The Light in the Hallway (ARC)

by Amanda Prowse

  life is perfect; I don’t think any person is. I think there’s only perfect for you and that’s enough, really, isn’t it? You find that person who you don’t mind falling asleep with

  and waking up next to and that’s enough. And it must

  have been enough for you and Kerry because you survived

  for all those years. You always seemed happy together.’

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  ‘We were to a point.’ He nodded. ‘But as I say, it wasn’t

  perfect. She … She did something and it, it was hard.’

  ‘Did what? That sounds ominous. Killed a man?’

  Beverly laughed. ‘Sorry, I don’t know why I said that,

  I’m nervous.’ She blinked.

  ‘It’s okay. I’m nervous too and for the record it nearly

  killed me.’ He took his time. ‘She got into quite a lot of debt.’ He paused again, torn at his indiscretion and yet

  already feeling the wave of relief at the very prospect of

  talking to someone about it. ‘She kept it secret and I still

  don’t really understand why, but she started buying things.’

  ‘What things?’ Beverly looked up at him, calm now

  and curious.

  ‘Oh God, anything! But nothing we actually needed

  or that was useful, things like several pairs of slippers,

  pictures she would never hang, nail polish in every colour,

  beach bags, board games, all sorts. Occasionally I’d notice

  something new and she would be a bit coy, which was

  odd as I never begrudged her a penny, of course I didn’t,

  we were a partnership. I never cared about who earned

  what; it was a shared pot. But then things changed when

  letters started arriving, which she tried to hide.’ He took

  a moment and rubbed the chill from his arms. ‘And then

  one Saturday morning, Olly was about ten, I picked up

  a brown envelope from the welcome mat and found out

  that we owed seven thousand pounds.’

  ‘Shit!’

  Nick nodded. Seven thousand pounds … An amount

  so big the weight of it wrapped in her deceit had nearly

  sunk them.

  ‘It turned out she had credit cards and store cards I

  knew nothing about and it was all a bit of a shocker. I

  found brand-new clothes, literally still with the tags on,

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  stuffed into boxes in the bottom of the wardrobe. They

  weren’t even her size. I wasn’t mad, not really, more wor-

  ried about why she was doing it and sad that she had felt

  the need to do it all so secretively, plus I was shit scared

  about how we were going to pay it all off – as I say, one

  shared pot. It was all around the same time as the Rod

  Newberry incident—’

  ‘What Rod Newberry incident?’ she interrupted.

  He gave a snort of laughter and pinched his nose.

  ‘Don’t tell me you’re the only person in Burstonbridge

  who wasn’t in on that slice of gossip?’

  ‘I must have been washing my hair that day, or maybe

  I just don’t give a shit about what other people gossip

  about.’ She gave him a knowing look. He remembered

  that her mum’s dramatic departure had been gossip fod-

  der for quite a while.

  ‘Maybe you don’t.’ He took a breath. ‘When the cof-

  fee shop went bust…’

  ‘Oh, yes, I forgot she worked there – carry on.’ Beverly

  sipped her wine.

  ‘Well, she wasn’t really herself. Looking back, I think

  she missed the company she had at work and I guess she

  was bored without the routine of her job. Anyway, she

  started hanging around Rob Newberry.’

  ‘The butcher?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She shuddered. ‘He gives me the creeps. Has always

  been a bit winky.’

  ‘Winky?’

  ‘Yeah, you know, a bit “talks to your face, but looks

  at your boobs” and winks.’

  ‘I have to say as much as I dislike the bloke, that has

  never been my experience.’ He spoke dryly and again

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  she burst into laughter and her reaction made him feel

  good … funny.

  ‘Well, Alex mentioned in passing that he’d seen them

  over the Rec and I didn’t think anything of it. We would

  both bump into everyone up there when walking Treacle

  or taking the shortcut from town home, but there was

  something in the way he said it, as if he knew something,

  and it bothered me.’

  ‘Alex likes a gossip.’

  ‘He does and I factored that in, but when I mentioned

  it to Kerry her reaction was a little off and it sat like an

  itch in my head, you know?’

  She nodded.

  Nick remembered that night, her coy smile, subdued

  body language … ‘I forgot about it eventually, but then

  my sister said something.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘How she’d seen Kerry with Rob at the bus stop, and

  not like they had bumped into each other, but relaxed,

  leaning in, like people do when they are interested in each

  other, like they’d planned to meet there. Anyway, that was

  about the extent of it. I mulled over what to do and after

  tea one night I told Kerry that she was free to do whatever

  she wanted with whoever she wanted, but if she wanted us to work as a couple and to stay married, then she had to

  cut out sneaking around with Rob or anyone else for that

  matter. Because it wasn’t fair on anyone. Especially me.’

  ‘God, Nick!’ There was a moment of silence, until

  Beverly spoke. ‘What did she say?’ She leant in.

  ‘She didn’t deny or confirm it, but sobbed and said

  she was sorry, which I took as admission of something,

  and then she went very quiet for a week or two, kept her

  thoughts to herself, but I could hear her crying in the bath.’

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  ‘That’s really sad.’ Her expression was pained, seem-

  ingly at the thought of Kerry’s distress.

  ‘Yes. It was sad for us all really. I didn’t know if she

  was crying because she was going to miss him or because

  she had hurt me.’

  ‘You didn’t ask?’

  Nick shook his head. ‘I don’t think I could have coped

  with the answer. And I think in truth, a small part of me

  wanted it to be the thing that finished us.’ He felt a little sick at the admission. ‘I had to deal with those thoughts

  and then reconcile the fact that we were going to carry on.

  It messed with my head, hers too, I’m sure. It put distance

  between us that faded over time, but never really disap-

  peared. It’s funny, when we left school I used to feel jealous of her mixing with David McCardle and Matty Peters.’

  ‘Well, David was captain of the under sixteens for their entire unbeaten season. How do I know this, you might

  ask? Because he is still talking about it!’

  Nick pictured him on the shop floor doing just that.

  ‘It’s true, though – I thought those good-looking boys,

  the flash ones with their own cars while I was still rely-

  ing on the bus, they were who I’d have to keep an eye

  out for, thought the
y might be my competition. But I’d

  given up being jealous years since. I never for a second

  thought I needed to worry about her going to pick up

  our weekly meat order.’

  ‘Maybe she was looking for something because you

  stopped worrying?’

  This truth was a verbal ice pick that struck him squarely

  between the eyes. He flinched.

  ‘Shit, Nick. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. It was

  out of order. It’s none of my business.’ She looked down,

  embarrassed, and he felt her stiffen by his side.

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  ‘No, it’s okay, I want it to be your business, and I know

  you’re right to a degree. I think I took her for granted. I

  think we took each other for granted. It was hard not to

  when we were both caught in the slog of living, work-

  ing and falling into bed each night, keeping the wheels

  turning and trying to make things the best they could be

  for Olly. The gilding that coated us when we were newly

  married got worn off by life, the rub of problems, worry,

  rows – it exposed patches that eventually took over, and

  I think I realised that being with someone I fancied was

  not necessarily enough to guarantee happy ever after.

  And then’ – he paused – ‘I haven’t ever said this out loud

  before, but…’ He thought about the phrasing, took his

  time. ‘When Kerry got sick’ – he shook his head and

  smiled, as if what he was about to say was both ridiculous

  and terrible – ‘we had to wipe the slate clean. We had to

  find a way to come together, support each other, spend

  time together, and concentrate on each other in ways we

  hadn’t before. It made us close and I think we saw the

  best of each other in those last months. I didn’t know I

  could care for her like I did, physically, and I didn’t know

  how generous and thoughtful she could be when it came

  to her death. But she was practical, never dramatic, kind

  even, and she made it the best it could be for Olly and

  me. That was remarkable of her, a gift. I’d never stopped

  loving her, not really, but I guess as a couple we became

  more functional, practical than romantic. And weirdly

  at the end, we were romantic. It was nice.’

  ‘I think you were both lucky,’ she said with obvious

  emotion in her voice.

  ‘You do?’

  ‘Yes. That kind of certainty, that kindness blossoming

  when you both needed it the most is a wonderful thing.’

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  ‘God, Beverly, here we are sharing a bottle of wine

  and all I’m doing is talking about Kerry and sad stuff. I

  know we have an agreement, but you must think I’m

  great company!’

  ‘As I’ve already said, I think it’s good we can talk

  about stuff. Important.’

  ‘I do too. But I’m out of practice, at talking and lots

  of other things.’ He felt his face colour as he realised this sounded like he was talking about sex, when in actual

  fact he had been thinking of wining and dining someone,

  flirting, dancing, and yes, actually, he had to admit, maybe

  a little bit about sex … ‘I didn’t mean…’ He floundered.

  ‘You worry too much, Nick. You need to not overthink

  things, and for the record, I think you’re doing just fine.’

  ‘Thank you.’ He winked at her.

  ‘Although you can cut that winking thing out!’

  They laughed and Nick reached for the bottle of wine.

  With two bottles of wine devoured and the alcohol

  sloshing pleasantly in their veins, the sharp edges of worry

  had been softened and his body had lost its tension, his

  muscles no longer corded, his thoughts quieted. It was

  nice. The evening had a warm glow of comfort about it

  and he got the impression that she, like him, was happy

  to be here on the sofa, while real life happened on the

  other side of the front door.

  Beverly tilted her face up and kissed his cheek. This was

  the moment he had been thinking about and he twisted

  so he could kiss her on the mouth. It was a comfortable,

  easy, wonderful thing, the way they slipped against each

  other on the sofa, taking their time to kiss slowly, get-

  ting to know each other, hesitantly, giggling with joy,

  as if neither had expected this glorious gift of attraction

  that bound them.

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  ‘Shall we go upstairs?’ she whispered.

  Nick nodded and stood from the sofa. He took her by

  the hand and led only the second woman in his life up

  the stairs and towards the bedroom. Beverly hung back

  and stood in the doorway on the small square landing.

  ‘Are you okay?’ he asked. Nerves made his mouth

  dry and he felt the quake of apprehension in his limbs,

  this, however, almost overridden by a new and welcome

  sensation, one he had not felt for some time, and which he

  recognised as desire. He stood by the bed and wondered

  whether to go and lead her over to the bed, or maybe he

  should strip off and get in, or … He was so out of practice

  and truly couldn’t remember how these things started.

  He wanted so badly to get it right.

  He watched her eyes dart to the open bathroom door,

  where he knew a lilac toothbrush sat next to his in the

  ceramic pot on the sink. She then looked back to the

  wardrobe, where the door had popped open to reveal a

  neat row of jumpers, blouses, summer frocks and a pair of

  jeans, all hung with care. Redundant clothing for a woman

  who used to live there, a woman who had entered this

  very room and climbed into the bed thousands of times.

  Nick felt paralysed by indecision; he didn’t know what

  to say or what to do.

  ‘I guess,’ Beverly began, her voice no more than a

  whisper, ‘I didn’t really think what it might be like to

  be in Kerry’s room with her things around us. I don’t

  know what I thought, but I assumed that maybe, her

  clothes and—’

  ‘Oh!’ He walked forward and shut the wardrobe door,

  as if out of sight out of mind were the best way to deal

  with this. ‘I suppose I should have sorted things, maybe

  got rid of some of—’

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  ‘No!’ Beverly almost shouted. ‘No, not at all – I would

  never ask; I was not saying that. God! That’s such a per-

  sonal thing and I would never suggest … The time is

  right when it’s right I guess, and only you know when

  that is.’ She gasped, her head hung forward. ‘Shit, Nick.’

  She sighed. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘No, I’m sorry.’ He walked towards her and pulled

  her to him until the air was less spiky and their pulses

  less flustered. ‘Do you want to go home?’

  ‘No. I don’t want to go home.’ She shook her head and

  he felt sweet and instant relief. ‘How about we go back to

  the sofa?’ she whispered. ‘I think I liked it better there.’

  ‘Me too.’ Nick
grabbed the faux fur throw from the

  end of the bed and hand in hand they walked back down

  the stairs.

  They lay with their heads on one of those darned cush-

  ions and with the throw draped over them for warmth.

  Beverly was petite and fitted nicely in the space on the

  edge of the couch, her head resting on his chest. It felt

  good to be in such close proximity.

  ‘It’s funny, Bev,’ he began, whispering into the night air.

  ‘What is?’

  He took a deep breath and stared at the ceiling. ‘I’m

  skint. My job’s going. I’m still torn up over losing Kerry,

  riddled with guilt over just about everything. I worry

  about Oliver. And yet right now, lying here with you,

  I feel happy. It’s like I can put all of that bad stuff to the back of my mind when I’m with you and it feels really

  nice.’ He felt her nod against his chest.

  She ran her fingers up under the front of his shirt and

  he closed his eyes. The touch of her fingers against his

  skin was a flame to the kindling that had lain dormant

  for so, so long.

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  Beverly looked up at him through her long, sooty

  lashes. ‘We don’t have to … I mean. I want to, but I don’t

  want to rush you. It’s that timing thing again.’ She smiled.

  Nick moved onto his side so he could kiss her prop-

  erly, pulling her towards him. He smoothed the fringe

  from her face and hoped his every action told her that

  she didn’t have to worry, the time was right.

  The time was now.

  1992

  Nick wished he had paid more attention to his dad, who

  had shown him how to pitch the tent. As the taillights

  of his dad’s car disappeared along the trail and over the

  brow of the hill, he looked at the long slender blue bag

  in which lived the tent poles and the chunky bag next

  to it with the canvas neatly folded inside, and knew he

  didn’t have the first clue.

  ‘Right.’ Alex crouched by their supplies. ‘What’s first?’

  Nick felt the pressure of his role as assumed leader; his

  palms began to sweat and he looked again out over the

  narrowing track, as if staring hard and willing it might

  make his dad return and help them set up the tent.

  ‘You know what you’re doin’?’ his dad had asked

  before leaving, and with an inflated and misplaced sense

  of pride overriding any practicalities, Nick had laughed.