he knew he liked Beverly, but couldn’t decide if this level
of anxiety was worth it. As he pondered the thought,
the front doorbell rang. He closed his eyes, took a deep
breath and opened the front door.
‘I bought wine,’ Beverly announced as she walked in,
handing him the bottle.
‘Smashing, I’ll go find some glasses.’ He hoped he
had two that matched.
‘Is something burning?’ She sniffed the air at the
unmistakable residue of candle smoke, as she shrugged
her arms from her jacket and hung it on the newel post.
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‘Don’t think so.’ He walked to the kitchen and opened
the mug cupboard where four wineglasses sat on the top
shelf. Matching, but rather dusty. He ran them under
them under the tap and dried them with the tea towel.
‘Ooh, you’ve washed up – not on my account, I hope.’
She looked at the empty sink.
‘I did wash up on your account, actually. I also ran
the Hoover over.’
‘Well, I never – special treatment. I’m honoured.’ She
took the glass of wine from his outstretched hand and the
two went into the lounge. Beverly took up the spot in the
corner of the sofa where his wife had sat night after night
with a mug of tea in her hands and watched the soaps
on television. It felt a little odd and he was glad Oliver
wasn’t there, this thought instantly followed by a jolt of
guilt that this woman was sitting in Oliver’s mum’s seat
and just how the boy might react.
Let it go, Nick! For God’s sake, let it go!
‘So, I hear the lads were teasing you yesterday at lunch?’
She smiled over the rim of the wineglass.
‘Flippin’ ’eck, is nothing secret around here!’
‘Welcome to Burston!’ She raised her glass in a toast.
He noticed the shape of her teeth against her bottom lip,
painted with a pale pink colour, and the poker-straight
hair around her face. She had gone to some effort and
the thought that it might be for him made his gut jump
with joy.
‘I sometimes wish I could fly away, escape.’ He took
a sip.
‘So why don’t you?’ she asked in a way that suggested
it might be possible.
He gave a short burst of laughter. ‘Money, family,
commitment, finances, cowardice, take your pick.’
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Amanda Prowse
‘It’s funny, isn’t it, how some people just have the
courage, they go and do great things, different things,
and then there’s people like me who want to be near the
pub where I’m comfortable, the shop where I know where
everything is, my little house, my little job, it’s enough.’
‘I’ve always been the same. I say I’d like to leave
Burston at times, but then I can’t think of where I’d go
that’s better. I think I blew my chance of escape a long
time ago. Besides, there’s a lot to be said for staying close to home.’
‘Is Oliver enjoying Birmingham?’
‘Yes, seems to be. He had a wobble when he first got
there, felt a bit overwhelmed, but he has a nice girlfriend
– well, I’ve only met her once, but she seems nice and
he’s smitten. Tasha her name is.’
‘I don’t want to keep bringing it up, but that was ter-
rible on New Year’s Eve, not the snogging bit, as we’ve
already ascertained.’ She sipped her wine. ‘But the bit that
came after. I felt for you and Oliver, and I was mortified.’
‘I know.’ He flexed his toes inside his socks, a little
embarrassed whilst at the same time his chest boomed
with the compliment that the snogging had been quite
nice … ‘It’s hard to see things from his perspective some-
times. And it’s hard to know what he needs. He’s at that
horrible half-man/half-child stage and I often feel like
I’m treading on eggshells.’
Beverly nodded. ‘I suppose what he needs is to know
that his dad is at the end of a phone if he needs him and
that you aren’t going to disappear like his mum did.’
He found the ease with which she spoke about Kerry
as reassuring as it was alarming.
‘He needs to know that you’re the kind of man who
is going to stay close to home and I get it.’ She took
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another sip. ‘I always took great comfort from knowing
my dad was at home and wasn’t about to go gallivanting
off. No matter where I was or what I was getting up to,
the thought of my dad at home, giving me a base, a safe
haven should I need it, meant the world.’
‘Talking of gallivanting – and please keep this to
yourself – but Eric is thinking of getting away, going to
Australia.’
‘Australia? What, for a holiday?’
‘No, for good, to work. At least that’s what he says.’
‘God, I can’t imagine that. I always think of him as
part of the furniture.’ She held the wineglass on her lap.
‘And I think that’s the problem. He’s sick of being
taken for granted.’
‘Do you think it’s anything to do with Jen?’ she asked,
without any hint of self-consciousness that some might
have felt when discussing his sister in this way.
‘I think it’s a whole lot to do with her. He’s finally
given up and I don’t blame him. But the irony is, I think
she might actually have feelings for him.’
‘Jeez, she hides it well!’
‘She’s a complicated character and I don’t know if I
know her as well as I should.’ He thought about their
conversation. ‘I think a lot of her spikiness is a defence
against getting hurt.’
‘Like a hedgehog?’
‘Yes, something like that. A Monopoly-playing hedge-
hog.’ They both laughed.
‘Eric’s a good sort.’ She smiled and sat back in the
chair, relaxed, and this was infectious. He felt his bones
soften and his breathing calm.
‘He is that.’
‘You’ll miss him, but you can always visit.’
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Nick laughed. ‘Yes, if I win the lottery! And as I don’t
even do the lottery the chances of that are pretty slim.’
‘Well, you’d have to find a way. He’s your best mate.’
‘I know.’ He drained his glass, liking the cool tang of
the dry white against his tongue. ‘It’d be nice if you could
fly off, wouldn’t it? Just for a trip, a few days, a change of scenery and then come home. It’d make anything bearable if you could escape.’
‘What, like a pilot with your own plane?’ She smiled.
‘I’m thinking more like a bird,’ he suggested, ‘one of
them tropical birds who gets to sit on the branch of palm
tree on a deserted beach, just sitting in the sun, thinking
… and then if the fancy took me, I’d soar, high in the
perfect blue sky where there wasn’t a whiff of a cloud
and take in the view. Flying out over the sea, high above
the chaos of t
he world and the noise and the chatter. I’d
ride the warm current and swoop down to the crystal
clear water for a spot of seafood for lunch and then back
up as high as I could go with the warmth of the sun on
my back. I think it would be the most amazing feeling
to have wings that could take me wherever I wanted to
go, whenever I wanted to go. Imagine, no discussion, no
planning, no justification, all I’d need to do was look in
the direction I wanted to head and take off, I wouldn’t
even need to look back or say goodbye … freedom.’ He
looked up, remembering that Beverly was sat on the other
side of the sofa. He gave a short burst of self-conscious
laughter. ‘Mind you, knowing my luck I’d wish to be a
bird and end up as one of those wonky-legged pigeons
that lives on the railway or worse, my mother-in-law’s
budgerigar! Christ, imagine being trapped in that cage
and having to listen to the visiting Diane drone on about
what a disappointment I am each and every day, with
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the telly blaring and Dora drying her tights in front of
the fire while the cat licks his arse. That’d be my luck!’
her face as she struggled not to lose the wine that filled
her cheeks.
‘You are funny, Nick.’
‘I don’t think so.’ He shook his head. ‘I’ve forgotten
how to be funny.’
‘No, you haven’t.’ She cupped the glass in her hand.
‘You’re just out of practice.’
‘I suppose I am. It’s hard to be funny or find anything
funny when you have the weight of the world on your
shoulders and you’re wading through quicksand. And
that’s what the last year or so has felt like. Kerry’s last
months were hard, the last the hardest of all.’
There was a moment or two of uncomfortable silence.
These were uncharted waters, discussing his wife with
the woman he’d kissed. It felt both odd and yet necessary.
‘It must have been.’ She looked down and sat forward,
the relaxed air all but gone. ‘But when you properly
come out the other side, you will laugh more. And I’m
no expert, but maybe as you haven’t been able to laugh
and live freely without worry for so long, life might be
sweeter. Not that you will ever get over the loss.’ She
floundered as if, like him, she was wary of besmirching
Kerry’s memory. It was the verbal equivalent of handling
a hot coal, flinging the words and the sentiment from
palm to palm, trying not to feel pain or cause pain and at
a loss of how to safely lay them down to rest. He looked
forward to a time when this anxiety would ease, not that
he could or would say this out loud. He tried to remember
the last time he had been able to laugh, properly laugh
with Kerry, and it was difficult to picture.
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‘I hope so,’ he conceded. ‘I feel like I’ve been in a
cage – her too, and not a cage she would have chosen,
one fashioned from her illness.’
‘I guess her passing was … in some ways … a relief.
Is that the right thing to say?’ She faltered and two spots
of colour appeared on her cheeks.
‘I don’t know if it’s the right thing to say, but there’s
truth in it.’
Beverly toyed with the stem of her wineglass.
There was a beat or two of silence.
‘I should probably think about heading off. It’s get-
ting late for a school night.’ She spoke with certainty and
shuffled forward on the cushion.
‘Well, that was a quick visit; there’s more left in the
bottle.’ He pointed towards the kitchen.
‘Yes’ – she swallowed – ‘but I have an early start tomor-
row and I don’t think Julian Siddley would thank me for
falling asleep at my desk on account of too much wine.’
‘No, probably not.’
‘Thanks, Nick, for…’ She let this trail, embarrassment
robbing them both of the pleasant goodbye the evening
had promised. She jumped into action, placing the glass
hard down on the tabletop and simultaneously grabbing
her bag that lay on the floor by the sofa. Nick looked up
a little dazed and realised that by mentioning his grief
and his wife it whipped the possibility of romance from
under them. Talking about Kerry placed her as firmly in
the room as if she were sitting on the chair in the corner.
He part skipped, part ran to the hallway and opened
the front door, waiting like a security guard trying to
usher the last of the customers out of the shop door at
closing time, keen now to halt the rising embarrassment
levels that threatened to drown them. Beverly grabbed
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her jacket from the newel post and more or less barged
past him, head down, looking at the gate at the end of
the pathway as if planning her escape.
‘Cheers then, Nick.’
She spoke quickly; in the brusque manner you might
address a friend when in a hurry, and was gone.
Nick sighed and looked at his reflection in the hall
mirror. He looked tired. He was tired. He gathered the glasses from the coffee table and took them to the kitchen,
side down on the draining board and stared out into the
darkness of the garden. The house felt deathly quiet. He
felt a little flat. The evening that had started with such
promise had not ended remotely how he had envisaged.
There was the distinct gnaw of dissatisfaction in his gut
and he wished he could do a re-run, where he would
steer the conversation into safer waters, or at the very
least, try again to be funny.
He heard the hammering on the front door. It sounded
urgent and he dashed along the hallway, wiping his damp
hands on his jeans as he went; his heart thudded at what
might be the matter. Treacle stood a few paces behind
him offering moral support but little else as she cowered
by his leg, the most rubbish guard dog in the world.
‘Beverly!’ He immediately tried to think of what it
was she might have forgotten. She looked a little harassed,
her breath quickening, her face flushed. She pushed the
door and came in, closing it behind her.
‘It can’t be like that!’ She stared at him.
‘What can’t? What?’ He was trying to keep up.
She pulled her handbag close to her chest and spoke
with conviction, her eyes bright. ‘It can’t be that if you
mention Kerry in a certain way, I feel the need to scuttle
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away like something scolded. She can’t be a no-go area
for us verbally. That would be impossible and wrong.
I’ve tried to initiate conversations about her to show you
I’m fine, mature, open, but it’s actually a lot harder than
I thought. But here it is, Nick: you were
married to her
for a very long time and she is Oliver’s mum and this is
her house.’
‘Yes.’ He swallowed. ‘Yes.’
‘And nothing we can do or say will change those facts,
not that we would want to, not at all. We need to be able to talk about her, of course we do. And it’s my belief that
if we want to explore this … this…’
He helped her out. ‘Connection.’
‘Yes, thank you.’ She smiled. ‘This connection, then
we need to be able to talk about the stuff that is awkward,
the stuff that makes us think or embarrasses us, because
that’s often the important stuff and it’s certainly the stuff that will help us move forward.’
Nick stared at her, a little at a loss for words but in
absolute agreement. He knew she was right, not that it
made the thought of being so open any easier. Kerry and
he had grown up together, open books, and yet despite
their longevity the nature of her demise had meant they
had become expert liars, the keepers of secrets too un-
palatable to voice.
‘How are you feeling today, love?’
‘I feel good, fine, maybe a little better even…’ She had barely been able to lift her grey-skinned face from the pillow.
‘What did the doctor say to you, Nick?’
‘Oh, he said you’re doing really well. Really well and that maybe you might be able to come home for Christmas…’ He
had addressed his fingernails, which he closely examined, unable to look her in the eye.
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‘Okay?’ Beverly asked, holding his gaze and taking a
step closer to him.
‘Okay.’ He smiled and reached out, pulling her towards
him. He kissed her on the mouth and she stood on tiptoe
while they held each other in a brief, tight hug that fired
bolts of joy right through him.
‘I know folk will say this is too soon, that I’m overstep-
ping a mark making a move, whatever, but who makes
those rules? How soon is too soon? The truth is, this has
happened and I feel happy,’ she whispered into his hair.
‘I feel happy too,’ he admitted, burying the thought
that this happiness came with a large side helping of guilt.
‘Right, glad we got that sorted. I really am leaving
now.’ She hitched her bag onto her shoulder. ‘But how
about I come over on Friday and bring another bottle
and we can try this again?’
‘Yes. I’ll see you then.’
‘Well, actually I’ll see you tomorrow at work, Nick,