‘What are these for?’ Eric picked up one of two slender
pegs of metal with curved lips at either end. He pinged
his finger on them.
‘They’re the metal tyre levers to jemmy the tyre from
the rim of the wheel. A bit fiddly at first, but you’ll soon
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get the hang of it, and if it’s the difference between get-
ting home easily or pushing your bike miles uphill, you’ll
be surprised how quickly you’ll figure everything out.’
‘This is really cool!’ Eric beamed.
‘Thank you, Dad.’ Nick smiled.
‘You’re welcome, son.’
‘We can keep them safe until we get actual wheels,’
Alex offered stoically.
His dad stood from the table and looked at them
sternly. ‘As I said, I don’t think you boys have been look-
ing hard enough.’
‘But, Dad…’ Nick began again to explain how they
were running out of time and options.
‘Don’t talk, Nicky, just listen,’ his dad began. ‘Have
you ever thought that maybe you’re looking in the wrong
places?’
The boys looked from one to another.
‘I mean, I know you like to circle the Rec and wander
over the Old Dairy Shed, but when’s the last time you
took a good long look at your bike?’ His dad gave him
a subtle wink.
Nick thought quickly. It had been a day or so since they
had actually been into the garage, too preoccupied with
playing Petunia and wandering their routes, searching.
Eric and Alex too looked at each other. His dad opened
the back door, and without being told the boys jumped up
from their seats and ran across the dry grass to the garage.
Nick threw open the side door, quickly followed by his
mates. He pulled on the overhead light and screamed.
Eric jumped up and down on the spot, whereas Alex
dropped to his knees with his hands over his mouth.
There it was in all its neon-green glory; Half Bike!
Only it was no longer half a bike, but a whole bike with a 162
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neat, narrow racing saddle and two perfect, shiny chrome
wheels.
‘Dad!’ Nick rushed over to the big man and threw
his arms around his waist, burying his head against his
dad’s chest in an act so instinctive, a reaction visceral and unconsidered, but entirely appropriate for the sight that
greeted him. Eric bundled over and clung to Nick’s back
and Alex stood and joined the hug.
‘I guess they’re pleased then,’ his mum called from
the open doorway.
‘Looks like it,’ his dad chuckled, while the boys clung
to him like pups.
Eric and Alex took turns in running their fingers
over the spokes and squeezing the brakes onto the rims.
His dad bent down and spoke directly to his face.
‘Here’s the thing, Nick: this is what life will be like
for you if you do it right. You have put all you can into
this project, you’ve set goals, made a plan and put in the
hours and the universe has come up trumps and helped
you over the finish line. That’s how it works and if you go
to university and set your goals and work hard then the
world will help you achieve whatever you set your mind
to. It’ll help you get over the finish line. I believe that.’
‘Thank you, Dad.’ Nick didn’t know what else to say,
but knew that the moment felt like a big one.
‘Who’s going to ride it first?’ his mum asked.
‘I think Nick,’ Alex suggested.
‘I think Nick too,’ Eric agreed.
Nick wheeled the bike to the front of the house and
patted the puncture repair kit and multi tool in his pocket.
He might have only been going to the bottom of the
cul-de-sac, but why take any chances? A small crowd
of his parents, his sister, who hung back and was a little
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quiet, and his mates gathered on the pavement. He felt
lucky. Lucky…
‘Eric!’ Nick stood, proud of the bike, and let his friend
take the handlebars. ‘I think you should ride it first.’
‘Me?’ Eric’s face split with joy.
‘Yep. You should ride her first and then I’ll go next.’
‘Why me?’ Eric asked, as he rushed forward to stand
astride the green machine.
‘Because you’re the oldest,’ he lied, hiding the real
reason: that he felt sad that Eric’s mum had gone to Derby
and that his dad drank ale and sang on the sofa because
he was unhappy. ‘And because I don’t want you to re-
member this as a bad or sad summer.’
‘A bad or sad summer?’ Eric looked at him briefly
as he placed his feet on the pedals and pushed off down
the hill, gripping Dave The Milk’s handlebars. ‘This is
the summer of absolutely brilliant!’ he screamed. ‘THE
SUMMER OF ABSOLUTELY BRILLIANT!’
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CHAPTER SEVEN
‘Where is he, Eric?’ Nick stood with his fingers in his
hair. He was sobering fast, having run all the way home
and with worry syphoning the alcohol and all joy from
his veins; he looked up and down the street outside their
house. ‘I thought he’d be in his room.’
‘He’ll turn up. It’s Burston; you can’t hide here even
if you want to,’ Eric sighed.
Nick again punched a text into his phone and fired it
off: Please Ol y call me NOW! Let me know where
you are!
And again he was left wanting for a reply.
‘Have you tried your mum?’
‘Yep, didn’t want to worry her, so kept it vague but
he’s not there. She’d have said.’ He breathed out, hating
the acrid tang of his sloshed breath.
‘Alex and a couple of the others have been up around
the Rec. And Jen put a call in to work, just asking the
patrol car to keep an eye out; they’ll call if they see him.’
Nick nodded, not really paying too much attention
to his friend. ‘He was out with his mates from school
tonight – Ned, Jason and I can’t remember who else. I’ve
texted Ned’s dad – he’s Carl’s lad.’
‘Carl from maintenance?’
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‘Yep. I don’t know Jason’s number and I can’t remem-
ber his surname.’
‘He’ll turn up, lad,’ Eric repeated, placing his hands
on his hips and looking skyward, and Nick felt guilty that
this was how his evening had turned out.
‘I know, I know. I don’t think he’s in danger.’ He
blinked away his concerns over suicide and self-harm
that Peter, the counsellor at St Vincent’s, had warned
him about. ‘But I know he’s still fragile and I just want
to talk to him! I’m such a fucking idiot!’ Nick closed his
eyes and took a deep breath and felt a wave of nausea.
‘You’re not.’
‘I am, though! This Christmas is supposed to be all
about Olly! About making it a little bit less shit for him
and I’ve messed
it up! I’ve messed it up big-time.’ He
balled his fists in frustration.
‘What happened exactly?’
Nick held his friend’s gaze. ‘I was in the loo with …
with Beverly. She … She kind of steered me in there at
midnight and we’ – he swallowed – ‘we were kissing.’
‘Flamin’ Nora!’ Eric made no attempt to hide his wide-
eyed shock; Nick noticed the small smile of approval on
his mouth. He looked away without comment; this was
not the time for that.
Yep, flamin’ Nora, indeed. He felt the rise of guilt, briefly recalling the high he had been on the happiness he had
felt. ‘And the next thing I know, the loo door opens and
Olly is standing there and he was looking back over his
shoulder, laughing. He seemed happy, like he was having
fun, and I was pleased to see him before remembering
the situation I was in. Then he turned, looked up, saw it
was me and realised what was…’ He paused. ‘What was
happening. And his face…’ He swallowed the emotion
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that threatened, knowing he would not forget the way
Oliver’s face had crumpled, his eyebrows knitting in con-
fusion and a look of pure sorrow wiping away his smile.
His shoulders had fallen forward, as if the air had been
knocked from his lungs, and he flashed his dad a sneer
that looked a lot like hatred. And then he ran while Nick,
losing precious seconds, clumsily extricated himself from
Beverly’s grip and ran after him. ‘I called out, “Olly, come
back! Olly, I need to talk to you!” But he’d legged it.’
And here we are.
‘Wow.’
‘Yep, wow.’ Nick again looked up and down the street
as if, if he stared hard enough, Oliver might appear.
Eric spoke with more confidence than Nick felt. ‘He’ll
be mulling things over. He’ll have gone to one of his
friends’ houses and he’ll be trying to figure it all out. He’d probably had a drink too and that clouds everything, but
it’ll all be okay. You’ll see. Olly will find his way home.’
Nick went back into the house and began to pace
the hallway, looking occasionally up and down the
street and checking his phone, while trying to think of
friends Oliver might have called on. He wished he had
Tasha’s number, knowing there was a high chance Oliver
would make contact with her. As he tried to think of
how to get in touch with the girl who he knew lived in
St Albans, but very little else, a text came in from his
mother-in-law, Dora.
He’s at Di’s
‘Oh thank God!’ He felt a flood of gratitude towards
his mother-in-law. ‘He’s at Di’s; I’ll head over.’ He set
off, leaving the front door wide open.
‘Do you want me to stay here?’ Eric pointed at the
abandoned house.
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‘Yes, mate, thanks, and can you call Jen and tell her
I’ve found him, and thank Alex, everyone?’ he called out
as he made his way along the front path.
‘Sure you don’t want me to come with you?’ Eric
asked, yawning as the night’s events caught up with them.
‘No, I’m good, but thanks, mate. I’ll bring Olly home.’
The relief he felt was a physical thing; the idea of running
across town didn’t faze him, quite the opposite.
‘Nick.’
‘What?’ He turned to face his friend, keen to get going.
‘Don’t beat yourself up. Kerry was right, you know.’
‘About what?’
‘You need to let go a bit; you need to carry on living.’
Nick didn’t know what to say. So many emotions
fought for space in his mind that had only recently shaken
off the fog of boozy confusion. He raised his hand and
jogged out of the cul-de-sac, towards town.
In his haste to get to his boy, he forgot to feel the
quiver of dread at what his sister-in-law might have to say
about the whole matter, intent only as he was on scoop-
ing Oliver up and bringing him home. He pictured them
sitting at either end of the sofa, talking rationally over
a cup of tea about what had happened and why. And in
truth he dreaded the prospect as much as he welcomed it.
He wasn’t sure how to play it or what to say that might
help. He waited to see if Kerry’s voice might come to
him now when he most needed words of advice.
Nothing.
Light came from the hallway of Diane’s modern house
on a small redbrick development around the back of the
leisure centre. Nick coughed and ran his fingers through
his hair, trying not to think about how it felt when Beverly
had done similar, earlier. He rapped on the door with his
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knuckles cautiously, trying unsuccessfully to strike a bal-
ance between gaining entry and not waking up anyone
who might be sleeping.
Diane opened the door and stood with her hands
folded across the front of her bulky pink dressing gown.
‘Hi, Di.’
‘Well, how lovely to see you, happy New Year, Nick.’
Her words dripped with sarcasm.
He ignored her tone and cut to the chase. ‘Is Olly
here?’
‘My bloody mother!’ She looked over his head out
across the rooftops to where her mum lived and spoke
through gritted teeth. It would only be later that Nick
would reflect on these words, suggesting that left up to
her, she would not have told him Oliver was under her
roof. He could only imagine the kind if night he would
have spent then. ‘He doesn’t want to see you.’
‘What?’ He stood back and almost laughed. ‘What do
you mean, he doesn’t want to see me?’
‘Just as it sounds, I can’t put it any plainer than that!
He came in and was very upset, we had a little chat, and
he went up to the spare room. It’s been quite a night for
him.’ She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘Oliver was very
specific. He said, “If my dad comes over, I don’t want to
see him.” And that’s that.’
Nick took a step back on the path and was a little lost
for words. ‘I don’t … I don’t know what to say.’
‘I bet you don’t,’ she muttered.
‘Olly!’ he called out, ‘Olly, I know you can hear me
and I just wanted to say that we need to talk!’
‘I’ll thank you to keep your voice down in my street.’
Di hissed at him.
‘Di, I’m very grateful to you for putting Olly up—’
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Amanda Prowse
‘Why wouldn’t I? I’m his auntie.’ She cut him short,
seemingly keen to assert her position.
‘As I say, I’m very grateful to you and glad that Olly
felt he could come here, but I need to talk to my son!’
He hoped his words might float up the stairs to the spare
room, which he knew was at the top of the landing.
‘I don’t want to talk to you, Dad!’ Despite his words,
it was a relief to hear his so
n’s voice. ‘I don’t want to talk to anyone!’
Nick heard the emotion in Oliver’s voice and it killed
him. ‘Okay, Olly, okay, I understand, I don’t like it, but
I understand. And just so you know, if you’re not home
by breakfast, I will be straight back round here to drag
you home. We need to talk – we need to talk about a lot
of stuff – but it’s been a long night and maybe you need
to cool off and I need to think. So I will see you in the
morning.’ He turned to walk from the house.
‘You make me sick! How could you? Selfish bastard!’
his sister-in-law whispered, her mouth contorted, as she
gripped the front door and closed it behind him.
Nick turned and took two or three steps down the
path before a force hitherto unfelt stirred something inside
of him. He took a breath and with his pulse racing, he
walked back to the front door and knocked on it, caring
less this time who he woke.
Diane opened it with a look of surprise.
‘Do not talk to me like that, Di! Don’t ever talk to me
like that!’ He pointed at her with a trembling finger. ‘I’m
many things, but I’m not selfish and you have no right to
judge me, none!’ He kept his voice steady.
‘Have you lost your bloody mind?’ She trod down
the step and met him on the front path. ‘Do you know
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what you’ve done? My sister is not cold in her grave and
you’re already messing around.’
Four and a half months … It’s been four and a half sad and lonely months … both the blink of an eye and a lifetime.
Di continued. ‘How could you – do you not give
a shit? Do you not care that folk will talk or what this
might feel like for Olly?’
Her words were like a slap across his face.
‘Is that what you think? That I don’t give a shit? That
I don’t put Olly’s feelings at the front of every decision I make?’ He drew breath. ‘Jesus Christ, I’m working myself stupid to buy him all the extras he needs at Uni. I’m
doing my level best to keep everything afloat and I’m
barely managing, barely!’
‘Well, it seems you were managing fairly well tonight,
according to half of Burston who saw you snogging the
face of Beverly bloody Clark!’
‘You have no idea, Di.’ He shook his head, hurt that
she had not the slightest understanding of how things
were for him.
‘You say you loved my sister and yet—’
‘Don’t you dare!’ His voice shook. ‘Don’t you dare!
The Light in the Hallway (ARC) Page 19