
the gap between the kitchen cabinet and the window. He
was touched by Eric’s gift.
‘Right then.’ He picked up his jacket and patted his
jeans pocket to feel the reassuring shapes of house keys,
phone and wallet, before grabbing his box of bottled lager.
‘I shall see you next year!’
Oliver groaned. Nick said this every New Year’s Eve
and had done so since Oliver was small, when Nick would
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tuck him up in bed and whisper, see you next year … from the doorway.
‘Yes, Dad, I shall see you next year. And don’t do
anything I wouldn’t!’ Oliver called down the path after
them. ‘Like fall and break your hip or lose your bus pass!’
Eric laughed. ‘He’s in good form.’
‘Tell me about it.’
‘How’s it been?’ His friend’s tone now was a little
more subdued.
‘A lot, lot better than I was expecting. Actually, it’s
been good. Apart from Treacle necking the whole turkey!’
‘She never!’ Eric roared with laughter.
‘She did! We had sausages with all the trimmings.’
‘The little beggar!’
‘Yep.’ Nick was able to see the funny side now
Christmas had passed without a hitch. ‘I had this weird
dream about Kerry…’ he paused, wondering how much
to share.
‘Weird how?’
He smiled just to think of it. ‘She looked wonderful,
really healthy, and she told me that I needed to let go a
bit and carry on living – told me that this was going to
be my year.’
Eric smiled. ‘And that’s what she would say. She was
a top lass. And don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m
proud of you, Nicky, lad. You’re doing great and I think
Kerry is right; this is going to be your year. Might be
mine too if I get it right.’
‘What are you thinking?’
‘I’m thinking of spreading my wings and going off to
find some sunshine.’
‘Well, you work hard. A holiday would do you good.’
Nick smiled and the two walked to Market Square in
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silence. He took a deep breath as they approached the
end of Beverly’s street.
‘Don’t forget, you can leave at any time.’
‘Yes, Mum,’ Nick tutted at his friend, trying to hide
the slight swell of embarrassment he felt at his kindness,
but also hoping the fake bravado might carry him into
the house when he was, as he had stated earlier, absolutely
bricking it.
There were more people inside the house than he had
been expecting. It seemed like half the back office was
here and a handful of people he hadn’t seen for a while.
He swallowed, nodding and waving to acquaintances as he
made his way through the crowds to the kitchen, where he
dumped his box of beer bottles and took one for himself.
Beverly was nowhere to be seen and it felt a little strange
being inside her house without having said hello, impolite
almost. He downed the beer and reached for his second.
Go easy … He heard Kerry’s voice.
Dutch courage … he replied in his mind.
‘Nick! Nick, mate!’ He turned towards the shout and
saw Mikey Sturridge walking towards him. He was a big
lad, a rugby player, who now strode with his arms raised,
as if it was water he waded through and not a throng of
smaller people. ‘Now then!’ He grabbed him in a bear
hug and Nick smelled the beer fumes on his breath. ‘I
haven’t seen you for a long time! How’s tricks?’
‘Not bad, Mikey, not bad.’
‘It’s good to see ya! You still at Siddley’s?’
‘Yes.’ He nodded with a dry laugh, as if there might be
any other option in Burstonbridge for someone like him.
‘I’m only home for a few days, come to see our lad
and my mum and dad, but then straight back to France,
where I’m playing my rugby now.’
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‘I heard you were living it up out there. Sounds like
nice work if you can get it.’
‘It is, mate, it is. Good weather, good food, good life!’
He raised his arms over his head, as if his vast frame were
not already taking up enough space.
‘Well, I envy you. Best we can hope for is a quick
thaw to a cold frost and a dodgy pie from the chippy,
but it’s home.’
Nick looked over Mikey’s head and spied Beverly in
the hallway. It was the first time he had seen her dolled up
in a glittery top and with fancy put-up hair and lipstick.
She looked lovely. And he felt the long-dormant pulse
of attraction fire through him. She looked up and into
his face and her mouth broke into a smile that he felt was
just for him and his gut jumped accordingly. Nick looked
around, furtively, wary of anyone recognising
the flicker
of desire that rippled through his veins. He was after all
a man in mourning, a man who came home to a dark
house with no one to flick on the light and await him.
Mikey bent close and the booze and garlic danced
from his mouth in a pungent brew. ‘You should come
over and see me, come to France! I mean it. Kerry would
love it; I’m not far from the beach and there’s good shop-
ping! She can top up her tan while we visit a few bars;
a mate of mine runs a vineyard, I’m not shitting you! A
vineyard! He flogs the cheap stuff to the tourists but the
really good wine he keeps back and honestly, Nick, you
should taste it. Ask Kerry if she fancies it – where is she
anyway?’ Mikey looked around from his vantage height,
trying to spot Nick’s wife.
Nick stared at him, his mouth dry. He felt his legs
sway a little and didn’t know how to answer, didn’t know
what to say. It was inconceivable to him that there might
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be someone in Burston that didn’t know about Kerry,
and yet here he was, the kind, sweet buffoon, Mikey
Sturridge, who had been away, playing rugby and drink-
ing good wine…
‘She’s…’ He swallowed, but try as he might the words
couldn’t find their way to his mouth.
‘Oh no! I’ve not put my foot in it, have I? Don’t tell
me you two lovebirds have had a tiff?’ He nudged Nick
in the ribs. ‘You’ll work it out, no doubt, made for each
other! I remember when she got up the duff and every-
one said it wouldn’t last and yet here we are. Is she off
sulking?’
‘No, no she…’ Nick realised in that instant that there
was something nice about living in this small town where
he had grown up and where everyone knew his business.
It meant that he had not had to have this conversation, as
gossiping tongues all over the place had verbally paved
the way with his news, meaning all encounters were
pre-loaded with the terrible, terrible facts. There was also
something inexplicably joyful to him that Mikey lived in
a world where Kerry and he were just fine, plodding on
as usual. He certainly didn’t envy the man his fancy life
in the south of France, but he envied him that.
‘Sturridge, y’bastad!’ Rob Bowman, one of his old
rugby contemporaries yelled from the hallway.
‘Got to go, Nick, see you around. And think about
what I said!’ Mikey thumped him on the arm before mak-
The Light in the Hallway (ARC) Page 17