Saving Nathaniel

by Jillian Brookes-Ward

  'You're my housekeeper now. I'll let her go and keep you.'

  'You bloody well will not!' Megan snapped. 'How dare you even suggest such a thing?'

  'But wouldn't you want to stay, if you could?'

  'For crying out loud, Nat, I can't, so forget it!'

  Nat stood and plunged his hands deep into his pockets. He looked up into the bare branches above him. One solitary apple had hung grimly on since the previous autumn. Despite being shrivelled and gnarled, it seemed uniquely prophetic.

  'I was in the house alone yesterday after you'd gone,' he said. 'It was too quiet. Lifeless. I didn't like it.' He looked down at her. Her eyes, hooded by her hands, were turned skyward, watching an aeroplane pass high overhead, a tiny silver glint in the blue.

  'You've only been here for a few months, Meg, but the difference you've made to everything…to me, well it's…' He couldn't find the appropriate word and simply shrugged his shoulders. 'I'm going to miss our chats and your laugh. I'm going to miss the way you don't put up with any nonsense from me, and the way you make me feel better when I'm down…' He sat on the bench and slumped against the tree trunk, '…oh, for God's sake, woman, I'll miss you!'

  Megan's eyes remained on the sky. 'If you remember, not too long ago, you tried to send me away. You were quite forceful about it. You said I should find a 'better position'.'

  'I was just trying to do what's best for you. I didn't mean it.'

  'And now you've changed your mind. You want to keep me here because it's what's best for you, because you think I'm a soft touch.'

  'That's not what I mean at all! And no-one would ever think of you as soft, you're as hard as fricking nails.'

  'I have to be don't I, as you and your awkwardness drive me slowly round the buggering twist.'

  There was a short pause until Nat said, 'You promised to take care of me,' in which Megan thought she detected a hint of sulkiness.

  'And I will, until Rebecca comes back,' she said.

  'She doesn't have to.'

  'Stop it, Nat,' she warned, and swallowed from her cup; the coffee was by now almost cold. 'Please understand, as much as I might want to, I can't stay. I'm sorry but that's it. We both knew from the very first day that it was just a temporary arrangement. As soon as Rebecca is better, she's coming back.'

  'I don't want her, I want you,' Nat blurted out before he could stop himself. 'You understand me, she doesn't. You know what I like, what I want, what I need…sometimes I think, better than I know myself.'

  Megan's patience frayed. 'Enough! Give me strength! It's like talking to a child demanding a new toy. I'm sorry you're not happy, but it's fait accompli. We have no choice in the matter.' She got to her feet. 'We have a few more weeks yet. Let's just try to enjoy it, eh?'

  The discussion was over. She wandered back into the house leaving him alone on the bench. He admitted defeat, and disappointment at his failure etched itself across his face. She was right. He was acting childishly and there was no case to argue. He shivered, feeling a chill, but not from the frost in the air.

  Chapter 19

  'I'll be back in harness on Monday morning.'

  Rebecca gleefully waved the slip of paper discharging her from the Outpatient department's care and deeming her, sooner than either of them expected, fit to return to work.

  'I'm sure you've done a great job, Megs. It couldn't have been easy putting up with the old man, but you don't have to worry about it any more.'

  Megan's show of pleasure at her sister's regained health was nothing but a sham. Inside, she churned. 'Don't you want to wait a bit longer?' she said, 'You need to build up your strength? Why don't you take a few more weeks?'

  'No way! The sooner I get back there and get things back in order the better.'

  'Everything is in order.'

  'Your order, Meggie not mine. I doubt we're even on the same page as far as that's concerned. Cripes, anyone would think you didn't want me to go back. Tell him tomorrow, okay. Megs?'

  'If you're sure.'

  'I'm positive. Tell him tomorrow.'

  Megan went in to work next day with a heavy heart. Nat had gone out early and she was alone in the house. Tucked under a dirty coffee cup on the kitchen table, she found a note in his spidery scrawl.

  'Meg

  Give the study a going over please, I can write my name in the dust! Coffee getting low.

  N.'

  'Cheeky bugger!' she exclaimed to no-one, and screwed up the paper, tossing it into the trash.

  If the room was dirty, it was his fault. She hadn't been in to clean because he had told her not to, and now he had the gall to complain about the dust.

  She had her customary cups of tea, tended to Nat's bedroom and bathroom, sorted the recycling for collection and cleaned out the fridge, before gathering up her box of various polishes and dusters, and her radio, and letting herself into the study. She drew the heavy drapes as far back as they would go, allowing daylight to flood into the room. She could see it was grimy and well in need of a thorough cleaning. Disturbed dust motes swirled in the sunlight, dancing and sparkling as they looked for somewhere to settle

  She switched on the radio, tuned it in to a comedy programme and set to work with a will. By lunchtime, the room was spotless.

  'Find fault with that if you dare, Mr. Fussy.'

  Taking a final look around the room, she idly ran her hand over the back of the battered leather chair, appreciating its shabby, organic feel. She picked up the cushion and plumped it. About to drop it back into the chair, she spotted the telltale spine of a book tucked down the side of the seat. She pulled it out. It was one of Nat's favourite books, an omnibus of P. G. Wodehouse's Jeeves stories. This particular book had been her own reading material three weeks before, not for leisure, but to pass the time at Nat's bedside.

  It had been her day to do the main grocery shop and she had come in early to make her list, and collect the shopping bags and credit card.

  She came to a stunned halt in the hallway when she discovered Nat sitting halfway up the stairs, dressed only in his pyjama bottoms, leaning against the banister spindles with his eyes closed.

  'Nat, what are you doing?' she called from the bottom of the stairs. He did not respond. She moved up two stairs. 'Are you okay?'

  At the sound of her voice, he opened his eyes. They stared glassily ahead, giving the impression he was looking right through her.

  Maybe he's been sleepwalking, she thought. Maybe he still is.

  She climbed the stairs and sat beside him, noticing the book he had clutched tightly in his hand. 'How long have you been sitting here?'

  'I don't know,' he mumbled.

  She laid her hand on his bare back. His skin was icy to the touch and he was shivering. 'Oh, dear God, Nat, you're freezing!'

  She took off her fleece jacket and draped it loosely over his shoulders, rubbing it briskly in an attempt to generate some warmth, but the jacket was too small and her efforts ineffective. She turned his head towards her, and he looked at her with unfocused eyes. 'We have to get you into the warm, right now. You've got to get up.' She relieved him of the book and placed his hand on the banister rail. Allowing him to use her for support, she took his weight and got him unsteadily to his feet. The effort of half-carrying him up the stairs to his bedroom took all her strength, and her breath.

  'Let's get you in here,' she panted, guiding him to the edge of the bed. He flopped down onto the pillows when she lifted his legs, and curled himself onto his side.

  'I'm cold,' he whispered, and began to shiver violently.

  'Don't worry, sweetie, we'll soon get you warmed.' She tucked the duvet snugly around him and massaged it vigorously to create a little heat.

  Gradually, the shivering ceased and his eyes closed and he drifted off into sleep. He slumbered, motionless and silent, for the whole of the day.

  Megan sat in the chair by his bed. She didn't eat, drink, or take so much as a toilet break, and all thoughts of shopping, or any other chore
s, went completely out of her head. She sat and read the abandoned Wodehouse book, and minded him as he slept.

  A little after five o'clock in the afternoon, he blinked open his eyes. Sensing him to be awake, Megan glanced up from the book and gave him an encouraging smile.

  'Okay, sweetheart?'

  From under the covers, he extended his hand. She took it and he held it firmly. She saw him nod, but did not hear his muffled reply.

  Over a light meal of scrambled eggs, tea and toast, a warmed and recovered Nat tried to explain what he believed had happened to him.

  'I woke up about three-thirty and couldn't get back to sleep. I thought reading might send me off again, it usually does. I went down to find a book. As I was going back up the stairs I came over all drowsy…a sudden fatigue like I've never known before, it completely drained me. My legs gave out; every ounce of strength went; I couldn't even hold my head up. Everything just shut down. My head went foggy, sort of dark, like having a hood pulled over me. I couldn't move or speak or think… then you were there.'

  Megan reckoned he had been sitting on the stairs for more than four hours before she found him.

  'You were chilled to the bone, verging on hypothermic,' she said. 'Didn't you feel cold?'

  'Not really. And even if I did, I couldn't have moved if I wanted to.'

  She kept Nat company in the sitting room until late into the evening. They passed the time talking and playing Scrabble.

  'It's your turn,' she said, after an inordinately long pause in the game,

  Nat fiddled with the letter tiles, rearranging them at random as if he were planning his next move, but it was clear his attention had wandered elsewhere.

  She touched his hand. 'Are you alright?'

  He nodded slowly, not taking his eyes off the tiles.

  'What's wrong?'

  His throat constricted convulsively and clicked dryly when he swallowed. 'I'm scared, Meg. I'm frightened.'

  'About what?'

  He drew his hand across his face and rubbed at his stubbled cheek. 'I think it's possible that I might...might be having some kind of mental breakdown,' he said. 'This might be it. I've finally cracked like an old plant pot.'

  She clambered up from the floor where she had been sitting and took a seat next to him on the sofa. She put her hand to the back of his neck. 'You know you're talking nonsense, don't you?'

  'Look at me, Meg. All the signs are there. You can't deny it. There is something going seriously wrong with me.'

  'You're making a mountain out of a molehill and scaring yourself over nothing. You had a peculiar episode to be sure, but the reason for it is quite plain.'

  '...because I'm coming off the rails.'

  'No, because quite simply, in both body and soul, you are completely and utterly exhausted. You've been under an awful lot of stress lately. You've been overworking and travelling a lot, you've been ill, and losing those accounts hasn't helped matters much. I know you haven't been sleeping well either. Everything has mounted up and it's just got too much for you. Something had to give. I really don't think there's anything to be frightened of.'

  'So you don't think I'm going out of my mind?'

  She ran her hand up and down his back. 'No, I don't.' She laid her head against his shoulder. 'But I'll tell you what I do think - that you need rest and plenty of it, and the first thing you need is good night's proper, undisturbed sleep.'

  Reassured, Nat put his arm around her, holding her to him, and touched his cheek against her head. They sat quietly together for a few minutes until she said, 'Do you want to finish the game?'

  'No thanks. I don't think I could manage to spell my own name at the moment.'

  She looked at his tiles. 'Actually, with those letters, it's probably the only word you can spell.'

  She made Nat a drink of warm milk with honey and nutmeg. 'My Grandma's recipe,' she said. 'It works like magic.'

  She escorted him back to his room, and as if he were a child at bedtime, tucked the duvet around him. 'Comfortable?'

  'Very, thanks.'

  'Then get this in you.' She offered him the mug. He took it and gave the sweet contents a cursory sniff. He took an exploratory sip. 'Nice,' he said.

  'Good. Then my work here is done. I'll see you tomorrow.'

  His free hand seized hers. 'Don't go yet.'

  'I have to. It's getting late.'

  'Will you stay…just a wee bit longer? Please?'

  She heard the shiver of anxiety in his voice and conceded. 'Sure. If you like…but only for a little while.'

  He patted the bed beside him. 'Sit here. Talk to me while I drink this.'

  She climbed onto the bed, and leaned against the headboard. 'What would you like me to talk about?'

  'You,' he said, blowing on the drink and sipping at it. 'Tell me all about yourself.'

  'Which bit?'

  'All of it, from the beginning.'

  She snorted. 'Pfft! If that doesn't send you off into the land of Nod, nothing will.' She tucked a pillow to her back to make herself comfortable. 'Alright. From the beginning. Are you sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin. Once upon a time…in a town far, far away…' She talked incessantly about herself, detailing every aspect of her life from birth, through childhood and her school days, though her years at college and her first job as a copy typist for a local newspaper.

  Nat yawned widely. Whether from tiredness or boredom, she never discovered, but suspected it may have been the latter.

  'That's a clear enough signal,' she said. 'It's time for me to go, and for you to sleep. No more chatter, no more argument.' She clambered off the bed, and with a light kiss to the cheek, reluctantly bid him, 'Goodnight'.

  When she arrived for work the next day, Nat was already up and about, making himself breakfast. He appeared to be in reasonably high spirits. A full night's sleep seemed to have done him a power of good.

  The incident was never mentioned again, being chalked up as 'one of those things' and merely passed into the annals of Megan's experiences at Struan.

  She fingered the spine of the Wodehouse book and recalled how, over her time at the Lodge, she had managed times of sadness, tears and tantrums and had tolerated all of Nat's contrariness, his stubborn moods and his capricious, sometimes violent tempers. Quite simply she had grown used to him and everything he was and did, be it good, bad or downright awful. He had said imprudent things and on occasions behaved appallingly, but he balanced those with displays of gentleness, generosity and consideration.

  She pushed the book into a space on the bookshelf and returned to the chair. She sank deep down into it and pulled up her knees, making herself very small. She hugged the cushion close and, inhaling deeply, could smell Nat on it…a combination of his aftershave, sweat and Southern Comfort.

  The man certainly had his fair share of shortcomings and faults, yet despite them all, and despite herself, she could no longer deny one glaring, naked fact - she had fallen hopelessly in love with him. She buried her face in the cushion and the tears flowed at the injustice. She loved him, and the day after tomorrow, she would have to leave him for ever.

  Mid afternoon, Nat returned. Megan welcomed him home, took his coat from him and made him tea.

  'Ah, smashing, I'm ready for that,' he said, gratefully. He took the tea, along with a handful of biscuits, and vanished into his study.

  Megan busied herself doing nothing in particular, passing time until she could not put off her news any longer.

  Come on Meggie, grasp the nettle, now is as good a time as any.

  The study door stood ajar, and for a moment she watched through the gap as Nat studied his laptop screen. She knocked gently on the door and pushed it open. He viewed her over his glasses. 'Come on in, Meg. What can I do for you?'

  'I…erm…I just wondered if you…wanted...do you need anything?

  He shook his head. 'No.'

  'Are you sure?'

  'Aye.'

  'Positive?'

  Her out of charac
ter hesitancy bothered him and he frowned. 'What is it, Meg? Is something wrong?'

  'Yes…well, no...no…not wrong…not exactly…it might actually be good news…for you…what I have to tell you...we talked about it before, but I...I don't know how you'll take it…'

  He put up his hand. 'Megan! For God's sake, woman, stop blethering and spit it out!'

  She shifted her weight from one foot to another, cast a glance at the panelled ceiling and coughed the words loose from her throat. 'Friday will be my last day. Rebecca got her discharge and she's eager to come back to work as soon as possible. So, she'll be back on Monday, if that's alright with you?'

  Short and…not so sweet.

  'I see,' was all he said.

  'I'm sorry I couldn't give you more notice.'

  'It's fine, don't worry about it. What day is it today?'

  'Wednesday.'

  With a sage nod of his head, he drew out a thoughtful, 'Riiiight.'

  She waited for him to say something more, but he had returned his attention to the screen. Whatever he was studying on there was obviously far more important than anything she had to say.

  'I'll make sure everything's all in order,' she said. 'The changeover will be as smooth as it can be.'

  He said nothing.

  'You'll never even notice the difference.'

  He kept his eyes fixed on the screen.

  'Fine then. As long as you're happy. I'm sorry to have bothered you when you are obviously so busy.'

  She had taken her first steps towards leaving when he spoke up and halted her egress. 'You know I've always been more than happy with you…your work, Meg,' he said, taking off his glasses and closing the lid of the computer. 'You've done an excellent job. I have no complaints whatsoever.'

  She turned back. 'You did. You sacked me, remember?'

  He smiled. 'For all of ten minutes.'

  'It won't look good on my resumé.'