The Second Life of Nathan Jones

by David Atkinson

  ‘I bet that went down well.’

  ‘Yeah, you can imagine. She had to drop out of university, the only reason she’d moved to London in the first place. Her parents had struggled to fund her education and their first reaction with me in the room was, “Laura, you have to have an abortion. You can’t throw your life away on a loser like this.”’

  ‘You made a good impression, then?’

  I watched him shake with laughter. ‘Yeah, and it didn’t improve much over the years. She didn’t listen to them anyway and moved into my tiny flat.’

  ‘What did you do for a living?’

  ‘At the time I worked in an office.’

  ‘Doing what?’

  ‘Advertising executive – a rather grand title for what I did.’

  ‘Sounds exciting.’

  ‘Mm, it had its moments, I suppose. Most of the time I’d describe it as organised chaos. Imagine a room full of creative types … no, don’t. Imagine a home for emotionally immature adults who spend most of their days playing with computer games, making up friends on Facebook, taking turns to run to Starbucks or if the boss, Woody, happened to be off sick – which happened a lot – surfing porn.’

  ‘Did you work in an office full of men?’

  ‘Mainly but not exclusively.’

  ‘With a boss called Woody?’

  ‘Yeah, he resembled a woodpecker with a sharp beaky nose, protruding eyes, and he waddled rather than walked. He wasn’t really the boss. “Vaguely in charge” would be the best description, I think. He’d been a senior partner who’d suffered burnout and so they gave him the task of overseeing the office. He spent most of his days, when he turned up at all, wandering about making unhelpful suggestions.’

  ‘And you got paid for that?’

  Nathan laughed. ‘Yeah, crazy, but London is full of places like that – advertising agencies, PR firms, IT contractors – where people can get away with pissing about all day in the name of creativity.’

  ‘What do you do now?’

  ‘The same thing except now I’m freelance.’

  ‘So, you work for yourself?’

  ‘Kind of. I have a few firms that pass me some regular stuff. They get a contract and then hire out the work. It doesn’t pay that well and Scotland has very few ad agencies. My mate Graham runs one of the London spin-offs based in Glasgow and he uses me whenever he can get away with it.’

  ‘Have you done anything I’d have heard of?’

  ‘I suppose Simpson’s Sheets would be one of my most memorable. If you can remember the series of adverts a few years ago: “If crinkled beddin’ does your head in – buy some Simpson’s Sheets”.’

  ‘I do remember that. They did a whole series of TV ads with all sorts of people having problems with their lives that were miraculously solved when they bought new bedding and didn’t have to straighten and iron their sheets.’

  ‘Yeah, a bit over the top but it kept me busy for the best part of a year.’

  ‘I bought some.’

  ‘Did you? That shows you the power of advertising, then. I suppose the thing I like about working the way I do now is that I can do it from here most of the time. Sometimes I need to go and meet people and one or two days a week I might work from Graham’s office in Glasgow if there’s something I need to collaborate on. The rest of the time a few phone calls and emails are enough. I also don’t have to deal with all the nonsense that comes from being part of a “team”.’

  ‘I’m bored with your job chat. Tell me about the pregnant teen.’

  ‘Oh, right, well, the baby was due in November. We’d initially planned to get married first but getting ready for a baby turned out to be more expensive and stressful than we’d expected.’

  ‘When did you get married?’

  He smiled, happy memories obviously. ‘Three years later, when Laura fell pregnant with Chloe. We had a little more money, Millie got to be a flower girl, so cute and—’

  ‘I take it Laura felt vulnerable being pregnant again?’

  ‘Maybe, but we’d talked about it loads before then—’

  ‘Insecurity is a terrible reason to get married.’

  ‘We were in love.’

  ‘Had her parents forgiven you?’

  ‘Eventually … well, her mum did, anyway.’

  ‘What about her dad?’

  ‘He died.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘The year before we got married.’

  ‘Poor girl. Pregnant, grieving and planning a wedding that her dad would never see. I’m surprised she didn’t crack up.’

  ‘No, she decided to save that until later.’

  Chapter 14

  I gawked at him, open-mouthed. I closed it, then opened it again to ask, ‘When?’

  ‘I’m not sure. I suppose shortly after Daisy came along.’

  ‘How old’s Daisy?’

  ‘Four.’

  ‘She cracked up four years ago.’

  ‘Not exactly; it was a gradual thing.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  He took a sip of wine. ‘What do you mean, what did I do?’

  ‘When she started to crack up, what did you do?’

  ‘I didn’t do anything.’

  ‘Let me get this straight: your wife is looking after three kids, probably still grieving for her father, she starts to crack up and you do nothing?’

  ‘What could I do?’

  ‘Get her some help.’

  Nathan sighed. ‘I tried to get Laura to go and see someone, a therapist, her GP, anyone, but she insisted that she didn’t need any help.’

  ‘In denial, probably. There’s something you’re not telling me, isn’t there?’

  ‘Is there?’

  ‘You’ve not mentioned your parents once. You must have issues with them.’

  ‘I don’t have issues with my parents.’

  ‘Everyone has issues with their parents.’

  ‘Do they?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘Of course, why do you think I’m a Goth?’

  ‘I thought that maybe it had something to do with rebelling or belonging to some kind of tribe or … excuse my ignorance, my Goth knowledge is … well, pretty non-existent.’

  ‘Yeah, obviously, but you are probably right about the rebelling thing. My parents are so … well, you’ll see if you ever get to meet them. I think this …’ I held out my palms and gazed down at my clothing ‘… is a way of keeping people away.’

  ‘Not a big fan of crowds?’

  ‘Not a big fan of people.’

  ‘Is that why you ended up working as a mortuary girl?’

  ‘That’s not the technical description of my job. I’m an anatomical pathologist.’

  ‘Is it okay if I just call you mortuary girl?’

  ‘Yeah, but the story of why I am one probably dates back to my tenth birthday when I changed my name.’

  ‘Are ten-year-olds allowed to do that?’

  ‘This one did.’

  ‘By deed poll?’

  ‘No, by obstinacy.’ I laughed; I still found that funny even though I must have said it a thousand times by now.

  ‘What did your name used to be?’

  ‘Klaudette Ainsworth-Thomas – Klaudette with a K, hence K-A-T. I hated it and from that day on I only answered to the name Kat. Eventually even my teachers got used to the idea, all except the assistant head at my high school, Mrs Brock. She insisted on referring to me as Klaudette so I ignored her for five years.’

  ‘I know your name is maybe a little long, but it doesn’t sound that bad.’

  ‘We need to get back to your parental issues. I put your details into one of my dad’s search engines—’

  ‘Your dad’s search engines?’

  ‘Yeah, he’s a social anthropologist, boring as rabbit shit.’

  ‘So, you know all about my family?’

  ‘Not really, the information’s a bit sketchy – births, deaths and that your name
came about from being poor and called John John.’

  ‘John John?’

  ‘John John.’

  ‘I have to say you doing that is a bit creepy, Kat.’

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘Yeah, I think so. It feels like you’re spying on me.’

  ‘Sorry, I guess I never thought about it. That’s what happens when you’re brought up by someone like my dad. I haven’t checked out your Instagram page, if that helps.’

  ‘I don’t have one.’

  ‘Okay, and I didn’t open up your wife’s Facebook page either.’ (This was true – Hayley did that.)

  ‘Okay, I’ll forgive you. My upbringing’s not been straightforward either. I didn’t see much of my parents growing up as they packed me off to boarding-school, but I’m not sure I’ve got that many issues with them.’

  ‘You’re in denial again – in denial about your failing marriage, mentally unstable wife and your family. You’re a serial denialist.’

  ‘You just made that up.’

  I shrugged. ‘Did not, it’s true. What happened to your father? He died quite young, didn’t he?’

  ‘You’ve done your research. My parents inherited a load of dosh just after I was born and set off on a series of adventures and spending sprees. I got in the way so that’s why I ended up in all-day nurseries and boarding school. I think the hedonistic lifestyle ended up killing my dad.’

  I thought about that for a moment. ‘That’s very sad.’

  ‘I’m over it now.’

  ‘I don’t think you are – you never will be. But you’ve learned to live with it. What did your wife think about it all?’

  ‘She liked it, or more the idea that somehow I came from this posh privileged background. Whereas for me private education represented a punishment for being born – a reminder that I simply got in my parents’ way of having a good time.’ Nathan smiled. ‘Maybe I do have some issues with them. After my dad died I got to know my mum a little better. She brought me home to London, for company probably, and I went to the local school instead. After about a year she got itchy feet again and started going on cruises and long-haul holidays on her own or in groups for single or widowed women. At which point I’d got to the age where I could fend for myself.’

  ‘What happened to your mum?’

  ‘She went overboard.’

  ‘Oh, that can happen when someone loses a partner – they can’t cope and start doing all sorts of strange out-of-character things and—’

  ‘No, no, she literally went overboard – she fell off a ship.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Yeah, somewhere near the Greek island of Kos – I don’t know for sure as they never found her body.’

  ‘Oh, my God, that’s awful. Wouldn’t I remember it from the news or something?’

  ‘It happened a long time ago and it’s quite common.’

  ‘What is? Falling off ships?’

  ‘Yeah and nobody noticing – anything between twenty and thirty people do it every year. It’s not that surprising if you think about it – pissed pensioners and boats, not a good mix.’

  ‘I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘Nobody does – as I said, it happened a long time ago. She didn’t turn up for breakfast so the folk she’d been hanging out with raised the alarm, but nobody could find her. She’d pretty much run through all the money by then so maybe she jumped. Who knows? I’m over it.’

  ‘So is that how you ended up in a maisonette flat in Dumbiedykes?’

  ‘Yeah, well, as I said, the money had gone. It’s a duplex and it’s in Holyrood.’

  I smiled, took a slurp of wine and said, ‘You’re in denial about everything, aren’t you?’

  He laughed again, lightening the mood.

  ‘When will the divorce be finalised?’

  Nathan spluttered, and wine dripped down his chin.

  ‘Attractive,’ I said, laughing.

  ‘Divorce? What divorce?’

  ‘Well, that’s what happens, isn’t it?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’ve not had that many relationships and I’ve never been married, but when your wife moves out and gets as far away from you as possible, surely the next thing is divorce. Your marriage is now a Humpty Dumpty.’

  ‘Humpty Dumpty?’

  ‘Yeah, all the king’s horses and all the king’s men couldn’t put it together again.’

  Nathan shook his head. ‘We’ve not talked about it.’

  ‘Given your communication issues that doesn’t surprise me. But it’ll happen, you need to realise that.’

  ‘I do?’

  ‘You do.’

  I passed over a tissue. ‘You’ve got wine coming out of your nose.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘It’s okay; I’ve seen worse things.’

  ‘I’m sure you have.’

  ‘You know what you need?’

  ‘A psychiatric evaluation?’

  ‘Maybe. It wouldn’t do any harm, but that wasn’t my first thought.’

  ‘Right, so what else do I need, then?’

  ‘Food.’

  ‘I am a little hungry.’

  ‘There’s nothing in your fridge. What have you been living off?’

  ‘Baked beans and bagels.’

  ‘I’ll make something. Not involving beans and bagels.’

  ‘That’d be nice.’

  ‘You’re a mess, Nathan; you need to sort yourself out.’

  ‘I had a shower and shaved this morning …’

  ‘That’s not what I mean. You’re a mental mess. Anyway, I’m off to the kitchen.’

  I left him sitting and pottered into the kitchen. I felt very comfortable in his flat for some reason. I pulled some stuff out of the bags and found the pots and pans in a cupboard under the sink. They were filthy too, so I started washing them. The running water must have piqued his interest as he poked his head around the door.

  ‘What are you doing, Kat?’

  ‘I’m washing the pans, they’re filthy. Do you have a dishwasher?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s over there next to the washing machine.’

  ‘Why don’t you use it, then?’

  ‘It’s broken.’

  ‘How long has it been broken?’

  Nathan shrugged. ‘A few weeks, I think.’

  ‘You need to sort yourself out and get on top of things.’

  ‘Kat, I know, but you nagging me isn’t going to help.’

  ‘I’m not nagging.’

  ‘You are so. I don’t need you to do that; I’ve got a wife for that, thank you very much.’

  ‘No, you don’t.’

  ‘Okay, I had a wife for that, then, and I don’t need a stand-in.’

  I felt annoyed again but wasn’t sure if it was down to his manner or my mood. ‘I don’t think I like you, Nathan.’ I wiped my hands on a large piece of kitchen roll.

  ‘That’s good, Kat, because I don’t think I like you either.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Why what?’

  ‘Why don’t you like me?’

  ‘I hardly know you and yet you keep poking your nose into my life and I don’t need that right now.’

  ‘You don’t know what you need, Nathan; that’s your problem.’

  ‘Look, you turn up here uninvited and start analysing me. I’m a grown man with three kids. I don’t need this shit.’

  I’d gone from irritated to angry now (so it probably was him) and I dropped the pan I had in my hand onto the counter, where it clanged and bounced onto the floor. ‘I’m doing a nice thing here, trying to help you out.’

  ‘I don’t want your charity.’

  ‘Is that what you think this is?’

  ‘I don’t know, you tell me.’

  ‘I came over because I know you’re in pain, you’ve had a really traumatic time and I thought, “Here’s your chance, Kat, to do something for someone else for a change,” you know, stop being so self-absorbed and narcissistic—’

  ‘I don’t
know what that means.’

  ‘Narcissistic?’

  He nodded.

  ‘It means being overly concerned with my appearance.’

  ‘Oh. So, is this all about me or is it about you? I—’

  I didn’t let him finish his sentence and instead popped a huge chunk of cooked ham into his mouth. I needed a few moments to think about what I’d just said. I’d engaged my mouth before my brain again and needed to check if I’d said anything I shouldn’t have. Thankfully I hadn’t mentioned anything about liking him but the whole narcissistic thing had just emerged from my gob fully formed with no input from my frontal lobe whatsoever. I shuddered and tried to cover my discomfort by focusing on him. ‘You need to eat, Nathan. Your brain needs sugar.’

  I broke off a lump of crusty bread, smothered it in butter and pushed it towards his mouth. He swallowed the ham and bit into the crust. ‘Mm.’

  What fun. I hadn’t fed anyone other than myself since Lesley Ashcroft, a nurse I knew, brought her three-month-old baby into work one day and let me feed him. I didn’t think Nathan had become such a basket case that he needed to suck a bottle, but you never knew. I popped the remainder of the bread into my own mouth.

  What next? I had butter all over my fingers. Might be time to try the bottle test. I slowly licked the butter from two of my fingers, not breaking eye contact. My little finger remained coated in slightly salted butter and instead of licking it off myself I slowly offered it up to him. His tongue darted out, but I pulled my finger away before he could touch it.

  Interesting.

  I dipped my fingers into my wine glass and sucked the wine from them, then repeated the action, except this time I locked eyes with Nathan again and held them out to him. He approached cautiously this time, not wanting to be duped for a second time, but I had no intention of pulling them away. I wanted him to suck them. I wanted my fingers inside his mouth. I desperately wanted him to run his tongue between my fingers; I wanted to feel the warm wetness of his mouth. I’d become completely absorbed in the moment.

  Slowly, he leaned forward and wrapped his hand around my wrist. He pulled my fingers into his mouth, sucking the wine from them. It felt incredibly intimate and erotic and I didn’t even think the black nail varnish bothered him; in fact I didn’t think he noticed. My stomach flipped over, and I could feel every inch of me becoming charged with electricity and lust. I hadn’t planned or wanted this but found myself staring into his pale blue eyes, searching for something – what, I couldn’t be sure – but his face had glazed over with need. Just as we leaned closer to each other the house phone on the kitchen wall trilled gratingly, destroying the moment.