‘Thank you, Doctor.’ He smiled at his friend.
‘Tell you what, come out to the pub and if you don’t like it or you’re not having fun or you’d rather be at home, then just get up and walk out and no one will think any less of you for it. Even if they do, you’ll have already left so you won’t know about it.’
‘I might do.’
‘Good lad.’ Eric beamed as if he had given a hard yes.
He gave the invitation little thought until he let himself into his mum’s house.
‘Only me!’ he called, as he wiped his work boots on the mat.
‘In’t kitchen, love!’ came her reply. ‘What can I get you to eat?’ This before she had even seen him.
‘Nowt,’ he replied, and made his way along the hall.
‘How you doing?’ She had an irritating habit of looking at him with her head cocked to one side and her lashes lowered, her expression sympathetic, as if she were on the verge of tears or he were to be pitied. It annoyed him. Emasculated him.
‘I’m fine,’ he snapped.
‘Listen to how sharp you are with me, Nicky. You used to love me being your mum.’
Oh, please not this again . . .
‘I still do.’
‘Yes, but you used to think I was kind, not a nag; wise, not annoying – and you used to be able to talk to me without sighing or raising your eyebrows.’
‘Do I do that?’
‘Yes, darlin’, you’re doing it now.’
He stared at her. ‘I don’t know what you want me to say.’
‘I know.’ She pursed her lips as if his phrase only emphasised her point. He knew she spoke the truth. She did irritate him, as if the way she treated him as a boy was perfect, comforting, and yet that same treatment now he was an adult . . . he found it infuriating.
‘And how’s my Olly?’
‘Good, Mum. I bumped into Di earlier and she was moaning that he hasn’t phoned Dora, kind of had a go and said he should make more effort with her.’
‘Well, she needs to lay off! Firstly, you have enough on your plate and, secondly, that boy is away from home for the first time, having just lost his mum; the last thing he needs is pressure from Dora bloody Forrest. I won’t ’ave it, Nick!’
‘It’s okay, Mum. Calm down. I told Di if he wasn’t on the phone to us all every five minutes it probably meant he was having a nice time. I think she agreed.’
His sister, Jen, who had moved back home after her divorce, ran down the stairs. ‘Who’s having a nice time?’ She reached for an apple and bit into it, caring little that the juice ran down her chin. This was home and they were siblings, after all. No need to stand on ceremony in front of the person you had shared everything with from parents to chicken pox.
‘Olly. And me too, apparently, if I go to the pub tonight for quiz night – Eric’s making me go.’
‘Ericisadick,’ she mumbled with a mouth full of fruit.
‘Yep, you might have already said that once or twice. But you should give him a break.’
‘He knows it’s only banter,’ his sister tutted. ‘We’ve always been like that.’
It bothered him just a little, how scathing she had always been about his friend, who was in his opinion a good bloke, and he had stopped finding her banter funny a long time ago. He bit his lip, trying to quell the rising irritation he felt towards his mother and sister, figuring that as the common denominator it must be him who had the problem and not them.
Tolerance . . . They mean well . . . He heard Kerry’s wise words.
‘Plus, if you were planning on joining our team, you can think again. We’re on a winning streak and I don’t want to change our winning formula.’ Jen held his gaze.
‘I’m more than capable of sorting a team. And I know the Blue Anchor is your hangout, but I’m thirty-five, Jen. I need to leave the house, or what’s the alternative, sit and watch rubbish telly and chat to Treacle? No offence, Treacle,’ he called towards the sitting room, where he was confident the dog would be asleep on the sofa she was technically barred from sitting on. Nick clicked his fingers, summoning the dog.
He turned and looked at his sister as she devoured her apple.
‘And actually, Jen, not having me on your team might be a huge mistake. Far better to be on a team with me on it than against me – remember when you asked me what the capital of Paris was?’
‘I got confused! You knew I meant France!’
‘But as I said at the time, you answered your own question!’ He sighed.
‘Tell him, Mum!’ Jen pointed at her brother in jest, sounding nothing like a police officer in her late thirties. He laughed, shut the door behind him and with Treacle in tow they set off for home.
Nick was uncertain what to wear to a pub quiz; this was the kind of thing that Kerry would know. He showered and stepped into his jeans and a cleanish shirt, which when ironed, would do for one more wear. His phone rang. It was Oliver.
‘How we doing, Olly? I’m sitting down on the bed and so hit me if it’s a code red and I can make the necessary arrangements.’ He smiled, half admitting to himself that the thought of having to drive to see Oliver for an emergency might actually be preferable to going to a pub quiz with a gut full of nerves and no idea of what to wear.
‘Very funny!’ Oliver chuckled. ‘No code red. I’d say we are all green at the moment.’
‘Well, I’m very glad to hear it.’ He felt his stomach unbunch.
‘Just thought I’d give you a shout and see what you’re up to.’
‘Funny you should ask.’ Nick looked at his reflection in the mirror. ‘I’m about to go to the Blue Anchor for a quiz night with Eric and a few people from work and your Auntie Jen, although apparently I’m not allowed to join her team. I think she’s still worried I might embarrass her in front of her friends, even after all these years.’
‘You’re going to the pub?’ Oliver’s tone was sharp, surprised and, if Nick was hearing it correctly, carried a slight edge of disapproval.
‘Well, Eric asked if I fancied it, and I must admit I feel a bit nervous. It’s the first time I’ve been out since . . .’ He let this hang.
‘You never go to the pub.’ Oliver’s voice was now quieter, his tone reflective, and Nick felt his pain. And he got it. Oliver was a kid who whilst he wished his dad no ill, didn’t want things to be moving on, worried no doubt that they were starting to pick up where they left off before Kerry got sick, fearful that she might in any way be slipping from her position as the first thing he thought about. This Nick understood because these were his worries too. It felt like a disservice.
‘I don’t know if I’ll go, even.’ He paused. ‘I think Eric was just trying to get me out of the house.’
There was a beat or two of silence before Oliver spoke up. ‘You should go, Dad. Eric is right, you should get out of the house.’
‘Do you think so?’ He held the phone close to his face, wanting at some level to hear Oliver’s approval.
‘Yes, go, have a nice time.’
‘Thank you, son. What have you been up to?’