The Light in the Hallway (ARC)
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up to thirty miles an hour on Cobb Lane,’ Alex pointed
out, and Nick was not only glad of his mate’s enthusi-
asm for poor old Half Bike, but also recognition of his
speedy feat.
Julian threw his head back and laughed loudly. But
this laugh was different from the pee-inducing hilarity
they had shared earlier. This was a mocking laugh, the
sound of derision, and Nick didn’t like it one bit. He felt
a flash of dislike for this boy.
‘I mean horses, of course! Do you ride horses? We have stables and I have a new pony called Ruskin but we call
him Rusky. Do you want to see him?’
Nick and his mates stared at the boy, wondering how
to answer, when a man’s voice called out.
‘Now then, lads!’ The boys looked up at the man who
came from the front door of the house. He looked a bit
like Julian, but had an accent closer to their own. It was
odd to Nick how much this put him at ease.
‘Which one of you is Jack Bairstow’s lad?’
‘Me.’ He raised his hand.
‘Nick?’
‘Yes!’ This was amazing to him – there they were up
on Drayfield Moor in the middle of nowhere in this man’s
massive garden and he knew Nick’s name!
‘I’m Aubrey Siddley; I work with your dad.’
‘My dad works at Siddley’s!’ Nick beamed at this
connection.
‘Yes.’ The man laughed. ‘That’s right, he does.’
‘My dad works at Siddley’s too,’ Eric piped up.
‘Does he now? Who is your dad?’ the man asked,
smiling.
‘Gary Pickard.’
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‘Ah, Gary, yes.’ The man let his eyes wrinkle at the
edges, as if he felt a little bit sorry for Eric, and Nick
wondered if he had heard about the whole Derby thing
and the stinking new baby.
‘Does your dad work at Siddley’s too?’ Mr Siddley
asked Alex, who shook his head.
‘No, he works for British Gas.’
For some reason this made the man laugh.
‘Right, so we are lost, are we?’
‘Yes.’ Nick stepped forward. ‘We are camping for one
night, and my dad dropped us off on the track and we set
the tent up and then went to explore a bit, and now we
can’t find the tent.’ He looked at the floor, feeling more
than a little responsible for their predicament.
‘Right, well, if your dad drove in from Burston, I
reckon I might know the track you mean. I’ll go fetch the
car and we’ll get you back to base camp; how about that?’
‘Thank you.’ Nick remembered his manners, know-
ing his dad would remind him of them if he were here.
‘Can I come, Daddy?’ Julian jumped up and down
with stiffened arms and legs.
‘No, lad. Your mum’s got supper on the table.’
Nick saw Eric’s eyes glaze over and knew he was
imagining the table inside the big house, wondering what
food Julian’s mum might be preparing.
Mr Siddley disappeared around the side of the property.
‘Bye, guys!’ Julian called. The boys waved an awkward
goodbye to Julian.
‘How many bedrooms do you think there are in that
house?’ Alex stared up at it.
‘About seventeen,’ Eric guessed.
Nick thought this number was way too big but with
nothing to base his assumption on he kept quiet. It was
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as he counted the upstairs windows, trying to figure out
how many bedrooms there might be, that Alex shouted
loudly.
‘No way!’
Nick whipped around in time to see Mr Siddley pull
around to the front of the house in a gleaming navy-blue
Rolls Royce.
The boys ran around the car, admiring the immaculate
paintwork and stopping short of running their fingers over
the surface. Nick stared at the large chrome grille that
had a silver figure sitting proudly above it. Mr Siddley
wound down the window.
‘Hop in then; mind your feet on the seats.’
Nick made his way around the wide vehicle, ad-
miring the shiny chrome wing mirrors and the chrome
strips that lined the smear-free windows. It was the most
beautiful car he had ever seen. The most beautiful thing
he had ever seen!
Eric opened the door to the backseat and piled in,
followed by Nick and finally Alex, who held the torch on
his lap. The first thing he noticed was the smell. Breathing
deeply, he inhaled the heady, intoxicating scent of the
warm caramel-coloured leather. He knew it was a smell
he would never forget. The second thing was the absolute
comfort of the seats. They were wide, soft and yet sup-
portive. He sank into it, the rounded edges so nice to feel
against his skin. He had a perfect view of the dashboard
between the two vast front seats and stared at the enormous
number of dials and indicators that sat recessed inside the
glossy wooden panel. He wanted to push every button
and run his finger over every dial. And it was quiet! So
quiet. He would have thought that a vehicle of this size
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and stature would make quite a racket, but the engine
almost purred as it rolled along the long driveway.
‘How fast can it go?’ Eric asked.
‘Faster than I’m allowed to.’ Mr Siddley laughed as
they stopped at the gates, which seemed to magically
whir open. Nick turned and looked back towards the
house and spied Julian, watching them from a window
above the front door. He felt a little guilty, thinking that
maybe he was supposed to invite Julian to come along,
but they didn’t know him at all and the tent wasn’t that
big; plus, he wasn’t sure he wanted someone in their gang
who treated his things so badly. His eyes now settled
on the discarded bike and again he felt the flare of fury.
Why did that boy think it was okay to treat something
so precious this way?
Nick paid little attention to the route they took, and
would have been quite happy to be driven around like
this all day and all night. Whilst some might have been
drawn by the glorious countryside beyond the window,
Nick could only concentrate on the fine detail that made
this car magnificent: the shiny pop-up door locks, the
wood panelling inside the doors, the chunky yet rounded
handles with which to open them, and the air vents sit-
ting like mini portholes, edged in the thinnest strips of
bright chrome.
‘I like your car,’ Nick managed, finding his voice.
‘She’s a beauty all right.’ Mr Siddley ran his hand over
the top of the wide, wooden steering wheel, which had a
caramel-coloured leather triangle in the middle and silver
double ‘Rs’ entwined on it. ‘Do you think you might
like a car like this one day?’ the man asked in the mirror,
looking straight at Nick.
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‘No.’ Nick shook his head. ‘I don’t think it would fit
on our driveway,’ he replied honestly, and for some reason
this too made the man laugh.
‘You’re a practical fellow, young Bairstow, and that’s
a good way to be!’
Nick felt his cheeks colour at the compliment, not
entirely sure what it meant to be practical but fearful that
it sounded a little dull.
‘Now then.’ The car slowed. ‘I’m guessing this must
be your tent, as that is certainly your dad.’
Nick whipped around to see his dad standing a little
way from the road on the other side of the track by the
side of their tent with his hands on his hips. He hoped
he wasn’t going to be mad.
‘Jack.’ Mr Siddley wound the window down and Nick
watched his dad walk around to address the man.
‘Mr Siddley! How did … What’s going on? I’m sorry.’
Nick didn’t know what he was apologising for and
didn’t like to see his dad flustered like this, the man whose word was law.
‘No need to apologise. Out you hop, lads.’
Alex opened the door and the three climbed reluc-
tantly from the vehicle.
‘I think our intrepid explorers might have taken a
wrong turn.’
‘Yes.’ Jack Bairstow shook his head. ‘I’m in the car
over the brow of the next hill – didn’t want them out
here entirely alone.’
Nick looked at his mates. He didn’t know how to
take this news. He was in equal parts furious that the
man didn’t trust them to make it through one night of
camping, but just as relieved that his dad was close by,
on hand, listening out for the call of ‘SHIT STICKS!’
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that might mean puma attack – or worse, they couldn’t
figure out how to cook the sausages.
‘Are you camping too?’ Eric tried to catch up.
‘No, Eric, I’m sleeping in the car with the seat reclined,
but with the window open, listening out.’
‘The things we do for them, eh, Jack?’
His dad laughed and nodded. ‘I watched them put the
tent up, turned my back for a minute and they’d gone!’
‘They went down and round the lower moor and
were trying to come up the wrong side, a bit of a goose
chase.’ Mr Siddley laughed.
‘Is it true there’s a big puma around here?’ Alex asked
with a rasp to his voice.
‘Oh, yes.’ Mr Siddley nodded solemnly before whisper-
ing, ‘A big beast he is by all accounts, only comes out at
night, and I’ve heard he’s rather partial to the colour blue.’
The boys looked from one another to their tent. Nick
had never been happier that his dad was right there by
his side.
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CHAPTER TEN
It had been a turbulent night. Sleeping on the sofa meant
Nick woke sporadically to find himself either squashed
into the corner with his face against the squeaky leather,
or about to fall off the rounded edge, depending on the
many sleep configurations they tried until dawn broke.
And then, as if exhaustion took over, he and Beverly fell
into a deep sleep. The furry throw covered their nakedness.
Their clothes had been removed and flung with abandon
over the rug and coffee table. Nick got up to pee in the
night, gingerly climbing over Beverly’s sleeping form
and trying in vain not to disturb her. He had smiled at
the sight of his jeans and shirt heaped on the floor and
her underwear, small and floral, odd, delicate things that
he was not used to seeing around the house of late. The
wineglasses, empty bottles and the half-eaten bowl of crisps
littered the surfaces. It looked like there had been a party.
The sight of this glorious detritus folded his gut with joy.
It was proof of someone living a life that was more than
dog walks, early nights and sandwiches for supper. It felt
slightly illicit and carefree, frivolous and a little daring, all aspects of life that had been off his radar for a long,
long time. He stared at his face in the bathroom mirror
and smiled. He looked a little younger, remembering
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how wonderful sex was, and realising now that he had
missed it more than he ever would have dared to admit.
And now they slept.
Nick was vaguely aware of an unfamiliar noise and
tried and failed to force his lids, gluey with fatigue, open.
His first thought was that Treacle might need letting out,
before pulling from the murky depths of his thoughts the
fact that the dog had stayed at his mum’s. He wondered
vaguely if post had plopped through the door or whether
someone walking past had nudged the gate. Not that it
mattered. Nothing did. It was the weekend and here he
lay with the skin of a naked woman next to his.
Light snuck in through the gaps in the curtain and his
brain ticked into semi-alert mode. His thoughts turned
to a cup of tea and then immediately wondered if he had
any fresh bread and whether Beverly might like some
toast. Breakfast was not something he had envisaged or
planned for. And then there was another noise; to his
horror this was one he did recognise: the sound of the
front door closing. His heart boomed in his chest. And
before he had a chance to shout out, move or make a
plan, he heard Oliver’s voice calling from the other side
of the door in the hallway.
‘Dad? Hel-lo! I’m home! Tash is here too. Dad?’ His
son’s voice echoed along the narrow hallway.
‘Shit! Shit!’ He tried to jump up and jarred Beverly
awake in the process, unceremoniously kneeing her in
the back. She now sat up on the sofa and drew the furry
throw to her chin, looking a little dazed.
‘Olly!’ he called out, drawing breath, as his heart
continued to hammer. He was about to say, just give me a
minute, or I’ll be out in a sec or don’t come in! Or a million 281
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other things that might, just might, have taken the sharp
edge off the situation and given all present the smallest
window of opportunity to preserve some modesty and
limit the damage that was about to be done. And by all
present, he meant himself, Beverly who now sat with
a look of part confusion and part terror, Oliver … and
Tasha. Tasha the girl his son loved and who was visiting
their home for the very first time.
‘Oliver!’ Nick rushed towards the door and then,
seeing Tasha standing a fraction behind his son, jumped
back into the room to retrieve his jeans from the floor.
‘What’s going on?’ Oliver laughed, looking at Tasha
with an expression that was as confused as it was apolo-
getic. Clearly the last thing he would have told her to
expect was his half-naked father hopping around on one
leg in the lounge trying to step into his jeans.
‘Take Tasha into the kitchen and get the kettle on;
welcoming, smiling briefly at Tasha and doing his best
to make this seem like any other normal arrival home
when it was anything but.
At the use of the word ‘we’ he saw the penny drop.
Oliver’s eyes searched his before scanning the floor, where
Nick knew he would spot the clothes they had wantonly
discarded.
Shit sticks!
He pushed the door until it was almost closed and
looked at Beverly, who, hair mussed and eyes heavy from
sleep, stared at him.
‘What’s going on?’ she managed.
‘Oliver and his girlfriend Tasha have turned up.’ He
felt his stomach bunch as he watched her close her eyes,
bring her knees up under the cover and rest her forehead
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on them. It looked like she was trying to hide from the
situation or at the very least wake up from the embarrass-
ing nightmare in which she found herself. He understood
both. Nick also felt the bolt of guilt, the very idea that
he might look upon his son’s surprise arrival home with
anything other than joy, and yet here he was, wishing
Oliver had given some notice.
‘What do we do now?’ She kept her voice low.
‘Get dressed,’ he urged. ‘I’ve told them to wait in the
kitchen.’
‘Oh my God!’ she whispered.
‘I’m sorry, Bev.’
She gave his apology short shrift; there were more
pressing matters at hand, like rummaging around on the
floor, trying to retrieve her bra and knickers.
In the face of the emergency, any shyness over their
naked state in these new and uncharted waters was lost.
There was no time to reach subtly for pants and shirts
while the other turned away or, as Nick had planned, to
gather up his stuff and dress in the kitchen while the kettle boiled, giving her space and privacy to do likewise. Instead, they encroached on each other’s space in the small, square
room, tripping over the lumps of shoe that lay beneath
cushions and fumbling in the semi-lit room to fasten
bra hooks and button up Christmas gift shirts, bending
over, bums in the air to scrabble under the throw, trying
to locate socks and in Beverly’s case, a missing camisole.
Nick raised one foot to put his sock on and stumbled
forward, landing in a crumpled heap on the armchair
that sat in the corner. He twisted to sit it in and looked
at Beverly, who was trying not to laugh.