Saving Nathaniel (20 page)

'Can I go now? I have things to do.' She had already half risen from the chair.

'Not yet,' he said. 'There's something else.'

She sat back into the chair and sighed. 'Go on.'

He pressed his throbbing forehead against the window pane and gazed out over the sunny garden while the cool of the glass leached into his skin. 'I think…I think maybe it's time for you to leave here…leave me.'

Megan stared up at him, open-mouthed in disbelief.

'You've been wonderful and you've taken such good care of me...' he said. 'But it's not good for you to be here any longer. Last night brought it all home to me how bad things have got, how bad I've got. It's not fair that you should have to bear the brunt of it and…you don't have to any more. It's not safe for you here…you should go.'

Megan leapt to her feet and started towards the door. 'That's stuff and nonsense and you bloody well know it!'

He seized her elbow and pulled it roughly, forcing her back into the chair. 'Sit down, I haven't finished yet.'

She prised his fingers from her and bounced to her feet again. 'I think you have! And don't you think I'm leaving here until I'm good and ready.'

He grabbed her tightly by her upper arms and she could feel each finger and thumb as it pressed into her flesh. 'You'll do as you're told, Meg, and I'm telling you to leave, now…find somewhere better.'

'You can say whatever you like, I'm not going!'

'Then it looks like I'm going to have to sack you…again!'

A flush of anger crept into her cheeks. 'Yes! Go on! Do that, because it's the only way you'll get rid of me!'

His hold on her remained intent and he gave her the slightest shaking. 'Don't you understand, woman, if you stay here, I'm going to damage you. You've been so patient with me, with the way I can be, the things I've done…it should be obvious to you that I'm not good to be around. You need to go before it's too late, before I really hurt you.' He loosened his grip and tenderly rubbed her arms where he suspected he might have bruised her. 'There's something wrong with me,' his said, his voice softened. 'I can't be trusted. I drink too much, I say things I shouldn't, I get over-emotional and act like an idiot. I debased myself and hurt you. You don't need that.'

He sat heavily on the bed, not noticing or caring that he had caused rapidly cooling tea to slop out of the mug and onto the plate of toast beside it. His face carried an expression of such hopeless contrition, she had no doubt his remorse was genuine and he might, for once, be being completely honest with her. She pushed the tray aside and sat beside him, the last of her indignation dissolved.

'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.'