The Light in the Hallway (ARC)
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of acceptance. ‘And he said that his mum would want
me to have it too.’
Nick felt his own tears spring. And he nodded at this
truth – Oliver, like him, had realised that this woman who
was carrying Nick’s baby was going to be a permanent
fixture in his life, someone he thought worthy.
Oliver’s right, she’s a good lass…
Nick smiled as Kerry’s words filled his head and he
nodded.
Thank you, Kerry, thank you, my girl…
Summer – two years later
Nick stood by the perimeter fence and looked out over
Cobb Lane. He was trying to calculate just how fast he
might have gone downhill on Half Bike all those years
ago. Age and wisdom told him it couldn’t have actually
been fifty miles an hour, but it sure as hell felt like it.
‘Those were the days.’
‘Who are you talking to, Bunty?’ Eric called from the
forklift cab, having just loaded up the last lorry of the day, the side of which was emblazoned with the word ‘Bairstow’.
Eric might have been a director of the company, but he
loved nothing more than driving his beloved forklift.
‘Myself!’ He chuckled.
Eric laughed. ‘Bev told me to say, “You’ve got visitors.”’
‘Who? Where?’ Nick looked around the loading bay and
out towards the car park where his beloved silver Jaguar sat.
‘Di, Dora and Olly. I think they’re in the canteen.’
‘What have I done now?’ Nick asked sheepishly, as
he made his way across the warehouse to the cavernous
café area, where Ray sat at one of the tables, spooning a
rather dubious-looking grey stew into his mouth.
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‘That nice, Roy?’ Nick laughed as he waved to Kath,
who stood behind the serving hatch.
‘It’s not as bad as it looks actually.’ Roy went in for
another spoonful.
‘I’ll have to take your word for it. I thought I had
visitors?’
‘Bev took them up to your office.’
‘Ah, cheers, mate.’
Nick jogged up the rather industrial staircase in the
renovated Old Dairy Shed. It had filled him with joy to
see the old girders repaired, stripped and painted and the
walls rebuilt to restore the place to its former glory. The
mezzanine deck with its offices and meeting room was a
new addition, with a snazzy glass front that meant he could
watch over operations at all times. Even Will Pearce had
nodded his approval on his last visit, and Nick had thank-
fully managed to remove the bin liners that Eric had seen
fit to place on all the seats in the meeting room just prior to his arrival. Not that he could do much to control his errant
best friend; he never had been able to, thinking of the time
he had shouted ‘Shit sticks!’ so loudly he was certain his
dad, keeping an eye over the brow of the hill, must have
heard. It made him smile even now, thinking about that
day and hiding from the big black puma … We were idiots!
Nick heard the babble of conversation as he approached
his office. Beverly was sitting behind his desk, while Dora,
Diane and Oliver sat at the round table in the middle of
the room.
‘Right, Nick,’ Diane addressed him the moment he
walked through the door. ‘Oliver gets two tickets for his
graduation and the question is who should go?’
He looked over towards Beverly, who glanced at the
watch on her wrist. The watch Oliver had given her, a
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precious thing. She rolled her eyes and sat back, indicat-
ing she was keeping well out of it.
‘Oh, well, I had just assumed it would be me and Bev,
unless Olly has other ideas?’ He looked towards his son
and again tried not to grimace at the sight of his unkempt
beard. He wished he would shave it. Oliver, however, as-
sured him it was a thing; everyone who was anyone now
had a beard. Nick ran his palm over his clean-shaven chin.
‘I don’t mind.’ Oliver’s comments were less than
helpful.
‘Thanks for that, son.’ Nick nodded in his direction.
‘I just think as our Kerry can’t be there, she would
want her sister or her mum there in her place.’ Diane
folded her arms across her ample chest.
‘I don’t mind not going; it’s a long way is Birmingham
and I can’t go on a bingo day, in case I didn’t get back in
time.’ Dora winked at him and Nick smiled at his ally,
the woman he was so fond of.
‘Thinking about it’ – Oliver sat forward – ‘I think
it’s best if Dad and Bev come, cos then Bev can help me
with my tie and everything, and I know Tasha wants to
hang out with you on the day, Bev. And it’s a chance for
you to meet her mum and her mum’s new fella.’
Beverly nodded and Nick could see she was happy, re-
lieved to be asserted in this way so publicly. And today like every day, he felt thankful that he had listened to that crackle of intuition and had taken a leap of faith. Trusting that little voice of instinct, believing that no what matter what anyone
else thought or said, he had made the right decision. And it
was right. He loved her. He absolutely loved her!
Oliver wasn’t done. ‘Then I thought we could all come
back here and have a tea at yours, Gran, all of us together
with one of your amazing cakes, Auntie Di.’
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Amanda Prowse
Nick watched his sister-in-law beam and knew that
Oliver’s new job in sales and marketing would suit him
well; he always seemed to know when to speak and just
what to say.
Our boy, Kerry … B. A. Hons, can you believe it?
‘Here he is!’ Dora turned towards the front door as
Nick’s mum walked in with Archie on her hip, fresh
from nursery.
‘Hello, darling!’ Di yelled, clapping her hands.
‘Hey, little one,’ Dora added.
There was no doubt this little boy was so loved.
Archie’s lip began to tremble, a little overwhelmed
by all the attention.
‘Do you want Olly to take you to the field?’ Beverly
asked her son. Archie nodded vigorously; being with his
big brother in the wide-open stretch of land to the right
of the site, which Nick had recently acquired, was one of
his favourite things. It was their very own football pitch
and, Nick figured, a sound investment for the future – just
in case Merryvale or someone like them were ever suc-
cessful in getting a planning application passed to build
houses in Burston, Nick wanted to keep as many green
spaces around his business as possible.
‘I’ll walk them down.’ Nick smiled at his wife and
left the office, walking ahead of Oliver, who carried his
little brother with ease. He found there was something
profoundly moving about seeing his oldest carrying his
youngest, a generation apart and yet brothers, mates.
Nick took a deep, slow breath. It felt good to be out-
side on this ve
ry hot summer’s day.
‘I honestly don’t mind about graduation, Dad, but it
should be you and Bev who go.’
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‘I agree, son. Graduating, eh? Did you ever get round
to reading all them books?’
‘One or two of them.’ Oliver kicked at the ground.
Nick laughed, remembering the ‘code red’ day when
he had nearly given it all up. ‘Don’t worry about gradu-
ation day. I think just let them talk it out. Sometimes Di
just likes to get things off her chest.’
‘Yep.’ Oliver nodded; he put Archie on the ground
and watched as he ran straight for the goal. ‘He might be
a footballer when he grows up.’
‘He might be. Alex once considered playing for Man
U.’
‘Man U? I didn’t know Alex played footie!’
‘He doesn’t, but he figured Man U would teach him
how.’ Nick laughed at the absurdity of the idea. ‘I’m glad
you’re coming to work here, Olly, but I don’t think you
should stay forever.’
‘Cheers for that!’
‘You know what I mean, son. I’m not saying you can’t
end up in Burstonbridge. I for one wouldn’t want to be
anywhere else, but I want you to aim high, work hard
and make sure you have the very best life you can, ’cos
it’s the only one you’ve got.’
‘I will. I know that, Dad.’
‘You’re going to fly this year. I can feel it.’
‘I hope so.’
‘And you’ve had a good summer?’
‘I have, it’s been the best, just hanging out at home and
spending time with this little fella.’ Oliver ran forward
and scooped his little brother into his arms. ‘Don’t you
ever forget, Archie, lad, I’ve got your back. It’s you and
me against the world, the Bairstow Boys!’
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Amanda Prowse
Nick smiled and turned to go; he had calls to make.
It was garden party and outdoor festival season and they
were busy – mind you, they were always busy.
‘Dad?’
‘Yes, Olly?’
‘I wanted to ask you, whatever happened to Half Bike?’
‘Ah.’ He turned to face his boys and felt the lump of
emotion rise in his throat. ‘It was a couple of years after
we built it and one of us in our little gang needed money
for a train ticket.’
‘A train ticket?’
‘Yes, a secret mission so they could head off to Derby
and meet their little brother, and that person was so chuffed, excited to be making the trip that he slept with the cash
in an envelope under his pillow. It was a wrench to see
Half Bike go, but worth it really.’
‘Which one of you needed to go to Derby? Eric or
Alex?’ Oliver was curious.
‘Ah, that would be telling…’
Nick smiled, remembering the moment he had hand-
ed the cash over. ‘What did you go and do that for,
Rosemary?’ had been Eric’s response whilst trying not
to cry.
His phone rang.
‘All right, Bev?’
‘Yep, Dora and Di and your mum are just leaving. I
think I’ll drive them home and go and get dinner started.’
He smiled and pictured her in their lovely new kitchen
in the Victorian villa overlooking the Rec that they
called home.
‘Can I get you anything before I go, love?’
Nick looked up at the sign over the gates that bore
their family name, his father’s name, his sons’ name and
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his sister’s name and he knew that to walk beneath them
all those years ago by his dad’s side would have been some
moment. And yet here he was: he had done it, figured it
out, worked hard and the universe had helped him over
the finish line.
‘Actually, yes, love, could you get me a can of orange
Fanta?’
He heard her laughter down the line.
‘Can of orange Fanta? Get it your bloody self!’
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Amanda Prowse likens her own
life story to those she writes
y.info
about in her books. After self-
aph
publishing her debut novel,
aul Smith
Poppy Day, in 2011, she has
gone on to author twenty nov-
els and six novellas. Her books
.paulsmithphotogr
have been translated into a doz-
aul Smith of P
en languages and she regularly
y at www
tops bestseller charts all over the
aph
world. Remaining true to her
ethos, Amanda writes stories
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of ordinary women and their
families who find their strength, courage and love tested
in ways they never imagined. The most prolific female
contemporary fiction writer in the UK, with a legion of
loyal readers, she goes from strength to strength. Being
crowned ‘queen of domestic drama’ by the Daily Mail was one of her finest moments. Amanda is a regular contribu-tor on TV and radio but her first love is, and will always
be, writing.
You can find her online at www.amandaprowse.com,
on Twitter @MrsAmandaProwse, and on Facebook at
www.facebook.com/amandaprowsenogreaterlove.
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