The Light in the Hallway (ARC)

by Amanda Prowse

  ‘So I shouldn’t take it personally?’ he asked lightly,

  ridiculously relieved at the thought that this might be

  the case.

  ‘Oh, you should most definitely take it personally!

  You’re at the top of her list.’

  ‘I’m guessing it’s not a list of her favourite things?’

  Dora plopped the teabags in the mugs and stood with

  her arms crossed over her jumper. ‘God knows I love her,

  I do. She’s my daughter, but I find her hard to fathom.

  I think she likes trouble; it gives her something to focus

  on, like casting a stone that puts a ripple in the boredom.

  She’s angry.’

  ‘I had noticed.’

  ‘Not just with you, Nick, with the whole world.’

  ‘What’s she so angry about?’

  Dora sighed and looked up at the ceiling, as if sorting

  her mental list into some kind of order. ‘The fact that her

  dad got sick, the fact that her sister died, the fact I sold

  her childhood home. Plus, she feels that life has passed her

  by, jealous of all good things that happen to people; she

  is overweight and doesn’t do anything to change it; and

  now she’s angry with you about the whole Beverly thing.’

  He felt his face colour. These words from Kerry’s mum!

  The woman who had made their wedding cake when he

  was no more than a teen, and she knew he had snogged

  Beverly Clark. He felt the stranglehold of mortification.

  ‘What … What do you think about that?’ He tapped

  his fingers lightly on the pine tabletop and his leg jumped

  beneath the table.

  Again, Dora sighed, as if these thoughts were another

  burden to bear.

  ‘Truthfully? I think life can be hard, too hard some-

  times. And I think you’re young. Only in your early thirties

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  with a whole lot of living ahead of you, God willing,’

  she added the caveat, ‘and I think you have to make a life

  yourself. You didn’t put a foot wrong for our Kerry. And

  I know that your relationship, like many others, had its

  ups and downs.’ She held his eye, this enough to tell him

  she was, like him, thinking of the time he sat in front of

  her several years ago and poured out his heart.

  ‘It’s not only the money, Dora, money we haven’t got! But there are rumours she’s been seeing Rod Newberry, hanging out with him. I don’t know … I don’t know what to do…’

  ‘You’ll get through this love. If you want to, ’ had been her sage advice.

  Her words again drew his attention. ‘You cared for

  her for a long, long time and it was tough, and you loved

  her and I will forever be grateful for that.’ She swallowed

  the crack in her voice. ‘I wish…’ She paused. ‘I wish we

  weren’t having this conversation. I wish it was Kerry sit-

  ting there mithering me about something. I wish a lot of

  things … But this is where we are and this is what life is:

  a series of hurdles, some harder to get over than others,

  with pockets of joy in between. I look at Bill and how he

  arrived at old age in the blink of an eye, and that’s how

  it works. I’ve seen it. And I wake every day and have to

  remind myself that it wasn’t just some horrible dream;

  he and Kerry have really gone.’ Dora drew breath. ‘You

  have to make the most of every day, every month, every

  year. You, more than most, are aware that we never know

  what is around the corner. I know you do right by Olly

  and I know you always will. You were a good husband

  and you’re a bloody good dad, and for the record, Beverly

  Clark is a good lass.’

  Nick felt a tingling in his nose and the prick of tears,

  a sensation that was becoming less familiar, but right now

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  this emotion felt more than appropriate. Dora placed the

  mug of tea in front of him and handed him a piece of

  kitchen roll.

  ‘Now, what are we going to do about that grandson

  of mine?’ She sat down opposite him and sipped her tea.

  1992

  Alex knelt on the concrete floor of the garage and dipped

  the old flannel into the bucket of water, which foamed

  with a dash of Fairy Liquid. Nick watched as he pulled

  a section taut over his finger and began rubbing it over

  the frame of Half Bike, paying particular attention to the

  front forks where mud liked to gather. Cleaning the bike

  was as much a preoccupation as riding it, but not nearly

  half as thrilling.

  ‘How fast do you think I went down Cobb Lane last

  night?’ Nick pictured himself hurtling along, recalling

  the feel of the light bike beneath him, slightly skittish

  as the narrow wheels glanced the road surface, rushing

  along the lane that was a steep hill with trees and water

  ditches either side that led to the Old Dairy Shed. It had

  been exhilarating and scary in equal measure. He might

  have sat steadily in the saddle, but his heart raced at the

  fact that he was ever so slightly out of control.

  ‘’Bout ten miles an hour?’ Alex suggested.

  Nick put down the bicycle pump he had been toy-

  ing with, firing jets of air close range at a paper cup to

  make it move along his dad’s workbench. His tone was

  offended. ‘Ten miles an hour? No way! Loads more than

  that! I think nearer twenty or thirty!’

  ‘Really?’ Alex stopped cleaning and looked at his

  friend.

  ‘Yes! Really! I was zooming.’

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  ‘You were zooming, but thirty miles an hour is a lot.’

  ‘I know it’s a lot, Alex, it was me that was on Half

  Bike thinking that if I fell off I’d be dead as a Dodo!’

  Alex shrugged and turned his attention back to wip-

  ing down the frame. Like anyone who spent a lot of time

  together, the boys knew when an argument was worth

  pursuing and when it would go round and round in circles

  only ending when one of them caved in. This was one

  of those times.

  ‘Now then.’ Eric sloped into the garage. Instead of

  going immediately to Half Bike and getting stuck in as

  was his way, he slumped down in the corner, sitting on

  one of the canvas fishing stools with his back against the

  tatty door-less dresser, where Nick’s dad kept old bottles

  of mentholated spirits, turpentine, a green rusted oil can

  with a thumb lever, small tin buckets with various paint

  brushes poking out of the of the top, a funnel or two and

  empty Lyles’ Golden Syrup pots, some with rusted seams,

  all holding a variety of screws, odd and ends, and in one,

  picture wire coiled into lengths.

  ‘What’s up?’ Nick put the pump down, bored now of

  the ‘trying to make the paper cup move’ game.

  Eric leant forward and rested his elbows on his knees.

  ‘I saw my Mum.’

  ‘No way! Is she back?’ This was big news.

  ‘No.’ Eric looked at his mate. ‘Not really. Not for

  good. But she was there when I got home last night. She

>   didn’t stay long.’

  ‘Was Dave The Milk with her?’ Alex asked with a

  glint in his eyes, no doubt like Nick imagining the argy-

  bargy that might have taken place between Eric’s dad and

  the milkman.

  Eric shook his head.

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  ‘Oh.’ Alex sounded more than a little disappointed.

  ‘She only stayed about an hour and she sat on the sofa

  like a visitor. She seemed different. It was horrible. She

  kept looking at the clock on the fireplace like she had to

  be getting on, and I didn’t know what to say to her even

  though I have lots I want to say. I couldn’t think of any-

  thing. I thought of it all after she’d gone. I told her about Half Bike, though, and she said be careful on the roads.’

  Nick tried to imagine his mum like a guest in the

  lounge, unable to potter in the kitchen and instead sit-

  ting on the sofa with her knees together and her bag on

  the floor like his Auntie Margaret when she visited. He

  couldn’t imagine it, not at all, and even the thought was

  enough to make him feel sad.

  ‘What did your dad say?’ Alex sounded concerned, as

  if the fight he hadn’t witnessed was the worry for him.

  ‘Not much. He stayed in the kitchen, staring out the

  back window. When I got in he told me to go in the

  lounge, but he didn’t look at me, just stood there. So I

  went in and there was my mum. And when she’d gone I

  went back into the kitchen and he was in the same spot.

  Hadn’t moved.’

  ‘What did your mum say?’ Alex whispered.

  Eric took his time responding. ‘She asked me to go

  to Derby to go and stay with her and Dave The Milk,

  although he’s not on the milk round anymore; he’s work-

  ing as a delivery driver, so I guess we should just call him

  Dave.’

  Nick and Alex nodded; this made sense.

  ‘Does she want you to go and stay for the rest of the

  holiday?’ Nick couldn’t hide his note of disapproval, self-

  ishly aware that it was only when the three of them were

  together that they had the most fun. One of them rode

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  Half Bike while the other two ran to catch up, or they

  chatted as they idled their way to the rendezvous point.

  If there were only two of them, then it would mean one

  of them on Half Bike and one running to catch up alone.

  No fun at all.

  Eric shook his head. ‘No, she means go and stay with her. Go for good. Move there.’

  Nick’s stomach flipped with unease and he stared at

  Eric, trying to process this concept. ‘Move there?’

  ‘Yep. And go to a new school – there’s one not far

  from where they live now.’

  ‘A new school,’ Nick repeated, trying to picture walk-

  ing into Burstonbridge Middle School and sitting in a

  classroom with an Eric Pickard-shaped hole in it. ‘You’d

  have to get new mates.’

  ‘Yep. I suppose so.’ Eric kept his eyes on the floor. ‘So

  would you,’ he countered.

  ‘Well, no, cos I’d still have Alex.’

  Alex nodded from the floor at this indisputable fact.

  ‘What did your dad say about you going to Derby?’

  Eric looked at him. ‘He said nothing while she was

  there, but when she’d gone he said it was up to me, but

  he’d rather I stayed in Burston with him.’ He swallowed.

  ‘So what are you going to do?’ Nick wanted to be

  put out of his agony.

  Eric shrugged in the way he did. ‘I don’t know. My

  mum said if I went to stay with her and Dave The … just

  Dave, then they’d get me a Sega Mega Drive and a Sonic

  the Hedgehog game for it and she said I could have it in

  my room so I could play it whenever I wanted.’

  Nick silently cursed Eric’s mum. This was a very

  tempting offer.

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  ‘Well, you’d have to give up your half of the half of

  Half Bike,’ he stated.

  ‘Do I get his half of a half?’ Alex asked excitedly.

  ‘Yep.’ Nick spoke clearly, wanting in some way to

  punish his best friend who he felt was abandoning him.

  His stance was confident, hoping his tone might belie

  the utter desolation he felt at the prospect of Eric leav-

  ing Burstonbridge – unable to imagine a life at school,

  at home, anywhere in fact without his lanky mate close

  by. ‘Or we could let someone else have his share.’ He

  addressed Alex directly.

  ‘Like who?’ Eric asked indignantly.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Nick mentally scanned all the boys in

  his class. ‘Someone like Will Pearce…’

  ‘Will Pearce?’ Eric snorted. ‘Don’t be ridiculous! He’s

  a wimp! He wet himself in Nursery – you’d have to put

  a plastic bag on’t seat every time he rode it in case he did

  it again.’

  ‘So? What would you care? You’d be in Derby. Which

  I’ve heard is rubbish!’ Nick hated the wobble to his voice.

  ‘How do you know it’s rubbish? You don’t even know

  where it is!’ Eric retorted.

  ‘So!’

  ‘So!’ Eric stood opposite his mate and the two stared

  at each other with chests barrelled, two little boys imi-

  tating the men they would become, trying to contain

  the swirl of emotions that fought for control. Nick felt

  the inexplicable urge to cry and screwed his face up to

  defeat the tears.

  It was Alex who broke the silence. ‘I don’t think

  Will’s wet himself for a while now. He goes to football

  with my next-door neighbour and he has never said that

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  he’s seen Will wet himself on the pitch. And I think he

  would have told me. I mean that’s something people

  would definitely talk about.’

  Nick started to laugh.

  ‘Listen to yourself, Marjorie!’ Eric chortled, and laugh-

  ter provided the balm to soothe the stinging cut of hurt

  left by his revelation, the news that he might be leaving.

  ‘What shall we do now?’ Nick asked, wanting to do

  anything other than stay in the garage and feel this way,

  staring at the walls where Eric’s words bounced around

  like cluster bombs, ready to explode the world, as they

  knew it, wide open.

  ‘We could go and see if your mum’s got any breakfast?’

  Eric suggested.

  The boys tried to put the impending loss of Eric to

  Derby, wherever that might be, to the back of their minds.

  But it wasn’t easy. Even taking turns to hurtle down Cobb

  Lane on Half Bike lost some of its magic with Nick aware

  of the fact that they were on a countdown; this might be

  the hundredth last time they did this as a trio, the ninety-

  ninth, the ninety-eighth…

  * * *

  Eric climbed into the makeshift bed on the floor of Nick’s

  bedroom and Nick settled into his bed, pulling his duvet

  up over his shoulders. The end of August was fast ap-

  proaching and the weather
had taken a bit of a downturn.

  It was a little too chilly to sit in the paddling pool and

  his mum had tipped the murky water over her flower-

  bed. The pool itself had been upended and now rested

  on its sagging rim against the side of the shed, trying to

  dry out before it got deflated and stuffed back inside the

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  cardboard box in which it hibernated during the winter

  months. Nick found the dark, damp circle on the lawn

  where the grass had all but disappeared quite depressing.

  A reminder that once they went back to school, this was

  all that would remain, a fading circle of summer that had

  at its high point been absolutely brilliant.

  Nick clicked off the bedside lamp. It was easier to

  talk in the dark.

  ‘You reckon you’ll go to Derby then?’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘Do you think you’ll get a new best friend?’ he asked

  quietly, his fingers coiled beneath the cover.

  Eric sighed. ‘I don’t think you can plan things like

  best friends. I think they just happen; you start off with

  an okay friend and they turn out to be a best one.’

  Nick nodded, despite the darkness; yes, this was kind

  of how it had happened with them.

  ‘Half Bike has been the best thing this summer, hasn’t

  it, Eric?’

  His friend took his time in replying. ‘Half Bike has

  been ace, but I think the best thing has been staying at

  your house.’

  ‘Really?’ Nick was surprised; knowing the situation

  would not have occurred had his mum not gone off with

  Dave The … just Dave.

  ‘Yep. I like it here. Your house is always warm and your

  mum always cooks your tea and gets you breakfast. It’s nice.’

  Nick considered for the first time that this might not

  be the case in Eric’s house and he wondered what it would

  be like for his mate in Derby if his dad wasn’t there to

  make things better.

  ‘I saw a film once about these two boys who were

  best friends—’

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  ‘Like us.’ Nick interrupted.

  ‘Yes, like us and they became blood brothers.’

  ‘What’s blood brothers?’

  Eric sat up. ‘It’s where you both make a cut on your

  finger or your thumb and you push the cuts together so

  you get each other’s blood and then even if you’re sep-

  arated then you’re still brothers because you have each