‘I know this isn’t funny,’ she whispered with her palms
raised, ‘but if it wasn’t so embarrassing, it would be a
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little bit funny.’ She smiled at him. ‘I have my knickers
on inside out.’ She pulled a face.
Nick felt a rush of affection for the woman who could
have made the situation so much worse. The fact that
she could remain calm and find humour with no idea of
what waited for them outside the door was something
quite wonderful.
‘You’re lucky.’ He paused. ‘My briefs are in my pocket!’
He pulled the scrunched-up, offending item from his
pocket briefly before shoving them back into his jeans.
With their clothing and a little of Nick’s dignity re-
stored, he drew the curtains, opened the window and
watched as Beverly placed the cushions on the sofa.
‘I’m not very good at cushions.’ She looked at him
soberly and he again stifled his laughter; in light of the
situation in which they found themselves, cushions really
didn’t matter.
‘Me either.’ He reached out and ran his fingers over
her neck. The small touch was enough to remind him of
the current of desire that ran through them, joined them.
It was no small reassurance when he considered going
outside of the room to face Oliver. He tried to remind
himself that he was the dad and Oliver was his child and
that this was not Oliver’s ship to steer, but this momentary
blip of reasoning quickly evaporated; he and Kerry had
never parented in that way.
‘You go ahead.’ She twisted her face and kissed his
wrist. ‘I’ll pop to the bathroom and come down in a bit,
give you a chance to smooth the path.’
Nick nodded and took a deep breath; he hated the ham-
mer of nerves that beat a rhythm in his stomach. Opening
the door with false bravado, embarrassment shading his
thoughts and actions, he walked into the kitchen. Oliver
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and Tasha sat at either side of the kitchen table in silence.
The atmosphere could best be described as tense. Tasha’s
nose twitched under the heavy frame of her glasses and
Oliver stared at his hands that fidgeted on the tabletop.
‘So, this is a lovely surprise – good journey? How
did you get up here?’ He faced the cupboard, glad of the
diversion as he hunted down the mugs.
Tasha spoke up, her voice a little smaller than Nick
had remembered when she was in her own environment,
her manner a little more reserved. ‘We got the night time
coach that took us to York and then we got the train
to Thirsk and then the bus over here. It’s been quite an
adventure, but it was nice to see the countryside, and
we slept on the coach and talked a lot, so it went quickly
really.’ She swallowed.
‘You should have said you were coming,’ Nick offered
lightly, and Oliver caught his eye. Nick knew his boy
well enough to read his expression: I wish we had … ‘I’d have got a proper breakfast in and whatnot. It’s great to
see you, Tasha! Welcome to Burston!’
‘Thank you.’ She looked at Oliver, asserting her loyalty
despite Nick’s attempt at friendly banter.
‘I’ll nip out later and do a big shop, get all your fa-
vourites in, Olly. Are you still shifting enough cereal to
feed an army on a daily basis?’
Oliver again looked at his hands, his face drawn.
‘I told him he eats too much cereal. Sometimes he fills
up a mixing bowl and eats that in front of his computer;
it’s, like, at least two billion teaspoons of sugar.’ Tasha
filled the silent gaps and Nick was strangely grateful,
figuring that if she hadn’t been there then Oliver would
have a lot more to say, a lot that Nick knew he probably
didn’t want to hear, and possibly delivered in a manner
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that had the power to wound. Still stunned by the news
that he was to lose his livelihood and now this stomach-
bunching awkward encounter, he didn’t know if he was
properly equipped to deal with anything else right now.
‘Morning, everyone,’ Beverly said softly, walking in
slowly, hesitantly, as if testing the water or waiting for an invitation. She hovered before deciding to sit at the table
between Tasha and Oliver. Nick resisted the temptation
to walk over and place his hand on her back and guide
her to the chair, thinking his physical reassurance might
help. He chose to ignore the slight curl of Oliver’s top lip
and the narrowing of his eyes. It didn’t bode well.
‘Morning, I’m Tasha.’ The girl nodded and smiled
briefly and Nick wanted to hug her.
‘Hi, Tasha, Beverly.’ She smiled at the girl. ‘And how
are you, Oliver?’
Nick noted the nervous edge to her voice and the
way she swallowed, clearly feeling more anxious than he
realised. He hated that she had been put in this position,
especially when last night had been so bloody perfect.
‘Imokay,’ the boy responded, eliding his words to get
the whole interaction over in the shortest possible time.
Nick put the mugs on the countertop and reached for
the caddy in which the teabags lived. He had heard the
distinct tone to Oliver’s voice, the sound of vocal cords
pulled taut under the strain of trying not to cry, and his
heart ripped. He wanted to take the boy in his arms and
hold him tight, tell him that it was all going to be fine,
that this was still and always would be his home and that
Nick loved him.
You and me against the world…
But in the presence of his girlfriend and Beverly the
stranger, Nick knew it was best to let him be.
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‘Do you know, Nick, I think I’d better make a move
actually.’ Beverly pointed towards the front door as she
stood from the table. ‘Nice to meet you, Tasha, and nice
to see you again, Oliver.’ She spoke with false brightness
as she left the kitchen.
‘I’ll see you out.’ Nick followed her along the hallway
and opened the front door. ‘Bev,’ he began, speaking
softly, aware of the audience, his eyes searching, hoping
she got the message that he wanted to say more.
She smiled up at him and closed her eyes briefly. ‘It’s
fine. Call me later.’ She squeezed his arm and walked up
the garden path. He felt a spike of longing as she walked
away, wanting to call her back and tell her that he would
prefer it if she stayed, but of course that wasn’t possible,
not today.
Closing the front door, he swallowed the thought at
having to go and face his son and Tasha, feeling curiously
like he had lost his ally. Painting on a smile, he clapped
his hands and marched ahead.
‘Right, who wants toast?’
‘No, thanks. I just want a shower.’ Oliver avoided eye
; contact as he stood and reached for Tasha, who followed
him up the stairs.
Nick sat alone and put his head in his hands.
‘Why does everything have to be so bloody com-
plicated?’ he whispered into the ether. ‘I need fresh air.’
* * *
It was a beautiful day. Nick walked with purpose and
glowed with the memory of what it had felt like to lay
with Beverly. The sun sat high in the sky and golden rays
spread like beams from God’s torchlight from behind the
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wispy clouds that were propelled by the faintest breeze.
Nick climbed up the ridge, stopping to take in the view
that lay beneath him. His eyes settled on the rusting roof
of the Old Dairy Shed, a place into which he never invited
his sister. He wished he could go back and do just that,
make her feel wanted, try to soften the spike of low self-
esteem that now lanced her potential relationships. The
Old Dairy Shed, like other farm buildings in the area,
was dilapidated and unloved, and yet a place for which
he felt such affection.
Everything can prosper with a bit of love…
He heard Kerry’s voice and smiled. He needed to
hear that today.
It was rare for him to pause and appreciate the stun-
ning expanse. It seemed he was always in a hurry these
days – to get home or to his next shift. Countless were
the times he had wished he didn’t have to be anywhere.
Yet now the prospect of having no shift to clock on for,
free to spend his days idling without a wage, filled him
with cold dread.
Careful what you wish for, eh, Nick?
He had decided to get a head start and contact employ-
ment agencies on Monday, to start putting feelers out. But
that was Monday; right now he was just going to look at
the view. He let his eyes sweep the hedgerows, binding
the narrow lanes and the fields rolling as far as the eye
could see in a glorious verdant patchwork until they met
the wide twist of the river in the distance. Ancient trees
stooped and flourished at the water’s edge. In a mirror
image on the other side of the river, the fields sloped up-
wards to the top of the valley and beyond, the crests of the
dark imposing moors made a pale mauve with spreading
heather set slightly in shadow. The big sky was blue and
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despite the chill of the April day, the sun glinted off the
water that foamed where it hit boulders and clusters of
twigs gathered against the bank. Nick stayed there, watch-
ing the light change. And those glorious shafts of golden
light firing from the sun as it rose higher, bathing the
fields and all it touched in a beautiful glow. Long shadows
stretched and yawned across the meadows, alerting every
living thing that the day was marching on.
Nick found himself almost reduced to tears, but this
time by the sheer beauty of his surroundings. He walked on
until he came to the bench by Kerry’s grave and sat down
hard. The damp wood flexed a little under his weight.
He gathered his thoughts, sniffed and looked cautiously
at the grey stone beneath which his wife lay. It was an
odd thing. He addressed her now for the first time ever
having slept with another woman. Whether his sense of
betrayal was necessary or justified made little difference,
he felt it just the same.
‘Hey, love,’ he began. ‘I don’t know what to say. I feel
a bit lost, a bit happy and a bit worried that I have no right to feel even the beginnings of happy, but then I think,
why not me? Why not? And who’s to say when the time
is right? How soon is too soon? I wish I knew.’ He laid his
fingers on his thighs and pictured Kerry when she would
turn mid-walk, look him right in the eye and smile or
nod, agreeing to something he had shared. Her face, her
lovely face not too different from that of the teenager he
had fallen in love with all those years ago, always pretty,
always to him that girl sitting in the classroom.
‘What a week,’ he continued with a dry laugh. ‘They’re
closing Siddley’s. I can’t believe it. It hasn’t sunk in. I keep thinking that there will be an eleventh-hour reprieve,
something.’ He shook his head and realised he spoke
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the truth. ‘I keep thinking about when Dad said I could
get a few shifts – do you remember? We were pleased as
punch, thought it was a king’s ransom. I can’t remember
exactly how much I was earning, but I know it was a
pittance. Just enough to pay the rent and to keep us in
tins of soup and packets of cheap spaghetti, and that was
all we worried about, wasn’t it? God we were so young,
Kerry, naïve, really, but happy, eh? Happy then.’ He
took a deep breath. ‘Things are changing and I feel like
I’m struggling to keep up. Eric wants to go to bloody
Australia! Can you believe that? Australia!’ He shook his
head. ‘I know he’s always had a hankering for the sun,
but I can’t imagine not seeing him every day. But then I
can’t imagine not seeing you every day and yet here we
are. Beverly stayed last night and…’
Nick paused and turned to his right at the sound of
someone climbing the ridge. He sat up straight at the
sight of his son, who stopped and looked back down the
hill, as if deciding whether or not he wanted to be in
such close proximity, alone with his dad, before making
his way over.
Nick budged up on the soggy bench. Oliver sat as far
away from him as was physically possible. It was rare for
them both to be here at the same time.
‘I just wanted to talk to Mum.’ Oliver sat forward
with his elbows on his knees.
‘Me too.’ He spoke calmly, holding his ground.
Nick watched as his son stared at the grave and sus-
pected Oliver was talking to his mum in his head. It felt a
little like an intrusion and so he sat still and quiet. When
Oliver sat back and sniffed, Nick spoke.
‘Where’s Tasha?’
‘At Auntie Di’s.’
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‘Auntie Di’s? How come?’ Nick couldn’t help but allow
the note of concern to escape, underpinned with surprise.
‘We went to get Treacle from Nan’s and were walk-
ing her back when we bumped into Auntie Di and she
said I should probably come up and see Mum and Tasha
went with her. I think they’re going to bake something.’
Just my bloody luck…
‘Smashing.’
‘What? I can’t see Auntie Di now?’
‘No, Olly, of course you can! Have I ever said anything
remotely like that?’
Oliver huffed.
‘I don’t know if you heard how she spoke to me on
New Year’s Eve, but it’s not nice to be on the receiving
end of it.’ Nick knew he sounded defensive. ‘I’ve never
told you
not to see Auntie Di or Gran or anyone! I never
would. I think the more people you have holding up your
safety net the better – I’ve always thought that.’
Oliver gave a single shake of his head.
‘I don’t know if I prefer the silent treatment or your
anger. I can’t decide.’ Nick sighed.
‘I came home because Nan texted me and told me
Siddley’s was going. I thought you’d be fed up and so I
came home to surprise you.’
‘That was really good of you, Olly. I am fed up. It’s terrible news for everyone affected and terrible news for
Burston.’ He looked out over the fields and tried to picture
at least a thousand brand-new houses…
‘I have to say’ – his son laughed sarcastically – ‘you
didn’t seem that fed up when I came in, and it was me
who got a bit of a surprise.’
‘Yes.’ Nick twisted on the bench to face him. ‘We
need to talk about that, don’t we.’
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‘So does she live there now?’
‘No!’ Nick shook his head vigorously. ‘Of course not!
That was actually the first time she had stayed over and
it wasn’t planned.’
Oliver widened his eyes, tilted his head to one side
and pulled a face that suggested he did not believe this for
one second. Nick ignored it and carried on, more intent
on making progress than setting the record straight.
‘I’m sensitive to how you feel, Olly, more than you
know, but I can’t be beholden to you – it’s not fair.’
‘Not fair?’ Oliver swallowed. ‘I’m so angry, Dad!’
‘And you have every right to be angry about the
blows life has dealt you, every right.’ He looked at Kerry’s
headstone. ‘But you have no right to be angry at me, not
because I’ve made friends with Beverly; that can’t be—’
‘It’s not only that,’ Oliver interrupted. ‘I’m angry that
Mum’s not here to meet Tasha, and I’m angry because
there was another woman on her sofa, in her kitchen.
And it makes it real, because if she is in the kitchen then it means my mum isn’t.’
‘I understand.’
‘No, you don’t!’ The boy raised his voice. ‘You can
say that as much as you like but you don’t, Dad, you can’t!
And you never will. You can only know what it’s like for
you but never for me.’
Nick turned to face him. ‘So what do you want me
to do? What exactly do you want me to do, Oliver?’
The Light in the Hallway (ARC) Page 32