After tea they were given orange juice ice pops that his
mum froze in special plastic pods that had sat at the back
of the cupboard for as long as he could remember. The
hot weather, free distribution of ice pops and his friend
staying on a semi-regular basis made the place feel like
a holiday resort and not their very average house where
during term time his life was one of predictable monotony.
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His mum and dad even let them inflate and fill the
paddling pool in the back garden, and when they weren’t
in the shed, tinkering on parts with the multi tool, the
three boys languished in the water, which always looked
a murky shade of grey, largely because it didn’t occur to
them to wipe or clean their dirty feet before scampering
in and out of the shin-high water. No matter that space
was at a premium, they developed an impressive range
of games inside the five-foot circular pool. Their favour-
ite was throwing a ball in the air and trying to catch it;
the rule was that at least some of their body had to be
submerged and they had to remain inside the circle; this
game they called ‘Petunia’. They didn’t know how the
word had been settled upon, but the shouting of it and
the subsequent mêlée was enough to once again reduce
them to hysterics. Nick often caught his mum watching
them out of the kitchen window with a smile on her face,
happy that he was happy, and this made him even happier.
He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have Eric’s
mum, who was no longer at home, or to have a dad like
Eric’s, who had fist fights with the milkman.
By week three of the project Half Bike was in fairly
good shape. They settled on a garish shade of green paint,
not so much out of choice, but that was the paint Alex’s
grandad donated to the cause, Alex having apparently filled
him in on the great restoration and rebuild during their
caravan break in Blackpool. Eric and Nick had stared at the
half tin of paint that looked almost neon in certain lights.
‘Did someone put Kermit in a blender?’ Nick turned
his nose up at the offending goo.
‘I’m more worried about the fact that there’s only
half a tin; what did he use the other half on?’ Eric raised
a good point.
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‘Something to do with parking spaces at the com-
munity centre, I think,’ Alex explained a little sheepishly,
not best pleased to have his contribution so mocked. Not
that he was in any position to grumble with Nick having
given the frame and Eric the handlebars from Dave The
Milk; half a tin of paint was quite measly in comparison.
But still, a deal was a deal, and Alex still owned a half of
a half of Half Bike.
It had been an exhausting day. When they hadn’t been
painting, concentrating on catching the lime-green runs
with the gummed-up bristles of the paintbrush as they
each daubed paint where they could reach, the boys had
decided to sprint up to the Rec and then over to the Old
Dairy Shed, timing themselves to see how quickly they
could complete the task. The combination of overzealous
competition, the heat of the afternoon sun and inappro-
priate footwear meant they arrived back at Nick’s house
panting like dogs and rather floppy. The grey-water pool
was the most inviting option and there they languished,
a tangle of arms and legs, until Nick’s mum called them
in for salad.
Nick looked down at Eric, who had once again settled
into his temporary bed on the floor. Gone was the frisson
of excitement that had crackled in the air when he first
came to stay; things were now a lot calmer. He wondered
if this was what it might feel like if he had a brother, in-
stead of his horrible sister. It felt nice. They had agreed
that overnight the multi tool would rest in a gap on the
floor between the two beds and in the event of an in-
truder; whoever managed to grab it first would perform
the all-important Batman-style kick whilst aiming the
two little prongs at the throat of the assailant. They had
spent hours practising for such an occurrence, taking it
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baddy. His mum had even been called upon to watch as
they demonstrated their skills.
‘It’s like Kung Fu,’ Nick explained, as he took up
position on the bed and Eric stood poised with a badass
expression in the doorway.
‘Righto.’ His mum had watched and nodded approv-
ingly as they took it in turns to kick the other in the chest and hold the multi tool to each other’s throats.
She clapped. ‘Very nice. Very well done, lads!’ It wasn’t
quite the reaction Nick had hoped for, but at least he had
had a chance to show off his moves.
Nick twisted on to his side and spoke into the dim-
ming mauve light of the summer night: ‘Do you miss
your mum?’
Eric was slow in responding. ‘A bit.’
‘Do you know where she is?’
Again Eric took his time in answering. ‘I’m not sup-
posed to, but I do. I heard my dad on the phone to my
Auntie Nesta and he called my mum a bitch and said
she’d gone away with Dave The Milk.’
‘Where did they go?’
‘Derby.’
‘Where’s Derby?’ Nick knew the names of most of
the towns and villages local to them, but he had never
heard of Derby.
‘I don’t know, but it’s a long way away. You can’t
get a bus – I asked the bus driver when I saw him in the
Co-Op.’
‘I expect she’ll come home soon.’ Nick wondered if,
as he didn’t believe this statement, he was also a liar, but
it didn’t feel like lying; it felt like being nice.
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The Light in the Hallway
‘Maybe.’ Eric put his skinny arms beneath his head to
form a cradle and took a deep breath. ‘I like staying here.
Your mum’s really kind and she never shouts at you and
she cooks your tea every night. My mum isn’t like that,
not really. She’s busy and she likes to watch the telly and…’
Nick heard him swallow.
‘Our house is cold. It’s even cold now when every-
where else is melting.’
Nick didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing.
‘When I grow up I want to go and live in a hot coun-
try so it’s like this all the time, warm and sunny, and I
can sleep with the windows open and have a paddling
pool in the garden, just like yours. And you can come
and visit me if you like.’
‘I might.’ Nick thought about it. ‘If I can have a holi-
day from my office job.’
‘The one where you drive a big car and someone
brings you Fanta at the touch of a button.’
‘That’s the one.’ Nick smiled; he liked the thought
of this very much.
‘If I had a brother, Nick, I’d like him to be just like
you.’
‘If I had a brother, Eric, I’d like him to be just like you.’
‘Shall we get up early and play Petunia before Alex
arrives? We’d have more room in the pool with just the
two of us.’
‘Sure.’ Nick thought this sounded like a plan.
‘Night, night, Nick.’
‘Night, night, Eric.’
137
CHAPTER SIX
It was Christmas Eve.
The tree was sparsely decked and sat a little forlornly
in the corner of the room. On his sister’s advice, Nick had
cooked the turkey and left it to cool on the countertop.
The plan was that he could then slice and heat it the next
day and serve with all the trimmings and thick gravy,
cooked fresh in their rather small oven. He didn’t know
how Kerry used to manage. Oliver was at the pub with
a couple of mates from school and as Nick sat down on
the sofa, his text alert beeped.
Happy Christmas Nick
It was from Beverly. He broke into a smile.
Happy Christmas Bev, he replied. He felt his eyes
start to close and gave in to the warm feeling of well-
being that flooded him…
Kerry was kneeling under the Christmas tree. She was
wearing her jeans and Christmas jumper, the one made of
sparkly wool that meant it shone when she stood by the
lights. Her face was pretty, without the distorting bloat
of illness, and her cheeks rosy.
The radio was playing Slade’s ‘Merry Christmas
Everybody’, and she hummed along as she rummaged
in the decorations box, pulling out a rather battered
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The Light in the Hallway
cardboard star sploshed with red paint and threaded with
a loop of discoloured string.
‘He made this at nursery, do you remember?’ She held
it towards him and chuckled that soft laugh as she tossed
her shiny, chestnut-coloured hair over her shoulder.
Such beautiful hair…
‘I do,’ he remembered. ‘He was so chuffed with it,
and when he’d gone to bed we laughed at how rubbish it
was, knowing he’d inherited our lack of arts-and-crafts
skills, and yet every year we put it on top of the tree.’
‘It’s a tradition now.’ She held it up towards the light
and admired it.
‘I’m afraid the tree looks a bit crap.’ He sighed. ‘I did
my best.’
She pulled a face. ‘You forgot the fairy lights, that’s
why! A rookie mistake.’ She smiled at him. ‘You know,
Nick, there isn’t a place dark enough or thoughts depress-
ing enough that can’t be transformed by the sticking up
of a few fairy lights. That’s what I think, anyway.’
‘You’re right, I forgot. I just wanted it to look nice
for Olly.’
‘Olly is doing just fine. He is so amazing.’
‘He is,’ he agreed. ‘A credit to you.’
‘A credit to us,’ she corrected. ‘And don’t worry, you will have a memorable Christmas.’
‘I’ve cooked the bird already.’
‘So I saw. Mr Organised.’
‘Hardly. I still feel like I’m in a crazy panic, trying
to remember what I need to do, how to put one foot in
front of the other … and if I’m being honest, worried
about who I might be offending and grinding out the
hours at work.’
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Amanda Prowse
‘It’ll get easier, my love. You’ll see.’ She turned to
face him and twisted the shiny gold wedding band on
the third finger of her left hand. ‘This is going to be your
year. I’m sure of it.’
‘Oh, Kerry, I miss you. Especially because it’s
Christmas.’ He damned the catch to his voice, wanting
in this precious moment not to bring sadness into it.
‘I know, but you don’t have to, you know.’
‘Don’t have to what?’ He was a little confused.
Kerry stood and walked slowly towards him. ‘You
don’t have to miss me, not as much as you do. You mustn’t
keep it all so tightly packed down. You need to loosen
the lid a bit and let it float away.’
Reaching out, she took his hands into hers and pulled
him upright and she was real! The touch of her fingers,
warm and solid against his palm was the most wonder-
ful thing and she looked … she looked beautiful, happy
and healthy. She slipped against him and the song on the
radio changed to the soft, golden tone of Nat King Cole.
‘That’s more like it,’ she whispered with her head on
his chest.
He inhaled the scent of her, her favourite perfume
still sitting in a bottle in her bedside cabinet, the scent
quite earthy. He loved it. Gone was the medicinal, slightly
chemical-scented sweat that had accompanied her during
and following her chemotherapy. This was the old Kerry,
before that bloody illness claimed her as its own. They
swayed in the dance they had been practising since the
days of the school disco. He closed his eyes and savoured
the feel of her in his arms.
‘I mean it, Nick. You need to stop missing me so much
and start living. Things weren’t always perfect between
us, were they?’
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The Light in the Hallway
‘No.’ He sighed. ‘They weren’t.’
‘So don’t glorify it and don’t forget, we didn’t both
die. Only me. I know you love me. I know you always
will, but you’re young and you need to go on and find
happiness; you have your whole life ahead of you. And
it’ll all be wonderful…’
‘I love you.’ He kissed her face.
‘I love you too. Always. My Nick … Nick…’
‘Nick … Dad! Nick!’ This voice was different, louder,
harsher and male. He quickly sat up straight and looked
towards the tree, which looked a little depressing com-
pared to the one he had imagined. There was no radio
playing. And Kerry was gone. With the arrow of sorrow
piercing his chest and the strong desire to get back to her
arms, he rubbed his eyes and stared at his son, who stood
in the doorway. He felt a wave of sadness to have been
pulled so sharply from his beautiful dream.
‘I was shouting at you for ages.’ Oliver sighed. ‘I just
got back from the pub – Treacle got the turkey! She’s
eaten the whole thing and has shit all over the kitchen
floor!’
Nick didn’t know why he laughed, but suspected it
was that or cry.
‘Happy Christmas, son.’
Oliver laughed too. ‘Happy Christmas, Dad.’
‘I tell you what.’ He stood and let his pulse settle. ‘I’ll
go clear up the kitchen and you dig out the tin of fairy
lights from the cupboard under the stairs.’
‘Fairy lights?’
‘Yes, Oliver, they are a thing, you know – all the best
rooms have them,’ he mocked, thinking about the strings
that adorned his student room. ‘Besides, as your
mum
used to say, there isn’t a place dark enough or thoughts
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Amanda Prowse
depressing enough that can’t be transformed by the stick-
ing up of a few fairy lights.’
Kerry was right. The fairy lights gave the room a
pleasant festive glow that warmed their spirits as Nick
and Oliver sat back on the sofa. The turkey remnants had
been disposed of. Treacle and the floor were cleaned up
and the clock ticked softly towards midnight.
‘Bedtime?’ Nick asked, turning his head to see that
Oliver was already dozing, his head resting on one of the
cushions. Sofa parasites … Nick liked that. He smiled and pictured the pretty blonde woman who had stood in his
kitchen, necked beer and invited him to a party.
* * *
It was the Christmas day they had wanted, leisurely, fairly
quiet and one where they ate sausages with all the trim-
mings of a traditional lunch whilst the replete Treacle lay
sprawled in her basket, sleeping off her turkey hangover
with a look of joy and a fat tum. They watched Return
of the Jedi on the TV and polished off a tub of Quality Street. Their phones beeped with loving messages from
friends and family, well received, but still a little irritating, until they muted the speakers and tossed their phones
onto the free seat of the sofa. Nick didn’t feel too guilty,
knowing they would see everyone tomorrow on Boxing
Day with a lunch at his mum’s and then tea with Kerry’s
family. But today was their day and it went better than they could have expected.
Oliver now slept with his hands clasped across his
stomach, and his feet, as tradition dictated, clad in new
socks, resting on the coffee table. Nick smiled at his boy.
‘We did it, son – we survived,’ he whispered.
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‘More than can be said for the poor turkey,’ Oliver
mumbled with one eye open, and they both laughed.
‘I think I preferred you asleep!’ Nick lobbed a cushion
at him.
‘I need to wake up. I promised to call Tasha. Find out
whether she liked her present. She said she’d wait until
today to open it.’
‘What did you get her?’
‘A sandwich toaster.’
‘A sandwich toaster? Right.’ He couldn’t decide wheth-
er this was a great present or a terrible one. ‘Did she ask
for one?’
‘No, but she’s allergic to cheese, all dairy in fact, and
the girls on our floor share a sandwich toaster but leave