Saving Nathaniel

by Jillian Brookes-Ward

  'There's nothing wrong with you, Nat. By anyone's standards, last night was…difficult. You recalled a very traumatic time in your life, one that even now is still raw and hurting, and you got upset. You were looking for some consolation…solace, call it what you will. To be honest, I'd be more concerned about you if you hadn't.'

  He stared fixedly at his own hands, clamped together in his lap. 'I should have been more in control of myself, instead of babbling and blubbering like an imbecile.'

  She shuffled up beside him until their arms touched. 'I know you're feeling bad right now, but you'll get better. Guilt and grief are powerful, destructive emotions, and they don't like being bottled up. You've tried to do it, to ignore them or hide them away, but they didn't go away, they got stronger. By finally expressing them you've weakened their hold on you.'

  He picked at his fingernails. 'Do you think so?'

  'I do,' she said. 'Plato said, 'It is easy to forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is a man who is afraid of the light.' You've taken the first step out into the light. You grasped a very painful nettle, and now everything's out in the open you can start to deal with it. You've made progress.'

  He chewed on his thumbnail. 'I made a complete arse of myself is what I did...and embarrassed you.'

  'You did nothing of the sort. There's nothing wrong with being emotional, I do it all the time.'

  'You're a woman you're supposed to.'

  'And a man isn't?'

  'No! At least not in front of others!'

  'Rubbish!'

  'And being emotional is no excuse for doing what I did.'

  She made a game attempt at being dismissive of his error of judgement. 'It doesn't matter…' she said, with an encouraging smile.

  Nat flew to his feet, leaning forward until his face was close to hers, his eyes sharp and keen. 'It does matter, Meg! It really, really does. I want it to matter. It should never have happened. I attacked you! God damn it all to Hell, I want you to be angry. I want you to be fucking furious about it!'

  'I'll admit, at the time, I was. In fact if there had been anything sharp to hand I would have stabbed you with it - but now I'm not. I said you're forgiven, so you are, and you should make nothing more of it. End of.'

  'Urghh!' he grunted, sagging over with his hands on his knees and his chin dropped against his chest, frustrated by her rationality. He turned his eyes up at her. 'You, Just Megan Thomas, are without doubt the most infuriating bloody woman on the face of this whole damned planet...and you're driving me up the wall with your never-ending fucking niceness!' His shoulders dropped again. 'I'm sorry…I'm sorry…I shouldn't swear at you. I know you don't like it. I'm such an oafish brute. I'm sure you can't help being a good person.'

  He came to sit once more on the bed, his head in his hands. He let out a low, pitiful moan. Megan gracefully moved her hand up and down his back, stroking the soft velour fabric of his robe.

  'You are not a brute, Nat, far from it. Believe it or not what you are is just a man, plain old flesh and blood, nothing more nothing less, and along with being just a man go a whole package of strengths and frailties, be they good or bad, sensible or downright outrageous. Granted, you sometimes let things get a little out of hand, but that's just the way you are.'

  'I don't want to be like that, Meg. I want to be calm and quiet and...normal. But I have all this...stuff...rushing around inside of me and it makes me do things I don't want to. Sometimes I do think I might be going off my rocker.'

  'There's not much danger of that.'

  He took her hand and pressed it to his lips. 'Why are you so good to me, Meg when I don't deserve it?'

  Her head touched against his shoulder. 'Because, you are a good and decent man and for all your faults, I like you...very much. What you've been going through these past four years is…it's horrible. No one should have to endure what you have. You've been so desperately unhappy for such a long time and it's not right. It's not fair. I don't want you to be unhappy any more, Nat, and as long as I'm here, I'll do what I can to help you feel…' She shrugged as she searched for the right word.

  '…better?' he asked, offering the simplest one.

  She smiled. 'Better, yes. And don't worry. I'm tougher than I look. It will take a lot more than you can ever do to damage me.'

  Heaving a sigh that came from the very depths of him, he turned her hand over, stroking and tracing the fine creases in her palm and the soft, smooth pads of her fingertips.

  'About last night...' he said. 'We were sitting on the window seat together…you and I.'

  'Yes, we were,'

  'And you put your arms around me, and held me.'

  'Yes, I did.'

  'It was soft and nice…so comfortable. It made me feel - safe…'

  She extracted her hand from his and opened her arms wide. 'Come on then,' she murmured.

  He dithered for only the merest moment before leaning into them and she enclosed him in a close, soft hug that immediately filled him with soothing comforting warmth. All the unpleasantness, anger and shame evaporated like smoke. They remained in their platonic embrace for a minute or so before he sat up. She tidied his tousled hair with her fingers and he gave her a small, grateful smile. 'That was very nice. Thank you.'

  'Any time.'

  She got to her feet, picked up the breakfast tray with its now cold, somewhat soggy contents. 'Now,' she said, 'if there's nothing else, I've got work to do.'

  He opened the door for her. 'What I said before, Meg, about you leaving. I didn't mean it. I'd really like it if you would stay here and take care of me.'

  She paused in the doorway. 'And I had no intention of going anywhere. You know I can't leave you on your own for more than five minutes without you getting into some kind of mischief.'

  'So you'll stay?'

  'I'd be more than happy to stay and take care of you, for a while at least.' She crossed the landing and paused at the head of the stairs. 'Get dressed, and we'll start by getting a proper breakfast inside you.'

  Chapter 18

  The door from the outside flew open and bounced against the wall. Nat was a rolling wave of fury as he stormed into the kitchen and threw his keys onto the counter. They skidded across the surface, coming to a halt when they struck the toaster. He marched past Megan, at the kitchen table polishing a pair of his shoes, without so much as a nod of acknowledgement, crossed the hall to his study and slammed the door so hard it rattled in its frame.

  Megan could only gawk after him. 'Blimey!'

  She closed the gaping back door before picking up her coat from the floor and hanging it and her bag back on the hook. It was then she noticed the substantial dent the door handle had made in the wall plaster, such was the force of the impact.

  'That's going to need a bit of filler and a coat of paint,' she observed wryly.

  Curious to know what could possibly have induced such a fit of temper and damage, she went through to the hallway and for a few moments, listened at the study door. She could hear Nat inside, pacing about and emitting a stream of oaths any sailor would be proud of. She knocked on the door.

  'Fuck off!' he bawled from within.

  Undeterred she opened the door and went in. 'Go away, Meg!'

  He had hold of a new bottle of liquor and was brutally trying to twist off the cap. The more it resisted him, the more his frustration mounted. She took the bottle from him with a quiet, 'Here, let me,' and relieved him of his futile charge. She pierced the paper seal with her thumb nail and with a gentle turn, the cap loosened and came off. Nat immediately tried to take back control of the bottle. She hung on to it.

  'Give it to me, Meg. I'm warning you, I'm not in the mood for one of your lectures.'

  She released the bottle and allowed him to take it. He poured a generous measure of the amber coloured liquid into a tumbler and took a long slug. He grimaced as the alcohol burned his throat, but it didn't deter him from finishing it with one more swallow.

  'Does that
really help?' she asked.

  He wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. 'It's a start.'

  He picked up the bottle again and poured another measure, but to Megan's relief, only half as much as before. He dropped into his high-backed chair and took a sip from the glass. He rested his head against the chair back and closed his eyes. Megan stood and patiently watched for any sign of his willingness to talk to her. None seemed to be forthcoming and she prepared to take her leave.

  When he spoke, his voice was heavy and weary. 'I lost the commission. Twenty five thousand pounds down the drain.'

  Megan stopped in her tracks and turned back to him. 'I'm sorry.'

  He sniffed. 'Why? It's not your fault.' He took another drink and pinched his eyes. 'It's me. I must be losing my touch. It used to be so easy, but now…now it's just such bloody hard work…and all for nothing.'

  She sat on the arm of the old easy chair. 'There'll be another one.'

  'I don't think so,' he said. 'I think it might be the beginning of the end.'

  'You lost one commission. It's not the end of the world.'

  'If it were the only one.' He looked into his glass and swirled the comforting liquid around. 'I lost the last one too. I was pipped at the post at the last push up. Only five grand's worth, but in this day and age every penny counts.' He threw back his head to swallow the last of his drink and put the empty glass on the desk.

  'Why didn't you say?' she said. 'You should have told me.'

  'Why should I? It's none of your business.'

  'If it affects you, Nat, it is my business.'

  He leaned back and closed his eyes again, his arms hanging limply over the chair arms. Hopelessness hung around him like a long, dark veil. He sighed heavily and rubbed his eyes with his knuckles.

  'I'm tired, Meg. There are too many in the game now. They are younger, more aggressive and hungry. They have the contacts, the backing and the knowledge. I can't compete with them. I don't think I can stomach it any more.'

  She took in how fatigued he looked. His face was pale and drawn, the small lines around his eyes and the furrows of worry on his brow deeper and more pronounced.

  'When was the last time you had a holiday?' she asked.

  'I can't remember. A long time.'

  'Then why don't you take one? Go away somewhere. Take at least a month away. Rest and relax and get some sun. Things will seem better then.'

  'It wouldn't make any difference. I'm too old and too tired to benefit from it, and as soon as I take my eye off the ball, some other bugger will nip in and steal it.'

  She laid her hand against his head and brushed his hair with her fingers in short, smooth strokes, offering what consolation she could. 'I know I'm just the humble cleaning lady, but is there anything I can do?'

  He opened his eyes and gave her a tired smile. 'No, Meg, not this time.' He raised his hand inviting her to put hers in it. He closed his fingers around it and rubbed it with his thumb. He then put the back of her hand to his lips, and kissed it tenderly. 'And you are not just my cleaning lady, you're far more important than that. You're a friend, and they're in rather short supply at the moment.'

  He rose from the chair. Carefully and deliberately, he put the cap back on the bottle and handed it to Megan for her to put away. His hand weighed heavily on her shoulder. 'I think I'll go and have a wee nap,' he said, and traipsed despondently from the room.

  When he appeared in the kitchen a couple of hours later he looked brighter. He sat at the table and opened his newspaper.

  'Good nap?' Megan asked.

  'Just what I needed. Thanks.'

  'Tea?'

  'Please.'

  She prepared the teapot and switched on the kettle. As she waited for it to boil, she gathered up a collection of letters and circulars.

  'I picked up the post earlier,' she said. 'And I found this.' She held up a bright blue envelope. 'It looks suspiciously like a birthday card.'

  Nat snatched it from her and pushed it under the newspaper.

  'Hiding it won't make it go away,' she teased.

  His discomfort showed in the puckering of his lip and his light frown. 'It's from my mother, she always sends one. I've told her not to, but she's my Ma, what can I do?'

  'Not a thing. When is it? Not today?'

  'Tomorrow. Another year gone by and nothing achieved.'

  'Don't be such a misery.'

  He saw the sly smile she was trying to hide and pointed his finger sharply at her. 'Don't you dare do anything, Megan Thomas. I'm warning you now!'

  'Moi?' she shrugged innocently. 'I wouldn't dream of it.'

  The next day, she called Nat for his morning coffee. He soon settled at the table, absorbed with the crossword in the newspaper, alternately sipping his drink and filling in the squares. She busied herself at the worktop behind his back.

  When she was sure he wasn't paying her any attention, she placed on the table in front of him a birthday card, a gaudily coloured cupcake complete with candle, burning with a bright yellow flame, and a small bottle of eighteen-year-old Talisker whisky. She put her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. 'Happy birthday, Nat.'

  'I told you not to, woman!' he scolded, trying and failing to affect dissatisfaction.

  'Pah!' she exclaimed. 'As if I wouldn't. Now...' She put her hands over his eyes. 'Blow out the candle and make your wish. But don't tell me, or it won't come true.'

  He inhaled, held it and then puffed out the flame.

  For his evening meal she prepared the largest steak he had ever seen on a plate, and cooked it exactly as he liked it – so rare a good veterinarian could have resuscitated it.

  He insisted she stay behind after work and share a tot of the fine whisky with him. She agreed, and stayed the whole evening. They talked, played cards and listened to music. After a gentlemanly, 'May I?' from him and a ladylike, 'You may,' from her, she consented to dance with him – a long, slow, close dance.

  For the first time in many years, Nat enjoyed celebrating becoming another year older, if not wiser, and he felt his affection for Just Megan begin to grow.

  A week later, on a bright sunny morning, Megan was to be found sitting on the bench surrounding the trunk of the big apple tree in the rear garden. She was perusing a magazine while enjoying her morning coffee, all the while accompanied by a song thrush singing gaily from the topmost branch of the tree. She was pleasantly surprised when she looked up to see Nat strolling across the lawn towards her, his hands deep in his pockets. He hardly ever ventured out into the garden.

  He came to a halt a few feet away. 'Can I join you?'

  She shaded her eyes with her hand. 'Of course you can. It's your garden. You don't need to ask.'

  'Thanks.'

  He sat beside her on the bench. 'What are you reading?'

  My horoscope,' she said. 'It's a load of rubbish usually, although today there might be a hint of truth in it...'

  'How so?'

  'According to this I'm on the cusp of Gemini and Taurus.'

  He shrugged. 'What does that mean?'

  'That I'm two faced, and full of bullshit.'

  Her silliness induced hearty chuckles from them both. She flicked over the pages of the magazine and he sat quietly, leaning against the tree trunk. Presently, he spoke. 'Are you happy, Megan?'

  'What do you mean?'

  'Just that. Are you happy?'

  'You mean with life, the universe and everything?'

  'Aye.'

  She closed her magazine. 'I suppose I am, for the most part anyhow. Why do you ask?'

  'I couldn't help but notice that you've been a bit quiet for the last couple of days, and that's not like you at all. You haven't been your normal self.'

  'And what do you think is my normal self?'

  'Chipper; chatty…cheeky. You haven't been giving me any lip lately, and that's worrying.'

  She sipped at her coffee. 'I've just had something on my mind that's all. It's nothing for you to bother yourself abou
t.'

  'Care to share? Maybe I can help.'

  'You can't.'

  He shifted to the edge of the seat, turning to face her. 'Have I done something to upset you?' he asked.

  She shook her head. 'You? No, not this time.'

  'Then is it something I haven't done?'

  'No.'

  'Am I not paying you enough?'

  'You're not paying me at all.'

  He frowned his puzzlement. 'I'm paying someone. If it's not you, then who is it?'

  'You pay Rebecca and she gives me an allowance.'

  'That's not right!'

  'It's what we agreed.'

  He paused for a moment. 'Are you getting enough?'

  She feigned shock. 'I beg your pardon!'

  'Money,' he said, realising his faux pas. 'Are you getting enough money? Is your allowance enough?'

  'I'm fine,' she smiled. 'At the moment, with the money left over from the sale of the house and my savings, I'm managing.'

  'I can give you some if you need it. Call it a loan if you want.'

  'I don't want, thank you.'

  'So if money's no problem and it's not me… this time, what is it that's got you so worried?'

  She could see he wasn't going to give up until she gave him a satisfactory answer. She had to tell him, even though it was probably the last subject he would want to talk about. 'If you must know, I've been thinking about what I'm going to do when I leave here.'

  'Oh.' There followed a long, introspective pause. 'Have you decided anything yet?' he asked.

  'I've had a few ideas,' she said. 'At first, I toyed with the idea of being a lady of leisure and not doing anything for a few months, but as there are a lot of hours in the day to fill, not to mention bills to be paid, I'll need to find myself a job before the money runs out. I've always fancied working in a garden centre; I like flowers. I might try there. What do you think?'

  He picked at the fabric of his trouser leg. 'Would you…would you consider staying on here?' he said, hesitantly.

  'No.'

  'Why not?'

  'Because this is Rebecca's job. I'm just minding it for her. You do remember Rebecca don't you; my little sister, your real housekeeper for whom I am doing this humongous favour? She's been at this house longer than you have, and in a few weeks she'll be back.'