The Light in the Hallway (ARC)

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The Light in the Hallway (ARC) Page 35

by Amanda Prowse


  Eric lumbered up the stairs. ‘My turn, Shirley.’

  ‘Good luck.’

  ‘What did he say?’ Eric looked jumpy, nervous.

  ‘Not much, just gave me my remuneration figure.’

  ‘How much?’ Eric asked in the way only someone

  who had been his friend since early childhood could.

  ‘Nearly seventeen grand, but I asked if there was any

  more and he said they’d try to go to twenty.’

  Eric whistled. ‘I think mine will be about fourteen –

  not to be sniffed at, lad. But I’ll push for a bit more too – it’s not like we haven’t bloody worked for it.’

  ‘And you’d be right.’ Nick nodded; he could see that

  this was the golden handshake that would send his friend

  on his merry way to Oz, enough beer tokens to ensure

  he had the best time.

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  ‘Right, better get in.’ Eric grinned. ‘I might ask him

  if I can take a couple of boxes of festoon lights as a leaving gift; I can just see them strung up around my barbeque.’

  He moved his hand in an arc over his head as he nudged

  his mate with his elbow. ‘I mean, what are the Siddleys

  going to do with all that stock? They’ll be glad I’ll be

  taking some off their hands.’

  Nick felt his pulse race and his gut bunch. It was a

  moment he would never forget, one where a thought

  so pure, clear and obvious rang out in his head like a

  musical note. He pictured the boxes of stock that lined

  the corridors, the warehouse piled high with lighting

  rigs and the lorries all sitting idle in the yard, waiting

  to make deliveries to shops and the customers who

  wanted what Siddley’s had. He pictured his dad’s face

  when Nick had put on his high-vis jacket for the first

  time, a look that said, I wanted more for you son … And it would have been hard to explain how he felt buoyed

  up and courageous, but he pictured Beverly pulling

  him by the hand into the bedroom, he remembered

  what it felt like to stand in front of Kerry’s grave with

  the beautiful moors of North Yorkshire spread out in

  front of him, the way he had breathed deeply and freely

  and he knew, he knew with absolute certainty that this

  was his chance! This was the opportunity he had been

  waiting for! He was ready.

  ‘Eric, you’re a bloody genius, mate!’ Nick slapped his

  shoulder.

  ‘Why am I?’

  ‘You just are!’ Nick shouted along the corridor as he

  ran toward the stairs, keen to go and find Beverly. ‘A

  bloody genius!’ he yelled over his shoulder.

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  * * *

  Beverly poured hot water into the teapot as Eric sat op-

  posite him at the table in her kitchen.

  ‘So what’s this all about, kids?’ Eric asked with

  enthusiasm.

  Nick paused, licking his lips, which were dry with

  nerves, wanting to get the wording right for what he

  needed to say. ‘The reason I wanted the three of us to

  get together is because of something you said yesterday.’

  ‘When I showed a streak of genius? Ta, Bev.’ Eric

  reached for the mug of tea she handed him.

  ‘Inadvertently, yes.’

  They all stared at him, and the attention they paid

  gave Nick the confidence to continue.

  ‘Beverly, as you know, works directly for Julian, and

  there’s things about the closure that she knows, but isn’t

  allowed to share.’

  ‘I signed a document.’ She pulled a face.

  ‘What things?’ Eric looked confused.

  Nick glanced at Beverly across the kitchen, who gave

  a subtle nod, permission of sorts.

  ‘This cannot go any further,’ he stressed.

  ‘Okay.’ Eric’s expression was now solemn as he sat tall

  in the chair; the serious, smart Eric that lurked behind

  the comic façade was in the room.

  ‘Siddley’s is not in trouble, not at all. It’s not lost

  orders; in fact, business is booming.’ Nick watched his

  friend screw up his face as if trying to make sense of why

  it was closing.

  ‘Right. Go on.’

  ‘They have sold the land, the land where the factory

  sits and all around it, to Merryvale Homes.’

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  ‘To build houses.’ Eric was faster on the uptake than

  he had been.

  ‘Yep, up to three thousand of them.’

  ‘Jesus! The little bas’tads!’

  ‘Exactly. But no matter that the business is strong, the

  Siddleys are going to just stop trading.’

  ‘It’s a tragedy!’ Eric caught on. ‘All those new houses

  and not a bloody job to go to.’

  ‘I know, I know.’ Nick took a deep breath. ‘But here’s

  the thing: you were right about what you said on the

  stairs yesterday.’

  ‘Which bit?’ Eric scratched his head.

  ‘You asked what the Siddleys were going to do with

  all that stock.’ Nick locked eyes with Beverly and then

  looked back to his mate. ‘They have a plan, apparently,

  to dump it at slashed prices just to cover their costs.’ Nick swallowed. ‘I want us to buy the stock – in fact, not only

  the stock, the packing machines, lorries everything. I want

  us to buy it all and keep the business going, and I think

  we can do it.’ His heart raced and his speech quickened

  as excitement took over. ‘Bev has had a look at the stock

  inventory, the insurance documents on the machinery

  values, order books, etc., and we reckon that the whole

  lot is worth about two hundred and fifty grand.’

  ‘Oh, is that all?’ Eric curled his top lip and made as if

  to reach into his jeans pocket for his loose change.

  ‘It’s a lot, I know.’ Nick laid his hands on the tabletop.

  ‘And we’ll need more than that to get a premises up and

  running and for the re-brand, computer systems, other

  equipment, insurances and everything else, but with my

  redundancy, yours and Bev’s, we think we can get enough

  of a lump sum to go to the bank with a sound business

  plan and get a loan and do it properly.’

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  Eric stared at him.

  ‘Say something, Eric.’ Nick urged. The suspense was

  painful.

  ‘I think if anyone can pull this off, you can.’ Eric

  shook his head and sat back, avoiding his mate’s eye line.

  ‘But I wasn’t joking about going to Australia. I want to

  be somewhere warm. I want a different life.’

  ‘But being part owner of your own business! That

  would sure as hell be a different life!’ Nick heard the

  edge to his tone; frustration placed a sliver of anger in

  his voice.

  ‘Half of a half…’ Eric smiled wryly.

  ‘Half of a half,’ Nick repeated with a lump in his throat.

  ‘I’m no businesswoman, Eric,’ Beverly said softly, ‘but

  I know all there is to know about Siddley’s from an ad-

  ministrative point of view, and what you and Nick don’t

  know about the process, the packing, the logis
tics and

  everything else isn’t worth knowing. When Nick sug-

  gested it to me I thought it was nuts, a pipe dream. But

  we spent all of last night drawing up figures and thinking

  of how to make this work, asking whether it could work, and we think it can.’

  Nick liked the ease with which she used the word ‘we’.

  Beverly walked over and placed her hand on his shoul-

  der. ‘I believe in Nick, and he wants you by his side.’

  ‘I want your redundancy too,’ Nick levelled.

  ‘I always knew you were only after me for my money!’

  Eric joked, the boy who had slept in a cold room and

  run to Nick’s childhood home when breakfast at his own

  wasn’t forthcoming.

  ‘Will you at least think about it?’ Nick asked, trying

  not to sound desperate and put any pressure on his friend’s

  slender shoulders.

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  ‘I don’t need to think about it. I agree with Beverly;

  I believe in you too. I always have. You were right; you

  are cleverer than me, cleverer than us all.’

  Nick shook his head. ‘Not clever, lad, just lucky…’

  He smiled.

  ‘But I won’t be here. I bought my ticket today. I go

  in eight weeks. Melbourne to start with.’

  Nick stared at him and felt the sick pull in his guts at

  the thought that his friend would not be here to go on this

  journey with him. He wondered how Jen would respond

  to this news – Jen who was a lot more fragile than any of

  them had suspected. That and there was a now a hole in

  the funds they needed for their business plan.

  ‘I need you to understand,’ Eric whispered.

  ‘I do, mate.’ Nick sighed. ‘I don’t have to like it, but

  I do understand.’

  * * *

  Nick’s mum laid out a selection of ties on the sofa. ‘He

  always looked very smart in this one, your dad.’ She ran

  her fingers over the navy and pale blue diagonal stripes.

  ‘He wore it to Jen’s wedding. Looked proper smart.’

  ‘Do not mention that day, ever!’ Jen fired from the

  chair in front of the television.

  ‘Don’t be like that, love. It was a smashing day! The

  sun shone, the cake was amazing and you were such a

  beautiful bride.’ His mum sniffed.

  ‘I agree, I was a beautiful bride and that day was

  smashing. But it was the days that came after that were

  problematic, every one of them. Colin is a knob.’

  ‘Colin is not a knob.’ His mum tutted, and he and Jen

  tittered to hear her use the word. ‘He just wasn’t for you.’

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  ‘Oh, here we go, the idea that he wasn’t my ‘one’ but

  was just a rehearsal for the real deal. Well, I tell you what, it was a bloody long and painful rehearsal, five years of

  my life I’ll never get back.’

  ‘Who do you have in mind for her, Mum? How about

  Big Brian? I noticed he was very keen to kiss your cheek

  when he handed over your noodle voucher in the pub,’

  Nick teased.

  ‘Urgh!’ Jen shuddered. ‘He’s a knob too.’

  ‘Is everyone you know a knob?’ her mum asked as

  she arranged the ties, and again he and his sister laughed

  as the word left her mouth.

  Jen stifled her laughter. ‘Practically.’

  ‘Eric – he’s for her. I love him, always have. I see her

  with Eric; she’s just too stupid to see it,’ his mum offered

  casually.

  He looked at Jen, who stared now at their mum, and

  her words when they came were considered. ‘Actually,

  I’m not too stupid to see it, Mum.’ She paused. ‘But it’s

  not that simple.’

  His mum paused from sorting her husband’s ties and

  spoke fondly to her daughter. ‘But it really is, Jen. You

  both just need to be honest and grow up.’

  ‘I think … I think it’s probably harder to let someone

  love you and let yourself love them and then for it all to go wrong and then have to deal with that,’ his sister said quietly.

  ‘That’s what a chicken would say. Someone who didn’t

  have the courage to take a chance. And that’s what love

  is; it’s taking a big chance! There is no guarantee, ever.

  But if you don’t try, Jen…’ Mags let this trail.

  His wise old mum turned to him and Nick smiled.

  ‘Now, Nick, which tie do you want to borrow? I like the

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  blue or the green, and I think wearing your dad’s tie to

  go and see the bank manager will bring you a bit of luck.

  Your dad would be so proud; he always was so proud of

  both of you.’ She bit her lip.

  Jen looked down as emotion bit.

  ‘I think the blue, thanks, Mum.’ He reached out for

  the tie she handed him and let his fingertips brush the

  shiny polyester surface. It felt nice holding this item that

  his dad had worn. It was in these small moments that he

  both missed him and felt close to him. Clothes, posses-

  sions … they became important when someone died. He

  tried to imagine walking into Beverly’s bedroom and

  being surrounded by her previous boyfriend’s clothing,

  his bits and pieces.

  ‘I think maybe I’ll go and see Eric, have a chat.’ Jen

  spoke as she shifted in her seat and picked invisible lint

  from her clothes.

  ‘You’d better do it sooner rather than later. He’s bought

  his ticket for Australia. He’s off to Melbourne in eight

  weeks.’ Nick tried to keep the melancholy from his voice.

  Jen sat up in the chair. ‘Eight weeks?’

  ‘Yep. That’s all.’

  ‘You’ll really miss him, darling, won’t you?’ His mum

  spoke softly.

  ‘I will.’

  ‘I will.’

  Both he and Jen answered at the same time and looked

  at each other without a joke or a smile. Eric was going

  to the other side of the world and there was nothing re-

  motely funny about it.

  * * *

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  Nick and Treacle walked home as the darkness encroached.

  He felt the tie in his pocket and thought about his dad.

  Bairstow Boys – against the world!

  He thought about how it couldn’t have been easy for

  Jen, trying to elbow her way in and finding her entry

  barred. She had mentioned asking to join their gang and

  he might have remembered something like that. How had

  he reacted? Did he laugh? He didn’t know how he could

  put it right. Nick turned the key in the door and headed

  straight for the kitchen, where he lifted the roll of black

  bin liners from the cupboard and tore one off. No time

  like the present. Starting with the closet in the hallway,

  he slowly lifted Kerry’s walking coat from the hook and

  folded it into the bag; next he popped in her wellington

  boots before running up the stairs. He carefully took his

  time, removing her clothes from the hangers and folding

  them one by one, letting his eyes linger on the fabrics,

  picturing her in her jum
per and jeans, just in from walk-

  ing Treacle with her cheeks flushed and her hair messy.

  ‘I don’t need these bits of cloth and stuff to remember

  you by, lass. You live in my mind and behind my eyelids.’

  He smiled at this truth.

  Working diligently, he emptied the wardrobe and

  Kerry’s bedside cabinet, ridding it of empty blister packs

  of painkillers, old bottles of nail varnish and outdated

  coupons for everything from half-price pizzas to money

  off a spa day. At the back of the drawer his fingers touched

  upon the small christening Bible with the tissue-like, gilt-

  edged pages. Inside the front cover sat the pressed sprig of

  heather he had given her so long ago. Holding the book

  to his lips he inhaled the scent of the leather and felt the

  familiar twist of longing in his heart. He transferred the

  book and its precious contents into his own bedside drawer,

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  where it would sit alongside the small brown leather pouch

  containing the multi tool his dad had given him a long

  time ago, both items he would treasure always. Next,

  he worked in the bathroom, gathering up nail varnish

  remover, face cleanser, boxes of tampons, hair products

  and even the lilac toothbrush that sat nestled and gather-

  ing dust in the little ceramic pot next to his.

  He carried the collection of black bin liners to the

  front door and separated them into two piles, one pile for

  the bin lorry, and the other for the charity shop in town.

  Nick opened the top drawer of the unit in the lounge

  and pulled from it Kerry’s watch. He stood by the sofa

  with the watch in the palm of his hand and ran his hand

  over the smooth glass of the face and the metal bracelet

  into which it was set. A relatively inexpensive piece of

  jewellery and yet one Kerry had loved and worn every

  day since he had given it to her ten years ago, a makeup

  gift offered as they tried to glue back the pieces of their

  marriage. She had only taken it off when it slipped and

  shifted on her skinny wrist, catching on the narrow plastic

  tube that delivered her drugs, irritating her as she lay in

  the bed at St Vincent’s.

  Sitting now, he called Oliver.

  ‘Hi, Dad.’ His son’s tone was less than welcoming, but

  at least he had answered. Nick figured that was better than

  the silent treatment he had been dealt not so long ago.

 

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