Saving Nathaniel

by Jillian Brookes-Ward

  Chapter 14

  A sudden loud rapping at the back door startled Megan.

  Not expecting a visitor, and unable to see the parking area from the kitchen window, she opened the door with caution.

  A smartly dressed man stood on the doorstep, stubbing out a cigarette with the toe of his shoe. He was of average height, about Nat's age with brown eyes and greying brown hair receding at the hairline. He wore jeans and a casual jacket over an open necked shirt, and his face carried the most artificially broad smile she had ever seen. She felt the back of her neck begin to prickle.

  'Well, good afternoon darling,' he said, running his hand through his hair. 'Philip McNeil, I'm a friend of Nat's. Can I have a word with him?'

  Nat hated unexpected visitors and for a moment, she was unsure of what to do with this one. She couldn't deny Nat was home, his car was parked outside, and McNeil could not have failed to see it. And she couldn't just close the door in his face either. That would be the height of rudeness. She had no choice but to admit the man.

  'Erm….I'll see. Won't you come on in?' She opened the door wide. McNeil wiped his snowy shoes on the doormat and sauntered into the kitchen.

  'Take a seat,' she said, and pulled out a chair.

  'You must be Rebecca.' McNeil oozed, looking her over. He leaned back on his seat with an air of sleazy nonchalance. 'It's nice to finally put a face to the name. Nat's told me all about you.'

  'Has he indeed?' Megan didn't like this man. He smiled too widely and smelled of whisky and cigarettes, and although not drunk, he was certainly on his way. He had a leeriness about him that made her uncomfortable, and unwilling to correct his mistake. Surely Nat would have better taste in friends.

  'Wait here for a moment would you please?' she said, keeping a respectable distance between them. 'I'll go and see if I can find him.'

  'You do that, sweetheart.' He winked and she bristled. She left him sitting in the kitchen and went to find her employer, pretty certain she knew where he would be.

  Knocking on the study door, she received a muffled, 'Come in'. She opened the door gingerly and Nat peered at her over his glasses. 'What can I do for you Meg?'

  'There's someone here to see you,' she said. 'He says his name is Philip McNeil.'

  He whipped off his glasses. 'What? Here?'

  'He's in the kitchen.'

  Nat looked aghast at the news. 'Ah, shit!'

  'Shall I get rid of him? I'll tell him you're too busy to see him.'

  He put his glasses in his shirt pocket. 'No thanks, Meg, I'll see to it. You'd better show him through and erm, coffee please, good and strong. Knowing Phil he'll probably need it.'

  She cocked her head in the direction of the kitchen. 'Is this the same Phil…last Christmas?'

  Irana

  He groaned his displeasure. 'I'm afraid so.'

  Megan went to find the errant guest, led him to Nat's study and left the two men alone. A few minutes later, she returned with a tray of coffee and biscuits. The men stopped speaking as she entered the room, an indication they had been talking about her. She set the coffee tray on the desk and left them to it.

  'So that's her is it…Re-be-cah?' McNeil said when she had gone. 'I thought you said she wasn't the friendly type. She seems like she might scrub up well and pass muster. If you're still not interested I might give her a go.'

  'What do you want, Phil?'

  McNeil helped himself to a biscuit. 'I haven't heard from you for weeks,' he said. 'I was having a very nice lunch at that pub down by the bridge and I thought, 'I'll just call in on my good friend Nat and see how he got on with the lovely Irana'.' He winked, and salaciously clicked his tongue. 'She's a cracker isn't she?'

  Thanks for reminding me, Nat thought. She made me sick - literally. He had often wondered if he had caught the flu virus from her. 'I don't really remember,' he said pushing down the plunger in the cafetiere. 'It was ages ago…and I'd had quite a skinful.'

  'You could have at least called and thanked me afterwards,' said McNeil.

  'For what?'

  'For setting you up with some much needed entertainment, you sad loser.'

  'Aye, it was a real joy.'

  McNeil pulled out his cigarettes and offered them to Nat, who declined.

  'Since when?' he said, lighting his own.

  'Since I quit, four years ago. Don't get ash on the rug.'

  McNeil shrugged. 'My God, man, what's happened to you. Talk about going straight; you'll be wearing a cardigan and slippers next. Oh I see you are.' He took a long drag from the cigarette, blew out a rancid grey cloud and returned to the subject at hand. 'I noticed you and Irana had both fucked off somewhere that night. Where'd ya go? A quick knee-trembler in the alley? A quickie in the back of your car?'

  'Neither. If you must know, we came back here.

  'Nice!' said McNeil with approval.

  'I'm surprised she didn't tell you.'

  'No, she didn't say anything. She probably wanted to spare your blushes. Did you get the lovely Rebecca to join in – have yourself a nice little threesome, eh? It feels good to be the meat in the sandwich I can tell you.'

  The squalid insinuation disgusted Nat. 'That's enough, Phil,' he warned.

  'Fancy another date with her?' McNeil persisted. 'I'm sure she's still available if you are.'

  To infect me which God knows what next time? I don't think so. 'Not interested,' he said.

  'Not up to it, eh? She is a bit of a goer. Is she too much for you, old timer? Maybe I can find you one more your age? It's pension day at the Post Office on Thursdays.' McNeil snickered at his own joke.

  Nat felt his temper rising, but kept his voice calm. 'I think you should leave now, Phil. I'm really rather busy.'

  McNeil, however, did not appear ready to leave. 'Oh, come on, not yet. Your lovely serving wench has gone to all this trouble, we ought to enjoy it. Are you going to pour that coffee or not?' He picked over the plate of biscuits and as he did so, ash from the end of his cigarette fell onto them. 'Where is the little woman by the way?'

  'Go home Phil. You're pished. I can smell it from here.'

  McNeil let out a pitiful groan. 'Now then, Nat, buddy, be a pal. It's a long way home and I've had a big lunch. I thought I'd just chill here for a bit. Maybe I could settle in the chair for a bit of a nap.'

  'I don't think so.' Nat strode across the room and jerked the study door wide, a clear indication that McNeil should leave. 'If you don't mind, like I said, I am rather busy and would appreciate it if you would just fuck off out of my sight!'

  McNeil shrugged his resignation, stubbed out the cigarette on the plate and ambled through the doorway. 'Whatever you say, me old mucker. It's your house.'

  Megan was at the kitchen table, clipping flowers for an arrangement, when Nat ushered McNeil into the room. She glanced up at the pair and sensed the tension between them. She also noticed, with trepidation, the tight-lipped set of Nat's face - a sure sign the blue touch paper of his temper had already been lit.

  McNeil pressed himself to her and murmured in her ear, 'Bye bye, Rebecca. So nice to meet you at last. Take care of my mate, Nat, won't you sweetheart? You know what I mean.'

  He grabbed her backside with his large hand and squeezed it painfully. She started with a cry, and her dropped scissors clattered onto the table.

  The firework exploded.

  With a rush of adrenaline, lips drawn back in a snarl and a low growl rumbling in his throat, Nat launched himself at McNeil, grabbing him by the lapels of his jacket and hauling the stunned man across the room toward the rear door, at one point lifting his feet clear of the ground. Without loosening his grip, he snatched open the door and bodily ejected the man from the house.

  McNeil managed a single step backwards, before he stumbled and sat down in an accumulated drift. Nat followed him out and stood over him, his face dark with rage. He bent forward to jab his finger into his former friend's face and force his rage-filled threat through tightly clenched teeth. 'Her name is
Megan, and if you ever…EVER lay a hand on her again, I swear to God, I WILL KILL YOU!!'

  He stood and stepped away, allowing McNeil to scramble to his feet.

  'There's no need for that, mate,' McNeil said quietly, but with the trace of a nervous quiver as he brushed clinging snow from his trousers. 'I was just being friendly to the lady.' He looked past Nat to Megan hovering in the background. 'No harm done. See. She's fine...aren't you darlin'?' His lecherous grin towards her tipped the balance.

  Another wave of fury erupted from Nat. All the pent up wrath he possessed travelled down his arm and into his full fist, propelling it into McNeil's nose, shattering the bone with an audible crack. McNeil, knocked off balance, rocked back two steps and both hands flew to his face. Red liquid began to leak from between his fingers and drip into the snow.

  From the direction of the kitchen door came a yelp of horror as Megan witnessed the assault. Her cry, however, was drowned out by McNeil's screaming.

  'You bastard, Mackie. You broke my nose! You broke my fucking nose! Look at me! I'm bleeding!'

  'Then let me do you a favour and put you out of your misery!'

  Beyond reason now, Nat's hand closed around McNeil's throat. He pushed him hard up against the house wall, bouncing his head against the granite block, and held him at arm's length, digging his fingers into the flesh around his windpipe, squeezing it closed. McNeil, helplessly being strangled, could only look on through eyes bulging with fear, as his assailant's other hand, now formed into a tight, white fist, drew back to deliver another blow to his already shattered face.

  'Nat, STOP IT! Stop it…don't! Let him go!'

  He paid no heed to her heaving on his arm or her desperate pleadings. With his jaw set tight and his eyes full of murder, he wanted to kill this man.

  She ducked under his arm and put herself between the two men. If he wanted to hit McNeil again, he would have to go through her first. 'Please, don't hurt him, Nat! Let him GO!'

  McNeil's fingers continued to rive to at the hand at his throat. Blood flowed from his right nostril and over his lips. It gathered on his chin and dripped onto Nat's shirt sleeve, the spreading red stain turning the once blue material a deep purple.

  'Don't do this, Nat…please!' Megan begged with desperation, her slight hand covering his clenched fist. 'You're better than this. Please. Let him go. It's not worth it.'

  It seemed she had finally reached him. Without averting his fiery glare, he lowered his fist and released his grip. A choking cough escaped McNeil's throat and he seized his chance to dart away before Nat changed his mind and decided to finish him.

  'You should go now, Mr McNeil,' said Megan, still hanging onto Nat's arm, feeling his muscles tensing under her hand. He continued to stare blankly at the empty space where McNeil had just been.

  Rubbing at his bruised neck with one hand and reaching for a handkerchief with the other, McNeil turned on his heel and marched down the path as quickly as the slippery snow would allow.

  'I'll be suing you, old pal!' he spat back over his shoulder. 'You've gone too far this time! I'll see you in court!!' He scuttled around the side of the house and disappeared.

  'That's right! Get lost, you fucking IMBECILE! Show your face here again and you're DEAD!' Nat shrieked after him.

  A moment later, an unseen car started up and drove away.

  Megan had already retreated inside the house. Nat too went indoors, closing the door on snow that would melt and take the blood with it, and it would be as if nothing had happened out there. 'Well that was fun,' he said, rubbing his hands together.

  He caught sight of Megan staring at him with wide, terrified eyes. 'Are you alright?' he asked.

  'No. I am NOT!'

  She clamped her mouth closed to stifle a sob. If she had been able, she would have run away and found somewhere safe to hide, away from this horror, but she couldn't move. Anger and fear rooted her quaking to the spot.

  'Everything's okay,' said Nat, examining his knuckles. 'I'm not hurt.'

  'You're not hurt?' Megan's outrage ripped the breath from her body. 'How...in the name of sanity...could any rational person...? Don't you...don't you realise what you've done?'

  'Of course I do. I just gave Philip McNeil the most well deserved pasting of his life. Better late than never, I say.'

  Two large wet tears dripped from her eyes. She put her hands over her mouth, held them there momentarily before sliding them away again, drawing in a long, ragged breath. 'What exactly did he mean by, 'You've gone too far this time'? Have you done this sort of thing before?'

  He shrugged. 'Take no notice of him. He's talking out of his arse. Forget him. He's not important.'

  'Don't lie to me, Nat.'

  'I'm not. It was nothing and it was a long time ago. I can't even remember it. I'm more concerned about whether he hurt you?' He stretched out his hand and touched her arm to offer her reassurance. She shrugged it away.

  'Get off!'

  'Meg?'

  'No! What makes you think you can smash a man's face in with your right hand and then try and placate me with your left? Don't you dare go thinking that trying to be calm and comforting will make everything okay, because it won't. It was a horrible, vicious thing you did and I'd rather you didn't touch me right now.'

  The experience had both terrified and distressed her. She had never seen Nat act so aggressively, and she really didn't like it at all. He had been sharp with her vocally, when she had deserved it, but she had never seen him resort to any kind of physical violence apart from the odd slamming of doors. She didn't think he had it in him. It troubled her to have been proved so wrong, even if he was only defending her. Too upset to accept his consolation, she began to wonder whether she knew him at all.

  Nat drew himself a glass of water from the tap, leaning back against the sink as he drank from the dripping tumbler. Megan, seeking diversion, returned to the table and occupied herself with finishing the floral arrangement. For a few, tense minutes the only sound in the room was the sharp, angry snip of the scissors against innocent flower stems.

  'Phil's a prick,' said Nat, breaking the silence. 'He's always been a prick. He's had it coming for a long time.'

  'You shouldn't have hit him, Nat,' she said, without looking up from her work.

  'It was only a tap.'

  'You broke his nose! I heard it and he was bleeding all over the place.'

  'It was just a wee bit of gore. He can spare it. And with the amount of alcohol circulating in his system, he wouldn't have felt a thing.'

  'You were throttling him.'

  'He asked for it.'

  She threw the scissors down onto the table. 'For crying out loud, Nat, you threatened to kill him and if I hadn't stopped you, you may well have done just that!'

  'He assaulted you. He needed teaching a lesson.'

  'He squeezed my bum, that's all. I was shocked, but there's no real harm done to me. You caused a real injury. Actual physical assault. Grievous bodily harm. My arse isn't worth fighting over by anybody, and it's certainly not worth ruining a long standing friendship over.'

  Nat snorted. 'I don't need friends like him.'

  'Keep punching them in the face and you won't have any at all.' She picked up the completed floral arrangement and carried it through to the hall.

  Nat had always considered McNeil to be one of his closest friends. When he had been invited to go out, he had gone willingly.

  At the time, he had thought he was genuinely pleased to see his old friend, but on reflection, his own loneliness was the only reason he had accepted the invitation. He wanted company and didn't care where it came from. He had foolishly, and drunkenly, allowed McNeil to pimp Irana onto him without realising the implications, and it had only served to compound his misery.

  Without Megan's intervention, he would have pummelled McNeil's face to a bloody pulp and enjoyed doing it. McNeil's manhandling of her was merely a catalyst for the release of a deep-seated, simmering rage. How far would he have gone if Me
gan had not been there to stop him? Would he have killed McNeil? The prospect that he possibly could, made him shudder.

  Megan returned to clear up the mess on the table.

  'So, do you think McNeil will sue you?' she asked.

  'Nah,' Nat scoffed. 'He hasn't got the balls. He'll stew about it if for a day or two then forget it.'

  'What if he reports you to the Police? You'll be in so much trouble.'

  Nat shook his head. 'Don't worry, he won't. He and the Polis don't get on. He skates a little too close to the edge himself to want them asking any questions and digging up any dirt.'

  'What fine company you do keep,' she muttered. 'Do you think he'll come back here?'

  'Not if he knows what's good for him. If he does come back, I'll forego the preliminaries and just tak his heid clean off.'

  His accented pronunciations brought about a flicker of a smile and she felt some of her nerviness slipping away.

  'You've had a bit of a shock,' he said. 'Do you want to do home early? I don't mind if you do.'

  'No. I don't know if I can trust you to be left on your own.' She dug about in a basket of laundry and pulled out a clean shirt. 'Give me your shirt,' she said. 'I'll see if I can get that blood out before it stains.'

  Without argument, he stripped off his shirt, and exchanged it for the offered clean one. Megan tossed the soiled garment into the washing up bowl, covered the stain with a good measure of table salt, and immersed it all in cold water, where it would be left to soak for the rest of the day. She turned her attention to Nat, turning down and neatening his shirt collar before tentatively picking an imaginary piece of lint from his shoulder.

  'What is it?' he asked.

  She sighed heavily. 'I know you've made a lot of promises, ones you've never intended to keep, but I want you to solemnly swear to me, Nat, on your honour, that what just happened out there will never, ever happen again.'

  He neatly rolled up his sleeve to just above his elbow. 'I don't think I have a lot of honour left, Meg, so I can't guarantee I could keep that promise.'

  'You really need to learn to curb your temper, Nat. One day it's going to get the better of you and you'll end up doing something you really regret.'