in the shadow of the tidal wave from which he was run-
ning. Although with his energy levels sapped, it would
be fair to say it was now more of a crawl than a run. He
balled the towel and threw it into the plastic laundry
basket which lived in the corner by the sink.
He took his time whilst aware of the urgency, open-
ing the kitchen window, inviting a breeze into the stuffy
room where the sun beat against the misty window for
the best part of the day. He put the milk back in the
fridge and located his car keys, giving the boy a chance
to change his mind.
Hoping…
He carried a weird sensation, empty with a hollow
thump to his gut that felt a lot like hunger and yet he was
simultaneously wired, full, as if on high alert.
With one last opportunity looming, his eye on the
clock and his heart racing, he ran back up the stairs and
walked purposefully into Oliver’s room. His son had slipped
down on the pillows and pulled the duvet cover up to his
chin. The sight of him curled up like this reminded Nick
so much of when his boy was five, six, seven – hiding
from the monsters that might lurk under the bed – and his
heart tore a little. The actual quilt had been discarded in
a heap on the bedroom floor – no need of the fibre-filled
warmth on this balmy summer evening – and yet he felt
an unwelcome chill to his limbs.
‘Olly.’
Oliver stayed silent.
3
Amanda Prowse
‘Olly, this is the last chance—’
‘I know. Just go! Go then! I’ve already said!’ he shouted,
and Nick knew this newly ignited row was more than
either of them could cope with.
‘Okay, son. Okay.’
He ran back down the stairs, his pace urgent now, and
out the door, to sit in the driver’s seat, letting the engine run and rubbing and flexing his hands, as if this might
remove their tremor. He revved the accelerator with a
desperate desire to see Oliver launch himself from the
front door in the last minute and jump in beside him, like
he might do if this were a movie, when with the clock
ticking and the risk of getting trapped or left behind was
at its highest, the hero would buckle up, safe. Enabling
the audience to breathe a huge sigh of relief …
He didn’t.
It was as if he heard the clock on the dashboard tick
as the big hand jumped forward. Nick reversed at speed
down the steep slope of the narrow driveway and trav-
elled the route towards Thirsk that was now so familiar
he often arrived at either end of the journey with little
memory of driving it.
He thought he would feel more, but his numbness, an
emotional anaesthesia of sorts, was not wholly unwelcome.
It had been an odd day. A day he had tried to predict
many times in the preceding months, attempting to play
it out in his mind, imagine what it might be like, but to
no avail. He had been with Kerry since he was sixteen
years of age and yet this was the last day – the last day
for her and the last day for them. It was surreal. In his
ponderings there was higher drama, background tension
and a swell of emotion that he figured would carry him
along in its wake, but so far everything, up until this
4
The Light in the Hallway
point, had felt rather ordinary. A little flat even and, for
that, disappointing. He had been into work for an hour
that morning, sorted his shift pattern for the next month,
explained to Mr Siddley, Julian Siddley, that his routine
might be in turmoil for a while as things had taken a
sudden but not unexpected turn.
‘It’s my wife…’
And then he went to sit with her. Like he did every
day after work, before work if she’d had a particularly
bad night, and all day at weekends.
Beverly and the rest of the girls in the back office had
been tearful and sweet and wanted to hug him or squeeze
his arm knowingly, which only made him feel uncomfort-
able. It was such an odd thing to do to a colleague who
you were only on nodding terms with across the canteen,
when the conversation was usually of the jovial or jokey
variety, but he knew they meant well. The small market
town of Burstonbridge on the North York Moors was a
bump of a settlement with one main road that ran right
through it. There were no tall buildings, no districts, no
high-street-branded stores, and everyone who stayed past
school age worked either in farming, the small businesses
that supported the farms or at Siddley’s.
Travellers taking the scenic route between Helmsley
and Guisborough stumbled across the place, pausing
to photograph the pretty war memorial, the sloping
higgledy-piggledy cobbled streets and the solid Norman
church as they stopped at Mackie and Sons garage for
fuel and plastic-wrapped sandwiches or to potter around
the gift shops in Market Square, which sold overpriced
rubbish to tourists alone. It was a close community; most
people who worked at Siddley’s did so like their parents
before them. Aunts and uncles recommended nieces and
5
Amanda Prowse
nephews, and mums and dads took great pride in seeing
their offspring march through the door, wet behind the
ears, to take up the mantle of picking, packing and ship-
ping out imported party lights, festoon lights, outdoor
lighting rigs and spotlights for big events. It might not
be the most glamorous of places or one with a corporate
ladder Burston folk could climb, but they arrived at work
happy, certain in the knowledge they would be leaving
with a wage at the end of the week.
Siddley’s was a family company, and a Siddley had been
at the helm since it started in 1946. It was Mr Douglas
Siddley who had started it, a local man who came back
from the Front and recognised that post-war Britain
wanted nothing more than to put up bunting and strings
of festoon lights along its pub and shop frontages, rear
gardens, bandstands and schools. Siddley’s bought welcome
light to places that had been dulled by war. This frip-
pery, along with eating bananas, oranges and other food
denied to them during the years of austerity, was proof
that the dark days were over. And folk celebrated whilst
dancing without guilt to new music, hand in hand with
the beaux they had tearfully waved off to war, those who
had returned. Yes, it was Douglas who got the firm up
and running, but it was his son, Joseph, who had seized
the opportunity for export and expansion and hadn’t
looked back.
Mr Aubrey Siddley, Julian’s father and Joseph’s son,
had sent word via Caitlyn, his daughter-in-law. She said
he sent his best regards and to shout if Nick needed any-
thing. It made him smile, knowing that with the size of
the Siddley house – Alston Ban
k up at Drayfield Moor,
with its long sweep of a driveway and parkland on either
side – he’d have to shout bloody loudly. Nick pictured a
6
The Light in the Hallway
child’s bike abandoned on that driveway with the back
wheel spinning and even now it made his hackles rise.
What Nick had really wanted to do when he left the
depot that morning was jump on an aeroplane and go
as far away as he could, all alone. Just pack a bag and go
anywhere – anywhere in sight of the sea and where he
could walk barefoot on sand. He’d take his five hundred
pounds savings out of the bank and run … But then he
thought about Oliver, who might pretend to be a big
man but was just a scared, gangly eighteen-year-old who
was at a crossroads, waiting for his ‘A’ level results, which would be in his hands in five days’ time. Nick thought
about the house and his job and his mum and his mother-
in-law and felt the weight of responsibility sit heavily on
his shoulders. Despite his daydream of escape there was
no beach in the world far enough away for him to outrun
his responsibilities.
It wasn’t the first time he had felt this way – How …
How are we in debt, Kerry? How has this happened? – but today was not the time to think about that.
He parked the car in the car park and took a minute
to steel himself, thinking about Peter’s words of advice
earlier.
‘I think you should go home, Nick … and maybe see
if Oliver wants to come in.’ It was the pause that spoke
that loudest of all, all that the counsellor didn’t say.
‘I did call him earlier and offered to go pick him up,
but he said he didn’t want me to.’
‘I know, but I think you should go home and maybe
see if he does want to come in…’ Peter had repeated, his tone a little more forceful. And Nick had listened to the
man who had more experience of this than him and whose
thoughts were not fogged by the enormity of the situation.
7
Amanda Prowse
‘Okay.’ He had nodded and Peter laid his hand on his
shoulder, as if this were the right answer.
He had been home no more than ten minutes when
the call came in, not long enough to make a cup of tea,
the milk for which he had grabbed from the fridge while
he went to knock on Oliver’s bedroom door.
‘I think … I think you should come back, Nick. Don’t
rush, drive safely, but get here as soon as you can…’
He had known this time would come, and yet nothing
over the last few months could have really prepared him
for it. He slammed the car door and walked briskly inside,
raising a hand to Mary on reception, who he had learnt
over recent months liked knitting, holidays in Lanzarote
and roast lamb. She had six grandchildren and was al-
lergic to penicillin and cats, liked one daughter-in-law,
hated the other. It was funny the rubbish you picked up
when you had all the time in the world to hang about
and chat. And he liked chatting to Mary, whether she
knew it or not. Talking to the old lady who volunteered
to greet visitors was one of the highlights of his day, a
very welcome distraction when he needed a little air or a
change of scenery. Nick knew he would miss her, because
if there was no chatting to Mary that meant there was
no need to visit St Vincent’s, and if there was no need to
visit St Vincent’s then it meant the worst had happened.
And here he was.
He pushed on the door of the ground-floor bedroom
that had been his haven and his prison for more hours
than he cared to think about. A room where a minute
could last an hour. He knew every inch of the pale-pink
walls and the window that looked out over the car park.
He knew the rust spot on the metal window frame, the
missing handle on the top drawer of the bedside cabinet
8
The Light in the Hallway
and the small damp stain in the corner of the ceiling that,
depending on his mood, looked like the Isle of Wight or
a fried egg. He knew that the air conditioning worked
well at night, but was a bit hit and miss during the day.
He knew that water drunk from the sink in the bathroom
tasted of iron and that the space between the loo and
the shower was just a little too small to accommodate
a woman who fell and wanted to stay put, without the
energy or inclination to rise again. He closed the door
behind him and entered.
The atmosphere was uncomfortably close and he wished
he could throw open a door and let the cooler night air in.
Her breathing had changed. The atmosphere had changed.
Sharon, the nurse, stood up from the chair by the side of
the bed. She placed her hand briefly on his arm.
‘You know to just press if you need anything, Nick.’
He nodded. He knew the drill.
‘Olly not with you?’ She looked over his shoulder as
if the boy might appear and he turned to follow her stare,
feeling a leap of joy at the thought that his son might have
somehow made it here after all.
‘No. He didn’t want to come.’ He swallowed. ‘I tried.’
She gave a tight-lipped smile of understanding.
‘Is there anything, anything we need to…’ He looked
to the bed and away again, unsure of what he was asking,
‘There’s nothing more we need to do, Nick.’ This
time her smile was wide and comforting. The smile of
someone who was in control, and this reassured him, he
who was new to this experience. Sharon was not. ‘You
know where we are.’
He nodded again and took the seat Sharon had only
just vacated.
9
Amanda Prowse
He ran his fingertips up his wife’s arm as she lay in
the bed. She looked different than when he had last seen
her an hour or so ago. She was a little grey, and a slow,
foul rattle accompanied each breath.
‘Cor, I was gasping for a cup of tea.’ He laughed,
the loud noise an intrusion that ricocheted off the walls.
‘Nearly managed to grab one too before the phone rang.’
He reached for her fingers and thumbed the skin on the
back of her hand. She didn’t move or open her eyes or
grip his fingers in return, although he imagined she did.
‘I think they’ve given you something to help you sleep,
haven’t they? Well, you just sleep, lass. You just sleep and
I’ll sit right here by your side.’
He stared at her head tipped back on the pillow, eyes
sunken, lashes sticky and her thin face pinched, skin like
waxed paper. Her eyes closed, mouth open and that aw-
ful rattle…
‘It’s still warm out, but they said the temperature is
going to drop tonight, not that I mind. You know what
I’m like, can’t sleep if it’s too warm. I think I’ll put the
heating on boost, just in case it gets very cold. I know
you don
’t like the kitchen floor to be icy on your bare feet
or to have to walk into a chilly bathroom in the night.
Yes, I’ll do that.’ He coughed again. Her lack of response
was almost deafening. ‘I was thinking earlier about how
lovely it would be to have a holiday. Maybe sit in front of
the sea and walk on a beach. Do you remember all our
lovely holidays at Filey? That B&B with the squeaky bed
and Oliver when he was younger in the little room next
door, and you were so worried about making a noise that
if we fancied a cuddle we had to pull the duvet onto the
floor and be as quiet as church mice.’ He laughed. ‘Those
were the days, eh, love?’
10
The Light in the Hallway
He closed his eyes briefly. The sentiment he wanted
to express was not something that came easily, but this
was the time. ‘I love you, Kerry. I love you, my mate.’
He pinched the top of his nose to stop the emotion that
threatened to cloud this moment. ‘I think about the first
time I took you out and I was so nervous I could hardly
speak. Just kids both of us, weren’t we? You thought I had
a stutter; I was so worried about saying the right thing
and making you like me. God, I was desperate for you to like me. Well, I must have done something right, nearly
nineteen years next May. Nineteen years…’ He kissed the
back of her hand. ‘I know people say it all the time, but
it really does feel like yesterday. Where did that time go,
eh?’ He bent forward and rested his face on the pillow
next to hers and whispered, ‘I know it’s not all been per-
fect, and that maybe we have … drifted. But I wouldn’t
swap a single second of it, Kerry. Not one. I love you. I
will do my best with Olly, I promise you that. And I will
miss you every single day. You’re my girl. You’ll always
be my girl. But you go now, my darling. You don’t have
to be brave. You don’t have to hang on. You can rest and
you can have peace, go to sleep, knowing you’re loved…’
He felt the slip of tears across his cheek and over his
nose and after some minutes, he couldn’t say with ac-
curacy how many, he became aware of the quiet. And
it was surprising, shocking almost, and unexpected even
though he had been waiting for it. Waiting for it for six
months or more, truth be told. Gone was the rattle; gone
was the weak pulse of life that an ailing body gave. Her