‘Nick, of course.’ The man tapped his fingers on the jotter in front of him, as he did when he was thinking. ‘Do what you need to do. You know the score, just make sure Dennis has the loading schedule and that everything is handed over, but of course, go. Don’t worry about things here.’ He flapped his hand, indicating that no lorry load of lighting could be considered nearly as important as Oliver’s well-being. Nick knew he was right and felt both relieved and angered that Julian had given him permission. He gave a tight smile, knowing it was easy for Siddley junior to say, very easy when you had family wealth behind you and a large, shiny Range Rover sitting in your private parking space. But it was quite another thing for Nick when the bills came rolling in at the end of the month and suddenly that shift he might miss became very important indeed.
He recalled with a shiver picking up the brown envelope from the welcome mat about six years ago now, intrigued by the unfamiliar logo. Ripping the sheet from its confines as the breath caught in his throat and his knees went weak. It had to be a mistake. There was no way . . . but there it was in red ink. Mrs Kerry Bairstow owed the sum of seven thousand pounds. Seven thousand pounds! It was as he leant on the banister and scanned the sheet, looking at the long list of purchases, that Kerry trod the stairs with an armful of laundry and they locked eyes. Her face fell and her lips looked bloodless and he knew . . . he knew it was no mistake.
‘Thanks, Julian. I really appreciate it.’
The man restored his glasses to indicate the conversation was over and turned his attention back to the wide computer screen that almost filled his desk. Nick considered himself dismissed.
‘Oh, I see. Half day, is it?’ Eric called from the loading bay as Nick climbed into the car.
‘Something like that.’ He looked up at his friend.
‘Well, you missed a good night last night in the pub, a proper laugh, and we got chips on the way home.’
‘Sounds like a belter – chips, eh?’ He laughed. ‘Didn’t realise you were there.’
‘Yes, whole crowd of us, it was good.’
Nick felt a flicker of relief that it hadn’t just been Beverly who was after his company; that whole idea had left him feeling a little uncomfortable.
‘So where you off to?’ Eric pulled him from the thought.
‘Just had a call from Olly. He wants to come home; says he wants to quit university. He’s had a change of heart.’
‘Wants to come home? You’re kidding me? He’s only been there five minutes!’
‘I know, but he’s saying he wants to leave university, doesn’t like it.’ Nick levelled with his best friend.
‘But he’s such a smart lad. What’s happened? I thought he was right as rain?’
‘Me too, and he seemed to be – I got a text to say he’d settled and everything. Now I don’t know what’s happening, but he sounded anxious.’ Nick ran his hand over his face.
Eric nodded, his smile gone. Having lived each step of Kerry’s illness with Nick and Oliver, staying over at the house so Nick didn’t have to rush back from St Vincent’s on a school night, making sure Oliver was fed on the days when Nick was preoccupied with Kerry and providing an ear when Nick needed to talk, Eric knew better than most that the two were fragile.
Nick had knocked on his best friend’s door and fallen to his knees right there in his narrow hallway on the night he left Kerry at St Vincent’s for the first time.
‘It’s all right, mate, it’ll all be okay.’ Eric had sat by his side and extended his index finger and the one next to it, placing the two fingers on his friend’s shoulder and pushing them gently into his skin.
‘It won’t be all right! She’s not coming home again, Eric! She’ll not come home! That’s what they said, more or less. This is it! It’s not like when she went in and out of hospital; this is the start of the end, I know it is, and I can’t stand it! I can’t cope! I don’t know what to do!’ His tears had come thick and fast, the only time he had ever cried this way in front of his pal. ‘I don’t want her to leave me!’
Eric now called down from the forklift, ‘Do you want me to come with you?’
‘No, mate, but thanks.’
‘Well, look, shout if you need anything. Want me to take Treacle out for a walk later?’
‘Oh, Treacle.’ He had nearly forgotten her. ‘Yes, that’d be great. Grab the house keys off me mum.’
‘Will do. Is Jen in?’ He waggled his eyebrows.
Nick laughed. It didn’t matter that his mate was in his thirties; he was still trying to get a date with Nick’s sister, as he had been since he was ten or so years of age. Eric had been the only one in the community to greet the news of her divorce and return to the family home a couple of years back with an air punch. ‘That’s the best news, mate! She’s free again!’
‘Yes, but free or not, she doesn’t want to go out with you,’ Nick had pointed out.
‘Ah, but she did once and will again, you’ll see. It’s a waiting game.’ Eric had beamed.
‘Just how long are you prepared to wait?’ Nick was curious.
‘As long as it takes, lad.’ Eric had winked at him. ‘As long as it takes.’
Nick and Kerry had both always admired his tenacity, for wait he did.
It was mid-afternoon and the motorway wasn’t too busy. Nick stayed in top gear and sat in the slow lane, trying to keep to a steady sixty miles an hour. It was a compromise between controlling his urgent desire to get to Oliver in the shortest possible time and preserving precious fuel. Nick felt confused and concerned, having believed when he had dropped his son in Birmingham only six days before that in all likelihood he would not be seeing him until Christmas.
And yet here he was.
His first thought was that he wanted Oliver to be happy, that above all else, of course. And yet still the hammer of despair thudded loud and heavy in his head when he thought of the chance his son was giving up. Eric was right: Oliver was a smart lad, and with a degree under his belt he could choose his path. Nick had watched him work so hard for his ‘A’ levels, battling in the atmosphere of home, heavy with his mum’s illness, treatments and side effects. Their whole schedule had been punctuated by her bouts of sickness, hospital appointments and tiptoeing around the house while she slept. But Oliver had managed it and was the first person on either side of the family to get to university, let alone a prestigious one like Birmingham. Apart from Julian Siddley, Nick didn’t know anyone who had a degree, and yet Oliver appeared to be on the point of giving it up. It hurt him to see a place so hard won thrown away and he feared his son might regret it. His job, he knew, was to point this out in the most tactful, supportive way possible without applying any pressure. He exhaled through bloated cheeks, nervous at the prospect. The situation was tempered by the fact that this grief, still fresh, was an unpredictable thing, and if Oliver wasn’t coping then it was also Nick’s job to help put him back on an even keel.
‘I wonder if he could take some time off? Start again later in the term, or even next year? I don’t know how it works, and I don’t know who to ask.’ He said this aloud, tilting his head towards the passenger seat, which Kerry used to occupy, as the junction for Birmingham loomed ahead.