planned it. I thought long and hard about how I could
move things forward. It was all I could think about and
it was … lovely.’
He smiled at her now, because she spoke the truth:
it was lovely.
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‘I didn’t know Kerry that well, and I don’t know
Oliver at all and so they felt like nothing to do with me.’
She spoke with typical candour. ‘I thought I could just
have feelings for you and hoped you might have feelings
for me and we could see where it went, naive really. I can
see now that it’s a whole lot more involved than that. You
have a position in the town as someone who is grieving,
your family lurks around every corner, and your boy has
lost his mum.’ She took a breath. ‘I remember you saying
that it felt like there were a million rules that you didn’t
know about and so you went around inadvertently break-
ing them – and I guess I now know exactly what you
mean.’ She gazed at him. ‘I don’t know what’s appropriate and I don’t understand the boundaries I should be observ-ing – maybe I need to read one of them books about the
right timing of everything too – but I do know it’s not
as simple as snogging you and hoping it all works out.’
‘I wish it were that simple,’ he admitted.
She nodded.
‘So what do we do now?’ He asked the genuine ques-
tion, hoping she had the answers.
‘Morning!’ Julian Siddley marched into the room
with a big grin and a bounce in his step and the glow of
a man who had spent the holidays somewhere the sun
shone. Nick and Beverly both stood tall, trying to make
their stances more officious. Nick hated how the man
asserted himself in the space; making it clear they were
in his office and whether they were mid conversation or
whatever else was of little regard to him.
‘Happy New Year!’
‘Happy New Year, Julian.’ Nick nodded at him.
‘How’s you, Beverly? Good Christmas?’
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‘As good as can be expected,’ she offered curtly, glanc-
ing briefly at Nick and gathering up some papers from
the desk.
‘I’d better get on.’ Nick coughed and turned to leave
the room.
‘Oh, Nick, while you’re here…’
‘Yes, Julian?’ he asked, as the man sank down into
the red leather chair behind the desk.
‘I know you’ve got a lot on, but the lock on the men’s
bathroom door is playing up.’
Nick was about to suggest he get Carl from mainten-
ance to have a look at it when Julian looked from him
to Beverly.
‘And you know how much trouble it can cause when
doors get flung open in toilets at inopportune moments!’
‘Very funny.’ Nick felt his face flush and ground his
teeth in anger and embarrassment, as Beverly covered
hers with a file. ‘Very funny,’ he reiterated, leaving the
room with the echo of Julian Siddley’s laughter bounc-
ing off the walls.
* * *
It had been over a week of little or no contact from Oliver,
and Nick had decided enough was enough. No matter
that his son was going through a tough time, he was after
all still his dad and Oliver’s behaviour was frankly rude.
He sat back on the sofa with Treacle by his side, resting
her muzzle on his leg and snoring gently and regally like
the duchess she was.
To his surprise and delight, the call was answered
quickly.
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‘Olly!’ He beamed, taking the speed of response as an
olive branch at the very least.
‘No, sorry, Mr Bairstow, it’s only me, Tasha.’
‘Call me Nick, love.’
‘Okay, Nick.’ He could tell she was smiling.
‘Is Olly there?’ Nick figured it likely, as his son was
never more than inches from his phone.
‘Erm…’ He heard her breathing. ‘He is, but he said he
didn’t want to answer the call and I picked up the phone
to hand it to him and answered it by accident.’
He liked her honesty and rubbed his eyes at the ab-
surdity of the situation.
‘Well, that’s fine, tell Oliver he doesn’t have to talk
to me.’
‘Your dad says you don’t have to talk to him.’ She
took the request literally and relayed the words.
He heard Olly shout, ‘Good!’ And the childishness
in his voice made him smile.
‘No that’s absolutely fine, Tasha, I’ll talk to you instead.’
‘Okay,’ she answered cautiously.
‘Can you ask Olly if he remembers our first caravan
holiday in Blackpool?’
‘Your dad says, do you remember your first caravan
holiday in Blackpool?’
Nick sat back on the sofa and heard a kerfuffle before
Oliver grabbed the phone and spoke: ‘Not funny!’
‘Oh, Olly, please put Tasha back on – I was just get-
ting to the bit where you were too scared to get up and
go to the loo in the middle of the night and so weed in
your cowboy hat and tried to hide it under the table!’
‘I was a little kid!’
‘Yes.’ He paused. ‘And to me you still are, and so
forgive me if I don’t always know how to handle things,
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how to treat you. Your mum used to steer me on stuff
like this and I’m honestly trying to figure it all out as I
go along, flying by the seat of my pants as they say.’
‘So I noticed.’
‘You can’t ignore me, Olly. It’s not fair and not healthy.
I need to know you’re okay and I need our communica-
tion. That’s all I’ve got…’ He paused. ‘I made a promise
and that was to make sure you were okay and I can’t do
that if you don’t talk to me.’
‘I guess.’ He spoke quietly with a suggestion of relief
that pleased Nick. He couldn’t stand the idea of them
not talking and Oliver being fine with it, knowing that
was a path to a whole other place, one he didn’t want
to visit, where words like estranged and alienated were
commonplace. The thought was more than he could
stand.
‘Good.’ Nick beamed. ‘I mean it would be terrible if
I had to jump in the car and come to Birmingham with
photos of you actually in the cowboy hat.’
‘You wouldn’t dare!’ Oliver fired.
‘Try me…’
* * *
Nick put the lead on Treacle and closed the front door.
The sky was indigo, clear, and the bare spikes of trees stood dramatically against the backdrop like cut-out props. The
moon was big and bright and he felt a flare of optimism for
whatever came next. Oliver had softened towards him a
little, and knowing his son was all right made everything
feel good in his world. He remembered Eric’s words earli-
er and his optimism faded as he tried to imagine life in
Burston without his mate. Eric had always be
en around
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the corner, in the background, only a stroll or a phone
call away, and the thought of it being any different…
‘I reckon he’s bluffing, Treacle, what do you think?’
Treacle ignored him, sniffing at the base of a wall where
a dog had recently peed.
Nick let himself into his mum’s house. ‘Only me!
And Treacle.’
At the mention of the pup his mum let out a wail of
delight.
‘Aaah, Nanny has missed her little doggy today!’ She
rushed into the hallway and dropped to her knees to
pet the dog, who closed her eyes in a state of bliss as his
mum ruffled her fur. He noted how in Oliver’s absence
she seemed to have transferred the affection and atten-
tion she usually lavished on him to the dog. ‘We’re just
having tea; do you want some? Baked ham and mashed
potato? There’s plenty.’
Of course there is.
No matter that his dad had passed away and Nick had
lived away from home longer than he had ever lived at
home, his mum still cooked for a family of four.
‘No, but thanks, Mum. I had a sandwich when I got in.’
‘And a sandwich for your lunch, I don’t mind betting.
You can’t be eating sandwiches all day, Nicky! You’re a
working man! Good Lord, let me drop you off a casserole
tomorrow and then I won’t worry.’ She bustled back to
the kitchen, where Jen sat with a plate piled high, tuck-
ing in, her vast appetite and love of stodge belied by her
athletic frame.
‘I don’t know where you put it,’ he commented as he
flicked on the kettle.
‘I know where you do!’ Jen spoke with her mouth full,
patting her own flat tum. Nick breathed in, conscious
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as ever of his slight paunch. ‘Anyway, I’m on a late shift;
that’s why I’m rushing.’
‘That explains the speed, but not the volume,’ he
quipped.
‘Sod off, Nick.’
‘Language, please!’ his mum yelled.
‘Anyway, I thought you and Eric were going to get
fit? I seem to remember him telling me that was your
New Year’s resolution.’
‘It’s always our New Year’s resolution and I’m working
on it, but it looks like I might be getting fit on my own;
have you heard Eric’s news?’
Jen rolled her eyes. ‘What news? Has he finally taken
the stabilisers off his bike? Or found the Wolverine Blu Ray DVD he thought had been taken by a poltergeist,
or managed to go through the night without wetting
the bed?’ She laughed at her own ridiculous suggestions,
demonstrating her low opinion of the man whose friend-
ship he treasured.
‘Actually, no.’ He paused, finding it hard to not lay
the blame of his friend’s leaving at her door in some small
way. ‘He’s leaving Burston. Going away.’
He watched the smile fade a little from her face and
she struggled to swallow her mouthful of food. ‘Going
away? Where?’ This too she asked with the suggestion of
a laugh, as if it were unthinkable that lanky Eric might
go anywhere.
‘Australia.’
He watched the colour drain from her cheeks and she
placed her fork on her plate.
‘Australia?’ Her eyes narrowed in disbelief, as if wait-
ing for the punchline, and she looked at the food on her
plate with something close to revulsion.
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‘Yes. He’s applied for a visa, wants to work for six
months and then when he’s there is going to try to find
a way to make it permanent. That’s what he said.’
‘Shit.’ Jen stared at him.
‘Yes, shit.’ He echoed the sentiment.
‘I can’t imagine…’ his sister began, speaking slowly.
‘Can’t imagine what?’ he asked.
Jen shrugged. ‘Don’t know, just can’t imagine him
not here. Can’t imagine him anywhere else.’
‘Yes, you’ll have to find someone else to take the mick
out of.’ His tone was sharp.
‘You don’t know anything, Nick! Absolutely nothing!’
‘Funny, I was only thinking the same myself quite
recently.’
‘I mean about me and Eric,’ she clarified.
‘There is no you and Eric! One weekend away doesn’t
constitute a relationship of any importance.’
He looked up and was aghast to see what look like
the bloom of tears in his sister’s eyes, although it was a bit late for guilt now; her ribbing of him had been predictable and consistent.
His mum sighed. ‘Australia is a very long way away.’
‘It is that, Mum,’ he acknowledged. ‘A very long way
away.’
‘Do you want jam roly-poly, Jen?’
Jen shook her head. Apparently the news had dented
her appetite.
Nick finished his cup of tea and Jen stood quietly and
got ready to leave for work.
‘See you, Jen.’
He watched as she raised her hand in a brief wave –
most unlike her not to fire a verbal barb in his direction
while she had the chance.
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‘So, have you heard from Olly?’ His mum tried to
keep her tone casual while she washed up the dinner
plates.
‘Yes. We spoke briefly. It’s a start.’
‘Give him time.’
He nodded, knowing there was little point in asking
her how much time did she think, the woman who still
cooked for a dead husband and a largely absent son.
‘I spoke to Dora – we met for a coffee in the Morrisons
café.’ She paused; indicating that what might follow had
significance. He cringed at the idea of the collaboration
and stared at her, waiting to see what opinion/advice/
idea or judgment his mother and mother-in-law had
come up with that might improve his life or help him
out.
‘She asked me if it was serious and I said I didn’t reckon
it was because if it was you would have told me about
her, that Beverly. She seemed to know a lot more than I
did, said you’d asked her advice.’
‘Hardly advice, but we did mention it, yes.’ He hated
that he had to justify himself to his mum too. Suddenly
the thought of living in Australia, away from Burston and
everyone in it, didn’t seem such a ridiculous idea. ‘Well,
I’m a big boy now, Mum, and believe it or not I can have
a friend without your approval or inviting them over to
tea. And “that Beverly” and I are friends and that’s all
there is to report right now.’
‘Well, you seem a bit tetchy over something that
means so little.’
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘No, you didn’t. And I might be an interfering old
bag, but I know you, Nicky, and I can always tell how
you’re feeling.’
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‘Can you tell that I’m feeling mightily pissed off by you
sticking your nose in?’ he offered with a smile, softening
the pointed message with humour.
‘I can, actually, and can you tell that I couldn’t give a
fig and will continue to stick my nose in so long as there
is breath in my body?’
‘I can’ – touché – ‘and on that note, I will continue on my walk with Treacle.’
* * *
Nick hadn’t planned the route, not at a conscious level,
but the earlier conversation with Beverly sat at the fore
of his mind, now that worrying about Oliver had been
relegated to second place. He walked over the cobbles of
Market Square, past the war memorial, and turned into
Appledore. It was quiet, difficult now to imagine the street
where revellers had gathered, dancing in and out of the
narrow cottage with paper streamers around their necks
and the flash of disco lights in the front room. Nick took
a deep breath and looked down at Treacle, who looked
up at him. ‘Don’t look at me like that; I’m thinking.’
He was aware that to cross the threshold in a sober
state, to walk into her home armed with the knowledge
that they shared a connection was a big step; it spoke of his intentions, his desire that they might be something more
than friends. It was the kind of grown-up face-to-face
interaction that someone who knew what he wanted
might have. And he felt petrified.
He walked casually towards the front door, thinking
that if he lost his confidence he could walk straight past and go around the block and no one would be any wiser. But
he didn’t lose his confidence. Instead, powerfully drawn
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by the light that shone from the hallway, he pulled back
his shoulders, sucked in his stomach and rang the doorbell.
‘Oh, hello, cutie!’
‘Nick’ll do,’ he quipped as Beverly sighed despite her
smile and dropped down to greet Treacle.
‘Coffee or tea?’ she asked, walking back down the
hallway towards the kitchen, which was surprisingly spa-
cious without people filling it wall to wall and the likes of Mikey Sturridge, the man mountain, lumbering through
the place. Nick kept his eyes averted from the downstairs
bathroom door, not wanting Oliver’s distressed face to
hijack the moment. He liked the way she hadn’t asked if
he would like a drink or did he want to come in; it was
assumed, direct in the way he had come to expect from
her, and it reassured him that he had done the right thing
The Light in the Hallway (ARC) Page 23