ground noise right now will not help any of us – not you,
your mum, not me, nor Olly or Treacle.’
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Diane gave a stiff nod.
‘Thanks for having her.’ He lifted his hand in a wave as
he and his little dog set off down the path towards home.
1992
Nick woke early and lay in his bed looking at the ceiling.
Today was the day he had been dreading – the day Eric
moved to Derby. Nick didn’t know how to say goodbye,
didn’t know if he could or indeed if he wanted to. His
mum knocked on the bedroom door and entered.
‘How did you sleep, pickle?’
‘Not good.’ This felt bad. If he was this sad at the
beginning of the day, he could only imagine how he
might feel at the end of it.
She sat on the edge of the mattress. ‘You should re-
member that no matter how hard it might be for you to
say goodbye to your mate, it’ll be a hundred times harder
for Eric. So try to make it the best it can be for him,
Nicky. He is going to a place he has never been before
to stay in a strange house and start at a new school. Can
you imagine?’
Nick shook his head, no, he couldn’t.
‘We can reassure him that we will see him very soon
and that he can come and stay whenever he wants to,
whenever. Which he can, of course. He can come here
any weekend or any half term, next summer even…’ She
paused and swallowed in the way she did when she saw
something sad on the telly.
‘Is that a lie, Mum?’
‘I hope not, love. I hope not.’
‘I think of Eric when I wake up; he’s my best best
mate. I don’t want him to be in rubbish old Derby.’
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‘I know, my love, I know.’ His mum held him close
and he closed his eyes, wishing things were different.
‘Do you think he’ll come over here before he goes?’
There was a familiar knock on the door and Nick
smiled.
‘I put extra bacon on.’ His mum kissed his forehead.
‘I think he smelt it all the way over in his house.’
Nick jumped from the bed and ran down the stairs
to open the front door.
‘I’ve got to be back by eleven.’ Eric’s greeting.
‘What do you want to do until then?’ Nick was draw-
ing up a list of all the possibilities in his mind.
‘Well, first you can both come eat breakfast,’ his mum
announced as she came down the stairs.
‘Are you crying, Mrs Bairstow?’ Both he and Eric
now stared at his mum’s face, streaked with tears.
‘No. No, I’m not. I just had a little something in my
eye.’
Nick pulled a face at his mate. This time he knew his
mum was lying.
He watched as Eric forked rasher after rasher of crispy
bacon into his mouth, wondering who would feed the
Human Dustbin in Derby.
‘We could do two games of Petunia,’ Eric suggested,
mumbling through his mouthful, ‘then we could ride
Half Bike to Alex’s and then take it in turns to time each
other on Cobb Lane – then we could go up past the Old
Dairy Shed and over to the Rec; then you and Alex could
drop me back at my dad’s and my mum will be there with
Dave and the van.’
‘Have you packed all your clothes up?’ Nick tried to
picture this.
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Eric nodded.
‘And has your mum got you that Sega with Sonic the
Hedgehog for your bedroom?’
‘Not yet.’ Eric reloaded his fork. ‘But she promised
they’ll get it soon.’
‘You off today then?’ Jen appeared and skulked in
the doorway.
Eric nodded.
Jen stared at him. ‘Take care.’
‘I will. Are you gonna miss me?’
‘A bit. Maybe,’ his sister conceded.
All were drawn to the sound of his mum at the sink
and this time there was no disguising her tears.
The morning felt like any other. The trio laughed,
took turns in riding Half Bike and wandered around the
Old Dairy Shed while Eric wielded a long stick, poking
into corners and flipping over stones.
‘Has your mum had that baby yet?’ Alex asked.
‘Of course not, Deirdre! They take a long time to
bake, about a year,’ Eric informed him.
‘A year?’ Alex was shocked, as was Nick, but he tried
not to let it show, always feeling a little uncomfortable when something Eric knew with certainty was news to him.
Their mood changed when they walked along Eric’s
street. Nick felt inconsolable at the thought that when
they said goodbye it wouldn’t be the same as ‘see ya!’
which meant just that, that they would be seeing each
other tomorrow, but actually a proper goodbye – Eric
was being bundled away from this life, his school and his
best friends.
‘It’s not fair,’ Nick said out loud.
The other two looked at him and nodded; no need
to ask to what he referred.
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The Light in the Hallway
Eric got to ride Half Bike to his house as Nick and
Alex walked alongside slowly, a sad, quiet entourage
who dreaded the parting as much as they wanted it to
be over and done with. The van was parked in the kerb.
Eric climbed from Half Bike and ran his hand over the
frame lovingly.
‘I mean it, if you let Piss Pants Pearce go on it, put a
plastic bag on the saddle.’
‘We will,’ Alex said whilst looking at the floor.
‘There you are, Eric!’ his mum yelled from the front
door that used to be hers. ‘For God’s sake, you always have
to push it to the limit! Dave wants to be away by eleven
and it’s nearly ten to! I told you not to go far! You need
to double-check your room and say goodbye to your dad.’
Nick noticed two things: the way Mrs Pickard shouted
at Eric with nastiness in her voice that he knew his mum
would never use when talking to him, and also the way
she glared at him and Alex, not even saying hello, let alone
goodbye. He felt a rare flash of hatred for the woman and
didn’t care if she caught the look he gave her.
Eric jutted out his bottom lip and sniffed as two fat
tears rolled from his eyes. Nick felt a tingling in his nose
until his tears fell too. It was only seconds until Alex
joined in and all three, standing with Half Bike between
them, let their sadness fall from their eyes. Nick pushed
out his index finger and the one next to it and pushed
the two fingers into his friend’s arm. Eric did the same
to Alex and Alex to Nick and there they stood, joined by
their salute of comfort when a full hug felt like too much.
‘Now, Eric! Get in this bloody minute!’ his mum
screeched.
Without another word, Eric walked to the house with
his head bowed and his feet dragging.
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He caught up and pressed the small brown leather pouch
into his friend’s palm. ‘You might need this.’
Eric looked down at the multi tool in his hand, and
had his face not been contorted with tears, Nick knew
he would have smiled. And probably called him Barbara.
306
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Nick yawned as he pulled into the car park and looked
up at the building, the only place he had ever worked. It
was hard to believe that he had last been here on Friday,
three days ago. So much had happened that weekend; it
felt like it had been weeks. He had seen Beverly again
on Sunday, knocking on her door after dropping Oliver
and Tasha at the coach station.
‘Hello,’ he said loudly, standing on the doorstep while
she stared at him. ‘This is me coming to knock on your
door like a grown-up. Me, Nick Bairstow, a confident
man who knows what he wants.’
Beverly eyed him quizzically and put her hands on
her hips. ‘Is that right? And what is it you want exactly,
Mr Bairstow?’ she asked with a smile on her face.
‘Two things, please: a cup of tea and sex. And not
necessarily in that order.’
Beverly placed her hand over her mouth and turned
her head towards the open-plan sitting room. ‘I am so
sorry you had to hear that, Auntie Mary, Vicar…’
Nick felt his face turn puce and his bowel spasm. ‘Oh
my goodness!’ He reached out his hand as if he could take
back the words, knowing they would have been over-
heard. ‘I was only joking! It was a dare! I do apologise.’
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Amanda Prowse
Beverly turned slowly back to him. ‘Well, Mr Bairstow.’
She opened the door wide. ‘I was only joking too. I don’t
even have an Auntie Mary, and the vicar left ten minutes
ago.’ She winked at him.
‘You little beggar!’ He jumped over the doorstep,
grabbing for her hand. ‘You had me going!’
Beverly twisted from his grasp and ran up the stairs.
He followed her. This time they ran laughing into the
bedroom without hesitancy, awkwardness or any concern
over etiquette; the two tumbled onto her bed, where they
stayed until morning.
Now Nick looked at his watch; he’d just made it in
time for his meeting with Julian Siddley. Beverly was
following close behind in her car. They didn’t want to
give the good folk of Burston another thing to talk about.
Nick knocked and entered.
‘Come in! Come in!’ Julian beckoned from behind
the big desk.
‘Julian.’ He walked over and shook his boss’s hand
and noted the slight tremor to the man’s fingers as they
met his own.
‘Nick.’ Julian gestured to the seat in front of the desk.
He sat.
‘So, how are things out there this morning?’ Julian
jerked his head towards the warehouse and the packing
floor.
Maybe it was because Nick knew what he did about
the reasons for the sale, or maybe it was because with no
need to pretend anymore, he could see through the veneer
of the man he worked for; either way he felt a prickling
of dislike for Julian’s tone and his line of questioning,
resentful for all the hours he had put in, for what?
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The Light in the Hallway
He remembered what Beverly had said: … the Siddleys,
of course, won’t care either way; they will have already cashed that big fat cheque regardless.
‘As you’d expect really,’ Nick levelled. ‘Folk are wor-
ried, disappointed, scared.’
‘Of course. Of course.’ Julian nodded sagely and
touched his fingertips to form a pyramid at his chest
while he listened.
‘I mean, there’s not that many jobs to start with around
here, and so to take a couple of hundred families and re-
move their income is going to have a huge impact. Not
only for the people made redundant but their partners,
kids…’ Nick let this trail, knowing it wasn’t really his
place to make this comment on the man’s decision, but
doing it anyway.
Julian breathed in and out through his nose and sat
forward to rest his elbows on the desk. ‘So, Nick, I know
this news is tough, but let’s talk it through. I can answer
all your questions and we can go from there. Rest as-
sured I want to be as candid as I can and to make sure
that you’re supported in every aspect of this transition.’
The words sounded very much like they had been
learnt from a script. Nick clasped his hands in his lap and
stared at the man who wore a comfortable layer of fat,
the result of good living, and a cushion, Nick was cer-
tain, many who worked at Siddley’s wished for, knowing
it would provide a buffer to the blows that came their
way. His boss’s expensive, chunky watch nestled snugly
on his tanned wrist, and his cologne smelled crisp and
lemon-scented. Anyone looking at him would know he
had money. Nick felt the familiar cloak of inadequacy
wrap around his shoulders. He wondered what it might
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Amanda Prowse
feel like to wake each day as Julian Siddley, never hav-
ing to worry about whether he could afford the bills or
whether he could put petrol in the car or to have to choose
between food and fuel. Not having to worry about any
of that stuff while spending time in his eight-bedroom
Georgian house with a swimming pool. It must be nice.
‘And specifically how are you feeling about it all,
Nick?’ The way Julian used his first name with a friendly
slant told Nick he expected him to be an ally.
He looked over Julian’s shoulder to the filing cabinet
where the mint imperial jar used to live. ‘Just as you’d
expect really.’ He again drew on this stock phrase to
avoid further commentary. And again Julian trotted out
his standard response.
‘Of course. Of course.’ He paused. ‘The good news,
if you can call it that’ – he gave a small laugh – ‘is that
you have been with us a long time and your remuner-
ation package is healthy. Just a little shy of seventeen
thousand.’
‘Is that the final offer?’ Nick kept his expression neutral.
Julian smiled briefly, as if this were a question he had
been told to expect.
‘I can try to push it to twenty.’
‘Thank you.’ At least that was something, although
even he knew that a lump sum could quickly dwindle
when there was no more coming in. The trick to making
it last was not to think of it as a lump sum but to draw
from it just what he needed…
‘So you would be happy with that?’ Julian pushed.
‘It is what it is.’ Nick nodded.
‘Quite, quite.’
Nick sat forward. ‘Can I ask you something?’
‘Yes, of course, fire away.’
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he Hallway
‘Why?’
‘Why what, Nick?’
‘Why is Siddley’s closing down?’ he asked outright,
watching the man’s top lip bead with tiny droplets of
sweat that matched the ones on his forehead as his cheeks
flushed with colour.
‘It’s complicated…’
‘Is it?’
‘Yes.’ Julian tapped his fingertips on the desktop,
avoiding his gaze. ‘We are flogging a dead horse here,
Nick. The market is getting tougher, margins tighter, the
economy is uncertain and so we are cutting our losses.’
Nick knew now that the man thought he was stupid,
trying to bamboozle the guy who checked rotas and
dispatched lorries. Nick also now knew that his boss
was a liar and a coward. He figured that whilst it would
have been unpleasant to hear the real reason for the sale,
that being there was too much money on offer for them
to resist, it would have been a darn sight easier than be-
ing lied to. He stared at him, and Julian tried to fill the
awkward silence with idle chat.
‘I know this is a bit off topic, but I’m very glad that
you and Beverly are friends; she is one in a million, as
are you. I’m happy for you both, really happy.’ He gave
a wide smile, which Nick didn’t return.
‘I’ve known you a long time, Julian—’
‘You have.’ The man interrupted with a slight nod
of his head.
‘I trust you.’
‘And I you.’ Julian blinked a couple of times in quick
succession.
‘You have always been fair and friendly.’
‘I hope so.’ Julian smiled.
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‘But I worry about how you treat things, including
people.’
‘You worry how?’ Julian twitched his shoulder, as if
uncomfortable under Nick’s scrutiny.
‘You should never just drop a bike, let it fall hard to
the ground, especially when that ground is gravel. It can
flex the frame or scratch the paintwork.’
Julian’s eyebrows knitted in confusion, his expres-
sion one of bewilderment. ‘Sorry, you’ve lost me. I don’t
understand…’
‘No.’ Nick stood and let his eyes sweep over the of-
fice. ‘You don’t.’
Having closed the door behind him he thought for
the first time of the twenty-odd thousand pounds that
would be his payoff, hoping that if he found work before
the money ran out there might be a little bit left over as a
nest egg for Oliver and a small treat for his mum.
The Light in the Hallway (ARC) Page 34