Oliver shrugged.
Nick didn’t try to hide his irritation. ‘Don’t shrug!
That’s not an answer. You can’t have such strong opin-
ions and not have a solution. How do you want things to work? What would make you happy?’
‘I don’t know,’ Oliver mumbled, kicking at the grass.
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‘I think you do know, but you’re just not saying.’
Nick knew him well enough to figure this was the case.
‘Okay, I want you to stop seeing her. I don’t want
you to see anyone, and I know I can’t ask that, but that
is what would make me happy because … because I’m
still not ready.’ He whispered the last bit.
Nick took his time in forming his response. This was
the difficult stuff to talk about that he and Beverly had
mentioned, and he knew she was right; it was exactly this
stuff that moved things forward. He kept his tone level,
subduing the emotion and anger that threatened to flare.
‘Thank you for answering me so honestly. I appreciate
that. I do. But the fact is, it’s happened, Olly. The genie
is out of the bottle. I’ve spent time with Beverly. She
stayed over, and I have to be honest and say that I would
like her to stay again. I’ve got a lot going on right now
in my life that is far from good. Like losing my job for
one.’ He let this hang. ‘And she is one part of it that is
good. Being with her makes me happy.’
‘But you promised me…’ Oliver looked away, out
over the expanse.
‘I promised you what?’
‘You promised me that it was you and me against the
world, the Bairstow Boys –that’s what you said!’
‘And that hasn’t changed! That could never change!
Oliver, you’re my son. I love you, kid.’ Nick paused
and bit his lip. ‘But there is room in both of our lives
for more. You have Tasha and if things work out, then
maybe I might have Bev. But despite what you think it’s
still very early days.’
Oliver took a deep breath. ‘I’m still getting used to
the shape of the two of us without her.’ He nodded to-
wards the grave. ‘And I can’t imagine a new shape with
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a new person, someone I don’t even know, someone in
my house. It feels like the end of everything, even more
than losing Mum. This feels like a new beginning that I
don’t have a part in.’
‘But that’s simply not true. What is true is that you
don’t know Beverly, not yet, but you have to trust me
to make a decision that I think will be good. Just like I
always have when you were too little to have a say, I’ve
always guided you, guided us to live the best life we could with what we had.’
Oliver seemed to calm a little. His words when they
came were considered, poison-tipped arrows that lanced
Nick’s breast and stuck in his heart.
‘It feels like you’ve got shot of me and got shot of Mum
and you’re starting over.’ His voice was full of gravel, the
rocks of grief crushed and now lining his throat.
Nick didn’t have time to order his thoughts or plan
what to say; the tears that sprang overtook both consid-
erations. It was an instinctual response, as instantly and
without warning he was crying. He bowed his head and
let his sorrow drip from his chin as he made sounds of
distress, trying to catch his breath before the next bout
of tears robbed him of the rhythm.
Oliver shifted a little closer on the bench and Nick
felt him place his hand in the middle of his back. It
helped. A little. Eventually, as his sadness subsided, Nick
straightened and rubbed his face with his hand, wiping
his palms on his jeans to rid them of his tears. His eyes
felt sore and he didn’t doubt they looked it; that kind of
crying always left its mark.
‘That is’ – Nick took a sharp breath – ‘categorically
not true, and that you even think it hurts me more than
I can say.’
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‘I didn’t mean it. Not really. It just came out wrong.’
He heard Oliver swallow.
Nick didn’t respond to this inadequate, half-hearted
apology. It would take a little more than a hand on his
back and those mealy-mouthed words to erase the hurt.
‘It’s just that I—’
Nick ground his teeth. ‘Stop talking, Oliver. Stop
talking and just listen to what you say and how you say it.
Now, I’m no expert – far from it, I’m still feeling my way
through this whole bloody process – but the difference
between you and me is that I think about you and your
needs all the time, every bloody day, but you? You can
only think about what is right for Oliver. What Oliver
needs, what makes Oliver happy.’ He paused and coughed,
clearing the snotty residue that had slipped down the back
of his throat. ‘And you’re not a kid, not a baby. I think it’s time you started to widen your emotional net. What about
me? My needs, my wants? I’m more than just your dad, Oliver! I’m a person in my own right and I’m lonely and
I’m sad.’ He took a breath. ‘And all the things that you get
from being with Tasha – the companionship, the love, the
escape, the joy – why do you think that I’m not entitled
to that? Is it because I’m so old? Is that it? Or because you think I should be living in the shade of grief for eternity?
Why? Tell me. Because it’s not fair. It’s not bloody fair that I’m made to feel this way. I loved your mum – I love
her.’ He swallowed the catch to his voice, not wanting
to cry again, done with that. It was too exhausting and
served nothing other than making him feel like crap. ‘I
love her, I always will, and I love you. But I’m more than
Kerry’s widower and more than just your dad.’
Oliver looked at him and it was a second or two before
he spoke. ‘But you’re not more than that to me.’ He drew
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breath. ‘You’re just my dad. That’s all and it’s everything.
My dad. I understand what you’re saying, but I want you
to be there just for me.’
Nick didn’t know what to say. His son’s words were
gentle, honest and ripped his heart as much as his hurtful
ones. He looked towards the plot where Kerry lay and
hoped for inspiration. Oliver wasn’t done.
‘But then I want a lot of things. I want to be seven
again and want to come home to Mum making my tea
and then while I’m eating it I want you to come in the
door and kiss her on the cheek and wink at me and sug-
gest we have a kick about on the front grass when I’ve
finished. That’s what I want. Being adult is hard.’
Nick was relieved at the burst of laughter that spilled
from him.
‘Being adult?’ He continued to laugh and shook his
head affectionately. ‘You’re an eighteen-year-old student,
Olly, with the whole wide world
at your feet – you have
no idea.’
‘I don’t want an idea, judging by what I’ve seen so far.’
‘Don’t write it off just yet; being a grown-up isn’t all
bad.’ Nick ruffled his son’s hair.
‘What’s that?’ Oliver nodded to the small posy poking
from Nick’s pocket.
‘It’s a little bunch of heather.’
‘For Mum?’
‘Yes. I gave her a sprig of heather on our first date; we
went for a walk up on Drayton Moor and I picked her
a bunch and she kept it. It’s still in her bedside drawer.’
‘Surprised you got a second date if that’s where you
took her.’
‘Me too, son. Trust me, I was punching above my
weight and I knew it.’ He paused and smiled, remembering
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the day they’d walked across Market Square hand in hand
and he’d felt ten feet tall. ‘I was a couple of years younger than you are now, if you can believe that, and I felt like
I’d won the lottery.’
Oliver put his hands inside the pockets of his puffy
jacket. ‘So how can you just…’ He looked up; the words
didn’t come easily. ‘How can you just get Beverly in?’
‘I haven’t got her in! That makes her sound like a
delivery, but we are friends, more than friends and I do
like her, I do.’
‘Do you love her?’ Oliver asked with frankness that
demanded a straight answer.
‘I don’t, but I think I could, and that’s something I
never thought I would say.’ Nick held his eye line.
‘Me either.’ Oliver dug the heels of his boots into
the grass.
Nick took a deep breath and the atmosphere calmed.
Their talk and their tears had been somewhat cathartic.
‘I know this is hard, all of it, so hard, too hard sometimes, but we can do this.’
‘Can we, Dad?’
‘We have no choice.’
‘True that.’
‘And for the record’ – Nick stood and pulled the
posy from his pocket – ‘I would love to go back to those
evenings coming in from work, knackered and seeing
your face over the tea table, so pleased to see me, and
your mum humming as she dished up supper. Staying in
every night and saving up for our little jaunts to Filey in
the summer, those were the best times. I miss her, Olly.’
‘I miss her too.’
‘I know, and no matter what comes next I think I
always will, but life goes on, son. Life goes on.’
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‘Even if you don’t want it to sometimes,’ Oliver
whispered.
‘Look around you, these headstones – markers for
people who were just like you and me, Burston people
who have probably walked in this very spot. They would
love a day up here, sitting in the fresh air with the people
they love – what wouldn’t they give for just one more day?
Life is a gift and we have to live it the best we can. Both
of us. We owe it to everyone who no longer has a life.’
‘People like Mum.’ Oliver watched as Nick walked
over and placed his little posy on the grave of his beloved.
‘Yes. People like Mum.’
* * *
Nick dropped Oliver in Market Square, where Tasha
waited for him on the bench. He liked the way her face
broke into a smile at the sight of Oliver and he liked the
way she treated him. Now he pulled the car up outside
his sister-in-law’s house and rang the bell, and stood on
the path, rocking on his heels. Diane’s smile dropped
when she saw it was him.
‘Nick.’
He almost forgot how she made him feel, like a bad
smell that lurked in the drains.
‘Diane. Have you had a nice time with Tasha? She’s
great, isn’t she.’
Diane nodded. ‘Kerry would have loved her.’
‘She would that. I said as much earlier.’ There was a
pause where he thought she might invite him in and he
loaded up the reasons on his tongue why he had to get
on. He needn’t have worried. No invite was forthcom-
ing. ‘Anyway’ – he clapped his hands – ‘I believe you’ve
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got Treacle.’ As he spoke the dog ran from the kitchen
to meet him, tail wagging. ‘Hello, girl.’ He bent down
and patted her side.
‘She’s been a bit upset,’ Diane offered, her mouth set
in a thin line.
‘Upset?’ He ran his hand along Treacle’s flank. His
first thought was concern that she might be ill, his second
was how much it might cost to put right. ‘What’s up, little
mate? You not feeling a hundred percent?’ Treacle turned
her head and pushed her nose towards him in greeting, her
tail still wagging. ‘Has she been sick? She seems grand.’
‘Well…’ Diane hesitated. ‘Maybe not so much ill as
unsettled.’
‘Unsettled?’ He was trying to pick the bones from her
vague diagnosis, whilst studying the mutt, who looked
to be in fine health.
‘Mmmnn …’ She paused and gave an almost imper-
ceptible tut. Nick straightened and held her eye line with
a feeling that what came next he might not necessarily
want to hear. Diane drew breath and her chest heaved.
‘Pets, dogs especially, can be sensitive to change, upheaval, especially if it involves new people…’
And then the penny dropped with a heavy clank in
his brain.
Here we go again…
‘Is that right?’ he asked with as much of a clueless tone
he could muster.
‘Yes, Nick, that’s right.’ She changed tack and folded
her arms with barely disguised hostility, her words drip-
ping with disapproval. He stared at her, deciding not to
make this easy, not to apply any verbal salve or justification for what she might be thinking. He would let her do the
work, dig the hole and then he hoped she might jump
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straight into it. Her face coloured and the bloom spread
along her neck and chest as she finally spat it out. ‘I heard you’ve been hanging around with Beverly Clark again.’
‘You heard that, did you?’
‘Hard not to, Nick, when the whole bloody town is
talking about it!’
‘The whole town? Or just the people in your house?’
‘What are you suggesting?’ she spat. ‘I’ve got nothing
to feel ashamed about!’ She tightened her arms across her
chest, her lips pressed so tight they looked bloodless.
He kept his calm. ‘Are you saying I have got something to feel ashamed about?’
‘I don’t know, Nick, you tell me.’
He saw the glint of tears that gathered in her eyes and
he slowly drew breath, reminding himself that whilst she
had no right to judge him, this was Kerry’s sister.
‘I can’t believe that you might think it’s okay to go
gallivanting around with Beverly while my sister is not
long in the ground! What do you think that feels like for
me and for Mum?�
�
He remembered Dora’s words spoken not so long ago,
offered generously and kindly.
…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…
‘I would think that if I had been gallivanting that
would be hard, Di, but the truth is I, like you, am just
trying to find my place in a world that has a great big
bloody Kerry-shaped hole in it, and I’ve been talking to
Beverly, spending time with Beverly, and it helps, and I
would hope that as my sister-in-law you would be happy
that I’m finding something, someone that helps, because
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I’m sure, as you know, the nights are long and the days
cold when the foundation has fallen out of your world.’
Diane looked down at her slippered feet. ‘I just don’t
want tongues wagging. This is a small town and it’s hard
enough without that too, and it’s not fair on me or mum
or Olly or Treacle!’
Treacle looked up at him and her expression on any
other day with any other topic under discussion would
have been quite comical. Nick dug deep to find the
confidence with which he had addressed Oliver earlier.
He had had enough.
‘You know, you’re right.’ Nick nodded at her as he
attached Treacle’s lead. ‘This is a small town and tongues
have always wagged. Do you remember when that rumour
swirled about Kerry and Rod Newberry?’ He dropped the
name almost casually, confident in his belief that she had
been at the heart of the rumour-mongering, sticking her
oar in and adding fuel to the fire that he guessed warmed
her cold and lonely life of a winter’s night.
‘I do.’ She kept her eyes cast downward and scuffed
her slippers on the doormat.
‘I know Kerry was hurt, really hurt, by it all, and she felt it made it hard to take stock, to figure out what to
do next, how to respond. And the reason she found it so
hard was because not only was her private life, our private life, being laid bare, but that persistent gossip surrounding the whole event with its loud background noise made it
nearly impossible to think. Do you know what I mean?’
‘I do.’ Her voice was now little more than a whisper.
‘Well, I just hope that in this small town people have
the good grace, the kindness, to realise that any back-
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