The Light in the Hallway by Prowse Amanda

Author:Prowse, Amanda
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781542041171
Published: 2019-11-10T16:00:00+00:00

1992

Alex knelt on the concrete floor of the garage and dipped the old flannel into the bucket of water, which foamed with a dash of Fairy Liquid. Nick watched as he pulled a section taut over his finger and began rubbing it over the frame of Half Bike, paying particular attention to the front forks, where mud liked to gather. Cleaning the bike was as much a preoccupation as riding it, but not nearly half as thrilling.

‘How fast do you think I went down Cobb Lane last night?’ Nick pictured himself hurtling along, recalling the feel of the light bike beneath him, slightly skittish as the narrow wheels glanced the road surface, rushing along the lane, a steep hill with trees and water ditches either side that led to the Old Dairy Shed. It had been exhilarating and scary in equal measure. He might have sat steadily in the saddle, but his heart had raced at the fact that he was ever so slightly out of control.

‘’Bout ten miles an hour?’ Alex suggested.

Nick put down the bicycle pump he had been toying with, firing jets of air from close range at a paper cup to make it move along his dad’s workbench. His tone was offended. ‘Ten miles an hour? No way! Loads more than that! I think nearer twenty or thirty!’

‘Really?’ Alex stopped cleaning and looked at his friend.

‘Yes! Really! I was zooming.’

‘You were zooming, but thirty miles an hour is a lot.’

‘I know it’s a lot, Alex, it was me that was on Half Bike, thinking that, if I fell off, I’d be dead as a dodo!’

Alex shrugged and turned his attention back to wiping down the frame. Like anyone who spent a lot of time together, the boys knew when an argument was worth pursuing and when it would go round and round in circles, ending only when one of them caved in. This was one of those times.

‘Now then.’ Eric sloped into the garage. Instead of going immediately to Half Bike and getting stuck in, as was his way, he slumped down in the corner, sitting on one of the canvas fishing stools with his back against the tatty doorless dresser where Nick’s dad kept old bottles of methylated spirits, turpentine, a green rusted oil can with a thumb lever, small tin buckets with various paint brushes poking out of the top, a funnel or two and empty Lyle’s Golden Syrup pots, some with rusted seams, all holding a variety of screws, odds and ends, and in one, picture wire coiled into lengths.

‘What’s up?’ Nick put the pump down, bored now of the ‘trying to make the paper cup move’ game.

Eric leant forward and rested his elbows on his knees.

‘I saw my mum.’

‘No way! Is she back?’ This was big news.

‘No.’ Eric looked at his mate. ‘Not really. Not for good. But she was there when I got home last night. She didn’t stay long.’

‘Was Dave the Milk with her?’ Alex asked with a glint in

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