The Light in the Hallway (ARC)

by Amanda Prowse

  ‘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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  ‘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!