'That's easier said than done.'
He sighed. 'Look, Meg, this deal…I know it's going to be tough, but it'll be worth it in the end. The commission could come in at about a hundred thousand.'
'That's very nice for you, I'm sure. But all the money in the world is no good if you're not around to enjoy it.'
'What do you mean by that?'
'The attack you had before, Nat, it was a warning, but you're not listening. Next time you might not be so lucky, it could be a coronary.'
He all but scoffed at her. 'There's not going to be a next time. I'm fine, now leave it.'
She opened her mouth to say more, only to be cut off before she got a word out.
'I said leave it!' The sharpness of his tone told her she would be wasting her time arguing with him.
She shrugged shoulders. 'Okay, whatever you say. You obviously know what you're doing. It's nothing to do with me. I'm just the cleaner.' Seconds later she was in the laundry room and the door between them had been firmly closed.
She didn't say goodbye, he thought. She always says goodbye.
On his return three days later, Megan deliberately avoided any reference to the reason for his absence. He worked on furiously, spending hours on the telephone and internet, seemingly oblivious to anything but the work. He rarely left his study. Trays of food were returned untouched, and he only slept when he was too tired to stay awake. Megan also noted with consternation, how much more he was drinking.
One morning, concerned at not having seen him for more than thirty-six hours, she entered the study and found him asleep at his desk, having been overcome with exhaustion. She woke him gently and insisted he take to his bed and get some proper sleep. His reaction was a sharp rebuffal, followed by his ordering her to get out and leave him alone. As he wasn't going to listen to her, she kept her own counsel and, aching with anxiety, tried to carry on as if nothing were amiss. It took nearly three weeks more before he announced the job to be over.
'That's it, done and dusted,' he said. 'I said it would be tough, and it was, but overall I think it was pretty successful.'
He related how he had met the challenge head on, had negotiated a fair price and had banked himself a good commission - not as much as he'd hoped, but substantial nonetheless. His self satisfaction did not impress Megan. She had long since reached the end of her tether.
'That's so very nice,' she said. 'I am so pleased for you. I hope you and your accountant are deliriously happy together.'
Her sharp, sarcastic comment cut him to the quick. He had expected her to be pleased with his news not throw it back at him. 'What the fuck is that supposed to mean?'
'Nothing…and please don't swear at me.'
'It's my house and I'll swear if I want to. What did you mean by it?
'Nothing,' she repeated. 'Forget it.'
'I thought you'd be pleased. The job is over and there's money in the bank.'
'It's not just about the money is it?'
'It's what keeps a roof over my heid and you in a job.'
'And was it really worth ruining your health for the sake of padding out your bank balance?'
'I don't know what you mean.' He spread his arms wide in a 'look at me' gesture. 'I'm perfectly fine.'
'No, you're not. You haven't been fine for weeks.'
'There's nothing wrong with me, Meg. You're being paranoid. One little incident…' He made a pinching motion with his fingers.
'Then I suggest you take a long, hard look at yourself, because from where I'm standing, it's none too pretty.'
'You don't know what you're talking about.' His defensiveness told her he knew exactly what she saying; he just didn't want to hear it.
'Well, let's try these caps on for size shall we, and see how they fit?' She ticked off each point on her fingers. 'You look like death warmed over, you're not sleeping, you're not eating, you've worn the same clothes for three days in a row, you're always in a foul mood, and you…well to be brutally frank, you smell like a distillery. If you're trying to put yourself in an early grave you're certainly going the right way about it?'
'Don't push it, Meg. Just DON'T!'
She could tell by the set of his jaw and hardness of his eyes that he was already beginning to lose his temper, but she couldn't seem to stop herself. 'I will push, Nat, and I'll keep on pushing until you take some notice. If you won't listen to me then perhaps you'll listen to a doctor when you end up in the emergency room with a real heart attack.'
'I really, really don't need this from you…!'
'Yes, you do because I'm the only one who's going to tell you, not that you ever listen to anyone!'
He glared at her from under brows knitted into a deep scowl. 'That's more than enough from you, woman! And I strongly suggest you watch that tongue of yours!'
Megan's fury boiled over. 'Don't you use that tone with me, mister. I'll say what needs to be said...'
The last of his tolerance ebbed away. 'Not one more word...I'm warning you!' he growled through clenched teeth.
She crossed her arms defiantly. 'Or what? You'll fire me? Go ahead, it won't change the truth!'
'If that's what it'll take to shut you up, you only have yourself to blame.' He inclined his head sharply towards the door. 'You're sacked…get out.'
She stood her ground, her blazing eyes locked on his.
'NOW!' he roared.
She drew in a deep breath and said stiffly, 'As you wish, Mister Mackie.'
She marched across the kitchen, grabbed her coat and bag from the hook behind the door, slamming it behind her as she left. The echo of her leaving resounded around the silent kitchen and jolted Nat back to his senses. He sagged against the worktop and looked around the empty room as it screamed her absence.
'Oh shit, what have I done? She's gone! Meg's gone! Shit...shit…! Get her back you bloody fool! Get her back!'
He yanked open the door and as fast as the deep gravel and his stockinged feet would allow, ran along the path to find her. 'Meg!' he yelled. 'STOP!'
She was already standing by her car, rooting in her bag for her keys. He reached her and grabbed her by her arm. 'Please, Meg, don't go. I didn't mean it. I'm sorry.'
'It's too late for being sorry, Nat. You've gone too far this time.' She shrugged his hand away and pulled the keys from her bag, tears of frustration perilously close.
'Come back inside, Meg.'
'No.'
'Please…don't go,' he said. 'Come back inside, let's talk about this.'
'There's no point, you won't listen. You never listen.'
'I will, I promise. Please, Meg?'
'You've made a lot of promises, Nat, but you don't keep any of them. I don't think you know how.'
'I will this time, you have my word.'
'I don't believe you.'
She selected a key and offered it to the lock. It slid home and she turned it. As she withdrew it, the tremor in her hand caused the keyring to slip from her grip and fall into the gravel. He quickly bent and picked it up. 'Please, come back inside with me,' he said.
'Give me the keys, please.'
'Not until you agree to come back inside with me.'
'No.'
'Why, Meg?'
'Because I've had enough. I was wrong. I made a mistake. I thought I could handle being here, handle you. I thought I was strong enough, but I'm not. You've beaten me. You win.'
'Don't say that…I don't want you to leave…I'm really sorry.'
For a brief moment, she thought he meant it. When it passed, she held out her hand for the keys. 'Don't say what you don't mean, Nat. Please give me the keys.'
He cupped her open hand with his and dropped the keys onto her palm, closing her fingers over them and holding her hand tightly enclosed within his own. The warmth of his skin against hers ruptured her resolve and it crumbled. Still, she let her eyes wander anywhere except his face.
'I don't want you to go, Meg. I was wrong and I am sorry. Please…won't you even look at me?' His voice
had taken on a softer note and touched her with its sensitivity.
Finally, she forced herself to look at him and could see, this time, he was telling the truth.
'Please, Meg, let's go inside. It's cold out here...' He looked down at his feet, wiggling his toes. 'And I haven't got any shoes on.'
He had already put his arm around her shoulder and was slowly, step by step, leading her back to the house. Against her better judgement, she allowed him to do it.
He led her into the kitchen and sat her at the table. Their rôles were now reversed and he found himself making the comforting cup of tea.
She sat with her head bowed. 'I've been worried sick these last few weeks,' she said. 'You've been driving yourself into the ground and I've not been able to do a damned thing about it.' Her voice cracked and she put her hand to her mouth to cover her distress. Over it, her large, moist eyes gave her away. Nat tore a piece of kitchen towel from a roll on the wall and handed it to her. She dabbed her leaking eyes with it.
'Every morning I've been coming in here with my heart in my mouth,' she said. 'I was dreading what I might find, always afraid that something might have happened to you. I was scared, Nat.'
He remembered what she had told him about her father; 'I found him in his bed one morning… he'd died in the night…in his sleep… we didn't even get to say goodbye...'
'I had no idea I'd made things so dreadful for you, Meg,' he said, gently. 'I didn't mean to.'
She slapped her palms flat on the tabletop, needing to emphasise her point. 'It's not about me, Nat, it's about you. You're making yourself ill, but you just won't see it.'
He laid his hands over hers. 'I can't believe I've been so selfish. I'm so sorry.'
She fell back in her chair, sliding her hands out from under his. 'But you're not sorry, not really...are you?' she sighed. 'You always say you are because it's easy, it's just words. I don't even think you know what it means.'
'I do. What else can I say to convince you?'
'Nothing, because you won't mean it. It'll be a waste of words.'
'So tell me what it is you want and I'll do it.'
She pressed her fingertips against her brow, creased with frustration. 'You just don't get it, do you? It's not about what I want at all, it's about you taking care of yourself. If anything happens to you while I'm here I'll feel responsible and spend the rest of my life blaming myself because I didn't do anything about it.'
'You're not responsible for me and if anything does happen to me, it will never be your fault.'
She folded the paper towel in half and half again, pressing down on the crease. 'Will you at least slow down a bit? Can't you take some time off and rest, just for a while?'
'I'm done…for the time being.'
'Until the next job?'
'There won't be another job like this. They only come around once in a blue moon.'
'But you wouldn't turn it down, would you?'
'No I wouldn't...I can't. But I'll be more careful I…' He almost said 'I promise' again, but knew she would never accept it.
In the study, the telephone began to ring. He let it ring half a dozen times and she watched him as he fidgeted at the sound until he was unable to bear it any longer.
'I'll have to get that, it might be important and the machine is off.' He leapt to his feet, and almost ran from the room.
She screwed up the neatly folded piece of kitchen towel and tossed it into the trashcan. 'Don't waste your time, Megs,' she said to the empty room. 'He won't listen. Nothing will change.'
Later that day, after Megan had gone home, giving her solemn word she would return the next day, Nat took some time to go over their conversation.
She had been upset, but she was right. He hadn't felt well and wasn't sleeping. He had lost weight and was drinking far too much. He agreed he often said things he didn't mean and pledged he would try to take better care of himself. He also decided he would make the effort to be more honest with her. He felt she at least deserved the consideration.
They reached a compromise and he hoped the argument would soon be forgotten. He had upset her and it troubled him how close he had come to losing her.
However, things didn't work out quite as he planned. Despite all his good intentions, he was still unable to sleep properly. Gradually his tiredness overtook him, and he became irritated at the slightest thing.
Megan often fell into the firing line of his temper, but not wanting to resurrect their previous argument, she absorbed it like a sponge. This only served to infuriate him further.
The atmosphere between them strained, and he took to staying out or shutting himself away to avoid confronting her. The combination of his irritability, insomnia and alcohol soon began to take its toll.
Chapter 9
Nat craved some peace. A meeting with his bank manager that morning, a business lunch and a spell at the gym had left him drained. Lack of sleep over the previous few nights had not helped and now Megan had decided to vacuum the staircase. The elderly machine was overly noisy and had an uncomfortable pitch that grated on him, adding to his torment. He closed the sturdy oak door to the study, reducing the racket to a low distant drone.
Cocooned in comfortable quiet he poured himself a stiff measure of Southern Comfort and, glass in hand, settled down in the old armchair. He rooted out the remote control from down the side of the cushion and flicked on the TV. He found a football match, halfway through, no score. He left it playing in the background as he reached down to pick up a book he had casually tossed onto the floor. A folded down corner marked his place. He took a long slug from the glass and began to read.
Gradually the combination of words and alcohol made his eyelids feel heavy, his head drooped onto his chest and he fell into a doze. A tapping on the study door startled him awake.
'Go away!' He sat up sharply and rubbed his eyes. The knocking came again, but louder.
'Not now!'
The knocking became a hammering.
He hauled himself out of the chair and wrenched the door open. 'Bloody hell, woman, can't I have a minute's…..' His words died on his lips.
The hallway beyond the doorway was in complete darkness. He didn't understand why had it gone dark so quickly and why had Megan not put on the lights? He must have been asleep for hours and she had gone home. If so…who the hell was banging on the door?
'Nathaniel…'
He spun round at the sound of the voice behind him, and he staggered back into the room. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped open, breath escaped with an audible squeak through a throat clenched shut with fright. Between himself and the fireplace stood an impossible vision whose very appearance made him doubt his own sanity.
Enveloped in a voluminous white garment soiled with dirt and slime and mould, a woman stood at the mantle, looking at the photograph of…herself. She turned to face him. The smile she offered had nothing to it - it was cold and soulless.
Her skin, chalk white and waxen, was at points so thin that the fine bones of her skull were visible beneath the surface. Her hair hung lank and loose over her shoulders and her eyes, sunken within heavy shadow, were deep dark holes with no spark of life, yet he was sure he saw something move in there.
'Joanna?' he breathed.
'Hello, darling,' she said in a soft husky whisper that could only have come from the lips of a lover. 'Have you missed me?'
'Jo?'
She turned back to the photograph. 'I was so pretty then, wasn't I?'
A breathy, 'Aye,' fell from his mouth.
'Do you think I was pretty, sweetheart?'
'Aye.'
'It's been a long time, Nathaniel…such a long time. How long has it been, four years? No nearly five. Goodness, how time flies when you're dead. You did know I was dead, didn't you darling? Of course you did, how could you not?'
Nat continued to stare, not believing his own eyes. He closed them tightly, but the image had already been burned onto his retina. Behind his eyelids he could still se
e the shadow of her. He shook his head, trying to force away both the image and the hysteria threatening to well up and overwhelm him.
I'm holding a conversation with a corpse, he thought. I'm obviously hallucinating. Too much drink – that's it. Too much drink and not enough sleep. It's finally driven me mad.
When he dared open his eyes again, the woman was still there. 'This…this is not real…you're dead…you're not here,' he muttered.
'Oh, Nathaniel, we're hurt.' She cocked her head to one side. 'Anyone would think you didn't want to see us?'
Us?
She took a step forward. Nat took a matching step backwards needing to preserve the space between them. 'Stay away…don't come near me…'
'That's not very nice,' she said and took another step toward him. He again matched her advance with a retreat and his legs collided with the chair. The seat knocked against the back of his knees, collapsing them. He lost his balance and sat down heavily on the seat. The blood drained from his face leaving him almost as pale as the spectre, and he broke out in a cold sweat. The chilly dampness gathered between his shoulder blades and ran down his back.
She stood over him, blocking him and looking down into his terrified face as he cowered in the chair. 'I've come to see you, darling,' she cooed. 'I've been so lonely without you.'
His heart pounded in his ears and he began to breathe in sharp shuddering gasps. She leaned down to him, putting her face close to his and his nostrils filled with a smell of something…bad - the metallic smell of old blood mixed with the antiseptic odour of a hospital, that and…something else. He couldn't identify it, and didn't want to.
'Please, leave me alone…' he whimpered.
Locked into the embrace of the chair, with Joanna in front of him, he couldn't move if he wanted to, even if fear hadn't paralysed him
'Let me touch you, Nathaniel,' she said, and put her cold, mottled hand to his cheek.
He flinched and croaked, his voice almost lost to his terror. 'No!'
She ran her bony fingers down his cheek and over his lips, her torn nails sharp against his skin. 'I want to kiss you, Nathaniel. I miss your kiss.'
Saving Nathaniel Page 6
